young lion

you’re living in my old apartment and you’re really cool but i’m a ghost and i’m not sure how to hang out with you without scaring you away au

i bet you kiss your knuckles right before they touch my cheek.

i got the countryside blues.

                love songs, drug songs,                 we can get together if you get to know me,                                                          play nice, baby think twice.

my name is Death, and the end is here.

“i ain’t say anything. you said it.” now he’s just being difficult, but this kid’s some kind of mutant — aspen can smell it on him — and he doesn’t really feel like finding out exactly what he does.

“you come into my home? acting like the queen of sheba and expect me to take it lying down. naw son.” he wasn’t around a lot of particularly violent people growing up, but he knew a lot of people who liked to pretend they could win in a fight, so he takes his cues from them; he takes a step forward, jutting his chin and straightening his shoulders, acting like nothing in the world could stop him.

the sarcasm’s a bit unnecessary. he knocks khalid’s hand aside with a brush of his own, brows pulled together in the middle. “wouldn’t surprise me much.”

“yo, whatcha saying to me, fam.” he’s not afraid to go all karate kid if the occasion calls for it, and it’s been a long enough day that he’s ready to go.