skullfck

[skullfck]

#moonlite.mp3 #got u mounted on a wall in the back of my mind type beat #i stay on the drink and u stay on my mind vibes #✠ DIRTY MIRROR.

[skullfck]

It all happens so fucking fast.

Within a split second, Hawk goes from trying to figure out what the hell to do to watching Blake’s body hit the ground—and he can barely even process that in the resulting confusion. He hears screaming, shouting; the people who haven’t managed to flee the bar already grow even more hysterical and frantic in their attempts to leave. The bouncer is long gone by now, leaving his friends to take up the mantle of trying   ( and failing )   to keep a certain level of order. In the distance, he hears sirens, the eerie whine getting louder and louder.

He turns around, trying to make sense of what’s going on, and sees Salem with the gun. His stomach drops; his heart constricts in his chest. He looks back at the body on the floor and it hits him all at once, the reality of this, the gravity of it. Panic and nausea threaten to bubble up and escape the numb shock that has blanketed his body. Shit. Shit, shit, shit—

Salem says something to him but he can barely make sense of it. The sirens are close now, too close; he thinks he can see red-and-blue lights flashing on the pavement outside. There’s no time to think. He rips the gun out of Salem’s hands, barks at his friends that it’s time to go, and grabs Salem, running for the always-neglected back door by the bathrooms. 

They burst into the night air. He drags Salem through the alley, running in the direction where he thinks he parked his car. 

          Is this all true? The cool steel of Hawk’s gun feels slippery in Salem’s sweaty palms. Did Hawk really kill those cops? He had heard all about it at this point — rewatching news segments that Willow couldn’t stomach to watch on TV. Did Hawk do that? And… did Willow know?

Salem stands slowly, holding the gun to the ground, hiding still behind Hawk’s larger frame. What would happen if Hawk got shot right now? Is he well enough fed, will he die? Will his guys realize there is something different about him if he doesn’t go down like they’d expect? What if the bullet goes through — in and out, and then right into Salem. His blood carries that curse Salem is so desperately afraid of — even a drop would mean…

The shouting reaches a crescendo, Salem’s head spins with anxiety and dread — but the sound of the gun cocking pulls him back to reality. Now, Salem can’t hear anything other than his heartbeat in his ears, all he can feel is that cool, solid steel in his hands. He pulls it up, eye level, just the way his dad taught him to. The crease between Blake's eyebrows is the target as his eyes shift, widening with panic and realization. Now his gun is turned on Salem. He briefly wonders if he still has good aim —

Put that fucking gun down!

— And it turns out he does. Even though the loud pop of the gun in his hands startles him, he doesn’t miss his mark. Blake falls to the ground, as does the spent shell, clinking across the hardwood floor. Salem stares on, stupefied, out of body. His breath is caught in his throat. He looks at Hawk with vacant, haunted eyes. 

          “ H-he was going to sh-shoot you, ”     Salem says barely above a whisper.

#wickdcreatures

[skullfck]

He doesn’t have to think about it for long:          “An apartment. ‘S how I got my first place in the city… I was seventeen, totally broke, didn’t know what the fuck I was doin’—but I made that shit work. Did what I had to do. I can charm a bitch landlady any day.”

A grin, a wink. There was more than just flirting involved, naturally, and there are perhaps some unsettling implications once you factor in his age at the time—but he doesn’t really think about that too much. 

          “How ‘bout you? You ever score anythin’ with them Bambi eyes?”

she sips on her lemonade , brows raising in curiosity as he relinquishes new information . she loves it , hearing little stories about hawk from his past . and it makes her laugh , because she would have probably given him drinks for free too . ㅤㅤ❛ yeah ! and i mean , that must have been nice . ❜ she winks , taking another bite . ❛ what's the craziest thing you got by flirting ? ❜

#winterbeheaded

[skullfck]

          “Glad you like it,”         Hawk says, smiling a little. He cracks another egg into the pan, seasoning it as it fries. Once that’s done, he puts it on the second burger—his own—and takes a hearty bite, still standing. He nods once, satisfied with his work, and immediately gets started on the cleanup. 

The clutter is cleared from the counters, a Clorox wipe handles the spills; he even does the dishes, despite knowing at least two more are still to come. He pauses every few minutes to take a bite of food, not content to let the burger go cold before he gets to it. There’s nothing worse than a cold burger.

          “So. How you feelin’ now? Cured?”          he asks, finally plopping down beside her. He only has a few bites left to go, and wastes no time in demolishing them.          “L’il better, at least?”

