#bcrclay

[withalisp]

@bcrclay   liked.

                    her bag taps against her thigh,  keys inside jingling in rhythm with each step.  over her humming she can hear quiet whimpers,  a  puppy  to her left caught in the bottom of a broken fence !  quick she is to kneel  &  untangle it from it’s spot,  lifting it into her arms to inspect for  wounds.    ❝  he  yours ?  ❞    eyes glance up at the stranger passing by,  probably  not  ( what a coincidence that would be ! )  but there’s no harm in asking.

[hisfinessearchive]

@bcrclay / gets sticky fingers.

        Wipe that goddamned look off of your face, Solo.

                   ( It’s indicative. He saw a nice, pricey painting earlier. )

[vacancysign-blog1]

@bcrclay liked this

               ❝ i would warn that crossing my path will give you BAD LUCK, yet i have the unfortunate feeling someone else has beat me to it. ❞ black fur creates a vague blur. his tail sweeping back and forth, casual as if conversations of these sort are common.

[youthfulrot-blog]

@bcrclay

     “You ready, Andy?” She stands under the awning of Queen Road’s abandoned malt shop    a perfect secluded place to do the ignominious deed of turning this beloved companion into an un-dead parental. Molly gazes up at him with a set of stormy hues ready to bubble over with excitement. Never had she turned someone before. This was going to be legendary. 

“It’s gonna pinch a lil’ when I bite you. When you drink my blood, only then will you turn into what I am.Ya got that? Now, Andy, I’m gonna be honest... After you drink my blood, a painful ten second transformation will start. Your body will feel like its dying, but it’ll be over soon.” 

She flashes him a smile, reaching up to curl a strand of hair behind his ear. “No long faces, okay? We’re gonna have fun. Just THINK of all the fun we’re gonna have. Kay~?”

[youthfulrot-blog]

@bcrclay ♥ starter call.

        “Whatcha readin’?” Molly is peering over the shoulder of the male sitting at the bus stop’s bench. A thick fog envelops the area, covering the knobby knees of the petite vampire. She raises her brow and lowers her tinted shades to get a better look at the sentences strung across the page. 

                      “You waitin’ for the bus?”

[empathyeatings]

     ‘ you’re lucky, you know. other people wouldn’t be this nice. ’  for a man who feels so much, all at once, he never manages to share that under the circumstance of conversation. he speaks his mind, but he is shallow in passing, the shell of a man. he observes without bias, naturally records what he sees by the tip of a cut-throat tongue.

will graham is an outsider to all his relationships, and he stands behind clear glass as he watches the world go by. his view is in high definition but behind it, the flimsy fabrics of reality distorted seems to be a thing only he can corrode with his eyes, pick apart and consume. why does no-one else acknowledge it? 

     because half the world is blind.

     more than half.  ‘ and i wasn’t talking about myself. ’

[vacancysign-blog1]

@bcrclay liked this forever ago, my bad

               despite the passing years, the multiple homicide involving his mother’s stolen identity is still alive and well. court orders to erase their family’s home from hollywood’s many murder tours are have failed time and time again. it’s this morbid curiosity of fans and freaks alike that has glen slowing to a stop as he nears the property’s gated entrance. hey, shitface, who’s the creep? turning back is considered. he fiddles with his hands instead.

               ❝ uhm --- sir? this... this is PRIVATE property. ❞