goldngods

[goldngods]

DARKER STARTERS

Sentence starters of varying degrees. Change pronouns as you see fit. TW: Psychological horror

❛ Don’t look behind you. ❜ ❛ Something just whispered my name. ❜ ❛ It’s been dead for years, but it’s still calling. ❜ ❛ That wasn’t you breathing next to me, was it? ❜ ❛ I think… I’m being followed. But no one’s ever there. ❜ ❛ There’s something in the walls. I can hear it scratching. ❜ ❛ Why does the mirror show something I’m not doing? ❜ ❛ We buried them. I watched it happen. So how are they here? ❜ ❛ The lights won’t stay on anymore. It’s like they’re afraid. ❜ ❛ There’s blood under the floorboards. It keeps spreading. ❜ ❛ I dreamt of them again. But this time, they noticed me watching. ❜ ❛ I can’t tell if I’m sleepwalking or being moved. ❜ ❛ That wasn’t my voice on the phone. But it said everything I was thinking. ❜ ❛ The photo changed. They weren’t smiling before. ❜ ❛ Why does the attic door keep unlocking itself? ❜ ❛ Something climbed into bed with me last night. I was too scared to move. ❜ ❛ That thing outside? It’s wearing your face. ❜ ❛ I saw you die. I felt you die. ❜ ❛ My reflection blinked after I walked away. ❜ ❛ That voice… it said your name. But it wasn’t me. ❜ ❛ They said if I looked at it, it would follow me home. I looked. ❜ ❛ There’s something living in the basement. It doesn’t like light. ❜ ❛ She’s been dead for a hundred years, and she wants me to take her place. ❜ ❛ I keep waking up with dirt under my nails. ❜ ❛ It said it would kill me last night. Why am I still here? ❜ ❛ Something touched me in the dark. It was cold… and smiling. ❜ ❛ There’s something in the photographs. Behind us. Watching. ❜ ❛ I can feel it watching me, even when I shut my eyes. Especially then.❜ ❛ My shadow moves differently when I’m not looking. ❜ ❛ The voice in the radio said it’s coming for you next. ❜ ❛ I don’t think this is my body anymore. ❜ ❛ I’m not alone in my head. It’s louder than me now. ❜ ❛ You said we were alone. Then who was standing in the hallway? ❜ ❛ Something’s wrong with the baby. It has too many teeth. ❜ ❛ Every mirror in the house cracked at the same time. ❜ ❛ It keeps offering me a choice. I don’t like the second option. ❜ ❛ They never left. I can hear them under the floor, screaming. ❜ ❛ I think the house is alive. And hungry. ❜ ❛ The dog won’t stop growling at the empty corner. ❜ ❛ It wants to wear your skin. ❜ ❛ You weren’t born. You were made. ❜ ❛ Why does the music box keep playing, even with no key? ❜ ❛ It’s not pretending to be her anymore. It is her. ❜ ❛ The dreams aren’t dreams. They’re instructions. ❜ ❛ You were never supposed to find this place. ❜ ❛ They stitched a mouth shut in that painting. Now it’s screaming. ❜ ❛ I think the stars are in the wrong place. ❜ ❛ The last thing I saw was its smile. I can still see it when I close my eyes. ❜ ❛ The door was locked from the inside. ❜ ❛ It said if I ever tell anyone about it, you’ll be next. ❜

[goldngods]

Isabela Merced as Dina in The Last of Us S02E01

[goldngods]

james wasn’t at the diner that night. max waited for longer than he cared to admit, eating his cheesecake particularly slow, reading two more chapters than he normally would’ve. by the time his coffee had gone cold and the waitress looked about ready to kick him out, max trudged home with a pit in his stomach. something was wrong. james had missed on their meetings before — it wasn’t as if they had ever verbally agreed to spend time together —, but something about this particular night felt off: max’s well trained instincts could detect danger with ease, and he had to ball his hands into fists as he walked home to keep himself from calling james’ phone. it was clear what, exactly, was wrong the moment he noticed the figure slumped on the ground by his apartment door, long legs stretched out in front of him and head fallen to his chest. max’s hand flew to his hip, instinct to reach for the gun he no longer carried, before he realized it was james, disheveled and breathing erratically, almost as if he was keeping himself from crying. max closed the distance between them at a brisk pace, blood rushing to his ears when james finally looked up at him, his bottom lip split, blood smeared on his chin and the soft bloom of bruises already forming on his neck and cheek. james stood up, wobbly like a baby giraffe and max wrapped his arm around the younger man’s waist, keeping him close as he pushed his apartment door open. he was certain he’d heard james whisper something akin to an apology, but the blood rushing through max’s ears kept him from truly understanding what he’d said. “c’mon sweetheart, let’s get you inside and cleaned up. what hurts? i can drive you to the hospital if you want.” // closed starter for @whitelics

