7years7sins
Good things come in sevens
You're CROWBAR. You belong to a mob called The Felt, you take your orders and carry them out, no questions asked, no funny business.
You'd describe yourself as the strong, silent type, with a penchant for violence and an affinity for blood. Even though you have a kind of natural instinct for leadership, a trait that comes out in sticky situations, you're more than content to follow.
Magic Anon: n/a
Dependant blog for Borgatabent, a mafia AU
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Yes, and probably, no one else's tasted it yet.
If anyone’s hungry, dinners on the table.
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If anyone's hungry, dinners on the table.
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Thanksgiving Turkey
At the Felt manor, theres not such thing as a ‘family dinner’. When you’re hungry, you get food, and the kitchen is always stocked. After being away from home for so long, though, even with all the craziness. you’re probably one of the most thankful men alive right now.
So you don an apron and wash your hands, getting ready to the meal of a lifetime. First thing to do is dress the turkey. or, well, turkeys. Considering you on your own could eat two normal sized roast chickens on a good day, just one turkey, no matter how big, would never be enough for the whole family. Right now you have ten.
Once the foul are properly seasons and glazed, you set them to the side in a line, ready to cook one after the other, since there are only a few ovens. That done, you start cleaning and cutting up hundreds of potatoes, tossing them in huge pots to boil so you can mash them later.
Huge pitchers of cranberry sauce, row after row of pumpkin, pecan, and fruit pies all stacked on top of each other, multiple bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing piled high around huge, golden brown turkeys, as well as various platters of fruits and vegetables. A thanksgiving feast.
Though its set up in the main dining room, you’ve laid it out more like a buffet, since you don’t really expect everyone to come sit down and eat. This is the best way you can think of to show how thankful you are. Not just for your family or your amazing fiance, but for being able to lead the life you want. Everything happens so much, and you’re feeling incredibly emotional right now. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
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Thanksgiving Turkey
At the Felt manor, theres not such thing as a 'family dinner'. When you're hungry, you get food, and the kitchen is always stocked. After being away from home for so long, though, even with all the craziness. you're probably one of the most thankful men alive right now.
So you don an apron and wash your hands, getting ready to the meal of a lifetime. First thing to do is dress the turkey. or, well, turkeys. Considering you on your own could eat two normal sized roast chickens on a good day, just one turkey, no matter how big, would never be enough for the whole family. Right now you have ten.
Once the foul are properly seasons and glazed, you set them to the side in a line, ready to cook one after the other, since there are only a few ovens. That done, you start cleaning and cutting up hundreds of potatoes, tossing them in huge pots to boil so you can mash them later.
Huge pitchers of cranberry sauce, row after row of pumpkin, pecan, and fruit pies all stacked on top of each other, multiple bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing piled high around huge, golden brown turkeys, as well as various platters of fruits and vegetables. A thanksgiving feast.
Though its set up in the main dining room, you've laid it out more like a buffet, since you don't really expect everyone to come sit down and eat. This is the best way you can think of to show how thankful you are. Not just for your family or your amazing fiance, but for being able to lead the life you want. Everything happens so much, and you're feeling incredibly emotional right now. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
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Good to see you're still sane.
sixpinsdie started following you
Hey Die
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One of those nights, huh.
Yeah I’ll remember to keep it in my-
to
not get too excited
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sixpinsdie started following you
Hey Die
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Whoa, there, don't get too excited.
7years7sins started following you
oh great
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(( pokes this blog alive with a toothpick
Hello it is me des, also known as the worst roleplayer in the known universe. im gonna be giving crowbar a soft reset so that I can actually play him the way i want and he wont have awful relationships with everyone. okay? okay. (so basiclammy starting over except for stitch and him are fiances because im not giving it up ever)
alright good unfollowing/refollowing will come in a moment, thank u for understanding ))
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Hey guys, so, I’ve seen some of these on here, and at this point I have nothing else to do but make one myself. I’m in some trouble here, guys. Its not a terribly large amount, comparatively, but I owe money to the bank that I can’t pay. Along with school payments, I’m in for a world of financial hurt very soon.
I’ve been trying my best to find a job that I can handle, and take commissions when I can, but I haven’t been making very much if any. I’m not the kind of person to ask for help like this, and I feel like a pitiful asshole for doing this, but if theres any way any of you can help me out, or even commission me, it would help me out so much.
I can offer my art, and my writing, or you can just donate if neither strike your fancy. I know that lots of people are having money trouble too, so if it turns out you cant do anything, please at least signal boost this so that maybe someone who can will see it.
