STRONG WATERS. @enochredding-blog - Tumblr Blog

hicktownvampirex:

“Oh…shit, sorry man,” he stopped swinging them so he won’t hit him. “Just thought I lost ‘em. Didn’t mean to start swingin’ everywhere.”

“You’re all right,” he drawled. “Where the hell’d you find those things anyway?”

#brady #(:

stephenneeley:

As Stephen sat himself down next to the stranger, napkin still pressed firmly against his nose to keep the blood from trickling down onto his Armani shirt, he lifted his fingers to the bartender to order a drink for himself. Though he’s been staying away from alcohol for a while, he figured he deserved one now. “Maybe something like that,” he shrugged. “Not on purpose, but it sure happens often enough.”

Red had been there before. Sometimes losing control and engaging in chaos was the only way to feel something. The werewolf motioned to the bartender to put his order on his tab, and turned back to the stranger when he began to speak. “Any particular reason? Or are you just a magnet for trouble?” He propped his arms on the edge of the bar. “Name’s Red, by the way,” he offered, extending his scuffed hand.

#stephen #red sees himself in stephen #young and reckless

lailarenaud:

He sounded as though he’d lived a hundred lifetimes. There was an easiness to his tone, a curve around syllables that didn’t bump into each other– the man’s words indicated that he had all the time in the world. Laila’s own voice was a constant battle against clipped words and pronounced vowels, French had been her first language, Quebecois stained her speech when she didn’t pay much attention. Crystalline eyes sparked with intrigue, her grin widened. “I think you’re all talk.”

“Sounds like a challenge, but I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he said, rolling his broad shoulders. The motion simulated the easy shake of a wolf’s pelt upon rising from a nap among the weeds. Red hadn’t been interested in a woman since he’d met Vera, the judge’s daughter, in the Alabama backwoods. His better judgement told him to steer clear of blondes with slow-blinking eyes, whose smirks were just as fiendish as his own. He had to wonder if she were some siren come to dash him on the rocks just like the others. The moment felt stretched, like a long summer’s afternoon, but he was just fine with that. “Where you headed right now?” He took a sip of his coffee, and looked on somewhat hopeful she’d let him tag along.

#laila

hxwlingimogen:

Imogen nodded. He had a point, several valid ones at that. The girl tucked a strand of stray brown hair behind her ear as she contemplated relenting the details. “I do act on them,” she admitted, finally lifting her chin a bit higher when she looked at Red. “Sometimes it’s fun. Sometimes it’s not that fulfilling. Then people get mad about it and I can’t understand why. Just because my normal is different from their normal doesn’t make it bad right?”

The older werewolf watched as she tucked a delicate strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. He couldn’t reconcile the fragile being he was seeing before him with the image of the monster she was claiming to be. She seemed so soft, and docile — more like a fawn than a killer, or a beast. “Yeah. People will always get pissed when they can’t understand something, but you can’t defy your nature on their account.” He gave up scrubbing the bartop and found himself engaged in her completely. “You’re going to figure it out. We all do. It’s a balancing act, and it takes time.” He brushed the other stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Trust yourself.”

#imogen

landonxhastings:

“Where is said moonshine, Red? You holding out on me?” Landon downed the rest of his beer, baring his teeth in another wolfish smile before he pushed the empty glass back towards Red, “Hit me, bartender. Promise I’ll tip ya real nice.”

“You’re a wolf, Red. I’d take a hell of a lot for me to not be a fan of you.”

“You tip, now?” he shot back over his shoulder. Presently, he was reaching up and digging through an old collection of bottles on the top shelf. At the back was a discoloured mason jar with a pale liquid inside. He gingerly unscrewed the lid, and gave the vile stuff a sniff, before pouring them both a long shot. “Here.” He pushed it toward him. “You wanna get hit — this stuff kicks like a mule.”

“Well, it’s mutual. Now, shut the hell up and drink.”

#landon

averyxlostsoul:

Avery had been stalking, following a sweet scent for over a mile. She had felt no control over her actions; continually pleaded with herself to stop but it seemed she had given up long ago. Her breath was heavy and her shoes echoed on the pavement. She was frustrated and could only see what was right in front of her. She had fed just a week ago, the time between these cravings was getting shorter and shorter between. Whatever was giving off that scent wasn’t even in sight.

She forced her feet to stop moving as soon as a building came into sight, taking a deep breath. This was her chance to cop out. The door creaked behind her and she tried to steady her breath. She watched defensively as a man stood up from behind the counter, clenching her fists. “Um, yeah…I guess I am. This is a bar right?”

His establishment had welcomed many from all walks of life, but the appearance of a vampire was a rarity. Several of the other wolves nursing their moonshine in the darker corners of the room quieted, and he could see their hackles rising as if a war banner had been raised. Red, on the other hand, had never had much experience with vampires. His aversion to them was something he figured was instinctual, an age-old rivalry which transcended the realms of his own experience. It must have lived in his blood, but he was stubborn enough to ignore it.

