![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Oct. 5th, 2017
via http://ift.tt/2y0EK5i:
bedlamsbard:
honestly Jocasta Nu is living the post-Order 66 dream, inasmuch as that’s possible. hot cup of caf, warm furry critter to pet, something to read…
@fialleril
bedlamsbard:
honestly Jocasta Nu is living the post-Order 66 dream, inasmuch as that’s possible. hot cup of caf, warm furry critter to pet, something to read…
@fialleril
via http://ift.tt/2y0H1O6:
Awww, my heart. Jerry’s definitely made enough enemies over his lifetime, and burned enough bridges and crossed enough paths that this would be plausible. Poor David, he definitely didn’t see this coming!
Awww, my heart. Jerry’s definitely made enough enemies over his lifetime, and burned enough bridges and crossed enough paths that this would be plausible. Poor David, he definitely didn’t see this coming!
via http://ift.tt/2wyzh2u:
DAY 4: Begging
When Jerry woke, David wasn’t there, and immediately he knew something was wrong. He flew down the stairs, not even bothering with the steps, to land in a crouch at their bottom – and that was where he found them. His best friend turned enemy from another century and his small, soft David.
David, his David, with his glasses askew and fat, wet tears behind them, lower lip trembling over the shoulder of the man currently buried in his neck. Letting lose a wrecked whimper when the creature drew deeper from him, his lashes fluttering, his hands wriggling in the cuffs that were slowly turning his wrists purple.
“Jerry,” David mouthed, but fear stole his voice – and Jerry was grateful for it. He put a finger to his own lips as he slowly slunk forward. And he almost got there, too, before a dark chuckle made him still. David whined as fangs pulled free from his throat and the heady scent of blood in the room thickened, drawing the shadows into Jerry’s eyes.
“Angelica,” Jerry said, plain and simple, and his once upon a time partner in crime smiled with all her bloody red teeth.
“Jack. Although this sweet thing keeps calling you Jerry. What a strange new name you’ve found yourself. Does he kill with you like I did?” She pondered, drawing up behind the chair David was tied to, one long talon caressing the soft underside of his jaw, tapping lightly. “Hmm, somehow I don’t think so. A little dull, this one. I’m almost surprised. Almost.”
“He’s a toy, Angie. Nothing more,” Jerry said, and he even almost convinced himself – but the only one he did convince was David, big tears finally spilling as his head fell, hiding behind his messy fringe. He’d fix it later, he told himself. After David was safe. Only he wasn’t as hard as he used to be,
He didn’t quite cover his flinch.
And like blood in the water, Angela noticed. She leaned over David’s soft, trembling shoulder and pressed her lips close to the sluggishly bleed holes in his neck as she whispered.
“You’re getting soft in your old age there, Jack. What happened to my Ripper?”
“Touch him again and you’ll find out.”
“But I’m just helping you through a problem you’ve always had, Jackie,” she purred, lips soft against the tremble of David’s skin. “Commitment.”
Jerry stilled, something unfamiliar turning his dead insides colder. He braced himself to move, to attack, to fucking fling her from his lover before she could finish what she had started, but froze at the glacier crack of a gun being cocked and pressed to David’s temple.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she crooned. “I know all your tricks. No more running, Jackie. Not today.”
“Angela–”
“I wonder what he’ll be like,” she hummed softly, her long brunette curls bouncing about her shoulders as she played with David’s hair with her free hand, relishing in his trembling. “So soft right now. Nothing like you or me. He’s no hunter… I can’t help but wonder why you didn’t eat him. But he is rather cute in a ‘too helpless to function’ sort of way, isn’t he? Like a kitten.”
David sucked in a sharp, hurt little breath, and Jerry couldn’t tell what he hated more: that David was taking all of this to heart, that he couldn’t stop any of this, or how soft he had become. Because in his heart, his long dead heart, he felt crippled by the long fall of tears down David’s stupidly little nose.
Angelica dug her chin into the meat of David’s shoulder, eyes heavy where they hung on Jerry. Something cold chilling the smile on her face. Something familiar. A ghost from old English streets, fingers and tongues covered in blood as they made out in back alleys, fresh from their kills.
