(no subject)
Okay I rp in a place I called St. Ulrics, it’s a reform school for young boys (Catholic), I play Tony and my dear Sara Connor. They are head over heels in love to put it simply. Connor is a social worker at the school, as well as a Boston Saint, a fact only Tony and a few choice other people know. Tony is a 17 year old student. I am a monolog whore for this place so I have written a few monologs that are practically fics about Tony and Connor, and add Murphy (a priest) into that mix. I thought I might as well post them here cause they are writing and it is my journal. But I am going to fix this little thing to each one to make it clear what’s going on.
Title- lies and 50 calibers
Author_ foreveryours311
Rating- pg13
Pairing- Tony/Connor
Summary- Connor lied to Tony while on summer break in Ireland. A lie Tony could have dealt with if it wasn’t just that; a lie. Tony though mad at Connor can’t take it out on him, so he pushes the blame to Murphy, getting out his frustrations the only way he knows how.
Tony paced around his dorm room, back and forth and back and forth, from the window to the door and back again, over and over. He’d only been at the school for maybe a bit over an hour so far, putting his stuff away in his room almost just so it looks like he was there before he goes with Billie Joe to the place they decided to hide. It was almost silly, running away from school without actually leaving the grounds. Sounds insane, but hell it might work.
His heart is racing and his mind is spinning and the only thing he can think about- the only thing he can hear- and it’s screaming, it’s screaming so loud in his head he doesn’t even know what to do anymore. “Connor lied to me, Connor fucken’ lied to me.”
He paces and he paces, nothing makes sense to him anymore, nothing seems right anymore, nothing is right anymore, nothings right without Connors arms around him, nothings right without Connors voice in his ear. “He lied to me, fuck; lies everything-everything was just lies.”
Everything Tony believed was shattered, everything that kept him going while at school was gone, and every bit of the faith he developed just died in that one instant of realization. He knew, he knew before then but he refused to believe it, he always refused to believe it. Murphy wouldn’t hurt him like that; Connor wouldn’t lie to him like that. “I asked him not take him, I fucken’ asked him not to take him. Dirty fucken’ liars, liars both of them.”
He didn’t know what he was doing when he lifted his gun holster and secured it around his upper body. It held two guns one to each side of his chest, held to guns at just the right angle to reach them. Just like Connors. “Stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him-he doesn’t love me. He lied. You don’t lie to people you love-LAIR.”
He places the first of his guns into the holster on the left. It being the one Connor gave him on his birthday, saints’ symbol on its silencer to match the one he got tattooed into his wrist, an act he suddenly and for the first time second guesses. Next the one Murphy gave him into the right, his fingers briefly running over the words etched into the handle, paying careful attention to the letters under his finger tips, “Aequitas” justice; “Veritas” truth. “Fucken’ bastard fucken’ liar. Doesn’t love me-- can’t love me?”
He lost all sense of sanity, it felt like watching a movie; he didn’t know what was going to happen next even though it was his hands securing the guns into place not the classic movie killer. He pulling his hoodie on and zipped it up, blocking all view of the weapons, and bulky look they gave him, the hoodie sleeve pulled over his hand he wipes his eyes, his thoughts once again screaming in his head. “How could I be that stupid? How could I think he loved me? Such a fucken’ retard, he’s a saint, saints don’t love sinners.”
His hand was on Murphy's office door as he carefully picked at the lock till the door swung open, his teeth biting hard into his lip as he stepped into the empty room and closed the door behind him. His hoodie falling off his shoulders, his right hand reaching up to his left side and removing Connors gun, other hand in his pocket he pulls out a full clip pushing into the gun and cocking it once to get a bullet in the chamber. 50 caliber semiautomatic his best birthday present, even better when he got in bed with the man he thought he loved. “He fucken; lied to me, no birthday presents or good morning kisses change that. Stop thinking about him, stop loving him. Even if it hurts.”
He walks closer to the desk and holds the gun out with his right hand, just like Connor taught him, one handed, gun parallel to the ground, arm lined up perfectly to his body. He looked like a saint especially as the prayers started pouring from his lips as the first of the bullets crashed into the chair and then into the desk. The silencer makes what he’s doing in the room almost unrecognizable from the outside except by the noise of the impact. “And shepherds we shall be, for thee my lord for thee.” And Tony silently thanks Murphy for teaching him the prayer, the oddest thought as he’s embedding bullets into the priests chair and desk, then into the bookcases, oddly careful not to hit the bible that lays there. “Don’t thank him you fucken’ idijit, he took him from you, he broke his promise, he took him from me.”
He draws the second gun, his teeth digging into his lip so hard he think he tastes blood as he starts firing out the window watching the bullet holes form in the glass, empting a clip from each gun he puts them back in their holsters at his sides, jumping up onto the desk in on fluid motion he kicks all the papers off it along with the pictures and other assorted things Murphy keeps there, kicking the chair over as well as the words still pour fluently from his lips, “Power hath descended forth from thy hand, that our feet my swiftly carry out they command” Tears streaming down his face as he jumps off the desk again, kicking at it once he’s on the ground till the wood splinters and breaks under the abuse. “We shall flow a river forth onto thee.” He reaches into the now broken open desk pulling out handfuls of papers and throwing them about the room, cursing loudly as his arm gets caught on the broken wood, the cut on his forearm quickly bleeding, blood that drips down his arm and onto the floor, he stops momentarily just watching it pool up on the wood floor, grabbing his hoodie he wraps it tightly around his arm to stop the bleeding, he looks around the trashed room, his tongue flicking over his lip ring as he recites to himself. “And teeming with souls shall it ever be.” The prayer more of a mockery, mockery of everything Connor ever taught him about being a good person, a mockery of everything Murphy ever taught him about religion. ”Don’t feel bad, why do you feel bad, he hurt you, he killed you, he stole one of the few things you care about anymore, don’t you dare feel bad Anthony fucken’ Lovato. Jus’ don’t.”
He looks around the room one last time before walking out, making sure the door locks again behind him so it looks like nothing happened. He wipes his eyes trying to convince himself for the millionth time that he's strong, that he's okay, even if he knows he’s not. “In Nomini Patri, et Fili, Spiritus Sancti” he crosses himself outside the door before going off to find Billie, who seems to be the small voice of sanity in Tony's life right now. “I told him not to take him from me, I asked him, and he ignored it. He deserves it. Maybe now he’ll believe me when I say I love him, even if he doesn’t love me too.”