[goldngods]

the man was real. he'd flinched when santiago was rude, he'd looked unsure and lost and something else entirely. it was all far too real and santi wondered if this was the time he finally bit the bullet and lost his mind— he knew it was coming one of these days, the thing that finally broke him down and left him a drooling mess on a gutter somewhere, but this was different. because the man was the same, he looked and sounded the same, but yet— he wasn’t. angelo. angel. santi felt his mouth water, stomach churning unpleasantly. he stared at the pink dyed hair for far longer than anyone might deem polite: his angel — the angel he’d so brutally assassinated — had brown hair. simple, curly brown hair that had looked soft even when matted with blood. he’s vaguely aware he’s been asked a question, downing the rest of his drink, hands itching for a cigarette or something more. name. his name. the dead man walking had asked santi for his name; he knew he’d given angel a fake name when they first met, something nonconsequential that he’d already forgotten, but he could still remember the bitter resentment in the pit of his stomach that had him wondering what his real name would sound like in the man’s gravelly voice. “santiago.” he answered at last, a stupid fucking choice that could end with him dead or imprisoned— after all he’d done, santiago thought it might be some sort of karmic justice that the thing that would land him behind bars would be the pretty twink he’d murdered years before. “ m’name’s santiago. what— what the fuck are you?”

the  harshness  of  the  stranger’s  response  caught  angel  off-guard,  making  him  flinch  minutely.  but  his  embarrassment  was  distant,  his  attention  focused  on  how  much  the  man’s  hostility  felt  like  a  sign,  a  marker  on  a  path  angel  kept  losing  track  of.  confirmation  that  he  wasn’t  imagining  it.

he  lost  himself  in  the  stranger’s  face  for  a  moment,  searching.  there’d  been  others,  faces  that  inexplicably  drove  him  to  tears  or  made  him  puke  his  guts  out,  but  none  like  this.  this  felt  different,  more  visceral.  he  was  scared,  no  doubt,  but  there  was  more  to  it.  the  stranger  was  somehow  inviting,  too.  compelling  and  repelling  at  once.

“i’m  angelo.”  he  didn’t  know  why  he  introduced  himself  like  that;  it  was  always  just  ‘angel,’  a  small  but  useful  distance  between  his  personal  and  professional  life,  one  people  rarely  thought  to  question.  a  safeguard.  “but  everyone  calls  me  angel.”  he  hesitated  for  a  moment;  this  was  a  dangerous  game  to  play,  he  knew.  still,  his  curiosity  was  impossible  to  rein  in.  “what  about  you?”  he  asked,  voice  stripped  of  affectation.  anticipation surged  within  him,  like  the  man's answer  might  be  the  what he was looking for,  the  thing  to  make  it  all  click  together.  “what’s  your  name?”

[goldngods]

santiago does his best not to preen under angel’s gaze. he’s not used to the attention, always working in the shadows, always doing his very best to stay out of people’s radars. this evening, the only person actually paying any sort of attention to him was angel, whose memory wouldn’t matter much once he finished his job. “handsome, huh? not sure the rugged part is much of a compliment… the sort of thing you’d say to a brute.” santi joked, hating the way his pulse picked up at the offhand compliment. “not sex on the beach, can’t stand peaches. but you’re not entirely wrong… i do prefer sweet things.” “only when it’s the truth.” santi shrugged, keeping his knee still when angel brushed against him; it seemed innocent enough to pass off as accidental, but there was something about the younger man’s eyes that told santiago he wasn’t the type to do anything accidentally. “i have to admit, i haven’t been on too many dates.” the word is heavy, laced with the briefest hint of shyness— he needed angel to be comfortable, and santi figured that going with the angle of a man that wasn’t too experienced with sex work might make angel feel like he’s the one in charge. “but something tells me you’ll have me figured out in no time. you seem smart like that.”

