dark scheming !

somebody  mixed  my  medicine  and  somebody's  in  my  head  again.   depedendent  maxwell  harvey  for  asphxyiahq.   

[yafictionquotes]

Holly Black, Black Heart

[sitacross]

@ravensflutter

[sitacross]

    (  curran walters,  18,  he/him  ) welcome to san francisco, MAXWELL HARVEY. rumor has it they are a FAIRY, but only they could tell you the truth! when i close my eyes, i think of them and imagine STACKED FILES, LOOSE FLOORBOARDS AND SHOWING TEETH.

for  his  og  intro,  click  here.  for  his  possession  of  jackson,  click  here.  

tl;dr;  he  possessed  jackson  ackery  when  he  arrived  back  in  san  francisco,  now  lives  with  him  in  a  symbiotic  relationship.  think  venom  and  eddie  brock  but  max  allows  jackson  to  come  out  based  on  his  own  good  judgement.  he  then  met  parker  tyrell  and  started  a  sherlock  and  moriarty  dynamic  with  her.  until,  unbeknownst  to  them  both,  he  fell in  love  with  her  and  became  somewhat  of  a  person.  

SEASON 1;  

season  one  started  with  his  possession  of  jackson  ackery.  he,  at  first,  thought  he  would  be  a  pain  as  he  chose  him  aesthetically,  not  for  the  company.  to  his  surprise,  they  aligned  well.  jackson  enjoyed  taking  a  backseat  and  watching  max  enact  his  darkest  inclinations.  it  works  for  both  of  them.  he  also  seems  to  have  pretty  apt  commentary.  

he  met  parker  by  accident.  he  was  standing  in  his  apartment,  soaked  in  blood  and  being  well  himself.  it  quickly  became  clear  to  him  that  she  wasnt  just  anyone.  thus  began  the  slow  process  of  learning  about  the  only  person  who  had ever  come  to  best  him.

she  didn’t  entirely  unravel  his  narcissism  but  she  opened  his  mind  enough  to  allow  it  to  include  two  people.  he’s  pretty  sure  she’s  the  only  other  person  worthy  of  anything  in  the  world. 

he  also  came  to  know  v  during  his  time  in  jackson’s  body  and  assisted  in  entirely  breaking  ever’s  spirit.  they’re  friends  now,  brothers  he  might  even  say.  jackson  doesn’t  seem  to  mind,  although  he  does  want  to  take  a  head  trip  with  v  one  day.  just  to  see  what  it’s  like.

the  biggest  change  is  by  far  the  way  he  lives  his  life.  parker  has  shown  him  that  in  order  to  be  truly  superior  one  has  to  mingle  in  the  ordinary  world.  he’s  taken  her  advice.  he’s  enrolled  at  her  school,  under  a  criminal  psychology  major  because  of  course  he  has,  and  has  even  cleaned  up  his  apartment.  it  looks  ordinary  now,  and  he’s  struck  by  the  idea  he’s  not.  as  per  usual,  parker  was  right.  

[darlingkays]

[sitacross]

darlingkays‌:

Let’s dance.

@ravensflutter​

[dcmultiverse]

Jason Todd in Titans 2.13 “Nightwing”

[sitacross]

    when  he  gets  back  into  his  apartment,  still  before  dawn,  he  has  to  chuckle  at  the  symmetry.  this  is  how  he  and  jackson,  well,  met.  an  open  door,  an  open  cabinet,  a  call  out  to  the  supposed  inhabitant.  (  we  should  see  harlow  sometime,  jackson  reminds  him,  and  he  can’t  help  but  agree.  he’ll  add  it  to  his  to  do  list.  )  he  drops  his  bag  by  the  door,  kicks  off  his  shoes  and  goes  to  walk  into  the  kitchen.  “  ooh,  smells  delicious.  ”  jackson  has  to  agree.  he  gets  the  lions  share  by  default,  or  at  least,  experiences  most  of  what  he  does.  (  dealers  choice.  )  he  has  to  chuckle  at  the  anatomically  correct  heart  on  the  plate  beside  the  stove.  (  it  is  accurate,  he  has  to  give  v  that.  )  “  glad  to  know  you’re  using  your  key.  ”  and  discretion.   @vurasisms​