I’m really sorry to do something like this, but I don’t have a choice at this point. I’m in a lot of trouble. Please, if you can help at all, I would be extremely grateful.
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You groan again as he moves, not bothering to try and face him even when you feel his hand on you, though you do tilt your chin into his fingers. It feels so good to feel those rough, scarred hands again. You missed them. "Shit--" You cough, feeling the sickness in your stomach that comes with being patched up through those dolls downstairs. "Got caught by a grenade." You want to explain more, but it would be hard to do without going over the whole damn thing, and its been months, and you're just so tired. "Sorry, old man."
His face swims in front of you, and before you realize it, you're crying, heavy tears streaming down your cheeks and you don't even want to move to wipe your face. "Sorry." The voice catches in your throat, and your body shakes, chasing soreness to pull tight at your muscles. "I fucked up."
His movement doesn’t wake you up, but the groan does.
Your brow furrows and you groan softly yourself, in your throat; you have no idea what time it is, which is unusual, for you. You’re a bit flustered today, a bit thrown off, for obvious reasons. But the familiar sound of Crowbar’s voice is enough to rouse you from your restless stressed sleep, slowly opening pure green eyes to see him beside you.
Alive and breathing, and most importantly, home.
You forget to be angry again, slowly pushing yourself up on your elbow; you’re still half dressed, in your undershirt, trousers and suspenders. You were ready for him to wake up, a glass of water and one of your illegal prescription-strength painkillers on the nightstand. But first. You lean over him a bit, eyes just flickering over his face, and you lift your hand to touch his jaw, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb.
"Scared the shit outta me," you say quietly, your voice raspy from sleep. There’s no real malice in it when you speak. "I missed you, ya dumb fuck. The goddamn hell happened…?"
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You don't feel yourself being moved. You dont feel anything right now but pain and heat in equal measure. What vision you have between the veil of blood is blurred and spinning, and somewhere between where you were and where you were being taken, you completely black out.
Time passes, and when you finally wake up, the first thing you see is your ceiling. Its familiar, and it makes you feel warm. Or that could be the IV in your arm and the sleeping man next to you. Either way, you're glad for it. Its good to be home. After a moment of listening to him breathe, you get restless and shift to a more sitting position. Or at least, you try. About halfway up your pillow, the numbness of sleep wears off, and a soreness spreads across you like someone took a hammer and went to town all over your body.
You groan loudly and slump back down, the sudden pain catching you off guard. You feel bad for whoever had to carry you here, though you already have an idea of who that might be.
And that’s what you find in the foyer. The crash was Crowbar, coming in through the front doors for a quick meeting with the polished ceramic tile.
You feel like you’re going to be sick. He’s bleeding everywhere; his jacket is in tatters, almost more red than green. You drop to your knees beside him and instantly start inspecting the damage, breathing hard, muttering and cursing under your breath. Shit, shit, shit. All thoughts of being angry with him for not contacting you evaporate, shunted aside in favour of panic, a shrill panic you fight to hold down. No, no, you need to think. No, you need to act.
You need to move.
"God fuckin’ damnit, Alfred," you hiss, touching his face, then you get an arm underneath him, hauling him up as best you can. It’s amazing how you can defy your back problems so vehemently when you’re scared. And you are. You need to get him down to your shop. You need to make him better. You need to fix this.
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It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. You've been on this job for much longer than you'd planned, so long that it doesn't even seem like a job, so much as a routine. You can't remember the last time you talked to anyone in the Felt except for the boss. And just what was all this supposed to achieve.
It doesn't really matter now, though, because its all gone wrong. You were found out, and all your efforts were blown to smithereens. Literally, you were literally blow up. Shit.
Luckily for you, though, you have friends all over town, and you managed to get home quickly enough. Home, its been too long. You know everyone is going to be wondering where you've been, and theres only one person you're worried about confronting. Then again, with a warehouse's worth of shrapnel sticking out of your back, and your blood slowly staining the green tile floors, its hard to think about what kind of person you are.
The afflicted effigy is number 7, whose whole back, as well as arms and upper legs are riddled with holes of all different sizes. It looks like a battle zone in the fabric, and stuffing is starting to poke out of the holes. At the same time, you hear a loud crash above you.
> Shit.
> Shit. Shit. No, no, shit, shit!!
