ticking bomb

nathan clarke, xxxv, raider ❝ i walk beside the still waters & they restore my soul, but i know when i ( die ) my soul is damned . . . ❞

[93myq-deactivated20170129]

your hands are wet with the blood of an empire. you lick it off.

CATASTROPHE | P.V.S. (via sarchengseys)

[contritium-blog]

copper-choked-capillaries:

“I don’t have anyone, ’m all alone.” His voice was lowered, almost down to a whisper and it wasn’t out of fear, or panic. It was out of sheer loneliness, almost a grief filled tone that spoke volumes of Kevin’s state of being. Desperately he craved nearness to other people but all attempts had been foiled by idiocy on his end or death due to rotters. Regardless it had been months since he had seen his last real live human and despite his earlier attack, and disappointment he was already excited. A small grin creeps across his face, it isn’t that he’s happy (he’s been finding it impossible to be really happy since Gallen passed) but it’s a satisfied grin, maybe Nathan wouldn’t despise him. “Are you with a group?” Kevin takes a small step back to steady himself, removing his hand from his pocket as he does so. He rubs at the wound on his shoulder in an attempt to remove some of the congealed blood and ease the pain. A Vicodin or better yet some fucking oxy would come in real handy but…that would have to wait till he was alone or at least when Nathan wasn’t actively looking at him. Fuck he hated being so suspicious and doing stupid shit behind people’s back but. Nathan could not know about his addiction or if he already knew then he would have to hide the extent of it.

He wipes the blood onto the side of his hoodie, hitting each prominent rib as his bloody fingers trail down. “You don’t um…” Needing medical attention and asking for medical attention are two completely separate things but Kevin doesn’t need much (it isn’t like he gives a damn about himself anyway) he just wants the bleeding to stop or at least be hidden. The dripping is driving him crazy. “Happen to have a bandaid..do you?” Come to think of it, his arm wasn’t the only thing that hurt, his head felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to the back of it and he would bet all his needles that it was bleeding too.

From experience he knew that he looked liked shit or more precisely like he’d been run over by a truck. The last few days had been hellish as he had all but run out of water and instead of rectifying the situation instead decided to go on a binge in an attempt to perhaps get himself killed. It obviously hadn’t successfully but wistfully Kevin wished it had. He hadn’t always been so fucking sad, back when it was just him and Gallen he had been alright, they had been happy but shit got real very quickly his brother turned eighteen and the system would no longer provide for him. Despite his wishes, Kevin left with him, loving his brother more than safety or thinking he would be safer with Gallen. (He couldn’t even remember which it was these days) They were back on the streets, scraping by when Gallen made the executive decision that he would join a gang and deal with them. Kevin joined with him and soon after the depression hit him. It was rough, people died all around him but he refused to kill, his brother did it for him when it was necessary. His brother was stronger always had been. Kevin, Kevin was nothing, just garbage so couldn’t even do his job right. So he turned to shooting up, to losing himself. He had no will to live even before the rotters showed up. Now it felt like he was living a fever dream, like he was trapped in a bad high that would never end. His hand moves upwards to the back of his head to assess the damage and he bites the inside of his cheek hard to keeping from making any noise. The touch hurt and the bump under his fingers didn’t feel like it was going anywhere soon. This was worse than Kevin originally thought, head injuries were serious and come to think of it, he felt vaguely nauseous. With all the excitement and panic of someone living he had yet to really take account of his fall and what he felt he really did not like. He hopes he isn’t concussed, that would be really, really fucking bad.

     It had come as a surprise to Nathan. In most cases, when he met someone who was injured, he was quick to judge them. He labeled so many people as WEAK and dismissed them as quickly as possible. It was what he knew best, what he was taught to do; judge so meticulously so that only those who were worthy could come near you. It had been an easy way to ensure that he would not be plagued by the failures of others. But as he looked at the younger man, he couldn’t help but feel something else. It drew out an unfamiliar feeling of sympathy that bordered onto empathy. He couldn’t understand WHY he felt this way. This kid was just another person he had met, someone that should have very little significance to him. Names were simply things that were made to be forgotten and faces blended together. Hell, even the images of the men and women who raised them had begun to blur together. Even though they had given him food, water, shelter, and clothing, he had forgotten them. Once he packed his bags and stood at the side of the street with his thumbs up, the memory of them was bound to be kicked to the side. And in a way, that was what he wanted. 

     But this? Caring for someone that he had just met? This was something that went against all logic. There was nothing in it that made sense and as much as he wanted to RETALIATE against it, he couldn’t. He had been trying to change his ways, attempting to be a better person. It was why he had spent so much time walking the perimeters of his camp like a guard dog, trying to keep people out. He had spent his time killing this “friends” in the name of saving an innocent life. Perhaps he had already begun to change. Perhaps the cycle had already begun itself. He could remember the memories of this happening once before. The vivid memories of RUTHLESS DESTRUCTION justified by the excuse that he was protecting his people. It had happened before. He had tried to change in the beginning of the outbreak and he failed miserably. His loyalties were traded in for cowardice and he returned to the life of crime. An untrustworthy ruffian that only used people for his own gain and dropped them as soon as things got too difficult. 

     So perhaps this side of him wasn’t as out of character as he initially thought. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to believe that it was. There was something in being ALONE that made him feel better. It allowed him to remain stuck in the mindset that he had been in when he was out on the streets. This every man for himself mentality was what kept him breathing. It was the only thing that reminded him, no, FORCED him to think for himself and act for himself. There was no more worry placed on his shoulders to please his parents or his family. Instead, there was only the obsessive need to make himself happy. So when the question was asked, Nathan didn’t know what to say. Yes, in a way, he was with a group. But that was simply the physical aspect of things. Mentally, he was isolated from the world. “Kinda,” He replied, not wanting to get too specific. Raiders didn’t have the best reputation and any mention of the word would put his own safety at risk. The majority of the population would kill a raider right on the spot, regardless of his crimes or lack thereof. 

     The man rubbed uncomfortably at his injuries and Nathan kept his eyes on him. Even though it was a stretch, he couldn’t help but wonder if this kid was a masochist. Of course, he was most likely just gauging the extent of his wound, but Nathan’s active imagination and blurred memories were pulled back to a time where his own fingers would press into the abrasions he received from training. The times he fell down on the dusty grounds of his compound and skinned his knees were just reminders to try harder. He can still see the faint scarring over his skin from those days. It served its purpose back then, but now, it acted as something else. The pain was a reminder that he was ALIVE and that there was still a reason to keep fighting. So long as there was blood flowing through him, he was willing to keep up his efforts. 

