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a bummed cigarette was always a win. kit gave him a nod in appreciation before he plucked one out, holding it between the tips of forefinger and middle for a lingering moment while he heard the other talk. " a burn, " he echoed, with a hum. " gnarly things. "

he wasn't blind to the fact that everything around these people felt strange. odd. the air seemed to buzz around them differently, like looking at asphalt on a really hot day and seeing an inexplicable blur on the horizon. he was taking everything he was told with a grain of salt, after his mother had given him no good information to go off of. and his half-sister had mostly just looked at him with wide eyes and barely spoken a word on the brief moment he got with her, the day before. he didn't know what happened inside their walls, but he was getting somewhere. he hoped.

emery, he got a name. funny that he hadn't even considered they were anonymous until then. " kit, " he offered back, though his tone came out a little drier this time. a little more blunt. he liked it better when they seemed to be exchanging something more genuine between them, with the failed pickup line and the callout for it. more in tune with what kit's used to, a pleasant push and pull to his show of teeth. none of this pardon my manners bullshit. he can't have any fun with someone who's already apologizing, thirty seconds into a conversation. " pretty tame question, " he noted. " you the type to dip your toes in before you jump and all that? "

the cigarette was not his brand of choice, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and nicotine still begged to be in his lungs desperately enough. so he perched it between his lips, and gestured with his thumb over its tip, mimicking a lighter. " got a light, pretty boy? "

a sister? there was a beat of humanity still yet inside of emerson myers. his heart jumped into his throat as his jaw muscles tensed. it had been a common thread between them, something he never expected, but he stayed silent, smoking his cigarette as he continued his observation through listening. perhaps he had met her. so many names were changed, & people adapted to new personalities once they became part of the circle that it made it almost impossible for him to keep track of every single member. though he needed to be better at it, especially because one day, it would be his responsibility to watch over the flock.

pulling the cigarette away from his mouth, with a trail of smoke following, he reached deeper into his pocket before he pulled out a half-open pack of cigarettes & held it out for the stranger. he wasn’t against sharing. this man was giving more to emerson than he realised he was, which only made his lips twist into a crooked grin.

green eyes then flashed toward the bandage. his lips twisted from their grin into a thin line as he sighed, “ i was helpin’ around the farmhouse & got burnt pretty bad. ” partial truths spilt from his mouth as there was both an old & fresh burn concealed away.

he chuckled as a means of working his heart down from his throat while shaking his head again as he took a half-step away from the stranger. “ ah, shit, well … i ain’t shown my southern manners. name’s emery, what’s yours? that’s a good place to start, ain’t it? ”

as if to agree with him, the cicadas sang louder as the heat rose higher in temperature, but emerson knew better than to believe the summer heat would stay as it was. he could feel the hair on the back of his neck & arms stand on end as a sign that a storm would be rolling over eden before long. rain storms often felt like the land attempting to wash away the sins of man, but no matter how much it rained, blood continued to soak the grounds & was made into something holy.

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frail broken bird can still pierce with its beak, clearly. kit actually feels taken aback when she snaps at him. he was just trying to fucking help, christ. he has half a mind to leave her there, to scurry off and go about his day, but --

he doesn't know why he stays. he's trying to will his legs to carry him away when she tries to sit up and fails and he finds himself hissing in sympathy, face all twisted as if he could feel it too. realistically, he still hasn't gotten a clue what's going on. "what is--" he starts, helpless, and then her body is seizing, lurching, and he flinches away on instinct. he'd dodged enough drunken spews in his life, he can't help that the sight makes him jumpy. "are you being fucking possessed, lady?!" it's his turn to bark, voice higher than he'd like. out of all the things he had to deal with, in life, he'd rather not deal with demonic entities too. his hands still hover, but they shoot further away with a wince when she screams at him not to touch. "okay! okay! what the fuck do you mean!" now his hands are up, as if he's surrendering to a woman who's on the ground, apparently paralyzed, and flopping around like a fish on dry land. it's not like him, to ache to help. he doesn't know why he stays. "what do i do?"

