#hey l

[nocturne-va]

Using a MD Character Picrew, I made most of my friends how I'd see them as an MD character (first 4 are IRL friends, last two are online friends)

[boundlss]

" of course i remember the things you say. " ( veltempest bbyyyy)

It's not that surprising. Vel pays attention to almost everything, to a degree that's downright annoying when Tempest isn't keeping it in mind. It doesn't surpise him that Vel was paying attention, at all, nor does it surprise him that Vel had continued to think about whatever nonsense had left his mouth after it had served its purpose.

No, the surprising part about it is the way Vel says it. Of course, he says, as though it's such a given Tempest should feel a fool for even considering Vel might not have been keeping track of the bullshit he'd been getting fed.

Of course, he says. Over the most trivial things.

"Far be it from me to assume you hang on to my every word," Tempest replies, preferring to think he'd recovered rather quickly from his concealed shock. "Honestly, I can't even imagine it. I wonder if I should be flattered about all this attention you pay me---I mean, really, not letting me out of your sight, remembering the things I say... What's next, hmm? Memorizing my brunch order?"

It's easy to smile and laugh, pushing his hair idly back over his shoulder. It's significantly less easy to ignore the pit that's taken up residence in his stomach as a single idea turns itself over in his mind.

I think I'd like that sort of thing a little too much.

everyone in this room. / accepting.

[gaytonystark]

I think that you are amazing and fantastic, your writing is wonderful and your dogs are adorable! ~L

L!!! Thank you honey you’re too sweet to me ilysm and the pups say hi 🐶💖🐶

SEND ME A LONG/SHORT ANONYMOUS MESSAGE OF WHAT YOUT THINK OF ME

[paintitblues]

[lettheundertow]

My lovely birthday gift.

[bloodyrogeraptor]

BILL'S A CAT

ok so i was thinking about cats when it occurred to me that bill is one. seriously, the resemblance is amazing!!!

here's why:

Cats pretend to be cool when something embarrassing happens to them like maybe unceremoniously falling off a windowsill. Bill acts cool even tho it is embarrassing just like in billnyethehunterguy's rp where bill acts cool even in an embarrassing situation with Jack. ye (like putting sunglasses on makes someone less unclothed lmao)

Cats love paying attention to themselves and apparently, hogging attention from people too. Bill cares about being noticed. srsly, he's someone easily forgotten.

Bill may be lazy like a cat. which is adorable. 

Bill cares about how he looks just like a cat takes care of how it looks.

Bill's a hunter; cats are hunters. see they're the same

Did I mention he and cats like to act cool?

Sooooooo ye. Bill's definitely a cat

[sex-acts-in-caps-lock]

A boring story about a broken boy.

She had been around longer than Caden had. She and the street bred chica with the course tongue that she would stick down anybody’s throat, if they could pay. The mafia men always called for the hard eyed chica from the hole in the wall whore house because she was the most willing. The other was a little lapdog for one of the small timers; she had an owner and even a studded collar that she wore.

The pets name was Annabel.

Like the rest of the men, Caden treated her like a part of the furniture. To them she wasn’t really there. When her owner pulled her into his lap it was no different from him taking a drag on a cigarette.

No one kept tabs on the girls that came and went like scantily clad butterflies, flitting from one man to another trying to suck up as much cash as they can. It was not profitable for them to ever speak out against the men that they made their living off of. Anyway, with their little insect brains, Caden didn’t believe any of them where clever enough to ever understand what went on anyway. So the men spoke secrets and plans freely because the girls didn’t really matter.

She was a pretty pup, Caden would admit. Pale skin, long copper gold hair that went well with her tiny blue dress, navy, turquoises, and whatever the hell other shades of blue are called. He just knew the dress was always blue although he paid more attention to that it was always tiny.

Her favorite color was blue.

She wore it a lot.

But at the time he never would have considered her having a favorite color, she barely had a name. Annabel was just a little copper blue blotch, silent on the sofa. She almost never spoke; she was too well trained for that. She just smiled pretty and didn’t resist whenever her owner wanted her.

But Annabel wasn’t perfect.

