terrorized.

❝ the world's always been crazy. you just never saw it.

[atomicrage-blog1]

i’m away for two days and a gay porn blog follows me. nice.

[atomicrage-blog1]

Drifter.

{۞} — For a moment, she considers IGNORING the comment, but  the sound of the stranger’s voice is enough to make her turn. It’s out  of sheer curiosity, really– - but he doesn’t need to know that. “Is that  so?” 

            Her gaze doesn’t waver as she regards him, a burning amber  that’s almost harsh, even if she may not intend it to be. ( And they say old habits die HARD. ) 

             “Good. I tend to avoid sticking around somewhere for too long.”

                  “Seems so.” He’s more than capable of playing the game. Adopting the attitude cast his way and meeting the fire in those eyes with a subdued flicker of his own. There’s no ill-intentions and no ulterior motive. The man’s curiosity is garnered and it’s as simple as that. Another cigarette was retrieved from his carton and lit, lazy coils of smoke unfurling to greet the negative space between them. “I don’t have to tell you to keep your eyes peeled around here, you obviously managed the wastes on your own. Food for thought.. You just might have been tailed for the last few hours.”

[atomicrage-blog1]

Blond.

He seemed a little lost, hearing the laughter. “What? It’s… it’s good. Lots of options.” So maybe he had weird tastes. Better than the sort of things he used to eat as a kid whenever he couldn’t steal more reasonable fare. Really, he’d eat just about anything, if he had to. Still, he offered him a smile in return, even if the other man’s was short-lived. Nice to see, though. Not that he wasn’t nice to see when he wasn’t smiling. “Gabriel, hm?” Well, if he gave his name, he might as well give one in return. “My name’s A–” he started, but cut himself off before he could even get anything resembling a name out. No, that was the alias he’d been using before he got here. He wasn’t using it anymore. “E–” No, he hated his real name and he wasn’t about to start using it for anything unless it was completely necessary. The less name-like aliases he’d come up with were right out. He coughed, like that was why he was having trouble getting a name out. “Excuse me. It’s Ian.” Hello, instant new alias. As good a name as any, easy to discard when needed. “Good to meet you.”

Nodding slowly, he glanced around, giving the place an actual good look for a change before glancing back over. “Yeah, I get it. Easy to just… start out one place and get to another. And then you sort of just look around and go… where the bloody hell am I. Or, well, I guess if you know where you’re at it’s a bit less like that.” His eyebrows furrowed for a moment. “…24/7 breakfast?” The concept seemed kind of alien to him. Alien, and completely amazing. “You, uh, mind if I tag along?”

                         "I’m not laughing at you for your taste. Just how much you seem to like it.” It was just something that struck him as endearing that’s all. He could eat an entire buffet line himself if he was hungry enough-- and no one stopped him. He perked at the indication of a name and took to looking receptive. He was good at names. He could remember them better than faces more often than not. And though he was perplexed by the tripping over an alias on the blond’s part he made no motion to comment. Only a muttered, “Ian huh?” In the distant past he might have offered his hand to shake though now he only offered a nod of confirmation. Good a gesture as they came without the need for touch.

            "I understand--” He gave a roll of his shoulders-- tried to work through that headache and ignore the constant ringing at his right ear. It was a slow process. Made better by distraction. “Getting lost isn’t so bad in a place where no one knows your name.” He had done his fair share of dropping off the radar. He tended to move around often and keep to obscure towns and cities if he could help it. In the midst of thought he found his own brows furrowing, he almost missed that last part. “Oh? Yeah-- You can come if you want. I don’t mind.” He was admittedly curious why he’d want to tag along if there were some ulterior motive or not. After a prolonged glance he sidestepped and motioned for him to follow after. “It’s just an old diner. Been around for years. They make all their stuff from scratch and their coffee is the best in town.” 

[atomicrage-blog1]

Scar.