“close  enough.  i  do  like  my  drinks  fruity.”  angel  grinned.  “now,  you…”  he  said  as  if  musing  to  himself,  chin  propped  on  his  hand  as  he  examined  ramón’s  face.  reading  people  was  second-nature,  and  angel  could  spot  red  flags  from  a  mile—  the  shifty  eyes  of  hagglers,  the  condescension  of  power-trippers,  the  eerie  calm  of  a  sadistic  streak.  but  ramón  was  harder  to  place.  there  was  no  malice  in  his  gaze,  only  a  weary  sort  of  sadness  that  intrigued  angel  in  spite  of  himself.  “that  ruggedly  handsome  thing  you  got  going  on  tells  me  whiskey’s  the  safe  bet.”  angel squinted,  gauging  the  man’s  reaction.  “but  i  don’t  think  that’s  right.  i  think  you’ve  got  a  sweet  tooth.  sex  on  the  beach,  maybe?”

it  wasn’t  uncommon  for  men  to  reach  out  not  knowing  what  they  wanted,  but  angel  had  been  hoping  for  a  straight  answer,  something  that  might  shed  some light  on  ramón’s  intentions.  “i  bet  you  say  that  to  most  of  your  dates,”  he  teased,  brushing  his  knee  against  ramón’s.  “i  have  to  say,  'nothing  specific'  doesn’t  make  my  job  very  easy,  but  i  do  like  a  challenge.  i'm  sure  i  can  figure  you  out  before  the  night’s  over.”

[goldngods]

santiago tapped his index finger to his nose. “you’re not very bright, if it took you so long to realize what’s happening here.” it wasn’t exactly a bounty, as that would’ve implied someone needed angel alive— it was an assassination, plain and simple. if santi wasn���t so intrigued, if céline wasn’t so greedy, he would’ve placed a bullet on angel’s head already: it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before, anyways. “wrong guy, yeah, sure thing.” it was against protocol, but santiago was so pissed he just wanted to freak the other guy out, perhaps get him to shut the fuck up for a while, so he pulled up angel’s file — his goddamned paper fucking file — from his backpack, making a show out of plucking angel’s headshot and throwing it on the ground between them, keeping the actual contents of the file away from angel's eyes. “that you, ain’t it? 6’2, brown hair dyed pink, scar on the back of the neck, skinny frame.” santi leaned back, ankles crossed in front of him, appearing far more nonchalant than he felt. “there’s some real interesting shit here too. paranoid delusions, memory loss. cats and gardening.” he snorted, throwing the file back onto the table, away from the other man’s eyes. “you’re already a major fucking headache, angelo.” that name wasn’t on the file, but santi remembered it from the first time they met. he remembered everything from that night. “who sent me is none of your concern right now. no no, right now, you should be concerned over the fact that i’m a goddamned killer, and you’re the poor bastard handcuffed to my radiator.”

"are you saying you have a bounty on my head?" angel actually laughed at that, though he'd much rather have screamed. it's not like he was law-abiding or without enemies— he could think of a few people off the top of his head who wouldn't mind seeing him dead, maybe even a couple who would've liked to do the deed themselves. but enough to send someone like this — an extremely skilled someone — to get him, dead or alive? it was absurd. "cause if that's what you're saying, then you have the wrong guy," angel said, though he was quickly losing hope that this lunatic would actually listen to him; clearly the guy was dead set on his own delusions. angel wondered what dr. archer would've made of him, or of the fact that angel was starting to believe maybe there hadn't been a mistake after all. regardless, the fact was that santiago had had ample opportunity to kill angel by now, and yet there he was, in one piece, with only a busted lip and the gnarly pain behind his eyes. santiago hadn't even touched him since they'd gotten there. "though, to be clear, if you don't let me go, i intend to be a major fucking headache," he said with a sharp grin that reopened the cut on his lip. "who sent you, anyway? cause i'm sure your boss won't appreciate you showing up with some random dude in your fuzzy pink handcuffs."

