balance

[conflictinghands]

💋 ( landon )

EVER WONDER WHAT MY MUSE SAYS ABOUT YOURS?

@fightingbruises

💋  for what my muse would say to the person trying to woo your muse.

       It was not all that uncommon nowadays for Jac to run into the ever-charming Landon while out on the road. But she never failed to spend at least a little while with him, a way of catching up on each other’s respective lives, though it was all namely surface-level. That was okay, some people didn’t want to open up, and Jac understood that. She wasn’t necessarily the same way, but she knew when to keep her mouth shut and not pry at another to hear a secret they wished to keep to themselves. However, it was still nice to have someone to look forward to seeing out and about.

        Would explain why Landon felt comfortable enough with her now to attempt a romantic advance. Really, how attractive a situation could it be; sitting on the edge of a low rise building, snacking on some travel mix he found while throwing pebbles at a single walker staggering below their feet. It was interesting enough to see that when she hit it in the eye, there was still a reflex that told the body to close it against the intrusion, though no display of pain was evident. And then she heard him sigh, reclining back on his hands, and when she glanced, she was momentarily caught up by the fact there was one perfect Superman curl falling onto his face. There was a look on his features, a devilish smirk. He knew he was handsome, had to, and while she couldn’t quite disagree, she wasn’t sure what his intentions were. But the gaze he gave was enough to bring a light blush to her cheeks.

           ❝   I can see how this could be romantic: the sun setting, the chocolate in the travel mix, and yes of course, the rotter wanting to eat us. And maybe in another life, I would totally fall for that bad boy stereotype you’ve got going on, especially with that hair ... but I’m not sure that NOW is the appropriate time for that. Also, I’m afraid to say that I don’t know you all that well, and before I even dream ... okay, before I ever consciously think about kissing you, I’d want to know more. Maybe I’m the hopeless romantic and I’m totally reading the situation wrong, but I thought I would just say something. Because when you look at me with that face, I don’t know what you’re thinking and it makes me all flustered. So ... did you understand any of that?   ❞

[conflictinghands]

📖 hunter

EVER WONDER WHAT MY MUSE SAYS ABOUT YOURS?

@coolhcnds​

📖  for what my muse would write about yours in their diary.

       Since it had already begun, Jac figured that she could continue with it whenever she felt the muse for it. The easiest and fastest way to lose interest in attempting to run a journal would be to push it, act as though every day had something she wanted to report back to her own confidante about. In reality, it would probably become a coping mechanism. A place to let all her troubles and worries and what else could be occupying her mind out in a healthy manner, to be able to see it written before her rather than jumbled up in an overwhelming mess in her head.

         So one would think it would obtain entries of importance, psychological inklings from a “doctor’s” mind, maybe even plans and blueprints for ideas that she harbored without intent to share to the leader for fear of stepping on toes. The reality of the matter was that she know sat on an exam cot and doodled aimlessly on the margins, knowing what she really wanted to write about, but did she really want it spelled out for her?

       ❝   To begin, I’m aware that SHE can take care of herself. 100%. That doesn’t mean that I still don’t worry that there is that slight off-chance that something BAD could happen to her. I mean, she is out there alone. What if it’s not even a matter of the rotters getting to her, or even Raiders --- where does she sleep? Does she have enough food? What if she injured herself, and now the wound is infected, but she thinks she can handle a little pain and a little pus and it will go away on its own, when in fact, sepsis will occur and then she dies? I know this is all so far-fetched, and I am projecting my own self-esteem on Hunter. I am asking all these questions and letting my imagination run wild because I know that if I was alone out there in the woods and on my own that I would perish. Hell, I would have died long ago if not by the grace of others. So how does she do it? How can she flourish whereas I would wilt? I guess I mean to say that she’s interesting. A person I could never be.   ❞

[hs--radio]

who would you want on your zombie asskicking team? pick five.

   ❝  Hmm, that’s a tough one, since I didn’t really trust any of you. Maybe Nate H since he’s a Marine and all but doesn’t seem much for the way of conversation. Jac, because I’ll need someone to stitch me up—trust me, there’s a reason why I stay in the booth. Anthony, even if the dude seems pretty sketchy and I definitely wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him, he’d kick some ass. Wren made a living out of kicking ass and seems slightly more trustworthy than Anthony, so I’d keep her around in case he starts to act up. And then Florence, not because she seems like she kicks ass or anything, just because she seems super… interesting and I gotta figure her out, it’s killing me.  ❞

( @perscverance & @conflictinghands & @rencgacle & @lethal-ity & @piouswicker )

[conflictinghands]

📖

EVER WONDER WHAT MY MUSE SAYS ABOUT YOURS?

