[donesurvivin]

SOONER  OR  LATER  …   𝐆𝐎𝐃’𝐋𝐋  𝐂𝐔𝐓  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍. 

[donesurvivin1]

the daddest thing about joel is how he dismisses ellie's perception of loss because she's a child

[hella-amberpricefield]

The Last of Us Part II (2020)

[donesurvivin1]

FEATHERSTCNES​  /  ELLIE.

if  ellie  was  being  honest,  moving  from  planet  to  planet  half  of  the  time  had  gotten  old  pretty  quickly.  growing  up  the  way  she  had,  she’d  gotten  used  to  being  ordinary.  she’d  gotten  used  to  doing  every  day  tasks  to  get  enough  credits  to  provide  for  herself.  and  maybe  her  life  hadn’t  been  exciting,  but  she  had  a  purpose.  but  at  the  end  of  the  day,  she  wasn’t  ordinary.  she  had  abilities  that  she  barely  knew  how  to  use  and  yet  somehow  it  put  her  entire  life  in  danger.

she’d  heard  of  the  horrors  of  the  empire,  how  they’d  hunted  people  like  her  down.  the  rebels  had  made  sure  to  warn  her  of  the  horrors,  attempting  to  motivate  her  to  stay  out  of  the  empire’s  clutches.  but  somehow,  being  stuck  with  someone  else  she  barely  knew  (  yet  )  wasn’t  exactly  her  idea  of  a  solution.   “       ———      you  know,   you  could  at  least  pretend  that  you  enjoy  dragging  me  around  the  galaxy. ”  joel  was  nice  enough,  really    ——     but  that  didn’t  mean  that  she  didn’t  enjoy  messing  with  him  all  of  the  time.

life  had  made  him  quiet,  reserved.  sometimes  people  who  didn’t  know  him  would  mistake  that  quiet  demeanor  for  calmness,  for  weakness,  which  always  ended  up  badly  for  them.  he  had  been  beaten  down  for  more  years  than  he  hadn’t,  but  alas,  he  never  stayed  down.  [  you  do  what  you  have  to  do  to  survive,  no  matter  what.  and  as  long  as  you’re  drawing  breath,  you’re  okay  ]  his  alliances  only  laid  with  himself,  not  the  republic,  not  the  empire,  certainly  not  the  rebellion.  still,  somehow,  had  found  himself  shaking  hands  with  foolish  dreamers  and  taking  up  on  a  task  that  could  easily  cost  his  life,  and  the  life  of  the  child  who  was  now  his  shadow.  he  longed  for  uncomplicated  times,  though,  he  well  knew  there  was  no  chance  to  get  that  back.

❛❛    yeah,  well  .  .  .  that  ain’t  my  thing,    ❜❜    whether  he  meant  pretending  or  enjoying,  it  was  really  up  to  the  other’s  interpretation.  he  got  lost  in  the  thought  that  this  was  only  meant  to  be  a  simple  drop  off,  yet  enough  time  had  passed  and  he  was  finally  beginning  to  accept  his  part  in  all  this  endeavour  was  nothing  but  just  starting.    ❛❛    you’re  supposed  to  be  asleep.    ❜❜

[donesurvivin1]

wtrss​.

❝   that’s  on  me.  ❞     a  soft  smile,  warmer  than  her  usual  polished-to-perfection  smirk  that  has  earned  her  a  great  many  tips.  she  plays  favorites,  always  has,  and  thanks  to  a  manager  who  knows  he  can’t  really  afford  to  lose  her ?  she  gets  away  with  it,  too.  especially  on  a  quiet  night.  and  with  the  rain  pouring  like  waterfalls  out  there,  it  sure  is  one  of  those.   tray  under  one  arm,  she  leans  slightly  to  the  side,  takes  a  proper  look  at  him.     ❝  - don’t  take  this  the  wrong  way,  love,  but  you  look  exhausted …  ❞