[sitacross]

ravensflutter‌:

the last thing she expects is …  understanding. that’s basically what it is, right? he does say it himself: he knows what that feels like. something told her he would, quite a while back. it was staring her right in the face but, truth be told, the foundation of this GAME they’ve been playing can only be that one good, old saying: it takes one to know one. she doesn’t know what that says about HER, given what HE is ( or, rather, she’s still hesitant about knowing ), but it feels just a little less like some giant leap into the dark unknown and more like  —-  routine. like just another puzzle she has to fix and piece. and, strangely enough, the odd comfort of someone that wants to see it solved too  –  whatever his motives. if she had to guess, they’re probably not PURE or selfless, but she doesn’t need them to be either. she’s not that kind of person, clearly. ( she’s not a mighty fighter for justice and all that is RIGHT, wake up, girl. ) she lets him talk and, this time, there are no wheels turning. she doesn’t store this into her brain, but rather somewhere else, where she reaches whenever FRIGHT and questions doom her nights. the corners of her lips rise  —-  and she lets herself smile. half in amusement, half in …  fondness? yeah, that’s it. ( she supposes accepting what this thing between them is will make a healthy step forward toward embracing who she really is. ) “ when you get bored, ” she begins, similarly tilting her head into his touch   —-   a mirror, again, “ you can try motivational speaking. ” she kind of means it. she can’t deny that, despite the darker implications in there, there’s a part of her that’s …  touched. lifted, maybe. her head tilts in, completely ignorant of whoever might be staring and marveling that PARKER HALLIWELL can actually show affection and have physical contact with another being, and she kisses him. but unlike that previous ( and first ) time, it hits different. “ i want to know, ” she confesses, and when she breaks the kiss but without really adding any other distance, it almost feels too intimate, “ and you do too. find out with me. ”

    he’s  never  known  how  other  people  feel.  he  didn’t  think  he’d  cared  after  he’d  been  through  his  evolution,  after  he’d  pulled  the  strings  he’d  been  forced  to  tug  at  for  years  out  of  his  back.  they  were  inferior  and  therefore,  their  emotional  responses,  processes,  thought  patterns  shouldn’t  matter.  he’d  never  stuttered  on  things  like  care,  or  empathy,  or  love.  they  didn’t  matter.  or,  well,  until  parker  they  didn’t.  in  some  incredible  burst  of  internal  self  awareness,  he  realises  he’s  never  felt  before.  period.  she  truly  is  causing  him  to  evolve.  in  ways  he  could  never  have  expected.  and,  if  you  were  to  ask  him  months  ago,  he  would  have  said  ways  he  never  wanted.  he  leans  into  the  contact,  his  fingers  staying  on  her  jaw.  it  isn’t  rough,  it  isn’t  brutal.  (  this,  no  matter  how  he  wants  to  dress  it  up  in  metaphors  and  mirrors,  is  intimacy.  )  “  i’d  like  nothing  more.  ”  their  honesty,  it  would  seem,  is  here  to  stay.  (  it’s  true.  in  more  ways  than  she  knows.  he  used  to  find  the  world  dull,  owing  him  a  debt  it  could  never  repay.  now,  he  feels  differently.  )  there’s  a  smile  teasing  the  edge  of  his  lips,  fingers  still  pressed  to  her  skin.  “  i  have  missed  you,  parker.  ”  yes,  since  he  last  saw  her.  since  their  last  encounter  in  that  storage  room,  since  he  last  saw  his  parker.  but  more  so,  he  thinks  he’s  missed  her  all  his  life.  a  phantom  of  her,  the  suggestion  that  he  deserved  something  more.  he  won’t  call  it  longing,  because  he  doesn’t  long  for  things,  people, and  equally  doesn’t  pine.  but  if  he  were  to  give  it  a  definition,  he  would  call  it  ...  waiting  for  the  other  player  to  sit  down  at  a  board  that’s  gathered  dust.  (  yes,  that  is,  in  a  sense,  longing.  )  