@sungrcwn

📖  for what my muse would write about yours in their diary.

        The prospect of owning ( and actually keeping up with ) a diary seemed far-fetched. True, and probably clichéd, Jac had a diary once, in middle school. It was really just a place to dump typical preteen angst, and as she got older, she realized how lame it was. Still didn’t stop her from writing in it. It was a comforting gesture, settling down at the end of the night and reflecting on what was THEN interesting events of the day. For the longest time, Jac forgot all about the routine, and it was quite frankly the last thing on her mind during the APOCALYPSE, when it appeared. Always when one least expected it. A neat little journal, tucked away, dusty but empty. Perhaps she ought to indulge in that preteen Jacqueline, remind herself that she is still the same person she has always been.

         The journal entry was evidence.

         ❝   I always associated drugs with the wrong type of crowd. Granted, when I think of drugs, it’s cocaine and heroin. The hard-hitting stuff. Now that I can differentiate the kinds from the bit I researched, I realize that some drugs might be ... okay. And it might have something to do with Christopher Haas.   ❞ A moment to smile at the fact she was yet again writing a boy’s name in a diary, like a school-girl crush. Without questioning it, she scribbled a little heart into the “i.” ❝   I honestly thought that weren’t any people left like him. It’s almost as if the dead rising up didn’t affect him. I guess that’s why I like being around him. He makes me feel normal. I don’t actually know if he’s always been this way, or the guy he is resulted from the collapse of everything we know and understand, but whatever the case, I admire him. It’s that belief that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to that makes me trust him ... also, he asked me if I ever wanted to try marijuana, and I thought I would never do that, but it doesn’t so bad anymore. I mean, if I was ever going to try my first drug, I would want to do it with someone like Chris, right?   ❞

[conflictinghands]

👊 (:

EVER WONDER WHAT MY MUSE SAYS ABOUT YOURS?

@copper-choked-capillaries​

👊  for what my muse would say upon hearing yours has been arrested.

       The idea of people being held responsible for their “crimes” ( or what could be deemed criminal beyond an extended line ) was something that Jac actually found herself supporting. It was the idea that society could perhaps rebuild itself, slowly but surely. And what better way than to prove that to survive, you don’t have to become a cold and heartless shell of a person. It was a step in the right direction, so Jac thought.

         When word spread of a new inmate in the latest installment of prison fashion, the description was curious. It was s h a k y, at best. And it definitely did not sound like grounds for arresting the outsider, said to belong to no camp. Of course it was easy to blame the other guy, when he had no one to speak for him; but that didn’t mean that what he did was TRUE, and it didn’t sound like there was even going to be some form of a trial. When the name was finally uncovered, and a couple bystanders gossiped carelessly while on duty break, it seemed to snap off the last bit of resolve that Jac had.

             ❝   If you really buy that whole planned murder plot, then ANY ONE of you would be easy to frame. And I can correctly assume that if placed in that scenario, you would want someone to fight for you. You would want someone to believe you --- against an arguably questionable plan. You have to have at least a little conscience about sending an innocent man to prison for a crime that was never even committed, and was obviously, and painfully so, pinned on him. I know Kevin Maddox. Kevin wouldn’t kill someone for SPORT.   ❞

[conflictinghands]

🔪 for the eulogy my muse would give for yours. beetchhh <3

EVER WONDER WHAT MY MUSE SAYS ABOUT YOURS?

@avcnging

        The world didn’t care about eulogies anymore. It didn’t care in the sense that the people who still had their wits about them ... had just that. The wits to know that NEVER was an appropriate time to write your grief and condolences. One could only be so lucky to witness the demise of the one they knew, possibly cared about, potentially loved --- and then join them shortly thereafter. The horror stories that tracked the planet in the footsteps of survivors spoke of all the tragedies that had befallen upon but e v e r y o n e. So, no. The world didn’t care about eulogies. They made their peace, left their bodies, and tried to pretend there was something still left living for.

        Which was what Jac was left with. Looking for something left to live for. Colorless knuckles held a quivering pen, hovered over scraps of paper that she could find in the frenzy of her stricken state. It didn’t matter to her if eulogies were pointless, for no one to listen to. It was the first thing that came to her when she heard the news. It was the least she could do, knowing she’ll never see her cousin again, the body ... disposed of. It was her way of saying goodbye, picturing in her mind’s eye that she would arrive at a polished and shut casket and that would be the reason she could never see Skyler again.