She slipped up sometimes, misbehaved.

She stared.

And once he caught her misbehaving gaze.

Her eyes are big and brown fringed with glued on lashes but it was the emotion within them that caught his gaze like a net. Her eyes somehow still held on to tattered scraps of compassion. It is a miracle that any compassion hadn’t been crushed out of her years ago.

But no.

She had soft eyes full of soft things

Sympathy

Concern

Kindness

Her eyes looked strange to him. Caden had grown so used back stabbing and bloodletting that those odd soft things where confusing.

Why would a little whore pet pity him? Him, second in command with a silver tongue and a silver blade?

Why would she care? She had never even spoken to him.

It was stupid.

He can remember getting the same sorts of looks when he was very young and sporting black eyes and bandages. People gave him looks like that sometimes. Especially mothers in the park with their tiny, birdish children who flew shrieking with wild joy, flapping their arms as they ran as if they might take flight.

Caden was told not to run, to just sit quietly, not to be a bother. His wings had been clipped and he was forced to stay on the ground.

Someone laughs loudly at the chicas joke and he is briefly broken out of the fragment of memory, drawn back to reality. When he looks back Annabel has flicked her eyes away, staring at the floor.

The other mothers used to do that as well. Ma would sneer at them and they would avert their eyes.

They drew their own brood closer, protective, as Ma pulled him roughly away. When he was small, Caden wished they wouldn’t just look away. He wished they would speak up and save him.

But he grew up and like many of his dreams, it died. Now this insolent whelp of a girl looks at him like he needs saving now. How conceited of her to think she could be a savior. How sickeningly stupid of her.

He doesn’t need saving.

All the fairy tale shit kids are fed is a huge fucking lie.

Nobodies gonna save you.

The only ties that really bind are profit and intimidation. The only way people will work for you is if you have something they want or if you can do something to them that they don’t want.

Those that pretend to be saviors are liars. Too spoiled to understand or too weak to admit the truth.

Caden had saved himself a long time ago. He pulled himself up by his bootstraps, fought dirty, he used people and things with equal indiscretion. He never asked for help.

He grew fast, callous and unapproachable, clinging to only a bare few morals. A classic antihero with a strand of rosary around his neck. Caden didn’t need anyone for anything, least of all to save him.

He glared at the red headed girl with undisclosed disgust but she still wouldn’t meet his eye.

Her averted eyes pissed him off more than anything else but he couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

She is only a foot away, lounging on the arm rest, her owners arm wrapped around her shoulder. Caden reaches out and roughly grabs her chin, wrenching her face up. Her gaze finally meets his but the soft things in her eyes are gone, he had frightened them away like doves in the street.

“Hey, man what are you doin?” her owner interjected at Caden’s rough handling of his property.

“Nothing.” Caden answered with a disgusted growl as he pushed her face away.

He wasn’t sure what he had wanted but it wasn’t what he got. Caden shoved her away feeling worst then he did when she first looked at him. She kept her eyes down and away from him and he has no idea what she may be thinking. Not that he cares.

He took another drag but the smoke did nothing to choke out the memories that stubbornly surface in his brain.

      Over the next few days he didn’t see Annabel. Her owner turned out to be a jealous man and after Caden’s little show yesterday he kept his prize out of the sight of prying eyes.

He saw her only once, flying out of her master’s room, wearing only a tiny black silk robe that she pulled tightly around herself in a panic.  Her brown eyes are puffy red and one is ringed with a throbbing bruise. She looked at him for the shortest second, bloody lip quivering, before she turned and ran down the hall, bare feet pounding on the carpet.

“Dammit! Annabel!”  yelled a man’s voice from the room where she came. In another second, her owner bolted out, in the same state of near undress. Caden regarded him coolly with raised eyebrows. The man looked around the hallway angry and frantic, finally locking eyes with Caden.

“Beating on your little whore I see.” Caden says nonchalantly.

“She’s mine. I can do whateva I wanna with ‘er.” He defended his actions in an accent thick with a lifetime of gutter-speak.

“You know I am above you. That means I can do whatever I want with you.” 

