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@murderfiend liked for a starter but also received my love ! awesome, wow !
“ what day is it? tuesday, lydia. it’s tuesday. ” it’s a lie offered on a saharan tone from where he’s settled himself on the stiff sofa and wyatt does not even bother to meet her perpetually wide-eyed gaze as he makes his reply. “ how about you go in the other room and tell your slapchat friends about it. ” SNAPCHAT, booker.
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‘ ------ her. it’s her. she’s the one. ‘ hunters shadowed by night fall, inner has learned to enjoy her company. the simplicity of the kill was the mundane’s job, but the feast was all of her own. ‘ take her. ‘ / @murderfiend
@murderfiend
❝Let me get this fuckin’ straight -- ❞ His jaw was partially agape as he reevaluated the number of men who surrounded them in various packs. Some paid attention to whom their leader was speaking to, others were busy loading up the trucks with new supplies. ❝You’re tellin’ me that you wanna tag the fuck along? How the fuck is that supposed to benefit me? You offerin’ something worth my fuckin’ while here, sugar?❞
@murderfiend // sc.
he’s always found COMFORT in the stillness of a cemetery, especially at night when most things mortal fear to enter. likes the QUIET, but she’s caught his attention. what’s a little girl doing in such a place at the strike of midnight ? can’t say he cares much, one way or another, but when such an opportunity presents itself, he can hardly resist. soundless footsteps carry him in the shadows, close enough to catch, but ( hopefully ) not enough to be CAUGHT. he’s watching closely, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
murderfiend replied to your post :
M U R D ER B U D DY
GI VE ME
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he nurses a small, stolen bottle of whiskey, letting it soothe the pain that echoes from bloodied, broken knuckles. he will mend -- he always does. yet anything to sate the feeling, any feeling at all, does well by him. green eyes stalk her face ; this porcelain doll, doused in her own scars and parading within the hollow of her own demons. she is pretty, he decides. too pretty for this. he doesn’t say anything as he watches her from across the room, sat in that dirty little corner. he’s a stranger in this familiar ballet. this lingering waltz that must be dealt with before the moon is lost. it’s better they don’t know each other’s names. better to keep this formidable distance carved between them, rigidly. he takes another swig, and sniffs sharply at the rot beginning to churn in the air. surely such a stench were festering there, in this abandoned hellhole, long before they showed up to bury bodies. surely. @murderfiend | sc