          ❝   I think the worst part is knowing you aren’t out there, somewhere. Even after all the time we had spent apart, I knew that you were still alive. No way that you couldn’t be. That wasn’t you. SKYLER wouldn’t die. Skyler wouldn’t let it happen. In the past, you proved to me that there was still a fight to fight. That each day would be a new testament to man’s willpower to survive, to overcome. And that never left me for a second even after you did. Well, we did. We left each other. Only to be joined again. But not for long, and now I’m stuck with one last question. What am I supposed to do now? Because you had it all figured out from the start. You knew what your role was, what we were supposed to do. I followed you, because there was no answer I could give myself that you didn’t already have. And now ... now you’re gone. And I realize that my reason to keep fighting, my ‘something’ to keep living for   was YOU.   ❞

[ofhotheads-blog]

EVER WONDER WHAT MY MUSE SAYS ABOUT YOURS?

Send me a symbol.

📖 for what my muse would write about yours in their diary. 📷 for what my muse would say to the paparazzi about yours. 💋 for what my muse would say to the person trying to woo your muse. 🔪 for the eulogy my muse would give for yours. 💌 for a letter my muse would write to yours. 📫 for a letter my muse would write about yours to a third party. 📨 for a text my muse would send to yours. 💬 for a text my muse would send to yours to a third party. 💀 for what my muse would say upon hearing about your muse’s death. 👪 for what my muse would say to your muse’s child about them. 👊 for what my muse would say upon hearing yours has been arrested. 💒 for the toast my muse would give at your muse’s wedding.

[notmeismyotherpersonality]

💧

[dailylyndsy]

[reuniting-deactivated20150509]

[conflictinghands]

✧ .。 continued from here

       It should have been something to grow accustomed to, the way that people behaved these days in the face of the new world order. It was the strong, the clever, the determined that made the cut. It really only seemed like Jac had determination. Determination to climb above the mess and the chaos, and if she could help the willing few, that was just dandy. Otherwise, the rest of the living populace ... they still surprised her, made her realize that she wasn’t as hardened as she thought she was. This woman did just that. The part of her that still clutched to the figment of her personality, that scared little girl who wanted nothing more than to remain out of any source of spotlight and bide her time, wanted to cower at the manner the woman spoke. Overriding her was that damned determination, and so she clenched her jaw and straightened her spine. If she was going to get any sort of help, she had to prove she was worth assisting.

         “They’re my group, from my camp. We were doing a recon mission ... but it didn’t go as planned.” Embarrassing, she thought. It didn’t sound too good aloud to admit that they were foiled. “We weren’t expecting this many dead out here, must’ve changed course or something. We may have also spotted a couple Raiders, and we’re not exactly prepared for that kind of conflict, so we split into smaller numbers to avoid them. Didn’t work.” It occurred to her then something she said may have applied to this stranger, and the ITCH to place a palm on her hilt again almost won but for the fear of offending her. “You’re not ... a Raider, are you?”

@coolhcnds

[conflictinghands]

sungrcwn

starter for jacqueline ( @conflictinghands )

                                                               LILO & STITCH QUOTE MEME                                                                  ❝  no more caffeine for you.  ❞

           ❝  oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad, is it?  ❞  except no — no, it definitely is. for starters, he is bouncing his right leg so intensely that the entire exam cot he’s perched on is v i b r a t i n g. he’s tried to stop, like, five times now but every time his focus drifts away from sitting still for longer than a second or two, he’s right back at it. between antsy fingers twists a pen he’d found sitting on said cot several minutes earlier — in the time he’s had it, he’s tapped out the rhythm to at least four different songs, twirled it like a baton ( and proceeded to drop it twice in his attempts ) and doodled a lopsided smiley face on the back of his hand in between his index finger and his thumb. add to that the fact that he’s only here, sitting in the nurse’s office at the saddle ridge camp just about as restlessly as a bumblebee trapped in a tiny glass jar, because he got w a y too amped up on powdered coffee ( he’d not had coffee in years, but it sounded nice, and he figured the expiry date would affect the caffeination anyway ) and decided to try his hand at parkour. nature parkour — which was really just a nice way of saying he actually tried jumping from one tree to another. ( it didn’t work. ) he’s still tapping the capped end of the pen against his thigh as he looks back up at jacqueline.  ❝  my heart feels like a hummingbird right now. ❞

        When Christopher had first showed up, she had thought it was something to do with the fact there was a little collection of small lacerations to his face. It didn’t appear as though something awful had happened to him, so she didn’t allow herself to fall into panic mode ( yet ) and instead guided him to her little examination quarters, which was just a couple cots partitioned by some curtains she salvaged. But once she got a better look at him, eyes narrowed and she took note of his ticks: the fidgeting, toying with anything he could get his hands on, and then of course, the remarks.