Her master pales at the smooth threat, it’s as sharp and smooth as the knife that Caden carried with him everywhere. Barely a change of tone but the message is painfully clear.

He knows that the last thing Caden is doing is bluffing.

Annabel’s master is the mafia equivalent of a foot soldier. Unskilled and completely expendable.  When push comes to shove all he is is cannon fodder. Just a meat shield for the major players.

Major players like Caden.

He knows that the chain smoking blonde had become a major player on the backs of dead men. He had proved himself clever and ruthless, no issue with violence and no vices to get in the way. He kept his mouth shut when he needed to and showed enough loyalty to earn enough trust to be accepted. And now he perched on a throne of bones, silver knife his scepter. He is one of the many cunning kings in this world riddled with crime and bullet holes at the young age of nineteen.

So of course Caden confronted her owner for purely practical reasons. Strategic. He needed to keep all the small timers on their toes. Any attempt at violent succession to his throne was dangerous. They are much less likely to try if they are afraid.

He turned away from the frightened man stood watching him and walked down the hallway Annabel had run. He walks past one of the rooms and hears fractured sobs and the chica speaking softly and urgently.

Caden smirks at the irony of the situation.

Yeah, that battered pet thought he needed saving.

    Caden leaned against the building, smoking a roach. It’s late fall and the wind bites with icy teeth. He looked up at the pollutants that shrouded the sky and wondered if there are really stars underneath.

A little voice pipes up next to him.

“Thank you.” Caden glanced over apathetically.

Annabel looked different, younger. Blue skirt, white button up blouse, simple shiny black shoes. Conservative. Her red hair braided to the side, no makeup, a smile. Her bruises are black but healing, cuts scabbing over. It had been a week or two since her beating and he had nearly forgotten.

“What?” he asked annoyed with her speaking to him. He stands away from the wall and glares at her.

“Thank you.” she is now careful not to look at him, recognizing his anger, brown eyes glued to the ground. She looks like a frightened school girl. It’s unclear to him why Annabel is thanking him in all that get up; if she had wanted to impress him she should have worn one of those microscopic numbers.

“Don’t be an idiot.” He spat. “I wasn't helping you.”

She looked bewildered and he sneers. She still believed in saviors and she had idiotically confused him for one.

“But-” she said, hurt innocence in her eyes. He cut her off.

“He stepped out of line. It had nothing to do with you.”

There were words on the tip of her tongue but they died painfully on her lips when she realized the truth. He smiles nastily and turns away. She is weak and he has won. But as he starts to walk toward the building she speaks.

“How old are you?” her voice had a strange fluttering quality that shrieked defeated desperation. Annabel no longer cared what Caden did to her. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyebrows furrowed, expression determined. He raised his own eyebrow at her outburst, condescending. She knows how old he is; every jealous underling repeated it under his breath that Caden was just a kid. Just 19.

“I know you’re real smart and all but…” she pauses as if unsure whether or not to speak. “You seem way too young to be workin’ out wit’ this crowd.” Her speech was uneducated and unsure. He turned to her with double the malice but she looked determined to finally speak and her words poured out fast as if propelled by the built up pressure of her silence.

“You know once you get sucked down there ain’t no way back. The only way to get free is to die and you look way too young for those kinda chains.” She takes a careful little step toward him and her voice gets quieter and kinder. “Do you have any friends or family to go to? To get outta here?”

Caden just stares at her for a long time.

He is above her in every hierarchy, she is completely vulnerable. Her half healed bruises are the tattoos of her slavery, the chains she spoke of are tightly round around her wrists. She knew the power that she lacks and he had. She was chained and he is the one holding them.

Caden could kill her easily, no one would know, no one would care about a little dead whore pet. His knife was sharp and his temper was a thing to contend with. There would be no repercussions to the act, it would be simple.

But she still tried to be kind to him. Even if it meant putting herself in obvious danger.

Her attempts at kindness are stupid and futile and impossible but now he when he looks at the red headed whore, he suddenly sees something other than idiocy.

Caden can see the bravery in her dumb compassion.

She tried to care even though she knows that he was difficult and dangerous.