“You never were very good at ‘forever’, baby. Is that why you haven’t turned him? Harder to get bored when your toy has an expiration date?” She asked, then kissed David’s shuddering cheek before gleefully stating, “Let’s find out,” and bring her free wrist to her mouth.
With an animalistic snarl, a sound Jerry could still remember in his dreams from the night he had first turned her, Angela bit into her own fingers. Mangled and tattered, she pushed them to David’s lips before either of them could do a thing about it. Blood smeared across his pursed mouth, stilling instead of prying when finally Jerry spoke.
“Don’t!”
She arched a brow, something cruel stealing across her face. Something hungry.
“I’m listening,” she purred.
Eyes on the gun in her hand, Jerry settled back first onto his haunches, then his knees. Slack and defeated, unwilling to race the gun. He licked his lips and gestured helplessly.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, Angie, but you win. What do you want? I’ll… I’ll do it. Just… just don’t.”
And obviously, that was the wrong thing to say. Thunder drew across her face, turning her pretty features ugly. She sized him up with disgust, a sneer tight across her teeth.
“You don’t fool me, Jack. I’m going to open his eyes to what you really are – a coward and a fraud. You don’t know how to love.” She forced her fingers in, past the trembling of David’s lips, and jarred the gun a little more harshly against his temple as she snarled, “Suck.”
With a throaty, despairing moan, David did. He suckled at the coppery fingers in his mouth, skin pale from blood loss and fright and sorrow. His lashes fluttered as the Change began. Still his heartbeat with each swallow, slowing down his mortal breath – made worse by the hyperventilating slowly stealing away David’s composure, blocked by those bloody fingers.
“David, baby, look at me,” Jerry said, startling them both as David’s eyes jerked up – wide, brown eyes slowly turning darker. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. Stay with me, guy. I’m right here.”
David nodded shakily around the fingers in his mouth, and Angela quickly drew them away, shoving the chair and David both at Jerry in one wild, angered rush. And the second she did, he was free. He caught and steadied David’s chair before propelling himself forward and around it, stealing her around the waist before she could so much as aim her gun. Shots fired, but didn’t take as he slammed her through the couch and onto the floor. He raised his hand to smite her, fingers like knives ready to rend her head from her long ivory throat, only to stop at her cackling. Boneless and laughing, she wiped bloody tears from her eyes.
“You know as well as I do the Change has taken, Jackie,” she said, but there’s was an old hurt in the sound, like a gong from a church bell they both used to know. “You kill me, his Sire, and he won’t make it.”
Jerry felt fury burn through him, lighting his dead flesh alive like a live wire, before snarling and slamming his fist through the floorboards beside her head. She didn’t even flinch, her eyes already dead in a way he couldn’t understand, but maybe did once.
“As soon as he’s strong enough, I’m going to find you,” he said, as though describing the color of the sky rather than the details of her murder; factual rather than a vow. “And I am going to show you just how committed I can be. I’m going to make you feel every last ounce of your forever. And you’ll beg me to forget you, but I won’t. You’re going to regret this. Forever. So enjoy what you have while you can.”
She blinked up at him, slow and far away, before tracing his jaw with healed, bloody fingers.
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Jerry. You never were good at forever.”
She slipped from him the way he had slipped from her all those centuries ago. A shadow in the night, a whisper in the silence, and then she was gone.
Jerry scrambled back to David. He freed him from the chair and held him close. Forced down his rage and his hurt, forced down his claws though they ached to kill, and gentled the trembling of David’s hair. He held him close, heart breaking each second the glowing warmth of his soft lover slowly ebbed. He murmured awkward reassurances into the crest of his fringe, into the trembling clench of his hands in Jerry’s shirt, and promised it would be alright.
They had forever to figure this out. It’d be alright.
DAY 4: Begging
When Jerry woke, David wasn’t there, and immediately he knew something was wrong. He flew down the stairs, not even bothering with the steps, to land in a crouch at their bottom – and that was where he found them. His best friend turned enemy from another century and his small, soft David.