[sitacross]

ravensflutter‌:

ah, there it is. when the moment came for him to keep pushing forward, he stepped back. in a sense, this is what she’s wanted ;  she’s making strides toward that ESCAPE, toward running away from the mirror that might present her with a terribly ugly reflection. there’s that same old surge of smugness seizing her  —-  until it turns to ashes on her tongue. she can run away now. she really can. it’s her sweet victory that just doesn’t taste QUITE as sweet. at first glance, while she’s still arranging pieces on the board, it’s rather difficult to really make sense of his words, only because of how little they fit with everything they’ve been setting up. ( maybe she could dare to call it honest in a sense. ) it’s definitely different  —  different enough to not get the same feeling of queasy discomfort when he steps so much into her space. her gaze dips. she sighs, very faintly. “ i will, ” she admits, shoulders squaring as she briefly glances around, at the other buzzing students. “ do you want to know something? ” her arms are folded, like a shield, like maybe it could make this less …  impacting. “ i keep telling you that you’re wrong because i do think you are. about knowing me. ” she’s going there, making a leap. it’s just an equal ground. he’s right. this is getting tiring. so tiring she can’t even enjoy her victories anymore. not of this caliber. “ i don’t know me. how could you? ” so, maybe, in hindsight, she’s been doing nothing but put all the weight on him and his apparent ability to PULL HER OUT. whatever lies in there, in a dark corner. “ you wanted to know what i keep trying to hide behind the buttoned shirts and trimmed hair? ” she slips a hand from the grasp of her arms, reaches and sets it on the side of his face. she frowns — and puts slightly as her nail grazes along his skin. “ i don’t know. ” 

    she  reminds  him  of  himself.  a  version  of  him  that  feels  too  distant  to  connect  with  now,  but  a  version  he  can  recall  at  the  snap  of  his  fingers.  a  version  that  had  all  of  the  questions  and  none  of  the  answers.  he  tried  to  keep  his  violent  tendencies,  his  supremacy,  under  wraps  because  it  made  sense.  or  rather,  engaging  with  it  didn’t  make  sense.  he  had  no  rhyme  or  reason  to  feel  the  way  he  did,  to  take  fascination  with  the  morbid  and  grasp  at  the  intangible.  he  didn’t  know  he  was  swimming  boredom,  swimming  in  repressed  desires,  until  he  looked  daisy  in  the  eyes  and  took  her  life.  he  recognised  who  he  was,  after  his  own  pointed  death.  maxwell  harvey  died  with  her  in  a  way.  the  parts  of  him  that  were  false,  that  were  pretence,  fell  away.  until  he  was  left.  he  thinks  he  could  do  the  same  for  her.  allow  who  she  truly  was  to  shine  through.  after  that,  well,  he  doesn’t  think  she’s  going  to  have  much  of  an  identity  crisis  left.  “  i  know  what  that  feels  like.  ”  she  knows  his  past,  has  known  for  far  longer  than  he  had  any  inclination  of,  but  she  only  knows  what  she  can  find.  she  doesn’t  know  what  he  found  in  himself.  he  takes  note  of  the  hand  on  his  face,  hasn’t  let  his  own  hands  shift  from  her  frame  yet.  “  i  was  you  once.  ”  she  must  know  that.  “  everyone  needs  an  origin  story.  ”  it  sounds  like  a  comic  book,  like  some  video  game,  when  in  reality  he  can’t  think  of  a  better  way  to  put  it.  everyone  begins,  but  so  many  people  fall  flat  in  the  middle  of  the  game.  “  but  i  stopped  pretending.  ”  when  he  says  he’s  free,  it  isn’t  an  exaggeration.  “  that’s  how  i  know  you. ”   because  he  knows  himself.  “  and  parker,  ”  he  leans  into  her  touch,  not  quite  intimate,  but  a  willing  metaphor.  if  they  give  and  take,  if  he  reaches  up  to  touch  her  jaw,  he  can  put  the  weight  behind  her  name  that  it  deserves.  “  you  are  far  more  than  you  know.  ”  people  like  them  always  were. 