     Without a word, he nodded, swinging his backpack off of one of his shoulders and pulling out a small bag filled with medical supplies. It took up the most room in his backpack, but he found that it was worth it. Clean bandages were things to be treated with caution and he made sure that it was kept separate from the rest of his gear. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a roll gauze. “You might want to clean that first,” He suggested. “Infections these days aren’t exactly a quick fix.” Not that they’d ever been. Even before the apocalypse, he could recall stories of people dying from simple infections that could have been avoided or fixed with some antibiotics. Now, however, antibiotics were hard to come by and even if Nathan had any, he wouldn’t offer it up. It would be something that he saved for himself. Sure, it was was selfish, but it was also SURVIVAL. 

[contritium-blog]

 fcopper-choked-capillaries:

His breathing has become calm, again controlled by him, nails dig into his palms hard enough to puncture skin as he struggles to remain in control. Panic attacks were not fucking good and his body and mind needed to learn appropriate times to partake in them. Until then however he turned to whatever method he could to force the panic to relinquish its tight grip on his lungs. The preference was of course drugs, particularly heroin, However it simply wasn’t an option at the given moment, he hoped his nails and the blood they caused would be enough to sate the beast of his mental illness. ( it was never enough. ) Up to this point Kevin had been living through the apocalypse (less living and more barely hanging in there) despite a copious amount of silly, amateur mistakes. The searching gaze and calculated steps the other was taking was almost unnerving, but nice. Calculation may not have been Kevin’s style but it reminded him of his brother. Gallen had been all precise and articulate, always careful with what he said and how he went about anything and it hurt to see someone so similar yet so obviously different. Nathan was hard, calloused and it seemed like he had been that way before the apocalypse as well. Kevin knew they had the potential to get along well but it really depended on how far Nathan was willing to go. If he was willing to make nice, to trust him then perhaps with another PERSON Kevin could finally get at least slightly…better.

The sheathed knife was definitely a step in the right direction and he was grateful the other hadn’t perceived him as a threat. On a normal day Kevin didn’t have a hope of beating this guy but with one arm fucked up and his head pounding he wouldn’t be able to even run. This was what Gallen would call a SHITUATION. At his thoughts of happier days with somewhat less anxiety a faint smile graces his lips.

The nod of the other man gives away that he isn’t much for words, this isn’t a surprise to Kevin but it’s nice to be thoroughly aware of his reticence. Nathan. Nathan. Two syllables representing non hostile humanity. He had a name which meant he had a soul, he had a heart and a mind and everything in between. It hits him all over again that this is a real live human being and even if he does end up dead, nothing can take this encounter away from him. Dark brown eyes widen slightly as he rolls the word around in his mouth, silently getting a feel for it. It’s a nice name and it fits him perfectly. To the point but almost warm.

He watches the other taking him in and he’s on guard again. If he found out what he did, how he didn’t even want to be alive, Nathan would hate him. Would be disgusted by his indifference and addiction. Fingers move from fists and almost (but not quite) subtly pull down his hoodie sleeves further.

After his attack had subsided it took Kevin a few seconds to adjust himself and understand what the other had asked. “S-sorry ’m not asthmatic, just..” His eyes move to his feet and his hand flies to the base of his neck rubbing sheepishly. “ got a l-little panicky” He glances up to gauge the others reaction and notices the feigned look. Although terrible at interacting with others Kevin was pretty good at reading them. Having spent his whole life moving from the streets to foster home after foster home and finally to a gang it was no surprise really that he was good at it. If he wasn’t he probably would have gotten himself killed well before rotters started eating people. It isn’t a nice feeling that overwhelms him when he realizes how Fake the concern is. He didn’t know what he had been thinking this man, Nathan, didn’t know him (and obviously didn’t want to) Regardless, the sinking feeling in his stomach at the realization that this man had no interest in him really fucking hurt. It felt like cold ears and pinkie fingers, stubbing toes and biting tongues. It was reheated macaroni and cheese that you had to make yourself because there was no one who loved you enough. Kevin hated it but he didn’t hate this man. He still wanted, no, needed the connection of another life he would keep trying.

“S-sorry” his gaze rests behind the other sometimes flitting to his face. (He avoids his eyes, not wanting to see what he might find) “Thank you for w-waking me, it was r-really nice of you… you could’ve left me and I would’ve been rotter b-bait.” His words and faltering, stumbling out from between his lips and although he isn’t nearly as nervous as before he still can’t help it from creeping into his voice.

     PANIC. He could understand this emotion by its definition; the sudden and uncontrollable feeling of fear or anxiety was not a hard concept to grasp. Knowing was one thing, but experiencing was something else. It was a whole new world that Nathan had very little experience in. He could recall each and every time where he had felt it, all of which were at the hand of his own MISTAKES. At home, the wrong word or the wrong step meant punishment, instilling a ravenous hunger for PERFECTION. It was something that had been pushed onto him by his parents, enforced by violence to ensure that their son would be successful in life. This was the only experience that he could attribute to Kevin’s ‘panicky’ state. But Nathan was not an idiot and if his excuse was actually valid ( which was highly likely ), then the man knew what caused it. It hadn’t been the first time that someone was faced with a mountain of ANXIETY when meeting Nathan. It was a simple result of his rugged appearance and menacing demeanor. It had plagued him his whole life and while he enjoyed pretending that it bothered him, the man knew that it was for the best. Growing close to others opened the doors for Nathan and in any case, would result in HEARTBREAK. 

     But now this man knew his name and that was a rarity in itself. It wasn’t just based on his fantasy of traveling incognito, but more about PROTECTION. He had wronged so many people in his lifetime and as a result, created enemies. There were people out there that wanted him DEAD. They wanted nothing more than to watch his blood flow from his body, inflicting a slow and painful death. Nathan had caused people pain, more than that, he had been the cause of death for their loved ones. The grim reaper of the apocalypse, walking amongst the innocent with a vengeance. He was a dangerous man and Kevin was right to be afraid. ANYONE would be right to be afraid of him. Hell, even Nathan would be terrified to death. 

     You don’t have to apologize for anything. Those were the words that he WANTED to say, the ones that felt right. But his body refused to allow that to happen and any attempt that was made had failed. Seeing this man shake and stammer out words had reminded him of how he was when he had first left home. The young teenager, wondering down the streets and hitchhiking to unknown places. Nathan was lost at one point. He was someone who had little to no direction, the only knowledge he had was deemed WORTHLESS in a modern world. Granted, it had helped him on the streets, but it didn’t help him grow in the ways that he had wanted. The emotionless upbringing he had wasn’t something that he could shake. Even now, it was something that latched onto him like a damn leech and REFUSED to leave. It sucked the life out of him, making him lonely. It took and took, never giving back to him. With no social skills, the only use he had was with jobs that required you to think with your brain, and not your heart. Nathan had become a SINNER before the world had gone to shit and he knew it. He was causing death long before it was required and now, he began to wonder if it was too late. Was he past redemption now? It sure felt like it. 

     The man gave a curt nod once again, accepting the thanks and unnecessary apologies. “No problem.” The words felt and sounded foreign to him. It was rare for someone to THANK him. He never did things that warranted it, only acts that demanded an apology on his end. Not that he’d ever given one to anybody but his parents. An apology felt more like an omission of guilt with a submissive stance, which is something he avoided like the plague. Only his parents were able to squeeze it out of him, but even then, it was something that was FORCED and said out fear. Now, he conceded to no one but himself. 

