#damnthings

@damnthings​ sent:  “ You’re cute when you’re angry. " (Seamus&Jim)

Jim perches himself on the ledge of an old stone wall on the edge of the city. He's wearing tight black jeans, heavy boots, and his school blazer without anything underneath. They're surrounded by giant rocks, half-dead grass, and broken concrete slabs that are slowly being worn away by the bay's waves. The city lights are dim behind them, abandoned buildings, and run-down apartments separating them from society. 

It's a warm night, and no one cares what happens out here. They usually go untroubled, but today Jim's boys brought him one of their own, bloody and broken accompanied by a messenger. One of the 'real criminals' in town feels like Jim is becoming a threat, that his little group of outcasts is bad for business. Which, of course, he's a threat. But not now. Hell, right now, he isn't even trying.

"It sounds t' me like your boss is pretty fuckin' insecure, darling." Jim snips at the stranger before jumping down from the wall and landing heavily in the grass. "I guess I'll have a chat with him~ which, I'll tell ya, reeaally ruins my night." 

Jim saunters up to the man, looking him over with venomous politeness. The stranger offers to carry a message back, but instead, Jim grabs his jaw suddenly. "Nah, your services won't be needed. You're gonna stay here and give my boys some entertainment. They're itchin' to make up for what you did to their friend. I'll talk to him myself."

The messenger is starting to panic a bit, "Listen, this is just business. Let me go, and I'll take you to him. He's a hard man to find."

Jim chuckles. It's condescending, like he finds the dancing monkey entertaining, "Nice try! But I already know where he is." He pats the man's cheek, just short of a slap, before nodding to the boys who dart forward to grab the man and haul him off into the dark. Jim's eyes follow them, but his fake smile has faded into something dangerous.

different ways to say ‘i love you’ ( accepting! ) / @damnthings​ said:

❝ It’s a lullaby. Would you like me to sing it to you? Would that help you fall asleep? ❞ ( for EVEY & BASH / royals )

Sebastian turns away from the window ( dark glass slick with winter rain, which blurs his already rumpled reflection ) at the sound of her humming. His blue eyes are bleary with fatigue, a headache’s brewing in his temples; he wants nothing more than to lie down with his head in someone’s lap, to be peaceful and still, but the restless energy that’s kept him up until all hours all this week is still refusing to let him settle.

He drums his fingers against the leaded panes in a hurried, anxious rhythm that’s entirely at odds with the low, slow, lilting notes of her lullaby. Something about it sounds mournful. It makes him wonder, briefly, whether she’s homesick, whether she’s as sick and weary of these castle walls as he is, but he doesn’t ask.

“For you.”

Spirit sleeps with a gun under her pillow, a knife under her mattress, and Harris as the only number on speed dial. After the altercation with Winston, she started carrying her knife with her all day and all night. She fiddles with it in her pockets constantly, connects the cold metal handle and the smooth side of the blade to the pain throbbing at her shoulder and on her stomach. She keeps remembering Winston on top of her, knife to her throat - 

But when she sees him again on her way out, she doesn’t let herself freeze up in fear of things that were. She imagines their roles reversed, pinning his arms down and stabbing him all the places where he’d hurt his victims. 

     when the door finally opens, will does his best to seem... presentable. not quite smiling, but standing straight, head a bit bowed. if not amicable, than at least... the appearance of submissive. “hi, i’m... will graham. i texted you about your- facebook post.”

She pulled the last piece of glass loose from his skin with a heavy sigh.This was the last time she got involved, she would promise that to herself over and over until it came true. It wasn’t the poor kids fault, he was in over his head and he knew it. What was worse, was that he had a target on his back now whether he liked it or not.

    “ You get used to it, scarily fast.”

“It’s a club, baby, not the end of the fucking world.”

It’s a club Spirit taunts from the outside in. She was just kicked out for sucker punching a creep who got too close for comfort-to her, to Seamus, to the whole concept of having a night where somebody can mind their business peacefully. 

Peacefully here is a descriptor that allows some breathing room for shots and something stronger.

damnthings​:   [ help down ] (from silas!! medieval au???)

[ help down ]  for your muse to assist my muse getting out of a carriage

a harsh nudge from her eldest sister jolts dolores from her light slumber. the final hours of her journey have been a bore, and her legs ache from sitting so long without a break. she fears her numb legs shall collapse the minute she exits the carriage. gratefully, her mother and older sister depart from the carriage first — giving the middle princess the time she so desperately needs to adjust her legs and shake her feet awake, beneath her heavy skirts. dolores’s young sister grows impatient, however, and it is now her turn to leave and greet this growing crowd.