David, his David, with his glasses askew and fat, wet tears behind them, lower lip trembling over the shoulder of the man currently buried in his neck. Letting lose a wrecked whimper when the creature drew deeper from him, his lashes fluttering, his hands wriggling in the cuffs that were slowly turning his wrists purple.
“Jerry,” David mouthed, but fear stole his voice – and Jerry was grateful for it. He put a finger to his own lips as he slowly slunk forward. And he almost got there, too, before a dark chuckle made him still. David whined as fangs pulled free from his throat and the heady scent of blood in the room thickened, drawing the shadows into Jerry’s eyes.
“Angelica,” Jerry said, plain and simple, and his once upon a time partner in crime smiled with all her bloody red teeth.
“Jack. Although this sweet thing keeps calling you Jerry. What a strange new name you’ve found yourself. Does he kill with you like I did?” She pondered, drawing up behind the chair David was tied to, one long talon caressing the soft underside of his jaw, tapping lightly. “Hmm, somehow I don’t think so. A little dull, this one. I’m almost surprised. Almost.”
“He’s a toy, Angie. Nothing more,” Jerry said, and he even almost convinced himself – but the only one he did convince was David, big tears finally spilling as his head fell, hiding behind his messy fringe. He’d fix it later, he told himself. After David was safe. Only he wasn’t as hard as he used to be,
He didn’t quite cover his flinch.
And like blood in the water, Angela noticed. She leaned over David’s soft, trembling shoulder and pressed her lips close to the sluggishly bleed holes in his neck as she whispered.
“You’re getting soft in your old age there, Jack. What happened to my Ripper?”
“Touch him again and you’ll find out.”
“But I’m just helping you through a problem you’ve always had, Jackie,” she purred, lips soft against the tremble of David’s skin. “Commitment.”
Jerry stilled, something unfamiliar turning his dead insides colder. He braced himself to move, to attack, to fucking fling her from his lover before she could finish what she had started, but froze at the glacier crack of a gun being cocked and pressed to David’s temple.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she crooned. “I know all your tricks. No more running, Jackie. Not today.”
“Angela–”
“I wonder what he’ll be like,” she hummed softly, her long brunette curls bouncing about her shoulders as she played with David’s hair with her free hand, relishing in his trembling. “So soft right now. Nothing like you or me. He’s no hunter… I can’t help but wonder why you didn’t eat him. But he is rather cute in a ‘too helpless to function’ sort of way, isn’t he? Like a kitten.”
David sucked in a sharp, hurt little breath, and Jerry couldn’t tell what he hated more: that David was taking all of this to heart, that he couldn’t stop any of this, or how soft he had become. Because in his heart, his long dead heart, he felt crippled by the long fall of tears down David’s stupidly little nose.
Angelica dug her chin into the meat of David’s shoulder, eyes heavy where they hung on Jerry. Something cold chilling the smile on her face. Something familiar. A ghost from old English streets, fingers and tongues covered in blood as they made out in back alleys, fresh from their kills.
“You never were very good at ‘forever’, baby. Is that why you haven’t turned him? Harder to get bored when your toy has an expiration date?” She asked, then kissed David’s shuddering cheek before gleefully stating, “Let’s find out,” and bring her free wrist to her mouth.
With an animalistic snarl, a sound Jerry could still remember in his dreams from the night he had first turned her, Angela bit into her own fingers. Mangled and tattered, she pushed them to David’s lips before either of them could do a thing about it. Blood smeared across his pursed mouth, stilling instead of prying when finally Jerry spoke.
“Don’t!”
She arched a brow, something cruel stealing across her face. Something hungry.
“I’m listening,” she purred.
Eyes on the gun in her hand, Jerry settled back first onto his haunches, then his knees. Slack and defeated, unwilling to race the gun. He licked his lips and gestured helplessly.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, Angie, but you win. What do you want? I’ll… I’ll do it. Just… just don’t.”
And obviously, that was the wrong thing to say. Thunder drew across her face, turning her pretty features ugly. She sized him up with disgust, a sneer tight across her teeth.
