∎ ʟ ᴜ ʀ ᴋ ɪ ɴ ɢ。

     The boy looks up, eyes flickering at the inquiry about a possible killing spree. “Yep. Went around hacking people up like a maniac.” And then he laughs. “I’m kidding. I just castrated a dude. It’s a marvel how much blood can spew out of a cut off dick, but I’m used to it by now.” Both of his claims sound so outrageous that they could easily be lies. But the latter is the truth. Word is going around Seoul that there’s a vigilante with such a hatred for the male populace, trademark method being castration. It cracks Robbie up every time he reads the news. Not like he sets out to be a serial castrator, but he’s learned more often than not that men will fucking talk once you chop their dick off with a knife, and/or put a bullet into their balls. In his opinion, it’s a cheap trick, but hey— it works, so fuck it. 

     Once they’re at his hideout and crossing between the shelves of the leftovers from this location’s past businesses, Robbie sees the male eye the porn warily. “Don’t touch any of it. Probably radioactive by now. Just kidding. It’s legit vintage shit, but I haven’t seen it. Could probably sell it online for some big bucks, so if you’re interested in that, feel free to take all of them.” Robbie leads him into the bathroom. He just laughs in good humor at the man’s remark accompanied by a wink. “Well, aren’t you just the charmer.” But he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not used to people even hinting that he’s attractive, because Robbie doesn’t see it in the mirror. He’s so self-apathetic about where he stands in the attractive scale. All he sees in his reflection are the worst parts of himself amplified. So, how could others not see that as well?

     Robbie sits down on the cracked bathroom tiles, so that he’ll be at a better angle to treat the man’s injury. “Nice to meet you, Patch,” he replies, then reaches for the suture kit. He looks up, blinking curiously at his demand for Robbie to not question what he sees. Instead of answering right away, Robbie pulls off his black t-shirt. The blood soaked fabric sticking to his skin was fucking annoying. But his exposed torso reveals an array of scars. He’s proud of the ghost scars— the oldest ones, fading over time from a part of his life when he was with Thunderbird. Robbie was their stunt Wonder Boy, the youngest member. And yet…what would the team think of him now? He knows that they’re still desperately trying to contact him, but Robbie can’t let them into his life. Not when he’s become a danger to everyone. Now, his body has become the living freak show exhibition of years spent in The House. Out of all the linear lines from blades, burn patches, and odd grooves from chains, Robbie hates the serial code branded into his left arm. Best visual representation of being objectified into a commodity. The hatred is shown in the ugly scar running diagonally over the brand. Sometimes, he’s tempted to just cut that portion of skin off.

     He’s not showing his body as if to outdo the other. He rarely shows his body at all— especially after living in a Hell where his body was exploited day in and out. But he hopes Patch will feel a little more at ease. There can be comfort found in being in the presence of someone whose body is a battleground. Although Robbie sees himself as just…damaged. That’s what he sees in the mirror.

     The mere thought of a needle passing through his skin, it made Patch's stomach hurt and his hands pressed flat against it. Disgusting, simply disgusting to see someone stitch your wound, to feel the needle pierce through your skin-- anesthesia should be required for it but he doubted the guy had such things, such equipment to use on Patch. "Seems like it, man. I'm not even sure how can you handle being dressed with clothes drenched in blood.. Ewh." A little of sarcasm here and there but something told him that this man was used to it, the angel didn't dare ask further questions or make more comments on it. Not everyone was.. stable mentally, so who knows what this guy did at night when people were supposed to sleep. Maybe he did go around slaying random innocent people.

     Well, his cheeks do heat up when the other notices his gaze on the porn but it was innocent, he happened to see it while looking around the place. Huffing under his breath, a light chuckle leaves his chapped lips. "Please, I'm not interested in porn. I'm bleeding and porn's the last thing I can think about now.. I'd much rather masturbate when this thing heals." He's grumpy as he points at the wound, groaning slightly. "Thanks, I get that told a lot." Not really but he likes to be arrogant about it so why the hell not? The other didn't need to know everything. This was pretty awkward already so he decides to stay quiet, lips pursed while he follows the stranger.

     He's sitting down yet and it truly hurts, the effort does. Patch inhales, exhales and repeats the process various times because he needs a good minute or two to breathe properly and not cry out in pain. It would heal, of course it would, but it'd take time. Teeth sink into his lower lip and he blinks when the other's undressing, a bright pink visible on his cheeks again but it disappears quickly. He's used to scars, Patch too has them. White lines all over his chest, arms too even, then the biggest and uglies ones which were the ones from his wings so he's used, he knows the pain and how it feels to dislike yourself for them but each scar had a meaning. Whenever he was scars on other people's bodies, he wanted to trace them and get to know the reason behind each one. His hands almost reached out but he stopped himself, he'd be stupid to give into the temptation of doing such thing.

     How many times have his nail scratched across his scars and how many times had he looked into the mirror and realized how not perfect he was even if he's been told otherwise? What was perfect about a sinner, about someone whose body suffered more than you could imagine, about someone tainted like Patch? Nothing. He shook his head, letting out a weak sigh but a smile graced his lips. Ramen sounded good and he was honestly hungry, fuck how would he even go home in that state where his legs could barely hold himself up? No way he'd risk getting into trouble again.

      What he finds are neither the investigators, but a person wandering around, though he could be a cop for all he knows — but he is on job, completely innocent, simply gathering stuff for his articles. He approaches with confident steps and a little smile, eyebrows arching on point. 

                   ❛Hey, are you from around here? Did you know the victim?❜

   ❛No, I.. I actually came to uh, look for proof, see if I can find something against the criminal?❜

     Nervousness was obvious in the tone of his voice and the way he adverted his gaze, Patch was a bad liar in those situations. Fingers pushed his dark locks back and he hoped there would be no further questions. Funny how for a killer himself and a fallen angel-- a sinner, he wanted to do justice to some poor soul.

Send a $ for a sentence.

Over 100+ starter sentences based on Lana Del Rey lyrics. (death cw, sex cw, drugs cw, alcohol cw) —— Feel free to tweak sentences for ease of RP.

here are the prompts of the week! don’t forget to like/reblog if you will be taking at least one of these. the new tag is #e:141116.

vocabulary [ portend ]

emotion [ self-conscious ]

setting + situation [ in a bar + your muse is caught in the middle of a fight ]

{ text to > [ Name not Identified ] } It is, and again I make everything look good.

{ text to > [ Name not Identified ] } I s’pose you’re okay looking. 

21: Oral Sex