       “ Yeah– sweetpea. I’ve had a couple rounds in me. Forgive it. ”   A roll of his bad         shoulder and, in following, a wicked smile; he’s a revolting thing, Grendel, but he         serves his purpose; without ugliness, there would be no way of determining bea-        -uty.   “ ‘N listen, kiddo, you don’t gotta agree with me. You weren’t there. ”

   Looks like they’d be here awhile,  just the two of them.  Bar’s otherwise empty; safe    to assume the old Trip Trap doesn’t get too much traffic at night. Gren starts shrug–   -ging off that dingy jacket of his,  stuck on the occupied sleeve for a sec.   Goes real    quiet; nods at the barkeep, then towards the radio she’s got rigged up. Music’s tur –   -ned down, silence gets a little intense; he turns towards his new buddy, question in    his eyes. He likes to think that consideration & hesitation have been bred out of him.    He’s wrong. Pauses for a second, and when he speaks, he speaks as if to a wound-   -ed animal: firm, but gentle. Compassionate tone betrays the incompetent rudeness    of his actual words. 

       “ You got a story behind that wicked thing? ”    – with a pointless gesture towards         the mass of burnt flesh,  sinewy patchwork that does a real number on what wo -        -uld have been, otherwise, a handsome face.   “ Need me to kick somebody’s ass         for ya?  ‘Cause if you wanna talk about shit that ain’t right,  you oughta start with                                                                       whoever it was took a torch to your mug. ” 

                         It’s noticeably warmer than it was when he first enterered the bar and he blames that on the considerable amount of ire burning in him just moments before. Indignant and frustrated as he was. And he follows by example in removing his own coat and neatly folding it over on the empty chair between them-- broad shoulders rolling to remove a bothersome kink in his neck. A few muffled cracks later and he’s rubbing at his scarred shoulder, bare, given the cotton muscle shirt he’d thrown on under the flannel. It’s something of an invitation just as much as it’s a divulgence to the mant hat had shared with him the origins of his own damaged skin. His own burns ravaged the entire right section of his body and the patchwork of kelloids dipped and wove their way across battered muscle.

            For a time he’s quiet, thoughtful, as he takes a sip of his water. When the music is just a phantom drawl at his ear ( reverberating cymbals and whining saxophone ) he speaks. “I was in the military.” It should have been a simple enough explanation. The wounds were deep and he could feel an episode coming on. Felt the room was closing in and every breath he took was harder. Near strangled. But he pressed on. It had been years and he had, to some degree, healed. “Marine.” He had to grate it out. If he stopped now he wouldn’t be able to continue. “Mortar bomb got me. Ended up pinned under a collapsed building and the fire started to cook me alive.” There’s a wry twitch of his lips. “I lived though. Got a few nicknames when I came back from overseas and they were all pretty awful. Fry-face is just unimaginative.”

[the-shoulders-of-giants-deactiv]

Visit Original Link

[dogmauled-deactivated20180130]

            ❝ Y'talk real big for someone with no options. ❞

                                   DOSSIER || GUIDELINES

[atomicrage-blog1]

Bartender.

        Randy ignored the snickering of other patrons, and he actually flashed a smile to the customer—no big deal, he had received requests for root beer floats before. However, water was… a rare request, not a strange one, but rare. “It’s alright—we have plenty of petrified water here, and I mean plenty, it’s not something we…” His lips poked out to taste his own chapped lips; the sound of whine and bark reached his ears. Now this was a customer he wasn’t used to serving. 

        “Oh… uh, we don’t have any dog bowls… but I can find a regular one! It’s no big deal, I wouldn’t want the little guy to get thirsty now.” Laughter erupted—lighthearted, he turned his attention over the counter where he smiled at the pooch. “I love dogs… I’ll find that bowl quick for ya.”

                         “I haven’t had any in awhile.” He hadn’t expected the server to be as welcoming nor as talkative especially where his furry companion was involved. It pulled a soft laugh from him even as he fidgeted with his lighter. Dogmeat, animated as he was, always took to strangers he felt were particularly good sorts. The german shepard wasted no time in standing on rear legs, paws placed on the countertop and tail wagging when addressed. A bark. “He says thank you.”

            The man cleared his throat and his attention once more rested on the kind patron before them. “Take your time. We’re pateint.” He set his carton of cigarettes and the zippo beside it to rummage about for caps. He set a few out on the bar - more than enough to cover water and a kind tip in reference to welcoming the dog. “I haven’t taught him to sit on the stools yet. We’re getting there.”