“You don’t fool me, Jack. I’m going to open his eyes to what you really are – a coward and a fraud. You don’t know how to love.” She forced her fingers in, past the trembling of David’s lips, and jarred the gun a little more harshly against his temple as she snarled, “Suck.”
With a throaty, despairing moan, David did. He suckled at the coppery fingers in his mouth, skin pale from blood loss and fright and sorrow. His lashes fluttered as the Change began. Still his heartbeat with each swallow, slowing down his mortal breath – made worse by the hyperventilating slowly stealing away David’s composure, blocked by those bloody fingers.
“David, baby, look at me,” Jerry said, startling them both as David’s eyes jerked up – wide, brown eyes slowly turning darker. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. Stay with me, guy. I’m right here.”
David nodded shakily around the fingers in his mouth, and Angela quickly drew them away, shoving the chair and David both at Jerry in one wild, angered rush. And the second she did, he was free. He caught and steadied David’s chair before propelling himself forward and around it, stealing her around the waist before she could so much as aim her gun. Shots fired, but didn’t take as he slammed her through the couch and onto the floor. He raised his hand to smite her, fingers like knives ready to rend her head from her long ivory throat, only to stop at her cackling. Boneless and laughing, she wiped bloody tears from her eyes.
“You know as well as I do the Change has taken, Jackie,” she said, but there’s was an old hurt in the sound, like a gong from a church bell they both used to know. “You kill me, his Sire, and he won’t make it.”
Jerry felt fury burn through him, lighting his dead flesh alive like a live wire, before snarling and slamming his fist through the floorboards beside her head. She didn’t even flinch, her eyes already dead in a way he couldn’t understand, but maybe did once.
“As soon as he’s strong enough, I’m going to find you,” he said, as though describing the color of the sky rather than the details of her murder; factual rather than a vow. “And I am going to show you just how committed I can be. I’m going to make you feel every last ounce of your forever. And you’ll beg me to forget you, but I won’t. You’re going to regret this. Forever. So enjoy what you have while you can.”
She blinked up at him, slow and far away, before tracing his jaw with healed, bloody fingers.
“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Jerry. You never were good at forever.”
She slipped from him the way he had slipped from her all those centuries ago. A shadow in the night, a whisper in the silence, and then she was gone.
Jerry scrambled back to David. He freed him from the chair and held him close. Forced down his rage and his hurt, forced down his claws though they ached to kill, and gentled the trembling of David’s hair. He held him close, heart breaking each second the glowing warmth of his soft lover slowly ebbed. He murmured awkward reassurances into the crest of his fringe, into the trembling clench of his hands in Jerry’s shirt, and promised it would be alright.
They had forever to figure this out. It’d be alright.
via http://ift.tt/2y1ymel:
blackness-by-your-side:
We know the name of the guy who killed 58+ people. Let’s memorize the name of the guy who SAVED 30 people!
Jonathan Smith. Salute!
blackness-by-your-side:
We know the name of the guy who killed 58+ people. Let’s memorize the name of the guy who SAVED 30 people!
Jonathan Smith. Salute!
via http://ift.tt/2y0NhW0:
pepoluan:
captainhotstop:
webofgoodnews:
Good stuff people have done.
I love these all except for the first which I will call bullshit on because I know for a fact from having been there that those beams are not high enough of the ground to be considered a for suicide. The chance of dying is too low.
It’s not the fall that kills.
It’s the oncoming subway train.
Anyways, great glimpses of light.
There’s still hour for humanity.
pepoluan:
captainhotstop:
webofgoodnews:
Good stuff people have done.
I love these all except for the first which I will call bullshit on because I know for a fact from having been there that those beams are not high enough of the ground to be considered a for suicide. The chance of dying is too low.
It’s not the fall that kills.
It’s the oncoming subway train.
Anyways, great glimpses of light.
