the nutty boy

“Killing people is easy, making them suffer is an art.”

And it was one of many arts of which he was intimately familiar. How easily he could take apart the squirming forms of his targets and from them create a mosaic of their bones, a mural of their viscera, a patchwork of their hides.

His fingers were long and slender, carved for artistry, for music-making, with a slant towards tenderness than torment one might think. And perhaps at one time he would’ve agreed with such an assessment but such tenderness had long been pummelled out of him along his wayward journey towards adulthood. 

It was not tenderness that caused the military to seek his expertise in the technique of torture, it was not tenderness that spurned him to claw his way up the ranks of the Family until he had his own individual army to call rank from. He knew bodies and knew them well, knew which order to dial his digits upon their pressure points to make them sing to his tune.

Perhaps once there had been a boy bright-eyed and light-hearted still who wanted to employ such knowledge to heal rather than harm. But the world he knew then had little need for saviours, not when war was such a certainty and they needed young, strapping men like him all too willing to sacrifice themselves to the trumpet of roaring fanfare.

That world was gone now and so was the boy. But the man remained, one who wasn’t certain he knew how to function if his hands weren’t smeared with either blood or turpentine and was surely starting to forget the difference between the two.

The fresh coat that plasters his palms now still held that coppery after-scent in the back of his throat. Dominic reaches for the inner pocket of his suit jacket and withdraws, still crisp and white, a handkerchief to which he dabs off the remaining splotches from his hands.

Before him the man he’d been working on for close to an hour is still strapped to his seat, skating along the barrier of unconsciousness. He was not bleeding, at least nowhere for the eyes to see, but the sweat that studded his brow was coruscating beneath the harsh glare of fluorescent light.

“Are you ready to talk now?” Dominic asks, as he neatly folds the cloth into a thin square. Procuring the location of the kidnap victim had over-gone the scheduled estimate for how he usually did things. And Dominic despised lateness. “I understand the phrasing of that question made it seem less rhetorical in intent but I must press that I am a very busy man and I’d rather not take much more of your-” a brief pause as his vision pans over the swollen, jagged lumps of broken fingers “-time.”

It was then he let the location dribble from his lips along with a string of saliva, followed by more incoherent bleating for the sparing of his life.

Dominic listens intently, nods earnestly, then graciously knocks him out cold with one swing of his wrench. He tidies the tool away with the rest of his equipment into his briefcase, snaps it with a loud click of locks sliding into place and proceeds to his next destination.

Back Street Apparel stirred with no souls but the bright orange burn of a fire permeated through the window, alerting Dominic to the presence of the raiders. He could just make the outline of two shadows as he moves, airless and weightless, as though gravity had no hope of pinning him.

The first he claims has no hope of knowing it was him until she feels the crunch of her anklebone beneath his steel-capped boot. He plasters her body to him as he plugs a few bullets through the heads of her accomplices, watching their head burst like rotted fruits and spilling the red mass of their craniums like pomegranate seeds.

He plugs his shield in the back of the neck mercifully before he boots the door free of its hinges. He enters cool, sleek, bestial, like a predator streamlined through the plains of the Savannah. Their weapons and reflexes were no match to his own and one by one they soon splattered their innards against the plain canvas of the walls, joining the tableau of his brutality.

He uncovers the victim trapped within the broom closet without pause for thought of how he must appear before the frightened teen. Suit and stubble flecked with red, eyes blue enough to burn obstinately through the darkness liked an oxidised flame. 

But the hand he offers, though sullied, was empty and upturned and his face betrayed no ill intent. “I believe it’s time that I took you home,”

He suffers no offence when she scurries ahead of him the entire journey home, startled lamb that she is, nor when she retreats into the arms of her father without so much of a thank you. It wasn’t through want of personal satisfaction that Dominic took his work after all.

The weight of a drawstring full of caps clasped within his palm was enough. (And perhaps in the night when he was forced to reckon with himself he might stifle a sigh of relief at the chalice of his bloodshed being satiated for a brief period longer).

Not the Biggest Yet Still Biggest Gay Male Problem

on regular days I want the classic gay male

yet then I also want that take-me-away angel boy


then other days I want rough…

or an even rougher guy…

or still an even rougher, rougher guy.

And then I want like the next day…I want some wisdom..a daddy..

hell, I can go older…

Some days I have that sexy professor though..


Yet, damn, I have those days like “fuck this. I need/want a bad ass”

Later, mostly they’ll show how much of a prick they are so I want a really sweet guy..


I love sexy artists though, too.

or mysterious..mystery is like a whole ‘nother sex field..

In high school, there was that jock I always dreamed of, so maybe a fairytale..?


I easily fall for the nutty, funny boys, though..

Surely, they can be involved in social justice, too…

Shit, of course, everyday I need a spiritual guy..

Funny you thought there was an end to this particular monotony..

anonymous asked:

i missed you a lot tbh you bless my feed with cute stephew stuff

I missed you guys too! But it was definitely nice to have a break, I legit spend most of my day in some way around this blog and it was so good to have a few days off to hang out with my friends. I had a great vacation, we made tacos and watched REC and REC 2 and played Secret Hitler (it’s a card game is wildly fun) and Paranoia, and stopped at a dilapidated playground and I have bruises all over my thighs from the see saw and I got fnaf stuff and put my sunglasses on a watermelon and we named a squirrel Nutty Boy and sang Miss American Pie and I got a cinnamon bun flavoured lollipop!


19 weeks! 7/15/17

I’m a little late, but it’s been a nutty week.

Baby boy is the size of a Four -Toed Hedgehog! Or a mango, sweet potato, or small cantaloupe…everyone seems to say different size and fruits

Cravings: Ice cream

Weight gain: ionno…I’ll find out Tuesday. Bump is definitely bigger.

Highlight: Seeing family and friends I rarely see

Low: Hunger and heartburn being especially picky this week

Discomforts: My lower back, round ligament pain, constipation

Baby purchases: None, but was gifted lots of clothing and a swing, bouncer, travel rocker, and will get more as their boys grow out of their stuff

I’ve noticed my tolerance level is at an all time low for stupidity and tattling. Despite that, I was complimented by another teacher, who specializes in infant through toddler ages, can’t believe I love high school because I work so well with the younger kids. Nope. I’m glad I’m in that room for only an hour at a time for 2h per day.

Headaches have made a regular appearance this week. Luckily they seem to be onset by either a need for food, water, or coffee (I can now tolerate a full small cup mid day 😁). Easy remedies! Also dizziness standing up and moving too quick. I was hoping my daily stair climb would get easier as I pushed through, but it’s already becoming more difficult. I’ll keep it up for a little longer. It’s a big growth week so I’m going to blame it on that, lol


Madness - ‘One Step Beyond’ - 1979