#fxckingmoran

It was one of those moments where Victor knew nothing was gonna come of an interrogation. Moran was protected, they wouldn’t even be able to keep him for longer than hour before some shady, rich lawyer pops up and springs him. 

He could try to get a couple questions in, though. 

                   “ Don’t be silly!   ---   Someone else is holding the rifle!  ”

How. How had this happened.

Standing outside Honey & Co. on Warren Street, Helena was trying her best not to show she was freaking out. First she’d slapped the man and now she was taking him to dinner. Well... drinks. Apology drinks. There was a bottle of Macallan’s in a bag, the original apology present. But somehow dinner had been brought up and included in the deal. And somehow in trying to make light of the situation flirting had also happened. And it hadn’t been completely innocent.

The sonorous thrum of the music seeps beneath his skin, enhanced by the remnants of the cocaine chasing the blood in his veins. After a particularly long week of honest studying, he believes he has earned the entitlement to do something unreasonable. Which is perhaps why he chooses to challenge the bull of a man who has interrupted his stifled conversation with his fellow companions, in order to inform him that the owner of the establishment would like meet him in the privacy of his booth.

toes curled inside his ragged shoes until they popped. jamie ross [ age seventeen, convicted of anti-social behaviour and minor aggravated assault following a dispute with a friend ] attempted to swallow the building rage. this was an opportunity, so the judge said, to straighten out his life. to return to normality; GCSEs, A levels, a job, a career, a family, a house, sunday night television, a fucking set of golf clubs, a cute hobby to distract from inevitable death, a shit flat to store all the shit things that people need to live.

fuck that fuck that fuck that fuck that and fuck that too. what he wanted was some peace and goddamn quiet --- and something to drink. this was mug number six of scalding hot coffee and it wasn’t cutting through the need of, well, his usual cocktail of gin and drugs. that was the point though, wasn’t it? the sooner his piss ran clear, the sooner he could get the fuck out of here.

he ran a tatted hand through his shaggy hair and ignored the caffeine jitters. his tired eyes locked onto a new adult --- tall, tattoos, muscled, frowning, a coiled energy that said he could be a threat but was choosing not to be --- and tracked him until said man sat across from him. jamie offered a blank stare and leaned back until his spine touched the cold, comforting concrete wall. teeth clenched, he said nothing. 

“You can’t keep hiding this stuff.”

high pain tolerance starters | ACCEPTING

( @fxckingmoran​ wrote: 30 a kiss on the back of the hand. { for vincent! } )

 had never ever expected it to end up like this. When Sebastian had left the clinic he had guessed that would be the last and only time he would ever see him. But now he stood there, blushing like a fool at the charm and chivalry of a simple kiss. He felt cared for and he felt seen, something that felt very rare at times. “Such a gentleman.” he chuckled, almost giggled. He didn’t even try to beat the blush back, he wasn’t ashamed of it.