[goldngods]

❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ sender tilts the receiver’s chin with their weapon / santi + angel

santiago allowed his head to tilt back, the familiar red lines of his own gun glimmering in the low light of his bedroom, the cold metal pressing against the underside of his chin. he was used to raising his eyes upwards when looking at angel, but never this much, never with his knees on the ground and hands tied behind his back— properly tied, not handcuffed, because angel had broken the fucking fuzzy handcuffs they’d first put him in like the asshole he was. santi let the silence stew between them, blood rushing from his brain, his dark pants uncomfortably tight. if anyone asked, santi would’ve sworn that the only reason he wasn’t concerned about the gun on his face was because of the fingerprint-locked trigger, but that wasn’t necessarily true, not when angel’s pupils were so blown his eyes turned back, not when santi could see the tent on angel’s own pants nearly at eye level. “what’s it gonna be, little robot?” his voice echoed through the room, even though he had barely whispered. “are you gonna shoot me, or fuck me?”

[goldngods]

[ BROKE ] for sender to punch receiver hard enough their nose bleeds. / santi + 😇

santiago really needed to stop underestimating the younger man. between the skinny arms and the stupid fucking mullet that santiago couldn't help but want to run his fingers through, angel didn’t look at all like a threat— santi knew better, however. should have known better, at least. it wasn't the first time angel got the best of him since they had snatched him from the street, not even considering the first time they met. that fateful one santi figured shouldn't count, considering that the sole reason angel had gotten the upper hand was because santiago had been too busy thinking with his dick. this time, when angel somehow jumps away from the radiator he’s been handcuffed to and plows his fist straight against santiago’s jaw, he wouldn’t admit that it was the second time santi was punched because he was busy thinking with his dick. ripley barked out a laugh from her beanbag, but made no move to help as santiago staggered back, the blood gushing from his nose fueling the anger as he launched himself on top of angel, the other man’s head hitting the corner of the radiator with a sickening thud. angel was unconscious before the two of them even properly hit the ground, but santiago didn’t trust that one bit, considering he’d been stabbed the last time angel played dead. “rip, be useful for fucking once and get me some rope or handcuffs or anything. you and céline gotta have some kinky shit laying around.” “can’t believe you got jumped by C-3PO's underfed cousin.” ripley snorted, but started rummaging through the top drawer of her dresser nonetheless. “cél's going to love hearing about it.” “bastard's stronger than he looks.” santiago couldn’t fucking believe it either. he shuffled around, angel's limp body far heavier than he expected it to be, as if even while unconscious he was still doing his damned best to be as difficult as possible. “fuck you. and fuck him too.”

[goldngods]

𝜗𝜚 ⠀𝗕𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗕   ﹔   enemies to lovers sentence starters   .  please   like   or reblog   if   you   plan   on   using   .   don’t   claim   as   your   own   .   

I  wasn't  expecting  you  to  be  you.

did  we  just  have  our  first  fight?

aren't you tired of all of this?

do  you  think  you're  the  only  one  capable  of  getting  hurt?

please,  nothing  frightens  you.

aren't  you  tired  of  all  of  this?

most  of  all,  I  hate  you  because  I  think  of  you.  often.  It's  disgusting,  and  I  can't  stop.

you can die slowly cut into a thousand pieces.

i  could  easily  forgive  his  pride,  if  he  had  not  mortified  mine.

have  I  told  you  how  hideous  you  look  tonight?

if  you  hurt  me,  I  wouldn't  cry.  I  would  hurt  you  back.

i  am  going  to  keep  on  defying  you.

i  hate  you  so  much  that  sometimes  I  can't  think  of  anything  else.

my  sweet  nemesis,  how  glad  I  am  that  you  returned.

you  really  are  terrible,  you  know  that?  I  don't  even  understand  why  the  things  you  say  make  me  smile.

these  violent  delights  have  violent  ends.

kiss  me  or  kill  me,  you  can't  do  both.

if i cannot have your love, i will have your fury.

you  can't  do  it.  you  can't  kill  me.

you  know  what  the  worst  part  was?  pretending  I  loved  you.

you  are  cruel  even  in  love.  i  ought  to  hate  you.

I'd  spend  a  lifetime  at  the  tip  of  your  blade,  and  it  would  be  worth  it.

so  that's  why  you  so  readily  agreed.  know  your  enemy,  right?

the  most  worthwhile  and  difficult  lesson  is  to  love  your  enemy.  they're  often  a  reflection  of  you.

i'll  take  anything  over  days  of  silence.

you  may  not  think  I  can  feel,  but  that  doesn't  mean  I  can't  see  feelings  in  others.

you’ve  changed  me  for  the  better,  and  even  if  you  left  me,  I  would  still  have  that.

how  swiftly  you  dismiss  our  love.

i  am  not  the  love  you  knew  before.

would  you  fall  in  love  with  me  again  if  you  knew  all  I've  done?

hurt  more  lives  than  I  can  count  on  my  hands  but  all  of  that  was  to  bring  me  back  to  you.