if she hadn't pushed herself, she wouldn't be in this situation. at least that's what she tells herself. blackness swims across her vision, but the panicked voice cuts through the haze. the sharpness of it startles her, and odette blinks blearily at the man who hovers over her. she is a trapped animal, and he is the one who tries to set her free from the snare. he is unsure, but his fear comes across as anger. her own restraint snaps, and she snarls back. "i just said i can't fucking feel it!"

she tries to push herself off the pavement into a sitting position but lets out a hiss as the burning courses up her knee and settles into her hip. black spots go off in her head like fireworks. all she can do is fall back like a fish and close her eyes so she doesn't hurl or pass out. if she was at home this would be so much easier. at least there she could fall apart. her leg spasms again, and her stomach lurches in response. her body seizes and she gags, then holds her hand out as if to keep the stranger at bay. she grits her teeth then forces her eyes open. fear courses through her as his hands hover over her helplessly. "don't fucking touch me. if i move wrong, it’s gonna get worse."

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kit expected some push back. it was what he did best: push and prod and test the limit of how crass, how blunt he could be with people. he anticipated the question would've gotten him some backlash, some fun kick to the conversation. people usually didn't like comments and questions about their bodies ( he'd never understood that. but he'd gotten the reaction enough times to learn ). but the other had no problem answering as if it was no different than asking about the weather, which was new.

nothing in this fuck ass town was normal. he missed his city. and the answer itself had only made ache in his chest tighten as he remembered who he'd left behind. " i got a... like a sister, back home. she likes to say she doesn't eat meat, but i've seen her destroying a hot dog before. " to jean's defence, it always happened when she was drunk. he'd walked into her perched onto the kitchen counter before, greasy hands tearing through a rotisserie chicken as if she was some wild gargoyle-like thing the cat had brought in. she'd given him a disgusting, toothy grin and asked him not to tell anyone. some big betrayal to the vegetarian movement, that one. god, he fucking missed her.

he didn't know what was the point of sharing that, now that the memory sat between them. he sorta regretted it. like missing her and longing for home had spilled out of him and begged to be shared, but once it was out, he missed keeping her a secret. like she was no longer sacred now, exposed to whatever toxic air eden exhaled. he focused back on his companion, shoulders raising in a shrug. " i wanna know... " he started, pause added as he thought. his mouth felt devastatingly hollow. " if you have a cigarette i can bum, " his head tilts, before he jerks his chin towards emerson's bandaged arm. " and what's up with that? " his lip pulled to the side in a half-smile. " what do you wanna know? "

emerson took a slow drag of his cigarette, the question only bringing him to look in the direction of the other man. exhaling smoke through his nose, he chuckled softly to himself before his head shook. the attempt at a crude pickup line almost went unnoticed by him, but that was due to his focus being elsewhere, as he was aware of how another individual saw him. he was seen in a way that made the muscles in his jaw tense. no matter how he clothed himself, in this case a t-shirt with a fresh set of gauze bandages around where there normally would be a branding scar in the shape of a snake, there was enough exposure to see how thin he truly was. he skipped meals more than he ate them, but despite the leanness of his skin as it stretched across his bones, there was still muscle, but it, too, was lean.

he considered his answer before he tapped his cigarette on his leg. “ i don’t eat meat. ” he responded. “ it makes me sick as a fuckin’ dog who just ate chocolate. ” he went for another drag from his cigarette before he stopped himself. “ shit can be real difficult when meat is all folks eat. so i fear i eat like a rabbit. ”

for him, curiosity was natural & human. even strays had their questions, & while silas encouraged it, he also warned against too many questions. emerson could never be that person. he had too many questions of his own to simply dismiss them or dismiss the questions of another, which is why he found himself still looking at kit, his green eyes burning a hole in him. studying & learning. then, he looked toward the dirt beyond the porch, the patches of greenery that tried to grow in places where it had once been stained red with blood. he brought his cigarette up for a second time & paused for a beat, “ was that all you wanted to ask? i ain’t an open book, but i ain’t against sharin’ things about myself, but it’d only be fair if you shared somethin’ too. ” he then took his drag.

emerson was aware that the world was rarely fair, but it was a shot in the dark with the attempt to get to know and understand kit better. more importantly, he needed to view him as something more than a potential stray. that would ease the pains of hunger that twisted in his stomach like a knife twisting in an open wound.