[sitacross]

    he’s  no  longer  connected  with  his  old  vices.  he  hasn’t  entirely  expelled  them,  doesn’t  believe  they  aren’t  still  a  good  time,  but  part  of  evolving  is  not  falling  back  on  old  habits.  he’s  finding  simple  pleasures,  music  and  budget  food.  it’s  not  nearly  as  good,  but  he’s  learning  how  to  act  like  it  is.  he  still  strolls  down  dark  alleys  of  course,  decides  not  to  take  the  busy  main  roads.  he  likes  dwelling  where  he  truly  shouldn’t.  he’s  simply  the  bump  in  the  night  with  a  cheshire  cat  smile  brighter  than  the  glint  of  his  knife  now.  this  woman,  teeth  as  sharp  as  his  used  to  be,  clearly  doesn’t  agree.  he  can  respect  her,  takes  his  headphones  out  and  has  to  gander  at  the  beauty  of  it  all  for  a  moment.  “  let  me  guess.  ”  he’s  not  afraid.  they  find  each  other.  people  like  him.  like  parker.  “  after  dinner  snack.  ”        @cfxfangs​

[sitacross]

ravensflutter‌:

good question. she actually thinks it’s good enough to pinch in some new sense to the otherwise erratic flow of her thoughts. she likes order, that’s no secret. she likes control. here, stuck at the intersection between who she is, who she wants to be, and who she COULD be, everything clashes and strips her of that order and that control. she clings to that question instead   —-   questions herself. just like that time in the alleyway, she decides to not overthink and just give the first answers she can muster. is there a difference? yes. he says that girl is standing here, she thinks he’s wrong. in nuances, of course. “ that’s not the girl i mean, ” she muses, her head canting as a particular gleam skims across the darkness of her eyes. “ you haven’t met her yet. ” she hasn’t either. she doesn’t know if she wants to, but she relishes in the knowledge at least they’re on equal footing when it comes to that. his next move is predictable. he clearly thinks he’ll reap the same results by following the same patterns. and, again, HE’S WRONG. she doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, doesn’t change anything. ( nor does she feel the need to. ) “ max, max, max. ” she releases the hold on his wrist and proceeds to unbutton the next couple of buttons herself ( the white of the shirt looks great with the purple tank top beneath anyway ). “ have you never played a video game before? usually when you defeat a level, you advance to the next one. why are you here replaying it? ”

    you  haven’t  met  her  yet.  and  once  again,  parker  has  him  reaching.  not  straining,  not  feeling  out  of  his  depth.  he’s  intrigued.  he’s  ready.  he’s  enjoyed  their  little  game  of  cat  and  mouse,  has  enjoyed  following  her  into  the  shadows,  but  he  doesn’t  want  a  vacation  home  in  her  darkness.  he  wants  to  make  his  permanent  residence  there,  wants  to  spends  hours  languishing  in  their  unique  perception.  he  has  no  problem  in  pulling  parker  out  of  the  persona  before  him,  but  he  would  like  her  to  abandon  (  a nd  accept  in  equal  measure  )  her  collars  up.  “  oh,  parker.  ”  he  puts  emphasis  on  her  name,  makes  sure  she  connects   to  this  side  of  herself.  he’s  not  quite  halfway  there,  but  there’s  more  of  a  glimmer  than  there  was  before.  “  i  liked  the  way  it  ended.  ”  of  course  he  did,  crowded  in  darkness.  but  now,  as  he  looks  over  the  buttons  undone  and  the  lack  of  emotion  (  the  expression  that  he  remembers  so  fondly  in  it’s  absence  ),  he  realises  the  level  has  changed.  there  are  a  few  more  obstacles  now,  the  difficulty  has  increased.  it’s  enticing,  but  it’s  also  frustrating.  (  he  played  irrelevant  games  a  lot  as  an  irrelevant  version  of  himself.  )  “  when  are  you  going  to  stop  rewriting  the  levels  and  expecting  a  different  ending?  ”  he  leans  into  her,  crowds  into  her  in  the  space  as  he  did  last  time.  “  aren’t  you  going  to  get  tired  of  playing?  ”