[atomicrage-blog1]

Blond.

Not having to worry about the smoke was nice, and he was kind of impressed at the fact that it didn’t just end up on the ground like with most smokers he’d met. He raised an eyebrow at his reaction, though. “Yeah. What? It’s… you know, it’s just a place. For food. There’s one not too far from where I live. I like the, uh, all of it.” There had once been a time where he’d kind of liked hearing himself talk. And now that he was actually saying more than the requisite few words that he normally had to say on a daily basis, his more talkative nature seemed to shine through, no matter how awkward it sounded at the moment. And it seemed his audience didn’t mind too much at the moment. Now that he seemed relaxed, and turned towards him, he had a chance to really get a good look at him. 

Of course, he said nothing about the man’s appearance, because no matter what had happened to him he wasn’t a complete dick. He crossed his arms, his posture about as casual as he could manage at the moment. “Hm. Might check that out sometime, then. I don’t head over this way too much. Haven’t been in town very long to begin with, though. Just sort of ended up here. That’s, uh… what I do a lot, really, these days. Just sort of end up places.”

                        "All of it.” He repeated with a dry bout of laughter, soft, though short-lived. “I’ve never been big on fast food. Convenient.. though.” A wry sort of half-smile was earned and he quickly lifted his hand to rub at his jaw as if to hide it. He was self-concious given the circumstances and the stranger so intent on speaking to him. ( He was attractive, no way around it. Scarcely looked as if he’d suffered a single blemish from the world and like with most it made him hyperaware of his own disfigurements. ) It’d become ingrained. A subconscious motion to tilt his head to the side to better hide that right section of his face. “I uh. Suggest it. You can tell them Gabriel sent you.. They know me well.”

            He was a wanderer huh? They were kindred in that aspect - he did much the same these days with no real destination in mind. Though it always felt like he was searching for something what exactly? Not the foggiest. Maybe his destination for the day was right here and now with this youngblood. “Same for me.” Throat clear, “The meandering.. I mean.” God help him he was floundering. “I was thinking of getting coffee down the road at my favorite cafe. Got some mean 24/7 breakfast there.” 

[atomicrage-blog1]

Scar.

   The laugh that gets from him– low and quiet, dark and deep.  He’s got some kind    of a washed-up antihero on his hands, that’s the vibe he’s getting && God, has he     been there. He’s been there for something like the past eleven centuries.

       “ If you were me, you’d know why, sweetpea. ”   A muttered ‘thanks’; he’s been         bought a million drinks by a million weary strangers–   &&  he’s almost sorry to         say that the sentiment means nothing anymore,    that he doesn’t want his bad         habit fed.  Regardless, he’ll continue;  indulge him with a reply while Holly’s be-        -grudgingly topping off a fresh drink for him and that slow, sleazy music crawls         from her two-bit stereo.  “ You’d know I fuckin’ deserved that clobbering. They         were well-intentioned enough, those folks– ”

   His whiskey comes.  He downs it,  eager as a kitten with a bottle.  Like he fucking    lives off the shit.             ( doesn’t suppose this guy wants to talk about his scars. won’t ask. )

                                “ Thought I was gonna hurt ‘em, thrashing and screaming like I                                  was.  Can’t say I would’ve treated myself too much  different. ”

                         The world was ugly. He hated it and had grown so terribly bitter and worse for wear through it all. He used to be firm in his belief that everyone deserved a second chance, that people weren’t all bad through and through. He’d been questioing that for some odd years now and it was all to blame on the service and the awful affair that brought the end of his family; Consecutively, his life. He hadn’t ever been the same and he knew his companion of the evening had definitely noticed his own scars. He owed him an explanation; To which he’d deliver. Later. After the man concluded his own story.

