I loved you and i lost you.

Indie Selective OC. Written by ℑayne.

[penniesfortheferryman]

@cyniiic;; 

        Kharon tilts his head at the other, auburn hues sweeping over the others from         as he takes in the others soul. It was stuffed full of guilt and sadness, which         was held together by deep scars. It was actually quite bad, to a point where         it was all he could focus on. 

                                              “I think I need a drink… or some ice cream. Do you                                                know where I can find some?”

[cyniiic]

Hues, black as night and twice as heavy, glance up at the stranger. He will examine him for a moment, a vague kind of curiosity that he only slightly tries to suppress. 

       “I don’t know about ice cream but drinks are my forte.”

Ah, here we go. A smile, white toothed and wolfish, charming to its core. (a mask perhaps but one he looks most handsome in.) Gaze flickers down for a moment, considering options before he looks back up,

          “There’s a bar around the corner from here. I’ll accompany you if you’d like.”

Lonely, lonely, lonely. Don’t leave him with his own thoughts one more. He’s a man who would rather share drinks with a stranger than mind his own company for over an hour.

[cyniiic]

D’ABLO

Whatever I want? That’s a difficult promise to keep, considering I have too much money to know what to do with it, and drugs got a little old.

Unlike the man doubled over in front of him, D’Ablo has had far too much experience with first aide. Usually on himself, seeing as to how he finds hospitals tedious and far too controlling, even if it is for his own good; if it were up to him, he’d walk right out and get into another fight without his previous wound having been healed yet.

Tell you what. He crouches in front of him, looks him in the eye. You feed me – I won’t specify the number of times – and I’ll save your life. Sound good?

“Anything.”

Regrets the reinforcement of the word as soon as it leaves his mouth. Call it gut instinct. Face to face, eye to eye and he’s no longer sure if the nausea comes from lack of blood or the man that stands before him. 

      (oh, but that agreement threatens to bring up bile.)

parasite, leech, he tries to imagine something feeding on him. 

      “You’d drain me dry anyway. I’d last less than a month.”

Dying the same way, just slower- bleeding out over an extended period of time. No, no, no. Abraham has come too far, sacrificed too much, lost too much, to die just yet. Lips purse, grimacing into a thin line- skin turning ashen, cheeks a chalky white, sweating hard.

Laboured breaths, words all but panted,

     ( he never thought dying would hurt this bad. )

 “Never too much. Anytime you want, as much as you need, as long as you want. But never too much. I stay ALIVE.”

And it’s not as though he is in the position for bartering, edges of his vision blurring, struggling to focus on D’Ablo alone. But that is his one condition. He’s not ready for death, not ready for the other side, not for some time.

        No fear for a higher judgement.

                   Just the fear of facing Carrie once more.

Intake of breath, shallow and shaking, muttered 'fuck' under his breath. Pain fading now, replaced with something new, something colder,             "Deal."

[annphitrite]

i am away without much internet once again — going to be absent until monday/Tuesday most likely. To make up for this pls accept a picture of this super cute pup we received at the rescue centre the other day. Her name is Daisy and she is a delight t b h

[scapedgoat]

@cyniiic

                  “ you know there could be MANY uses for a pretty face like yours. ”

[cyniiic]

“ ∅h??? And what uses might you suggest?”

[cyniiic]

???

Only a fool wouldn’t hear the displeasure in the stranger’s voice, and Elliot liked to think he was no fool. Gaze lifted from where they were resting, unfocused, on the ground before him, hues blinking lazily at the stranger inquiring if he was alright. Memories that weren’t his pressed at his mind, the sensations of sunshine warming skin, of grass itching at bared skin, of laughter as clear as crystal bombarded his senses and, for a moment, the shifter was silent, simply staring at the man. A blink turned into two into three, before lips uncoupled and words left him in a question, confusion causing eyebrows to knit together and lips to tilt down into a frown that wasn’t wholly caused by the memories filling his mind – this stranger wasn’t asking out of the goodness of his heart, and that itched at Elliot’s mind, frown deepening the slightest.

    “What was that?”

Black hues are not without their weight, uncomfort clear in the lines that burrow into his face. Goodness does not come so easy, its innate presence has long since been buried in a casket of remorse and regret. Stance shifts, posture stern and tall although the fidgeting in his fists suggests an uncertainty to which he cannot name. He will clear his throat, dislodging some imaginary barrier that has set up between his tonsils and his teeth,

“I asked if you were alright. You seemed...”

Here he trails off, have mercy, this comes as unnaturally as solidity to a willow. He had thought what? That his presence may provide some form of solace? Another clearing of the throat, clumsy almost, a rarity. He will step backwards, as though to distance himself from the entire affair. "My mistake. Sorry to have intruded." 

[cyniiic]

V

The long look that it sent his way should probably be a warning of what is to come next.

That being said shoe, aiming for his face.

“You’re right, they look better planted in your face.”

“Glad to see your tolerance for constructive criticism is on on the rise. That being said, aim for my eyes. At least then I won’t have to continue viewing the monstrosity.”

          He’s teasing, mostly. "What are you dressed up for anyway?"

[cyniiic]

???

“ So … I’m guessing your date went wrong? Or are you trying to suggest we do something together? “

“I don’t date. And, whilst I’m not opposed to the latter idea it wasn’t quite where my thought direction was heading.”

[cyniiic]

@screwedovcr

"I can’t go swimming. Hours of effort go into my hair. It’d be a waste of my morning.”

                       Vanity finds a new muse in Abraham Jackson. 

[cyniiic]

@xviperinae

“Okay--- I’m doing this for you, just keep that in mind.

                   ---Those shoes look horrendous with that shirt.”