     “Where are your people?” He asked. It was something that he most likely already knew the answer to, but Nathan wanted to be safe. Assumptions were nothing more than poorly constructed theories based on nothing but a gut feeling. Educated guesses, however, were different. His hypothesis was that this man was ALONE. If he had people, they would be looking for him and Nathan would have surely run into them prior to finding Kevin. If he weren’t alone, then he wouldn’t look as shitty as he did now. The pale skin and dark blue under his eyes were a clear sign of either sleep deprivation. The demeanor of the young man was that of someone who was lonely, maybe even depressed. In general, this was not the look of a man who had a camp to call home. It was the look of a VAGABOND, simple and plain. Sure, he could be wrong, but the chances of that were low. Nevertheless, this notion was something that reached Nathan on a more personal level. It was something that he could relate to, which was something that he rarely ever experienced. 

[babil6]

[contritium-blog]

chcrmingkiller:

        she’s not willing to lower her knife just yet - not willing to make herself look so weak; opening up a vulnerability to him could RESULT in her death. she raises a thin, auburn eyebrow at him; “what are you? the poster child for the blood-play kinks?   you can fuck off and leave me be; there’s no reason for you be lurking unless you have something i want or i have something YOU want.”    she rounded the body of her dead victim, keeping her eyes on the stranger as she began to look through the still-warm bodies’ pockets

            his question surprises her - only a few people were willing to learn someones name before KILLING them   ( she’s one of them, names didn’t matter if someone wanted to hurt you.   kill or be killed.    or sometimes, just kill them anyway. )      “charming.”  she replies pointedly, “by name, not NATURE.”     she empties the pockets of the kill and rips her axe from it’s skull, wiping the blood from the blade on the dead ones clothing - she straightens - “and what do i call you?”

     there’s a scoff that’s SQUEEZED out of him as he rolls his eyes, shifting his weight from one foot to another. he’s not surprised by her snarky remarks, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t irritate him. it’s a mere annoyance that burrows under his thick skin until it reaches the breaking point & makes him EXPLODE with rage. only, he prays that this time is different. he wants to say something back to her, come up with something to HURT her. but opening that door is also a death wish that he does not want to make. besides, he isn’t a child & remarks like that are simply pointless. 

     “a misnomer,” he says simply, nodding as he took this information in. the name is strange to hear & his brow raises in response to it. perhaps it was a something she had chosen for herself in hopes to leave the past BEHIND. in truth, nathan knows that he should be doing that. with the number of people he’s wronged, it isn’t safe to be going by his real one. but still, he is a man of PRIDE & hiding from his sins is something that he had no interest in. “nathan.” his voice remains a steady force, one that communicates so clearly that he is not afraid of this GIRL. 

[contritium-blog]

piouswicker:

There was some undeniable part of her; some almost sickening segment of her being that almost enjoyed the sensation of the stinging of her cheek, brought on and crafted by the people who had raised the girl into more of who she was than even her own parents. The honest belief that violence – pain – were holy things that you just had to learn to master. Everyone knew that Adrian would kick out or humiliate anyone that didn’t practice this supposed art. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to hurt them, but there was also a niggling curiosity that wondered what would happen if they went even further. Only this was not the same, and she had to keep telling her wilted mind it was so. Somewhere inside of her she still saw Adrian as a man with overall good intentions no matter what road he would take to get there. These men wanted nothing special from her, only to see her bleed. Like witnessing red crimson spilling out from some unknown girl was something they needed to get along, to keep going and ensure their pulses kept ticking away. She hated these people and told herself she would still despise them even if they had been nice to her; like their rot was simply on display for all to see. Florence refused to acknowledge how she was like them in that sense.

Black eyes remained focused on the oncoming figure instead of the hands already grabbing at her, throwing her around as though she were nothing more than a rag doll. The newest member of the party looked like a leader in every sense ( was he their leader? ) Perhaps the others had laid off killing her because they had been waiting for his appearance. Maybe he would be the one to decide her fate; a worse villain than all the rest. They all had a certain lack of cleanliness to them like they had not washed for several months and still refused to. Like they just knew it would make people like her so uncomfortable and sickened, and they liked that response.

Keep reading

    What was the cost of one life? Nathan could recall a time before this when a life was not to be wasted & instead, was meant to be cherished. This senseless violence that had now become so trivial was once something that other's looked toward with distaste. The label 'criminal' was handed out so easily & life sentences were passed to those deserving of it. But there was a reason why the past was left behind & as time moved on & the world changed to something more sinister, it became evident that humans no longer had a choice. The line between right & wrong became blurred with the will to survive & endure. The justice system was no more than an old joke that had outgrown itself & people relied on themselves to even out the scores. There were two sides of the scale: those that fought for their lives, & those that handed it over. willingly Nathan clearly fell into the group that fought for their lives, never giving up. He was solid Teflon in a world of fragile glass & being this strong promised safety & prosperity; despite this, he longed to be the latter.

    It was the unholy croak of his fellow raider that snapped him back into reality. He imagined what it must have been like, the pure agony that engulfed the body & the undeniable feeling that DEATH was knocking on your door. Chills slowly raked down his spine, an eerie feeling consuming his being. These thoughts were not those of a sane man; Nathan had to remind himself of this. The moment of shock that had surrounded the raiders around him was peaceful. He let the seconds pass, each one coming by slower than the next. Taking a deep breath, he was able to collect himself, to calculate the situation more thoroughly. A heavy hand reached for his other knife in preparation for the inevitable attack, eyes darting wildly around the scene until they finally landed on the young woman. The soft features of her face had quickly turned predatory & a distinct look of fiery rage seemed to take over her. It piqued interest in him, but not enough to completely distract him from the task at hand. Then, the woman jumped onto the back of one of them, nails clawing aggressively at his skin.

    Nathan would have been lying if he had said that he WASN'T worried about the woman's well-being & ability to hold her own. But this feral side of her that had been unleashed was all the confirmation that he needed in order to continue. Before he could return all of his focus on the other raider, he felt the sting of a punch kiss his cheek, a spray of blood flying into the air. The man, taking advantage of this rare vulnerability, quickly unsheathed his knife. His hand wound back but before it could do any damage, Nathan's own forearm was blocking it, the pressure preventing the knife from coming anywhere near him. Though he was never one for classless acts or unnecessary taunting, he spat out the blood in his mouth in the face of his opponent. Consequently, the other began to push harder, the blade of the knife just barely lacerating the side of his head. Crimson liquid began to drip down to his cheek, the feeling of it being almost PLEASING to him. The pain that followed was just a reminder that he was alive & Nathan only seemed to greet it with open arms. Nevertheless, Nathan was not ready to die. He channeled all of his concentration with the raging anger that bubbled beneath his skin finally being released.

