#prettybrawler 1

[angerworn]

------@prettybrawler: ❛  eye contact with you always feels like foreplay.  ❜ (here.)

------THE SMIRK EASED itself across her lips , spread thick like a generous smear of jelly on white bread - just to taste . there's something playful and untrustworthy lurking behind the nearly black sheen of her gaze , one that doesn't break from his own pretty blue oceans . she's never the first to look away if she can help it ... a trick that worked with people as well as animals just the same ... an establishment of dominance subtle - enough to usually work .

typically people looked away . they didn't like being surveyed , espied in the way that her expression usually hinted she was looking through them . but caed did not . he merely offered the same intensity she gave : a mirror or reflecting pool in the same mind , and morgan wondered if he would be just as cool as ... or burning hot to the touch .

" it should , " tongue parted her lips, wet them with purpose as her eyes narrowed in slight . even if she blinked she wouldn't peel her gaze from his own . peripherals let her take in the roll of his shoulders , the curve of his neck , the sharpness of his jaw , the smirk slathered across his own tiers . boyish . wolfish . the same damn thing . " considering i often undress you with my eyes . "

[kxllerblond]

@prettybrawler / sc

❝ What do you have for me? I could use something to wake me up. ❞ information, drama, intel-—it was as much a fix to him as anything. It fed that little stereotypical red creature that he comically liked to imagine resided in his veins. The part in him that called for chaos, destruction, and to be a general nuisance to mankind.

Throwing himself into such a busy line of work that part of him satiated enough to (usually) keep him from getting into actual deep shit. He sat back in his seat, legs crossed in that obnoxious manner you'd expect from someone with his appearance and demeanor. A fresh mug of coffee in his hands.

❝ I'm this close to dipping back into hometurf politics. That's how fucking restless I am. Do you understand how bored one has to be to bother with American politics right now? It's a circus. ❞ he picked at his nails, scrunched his face up in that way he typically did. ❝ Well, I mean, it always HAS been a circus but now more than ever...❞

[entrepy]

[  GRAPPLE  ]  for  your  muse  to  wrestle  mine  down  to  the  floor  or  against  the  wall ( bucky ) / @prettybrawler .

The open cab pick up Ford reverses down the long driveway that runs alongside the Barnes garage at five in the afternoon on a Sunday like it does every second week without fail. Bucky’s had his eye on the new driver for a while now. They’ve exchanged words before — not exactly pleasantries — but mostly stick to their jobs. George Barnes had run a struggling, yet respectable business up until the enforcement of the 18th amendment. Then the bootleggers had come knocking . . . and then the gangs . . . and before they knew it the garage was turned into a front for the storage and exchange of alcohol, weapons, and any manner of goods that the gangs saw fit to push through the shop. 

Bucky’s father stopped having a say in the matter soon thereafter, extorted and threatened . . . but also protected. Bucky didn’t understand how bad it really was until he dropped out of his second last year of school a year after the stock market crash and started working day in and out at the shop with his dad. A veteran of war, his father was the bravest, strongest, most powerful man Bucky knew — but he learned very quickly that didn’t much matter when money and influence was involved, and that learning came with nursing his own father’s split lip, black eye and broken rib after a round with the mob. 

He’s greasy from a day’s work, cigarette hanging from his lip as he uses both hands to roll around and stack tyreless wheels in the back yard. He straightens when he hears the engine and trundle of tyres down the dirt path and the cab backs into the yard, accompanied by a rude couple of honks. It’s distasteful is what it is and Bucky is already irked by the Byrone kid’s simple existence. There was just something about him. Another pretty boy. Bucky’s seen that smile of his, and he’s seen it in his own goddamned mirror. Maybe that should make them friends, but all it does is set Bucky on edge whenever that blonde head of hair shows up in his driveway on a Sunday afternoon. 