There’s still hour for humanity.
via http://ift.tt/2xjY2yY:
misangremellama:
misangremellama:
selfcarereminders:
nanoboostedpharah:
theres a new product by verzion called “hum” that allows your parents to track your car and places you go, if your parents are controlling like mine please check under your steering wheel to make sure that they havent installed this
here is what it looks like installed:
you can read more about it here, and here- this excerpt sums up what information Hum will send:
“a car’s owner will be able to get notified on their phone when the vehicle leaves a pre-determined area or drives faster than a set speed… [Hum] will enable location tracking and a driving log, which measures travel times, engine idle times, and average speeds.”
People in abusive relationships, please check your cars.
DO NOT TRY TO UNPLUG IT BY YOURSELF!
misangremellama:
misangremellama:
selfcarereminders:
nanoboostedpharah:
theres a new product by verzion called “hum” that allows your parents to track your car and places you go, if your parents are controlling like mine please check under your steering wheel to make sure that they havent installed this
here is what it looks like installed:
you can read more about it here, and here- this excerpt sums up what information Hum will send:
“a car’s owner will be able to get notified on their phone when the vehicle leaves a pre-determined area or drives faster than a set speed… [Hum] will enable location tracking and a driving log, which measures travel times, engine idle times, and average speeds.”
People in abusive relationships, please check your cars.
DO NOT TRY TO UNPLUG IT BY YOURSELF!
via http://ift.tt/2xU9qX1:
bunny-cops:
Things I want - a series about a cheery vampire cop and the grumpy, uptight, by-the-book detective he falls in love with, including:
- the main character is a vampire, but he’s also a joyful, enthusiastic little fellow with a cloud of strawberry-red hair and freckles. It’s not even a pose, it’s just the way he is
- he loves everything modern, especially baked goods, Netflix accounts and social rights which while not perfect are a definitive improvement on Seventeeth-century Spain
- love interest is a hardened, grouchy detective, utterly brilliant but thick-headed in his beliefs, who naturally can’t stand cheery vamp and his bubbly congeniality
- cheery vamp falls very hard very fast
- cheery vamp has to save his ass countless times, because the grumpy detective is very good but also a self-sacrificing idiot
- saving his ass like rushing him to ER covered in blood or carrying him out of burning buildings before they collapse on their heads
- which is something vampires really shouldn’t do lest someone - like, I don’t know, a hardass cop lying half-conscious in his arms - sees something
- also, the detective’s blood smells heavenly sweet and sometimes cheery vamp can barely think around him, but never actually acts on it because 1) he’s actually a good person, 2) he really loves and admire the hell out of the him
- sometimes grumpy detective leaves the station even later than usual, ringed eyes and bitter coffee screaming bout of imsonia, and cheery vamps finds himself following him home to make sure he’s okay and feels his heart twist at the sheer loneliness he spies through the windows
- and he really feels way too stalker-y for his taste. So he goes home and bakes the detective a freaking chocolate cake, because drinking blood shouldn’t stop you from chasing your baking dreams
- seeing the cake grumpy detective grumbles and scoffs and eats two enormous slices mumbling something about skipping breakfast. Cheery vamp is extremely pleased
- in time, grumpy detective learns to respect and begrudgingly appreciate cheery vamp’s work - and his friendship, too. He’s also growing kind of suspicious of the weird shit he always seems to find himself caught up with, but he’s the king of skepticals and he’s having a hard time figuring it out
- there is hands brushing and longing gazes and suspicion of mutual longing, but cheery vamp isn’t even sure grumpy cop is gay or bi and doesn’t want to push him now that he’s opening up a bit
- then one day grumpy detective and cheery vamp are chasing a seriously bad guy into an abandoned building. Ripped curtains flowing in the November breeze, dusty rooms, heaps of dirt and fishy stains in the corners. Cheery vamp is distracted, gets jumped by the bad guy. Grumpy detective rushes in. A fight follows. Cheery vamp joins, and they fight together, perfectly in tune, fast and lethal. Bad guy is subdued. Grumpy detective is breathing hard, beaming with triumph - bleeding from his neck. Cheery vamp is overwhelmed. He hears a gasp, a rush of movement, and he finds himself pinning the detective against the wall, clutching his chin to keep him still - teeth bared and hovering two inches from his throat. He doesn’t want to. It’s been so long. He’s so thirsty. He’s ruining everything, but he can’t stop
- until he feels grumpy detective’s Glock pushed against his ribs, trigger already half-pulled, and his voice telling in a croaky but firm voice that he has five secs to pull himself together or he’s getting a hole in his arm. Cheery vamp takes a long breath, drinking in the rich scent of blood - forces himself to blink. The gun is still there. They’re both shaking. The smell is everywhere, is everything
Till cheery vamp grits his teeth, and tears himself off the detective. They sit on the floor for a while, gasping, both of them trying desperately to make sense of what just happened
- in the end, grumpy detective pulls himself up, reholsters his gun, and walks up to cheery vamp - offering him a hand. “Now you’re going to offer me coffee,” he says, “and tell me what the ever-loving fuck is going on.”