[sitacross]

ravensflutter‌:

ouch. she doesn’t know why, but she almost takes offense to that remark. it’s not like you’re telling someone they just enjoy shedding LIGHT on a very GRIM situation. ( no, his words tie in with that theme he displays ;  berating her for her dishonesty. ) she ignores it. only because there’s only so soon she can admit she was WRONG about something. either way, it’s clear now: he triggers a very basic fight or flight response. she’s been usually dealing with the former   —-   wouldn’t hurt to try that other approach. ( no, she’s not afraid of him, but in flaunting THAT fact around, she realized that she’s afraid of herself around him instead. ) he gets up too, steps in her path as she’s about to venture away – somewhere, anywhere. at the very least, she knows what he’s doing. she knows what he’s thinking when he’s eyeing her with that GLEAM in his gaze. she has that, at least. but it’s more of a curse than a burden. despite this knowledge, it’s so little she can do with it. i know you, parker halliwell, he says, with his finger grazing the last of her shirt buttons, planting into her head a memoir of the hallway in this very school. ( it’s making her queasy, to put it mildly. ) her gaze, previously cast toward his hand, lifts to find his eyes  —  in silence. for a while. “ are you talking to me or that other girl you seem to enjoy so much? ” yeah, she knows him too. her hand lifts and closes around his wrist ( and she finds that there’s quite a bit of restraint needed on her behalf )  —  TIGHTLY. 

   “  do  you  really  think  there’s  a  difference?  ”  for  the  first  time  since  he  met  her,  he  feels  truly  powerful.  not  out  of  fear,  out  of  testing  her  limits,  but  out  of  what  he  knows.  if  knowledge  truly  is  power,  he  must  be  a  god.  “  that  girl  i  enjoy  so  much,  ”  that  girl  he  thinks  he  could  ruin  the  world  alongside,  “  is  standing  in  front  of  me  right  now.  ”  she  always  is,  always  has  been.  in  the  flickering  of  her  persona,  in  the  calculation  of  their  game.  in  the  way  she  closed  the  door.  now  he’s  stopped  trying  to  find  her.  now  he  can  he  see  her.  “  you  know  that  too.  ”  he  moves  his  hand  from  the  table,  launches  his  next  move.  the  tight  grip  on  his  wrist  is  a  welcome  reminder  of  just  how  apprehensive  she  is  about  letting  those  buttons  loose.  in  turn,  he  moves  to  unbutton  the  first,  watches  as  it  comes  free  by  her  throat.  (  appropriate,  he  thinks.  it’s  choking  her.  )  “  hello,  parker.  ”  he’s  talking  to  her,  by  name.  forcing  her  to  bring  herself  out  again.  she  won’t  back  down  from  a  challenge,  even  if  she  has  to  push  herself  back  into  the  deep,  dark  depths  of  their  world.  

[ravensflutter]

[sitacross]

ravensflutter‌:

honey, i wanna break you i wanna throw you to the hounds, yeah, i gotta hurt you, i gotta hear it from your mouth boy, i wanna taste you, i wanna skin you with my tongue i’m gonna kill you i’m gonna lay you into the ground

@sitacross

[sitacross]

ravensflutter‌:

she takes the cup. she has no reason not to. it’s not the kind of coffee she likes, but there’s a point to be made behind this simple gesture. she’ll take what he has to give her and then MAKE IT HER OWN. “ i prefer my coffee with more milk. for future reference. ” that’s all the clues she’ll offer. she thinks it’s better this way ( or more fun ;  details ). and, yes, she’s letting his little remark about how she’s not people in general pass without a response  —–  even though it definitely DOES tickle that monster ego that’s lurking within her. he’s not going to win that easily, no. she takes a sip of the drink ( she subconsciously makes a note of it because his choice means this is either what HE likes, either what he thinks she likes ) and idly observes the flocks gallivanting about the campus. WHITE NOISE. it’s his comment that reels her attention back to him, her eyes carrying a particular kind of sharpness to them. deep down, she’s a bit bummed that the stupid shirts are still so embedded in her routine and subconscious she didn’t even see this incredibly obvious comment coming  —  and it was staring right at her. “ what did you expect? ” she feigns a particular kind of confusion as she adjusts her collar. “ one fuck in a storage room and i’ll be donning my bikini for the rest of my life? ” she sets the cup back down and slides back it to him across the table, getting up and strapping her bag to her shoulder in the process. “ it’s not sweet enough. ”

