#bleedingovereden

[paleontaxi]

▸   @bleedingovereden​   ⟶   ❛  what exactly are you asking me to do ? //not sure on specific context and ik we haven't really Talked about these two but [throws ink in here for fun and flavor]  ❜   ╱   (  legend , accepting .  )

Jarod shakes his head weakly, slumped over a little on his stool.  “I don’t know,” he answers, “I don’t know.”  The words that slipped out of his mouth, some nonsense about the Brigades, did not make much sense to him, either.  And even if they did, he doesn’t know what a random bartender would be able to do to help him with his goals.  Maybe he would just report Jarod to the cops, so it’s probably better that he stops talking.  It’s not that he is afraid of the police necessarily—he has already killed an officer or two who got too close and asked too many questions—but it’s better to play things at least a little bit safe.

Usually, Jarod hates going to bars other than Palavas, where they already have his order taped up on the wall, and he doesn’t have to explain what he wants.  However, the Morning Glory is what he has in a pinch, and the bartender was quick about preparing and remembering his order.  He wonders if he should chance coming back just to test the guy, but no, he will likely go back to Palavas when the opportunity presents itself.

“Forget I said anything,” he slurs and pushes his empty glass toward the man behind the counter.  “Just pour me another one.”

[oceanoecielo]

▸   @bleedingovereden​   ⟶   ❛  everybody just expects me to bounce back. //from ink! simon got him venting a little  ❜   ╱   (  midnights , accepting .  )

Simon stares at Ink with vacant eyes that seem a touch too big for his wrinkled and sunspotted face, expression largely unreadable as he sips from the strawberry-kiwi smoothie he picked up from the shop on the corner.  He thought it was so good to see Ink away from the bar, in the daylight—such a happy coincidence.  But in a matter of moments, he discovered that the other man was not similarly blithesome.

Oh, how Simon abhors these dreary conversations that require something more than a good chortle out of him.  He is just not a comforting presence—it goes against both his nature as an avatar and his base personality once you strip all of the Expanse from him—and he can only be bothered to try for a minuscule subset of people, to which Nicky here doesn’t belong.

He listens politely, despite the lack of interest, and he finds opportunity in the word ‘bounce.’  Consolation may not be something that he is able to offer, but he can volunteer silliness and tomfoolery.  “I don’t know why anyone would expect that of you,” he says, grinning now, even though it may be tonally inappropriate.  “It has been my invariable experience that human beings are not very bouncy.”  Sometimes, they bounce, but most of the time, they just splatter.

[paleontaxi]

▸   @bleedingovereden​   ⟶   ❛  " take it easy. you're safe now, but you need to relax. " //throws ink at you. throws ink at you. thr  ❜   ╱   (  meme , accepting .  )

As Jarod’s eyes adjust to the light, he can see that it is morning or maybe mid-afternoon.  Daytime, at any rate, indiscernible exactly when through the curtains pulled shut.  The slit of sunlight peeking through makes his head scream.

He has a vague recollection of the fight he was in last night, some Brigade brat who didn’t want to meet an early end but went down eventually all the same.  They got a few good hits in on Jarod, though, which happens sometimes—occupational hazard.  He tries to sit up and grimaces when both his head and abdomen protest.

A warm hand is on his forehead, pressing him back against the pillow, and he looks over to see Ink.  “Oh, the bartender,” he murmurs.  He doesn’t recall drinking last night, but maybe he ended up near the Morning Glory, anyway.  Stranger things have happened when people end up on autopilot.

“Where’m I? What time’s it?” he asks blearily, slurring.  His eyes slip closed at the feeling of long, slender fingers working their way into his hair, and he forces them open again.  “M’gonna be late for work.”

[paleontaxi]

▸   @bleedingovereden​   ⟶   ❛  in my experience, life doesn't care much what we deserve. //from ink :3c  ❜   ╱   (  hell of a book , accepting .  )

“Don’t I know it?” Jarod says, smiling sardonically.  He is the last person who must be reminded of that fact.  “Some of the worst people in the world have everything handed to them.”  Sonya Sanchez, for example, who has everything she could ever want.  She’s the nation’s star reporter, with a limousine, tons of money she barely has to work for, men falling all over her…  And does she deserve any of it?  Of course not.

