there's a human @bloodbonemeat - Tumblr Blog

I am angry. I want to break things.

kid:

thing is : there’s no such thing as coincidence. as accident.

arya knows that, now.

( she’s seen the threads of blood strewn between everything she touches, and some things she doesn’t. seen the fractured bones and the way they fit back together – or don’t.

she’s seen triggers and outcomes and inevitability. been an event, herself – an outcome, herself. )

there’s no such thing as coincidence.

but.

it seems an awful lot like one, when she glances down from her perch halfway up a stinging-cold fire escape ( stairs pressing their metallic grating into wiry thighs, a lattice of marks biting frigid into the skin ) – catches a familiar slope of shoulders in the settling dark.

she misses him.

that feels like an accident, too.

( but there’s no such thing. some part of her, reckless and stupid but hers, chose it –

– and wasn’t surprised when he left. again. that’s what people do, after all. no one ever really stays. not for her. she doesn’t deserve it. )

that’s what feels like the accident, most of all. that he came back.

shouldn’t have done that, idiot.

her feet make nary a sound on the steps down to the lower platform, the one she can vault from without risking a fracture of her own ( even if it feels like that’s all she is, is one big fucking fracture that never sets, never heals, never knits itself back together ) – arya lands more catlike than wolfish, knuckles just scraping the cobbles beneath.

she doesn’t feel the pain. barely feels the jarring of her muscle and bone.

she’s suffered worse hurts than this. her legs are strong, and a waterdancer isn’t afraid of falling. every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.

( besides, it’s as close as she ever gets to flying. sometimes she still dreams about it. flying away, if she could. a stupid little dead girl’s dream. )

‘ didn’t go anywhere, stupid. ’

( unspoken : that was you. )

she straightens, dusts her hands off on a threadbare shirt that hangs too far off bony spears of shoulders, tilts her head.

‘ y’know, there’re better ways to find someone than talking to empty air. ’

she’s grown maybe; older around the edges of her eyes. less-starved. still just as wounded and fractured and broken. ( good, he’ll almost say, because misery loved company and he couldn’t stand her reforming ) she’s older because the wolf hasn’t ripped out his throat and he can still speak, though he knows he doesn’t want to. it’s too scratched and anxious; raw, bloody. hurt. he’s not sad, he realizes. he’s never been anything.

maybe that’s what keeps him up at night. ( you still on wit’ that psychobabble? )

her legs are strong and sturdy and still so nimble.

jack makes neither a step toward nor away from her, keeping his feet rooted to the pavement while his eyes watch her. the emphasis on stu- pid causes a quirk of a smile on his mouth. he missed that, too.

it takes several seconds to fully accept her as she is; she comes, most of the time, not as a product of the streets, but the destroyer of it. she clashes with highrise greys and slate-borne concrete. she is fire in human soul. loud. harrowing. rough and broken and angled, like his nose he’s broken for the sixth time in his life. she almost scares him, because he will break and can never splint her without breaking her more. she will never heal.

the tone of her voice is free of judgment and malice. she accepts him as he is. it takes several seconds more and his jaw sets again while he takes a breath and a gulp, causing his throat to bob harshly. his chest feels tight. he feels closed in. he needs to leave. he has to fight. his fists ball and loose at his sides. his shoulders grow tighter, tighter, tighter and then drop once.

a pause. he forces his voice out, “nah, that was me.” his mouth sets in an odd little line, his shoulders drop again.

“didn’t know y’were fuckin’ Harvey Birdman, awright?”

his shoulders slump; defeated, tired, fractured. “fuck were you doin’ up there?”

he attempts to avoid her gaze. ( i can’t breathe, i can’t breathe, i can’t breathe )

( tell her you missed her. ) ( i can’t breathe; i can’t. )

#bloodiedwolf #anxiety cw #panic attack cw #para.#:'))))))

kid.

jack grinds his teeth; presses molar hard against molar, trapping the tip of his tongue between the edges once. he curses at the pain that shoots through his skull and then leaves it alone, because he’s so tired that he doesn’t want to revisit it more than once. the sting of his chafed knuckles is enough to distract him; the gauze around them has dirt and almost all of the city staining its white edges. if he bothered to think about it, its dirty presence might’ve been nagging and disturbing to him. instead, he thinks about his friend ( no, family, he corrects, although he hasn’t done much in the way to deserve her and knows one day she, too, will be suffocated from the brunt force of his love ) while he’s staring at his knuckles. this almost-love makes the bones in his body heavier.

jack drags his feet while he’s thinking about her. the toes of his boots scrape rough against the pavement while his shoulders are up, tense, manic. he’s tired and annoyed and he can’t get his mind to shut off. he misses her.

she’s around, somewhere; he knows her usual haunts. she has his spare key. he likes to think she visits while he’s at work, while he’s becoming the next world star hiphop sensation. at this, jack’s lip curls up in a sneer and his shoulders come forward and tighten; he’s trying to hide himself or at least make himself seem smaller. he just wants to find her.

“kid, where the fuck did you go?” he calls to the street. he’s met with the wind. a tight edge sets into his jaw and presses hard into his brain. jack grinds his teeth.

#bloodiedwolf #para.#nods approvingly

dailydccu

#jackyouup.#emerges from hiatus to give you this because that is jack's size

Bold what applies to your muse.

PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty / verse dependent.

medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged.

education: qualified / unqualified / studying.

criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / verse dependent.

FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated / widow / verse dependent.

has a child or children / has no children / wants children.

close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased. / verse dependent.

orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s).

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between.

disorganised / organised / in between.

close minded / open-minded / in between.

calm / anxious / in between.

disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

cautious / reckless / in between.

patient / impatient / in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

leader / follower / in between.

empathetic / unempathetic / in between.

optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

traditional / modern / in between.

hard-working / lazy / in between.

cultured / un-cultured / in between / unknown.

loyal / disloyal / unknown.

faithful / unfaithful / unknown.