          “Hold still --- or at least TRY to,” she teased, a tender hand cupping his chin while she dabbed isopropyl against the scratches. They weren’t anything severe, nothing to garner a stitch or even a bandaid, but she still wanted to keep them clean. “It looks like someone has a bit of a caffeine rush. What’d you do; find some caffeine supplements?” With the hand on his face, her fingertips just brushed his jugular, but she could feel the erratic pulse. Understandable, considering if one hasn’t had any in awhile, it could work better than guaranteed. A soft smile came to her lips, taking a step back to look over his face and throwing out the latest swab. “I think you’ll be just fine. Won’t even have a mark to show for your parkour. And make sure to drink plenty of water, it dehydrates you.”

[kieraknightley]

[avcnging-archived-blog]

@conflictinghands

[conflictinghands]

“Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”.

FIRST-TIME INTERACTION STARTER SENTENCES

        The motherly hand on her chin had her grimacing away from the touch. It had been far too long since she last felt like a child, let alone treated as one, and though it may be her cousin ( her sister ) she didn’t quite appreciate the concern as though she couldn’t handle herself.

       “It’s NOTHING,” insisted she, waving off Skyler’s expression. “A bit of a scuffle, not involving me. I just got in the way.” A punch that had gone wayward, landing a glancing blow to the corner of her mouth. Really, it was nothing worrisome, and obviously taken care of. All that remained was the mottled bruising and the crevice where a knuckle had split her lip, but that would be gone within a week. What she cared about was the infrequent visits she was privileged to have with Skyler when they both had the time in their schedules, after having been parted for so long.

@avcnging

[conflictinghands]

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I saw someone put something in your drink. You didn’t drink from it already, did you?”

FIRST-TIME INTERACTION STARTER SENTENCES

         “I, uhm --- no?” The drink in hand on its way to nude lips stilled, eyes lifted from a book on the counter. “Why would someone put something in my coffee?” Which sounded like a real bummer, but not for the reason that it was turning out to be. Coffee wasn’t the most common good around these days, and when she could afford a cup, she WOULD. The thought of someone potentially ruining a moment of serenity ... despicable.

         “Did you see who?” asked Jac as fingertips slid away the mug, turning in her barstool.

@sarahetroyer

[queenmiko-moved-deactivated2017]

First-Time Interaction starter sentences

[angstmemes]

“I realise you don’t know me, but please help me, I think I’m going to pass out.” “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I saw someone put something in your drink. You didn’t drink from it already, did you?” “I got robbed and have no way of getting home. They got my phone, so I can’t call anyone. Could I please borrow your phone?” “Shit! Sorry, I didn’t see you there… Are you okay?” “Charlie! Imagine seeing you here!– Oh. Wait, you aren’t Charlie…” “Excuse me, I was looking to get my girlfriend a bra, could you help me– You’re not the shop assistant, are you?” “Watch out for that truck!” “Is this your wallet?” “You look very different to your profile picture…” “Look out where you’re going, asshole!” “Did you see that?! He had a gun.” “Are you the girl/guy from So You Think You Can Dance?!” “Err– I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was just walking behind you and I think you must have sat in something…” “I know I don’t know you and this might sound really strange, but do you have a room or a spare settee or something I could crash on? I could pay you… I just… I really need someone to help me out right now.” “HELP ME!” “Oh my god, are you okay? I’m calling the police. I think I saw who did this to you.” “Are you alright? You look really pale.” “The whole street is blocked off. The police won’t tell us anything, but I think there’s been some kind of attack… Maybe a bomb?” ”Have you lost something? Can I help?” “Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”.

