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The Hunter

@redhuntinghood / redhuntinghood.tumblr.com

Written by HDH. Fandomless OC. Indie. Selective.
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youkaitastic

youkaitastic:

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“Hahah, wow! I almost forgot my birthday with how busy I’ve been!”
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“Least you didn’t forget completely and had to have had your brother remind you two fuckin’ days later. But whatever. Anyway, you better listen up because I’m only gonna go ‘bout this once, so pay attention!”

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“...Thank you for being born. Your life means a lot to me. I’ll be denyin’ it all I want after today--hell, even after this--but know that... that I hold you close in my list of trusted people. Of people I cherish. Don’t you fuckin’ go abusing that privilege or I’ll make sure to stick ya in a wooden onesie. Happy birthday, muirnin.” 

#youkaitastic
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deadseeing
PTSD sufferers don’t get to move on. This is how the disease works. Forgiveness, acceptance, inner peace–all of things are well and good, but at the end of the day, PTSD doesn’t care. You’re still going to jump when someone slams a door. You’re still gonna have nightmares. The trauma is not just a horrible event or experience. It’s a life sentence. It’s a burden that cannot be shed.

Ever (via anxlgesic)

#{ still just a boy from the hills • musing
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youkaitastic asked:

He leans forward slowly, while pursing his lips together then he just goes for it. Peter had been walking his way, and the moment he stepped underfoot the branch he sat on, he swoops down and kisses the hunter's forehead upside down. "Heyyyy, Happy Kissssss Day Peter Rabbit~"

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His fist flew out of instinct, but Peter managed to divert it away from who-he-know-recognizes-as-Lars at the last moment. It collided with the tree he was resting on instead and, well, that pretty much hurt. “Ah, Jaysus,” he hisses, waving his hand to shake off the pain. (Not like it’ll happen anytime soon, his knuckles are all scratched up and on their way to bleeding.) “The hell is that even supposed to be? ‘Kiss Day’ or whatever--half’a me’s thinkin’ you just made that up.”

Peter doesn’t even notice how he’s more perturbed by the excuse of this so-called future tradition rather than the action itself. He won’t consciously admit it to himself, but it was kind of nice. Still, it wouldn’t do anyone any good to go about it in such a fashion: that’s how people lose a few teeth.

#youkaitastic
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greedswing

greedswing:

Fuckin’ figures those two would be trying to schmooze with the other regulars, it was just their style. No wonder Peter looked like he was at wits end with the two of them most of the time. (Honestly, seeing the two of them together here? Hoo boy, that’s gotta be a handful). Martha shoots Peter an sympathetic look. 
“Awh geez, that sucks, sorry ‘bout that. Least they’re with someone with a good head on his shoulders. Feelin’s mutual though. Dealin’ with some of my coworkers while they’re plastered is a real pain in the ass, y’know? Also the boss too, it’s the epitome of ugh.” She raises a brow at his confession, then lightly sighs. “Now I ain’t for lecturin’ but don’t drink too much, mmkay? I’d hate to card ya, cuz yer underage and all.” She eyes the root beer float suspiciously, with lips pursed, then returns her attention to him. “How much in it?”
Martha chuckles at his compliment, but then procceds to tackle what Peter says next.
“Huh…screamo, haven’t considered, but I’d be game. Though, I haven’t really played ‘round with it,” The more genres she explored, the more diverse customers they could get. She’d need to bring it up to her boss later. “Wonder if I could mix in some metal in too y’know?” 
It also depended on who’d be coming too. “But a screamo one man show…. don’t think I could pull it off without some help ya know? Like, with a band.” She lifts a lazy brow now, “ya know where I could find a band? sounds like a fun time, could liven up the place a bit.” She was joking with him, but who knows? Maybe she could get a jack pot on one.
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"I ain't, I ain't," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Lord knows I can't afford to, havin' to chaperone these fucks." More than likely, he's going to be the one to have to drive their asses home—even though he's only on a provisional license. Peter takes another swig as Martha asks how much liquor was in his drink. Answer? Not nearly enough. "Just a shot of Bailey's. Won't even get me buzzed."

But if she was looking for a band, Peter knows a few guys. "You know about the Friedhof boys? Even if you don't, I'm pretty sure you know Amethystos." Apparently the guy used to frequent the place before he got married, since he'd worked at the juvenile corrections facility in the next town over. "The Friedhof boys are his kids and they're pretty damn good. They have this little garage band thing going, so you can ask them to help you out if you want."

He hears Reid's tipsy laughter and the mildly slurred I heard Friedhof~ Are you talking about Wolfram~? He's such a sweetie~! float overhead. Peter facepalms. For fuck's sake. Why is his brother like this? And why the hell did Franz let him drink?!

#greedswing#{ there's an idiot on the roof • v: the roof
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hadesdancehall

I fucking love Irish slang like it’s the most creative craft ever.

Today I heard a coffin being referred to as a “wooden onesie” in the sentence “Ah jayysus, me nanny looks better than ye and she’s in a bleedin wooden onesie” and it was honestly life changing

#{ blades of grass and clovers • aesthetic
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ruefulcurse
Some people are just born to fight, I think. It’s not that they’re born brave. It’s not that they’re born strong. It’s just that the universe has decided that this one, this one will have grit and fire and steel in their blood. And it’ll be tested, this cosmic mettle of theirs. They’ll face trial after trial, be broken and damaged in countless ways. But this one was born to fight. Maybe it’s not the life they would have chosen. Maybe they’d love to lay down their arms. But they were born to fight. It’s what they know. It’s what they do best. It’s all they can do. 
#{ still just a boy from the hills • musing
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deadseeing

deadseeing:

“Now then, my daughter’s being rather ungrateful don’t you think? I helped bring her here in the first place. She should be a little more appreciative, I do love her, despite my absence.” Stalking her isn’t healthy in the least, but how else would he keep tabs on her? His ex fiancé hid all his letters, most likely; any form of contact is difficult. “ What do you think? “

He saw him from a distance but Peter could easily tell that the man was not from this era. He had the same kind of trousers as Lars sometimes and definitely that watch around his wrist was something yet to be invented. Peter heard him talking to himself--about a daughter. There was only one girl he could think of.

In a flash, the gap between them closed and the inner curve of his axe was against the man’s throat.

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“State your business.”

#deadseeing
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