he  hasn’t  been  paying  attention,  which  is  uncharacteristic  of  him,  but  being  his  ‘night  off’  he  will  grant  himself  that;  a  brief  and  fleeting  moment  of  merely  existing.  eyes  move  to  the  empty  glass  that’s  quickly  replaced  with  a  brand  new  one,  lips  twitching  in  an  attempt  to  smile  at  the  sight  of  whiskey  neat,  on  the  house,  atop  of  all  things.    ❛❛    thanks,    ❜❜    it’s  a  nice  gesture,  and  joel  isn’t  in  the  business  of  discouraging  her  by  saying  money  is  the  least  of  his  problems  as  of  late.    ❛❛    —that  bad,  huh  ?    ❜❜    rhetorical,  if  anything.  

[donesurvivin1]

wanlidas​.

@donesurvivin​​   ╱   ❝  fear can keep us safe.  sometimes i forget that.  ❞ 

❝        fear’s    the    last    thing    you’d    want    to    lose,    if    y’    wanna    tell    the    tale.        ❞

[donesurvivin1]

wanlidas​.

@donesurvivin​​   ╱   ❝  it’s better to kill them before they get the chance to kill us.   we don’t give them the chance at all  —-  then the infected don’t get to win.   they don’t get to take anything else.  ❞ 

he’s  been  feeling  age  catching  up  with  him  faster,  ever  since  he  and  ellie  settled  in  jackson.  it’s  there,  in  his  aching  back  and  muscles  as  he  gets  himself  off  the  ground,  an  infected  still  twitching  its  last  movements  at  his  feet.    he  remembers  when  his  own  eyes  glistened  with  grief  fed  anger,  like  hers  do.  feels  like  a  lifetime  ago  now.

❝    they  already  took  plenty    ❞    he  didn’t  mean  to  sound  so  bitter,  it’s  a  simple  statement,  either  way.  nothing  but  the  truth.  though,  the  words  stuck  in  the  back  of  his  throat  itch  a  great  deal:  ain’t  nothing  left  for  them  to  take.  those,  however,  he’s  lately  been  convincing  himself  are  not  entirely  true.    ❝    i  reckon  those  were  the  last  of  ‘em,  what’d  ya  say  we  head  back  ?    ❞

[disdaidal]

the last of us (1/?):

“It’s way past your bedtime.”

[donesurvivin1]

bewrath​.

𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙺𝚂 ,      𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝙾𝙵𝚃𝙴𝙽 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙾𝙻𝙾𝚄𝚂 ,      𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎      involuntary      when one’s intuition      braces an incline .     however ,      neither nor       voluntary      when senses       run amok ,      meddling him      of      instincts      he can’t quite      ignore ,      feeding compulsions      that won’t       ever      help itself      unless      it’s bound      to run off       his tongue .      bulldog expression      is more       bulldog        than he’s hoped      for .      thus ,      he’s unbelieving ,      untrusting ,     the way      he is      when a suspect       lacks      conviction .      dry and sarcastic       when he pretends      as if      it’s good      to agree .      

❝    right    [  …  ]     ❞      a hand extending ,     reaching      for the sugar      off to side      –      𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴      𝚃𝙾 𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 sweet .     ❝     because      when people      tell me ,      i look      like      i      drank      from      the fountain of youth ,      i tell them ,      it’s      just      my      face .     ❞

it  takes  him  a  second  to  get  there;  a  second  and  a  sip  of  coffee,  hot  enough  and  unsweetened.  he’d  always  rather  the  burnt  taste,  diner’s  coffee  usually  had,  than  put  any  kind  of  sweetener  or  cream  in  it.  maybe  it’s  the  bitter  aftertaste  lingering  in  his  mouth  that  doesn’t  allow  his  features  to  soften,  not  even  now,  self - conscious  after  harsh  remarks  and  sarcasm - dripping  words  that  came  later.  there  is,  though,  a  dash  of  amusement  in  the  way  he  raises  a  brow,  ever  so  lightly,  at  the  sight  of  utter  unamusement  in  another’s  expression.