    Finally, he decided to utilize his knife. Taking a step forward, he used the momentum to plunge the blade into the man's side. He twisted the weapon, trying to maximize the amount of damage he could do. All of the tension that had grown seemed to fade as the man dropped his knife & stumbled back, a wince of pain managing to escape him despite his best efforts to suffer in SILENCE. Though it had debilitated him, he knew that it wasn't enough. Raiders were known for their tenacious attitudes, for their ability to beat all odds & fight back until their dying breath. Nathan wasn't going to make the mistake of letting this man have that chance. He was going to be smart about this. Picking up the knife that had been dropped, he gripped the handle tightly. Meanwhile, The raider had already taken Nathan's own knife out from his body, seemingly ready to continue from where they left off.

[contritium-blog]

copper-choked-capillaries:

( @contritium ) ( Continued from )

       Every agonizing second that Kevin took to respond and absorb the situation was another second in which the man could attack. He didn’t know who he was or what he had done, and the question had yet to be answered. It continued to run through his head, FRIEND OR FOE. Since he had yet to be attacked he was assuming something more akin to a friend (or at least not a threat) and the loose grip the man had on the knife seemed fairly promising. Regardless this was not the type of situation he wanted to be in. As lonely as he had been he would rather still be walking along the bank and not down here with this man who looked to have little to no regard for his well being (which was fair, even he didn’t give a fuck about himself) The issue was that Kevin was at a distinct disadvantage, he was shorter, scrawnier, injured (potentially concussed, damn his shit balance) and currently sober (which wasn’t helping anything)

      Carding a hand through his hair he sheepishly replies. “I fell.” It’s a simple response but it’s what he feels he owes. To give more he gestures halfheartedly up the bank that he had fallen down, brows raising slightly as he sees how high it actually was. Distantly he wonders if his arm is still bleeding. (It is.) His choice to avoid the first sentence the man had spoken seemed wise as he had taken it as a threat and generally speaking he didn’t do well with threats. Volatile action was not an option in this situation and he couldn’t afford any mishaps with this man. It wasn’t that he was afraid (he didn’t get afraid) but he was...wary. The man was still unknown and the way he had refrained from answering any of his questions didn’t slip by unnoticed. He supposed however that it didn’t really matter. He had thrown water onto his face, wasting the precious resource for the sole purpose of waking him. (He had to be nice..right?) Regardless Kevin was in a post-pain-trusting mood so he stepped closer to the other, hands held out so as to appear nonthreatening. (Fuck his arm hurt) 

       Since the man in front of him didn’t seem likely to make the first move, Kevin started. “I’m Kevin and um” He cast his eyes downward looking to the rocks for answers. What would the man accept as a cursory introduction that would reveal only enough to show he wasn’t a threat? The pounding in his ears was not helping. “I-I’m all alone.” It was the honest truth and no doubt what the man wanted to hear (he looked like a loner himself) but wasn’t that just fucking depressing. Fuck he needed a hit. (No no no, he was going to stop. He was.) His fingers twitch slightly and he desperately hoped the other wouldn’t see the subtle signs of withdrawal. (It hadn’t gotten bad yet, he had really only just become painfully sober) Still…to a trained eye. He could only thank his lucky stars for his long sleeved hoodie. Back to the matter at hand and this mans response, it was taking a ridiculously long time. (Patience was a virtue that Kevin, despite all attempts, simply did not have) This whole situation was making him anxious, and his anxiety was making him s h a k y. It reminded him of times well before adulthood when Gallen and him had sold, only a baby bit, but the men had been scary and he had been small. Holding his hands out, offering drugs, taking money. Give and take, give and take. Kevin had given a name, an explanation. This man had given nothing. What if the man attacked? Kevin was so close he could easily be shot or stabbed rather, the noise would draw attention and no one wanted that. His mind was going a mile a minute, his anxiety spiking, his breathing was all wrong. How did he breathe again? In and out in and out? Which was longer, was it the same? Kevin couldn’t seem to get them match up. He was distracted, his eyes snapped back to the man, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He tried to clear his mind but fuck his breathing. No seriously fuck his breathing. Who needed to breathe anyway? (Not fucking him) his breathing calmed as he steeled himself. (God he was a mess.)

     As the other gestured up to the top of the bank, Nathan made sure to keep one eye on him at all times. This kid was injured, yes, but as long as he was breathing, Nathan would consider him a THREAT. Belligerent or not, he was careful to not let his guard down. He had not survived this long by making silly & amateur mistakes. No, Nathan was a man of precise calculation. Nearly everything about him had been clearly thought out & evaluated, ensuring that he knew every possible outcome. The good or the bad, it didn’t matter. Any outcome was a consequence of an action ( or lack thereof ). Nathan watched intently as the other stepped closer with his hands out. It was a simple sign of trust, one that in any normal situation, should be returned. But this wasn’t a normal situation & Nathan was far from ready to lay down his weapon & be counted as an equal to this man. He was stubborn to a flaw & this did not constitute any other reaction. But still, Nathan had to give him the benefit of the doubt in SOME way. Whether it was a big gesture or a small gesture, he needed to do something to assure the other that his words were true. He let his eyes fall to his knife with a look of disdain. Reluctantly, he put it back into the sheath. Worst case scenario, Nathan would have to defend himself with his hands ( which was something that he had a strong disliking for ). He only hoped that this man was smart enough to know when to fight & when to surrender. 

     KEVIN. He repeated to himself, making a mental note of this. It wasn’t every day that he bothered to learn the names of another so when he did, Nathan made sure to remember it. But whether or not he actively led the other’s to believe that he knew their names was always something that depended on the situation. For him, it felt safer to not let others know that he knew who they were, to pretend that they meant nothing to him & that they were easy to forget. It kept him guarded & allowed Nathan to not form any attachments to others as well as deter them from wanting any with him. Things were much simpler this way. Less hurt, less fear, less heartbreak, & overall, less emotion. He nodded his head, an easy way to acknowledge him without having to speak. After all, Nathan was not known for his lengthy words & ability to carry on a thoughtful conversation. ( Though give him a chance & a person that he is comfortable with, & you’d get a man who never shuts up; a man who wants to know & learn everything about you for the simple fact that he cares & no ulterior motives. )

     Nathan’s eyes lingered on Kevin. The way he was raised didn’t allow for mistakes. This included overlooking small details that most didn’t care to find. But these small details never went unnoticed by Nathan. The slight twitch, the feverish face, & the unsteady breath. Had it not been for his years of selling & witnessing the use of drugs, all of this may have gone right through Nathan. However, this was not the case & the man’s detail-oriented gaze spotted this. Strategically, the best thing was to act dumb, to allow others to believe that you are inferior & that you could not notice these things. It was a simple law of war that he had learned from reading. So, Nathan simply allowed the details to pass him, not bothering to bring them up or mention them. “Nathan,” He said in a monotone voice. The twitching had been easy to ignore but soon enough, the breathing became too much. At this point, Nathan would have to be an idiot to not notice how erratic it had become & not saying anything ran the risk of him looking more suspicious than he already was. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he contemplated how to go about this. Blunt & honest was how he liked things, but as he’s learned from years of the outbreak, that isn’t exactly how everyone else wanted it. “ & your breathing?” He questioned, a feigned look of concern spreading across his features. “Are you asthmatic?” He knew that the answer was most likely be no, but it was better than asking if he was in the middle of some sort of panic attack ( which he could only hypothesize from reading the DSM-5 a multitude of times ). 