[conflictinghands]

contritium

     Whining had always been something that Nathan looked down upon. It wasn’t just him, though, it was everyone around him. From his mother’s stern voice to his father’s hard hand being slammed onto a coffee table, the man had learned. He had picked up that whining very rarely ever got you what you wanted & speaking in tones of assertiveness & even aggression was much more effective. & this woman who now stood before him — though her tone could be considered assertive to some — was reminiscent of a child whining to her parents because they won’t let her have an extra scoop of ice cream. It was not convincing enough for Nathan to put the book back in the bag, nor was it pleasing to his ears. Hell, he half expected her arms to cross & her foot to stomp to accompany the elegant tone of voice. Though, none of those things had happened, at least not yet. 

     Following her gaze, he held up the book with confusion. Eyes looked over the delicate spine of it, the yellow pages & its tattered edges. It was a simple book, & for Nathan, he couldn’t see any value to it. Of course, it was a book that happened to be a well-known piece of literature & had been highly praised in the years of normalcy, but now, it was simply a book. He couldn’t see how there would be any sentimental value to it, nor could he see why one would be so upset about it being taken. After all, there were a million copies of it out in the world, & you no longer had to pay for anything. It was all there for the taking, free of charge. The judgemental expression on his features had not been something that he bothered to hide for the sake of another. It was simply a look that he gave in return to the other’s words. 

     What are you doing? Eyes rolled at the questions she asked, the judgment only magnifying with every second that passed. “Well, I’m taking some of you things. I thought that was obvious. & what I want, is to take your things & leave. Thought that one was obvious as well. Is that answer sufficient?” He questioned thoughtfully. In truth, he could have just handed her belongings back so that the both of them could be on their way, but Nathan was too stubborn to be that way. He was unable to take the high road in the majority of the situations & predicaments that he faced. That part of life had never truly been instilled into his system for he had been created from suffering, not peace. However, Nathan had been trying to be the latter of the two. Nefarious & cold actions had slowly turned warm as they slowly became softer, kinder.

     Fingers flipped through the pages with surprising caution, eyes skimming the pages for any notable scribbles or notes. Nathan was by no means a complete monster ( though, one might argue that he was to a certain extent ). He enjoyed reading & wouldn’t risk ripping the pages apart just to antagonize the woman. It would be a waste of paper & a waste of energy. “What’s so important about this book?” He demanded an answer, direct & stern with his words. It wasn’t just for the purpose of prolonging the time that the book was in his possession ( because he knew he’d give it back, eventually ), but out of genuine curiosity. Nathan had been a drifter, no feeling or sense of home for the majority of his life & hardly any possessions that he could say belonged to him. He had nothing that held any personal value to him — no images from the past, no stuffed animals from childhood, nothing. 

    Naïvety was an unfortunate quality that Jacqueline possessed. Always had. Even before the outbreak, her only desire was to see the best in people, that no one could possible be inherently bad to the bone. There was already a reason for one’s actions, a motive, but never because they simply sought to create grief and chaos. That being said, despite the encounters others have reported, there was still a part of her that believed that Raiders ( what this man could only be ) were just lost souls, attempting to find a role in this newfound broken society. It was applied to his thievery, and she inhaled a shaky breath, a course of adrenaline pulsing at having faced what many would tell her to RUN from. There was something he wanted, that he had hoped she had, and there had to be an explanation for why he wanted it. Not simply because he wanted to steal belongings.

         “What are you looking for?” she tried diplomacy. “Maybe I can help you. I’m a healer from ... one of the camps. If you, or someone you know, needs help, if they’re hurt --- it doesn’t have to be like this.” It came out with a bit of a stutter, unsure of how best to address him. So far, he showed no promise of hurting her, rather appraising her book that she wrongly displayed attachment to. A piece of contraband to use against her, if he needed to. Of course, it was simply a book, a worn copy that would soon fall apart of its own accord. But what it stood for in memoriam ...

        The brunette watched closely as he flipped the pages, surprisingly gentle. It was then that she realized she was tense. As if at any moment he was going to rip it up before her very eyes. What would she do about it? Not a whole lot. She wasn’t violent, and she knew when she stood no chance. This man was lumbering, and before she could even get close enough, he could probably toss her to the ground. Yet, he did nothing of the kind, instead asking her about it as though the conversation had turned suddenly curious instead of dangerous. How could she tell him? “My brother gave it to me,” she muttered, the words coming out more easily than she thought. And if there was the chance that he didn’t quite catch what she said, then hopefully he wouldn’t push for it either. Clearing her throat and a shake of her head, she straightened her spine, even if she didn’t feel the bravest. “If I could have that back, you can have whatever you’re looking for.”