"Yeah, I guess everybody can cook something. Not everybody makes nice food, though." Her mother, for example, had a saying: cook to live, or live to cook. She was a definite follower of the former, and did not enjoy the task in the least --- so she didn't do it much! Neither did her father. We know this, though, this is tilled ground. She instead look around the room at the mess and smiles.

Something feels right about this. She isn't worried about the dishes, or the fact that he's going to this effort for her. Willow is learning to accept that she is actually cared about, and that every once in a while people will do things for her that make her feel really good and that's okay. That she doesn't have to apologise for it.

She moans when she sees the food set out in front of her in that holy shit I'm about to eat so good kind of way and digs in.

"This is amazing," Willow says with her mouth full. "This is really so good. Thank you. Oh my god."

#unpossession

[skullfck]

There’s too much going on around him. Everything escalated so suddenly. Hawk tries to focus on breathing, eying the gun in Blake’s hand.

          “Blake,”          he says, trying to keep his voice even while making himself heard.          “I think you’re mistaken. Put the fuckin’ gun away—”

          “Shut the fuck up!”          He points the gun at Hawk.          “I know what I fuckin’ saw! Terrorist!” 

Hawk feels sick. Nobody was supposed to know. He feels the eyes of his friends on him, loyal but confused. Their doubt poisons the air. They’ll stand behind him, they’ll always stand behind them, but they’re wondering. 

          “Four cops. C’mon, Hawk, tell everybody. It was your big fuckin’ statement, right? Bodies decimated, blood on the fucking walls. And you think—you think you can put that on me? On me?  You sick fuck.”         Blake’s voice booms, furious, hysterical. He cocks the gun. 

          He has no idea how Hawk can be so calm about all of this. He has the urge to grab onto the back of his shirt, to sink into his shadow like a child, but his feet are firmly planted on the ground, his arms frozen in front of him in a vain attempt to guard his chest. What’s that going to do? A bullet doesn’t care about his arms. He has to get out of here. 

And then the gunshot. Salem’s ears ring — he clutches them tight, cowering behind Hawk's broad frame as the crowd of people flee the scene. He should have left with them. He should have left and went home — he shouldn’t have come here tonight. Hawk was right. All those implications that he didn’t belong here, that it was dangerous — he should have listened. Damn it, why does he never listen? 

He opens his eyes as he feels something clamber to the floor beside his foot, watching Hawk’s gun tuck itself safely beneath the seat he was just perched at. A gun — something to defend himself with.

Grab it , boy . Defend yourself . 

He glances back up, barely catching a glance of Blake’s rage filled eyes over the crest of Hawk’s strong shoulder. He can hear his tone, the hatred and the disgust in his tone, but the words are lost under the pulse of his own heartbeat. Salem reaches for Hawk’s gun.

#wickdcreatures

[skullfck]

every time hawk sees willow he feeds her and i think that’s why she’s in love with him

thats why shes what now

#unpossession #✠ UNLACED BOOTS. #✠ ???

[skullfck]

#✠ LET ME LOVE YOU TO DEATH.

[skullfck]

          “How you gon’ be a hater ‘bout strawberry ice cream but not strawberry milkshakes, where the main ingredient is—in fact—strawberry ice cream?”          He’s laughing.          “I ain’t sharin’ my milkshake with no two-faced hoe.” 

He’s just fucking with her. He’ll share. But they can optimize that sharing across two whole flavors if she orders whatever her favorite is—which he, as a businessman, thinks is the right way to go.

She loves this place already, by the way. Something that Willow actually does like about America is the diners, the familiar feel of each place like this. The retro feeling. She casts her eye over the menu and squints up at him as he makes his comment.

"I can hang, actually! Strawberry milkshakes are fine. Good, even. I just don't like the ice cream!" Nudging his shoulder with her knuckles, laughing. "We could share."

#unpossession

[skullfck]

Hawk was already pretty tense at the confrontation, but the gun sends him into another stratosphere. He shoots up, putting himself firmly between Blake and Salem, and holds up his hands. 

The bar has gone very quiet. All eyes on them. 

          “Listen, man,”          Hawk says,          “I don’t know what you think you saw, but it ain’t worth this.”

          “Shut the fuck up. I know your game. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to pin some shit on us. But it’s gon’ be the last.”          Blake holds the gun up, shoots at the ceiling. 