[dortprincess]

[contritium-blog]

chcrmingkiller:

        the blood is still WARM on her hands, dripping down the handle of the knife & spattered on her face and chest.    the appearance all but explaining how she survived on her own.     the body behind her twitched in it’s final stages of DEATH - but the shattered skull meant that he wouldn’t be RISING any time soon.

     she rolled her neck, stretching a little as she rested her weight on the balls of her feet, GAUGING whether or not he was about to attack her for the death of the asshole behind her - “well then, no one,” she began, “did you NEED something or are you just here for the show, because i need my axe back and i have a body to strip.”

             and some more ANGER to work out on whatever moving thing she could find.

     there's a shrug that rolls over his shoulders as he crosses his arms around his chest as an attempt to seem less intimidating. it’s a small gesture, but for anyone who bases action & thought on body language, it’s something to take note of. the thing is, he’s not here to cause any unease for the other. he’s here as an admirer. as much as he prides himself on his many attempts of being a good person, he can’t resist the sheer curiosity he feels for her. she reminds him of the women that would come to the raiders, looking to be like one of them—to get REVENGE on those who have wronged them. 

     “—oh, please don’t change your routine up just because i’m here,” he comments. he’s not one for conversation, but he feels that same burning sensation to KNOW as he had with that other girl. what was her name? brenda? brea? brooke? he doesn’t remember. all he knows is that he wants to stick around & ask questions. “& who are you?” he questions with a tilt of his head. the red hair reminds him of fire & her personality—well, that also reminds him of fire. the best he can do is hope & pray that he doesn’t get burned. 

[ghostling]

[contritium-blog]

chcrmingkiller:

     —   ❝     @contritium

            she spat out a globule of blood, flinching at the spray as she sunk her axe into her attackers head — —    the axe, embedded in his skull - became stuck… but she heard rustling behind her and instead whipped out her knife and wheeled around; SURVIVAL instincts returning her to a feral disposition….

                “who the FUCK are you ?”

     it was the clear sounds of violence that had drawn him to the scene. the natural curiosity had always been a nuisance of a habit. despite the structure of his body, nathan is surprisingly light on his feet. ( but every now & again, accidents are bound to happen. ) he had planned to watch from afar, but one wrong step shattered his plans. he examined the younger woman for a moment, contemplating on whether or not he should engage. of course, his interest in the woman was what won him over. the undomesticated violence & the blood splattered over pale skin was just too RIVETING to pass up. 

     “no one,” he states simply. he’s never been one to give out his name to others. especially not to those who looked as though they actually have a fighting chance with him. 

[contritium-blog]

copper-choked-capillaries:

( @contritium ) 

continued from

 Bobbing up and down, almost drowning, he was a cork in a vast ocean of decrepit dreams and rot. The first thing he was consciously aware of was the water that trickled down his cheekbones like a mockery of the tears that so infrequently ran down the same tracks. His brows furrowed, still his eyes refused to open. Dark lashes rested pitifully against a backdrop of purple (whether bruises or sleep deprivation even he could not tell). It felt as though a truck had plowed him over and although he had been in worse pain, this damage to his body took the cake due to the rampant fear that was slowly spreading through his veins. It felt like ice but worse was that he couldn’t place it. There was…something..some reason why his mind was screaming danger and to open his fucking eyes. Jesus he felt lost, he tried to place himself, there was a…a fall, he had fallen. Oh..oh no. His memories leading up to the fall clicked back into place as did the emotions, namely fear and anguish. He distantly felt his eyes well up and he opened them, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears. 

 His body ached and his arm was lying in something relatively sticky, congealed blood perhaps? How long had he been out? The fog was clearing from his mind and his main concern was… Why was his face so fucking wet? Alright so maybe he wasn’t all there yet. He wasn’t quite ready to move and continue his long ass walk to who knows where but to be safe he let his eyes wander around the bank he had fallen down. Logically he assumed he was safe and alone, thus the delay in any real action to assure his safety. His reasoning was simply that if he was going to be eaten by a rotter, it probably would have already happened. 

 His dark eyes scanned the area and stopped on…was that…a person? A real live human? In retrospect, Kevin supposed he was more than ready to move as his survival instinct ( rather belatedly) kicked in. Ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder and the general ache in the rest of his body he threw himself to his feet and backwards quite a ways. He could literally feel his heart racing. The sudden change in blood flow made him light-headed and d i z z y and he struggled to see through the black dots that swarmed his vision like tiny fucking bees. Kevin took in a deep shuddering breath in an effort to still his shakiness.

 For the first time he fully took in the man in front of him and he let his panic ebb slightly. Sure he looked scary, no, intimidating but didn’t everyone during the apocalypse? His eyes raked across the others person unabashedly, he looked…not well-off per say but not ragged either. This raised questions. Self-sufficient or scavenger; protected by a group or a band of raiders? The question at its basis: Friend or foe?

 He hoped the former.

 Remaining tense was not an accident, he wondered how he looked through the mans eyes. With his arm held at an awkward angle and eyes unnaturally wide he knew the image came across as weak ( a baby bird with a broken wing). To kill the portrayal of himself quickly and effectively he balled his hands into fists, and relaxed his damaged shoulder despite the pain. 

 He spoke with all the violence he could muster. “Who are you?” The effect was ruined (of course it fucking was) by the way his voice trembled as he spoke. It was childish but he hoped against hope the man wouldn’t see his fragile exterior and hurt him for having wasted water on such a (useless, idiotic, weak, addicted) piece of garbage. He scrunched his brows together at the fear filled, self deprecating thought and focused again on the man (who was making him feel smaller the longer he stood there). He stood very still, anxiously awaiting response.

    For each moment that the stranger did not wake or simply failed to react, Nathan grew slightly more agitated. He couldn’t understand exactly why, but he did know that he was not a patient man. He was not known to stick around when things like this happened. Nathan was infamous for his inability to stay put, his lack of willingness to COMMIT to something larger than himself. Of course, he was always ready to appear so. The man was so quick to allow others to believe that this grifter lifestyle he had created for himself was a work of fiction. He made others believe that he was there for the long haul, that at the slightest sign of trouble, he’d be there for you. ( But precedented events have proven this to be one hell of  a FALLACY ). Regardless of all of the bullshit & deceit he had spewed over the last thirty-five years, a part of Nathan truly did want to change. & perhaps that was why he was still here, watching the young man slowly come to consciousness. He was ignoring nearly every instinct he had & gave into that same curiosity that just had to lead him to be a raider. If curiosity killed the cat, then Nathan was just a ghost of a person. 