I  couldn't  let  you  sacrifice  yourself  for  me.

I  wouldn't  want  to  marry  anybody  who  was  wicked,  but  I  think  I'd  like  it  if  he  could  be  wicked  and  wouldn't.

as  sick  as  it  sounds,  i  loved  you  first.

do  you  think  that  I  want  to  be  in  this  position?  contending  with  these  thoughts  of  wanting  to  be  nowhere  except  with  you.

even  when  I  didn't like you,  I  lusted  for  you.  It's  the  most  maddening,  beguiling,  damnable  thing,  but  there  it  is.

you  are  the  bane  of  my  existence,  and  the  object  of  all  my  desires.

I  have  never  met  anyone  like  you.  It  is  maddening,  how  much  you  consume  my  very  being.

all the horrors were for love.

what  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?

[goldngods]

these violent delights.

dialogue prompts from these violent delights by micah nemerever.

i never told you my name.

who puts those awful ideas in your head?

you're forever assuming the worst.

what's that face? you look like you're going to cry.

you're one of those people who worry all the time, aren't you?

i don't worry, i ruminate. they're distinct actions.

nothing made you. you just are.

beautiful things are supposed to hurt.

people tell you you're shy all the time, don't they?

i don't know how i ever got on without you.

a little trouble is a good thing for a young person.

i wasn't born yesterday. i know what kids get up to.

it's good to have guns to stick to.

you could do anything to me and i'd let you.

i'm not ready to be seen. not yet.

i don't need you to treat me respectfully. i'm not made of glass.

tell me you love me, at least. please. i need to know somebody does.

do i look normal? i can't tell if i look normal.

you can get away with anything, as long as you act like an authority on the truth.

don't tell me what i want.

you know you're just about the worst liar i've ever met.

i don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you.

you're so square, you're a cube.

i just want you to believe me when i tell you you're worth something.

there are limits to what you can expect people to understand, without living it.

you can't fight everybody all the time. you still have to live with them.

i forget how blue the sky can be outside the city.

i'm going to push you off a cliff, you fucking boy scout.

thank you for trusting me with this.

be a kid while you still can.

please believe in the things i try to tell you, instead of the things you think you deserve to be told.

if the sun touched you for even a moment, you'd go up in flames. like a vampire.

your voice changes when you're angry.

what a lonely, dreary thing it is to know the truth.

you never look away, even when your eyes are closed, but i'm never certain you can see what's really there.

tell me you need me. in those words.

can i tell you something? that i'm all but certain you won't believe?

i never lie to you. but sometimes, i wish i could.

you never let me pretend the truth is alright when it isn't.

you have a profound, elusive sadness about you.

you didn't. please tell me you didn't.

you and your awful little games.

why would i bother to grow my own conscience when you're always around to pester me?

you're going to help me escape.

this house is a shadowbox, never meant for human things.

you have no right to stop me, and you're not going to try.

you're sweet, when you want to be.

do you want me to kill ____? i mean it.

it might do you good to be an orphan.

you're just so sincerely creepy.

wealthy people pay handsomely for the privilege of ignoring cries for help.

i've never seen you like that before. not once.

i've decided to learn to be impulsive.

the worst damage humans do isn't rooted in malice, but in thoughtlessness.

there's such a thing as right and wrong. anyone can figure out the difference if they're willing to think for themselves.

there's no part of you i can't see.

i don't want to hurt you. please don't let me.

you're ridiculous, sometimes. but that's alright.

i don't want you right now. go home.

i'm not like you. i don't even have a shape of my own to hold anything else in place.

i'll never matter the way you do, and you know it.

say what you need to say.

if you say the word 'deserve' one more time, i'm driving us off a bridge.

i've been meaning to talk to you about ____.

i'm worried about what you're getting into.

you don't see me. you can't. you never could.

it's your life. you're entitled to make your own mistakes.

i want you to know you deserve better. you don't have to put up with ____.

you scare the hell out of me. you really do.

you look the same way you always have.

i was worried i'd lost you.

i'll take care of you. i don't need you to be brave.