The gunshot kills the silence, thick tension erupting into chaos. Anyone non-gang-affiliated scrambles to leave the bar, crowding the exits. The bouncer, despite his own panic, tries to keep everyone as organized and as calm as possible, but he goes mostly ignored. A few bartenders disappear into the back while the others try to flee with everyone else. The Úlfhéðnar gather closer to Hawk, at the ready to try and shut this shit down.

Hawk reaches for his own gun, but someone runs past him and knocks it out of his hands. It clatters to the ground, quickly kicked out of sight beneath Salem’s bar stool.

          People coming to disrupt their conversation was an inevitability, but Salem still feels a little annoyed — hey, he was the one talking to Hawk right now - ! But something was wrong, he could tell that pretty fast by the expression Blake makes looking at Hawk. Salem’s polite, drunken smile fades slowly, his sweaty hands detaching from his beer bottle to rub the condensation off on his jeans. 

What’s got this guy so worked up? What did Hawk even do?

          “ Hey man, chill — ”     is all Salem can get out of his mouth until he sees the gun. It’s instantaneous, the way he shuts up and shuts down. Eyes wide, bouncing between the gun and Hawk, the sound of his own heartbeat filling his ears. What was that about trouble Hawk said earlier?

#wickdcreatures

[skullfck]

          “Iono. Doesn’t everyone know how to cook, at least a l’il bit?”          Hawk moves the final patty off the heat and onto a bun. A couple of eggs are cracked into the pan to fry. He looks over at Willow, flashes an apologetic smile:           “Don’t worry, by the way, I’ll clean up my mess—’s just how I work.” 

The ingredients are cluttering the counters and there have been a few small spills and drips on the stovetop. It isn’t horrendously egregious, but he still feels a little bad for ruining a mostly-clean kitchen, especially one that isn’t his own. Hopefully the quality of the food will make up for the rudeness.

He flips the eggs, lets them cook for another few minutes before delicately placing them atop the patties. A few more toppings are added, and then some hashbrowns  (—store bought, reheated from frozen; he didn’t want this to be an even bigger production than it already was—)  on the side. He slides the plate over to Willow.

          “Voila. Hangover breakfast.”

Under the warm water, she at least manages to soap down before completely zoning out. Hawk's knocking comes into focus slowly, so there's a delayed response between what he says and her response.

"...Coming..." Willow calls. She turns the water off and bundles up in her towel, coming out of the bathroom a few minutes later in fresh clothes. Pink-cheeked and smelling of roses. Usually, after a night out, Willow doesn't have much of an appetite, but stumbling into the kitchen now her stomach growls. "--This smells so good. Did I know you could cook? I don't think I knew you could cook."

#unpossession

[skullfck]

He sits back down, smiling around the straw he’s nursing on.          “Sure thing. Couldn’t have any of this without a nice, cold drink.”

And is there anything better than a chilled lemonade? He dunks his pretzel into one of the other dips—some kind of barbeque sauce—and takes his second bite.

          “D’y’ like it?”          he asks.          “I used to get these all the time back home, after school. When I could afford it, anyway… Wunna the girls who worked at the mall had a thing for me, so sometimes I could flirt my way into free shit.”

it's easy with hawk , something she struggles with daily - there's no pressure and he knows her inside and out . he is her ultimate safe place . ❛ lemonade sounds nice . ❜ she agrees , copying his previous movements and taking a decent bite , sauce and all . it's pretty good , so she flashes him a thumbs up before he turns to fetch their drinks . her head tilts as she watches him the entire time , meeting him with a smile when he returns . ❛ thank you . ❜

#winterbeheaded

[skullfck]

The Lost Boys (1987), for Anon

#✠ MAMACITA Y MIJO.

[skullfck]

          “You’re always testin’ your luck on me,”         Hawk teases, leaning over to nudge him with his shoulder. 

The man in the booth watches them. He’s not making a big show of it, but he’s not necessarily hiding it, either. He doesn’t look happy. 

Hawk orders another round for everyone, keeps watching Salem cutely fumble through flirtations. He pretends to be clueless, just to keep him at it.

Twenty minutes pass before the man in the booth is drunk enough to act. He’s been stewing the whole time. He stands, butts into whatever conversation is happening between Hawk and whoever the fuck this twink is.          “So, what, Hawk? You’re fuckin’ terrorists now?”

         “Hey, Blake, how’re you.”

        “That was some serial killer shit.”

        “I don’t—what are you talking about?”