    When the other awoke, Nathan’s hand immediately flew to his knife as a precaution. Seeing as how the other had yet to notice him, he took out his knife slowly, careful to not make any noise while doing so. He watched as the other’s eyes slowly fluttered open with no urgency whatsoever. Nathan tilted his head to the side, questioning the other’s sanity. Any normal person would have jolted awake with the sudden need to investigate where the water had come from. At least, Nathan would have. He would have awoken, punching & kicking & desperate for revenge on whoever had poured water on his face. Though, not everyone had been raised with the same feral environment that he had. Not everyone had been conditioned to be a wayward soldier from the very beginning. He always needed to remember this, to remind himself that he was DIFFERENT from the rest.

    Finally, the other’s eyes settled on Nathan. He allowed the stranger to take him in, to become used to seeing him. Why? He wasn’t sure. For the moment, Nathan was simply okay with this. Instead of telling him to stop staring, he remained silent ( not that the older man had ever been opposed to the sweet remedy of pure, unadulterated silence ). Eyes were immediately drawn to his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that the other was awake, he saw the strange angle that it was in & the slightly pained expressions that would come in passing. Perhaps that was why he had failed to react. While Nathan couldn’t relate to this, he did understand it ( to a certain extent, of course ). As the stranger spoke, he found himself reverting back to old ways. The clear look of judgment embedding in his eyes & features. This, of course, had been learned from his mother & father. The Clarke family had never been shy, had NEVER avoided speaking their minds for the sake of others. Honesty was valued, though, not always utilized. As they always told him: do what it takes to survive. Lying, stealing, killing. All of it. 

    Crossing his arms over his chest, Nathan contemplated just how to react. His knife hung low & loose in his hand, a clear indication that he had evaluated the situation & deemed it to be not life-threatening. Though, things were subject to change. As he remembered this, the grip on the knife tightened. Should he be kind to the other & help him back up to his feet? Or should he mock the other? Examining him, Nathan had figured that this kid had been through enough. The dark circles that surrounded his eyes, the injuries, his obvious state of vulnerability—he was a wreck. In any case, Nathan was never the type of kick someone while they were already down. “Someone who’s not going to hurt you UNLESS you try something on me,” He replied. Of course, Nathan had conveniently left out the answers that the other would rather know—his name, affiliation, maybe the fact that he’s a goddamn raider—but some things were better left unsaid. “So...uh, what happened to you?” Nathan questioned slowly. He had never been particularly skilled at conversing with others. It all came with being a part of the ‘don’t speak unless spoken to’ culture he had been brought up in.

[copper-choked-capillaries-blog]

Starter for Nathan @contritium

[contritium-blog]

contritium:

copper-choked-capillaries:

@contritium Being alone was hell for Kevin and that’s what he was; alone. It sent him back to a time before family, a place filled with the permeating scent of rot and 

Keep reading

     DEAR OR ALIVE? The question replayed in his mind as it always did. Nathan had become so accustomed to asking himself this that it came in the form of a sweet melody. Honey-dipped horror had become a treat for him, something that prevented boredom & MISTAKES. It enabled the ghosts of his past to come back & haunt him, to torment him with everything he failed to do right. & a part of him reveled in this pain. It was some sick, self-deprecating part of him that enjoyed being kicked down, enjoyed being broken beyond repair. He couldn’t explain why he did, or how it came to be; it was just there. Though, it had always been easy to blame it on his childhood. Bruised arms & legs took the place of both punishment & reward. It was strange how things like that stuck to you like glue, even with a goddamn apocalypse taking over the world. But what could he say? Things like this always seemed to bring out the worst in people & release the inner demons. 

     Memories flooded him, clear & precise in every aspect. He had been so young, so wrong ( not that he was even close to being right now ). Stiff bodies piled up under bridges with needles in their arms or gunshot wounds from not being able to pay what was owed. It had all been something that he had seen firsthand & because it wasn’t pleasant, it matured him even further & encouraged him to see life from a new perspective. However, that never stopped him from being the reason for why those people were dead. His endgame wasn’t the well-being of others or their happiness, but rather the will to survive & endure ( just as his parents had taught him ). Eyes blinked tightly, a part of him hoping that the body he had come across was only unconscious. But the question continued: DEAD OR ALIVE?

     Nathan lowered his body slowly, paying close attention to the consistent rise & fall of his chest. It was a sign that he was still alive, but whether or not he’d actually survive whatever he had experienced remained unknown. Eyes scanned the perimeter, waiting to see if someone would pop out of thin air to attack him. It could be a trap, he knew this. But it could also be the fine line between life or death. Reluctantly, he reached his hand to the side of his backpack, pulling out a canteen filled with water. Letting out a loud sigh, he opened up the top of the bottle & held it over the younger man’s face. Nathan held his position for a few seconds in case he would awake before he was forced to waste any water on him. When there was still no movement, he tilted the bottle slightly, allowing a short waterfall to splash onto his face before he quickly moved backward, wary that the man would awake suddenly & attack. 

[contritium-blog]

albctrcss:

     whether she feels anxious or not shouldn’t matter; it didn’t before. it mattered how you looked, how you reflected on the people around you. track star? it was a dream meant for nowhere. take away the star, take away everything that is admired about them and take away the awe people feel in them. leave the cold, leave the dark and the loneliness. then, and only then, would a star named after her be fitting. regardless of whether or not she’s anyone worthy of company, she listens intently – with greed, even. she’d be fine listening to him talk for days, so long as it drowned out the sound of her own voice.   ❝ that’s nice,  ❞  but that sounds like her mother, doesn’t it? a phrase too easily taken as dismissal, as nonchalance. she doesn’t mean it to be void of sincerity, not the way it’s always been said to her.   ❝  really, i mean it.  ❞  and the scrambling to make sure she’s understood? oh, that’s from her parents too; if you don’t speak directly enough no one will ever make the time for you. no one will care what comes out of your mouth. so if you’re going to lie, go all the way. if you’re going to be honest, be blunt. GO ALL THE WAY. she lets a smile ease it’s way onto her face. patrol isn’t interesting, she gets the feeling neither of them actually think it is. if she’s right, at least she knows he’s trying. it’s a simple kindness she can appreciate. while not exciting, it gives her purpose. it gives her something to do when breaking isn’t acceptable. there are parts of her she’d rather not speak of; not of the blood that pools in her mouth from days of holding her words back, not about the shouting and misdirected anger. but there are nicer times, the memories she’s meant to live in and embody.   ❝  i went there growing up,  ❞  she admits this easily.   ❝  so it’s … familiar,  ❞  the good memories are tainted, she thinks. they were all with him. it’s her own fault that they’re in ruins.   ❝  and the people are great.  ❞  it’s offered as a condolence. he probably doesn’t care if she’s in good company or if living there is actually hard. she can’t imagine someone genuinely interested in her well being, not now when up-keeping your own is so difficult. but it’s conversation, it’s best she doesn’t let it taper off.   ❝  do you trade with the camps here?  ❞  she almost hopes he does; getting attached is tricky. every person who’s kind to her, anyone who gives her a moment of their time is hard for brooke to shake. there must be something purely good in them if they put up with her.