BELIEFS:

monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic.

belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in aliens: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious.

philosophical: yes / no.

OPINIONS

pro-suicide / anti-suicide / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-euthanasia / anti-euthanasia / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-choice / anti-abortion / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-marriage / anti-marriage / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-death penalty / anti-death penalty / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-drug legislation / anti-drug legislation / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-murder(?) / anti-murder / doesn’t know or on the fence.

pro-cannibalism / anti-cannibalism / doesn’t know or on the fence.

left wing / right wing / middle / doesn’t know or on the fence.

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

allosexual / asexual

alloromantic / aromantic.

sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable

romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable.

sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious.

potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

medicinal drugs: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

gambling: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

#development.#my trash child

*when someone flirts with me*

me: you ain't ready for me

#jackyouup.

wARRIORS AU WARRIORS AU WARRIORS AU WARRIORS AU WARRIORS AU

#so i don'T MAKE REMBRANDT #BECAUSE I COULD SO PLAY REMBRANDT

he chose his name when he was four. the orphanage children had called him no-name, the sisters had been calling him 044309. he called himself jack, because he saw it in a crime documentary, and he’d been studying blackjack at the time. it stuck.

#hc.

kid:

‘ jack donovan dinozzio, where the fuck have you been? ’

it isn’t that she can’t take care of herself. it ISN’T. but the world hates monstrous little girls and tears their friends away when- -soever the cold north wind blows – rips them off like leaves – and maybe she thought he’d left her too. maybe she’d thought he’d been dead. THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE DO. she’s a death sentence, herself, barbed wire body battery acid heart STAY AWAY FROM ME I CAN’T RISK YOU.

her combat boots thump loud on the floor when her legs snap loose from being tucked near her chest, the thud of her fist against his shoulder dull. meaty. anticlimactic. ( part of her wonders if he’ll hit her back. )

she might as well be eight years old again, though, when her arms wrap around his torso, skull digging into his ab- -domen, fingers grappling at his spine. ( she doesn’t like being touched. doesn’t give affection easily. but when she does, it’s hard. mean. insistent. hungry and wounded all over touch me i’m here i’m alive i’m real tell me i’m real tell me this is my body it hurts it hurts it hurts – )

‘ well? ’ she pulls back, features sharp, contorted. she’s missed him, stayed awake nights listening for the door or for SIRENS but fear has always looked like rage on her. ( it’s the only way she still knows how to be STRONG. ) ‘ what the hells happened to you? ’

his throat bobs sharply in his neck at the fist on his shoulder, body rigid and tense and all too preparing for the fight that started to rise. fists weren’t friends. he remembers, though, that this is his kiddo, that this is something he had found and had cleaned and had kind of taken a liking to (whether he li- ked her or not). it quells the urge, replaces it with something like guilt, and he takes the hug as it’s given to him, because he’s big and ugly and hulking; such things were not meant for him.

his heart beats and bares fangs against his ribs, meaning he’s flustered from the gesture --- she’d twice-push poison into your veins than admit she loved you, that something kept her coming back, that she might have been afraid. a large, calloused hand presses and holds the nape of his neck, brushing beads of sweat from the ends of his hair.

a thick chuckle is rumbled out from his throat, amused and almost mocking, carrying the weight of a big brother about to tease.

“ y’ full namin’ me now, uh? ”

a pause, a small look at her and her shoulders. his questions of when was the last time you ate ? rise forward, “ can’t says I blame ya. ”

she’s sort of cute when insistent. he can’t help but oblige, “well, ma, if youse really gotta know ... had t’move some stuff ‘cross state f’a lady.” it had been muggy and wet and damp in the back of the moving truck, where they sat shoulder to shoulder like good little soldiers, and he could not help but think that this is how SLAVES were transported.

( i ain’t no one’s slave. )

he’s still angry about the subject, his tone digging further into its urban inflection, coming out harshly and tapering off again.

“ who t’fuck y’think ya talkin’ to, though? when’s d’last time you ate? “

#bloodiedwolf #i' M

@bloodiedwolf

he wants to say that maybe he’s sorry. it comes out as a gob of blood and spit and snot out in the gutter, a sniff from his nose, a sag in his shoulders so prominent, it looks as a bent coat-hanger might underneath a heavy coat.

he wants to say something like ‘i love you’, but there’s no words for someone like him, and he inherited stubbornness from The Fool drawn from a tarot deck some years back. there’s one difference, jack thinks, and it’s that fools can have everything ; fools have.

but maybe he doesn’t want to tell her that.

he settles for his shoulder hovering near hers, not touching or pressing, but almost.

the bruise on his face aches. an improvement to his look, maybe.

he wants to tell her he missed her.

#bloodiedwolf #B')

his shoulders are tense ; hulking ; halting ; still. blood on his knuckles and his wrists and his palms and everything is raw rubbed down to the second-layer of skin, niceness halted abruptly in favor for FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT because this is all he is, and this is all he is good for.

( HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO TELL YOU PEOPLE? HOW MUCH MORE DO I GOTTA BREAK? )

he wants to yell. he wants to scream. he settles for his knuckles cracking against a wall, with the wall coming back cracked and his knuckles throbbing.

he heaves a sigh like he’s heaving the burden of the world into the garbage where it belongs: angry, shallow, caught in his throat, tagged with a growl.

he stares at the grooves of his palms like he might find jesus in them; the answer to patience, maybe. he gets nothing but the blood and the chafing from his knuckles.

#open to mutuals.#v: the meek will get what's coming to them.#have my big angry mutant bastard