He pauses with the wheels for a second, watching the cab come to a stop in front of the wooden crates that he’s supposed to load up into the back. He takes the moment to drag in a few breaths of smoke, free hand on his hip and squinting a little against the evening sun. It was a hot, stinky day and Bucky’s got the burn and sweat to show for it. ‘ There’s no need for a ruckus, hotshot. Neighbours can hear you rolling up here just fine. ’

Through to the end of his cigarette, he spits it to the ground, stamps it down and walks over to the crates. It’s not his business to know what’s in them – what’s really in them, that is. He’d had to pack old, rusted parts that were due for the wreckers into them, covering up the smaller crates that stood inside, and painted the address of the wreckers on the side and filled out the books with the same address, but he’s seen enough to know that’s not where this crate was going to end up at all. He turns around to see Byrone standing just outside the driver’s door. ‘ What’re you doing ? Give me a hand, would ya ? ’ 

He watches through squinted eyes as Byrone takes out a pack of cigarettes and starts to light himself one.

‘ I aint’ movin’ these myself, pal, ’ Bucky points out, hands falling to his hips, feet set in the ground very tellingly. 

‘ Well, it ain’t my job, ’ Byrone chews through the end of his cigarette, the audacity to appear bored. 

‘ It ain’t my job either, but you’ll be going home with an empty car if you don’t pull your weight, ya unlicked cub. Ma never taught you manners ? ’

For a moment it seems like he’d struck a nerve, and the beginnings of guilt start to grow in the pit of Bucky’s stomach, but then Caed smirks, blows out his smoke and says, ‘ No. Can I learn from yours ? ’

For feet that had been planted to the ground, unwilling to move until Byrone cooperated, they sure move fast – the run up making the force with which Bucky’s fist slams into the side of Caed’s jaw almost bone shattering, the fact that the only place his head has to go after the impact is the steel of the car probably not helping with the imminent concussion. He slips to the ground, and Bucky gets a few more hits in, kneeling over him with one hand fisted into his shirt to keep him lifted off the ground enough for his head to swing with each punch before Caed recovers from the first hit to start fighting back.  

[miercolaes]

  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️wednesday has appeared!   ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️what to do ?

  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 #𝟷  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️FLATTER flattery doesn't guarantee your safety. on the contrary, actually.

  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 #𝟸  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️PET do i look like a domesticated animal? do try it and find out.

  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 #𝟹  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️SMOOCH both headbutting and tearing away your skin sounds interesting. go on. we shall see.

  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 #𝟺  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️WORSHIP did i miss the fall of all gods or are you anaemic?

tagged by the clown i lo(ath/v)e to see @nightmarefuele

tagging the tormented foes : @inhericurse , @edxmunson , @chaoticjoke , @cursedyou , @nghtmarish (literally any muse i can't pick just 1) , @dvarapala , @prettybrawler , @spookypyre , @clericism , @infernalclay , @pierprincess (for all blogs lub u) , @mosiaks (for all blogs ily) , @sheldoney && everyone else that wants to do this for funsies!

[havvkinsqueen]

CHARACTER INFO SHEET

NAME

Christine Elizabeth Cunningham

NAME MEANING

Christine- Origin: Latin. Meaning: Follower of Christ Elizabeth- descended from the Hebrew name Elisheva meaning “God's promise” or “God is my oath.”

ALIAS(ES)

Chrissy, Chris

ONE PICTURE YOU LIKE OF YOUR CHARACTER

TWO HEADCANONS YOU NEVER TOLD ANYONE

1) Chrissy has always wanted a Cocker Spaniel thanks to Lady and the Tramp. She really loves that movie and loves the cute good girl / bad boy dynamic. 2) Her mom never used to be awful. This started happening when Chrissy got to middle school when Laura started her fixation on Chrissy's body as well as demanding perfection of her daughter.

THREE THINGS YOUR CHARACTER LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME

- Chrissy is an avid reader. She reads a lot when she actually has some free time. - She loves to make little friendship bracelets. Beads and elastic, or even embroidery thread. She has a ton of them on hand. - Honestly? She just likes to nap.

TWO PEOPLE YOUR CHARACTER LOVES

Eddie & Her brother, Danny

TWO THINGS YOUR CHARACTER REGRETS

- Being so passive in her life and allowing others to decide who she is for her - Her jealousy. It turns her into a downright green-eyed monster and she's acted on it before, and she regrets that way of thinking.

ONE PHOBIA YOUR CHARACTER HAS

Snakes

TAGGED BY: @hawkinshellraiser TAGGING: @vitaegratis @edhellfire @dreameasel @selfruin @trusight @zoomingupthathill @miercolaes @prettybrawler