❛❛    does  sound  like  somethin’  you’d  say,    ❜❜    he  taps  the  sugar  container  twice  with  the  back  of  his  fingernail,  and  immediately  goes  on.    ❛❛    sarah’s  comin’  home  on  the  weekend,  already  asked  if  we’re  settin’  your  plate  on  the  table.    ❜❜

[donesurvivin1]

buildhope​.

“just another night, no sleep.”  ╱  @donesurvivin​​.

being a father wasn’t something he imagined for himself,  at least not any time soon —-  he always thought it was something that would happen far, far into the future,  when he was surrounded by people he loved and wanted to build a future with.  this isn’t the way that happened  —  but what he did find was a family truer than the one he grew up with,  even if they were gone all too soon,  too.  a mother and father,  both recently lost,  both passing peacefully knowing that adam was in good hands.  and now,  everything he does is about this child  —  it’s about being the perfect father for him,  even if he’s learning as he goes.  it’s about protecting the legacy of earl and tammy rose,  even if he was only part of their family for a short amount of time.  it’s about building a life here that is one adam can grow up in safely.  

he’s always wanted to live in a place he’s proud of,  one that’s lined with homes and places to gather crafted by himself  —  he has the start of it,  but this is so much bigger than himself now.  it’s about this child,  and that’s why he doesn’t mind taking these late night walks around the community when adam can’t fall asleep  —-  it’s a chance to reflect on what they have,  what’s still good in this world,  even if he’s not old enough to remember much before it changed.  

 ❝  yeah?  i think this one’s got it figured out,  ❞   he says,  looking over to adam,  now sleeping peacefully in the stroller that alden built for him weeks prior,  once he discovered how quick it seemed to get him to sleep.   ❝  it’s usually this  —  or singin’ to ‘em.  don’t s’pose ya wanna hear me sing you to sleep too,  huh?  ❞   he asks the question with a gentle smile,  only teasing,  attempting some sort of lightheartedness because he understands how difficult it can be when you can’t fall asleep  —  how easy it is for minds to wander. 

he lets adam sleep,  moving to take a seat next to joel.  ❝  need some late night company?  i’m your guy.  somethin’ weighin’ ya down?  ❞

‘  𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛  𝚑𝚘𝚠  𝚠𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝  𝚗𝚘  𝚘𝚗𝚎  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎  𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 ?  ’  tommy’s voice echoes in his head.  ‘  𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕,  𝚠𝚎’𝚛𝚎  𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚒𝚝  ’.  and so were the people at hilltop.

jackson was already surreal enough for joel, so, naturally, when he overheard the trading crew talk about this other settlement, he had wanted to see it for himself. it’s been a while now since he began volunteering, every now and again — especially, around that time of year —, to be on the team that made the trip to the nearby town. it felt strangely nice being proven wrong by this oldtime normality; 𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚖, buried in what was left of a world unknown for most younger people. 

for many years, he made himself believe he was okay without it. he survived, getting used to the close calls, to the overstretch of his own luck, to eating rats and sleeping on floors, to the bloodstains ruining every piece of clothing he owned, and to that blood, most of the time, not being his. he never once missed this — or so he had made himself believe. now, taking in the town, immersed in the tranquility of a timid early fall night, he started to think, 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝. 

his lips curve at the painting of a fast asleep baby, memories leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth, stomach sinking for a split second. he remembers times when he was the one pushing a stroller down the block, but it never did work with sarah — the urge to laugh at how it took him some time to realize the red pickup truck’s purr was what made his babygirl fall asleep, only tugs his lips wider, making his smile to be actually present.    ❛❛    seems like it, yeah    ❜❜    a breathless chuckle comes with a gesture of open palm, he preffered to be the one doing the singing, although, never in public.    ❛❛    think ‘m good. thanks, though.    ❜❜    joel eyes a second time the stroller, and curiosity glimmers in his gaze, eyes casting the brightness of the moon. he hears the offer, the amicable lend of ear for worried mind to unload, but he’s never been one to . . . open up. instead he tilts his head, as a way of pointing at the object,    ❛❛    whose makin’ s’that ?    ❜❜

[jaaryl]

Oh. From my daughter.