His eyes trailed along the her willowy frame, and he reached beneath the bar to grab two long-necks from the cooler. Experienced, gruff hands cracked the caps off. “Hell, yeah, it’s a bar,” he answered. “But I might not serve what you’re after.” Red kept one beer for himself, and slid the other across the ragged bar top. An offering of peace, perhaps. The other wolves didn’t seem to have much problem with it, and went back to their card game with a few unintelligible growls. “What can I do ya for?”

#avery

landonxhastings:

Landon downed most of his drink, huffing out a laugh, “You have such a way with words, Red. Real adorable. I’m still not sure why you like this town so much. I had much more fun in Russia. Vodka all around.”

“Nah, of course not. If I piss someone off, they come and tell me. Most of the time they end up dead.”

He poured himself a tumbler of straight whiskey, and took a deep draw from his cigarette. The ghost of a smirk lived on his lips, because no matter what he said, he enjoyed banter with Landon. He snorted at the adorable comment, no entirely sure how to respond to it. “You sayin’ you don’t like my moonshine? Bullshit.”

“Think I’ll stay over here on your good side if that’s all right with you.”

#landon

hxwlingimogen:

Nervous fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as the tables were flipped. About her? She sighed, resisting the wolf that stirred inside in fearful anticipation of a response there after. “I…had the thoughts again,” she admitted. The usual sweet whispers from the tree naturally, but it was dead now. Laid to waste due to some reason or another. Yet a moments flash of anger and red before her eyes and there it was. It struck her as strange momentarily, and then she had to go. The woods were such a solace that she did find it weird seeking shelter elsewhere. “I’m not safe for people.” Imogen’s gaze found the open area, looking at the last of the stragglers still ambling around and collecting their things to go as if indicating people in general was what she meant. “I think I’m broken.”

The werewolf kept his promise. He let her speak, and he didn’t interrupt. The pauses dividing her admissions were pregnant, and weighted, but he let them stand alone; he didn’t lift his guttural voice and interject with unsolicited advice. Red could recall the years that followed after he was turned. The pierce of a full porcelain moon, and the way it ravaged his body into something unrecognizable. Over a century later, he embraced the beast that lumbered inside of him. In the dark of night, when the land around his farmhouse emptied and only moonlight glared, he would wander the open plains and embrace his smoky pelt. But it took time. It took facing his reflection in still pools and accepting what he had become. “Yeah, you might be,” he answered honestly. “But your thoughts don’t define you. It’s what you do, and what you don’t do that matters.”

#imogen

stephenneeley:

The self-destructive attitude was nothing new for Stephen, but the method he used was different than usually. Instead of drowning himself in alcohol and lifting his spirits with drugs, he depended on other stimuli, such as adrenaline and pain to drag himself out of the self-pitying mood he’d been in for hours. The blood trickling down his nose into his stubble seemed to give him a boost of energy, feeling like he was ready to punch back when his attacker was pulled off him by a stranger. “Don’t tempt me, I might take you up on it,” he huffed, taking the other man’s hand and pulling himself up. “Fuck, that guy was way fucking bigger than I thought he was,” he groaned as he reached for a napkin to press against his nose.

Red passed the napkin to him, and sunk back down on his barstool. The guy he’d punted in the ribs was still crumpled by the jukebox where the werewolf had left him. When he wasn’t in his own bar, he didn’t feel compelled to drag the trash out to the curb. So, he left him there. “Gentle as a lamb, now,” he muttered, reaching behind him to grab his beer. After a long pull from his long-neck, he gave the young man a once over. “So, you got a death-wish or something?”

#surprise #face claim change #stephen

@averyxlostsoul

At this hour, when the sun was setting beyond the mountains, the bar was just about empty. A man with more troubles than he had teeth in his head had been bent over a stale pint of ale since noon, and a couple of young men were sat around a round table playing a silent game of Rummy. Smoke twirled in the angles of light shooting in through the windows, and Red was elbow deep in trying to fix a clogged tap.

When the door creaked open and clattered shut, Red pushed himself off the floor, and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he huffed in surprise. At first glance, he would’ve assumed she was lost. A young girl wandering into a place like this at dusk was a rare thing. It was like spotting a fawn in an open field without its mother. He laid down his tools, and wiped the sticky beer and grease from his calloused hands with his rag. He’d been about to offer her a beer, but then the wind carried her scent, and he bristled slightly instead. “Looks like you might be a little lost.”

#avery #hope this is okay!

hicktownvampirex:

“Thought these things were gone by now,” Brady said as he started playing with his old nunchucks from when he was obsessed with Martial Arts movies and Bruce Lee. He played with them for a while before staring at them again. “Missed these things.”

“ -- all right, just watch where you’re swingin’ ‘em, brother.”

#brady #hii!#i'm grey

hxwlingimogen:

“Thanks.” Imogen hated having to each out for help, but some cases even she knew when there was no time to push boundaries. She didn’t always want to inflict harm, but sometimes it just happened. Or had to happen rather. walking inside, the found a barstool to sit up on as she glanced over at the male as he came in. “How has your night been?”