all i want to do is make you happy, and you're the unhappiest person i've ever met.

i would rather be cruel than weak.

i want you to let me be nice to you today. i don't care if you think you deserve it.

this place looks like somewhere in a jigsaw puzzle.

it's always been real for me. every second.

please don't say anything to my mother.

we can't fix it if you don't tell me what happened.

i'll call you when i can stand the sight of you. don't hold your breath.

hiding the truth is still lying.

i thought you'd finally trust me if you knew i'd kill for you.

i'm just as much of a monster as you are.

i was missing part of myself my whole life, until i met you.

righteous fury leaves no space for fear.

you can always talk to me. about anything, okay? i love you no matter what.

you played [game] in school, didn't you?

no one tolerates boredom worse than the idle rich.

someone needs to be looking after you.

you know you can't actually stop me, right?

i want to be able to look at you.

when you need to, you will understand.

i'm only ever early when i'm afraid.

people talk themselves into the strangest things when they want to look impressive.

in the end, there's no difference between trusting someone and underestimating them.

[goldngods]

❝ if you want it, come get it. ❞ / santi + angel

“wanna make it a little more interesting?” a wild smile bloomed across santiago’s face. he closed the two steps of distance between them, nose barely brushing against angel’s. “run, little robot.” he taunted. “i’ll give you a thirty second head start, because i’m just that nice and then i’m going to catch you, because we both know i will.” santi tilted his head, his lips grazing the corner of angel’s mouth before he stepped back, once again placing the distance between them. he felt just a little insane, the adrenaline desire and frustration that had been bubbling inside him finally ready to burst. “and then i’ll get what i want.”

[goldngods]

you can't do it. you can't kill me. / santi + angel 🤭

“i’ve done it before.” santiago kept the gun trained on angel. it would’ve been so easy to simply pull the trigger— he knew he’d hit the other man right in the forehead, his aim near perfection with the years of training. years of pulling a trigger without hesitation, years of taking lives without a second thought. that first time, the night he met the angel he murdered, santiago had hesitated too. just a second, a brief moment that wondered what life could be like if he gave in into the desire he felt, if he simply finished taking off his clothes and laying in bed and finally taking something for himself. it had ended with him almost dying, a ferocious fight for his own life. angel’s blood and broken bones beneath his knuckles. “i’ve killed you before without a fucking second of hesitation, angel.” he lied. “busted your damned head in with my bare fucking hands. don’t think i wouldn’t do it again.”

[goldngods]

[WHISPER]: in order to have a private, hushed conversation with the receiver, the sender cups their face and draws them close to make sure they can be heard. / santi + angel

santiago’s breath gets caught in his throat, angel’s body pressed against his in the small janitor’s closet— it had been such a close call, the guard almost spotting them before santi managed to shove both of them through the first door that was left unlocked. “holy shit.” he mumbled, heart speeding inside his chest; he had exactly two bullets left and, although he now knew that angel had more than a few tricks up his sleeve, they needed to get through the building attracting the least amount of attention possible. angel’s hand cupped his face, warm in the way it always seemed to be — was it part of his programming, to be so pleasant to touch? the idea itself made santiago sick to his stomach — and pulled him just a little closer. santi tried and failed to hold back the shiver that crawled through his spine, his hands falling to the other’s hips before he could even notice what he was doing. “your pupils are dilated. six milimiters.” angel whispered against his ear. “is it out of fear or arousal?” even in the darkness of the closet, it was impossible to ignore the teasing tone of his words, the shit-eating grin santiago had come to know so well in the last couple of months. he leaned forward, chest thundering with a laugh he tried to stifle, forehead pressed to angel's temple in an attempt to hide the redness crawling up his neck. “shut up, angel. just— shut the fuck up.” “arousal it is, then.”