         “Don’t fuckin’ do that. I saw you. I saw you, motherfucker. You think you’re slick? What the fuck was that? And now cops are sniffin’ around my friends. You’re a—you’re fuckin’ psychopath.”

          “You’re strung out, man.”          Hawk tries to wave the bouncer over, but Blake’s already pulled a gun.

         Salem’s so blissfully unaware of the changes around him, a welcome change from his normal anxiety. He’s too focused on the way Hawk’s tattooed fingers grip the neck of his new beer bottle, the way the cigarette dangles effortlessly from his lips. Freckles have started to bloom across the bridge of his nose, Salem notices. His eyes retreat to the bottles lining the wall behind the bar. 

          “ He’s good, but I’m better, ”     he says that, but he doesn’t entirely mean it, let alone believe it. He laughs at his own statement, taking another pull of beer and a drag of his cigarette. The music comes to him in waves at this point; he’s thoroughly lost in the ocean of Hawk’s eyes as soon as he looks back up. It wouldn’t be weird to make out with him openly in front of his guys, right? He’s pretty sure he has done that before.

          “ Maybe I can test my luck on you some day, ”     he means poker. Of course this is about poker.

#wickdcreatures

[skullfck]

I've been trying to hurt you I've been holding you tight I've been learning to love you Am I doing it right?

for @skullfck - tough love.

#✠ DIRTY MIRROR. #he is . he is

[skullfck]

          “I bet you could learn,”          he says, tossing an arm around her shoulders as they make their way inside.          “Get one of those cute European bikes.” 

He requests a cozy booth, same as he always does, and promptly gets it, same as he always does. He doesn’t need to look at the menu; he knows what he wants—but he’ll ask the waitress for a few minutes while Willow deliberates over her milkshake choice.

          “I haven’t forgotten that you can’t hang,”          he teases.          “It's just me and my strawberry milkshake against the world.”

It's not as if Willow ever needs an excuse to hold on to him, but she takes extra care to when the bike starts to move, grinning from ear to ear at the rumble beneath her, the wind they start to pick up speed. The adrenaline rush only adds to her excitement, her glee -- by the time they pull up in front of the diner her smile may as well have been cemented on to her face.

"Still so fucking fun," She giggles a bit as they get off, her body has that numb vibrational feeling now that the engine has been cut. She's talking a little louder, too, her ears muffled by the sound of the revving earlier. "Think I'm cool enough for one of my own?"

She is, of course, joking.

#unpossession

[skullfck]

Hawk clocks her hesitance, flashes a big smile.          “Sure thing.” 

He makes a dumb little show of it, placing the dips in an organized cluster on the center of the table, selecting the classic mustard, and dunking his pretzel in. Then he takes a hearty bite. It’s the best mall pretzel he’s ever tasted in the way every mall pretzel is the best he’s ever tasted. He gives Riley an encouraging wink.

In the aftermath of this first bite, it dawns on him (horribly) that he didn’t order them any drinks. This is unacceptable. He stands up, laughing.          “We need sum’n to drink with this. I’ll go grab it. I’m kinda feelin’ lemonade, how ‘bout you?”

she giggles , nodding her head . ❛ i'd prefer to bake for you , but this will do for now . ❜ after they receive their order , her eyes growing wide . it looks so intense , something she would never get for herself . but right now it's calling to her , and there's no one else she'd rather try a new big bad food with than him .

she spots an empty table and guides them , sighing in relief once she sits down . but truthfully she doesn't know where to begin , looking to hawk for the next move . ❛ you first ? ❜

#winterbeheaded

[skullfck]

          “Okay, no problem.”          He laughs a little, kissing her cheek and leaving her to it. He doesn’t want to hover too much. Besides, he has a breakfast to make.

He’s two-thirds of the way through making the burgers when he decides she’s been absent long enough. He leaves the patties sizzling on the stovetop and makes his way back where he left her, giving a couple of loud knocks on the bathroom door.          “Ai’ite, woman, get your ass back to earth.”

Leaning against the door, he waits to hear signs of life. 

Willow laughs, he moves so fast around her that she barely even has the chance to decline before he's pressing the glass into her palm. Guess she's drinking. She tries for a small sip. Then realises how fucking thirsty she is and downs the glass pretty quickly.

"Thanks," She gives him a little smile. It was a good night. It's a good morning. Willow puts the glass on the side table and tries to stand up again. Woozy, but better. She'll begin a slow trudge to the bathroom. "I wont be long in here, but knock on the door if I'm taking too long."

She may very well trance out in the shower if he doesn't.

#unpossession