     the young woman’s words seem to always be accompanied by something else. like glass being broken on the floor & a broom sweeping the mess up. it felt as though she was walking on eggshells, trying her best to not give the wrong impression or insult him in any way. though, nathan finds no issue with her words. there seems to be nothing wrong with them, yet she is constantly adding more to it. maybe there's something wrong with him? it's definitely a possibility. he grew up in a place where words were only used to communicate the essentials. don’t speak unless spoken to. or, unless you’re about to die—& if that were the case, you had to be pretty damn sure that you were. the fewer words, the better. it was what he learned, what he had grown accustomed to. so yeah, maybe the problem lies within him & his shortcomings. eyes remain glued to the earthy flooring but as she mentions that it’s a part of her childhood, his eyes lift slowly. his mind focuses on the word—childhood. ugly & unfair in every sense. with these thoughts, come an unrecognizable look washing over his intense features, brows furrowing, lips slightly tugging down, & a look in his eyes that is nearly impossible to read. but that’s just him. that’s just his side of things, the man who’s uneducated about feelings, about paying close attention to himself instead of his surroundings. as a thirty-five-year-old man, he’s still unable to decipher how he feels. it feels pathetic, depressing even. nathan wonders if she can get a read on him; if she knows more about him than he does. his eyes avert forward, doing what he does best & just trying to focus on something else. “must have been nice.” jealousy? greed? sadness? regret? he doesn’t know what it is. maybe it’s a mix of all of those things combined into one big pile of mistakes & sorrow. “probably better than the company i keep.” he speaks this with a huff of his breath, just disappointed in himself for not being able to understand his own feelings. though he's upset with this, he does not shut down completely. it’s only for a moment & he spends a few extra seconds in silence before answering her question. “not many people trust people like me,” nathan admits the sad truth & he wasn’t intentionally trying to gain sympathy or empathy, just answering the question. “i trade with some rogues, but that’s about it.” he shares this with her. he doesn’t bother explaining that his trading with rogues has all been in secret. raiders trading with rogues was frowned upon. his people believed in taking, stealing. that was how they got things & how they came to possess so much. nathan, on the other hand, was at least attempting to change his past behaviors & while he still struggled with his sticky fingers, he was proud to know that some of the things he now possessed were obtained with fairness. 

[contritium-blog]

conflictinghands:

    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.”

     There was something about the unknown that brought out a childlike wonder in Nathan. Learning new things, gaining knowledge—it all made him content. He could never quite understand why it did, but he had always assumed that it was due to his lack of formal education & the sheltered life that he was forced into from the beginning. No friends besides his parents & their ‘compound’, as they called it, being located in the middle of nowhere. Up until he ran away, he had based the real world off encyclopedias, dictionaries, the Bible, & his imagination. After that, he was thrust into a world of new ideas, technology that he had never seen before, & strange people. It had all come so suddenly & at the time, it was overwhelming. But after a while, Nathan grew to love the world even more & began to thrive without his family ( which he later learned was a cult ). Now, in this world of surreal horror, Nathan found himself growing bored easily. Learning new information was now harder to do. Books were destroyed, people died, the news stopped. Every source that he had used seemed to be eliminated & the only things he could find were the agonizing works of ‘The Enquirer’ where he learned that the world before was based on consumers buying into pure, unadulterated crap. 

     Eyebrows raised at the mention of the camps, though, he couldn’t say he was surprised by it. This girl seemed too timid, too meek to be alone. Of course, he could be wrong & she could be a psychopath. But Nathan did pride himself on his ability to read people so the latter seemed highly unlikely. “I don’t need any of your services,” Nathan replied without a second thought. While he wasn’t an expert, the man was pretty good with first aid. All of it came from his parents, mistakes he’s since learned from, or witnessing bullet holes being treated by doctors who abided by the ‘don’t ask questions’ rule. “'Doesn’t have to be like this,’” he repeated after her slowly. For Nathan, the remark had felt like an insult. He didn’t think that she intended it to be that way, so he let it slide. But still, within it, there was an implication that Nathan would hurt her or worse, kill her. HE WOULDN’T.

     Brother? He let his eyes narrow as his gaze lifted to the woman’s face. It wasn’t an angry look ( though, it could definitely be perceived as such ), but rather, it was a look of confusion. The way he was raised & the way he lived still left its mark on him. Growing up, he never had a sister or a brother. The only way he knew what those words meant was because the dictionary supplied him with an answer & the Bible told the prophetic stories of siblings like Cain & Abel, Jacob & Esau, & Joseph & his eleven brothers. But because of those stories from the Bible, Nathan had believed that all brothers were that awful. Of course, a few years down the line, he put that theory to rest as he learned more about brothers & sisters. Sometimes he forgot those things, especially recently. The thoughts embedded in his head from his time at the compound seemed to seep through into his brain, contaminating all of the new things that he had learned about. His expression softened as he watched her movements. The clearing of her throat, the shaking of her head, & the straightening of her posture all suggested two things: her brother was a touchy subject, & that this was her clearly asserting herself. Closing the book, he held it in his hands for a few more seconds, simply because he missed the way vintage books used to feel. It was one of the few things he took pleasure in as a child & that still comforted him to this day. He slowly extended his hand out, offering the book back to her. As for her offer, Nathan stood by what he said earlier. 

[contritium-blog]

— ✧ ☾ ☆ ☄ ⁛ FLORENCE WICKER

There had been several times at this point where Florence believed she might actually die. It was a weak thought and she knew it; one she actually despised herself thinking. She was on her own most ( all ) of the time and perhaps that was stupid, but what could you do when it was also too much of a risk to trust? Florence truly didn’t want a repeat of the last time she had given everything to another person, including her utter loyalty which to her would always be the most important. No one but God himself would receive her ever-present devotion, but these certain individuals didn’t seem like they cared whether she trusted them or not. What had been a simple outing had turned into just yet another hellish segment of her life. The sheer darkness of what could possibly happen right then seemed to be carving its way into her skull. For now, she was only managing to hold them off with her own quizzical words. It wouldn’t be too long until it would start to anger the thugs more than anything else, but at least it would give her some time to prepare herself.

