#sdstarters

[ofbrokendarkness]

Rarely was he quite this careless with his power. It was one that terrified most of the people around the town, one that they knew came from blood. There was nothing inviting about his acceptance of the fact that he was a monster, he was what went bump in the night. It didn’t help that he held the ability to wear the face, the body of anyone who had ever come into contact with him, of any picture he’d ever seen. The idea of his half assed body snatching was usually always the damn deal breaker.

This was the reason why he was surprised that they hadn’t run away screaming, or at least turned the other cheek when they’d mistakenly watch him shift back into his own form. Instead, they’d taken up the light pace beside him, which was what warranted the grin he wore.

“Let me guess, just popped you skinwalker cherry, huh?”

[ambsisnauseous]

“Yeah, I-I don’t know what to tell you... I found it like that?” he offered weakly. Maybe he had touched it, and then dropped it, and then frantically tried to hide its broken pieces, but they didn’t, like, Know That. He didn’t do well with waiting around, and it’d just been sitting there on the shelf, calling his name. How was he supposed to know that it was sharp? An edge had neatly sliced his thumb, and he’d dropped it in surprise, mostly. The door had swung open before he could finish hiding his crime, nudging it under the side table with his foot.

“But you probably have to take care of... that, now, so I’m just gonna...” he edges towards the other door, hoping to escape before they realized it was broken, and not just on the ground.

[haunted-wesley]

It was a bad day. Not Wes’ typical bad day, where he wanted to cry but was able to keep it locked in until he was alone. The kind of bad day where everything is Too Much- too loud, too fast, too bright. Voices grate like nails on a chalkboard, and polite conversation is torture. The kind of bad day that has no real resolution, you just suffer through it and hope it’s over before the next day starts. Like he could scream for hours and still feel pent up. Every emotion sits just under his skin, thrumming, ready to burst out at the slightest provocation, and the best front he can put up is one of tense indifference. So the most he can muster for the presence that soon occupies the space at his side is an averted gaze and a bland greeting.

“Look, um, today really hasn’t been the best, so I’m probably not great company right now,” the words are drawn out as if even the act of speaking them drains him emotionally, and it’s a wonder he’s even able to hold a visible form right now.