            He grated, "You’re wel--” Then tripped over his words, “Sweetpea?” Oh did that earn him a small huff. Somewhere between indignant and just a touch bewildered. There was no hostility of course and he allowed it to slide in favor of just listening to him. That didn’t stop the slight squint of his good eye as he took another drink. The music was out of place and it grated on his ears - the cymbal crash that intermingled through jarring notes and saxophones. Some kind of jazz. “You make it sound as if they were right for what they did. I don’t particularly agree.” He abandoned his water in favor of fumbling with a cigarette, bad hand shaky. He managed to light it and exhale a cloud of smoke to the side. “I don’t know much about this place or what really happened with you.. but, I do know whoever’s in charge is full of shit.”

[atomicrage-blog1]

i’m not good at drawing but that is the gist of his scarring and... yeah. i’ll put it on with a legit headcanon when i’m not sleepy.

[atomicrage-blog1]

Blond.

He blinked at the question like it didn’t really register at first. “Hm? Oh, er. Yeah. I mean, a bit heavy on the takeaway sometimes, but… well, someone’s got to eat the McDonald’s, right?” Words were coming to him more easily now, even if there was a possibility he might have slipped in a couple of bits of Arabic here and there without noticing. “It’s food, right? Gets the job done. I, uh. I mean. When I get around to it anyway.” He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he hadn’t eaten since downing a couple of dollar-store brand pop-tarts in the morning. He’d have to grab something on the way back.

It was a little strange, talking to someone who didn’t know who he was, what he was. Or talking to someone who wasn’t selling him something in general. As far as this guy knew, he was just some guy, probably looking worse for wear but unremarkable nonetheless. No son of Big Boss. No flawed clone. No traitor by necessity. It had to be how most people saw him, really, but he’d never really stopped to notice. His captors had known who he was. He had to tell them. His ‘saviors’ had known too. But here, nobody did. “Not… not a lot going on round here, hm?” A Conversation. He could do this.

                         The cigarette was removed and snuffed out against the side of his arm, crumpled and pocketed as to avoid littering. Quirky habit of his. Didn’t believe in people having to clean up after his habit and there were no garbage bins in sight. The smoke was noticeably bothering his newly found companion just as well - he could spare him the trouble of the smoke. “--McDonald’s?” That caught him off guard. Enough to chuckle a bit. A deep, hoarse sound. He cleared his throat, arms crossing to settle the tremor of his right arm. Another habit. “Mm. The fries are good.”

            All things considered he hadn’t quite foreseen his day turning the way of idle conversation about the golden arcs. All things considered, two victims of war and the mortal foil in the way of mental and emotional trauma were more than capable of awkward smalltalk. It was nice though. They were strangers to one another. Completely normal people. No stress. No legacies to uphold or phantoms to chase. “No. Not really.” He faced the younger man entirely now - no more sideglances. He took to presenting a relaxed and focused demeanor; Body language was a practiced thing for him. He wanted to seem more approachable. “Petty crime but the cops barely show. Nice Russian couple that own a deli down the road a ways and it’s always fresh.. Nothing particularly exciting.”

[atomicrage-blog1]

Scar.

   He smells rage, and it delights him to have encited it without antagonism. For once,    he ain’t the fucking bad guy;  doesn’t mean the pride makes it any easier to handle,    to talk about. It’s fun to brag, not so much fun to divulge the real deep, personal sh-   -it. Needs more than a couple rounds to open that can of worms.

       “ Don’t get all riled up about lil ol’ me, there, pal.  Flattering ‘n all, but… ”  I’m not         worth the fuss.  “ You’re just wastin’ your energy. They’re all long gone. ” 

                                                 Thumbs the rim of one of the many empty shotglasses                                                  lined in front of him;  reserves his stare for the inside of                                                  a bottle behind the bar. He shows all his emotion in his                                                       eyes– and he ain’t too keen on people reading them.

                         'Course there’s rage. It’s an ugly and dark one that rests deep in his bones and he carries it in his ribs. It expands, seemingly endless, with the injustice of the world and it’s terrible cruelty. He knew what it was to suffer through the ways of society and her people - the bad ones. He’d lost so much and became hyper aware of the pain others shouldered. He couldn’t possibly save every stranger he met from their damage. Though, he still tried. 

