Lemme tell ya’ll a lil story about this here Carlisle. You see, either I started following them or they started following me on my Robb Stark blog and honestly that’s what introduced me to the Twilight fandom because I had no idea it actually existed till then. So, really I guess I have them to thank for this blog considering I probably wouldn’t have made it without knowing this beautiful place existed. Anyways~ Their Carl is quite practically Carlisle and all the potential he had brought to life 10x over. I adore them, and I stalk them… I’ll be real. A lot of times people tell me that they’re afraid to approach me, which I think is just crazy, considering 99.9% of the time I’m afraid to approach them. Which is one of these times. But, I love love love their writing and they seem like such a qt-pa-tootie…… Either way I hope we can develop a thread sometime.
never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to, not that he was quite expecting her to lie as much as stretch the truth. the women he had encountered in New York thus far often attempted to put up the front that they didn’t need a man - that they were independent and self-sufficient. now - a woman who actually knew what she was doing was even better. and besides if his wife looked good in her brand then he couldn’t even imagine how Rosalie looked.
”and i’m guessing you don’t do private shows?”
he laughed softly, his bright blue eyes sparkling in amusement. taking another drink, Jim glanced over to see his friend - Leonard - already passed out on the couch with beer dribbling down his chin. pleasant as always…
’ Not particularly– ’ —-A smirk written upon her face. For she knew exactly what he wanted, just from that statement… It wasn’t like she minded all that much. It was a beauty of self confidence, and while she knew some disconcerting information about him and his ‘status’ it seemed she hardly cared. Call her a wench, she had always been a little self involved and who said self indulgence was a bad thing.
☢T.D.— Tall pumps to make her almost near his height. The streets smelled of smoke and over-used perfume, Prostitutes stood in corners near the apartment. The scent stuck to his clothes, Oculars made of glass watched her.
“Thank you.”
It felt like a compliment. Dead-beat men lying in allies picking up prostitutes or passed out, It seemed Tyler was far from them.
Wasn’t that perfect, Tyler was a gentlemen..I think.
”This your place?” Cramped apartment.
’ Unfortunately—- ’ —-Yet, her legs kicked the pebbles the littered the ground and she didn’t look at him. Not yet. ’ School loans and a shitty desk job don’t really make it easy to afford a better apartment in a better neighborhood. I make do. ’ —-And suddenly her heartbeat picks back up, of course nothing like the heart attack she was having earlier. It was more steady, exhilarating almost. And then she remembers something, and with a pen she’d pulled from her back she scrawled upon it a handful of numbers. ’ In case you’re looking for damsals in distress, superman. I got you covered. ’
A sweet smell invades them. It would’ve been pleasing to his host. Had he been awake But it is naught but absolutely r e p υ ɢ ɴ α ɴ т to the fox.
Perhaps he had seen the leech, once before. A thousand years ago. Such a face is not easily forgotten.
❝ There is no place in this town for your kind, Ⴆʅσσԃʂυƈƙҽɾ. ❞
—-It was meant to sting. She knew as much. Meant tear upon her heart strings with a malice that would seem almost bitter sweet, had she anything for it to claw at. There was naught but a hollow shell of the girl she was once. The one who dreamed of starlight and kissed in the cool breeze. But, she ought not to tarry. For demons awaited no one.
’ And perhaps you are the one to chase me out of it then? ’
☢T.D.— Those glassy oculars looked right into that broken soul of his. Maybe she reminded him of Marla Singer, The tall pumps, The porcelain like skin and her depressed tone.
”More than often..” Maybe he owned a underground boxing club. Yeah he went there a lot, And watched people get half murdered in there, Their fresh blood staining the warm cement. The smell of sweat of a fight from the night before.
—-A soft hum echoes through the midnight streets, as if to reply to his statement. Yet, despite the bells alarming in her inner most subconscious, she continued to still. Judging a book by its placement was almost like judging it by its cover. He’d already proven that the metaphor on its own was but a joke. Besides, she lived just up the road, where most women were either prostitutes or drug addicts. She happened to be neither.
’ And yet– You aren’t like them. ’ —-Of course she meant those men from earlier, of course, not all men that decided to hangout in grubby bars were scum themselves.
-❀-
Anonymous asked: learnedskill