[cyniiic]

@deafoedafama 

“It’s not a date unless there’s food. If it’s just drinks then it’s just fucking.”

[cyniiic]

guess who is back???? pls feel free to LIKE for a starter but otherwise i will be working on some drafts. 

[cyniiic]

ANNIE

She’s blushing, a faint dusting across her cheeks that she hopes the dim light covers up well. Come on, Anneliese, get yourself together. Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean you have to turn into a weak-kneed damsel.

Okay. You can’t blame her. Also, beer.

Yeah, actually. She sticks out her hand, determined to shake the other’s firmly and establish that she’s not to be messed with.

Even though she cries when she swats mosquitos out of the air.

Anneliese. Or Annie, if that’s too much of a mouthful. A beer would be nice.

If he had mercy somewhere in his soul perhaps he would note the flush of her cheeks and withdrawl but mercy has never been on the cards for Abe. He enjoys this far to much.

“Anneliese.” Toys with it on his tongue, “It’s the prettiest mouthful I’ve ever tasted”

The hand is accepted, clasped firmly as firmly as the pretty little smirk that resides on his face,

     “Abraham. It’s a pleasure, Anneliese.”

He turns to the bar and gestures (with a smoothness earned only through practice) for the bar tender, 

         “One whiskey on the rocks and a beer for the  d i v i n e  lady stood next to me.”

[cyniiic]

@xviperinae

The club itself is excessive, draped with gold and glittering décor to make Jay Gatsby himself weep. He returns to the booth where Viper waits, two cocktails in hand. (he dragged her out to this place after all, it is the least he can do to buy her drinks.) 

         “Come on, try and smile. I need you to be my wing woman.” 

[screwedovcr-deactivated20190501]

+cyniiic

@cyniiic​ clicked the black, black heart !

If one more person stops me in the street to tell me smoking will give me lung cancer I will personally see to it they get my boot so far up their ass it will come out of their mouth.

With that graphic description fresh in both their minds, he takes a drag of his seventh cigarette in the last hour.

Scratch that. I’ll pull a Vlad Tepse and shove a pole up their ass.

[cyniiic]

“Charming.”

Despite the sarcasm in his words lips curve up with the faintest trace of amusement. His own cigarette (the first of the day, he cannot afford to be as reckless after all) dangles loosely between fingers. 

       “How does it work?”

He’s an intelligent man, the type of being who is curious even where they should refrain. By means of explanation he continues, 

          “I mean, do you self repair after every cigarette? How have you not been left with a smokers cough for the rest of your...prolonged life?”

Somewhere near the end he falters, apparently uncomfortable once more with the idea of present company being less than human.

[cyniiic]

D’ABLO

Bored?

It’s like D’Ablo has never heard ‘eternity’ and ‘boring’ used in the same context. Though, if he thinks about it, the human has the smallest of points.

Eternity may become dull if you don’t know how to use it to your advantage.

He’s almost swelling with pride now, rightfully so. He runs a feared, revered council. Taking any more advantage of eternity than that would be impossible.

Of course, he’s not going to go boasting about it to this man.

And I am well practiced in using immortality to my advantage. Reading and fucking never get dull. There’s always new material …  and there will always be new people.

A knowing grin.

What do you do? Apart from pretending you’re not afraid of me?

There’s no use hiding it. He can sense the effort there is in keeping heart rate steady, muscles relaxed in a casual stance.

A grimace, displeased by the ease to which D’Ablo can apparently read him. Still, he continues the act, stance shifting to stand more firmly. A forced  laugh that is supposed to appear dismissive of such an accusation, 

      “I’m not afraid of you.”

Correction: horrified, terrified, sickened by the understanding that monsters are not just made for fantasy. 

Uncomfortable with the lie in his own words he continues a little to quickly.  Although this is the poker face that has got him so far, phlegmatic from his impassive eyes to the impersonal smile that twists his lips. 

               (no doubt D’Ablo will still KNOW but he keeps, at least, a figment of control.)

       “I fuck and I sell.”

He will leave the business of what he sells blank for the imagination.  Disliking the idea of delving to deeply into his affairs with the man before him. 

[cyniiic]

D’ABLO

That’s an interesting way to put it.

Never will there ever be a more blatant lack of concern in his voice, unless a child picks this moment to drop their ice cream and wail about it.

In which case he’ll drop kick it to the moon.

Are you going to be needing a hospital?

Say no. It smells good.

HONESTLY, he really is trying to focus. But there’s this incessant ringing in his ears and his heartbeat seems louder than previously recalled, echoing through his head with a DIZZYING magnitude. Hues, heavy and dark, flash up to the speaker- D’Ablo. Of course, it’s D’Ablo. Of all the faces that he should see, of all the people that might prompt FEAR.

           Focus.

                                Hospital. 

“No. No hospital. To many questions. Ah--- Shit. I just need---...”

Just need what. It’s not as though he is well versed in first aid of even the most basic kind and he’s loosing blood fast.  A snap decision is made, despite his better judgement. He is a creature clinging to the scraps of SURVIVAL.

    “Help me and I’ll give you whatever you want. Money, drugs, anything.”

[brokenmagxc-a]

@cyniiic || don’t leave

                  “ hey – ” he REACHES for the other’s shirt and CLINGS to the end he is able to grab ; he wants to be HELD, but doesn’t know HOW to say it. “ – um. don’t – don’t leave me. please. ”

[cyniiic]

There is SURPRISE- this is, perhaps, the most PROMINENT feature. But, before it truly has a chance to blossom, TENDERNESS  follows in its wake. Dark hues will reveal a concern that he is not yet comfortable enough to express as he cups the others cheeks, a PROMISE mumbled between the lines of his words as his lips meet the others forehead, “I can stay a while longer.”