He held two bottles of whiskey, one in each hand. They were both a dark, amber colour, aged nearly eight years. Once behind the bar, he stuck them on the highest shelf, and pushed them to the back. “Same old shit,” he answered honestly, throwing a few dirty glasses in a bus tub, and scrubbing at a few water marks on the bar top. “I’m more interested in hearin’ about your night.” He gave her a look, his eyes managing to look simultaneously worried and stern. He leaned back, his hands propping him against the bar behind him. “You talk, I’ll listen.”

#ignore text #imogen

lailarenaud:

It was the movements that caught her attention, sharp eyes glanced upwards; but the pulse of a heart that beat too fast to be that of a human’s confirmed. Werewolf. Interest made her lips curve upward like the flicked end of a cat’s tail, another stray, what were they all doing in Ashbourne? Laila flicked her attention towards her phone, reading the time there, “We’re a minute down, I don’t see any yet.”

It was more surprising to Red that he’d been spotted in a Starbucks than it was that he’d crossed paths with another werewolf; they were a dime a dozen in Ashbourne, but repartee was hard to come by. The wolf liked the mischievous up-turn of her eyes, and her parted lips which suggested something unspoken lived on her tongue. “You’re not lookin’ hard enough is all,” he answered, his voice low and meandering like summer winds on a dirt road.

#laila

landonxhastings:

Landon grinned, leaning forward, “Okay, true. Don’t fuck with my beer, Red. I like you – but don’t ruin the beer,” he whined.

“How is this place doing, anyway? Taking in anymore strays? You look like a badass but we both know you’re the epitome of a heart of gold.”

He lifted a playful eyebrow at the wolf as he slid the cold stout across the splintered bar top. The glass glistened in the low light, catching rays from shuttered windows. “Lucky for you, I’ve got some respect for my wares. But you fuck with people in Ashbourne proper, expect a chilled glass of piss and vinegar.”

“Less about havin’ a heart of gold, and more about payin’ the light bill,” he shot back, his southern drawl thick and sap-like. Landon was right, though, which was irritating. “It’s goin’ all right. Why? You needin’ a place to lay low?” He was half-joking. He knew the werewolf had a penchant for pissing off, nay, killing the wrong people.

#landon

lorenzode-santis:

“I didn’t exactly opt into the harvest.” He was a nobleman, even five hundred years following his servitude. The De Santis’ rarely lay near crops and tended to the land. It was the work of peasants. And not only was Lorenzo far from a peasant, but he was closer to God than most men would ever be. Grumbling under his breathe, Lorenzo reaches for the shovel and tosses it in the werewolf’s direction – maybe he’d accidentally stake his heart and rid himself of the nightmare.

“Well, we peasants don’t really have a choice, do we?” he caught the shovel, and gave Lorenzo a once over before thrusting the spade deep into the earth. The rocky soil was thirsty, and crumbled easily at his efforts. After a few grim moments of digging, the diseased roots were excavated. The sweat poured into his eyes, and the sting of salt burned his busted lip. Red stood, knocking loose dirt from his jeans, and stretching his back.

“Guess this sorta work ain’t really for you lofty types, is it?” He relished picking on Lorenzo, mainly because he took himself so seriously. “I’d offer you a beer, but ..” He grabbed his long-neck which had been perched precariously on a leaning fence post and took a long swig.

#lorenzo #ignore text

lailarenaud:

Laila lifted the drink to her lips, taking a cautious sip– just in case it was too hot. The drink was oversweetened, a mess of syrup and caramel, just the way that she liked it; the blonde’s lips curved into a smile. “Thanks,” she passed off, giving the man another sideways glance, gesturing towards the inky beverage that he was trying to put a lid on. “You know, they say that there’s always something a little wrong with people who drink their coffee black.”

The tar-like liquid splashed on his palm as he argued with the cheap, plastic lid. It was hot, but he didn’t hiss or curse; his rough hands had suffered worse and wore the nicks and scars to prove it. “Welcome,” he answered, finally managing to pop the lid in place. The werewolf was about to turn towards the door when the woman’s voice grabbed him by the scruff and reeled him in again. He leaned against the creamer station, and chuckled. “Spend another five minutes with me, you’ll probably see another red flag.”

#laila

landonxhastings:

“Give me whatever you have on tap, Red. You know I’m not a picky guy,” Landon grinned, a toothy smile that he had no problem with. “Please. You know how I treat my enemies. They don’t live to see me longer than…maybe twenty seconds. But here I am – still at this thing you call a bar.”

Red poured him one of his home brews wordlessly, while tonguing a cigarette stuck between his teeth. When Landon made a jab at his bar, he spun on his heel and gave the original werewolf a loveless and condescending look. “You’re old enough to know not to fuck with the people serving your beer.”

#landon #sorry for the big gif

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