And cheery vamp does. They talk all night, sitting in a dingy half-desert diner that stinks of fried food and old coffee. Grumpy detective gets angry, growls, curses, pales, drinks coffee. Mostly, he listens. At four in the morning, he believes him. At five, they kiss over their table. At six, they pull in front of the detective’s house and cheery vamp bids him goodnight with a peck on his lips - because they’ll take this nice and slow. Grumpy detective mumbles something.
“You live half the city over. How are you going-”
“Vampire.”
“You’re telling me you can fly?”
Cheery vamp grins. “Of course.”
The detective smiles against his lips. “Of course.”
@funkzpiel @elenothar @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins
Remind you of anyone/anything?
bunny-cops:
Things I want - a series about a cheery vampire cop and the grumpy, uptight, by-the-book detective he falls in love with, including:
- the main character is a vampire, but he’s also a joyful, enthusiastic little fellow with a cloud of strawberry-red hair and freckles. It’s not even a pose, it’s just the way he is
- he loves everything modern, especially baked goods, Netflix accounts and social rights which while not perfect are a definitive improvement on Seventeeth-century Spain
- love interest is a hardened, grouchy detective, utterly brilliant but thick-headed in his beliefs, who naturally can’t stand cheery vamp and his bubbly congeniality
- cheery vamp falls very hard very fast
- cheery vamp has to save his ass countless times, because the grumpy detective is very good but also a self-sacrificing idiot
- saving his ass like rushing him to ER covered in blood or carrying him out of burning buildings before they collapse on their heads
- which is something vampires really shouldn’t do lest someone - like, I don’t know, a hardass cop lying half-conscious in his arms - sees something
- also, the detective’s blood smells heavenly sweet and sometimes cheery vamp can barely think around him, but never actually acts on it because 1) he’s actually a good person, 2) he really loves and admire the hell out of the him
- sometimes grumpy detective leaves the station even later than usual, ringed eyes and bitter coffee screaming bout of imsonia, and cheery vamps finds himself following him home to make sure he’s okay and feels his heart twist at the sheer loneliness he spies through the windows
- and he really feels way too stalker-y for his taste. So he goes home and bakes the detective a freaking chocolate cake, because drinking blood shouldn’t stop you from chasing your baking dreams
- seeing the cake grumpy detective grumbles and scoffs and eats two enormous slices mumbling something about skipping breakfast. Cheery vamp is extremely pleased
- in time, grumpy detective learns to respect and begrudgingly appreciate cheery vamp’s work - and his friendship, too. He’s also growing kind of suspicious of the weird shit he always seems to find himself caught up with, but he’s the king of skepticals and he’s having a hard time figuring it out
- there is hands brushing and longing gazes and suspicion of mutual longing, but cheery vamp isn’t even sure grumpy cop is gay or bi and doesn’t want to push him now that he’s opening up a bit
- then one day grumpy detective and cheery vamp are chasing a seriously bad guy into an abandoned building. Ripped curtains flowing in the November breeze, dusty rooms, heaps of dirt and fishy stains in the corners. Cheery vamp is distracted, gets jumped by the bad guy. Grumpy detective rushes in. A fight follows. Cheery vamp joins, and they fight together, perfectly in tune, fast and lethal. Bad guy is subdued. Grumpy detective is breathing hard, beaming with triumph - bleeding from his neck. Cheery vamp is overwhelmed. He hears a gasp, a rush of movement, and he finds himself pinning the detective against the wall, clutching his chin to keep him still - teeth bared and hovering two inches from his throat. He doesn’t want to. It’s been so long. He’s so thirsty. He’s ruining everything, but he can’t stop
- until he feels grumpy detective’s Glock pushed against his ribs, trigger already half-pulled, and his voice telling in a croaky but firm voice that he has five secs to pull himself together or he’s getting a hole in his arm. Cheery vamp takes a long breath, drinking in the rich scent of blood - forces himself to blink. The gun is still there. They’re both shaking. The smell is everywhere, is everything
Till cheery vamp grits his teeth, and tears himself off the detective. They sit on the floor for a while, gasping, both of them trying desperately to make sense of what just happened
- in the end, grumpy detective pulls himself up, reholsters his gun, and walks up to cheery vamp - offering him a hand. “Now you’re going to offer me coffee,” he says, “and tell me what the ever-loving fuck is going on.”
