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Sebastian Smythe and Jeffery Sterling M!A: ((Independent RP. Both Mun and Muses are over 18. This...

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Derek. Definitely Derek.

Tempted to make a Teen Wolf blog..

Help me figure out who I should pick, because I’m torn;

Stiles

Lydia

Derek

or Scott

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all the people.

That show. I love that show.

Tempted to make a Teen Wolf blog..

Help me figure out who I should pick, because I’m torn;

Stiles

Lydia

Derek

or Scott

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[ sits on ]

Well, good morning, killer. 

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Tom Hanniger in My Bloody Valentine (2009)

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I'm an FTM, right?  Out to most people. 

I made a facebook status about something I saw on a facebook page that upset me. 

It was talking about 'real men' and comments with 'a penis makes you a real man.'

and so my status was about

"HAVING A PENIS DOES NOT MAKE YOU MALE." "HAVING A VAGINA DOESN'T MAKE YOU FEMALE"

and this fucking guy, a gay guy I might add, (who also hasn't called me by my pronouns or name that I want.) told me that a penis makes you male, because male is a sex, but man is not a sex, it's a gender identity. 

NONONO. 

FEMALE to MALE  transgender. not WOMAN to MAN transgender. 

It's also MALE pronouns, not MAN pronouns. 

UGH. FUCK. MY. LIFE.

[outofmines]——

OH MY FUCKING GOD. 

SERIOUSLY. 

I FUCKING HATE PEOPLE

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[outofmines]----

OH MY FUCKING GOD. 

SERIOUSLY. 

I FUCKING HATE PEOPLE

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Harry almost gave Murph a bitch face, "Really? Leprechaun? You think you can take this away from me? or tell me what to do?" 

Guess whose out to play tonight?

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The blood had Harry enthralled; the colour, the sent, the coolness of it being out in the air. "Well, I guess I can get used to it happening once a year... you can be Tom's the rest of the time, but you can be mine this one night a year." He smirked again, still holding onto Clay. Looking at those normally bright eyes now gone dark with bloodlust, he touched his nose against the other's. "Oh, Miller. My pants have never been tighter, if that's any indication..." He felt the knife along his neck, a shiver running up his spine. "And that's not helping."

"Enjoy it." Clay mumbled, swaying a little on his heels, and focusing his hazel gaze firmly on the scarlet drips that fell off of the blade of his knife. "It only happens once a year, Harry. Her.. birthday.. Whitney’s birthday." Gritting out his beloved sister’s name, his foot shot out, kicking his victim hard in the ribs, causing the man to buckle inward with a sharp groan of pain from beneath the mask he wore, shuddering in almost obvious relief when Clay’s foot moved away. The motorcycle rider pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned to Harry, their noses touching as he moved towards him a little more. "Tell me how much you’re enjoying this." The blade of his knife slowly grazed along the back of Harry’s neck, before trailing upward, and tickling the ends of his hair.

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Tom--Harry--wasn't coming back from this. The shot was through and through, and as it turns out even legends can bleed out. It was his gun that'd done it, and Murphy's lips are pursed in a thin line, stubbornly keeping any emotion at bay whereas he normally wore them on his sleeve. It was unfortunate, the man himself was kind, but it had to be done for the greater good. Pennies in hand, gun safely tucked away in its holster, he watched and muttered a prayer for the man, not the legend.

As the bullets went through his body, Harry's eyes snapped back to green, instead of the dark almost black colour they were, and Tom felt the pain shoot through his body. A scream of agony left his lips, "Murph....!" He cried out, looking at the Irishman. "why?!"

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Harry looked at him again, ignoring the smoke in his face. HE really didn't care about smoke, or anything else in his face, especially since he was a miner by trade. "Eh, I sometimes have honour. It all depends on my mood." 

Guess whose out to play tonight?

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First character to put a collar in my inbox owns mine as a pet.

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☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑

RIGHT BACK AT YOU LOVE

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Harry just held on to Clay, massaging his hips a little, and occasionally nipping at his ear. "That's right... only play with your toys when they're paying attention. Only when they can see your eyes, and see the darkness coming out." He pressed himself even closer, his voice low, a smirk at his lips. Bringing his hand up, he put it over Clay's on the knife, "Mmm...something about this... I love it."

The guy gave a sob, which was muffled by his hockey mask. Pathetic. Feeling the warm weight of the man behind him, Clay tilted his head a little, dilated eyes finding refuge on Harry’s face, and in his drunken, grieving haze, he simply loved the insane smile that twisted the man’s full lips. “Do you think I’m messing around, Jason?” Clay whispered close to the guy’s ear, and his fingers flexed, muscles coiling in his arm as he dug the hunting knife closer to his throat, causing the man to whimper. The not-so-shallow cut began bleeding, soaking down along the side of the man’s throat, and dripping into the collar of his shirt. “J-Jason w-who?” His victim rasped out weakly, and Clay raised his knee, kicking him hard in the base of his spine, causing him to gasp, ad sag a little in his arms, twitching and floundering his arms and legs from the pain. “You, Jason.” Clay dropped the guy to the ground, sniffing, and waiting for him to become coherent again. It was only fun that way.

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My muse just took a fatal blow for your muse. Tell me how they respond.