Discover Top Posts Tagged with #catclawed

there’s a note left behind. her pretty cursive scribbled a quick reminder to feed the three feral young cats she’s left for the week. the strays in question are perched at the end of his bed and Hungry : ) much love from felicia !

it's unfortunate how his mental has declined since he fell, a delicate fighter harden by metal and fists. he was not always this afraid, even as a young boy. there was unyielding resilience growing up on the streets of this city. it rotted his teeth, sitting on his molars, and he learned to live with the sting. he made out with stolen goods in his pockets and blades pressed against his throat. now, he violently shakes when his body pulls him from slumber. he's sheen and painted in cold sweat, his skin illuminated by silver streaks coming from the blinds. he sits upright with his palms flat against damp sheets, fingertips feeling numb and pooling with static—he feels not a thigh, nor the fabric of her nightwear, but fur and whiskers from a new friend. the scent of her hair doesn't linger between them, he cannot hear her breathing as there's not a live figure beside him. figures. maybe she reminds him of things. who he wants to be but can't, who he tries to be but fails. but it's not her fault, he can't make it her fault. and already he's imagining her soft touches, a comforting crooning, chin in the crook of his shoulder, nose pressed against the side of his neck. he hears a meow, and a hiss, and falters.

moon is bright; not quite day, but the in-between shift. only those awake are gravediggers and blue collar workers populating nearby highways. dread is creeping up, following the length of his forearms, slipping into every vein, remaining taunt on his nerves. he can feel his heart in his throat, his stomach in tight knots as he gains leverage on his safety. looking around, he finds the note, laid gentle on the nightstand, perched beneath his phone, a paperweight with the battery dead and the phone cord frayed. ❛ ... — ❜ jaw slack, he can't tell if there's annoyance or admiration stirring in him. ❛ god fucking dammit, felicia. ❜

#jason vc: so ... im a boss ... u know so .....#harlot #catclawed #✹̲.⠀⠀⠀▰ ⠀⠀𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴: ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕 ˡ̳ᵒ̳ⁿ̳ᵍ̳ 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝒌illed .

🜚 starter for @catclawed

. ｡ + ･ * ☆ ✸ ⸻ [ evening shadows did a generous amount to hide feline prowler, but the dim sparkle & cheery tinkling gave away crook’s path just enough for golden girl to spot her. she weaves through the alley, a viridescent trail behind her, lighting up both self & target. once distance closes enough, quick hands pluck her from night & into city air. ❝ it is a little late for jewelry shopping, i think ! ❞

#˚ ༘ . ✩ v. 〢 thread.#catclawed

miss me?

cigarette fumes cling to damp skin, hovering above in a murky cloud of vaporized tar and nicotine, a dim haze that atomizes in his lungs; noted by soft, cackling coughs that pepper an otherwise quiet evening. only clouds out tonight where fabricated and lingered against the genuine leathers of his jacket, skyglow prohibiting the beauty of natural stars and ancient comets that would otherwise decorate gotham, had it not been for artificial light from many wayne funded skyscrapers. ── he's become oblivious to this odor, drawing in his second cigarette since his night of crime concluded (stress poured into him; it had been a maelstrom of broken glass, blaring sirens, and shattered teeth. and though he had came out unscathed this round, red hood mask but chipped and scratched, that didn't change how taxing the whole ordeal was. he's half a pack down and could go for another).

hand lifts to flick ash, take another long drag, crush it under the weight of tactile boots, and call it for the night. miss me...? he stirs, doesn't have to look to know whose calling out to him. the ghost of her voice carries itself around the curve of his ear, licks down the nape of his neck, travels into his spine. it settles into his underbelly. jason shivers involuntarily, feeling a sense of vulnerability he rarely exposes and he hopes she doesn't notice. he has half a mind to question how she does it, finding him here in the nooks and crannies of urban decay, knocking his heart loose between the ribs, pumping an excess of blood into his veins. she makes him feel like he's going to pop. he hates it. ‘‘ nah. not really. i don't miss anybody. ’’ it's all sarcasm, unspoken truths, little white lies. ‘‘ the way you left the last time? i know you don't miss me either. ’’