Joltingly, Caden remembers something he had seen years ago, when he was still collecting scratches and scars that his Ma was all too ready to give.

He ran in a pack of kids like him. All crass, cynical, with a rap sheet of misdemeanors and social workers who didn’t care. They had all fallen through the cracks in the system and hit the ground hard.

They spent their days roaming the streets half feral and alone except for each other. They stuck together like army comrades, seeking a group identity and strength in numbers.

One day they came across a well-dressed man in a black suit kneeling in an ally gently speaking to something under a dumpster.

This was an odd sight but big cities are chock full of strange people doing strange things but for some reason this man piqued the interest of the ratty pack of boys.

“Whacha up to wacko?” yelled one.

“Talking to your imaginary friend?” jeered another. The well-dressed man turns to them and smiles with surprising serenity. Caden can now see the clerical collar around the man’s neck and his hand goes to his own ring of religion that he wore everywhere, red rosary, an artifact of an absent father.

“No, children.” He said with a smile.

“Than what are you doing?” Caden asks with a little more eloquence and much more respect. The priest looks right at the bruised blonde and speaks very kindly.

“There’s a hurt little dog under here but he’s scared and won’t come out. I’ve spent all afternoon trying to convince him.”

A few of the ragged group looked under the large dumpster and fine the thinnest, grungiest, sickest looking rat of a dog any of them had ever seen. It was a tiny mutt puppy with brown fur so dirty and patchy it looked grey.  It had a feral frightened look in its eyes that Caden had seen before. He had seen it inside his own blue iris’s reflected in the bathroom mirror, the cuts still bleeding, adrenaline still pumping, a scream scratching up his throat. Caden can still remember the shiver that crept up his spine at seeing himself in that half dead creature, even years later. His friends just jeered more.

“Why the hell you tryin to get that dog out? It’s just trash.”

“Yeah, you dumb or something? That thing’s crazy.”

The priest smiles again.

“All of god’s creatures deserve love and kindness, children.”

The pack of boys watched him try to get the dog out, the priest speaks softly and puts his hand down near the dog but every time the creature bites at him. Caden could see healed scars crisscrossing its patchy coat and understood that it was too far gone for trust. It had been hurt far too often to ever yield to anyone.

But the man persisted. He speaks softly and kindly, so to not frighten the creature as he tried to coax it out.

The group watched with lazy interest, not having anything better to do. Finally one got bored and walked away.

“Come on, let’s go.”

They left, roaming the streets like they did every day. They passed by the alley again a time or two and they see the man still kneeling there, ever persistent.

Twilight came and Caden walked home alone without his comrades, thoughts getting darker with every step, knowing what’s waiting for him at home.

He looked over to the alley and see the priest still there, still trying to save that dog.

As the sun began to burn orange, scorching the shadows black, Caden stared at the priest, puzzled.

It didn’t do anything for him; he had no connection to the wounded animal. No one else cared about the creature. The priest shouldn’t have. He had never understood why that man had spent his afternoon coaxing out that ratty dog.

Caden rationalized that it was just a priest thing but over the years he still never really understood why someone would spend their time.

But as he stood in the cold and looked at the red headed girl he understood it.

There was no gain for her, no recognition, no status, no selfish reasons.

And despite the danger she persisted, despite the risk she tries.

She tried to save him because it was… right.

This little blue skirted girl with her battered face was suddenly as brave and kind as the angels that he had learned about when he was young. A reincarnation of Mary Magdolin.

But her brave kindness was still futile. Like that ragged dog from years ago, he couldn’t be coaxed out.

He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his heel.

Caden was too damaged to trust her. He can’t let himself. His own instincts sabotaged it, tarnished her. She had to have ulterior motives. Everyone does. He snarls at her, disgusted that she had tricked him, even for a moment.

“None of your business.” He spat.

Caden can’t trust, he’s not brave enough. He hid behind his power. He’s afraid of what could happen if he trusted her only pain had ever happened before. Why would this have been any different?

He turned away from her and walked back into the building, leaving Annabel alone on the sidewalk.

He is weak. 

[cuntyarmand]

POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME~~~