underdog

we get it. your nephew is cool :l

Cool?  He’s miles ahead of you, boy, he learned from the finest. No need to get all jealous.

I don’t normally do this, but-- 

Tagged by: @ethixal 

K iller  E gregious N ihilistic N asty Y appy

………. steps on u

He’s quick to swing to safety and attach himself against a nearby wall, sadly at the loss of his beloved hat. Little shit probably stepped on it, too. Kenny probably deserved that, but the old man’s stubborn when it comes to accepting blame. 

✯ for a compliment

He takes a moment, really staring at the man they still called commander, that kind of false hero some were foolish enough to admire. He knows he’s not all that; he’s not delusional enough to see himself as any kind of hope. It’s no better than the blind leading the blind, and judging by the look of things– they were all entirely unaware. What a stupid concept. 

“Y'know, I’ve seen a lot in my time. To be a professional bullshitter you gotta be a certain kinda man. Takes a lotta…” He’s twirling his hand as he thinks of the word he’s looking for, and is quick to find it, his hand closes as he grasps the thought. “–charisma, confidence, practice, knowledge on how people work– your audience– works. I’ve seen some doozies where I come from, some real conartists, but you take the cake, Smith.”

A scoff.

✯ for a compliment

He stands before the beast and he can’t help but feel a little intimidation as he’s veiled in shadow, never too fond of anything bigger than him, but he doesn’t let it show. He’s heard talk, the thing’s barely a threat, a softie, no fun at all.

…but maybe, just maybe, something could get this ball running, cause a little chaos. And so, the old man’s clearing his throat, speaking in a tone a little more suitable for the creature-- a loud and obnoxious yell that’s sure to be heard.

“Y’KNOW WHAT, TINY–”

rumors meme |

He’s a dead man, no woman’s beauty is going to save him from that.

It’s a quiet and lonely space, eerily so, with almost every potential mourner for the man already long dead. The weeds were bound to overgrow within a few months; they were the kind of company no one would tend to, for a grave that’d surely be forgotten outside of the occasional curious talk. Even then, words fade, stories die out, and he rests with a legacy he’d never particularly wanted, along with a long list of regrets and a dream unfulfilled. 

He’d lay with the only company he was worthy of, now. It was fitting, suited– two very different kinds of weeds now thriving together. In death, only then does he give life. Nothing at all like when he’d lived.

“That was yesterday, old man. Go sit down.”

There’s no way in hell he’s sitting down, he’s just getting started.