Something that sounded like “You don’t want to play with us?” Came from one of the men before her and the girl tensed; her blood turning to ice and her bones to stone. It felt like someone else was speaking when she finally said, “I just don’t think you’d want to play with me.” A mechanical voice to go along with a robotic girl. The words didn’t help matters any but Florence had sworn that if she went down, it would be done fighting. Her body began a series of thrashing movements as two of them took her arms and the one presumably taking the lead reared back for a punch. Cheek throbbing, she cried out as a man appeared in the background. ( or was it just in her imagination ) Understandably, the redhead first figured that it was just another raider trying to get in on the action. She took a deep breath. “Lord and Savior, if you can hear me…”

     Is this worth it? As bad as it was, that question always nipped at his heels & badgered his thoughts whenever in a situation similar to this. You see, Nathan was not good by nature; he was raised to do one thing, & one thing only: SURVIVE. Anything else was just side missions that would eventually contribute to his main goal in life. Everything in him told him to go the opposite direction & just leave; walk away before it’s too late & you get yourself killed for trying to be the hero. But his heart always seemed to be the exception to this & betrayed his thoughts. He continued to approach the scene, determined that this would be something that he would succeed at, that losing wasn’t an option. & truthfully, it wasn’t. Winning, losing, it was all the same—just words used to separate the weak from the strong. But that was where the problem was because physically, Nathan was a winner. His body was fit, matching the images of the Greek statues that he used to read about. However, his mind was not. He was neither this or that, just somewhere stuck in between the good & the bad. It was something that never quite matched up & because of that, Nathan was quick to give into his self-doubt and make the decision for himself: WEAK. 

     As he drew closer, Nathan's eyes took in every detail that he could see. From the flowing red hair of the victim to the familiar clothing that the men were garbed in. While it was the apocalypse, certain people from certain places still wore subtle symbols that indicated who they were. Whether it be matching leather jackets stolen from the bodies of dead biker gangs or face paintings that matched those of a warrior, everything seemed to always have an alternate meaning. For him, it was the style of clothing that gave it away, the distinct rugged look that was somehow more menacing than any other raiders out there. He’d always figured that the reason for that was because he was now one of them, now one of them men who lived savagely, no laws or morals—a direct reflection of who he was now, & who he had always been. For a moment, he was distracted by this thought, the enormous field that separated the two together & all of the differences that filled it. But with a quick shake of his head, he was able to remember, to FOCUS. Nathan was not afraid of them or the damage that they could inflict on him. He was raised in a world where fear was not welcomed & neither was blind bravery. 

     LIFE OR DEATH? His mind contemplated it as it always had. But Nathan knew. He knew that it had to be death, that forcing them to leave & return back to their camp would only result in a death sentence for him. He would be hunted, skinned, & killed for being weak, for defending the weak. It was a horrible fact of life, but Nathan had seen it many times before. The low mumble of a prayer flowed through his ears, wrapping around his brain & grabbing ahold of his heart. He took this as a sign that now was the time to step in, that delaying this rescue would only prove useless in the end. Before the raiders could acknowledge his presence, Nathan examined the situation & pulled out another knife from his boot, this one being lighter in weight. Winding back his arm in one swift motion, he threw the knife with precision, successfully managing to hit the ‘leader’ in the back of the neck. It had been effective enough, forcing him to the ground with a loud thud. He wouldn’t die right away, but within a few minutes, Nathan was sure that it would happen. 

     Confusion & bewilderment followed closely after, his ‘friends’ turning on him with a fiery rage burning their eyes. Though, their sly taunts added a playful atmosphere to it, almost as though it were a game. In a way, he supposed that it was. It was all just some twisted, nefarious game that he played with his campmates, slowly taking them down one by one. Hell, some may even accuse him of attempting a prolonged coup d'état. But that wasn’t the case & for the moment, Nathan felt no need to prove himself to be loyal to any of them. Words like traitor, bastard, son-of-a-bitch had been thrown at him like confetti, but it did little for Nathan. He kept his mouth shut, never being one for the playful & agitating antics that the raiders seemed to take part in. & in one second, everything seemed to turn around. The impish remarks & behavior were cut to nothing & all at once, the remainder of the raiders charged towards him.

[contritium-blog]

albctrcss:

    she feels some amount of shame. is he trying to blame her? it’s not that she wants to die, craving that is certainly a weakness and waste of time that could be used for something else.  she’s never been the type to assume things about people or about anything at all, that was her parent’s job. she doesn’t know what he meant, and so the feeling lingers just the same, not comforting nor crushing. she lets him finish speaking. should she try to answer any question before it’s finished, it may make her seem a fool. being over-assured is better than missing something. he’s not asking for her life story, you see. he’s not asking what she DOES in her spare time. he’s asking about work, or what they call that now. before, she could have said something else – volunteer work, tutoring her parents didn’t approve of because she was focusing too much on other people, track. there’s the sad reality that she’ll never get back to any of those things. it gives shoved down and her voice comes out again clear as day. it’s the only thing so far that portrays the false confidence she’s trying to give him.  ❝  patrol, ❞  brooke refrains from shrugging. it wants to come through, it wants to give this natural end to her sentence, but it’s far too casual, far too improper. UNACCEPTABLE.   ❝ usually in the early mornings. ❞  she continues.   ❝  what do you do?? ❞  and this isn’t digging so much as the flow of socializing; questions are followed by answers followed by questions.   ❝  just this guard dog thing or something else??  ❞  she regrets it the moment it leaves her mouth. she doesn’t even manage to phrase it as lighthearted as she means it to. just another thing to mark down as a mistake.

     tightly wound is the best phrase to describe this girl as. it doesn’t appear to him as an obvious truth, but rather a feeling that’s been burrowed beneath pale skin for god knows how long. he doesn’t know, but he does assume. it’s not something that he likes to do. the mindless guessing games he plays & the light tip-toeing around subjects and questions that he does in order to prevent discomfort. all of those things were frowned upon in his ‘family.’ being forthright with another was what garnered respect — but this girl compels him to behave differently. her doe-eyes and rounded edges are a softness that nathan has never known before. & sure, some of it may come from the fear that he is the real danger & she’s trying to avoid certain death, but nathan wants to believe otherwise. parts of him want to believe that there’s still people out there who aren’t quick to render him useless, to label him as the devil & to keep their hearts open to the idea that looks were indeed deceiving. though, parts of him also searched fervently for a reason to EXPLODE, to let the anger & fury flow through him like lava. & still, this delicate woman has him on a leash & makes him want to watch his words and his steps. but perhaps that’s fitting. “guard dog among other things.” among other things? sounds too inconspicuous. “hunting, growing, trading. i don’t like to do just one thing.” he’s always been too restless for that, his mind easily being numbed by the patterns & routines throughout the day. & he doesn’t put much thought into her words, though. whether it was meant to be an insult or not — nathan doesn’t really care. besides, he’s been called much worse & in comparison, being called a guard dog is a god damn compliment. “—but patrol. that sounds,” his voice trails off as he contemplates: truth or kindness? “interesting.” nathan’s jaw tightens at the lie, knowing that she’ll see right through the paper-thin walls. “must be weird living there, though,” he comments. though, it’s not for the reasons that most would assume. it’s not because of what used to be, rather what could have been — the childhood he never truly experienced.