    “  you  have  such  an  obsession  with  making  things  lighter.  ”  it  would  be  a  stretch  if  she  wasn’t  who  she  is.  dark  coffee,  deceptively  corrupted  with  milk.  (  a  dark  girl,  corrected  with  a  persona  and  a  few  nagging  cons.  )  it  takes  one  to  know  one,  after  all.  he  laughs,  genuine,  when  she  asks  him  about  bikinis.  “  oh,  you  know  that’s  not  what  i  mean.  ”  he  can  take  sitting  at  the  table,  waiting  for  her  to  make  a  move.  this  is  one,  of  course.  resistance  is  a  play  by  default.  he  stands  up  when  she  slides  the  drink  across  the  table,  barely  pays  it  an  idle  glance.  “  noted.  ”  he  steps  forward,  is  still  good  at  ignoring  the  world.  he’s  always  told  her  the  truth,  has  never  directly  lied.  evaded,  distracted.  to  no  avail.  he  leans  an  hand  against  the  table,  watches  her  body  language.  he  reaches  up,  stretches  out  to  graze  his  fingers  against  the  last  button  on  her  shirt.  if  this  were  a  movie  (  no  one  would  watch  a  movie  about  them  unless  it  bled  horror  in  the  opening  scene  ;  no  one  appreciates  nuance  anymore  )  this  would  be  a  moment  of  tension  with  no  obvious  respite.  “  i  know  you,  parker  halliwell.  ”  idle,  conversational.  if  he  has  to  keep  breaking  through  to  her,  he  will.  it’s  no  trouble,  no  burden.  “  i  know  you  must  be  sweltering  in  that.  ”

[sitacross]

ofashes‌:

     she hadn’t expected someone to interfere. this city was one full of cowards and pigs, in babs experience. assholes who were the type to try and kill a little blonde girl in her care, the kind she ripped the throat out of if the necessity fell ( and, that it did, so many times ). her eyes watched the young man, bending the grabby man’s arm with practiced ease that only came with experience in the field of manhandling someone like he was. the snap produced a cringe, but there was no judgment. she’d done worse in her time. had he done further she would have done worse to him. the arm was BROKEN, no doubts about it. barbara had no qualms though, how could she? she was the one the man went after, and this is what she called karma. “relatable.” well, the way he turned about and took his time was less so, but the arm breaking itself was something she FELT the want for. “actually,” and maybe she was being an idiot for wanting to reward him for that but- “i’ll buy you a drink, that is if you want one.” payment for giving her a helping hand ( a breaking hand ).

    if  you  want  one.  “  why  not?  ”  he  isn’t  going  to  turn  down  a  free  lunch.  he  offers  a  smile,  assumes  it’s  anything  but  normal,  but  isn’t  that  the  point?  he  isn’t  losing  himself,  he’s  gaining  perspective.  “  dealers  choice.  ”  alcohol  is  alcohol.  he  can  feel  the  effects  of  it  quicker  now,  of  course,  in  jackson’s  body.  (  i’ve  always  wanted  to  try  tequila,  jackson  tells  him,  and  he  supposes  he  owes  him.  their  bond  is  symbiotic.  )  “  anything with  tequila.  ”  jackson  leaves  him  to  his  ...  own  devices  when  he  sees  fit.  this  is  only  fair,  naturally.  