And cheery vamp does. They talk all night, sitting in a dingy half-desert diner that stinks of fried food and old coffee. Grumpy detective gets angry, growls, curses, pales, drinks coffee. Mostly, he listens. At four in the morning, he believes him. At five, they kiss over their table. At six, they pull in front of the detective’s house and cheery vamp bids him goodnight with a peck on his lips - because they’ll take this nice and slow. Grumpy detective mumbles something.
“You live half the city over. How are you going-”
“Vampire.”
“You’re telling me you can fly?”
Cheery vamp grins. “Of course.”
The detective smiles against his lips. “Of course.”
@funkzpiel @elenothar @thegaypumpingthroughyourveins
Remind you of anyone/anything?
via http://ift.tt/2fNTaw4:Want to Know How the Cops Actually Trace a Gun?:
criticalrolequotesandstuff:
Oh. My. God.
Did you know that when a gun is used in a crime and cops want to trace it, people have to look through microfilm to find the owner, because it’s illegal to have a searchable database of that information?
Seriously. The NRA managed to get a law passed that makes it illegal. These people have to search by hand. 1,200 traces a day. By hand.
Cops assume they just type it into a search engine, because, like, obviously? We have all this technology that puts information at our finger tips. But not who owns the gun that killed that little girl. That you have to search through microfilm or boxes of files for.
I feel sick.
If you’re American and could ever possibly one day vote, please take the time to read this and understand how absurd it it. I cannot for a moment believe this is what reasonable Americans would choose if they understood what it actually is.
And, whoever you are, please share this, so it gets in front of more eyeballs.
criticalrolequotesandstuff:
Oh. My. God.
Did you know that when a gun is used in a crime and cops want to trace it, people have to look through microfilm to find the owner, because it’s illegal to have a searchable database of that information?
Seriously. The NRA managed to get a law passed that makes it illegal. These people have to search by hand. 1,200 traces a day. By hand.
Cops assume they just type it into a search engine, because, like, obviously? We have all this technology that puts information at our finger tips. But not who owns the gun that killed that little girl. That you have to search through microfilm or boxes of files for.
I feel sick.
If you’re American and could ever possibly one day vote, please take the time to read this and understand how absurd it it. I cannot for a moment believe this is what reasonable Americans would choose if they understood what it actually is.
And, whoever you are, please share this, so it gets in front of more eyeballs.
via http://ift.tt/2fVdiA1:
whatsfreebaseandwhatsfreeaboutit:
Omfg this is of that kid he looks exactly the same
whatsfreebaseandwhatsfreeaboutit:
Omfg this is of that kid he looks exactly the same
acrossthetallgreenriver: onlystatic:
Oct. 5th, 2017 07:59 pmvia http://ift.tt/2y2Gcoq:
acrossthetallgreenriver:
onlystatic:
“Starbreather” 2017
Just doodling with leftover watercolors, acrylic, and ink
@nyodrite @owldork1998
acrossthetallgreenriver:
onlystatic:
“Starbreather” 2017
Just doodling with leftover watercolors, acrylic, and ink
@nyodrite @owldork1998