                  “I don’t see..” He had to level his voice, finally, when he spoke again. “I don’t understand why.” An open ended statement he couldn’t quite articulate. He settled for grating out something akin to a frustrated sigh. “Sorry.” He repeated it and slid some money across the bar. “On me.”

[svntinel-blog]

                               – OH, I’M READY. QUESTION                                               IS … ARE YOU?

[atomicrage-blog1]

Detective.

A vast blanket of green hung heavy over the hills. It suffocated every building & every tree to the base, swallowing every distant object & vanishing around every corner. Lightning came, a brilliant shock of white in the emerald sky, forking silently to the unsuspecting ground - the thunderous boom always calling its warning too late.

❛ Looks like a rad storm is heading this way … ❜ With an agitated sigh, Nick flicks a burnt cigarette off in no particular direction & shifts his aureolin gaze from the looming clouds of green to his companion, ❛ Unless you’ve got a hazmat suit hidden in that bag of yours, I suggest we find a place to take cover while it passes. ❜

                         He had never, personally, experienced the phenomenon until now. The sight might have been considered beautiful if not for the possibility of death looming heavy over those unfortunate enough to be caught without shelter. In the distance the din of thunder brought his skin to crawl and nerves to wear thin - fingertips twitching around the filter of the cigarette he’d palmed from his own carton. The last one. “There’s a place nearby.” The drawl of his voice was strained, weight shifted to his left and shoulders rolled. “Map says it’s the Lonely Chapel.” Good thing he brought cards.

[tacobellandbdsmgohandinhand-dea]

im rotting its fine

[atomicrage-blog1]

???.

Not really realizing it, Liquid shuffled just a bit to the other side when the person he’d almost run into breathed the smoke out. He’d never been a fan. They used to make fun of him for it, back then, but he had his reasons. He always had his reasons. Even if the reasons were unknown to him. Like why he didn’t just nod and leave when he was told not to worry about it. He didn’t need to stick around.

Even if this guy was a little more concerned about him than most people tended to be. (Didn’t take much.)

He was more accustomed to extreme heat now, but even if he hadn’t been who he was, resisting the elements had still been part of his training. He could handle cold. “No, it’s.. I’ll be alright. If it gets too bad I’ll just go.” This had to have been the most he’d said to someone in weeks, just about. “Thank you, though. For the, ah, warning. Haven’t had a chance to see the weather yet.” By some miracle he’d been set up with an apartment, tiny as it was, with a TV to match, but the news stations hadn’t been coming in too well today. Life in general hadn’t been coming in too well. “You alright, then?” Politeness, right. Now that he’d started talking so much he sort of didn’t want to stop. It was weird.

                         Smoking was a nasty habit of his. He always exhaled to the side and out of the general direction of whoever meandered too close. A practied motion of his. He didn’t believe the conversation would be an extensive one and had already drifted back to the headnoise and squinting against the first throbs of his skull. He was tired. Hadn’t slept in days and nursing that terrible nostalgia was getting to him. 

            "Mm?” To hear the young man’s voice pulled him back from the throes of thought, jaw inclined and a brow raised. “-Oh. It’d be a good idea. Gets bitter cold out here.” Another hit and he held it for awhile. Released it when his lungs felt like they were on fire. “Don’t need to thank me.” Neither rude nor a dismissal. It teetered on the edge of confusion. He hadn’t done anything to warrant it. His attention shifted and it soon enough rested solely on the underdressed blond. Was he alright? “Mm.” A grunt. “M’fine. You look like you could use a good meal though. Eating right?” This man was young. And he used to be a father. Old habits.

[atomicrage-blog1]

@grcndel continued from here.

                         "Humans.. can be cruel.” Patient through the entire divulgence of the scar’s origin; Gabriel had believed it earned through some sort of fight - anything else. Not something like.. this. The glass ( the liquid clear, water ) had been clenched so tightly it might have cracked if not for the attempt to compose himself. “I’m.. sorry. Doesn’t change it but I am.” He growled out the words and took to sipping and tilting his chin away. He believed in justice and rights by trial but found himself muttering; “I hope they burned for it.” The damaged portion of his face was noticeably cradled by his right hand - gaze averted.