Myself, but not me

sweetbitterbitten​:

it’s not as if he was entirely a nobody. though he thought he had ran so long and so far and settled in the middle of nowhere that he might have escaped the perils of his recent past. he’s been good since he got here. he didn’t want to attract any attention to this sleepy little town. no monsters in the night to come stalking him. if he’d been found out, he escaped to be in handcuffs. not for her to be kissing him. these weren’t the days of manson and his groupies any more. he’s confused, and a tad suspicious, but mostly he just doesn’t know how to handle the situation. his hands on her clothes are the only thing keeping grounded in the moment, from getting lost in the fog of his mind. “well, seems like the polite thing to do would be to see yours...” if only to figure out exactly what was going on.

sweetbitterbitten​:

a creature unaccustomed to gentle intimacy feels its effect like a shock of electricity. he’s caught entirely off-guard by someone else being the aggressor. certainly even more so by a slender woman that he could seemingly easily overpower (seemingly; some part of him considers her to be more dangerous than she appears). his hands are on her body, but he’s not trying to feel her up. if anything, it’s almost to stop her, though he doesn’t quite to. he simply doesn’t know what to do. there’s something... there’s something about what she says that he can’t quite put his finger on. “what i can do?”

keenesthound‌:

Friend. He’s not sure he’d know what one looked like. Rather confusing these days: foe, friend. But he felt a connection with Will Graham; as if they were both plagued by a similar curse. Misery loved company. And even with his mind scrambled like an egg, there was still some lingering instinct of self-preservation. It didn’t seem like too bad an idea to instate a buddy system.  “Well, when you asked like that,” he hummed, his voice bearing that usual hint of his sarcastic wit. “It’d be my pleasure.” 

sweetbitterbitten‌:

his gaze lowered in that moment, focusing on some idle object on the table as he listened to her speak. understood. and more than that, felt her words. “i know what you mean,” he concurred, though perhaps how truly operate was different. difficult for him to imagine her as lost in the same way that he was. he knew, in vague sense, who he was and those personality traits that come to him by instinct (his lightning quick wit, for instance), but the rest is moulded as a reaction. she is adaptable, and he is too, but out of necessity, lest he be nothing but emptiness. or worse, what frederick designed. his gaze flicked back up to her. “do you want to be that way? or would you want to be different?”

sweetbitterbitten‌:

At first, he thought that she was going to deny his request, but found himself pleasantly surprised when she didn’t. She was kind. The only one who had ever truly been to him. “Thank you, Dr. Bloom.”