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@bucketkicked sent " We  weren’t  supposed  to  meet  yet. "

there's something about the line that pierces right between his ribs. unassuming words, one might think; you could hear anything from anyone in these shadowed parts of town and no one really batted an eye. he'd seen stumbling men talking sweet nothings about meeting god, only to see them empty their stomachs in the alleyway a moment later. but there's something about this one that sends an icy knife down his spine, as if ice cube had just been dropped into his shirt.

his shoulders roll back, uncomfortable. " fuck does that mean? " cigarette bobs between his lips with the words, his eyes squint at his companion. " see, i knew something was wrong with ya. "

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@2wanlake sent “i can’t feel it.”

hands hover uncertainly in the air, for a moment. his breaths come in something shallow, quick. he's no stranger to violence. lord, he's seen more gore in real life than the average new yorker and that's saying something. he's seen his own blood, he's seen other people's, he walks through life covered in proverbial red as if he can't ever wash the color from under his fingernails, and yet --

this is different in a way that triggers his heart to race uncertainly in his chest. he's patched himself up before, numerous times, he never had to help someone else. the girl lies on the pavement like a frail bird, wings broken, and he fears his hands are too uncoordinated and rough to pick it up without its neck snapping. " the fuck do you mean you don't feel it ? " he bites, his voice something he doesn't recognize. " you hit your fucking head, too ? "

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TARON EGERTON Black Bird 1.06 "You Promised"

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happy pride! losing only to a protest that gets messy, the pride parade is kit's second favorite event that collects a bunch of people in the streets of nyc. unfortunately it's less of a "let's be proud" for him and more of a "let's get drunk and be disruptive and loud" which is not the point of pride but hey, he's there and he is proud. he ALWAYS hangs with the drag queens, he loves to see them. it's the one time of year he'll do the hanky in the back pocket thing because he thinks it's funny. he tries to one-up himself from how many people he got to make out with the year before

on a deeper note, he comes from an abusive family from a tiny countryside town in the middle of nowhere. pride means a great deal to him, but he sort of paints nyc in its entirety in that light: it's the city that gave him all this freedom, and for that, he loves it dearly

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ok genuine real official gameplan

today: nap. recover from hozier live experience (might never be achieved, might never shut up about it). hang out with fam. be available on discord/IMs and maybe dash for shenanigans later tonight

sunday: full thesis work day. ok now i HAVE to write and send in like 4 more pages by monday so i have no escape. might go missing entirely, but you can still send me messages to get back to, when i pop in occasionally to maintain my sanity

rest of the week: hopefully properly back from hiatus, life is slowing down again. who cheered !!

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might be a little MIA this week!! taking a business road trip rn, so i'm stuck on mobile for today and tomorrow. if i have any down time, i'll try to pop out replies

in the meantime, like this if you want kit sending memes to your inbox !!

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@somniphobiia sent [ PINCH ] Quentin holding Kit’s chin between his thumb and forefinger

the cut has stopped bleeding by now, which is good news. adrenaline has had time to dissipate, leaving behind the newfound sting of skin slashed open near his hairline. it's probably nothing a band-aid won't fix, he's told quentin that much already. the worst part about these minor injuries were getting them to stop fucking bleeding and being a nuisance -- he could handle himself after that. he always had.

but quentin fusses. he's overly careful, he gives kit predictable scoldings about the importance of hospitals and then still patches him up, anyway. so kit sits, like muzzled dog at the veterinarian who's accepted its fate, and tries not to hold his breath when quentin touches his chin. he grits his teeth and bites down on the instinct to flinch away, holds his rabid self on a tight leash to remain perfectly still. acting nice, for once. his pulse only quickens because he's anticipating the sting of whatever quentin will pour on the wound to clean it -- surely. " am i gonna live, doc ? " he cracks ridiculous joke, making conscious effort to barely move his jaw, as to not disrupt the hand on his chin ( craving it and needing it gone in equal measures, latter probably winning the longer he sits there ) . " it's fine, y'know. "

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DAREDEVIL | S02E11 ".380"

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kit's mom left when he was 3, so he doesn't call her ma like it would be typical for the boston accent he has. it's just a very dislocated mom any time he needs to mention her in conversation (mother would feel too fancy for a guy like him).