[goldngods]

“i never said you were my type.” mickey grinned, feeling very much like a predator that had cornered its prey. these sorts of games were his favorite, the satisfaction at watching an innocent-looking thing like james fall into a trap, like a doe in front of a rifle. “i only said your sister wasn’t.” still, mickey made sure to let his eyes wander across james’ frame, slowly taking in his features, the slender slope of his shoulders, the long legs that were still just on the side of gangly, but that mickey could see how elegant they would be one day, how nicely they’d wrap around his waist. “what is your type, james? you seem like one of those kids that goes after trouble.” mickey cocked his head to the side, analyzing the younger man’s words, his intent, his proposition. he had the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, but it was endearing somehow. “yeah, i bet you’re real good at doing what you’re told.” he looked over james’ shoulder at the large windows of his living room. stephen and adam were still on the couch, sitting so close mickey had half a mind to think they’d probably be fucking each other of stephen wasn’t such a raging homophobe— he knew adam was straight, but mickey was willing to bet his favorite jewelry that adam would suck stephen’s cock if he asked him to. “do me a favor, will you, sweetheart?” mickey said, wanting nothing more than to test how eager james would be at complying; something small, simple, just to see if he could get the boy to really follow his instructions. “go back inside and get me a drink. that nice whiskey your dad hides in the back of the bar. neat.”

james knew he had his screws loose, is the thing. maybe more than just a little. but although being seen as crazy had protected him in boarding school after the incident that landed henry in the hospital, james never made peace with the thought, never allowed himself to face it directly. not even pierce had managed to comfort him about it, changing the subject whenever it came up, a shadow of unease in his eyes. so james had just learned to push the wrongness down along with the rest of himself and prayed no one could see the desperate, insatiable little creature behind his eyes. he thought he'd been doing a good job; he was left alone at the new school, had even made friends (mostly girls, which clearly registered as Wrong to his father, but still).

the implication that someone — someone who didn't even really know him, or who shouldn't know him — could see through this mask should've been terrifying. but although mickey's words still sparked defensiveness in james, something in the way he said them hit different. not like judgement, but a compliment. an acknowledgement. absolution. "are you calling me crazy?" james asked jokingly, trying to hide his nakedness behind a smirk.

james didn't miss the way mickey's eyes fell to his lips, and the sight had his heart racing all over again. "on the subject," james said, fiddling with the cigarette, then forced himself to meet mickey's gaze squarely, face burning. "on the teacher." he took a long drag, leaning his weight back on one hand. "i'm not much of an autodidact. but i take instruction well."

[goldngods]

“i’ve heard that before, yeah.” he said it like a joke, an inconsequential quip, but it wasn’t a lie— mickey had heard quite a string of variations of that same sentence since he was a child, ever since he’d stabbed the boy that stained his favorite shirt, the blue one his ma bought him. he didn’t think it to be true: mickey was always in control during these sorts of games, didn’t feel like he was psychotic or insane or feral as one teacher had once put. the violence he committed was because he had to, the giddy feeling in his gut nothing more than a simple consequence. people never understood it, but there was something in james’ eyes, something in the way he paused before he laughed that made mickey wonder if, maybe, he had just stumbled upon someone that might understand it. “it means exactly what i just said. my type’s those pretty boys that have their screws just a little loose in here.” mickey tapped the pad of his middle finger to his temple, cigarette ashes falling to the ground with the motion. “but i think you know exactly what i mean. don’t you, jamie?” mickey frowned, unsure of what else he could have meant. “of course it was a compliment.” it made sense, when he stopped to think about it, that james wasn’t used to receiving compliments— mickey knew stephen and yelena, after all, and he had yet to hear a single praise fall out of their lips that didn’t hold some sort of bargaining chip behind it. he relented the cigarette gracefully, grey eyes tracking the way james’ lips wrapped around it. “oh, really? on what?”

james forgot how to breathe. remembered. swallowed. forced out the thoughts running through his head. urged his blood to return to his head. huffed out a stiff laugh just a beat too late. "you sound like a psycho right now, you know that?" james should drop this. he had to. his father was in the next room over and mickey's words were objectively scary. perhaps most concerningly, james wasn't scared. he should get up and go to bed. "what does that even mean?" he asked instead, as if he didn't actually care about the answer.

"of course not." james followed mickey's gaze to where he'd covered his own hands without thinking. "didn't even realize it was a compliment," he said, though his fingers were discreetly beginning to peek back out of his sleeves already. searching for something to do with hands and cautiously bold, james reached for the cigarette between mickey's lips with only the smallest hesitation, then tucked it between his own. "that depends."

[goldngods]

hello friends !! work got busy af out of nowhere but just a little update on what i'm working on this weekend:

inbox: 12.

drafts: 11.

i'll have most of them queued up over sat & sun., and i'll try to respond to all of my ims asap !

[goldngods]

Jon Bernthal as Frank Castle — DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.04 Sic Semper Systema