[sitacross]

ravensflutter‌:

the show must go on. there’s really not much you can do after you come to face a bunch of revelations that affect the very way you view the world ( and yourself ). in parker’s case, this means soldiering on, slipping back underneath the covers. she thinks back on her and max’s couple of previous encounters quite A LOT ( particularly one part about undoing her buttons: metaphorical and not ) and her own identity has been having alarms blaring all around it. but, at the end of the day, she’s COMFORTABLE. this is her status-quo, her comfort, her stability. whenever she looks in the mirror, she questions what might lie behind that reflection   —–   and decides she doesn’t want to reach out and see. so, on with buttoning her shirts she goes. she thinks that might just make her a bit of a coward, but in reality, she’s also FOCUSED. she still has her goals, has her aspirations, has the image she wants to keep polishing. ( she’s not ready to have that rug slipped from beneath her. ) though, as it seems, what she wants is not necessarily what she gets. it’s telling, in some way, that she’s not even surprised when she hears max’s voice ( grating and thrilling ). “ for me or just people in general? ” she questions dully, taking a spoonful of her parfait. she tosses one glance in his direction. “ welcome aboard. ” the bag, the access to the coffee on the campus  —-  IT’S OBVIOUS. he slithered his way into her SAFE ZONE too ( and if she had to guess, he probably made sure they’ll have as many classes in common as possible ). “ you’re a terrible serial killer, but i’ll give you points for stalking. ”

    “  well,  you’re  not  people  in  general.  ”  he’ll  never  miss  an  opportunity.  she’s  proven  that  over  and  over  again.  “  probably  moot  in  that  case,  but  it  was  fresh.  ”  he  swirls  the  drink  in  his  hand  around,  something  to  do  with  his  hands.  it  might  look  nervous  to  the  outside  world,  but  that’s  what  he  wants.  everyone  can  button  up  their  shirts  if  they  so  choose.  he  considered  wearing  glasses,  briefly.  just  for  fun.  just  to  see  how  she  would  react.  he  decided  against  it  ultimately,  but  as  she  looks  up  at  him,  (  just  once  -  well  played  )  he  remembers  he  doesn’t  need  boring  surprise  tactics  to  garner  a  reaction  from  her.  he  sits  back,  keeps  his  eyes  on  her.  “  i’ll  give  you  points  for  consistency.  ”  he  points  in  her  direction,  can’t  help  the  smug  smile  that  crosses  his  features.  “  your  shirt.  ”  he  doesn’t  say  anything  else,  doesn’t  find  it  particularly  necessary.  she’ll  know  what  he  means.  they  didn’t  have  their  last  encounter  for  her  to  button  up  again.  prim  and  proper.  (  he’s  confident  they’ll  end  up  in  a  similar  position  again.  he  knows,  if  he  knows  nothing  else  about  her,   that  they  need  each  other.  )  

[sitacross]

    it  could  never  be  said  he  wasn’t  adaptable.  he’s  mostly  given  up  his  ...  old  habits.  stringing  people  up  and  bleeding  them  was  fun,  sometimes  still  haunted  his  dreams,  but  he’s  grown  bored.  he’s  even  deep  cleaned  his  apartment.  hidden  the  bloodied  knives,  saws  and  everything  in  between  where  no  one  would  ever  think  to  look.  an  old  serial  killer’s  lair,  turned  into  a  hallowed  museum  no  one  dared  to  dwell  in.  if  they  were  ever  found,  they’d  simply  be  considered  new  evidence.  (  google  and  a  city  of  supernatural  killers  truly  was  a  sight  to  behold.  )  he’s  pulled  a  lot  of  the  furniture  back  to  it’s  previous  arrangement,  back  when  he  was  human.  he’s  gotten  rid  of  some  of  the  posters,  put  up  more  appropriate  replacements.  (  slasher  films  would  be  too  obvious.  he’s  a  fall  out  boy  fan  now.  )  he’s  even  hidden  the  remnants  of  his  nasty  little  habits  in  a  milk  carton  in  the  fridge.  everything’s  so  much  more  fun  when  it’s  hidden.  (  parker  has  taught  him  well.  )  he’s  even  enrolled  in  a  college  course.  criminal  psychology.  know  thy  enemy,  as  they  say.  (  he  refuses  to  be  a  predictable  archetype  on  a  textbook  page.  )  “  coffee.  ”  it  just  so  happens  there  were  a  few  late  admission  options  at  her  school.  luck,  of  course.  nothing  more,  nothing  less.  he  puts  the  to-go  cup  down  in  front  of  her,  drops  his  bag  beside  him  and  takes  the  seat  opposite  her.  he  doesn’t  care  whether  she  likes  coffee  or  not,  whether  she  drinks  it.  it’s  all  for  show,  isn’t  it.  he  takes  a  sip  of  his  own  drink,  some  ridiculous  chocolate  concoction,  through  the  straw.  “  i  heard  it’s  good  for  you.  ”  he’s  already  stretching  his  legs.  this,  as  always  he’s  certain,  will  be  fun.                   @ravensflutter​ 