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@exorcstsdevil as finlay sent "Is  that  your  drink  or  mine ?"

skeptical eyes flicker over to the glass in question, squinting as they regard its contents. he hasn't been drinking at all this evening, so the answer should roll of his tongue faster than it does. but a free drink is a free drink, and if he sees something he likes, he'll take the chance. however, in this instance, piss-colored liquid does not entice any desire in the pit of his stomach. " i wouldn't be caught dead drinking that if i was already drunk, " he snorts. " all yours. how do you like it ? "

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@montaqeu sent "Try the champagne."

kit's head snapped towards the voice, surprise making him search for romeo's face, in hopes to see the joke written there. his face twisted, nose wrinkling and eyes squinting in distaste in a childish manner before he could control it. " eugh, " is the noise that comes out of him, something that sounds like a gag from petulant throat. " of course you'd be a champagne guy, " words are meant to be mocking and sharp, but his lips are tugging up into a smirk. " that's booze for rich fuckers who can't handle their liquor. "

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a tab, that was rich. snort was given, smile wiped from his face for a moment. " you talk to the owner for that, not me, princess. " he'd be a lot more inclined to join the punches next time if he ended up having to pay for this fucking beer. he'd go bankrupt if patrons learned they could occasionally sneak something out of him.

the ease was back, though, at the free compliment placed between them. like a cat with its tail perking up, he straightened his shoulders, toothy grin plastered across his lips. " calling me pretty won't make me pay for that, " he gestured towards the beer, but his hand soon rerouted to dig into his pocket for a light. " but it will get you a good time if you repeat it enough. " not exactly a broken promise, though perhaps the emasculation of the specific word pretty would eventually grate on his nerves enough that he'd take it back.

thumb scratched the flame to life and he let it lick the end of jack's cigarette until it burned its bright amber. the music lulled louder when an intruder opened the door, no doubt attempting to use the bathroom that kit and jack were now filling. the space was pretty small. they were blocking the path to the single urinal.

" ay, this one's outta service, pal, " he called, without looking over his shoulder. " go whip your dick out on the alley, 's the door behind the bar. " the figure hesitated for a lingering second before taking off, leaving them alone again.

kit pocketed his lighter and hummed, eyes having never left jack. " start talking. "

jack sighed through his nose as his eyes rolled. he would have swung at kit if it weren’t for the fact that he was on the ground and at a disadvantage, or at least, that was the impression he was leaning into. he took the beer, no questions asked, & brought the bottle to his jaw, wincing as the cool glass touched the tender, flushing skin. “ just put it on my tab & i’ll pay next time i’m in town, deal? ” he looked at the other as if expecting a favour to be made, but also anticipating that there would be none.

the issue was, jack was running out of funds. he needed to reach out to his boss & get more money, but being in new york, he had to make the best of whatever he had. snapping back, he heard the question & considered the best approach for an answer. pulling the bottle away, he moved his jaw from side to side, wincing at the pain, but grateful nothing felt broken. the last thing he needed was a broken jaw.

he set the bottle down on the ground near his legs, reached into the pocket of his jeans & pulled out a pack of cigarettes before promptly slipping one into his mouth. “ got a light? i’ll fill ya in, but i need a smoke first. you & your pretty face understand that one. ” each word spoken was like tasting blood all over again for the first time. he couldn’t swallow it fast enough; there was just too much of it, which meant something was still actively bleeding inside of his mouth. it was likely from the brass knuckles.

his skull was pounding with the music that seemed louder than before. had it been turned up?

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Jean-Michel Basquiat

Tenor

1985

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kit has probably met basquiat and andy warhol like at least once. statistically speaking