And he’s stuck in this bar, trying to flush his problems down the drain to no avail—not that it’s a bad bar by any means, far from the worst he’s ever been in.  Ink is much easier to talk to than Joe because he does not constantly flinch away from Jarod.  He is not a coward; because of that, Jarod has been coming to the Morning Glory more often, more content to leave Palavas behind.  Sure, he doesn’t always want to talk, but Ink respects that, too, and having options makes this place nicer than what Joe is offering.

“Living’s just—you gotta get lucky, and most of us don’t.”

[oceanoecielo]

▸   @bleedingovereden   ⟶   ❛  that looks like it hurts. //from Ink!  ❜   ╱   (  action-themed prompts , accepting .  )

It must have looked horrible, the way that Simon’s body smacked against the hard concrete from several stories up.  He even continued to lay on the ground for a bit for dramatic effect, his limbs splayed out at weird (but not unnatural) angles, his eyes closed, and a serene smile on his features.  Of course, the lack of blood in his mouth or leaking out the back of his skull or anywhere else was, perhaps, a dead giveaway as to the truth: that he was, in fact, not dead.  But he was still having fun with the charade, which is what mattered.

And then, he popped upright again, dusted himself off, and assessed the damage.  Not even a crater this time, not even the crack in the concrete.  He tuts disapprovingly, but what does he expect when he only falls from nine stories instead of the usual eighty or so.  There is nothing quite like the bone-rattling (but not shattering) impact that comes from hitting solid ground from that height.

But enough of those ruminations.

He flashes the concerned onlooker a wide smile and shakes his head.  “Au contraire, darling.  I’ve taken a great deal more punishment than that.”  He pats his chest over his perfectly unbroken ribs.  “Yes, sirree,” he says, adding a slight touch of song to the end of that word, “it takes much more than that to get one Simon Fairchild to flinch.  I could do it again for you if you’d like.”

[rejectshumanity]

(bleedingovereden) ink: " what the fuck happened to you ? " (apologies if you'd rather not accept more of these LMAO but yes <3)

blood prompts | ACCEPTING

the messes DIO makes of his victims are entirely self-indulgent. should the vampire desire, he could drain a human of their blood without spilling so much as a single drop — but where is the fun in that?

soaked from head to toe in the gore of one of the bar's drunkards, DIO sits alone at the counter, a single glass of red wine held in his bloodstained hand. he acknowledges ink's incredulity with his usual smirk, keeping his eyes trained upon the swirling liquid.

❝ would you believe me if i tell you that it's wine? ❞

@bleedingovereden

[troublcmakcrs]

▸   @bleedingovereden​   ⟶   ❛  ink: You're safe here. You can rest now. //for tweek! hands your sp muses a father figure. hands your sp muses a father figure. hands y  ❜   ╱   (  lack of sleep , accepting .  )

      Tweek is sitting upright in Ink’s bed, trembling violently, and he pulls the edge of the comfort up to his chin.  “No, I’m not,” he insists through clenched teeth.  His eyes, wide and bloodshot, dart around Ink’s modest apartment, landing on doors, curtains, any crack or crevice where he might observe the glow from a nuclear blast.

      “I’m not safe anywhere.  You heard what they did to Canada, right?”  Just when he was starting to get over the threats from North Korea, the U.S. President bombed their own next-door neighbors.  It was way on the opposite coast, nowhere near Colorado, but still too close Tweek’s personal comfort.  “That could happen to any of us!  The President’s fucking in—”  He shoves a wad of the comforter in his mouth and looks at Ink with alarm.  Once the relief of catching his mistake sets in, he releases the blanket and tugs it around his shoulders.  “No, no, I can’t say that,” he says, shaking his head.  “It’s too risky.”

      Being on the second floor is doing nothing for his nerves.  They’re exposed up here, and if World War III starts within the hour, they will never escape the fire and radiation.  “This place doesn’t have a basement, does it?” he asks desperately.  “We should be in a basement.  Maybe I’d be safer at home.  We’ve got a basement at home.”

[rejectshumanity]

(bleedingovereden) 💌 for ink perhaps,

send “💌” to receive a letter / email from my muse | NOT ACCEPTING

My Dear Ink,

What a shame it is to miss my favourite bartender once more. I dare suggest you are avoiding me. You should know that you cannot escape my eyes forever. Unlike your other problems, I am not so easily deterred. 

You intrigue me, Ink. It seems that wherever you tread, you incite the most fantastical rumours. I can certainly attest to my own burning curiosity. Won’t you spare the kindness of indulging me? Whatever troubles your woeful heart, I promise you this: I shall ease you of its suffering, if you would only grant me the pleasure.

— DIO.

@bleedingovereden