[sitacross]

crczypants‌:

a sound of movement stirred the brunette, she jerked her head in the direction she heard it and, she tried to hold down the fear that was bubbling in her stomach. after all she was no longer immortal and wouldn’t wake an hour later if someone tried to kill her. slender olive skinned fingers balled to a fist at her sides and she keeps her eyes darting around her surroundings. “ what the h e l l was that.” amara mubmles.  @apxstarters​

    “  that ...  ”  he  comes  out,  cool  and  composed.  he’s  made  a  habit  of  lurking  in  the  shadows.  immersing  himself  in  them.  things  were  exposed that  way.  they  came  to  light  in  the  darkness  so  many  were  too  frightened  to  dwell in.  pity.  it  would  be enlightening.  how  people  behave  when  no  one’s  watching.  “  would  be  me.  ”  he  wipes  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  crimson  red,  and  doesn’t  take  note  of  her  fear.  he  used  to  revel  in  it,  find  it  reverent.  he  still  does,  to  an  extent.  but  he  no  longer  feels  the  need  to  prove he’s  capable.  he  was  looking  for  approval  in  his  own  twisted  manner  a  few  months  ago.  proving  his  worth,  his  evolution,  his  power  by  making  the  rest  of  the  world  afraid of  him.  he  still  understood  the  appeal,  still  enjoyed  the  sadism  in  inducing  panic.  he simply  no  longer  depends  on  it.  the  greatest  victory,  he  should’ve  known,  was  acknowledging  they  had  no  choice  but  to  be  afraid.  it  wasn’t  dependent  on  him,  on  his  malicious  fantasies.  it  was  dependent  on  the  monster  under  the  bed  children  see. he  would  be  best  not  to  waste  his  time.  “  i’m  not  going  to  hurt  you.  don’t  worry.  ” what  joy  could  he  glean  from  that  if  it’s  what  she’s  expecting?  

[sitacross]

ofashes‌:

         babs wasn’t a VIOLENT person. at least, when people weren’t going after the kids she was babysitting or her family. of course, she could come back from the dead. so violence in itself wasn’t a typical issue. so when she’d been grabbed by the arm, a harsh grip— well she reacted. “get your hands OFF ME.” she wondered if he predicted she’d react in such a way, or if she’d be silent in the fear he presumed. 

    interestingly  enough,  since  he’s  met  parker,  he’s  wanted  to  reintroduce  himself  to  the world.  walk  among  the  immature  and  absurd.  watch  how  they  lived  their  lives.  akin  to people  at  a  zoo,  pointing  out  the  rituals  and  behaviours  of  a  species  they  can’t possibly  understand.  he  notices  the  violence  breaking  out  a  few  feet  away  from  him, notes  how  the  woman  in  question  responds.  she’s  not  weak  spirited,  that  much  is clear,  and  he  can  only  imagine  the  man  will  be  nursing  his  wounded  pride  for  hours  if not  days  to  come.  he  walks  forward,  finishes  his  mental  notes  on  the  case,  and  goes  to  twist  the  man’s  arm.  he  yelps  out  in  pain,  so  he  twists  harder.  enjoying  the  satisfying  whines  of  pain.  he  backs  off  as  though  he  hasn’t  just  broken  a  man’s  arm,  or  planned  to  do  much  worse,  cracking  a  smile  over  at  her.  “  couldn’t  help  myself.  ”  it’s  not  that  he  particularly  cares.  he’s  simply  trying  new  ways  to  abate  his  violent  tendencies.  couldn’t  have  him  getting  boring.  a  mere  serial  killer  stereotype  in  a  psychology  text  book.