> Your eyes go wide with horror. No, not Crowbar. No no no. You don’t even know where he is, he hasn’t contact y—fuck, what the hell hit him?! A goddamn grenade? You draw in a shaky breath, about to dive for your sewing kit, when you hear the ruckus upstairs. Was that the front lobby?
> You don’t even grab anything, just thumping up the workshop stairs, feeling like your heart is going to crawl out of your throat. You completely ignore your back screaming at you in protest the whole way.
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You bite your lip. This might be taking a bit of a risk, but
I'd be glad to tell you, but in person, if you don't mind.
[Private]
Jewelry? A ring, no less? You wonder what for.
I’m glad y0u f0und it quite easily, then. I never really l00ked much int0 Earth’s wares. And I’ve n0 need f0r jewelry.
A ring, th0ugh? Whatever d0 y0u need a ring f0r?
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Every nerve in your body prickles at his words, and that red hot rage that you've been so good about controlling lately slowly comes to boil. If you were holding any other weapon in your hand, it would be snapped in half right now, but your grip just reminds that you have everything you need to take him down. When you try to speak again, its more of a feral bark, and you take another step, leaning into it like you're about to run at him.
Still, though, theres something thats holding you back. That small, quiet part of you that knows, under all this anger, that this is a bad idea. You don't know what he is, but you know that its linked to that sickening feeling you get around black magic. You hate magic.
"I know you're a bastard." You finally manage, a gross mix of fear and fury making it difficult to think of the right words to say. "The kind of person who thinks of themselves first before anyone, thats the kind of loyal you are. Like a rat."
Finally, that part of you thats holding back lets go, and you almost jump forward, crowbar forward and ready to strike. Unlike most of the fights you get into, your opponent has a close combat weapon, which means theres no immediate pain to spur you forward. It also means that you might be evenly matched for once, and and the truth of the matter is that you went out looking for a fight, and here one is.
Hunting grounds II
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Though his answer doesn't come as much of a surprise, you can't say you're not shocked enough to hesitate momentarily before taking the ring from its velveteen confines and slip it onto his ring finger. Thankfully, it fits. Not only that, but the silver looks good against his pale green skin, laying just over his tattoo.
You lift his hand to your lips and kiss it softly, feeling those rough knuckles and thick skin that you've become so familiar with. Its comfortable to think that these hands are yours now.
"I love you." Finally, you move off your knee and take him into your arms again, squeezing him a bit tighter than usual. This must be the happiest day of your life, and all you want to do is hold him forever. To you, this means something incredibly deep. It means that before everything, Stitch - Ernest - comes first. Before, even, your duties to the Felt, though you think even before you bought the ring you felt that way. You'd give up everything for him.
Faithfully yours
Holy shit.
Holy shit holy fuck oh.
For a moment, you’re shocked dead silent; the confusion on your face from watching him go down on one knee evaporates, replaced by complete and utter surprise. Of all the things, of all the damnedest things you were expecting from him when he finally came home, this was not the first thing on the list, if you ever dared to even think about it in the first place. If it’s even goddamn legal (as if that matters). But. Here he is, one one knee, just like you were all those years ago when a sweet young brunette captured your heart.
Things are different now, it’s all in reverse and for a long moment you don’t know how to handle it.
Your mouth hangs agape for a second; you can feel your heart like a jackhammer inside the cage of your ribs, thumping so heavily you could swear you can feel it in your ears. You’ve done this before—you’ve been… engaged, you’ve been married, you’ve been widowed. That frightens you. You could lose Crowbar, you know. One day he might just not make it home. One day his effigy could go up in flames and you would be helpless to do anything about it, and you’d be left behind again.
But in your green-stained heart, you know it was worth it, the time you spent wearing that ring. And right now, you know even if you lost him, which you no doubt will in this line of work—you’d regret turning him down. You’d regret not letting him know he means that much to you. You’d regret not making this promise.
And you plan to die without regrets.
You swallow; your eyes have gone wet without your notice, and you blink to clear it, drawing in a shaky breath as you look down at that ring, at his expectant face. And it leaves you in a sigh, letting go of your hesitation, letting go of your fear and your doubt. Because you love the bastard, goddamn it. When he’s around you feel ten years younger. When he holds you, you’re untouchable. And when he says your name, you’re home.
"Al," you murmur, and then, after a brief moment, you nod slightly, a nervous but genuine smile finding your scarred face, squeezing his hand. “Yes."
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ooc
(( Do you ever have that moment where youre about to write somthing but then you have to take a step back because thats really just too gay?))
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