[donesurvivin1]

malluck·.

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚙       in the squint      of eyes ,      narrowing in      careful      thought      as he      thoroughly observes      his      companion ,      as he      finds clarity      in the      refreshing blow      of      ole tobacco .      𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗      in other’s eyes ,      despite settlement      of      starry night .      appears      as if       he might      make point      of      thought - provoking      reflection ,      make      well - to - do      meaning      towards      notion      of       𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎     𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢      𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 .      unwavering ,      he hisses in ,      ❝     man    (  …  )     ❞      and finds      satisfaction      in his own intuition .      ❝     you’re a libra ,      aren’t you ?     ❞

@donesurvivin·

he  works  best  on  his  own,  it’s  common  knowledge.  yet  there  are  instances  when  more  than  a  set  of  hands  is  needed,  and  who  is  he  to  disoblige  a  command.  so  here  you  have  him,  capping  the  day  with  a  whiskey  neat  in  hand,  inhaling  secondhand  smoke  from  the  one  beside  him,  an  urge  to  ask  if  he  has  another  to  spare  dissipating  as  gaze  meets  his,  with  caution,  at  first,  followed  by  confusion.    ❛❛    huh  ?    ❜❜    after  a  longer-than-needed  moment  of  adjustment,  joel  gives  a  nod  that’s  plain  unsure.    ❛❛    i  s’pose  .  .  .    ❜❜

[donesurvivin1]

jrdcputy·.  

      ARMS    SOFTLY    WRAP    themselves    across    her    chest    as    she    releases    a    heavy    sigh   .   ‘   IT    SEEMS    LIKE    I’VE    forgotten    how    to    fall    asleep   ,    after    being    out    there    for    so    long    I ’ m    wired    to    keep    my    eyes    open    until    its    physically    impossible   .    I find    walking    around    helps   ,    that ’ s    when    I    heard    you    play   .    ’    whatever    it    was    that    urged    her    to    release    the    ongoing    thought    process    of    her    mind    leaves    a    taste    of    regret    in    her    mouth    the    moment    the    words    pushed    past   her     lips   .     ‘    OH    —    but   you    really    didn’t    need    to    know    all    of    that    did    you   .    yes    I    can ’ t    sleep   .   ’

pair  of  heavy  hands  come  to  rest  upon  own  knees,  he  hunches  forward,  trying  to  keep  up  with  the  woman’s  story.  his  lips  part  a  couple  of  times,  as  if  to  comment  something,  but  he  abstains,  feeling  shoulders  relax  with  her  final  statement.    ❛❛    yeah  .  .  .    ❜❜    even  when  tale’s  relatable,  words  are  often  loss  to  him,  or  carry  with  them  a  sense  of  uselessness,  so  he’s  used  to  remaining  silent.  he’d  even  rather  it  that  way;  for  almost  𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑒  𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑠  now,  it  hadn’t  been  a  problem.  thing  with  communities  is  you’re  forced  to  stop  keepin’  to  yourself,  he  thinks,  and  it  becomes  a  problem  when  it’s  all  he  knows.    ❛❛    ain’t  that  a  shame,  miss  .  .  .  ?    ❜❜    ‘course,  she  didn’t  owe  him  an  introduction,  but  he  figures,  since  they’re  already  at  it.

[donesurvivin1]

malluck​.

𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗 .      they dart rapidly ,      plain and curious      against a pinch      —-      invisible weight sinking into nape of his neck ,      holding itself without mass ,      yet still heavy with pressure      as body remains upright ,      𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜      puzzled      as to why he still stares into sunlight .      such a pretty picture ,      exuding golden hour ,      reflecting irises ,      filling its crystalline with light ,  ember color ,      like orbs are now vats of honey .      the scenery      —-      𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 .      he thinks ,      if a last remaining second shall be of this ,      then perhaps a heaven will unfold .      but second runs plural ,      agitating silence ,      twitching fingers around dry air ,      like he’s wondering if he can still feel ,      still sense ,      still breathe ,      if this world truly remains uninterrupted      𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝.      not yet .

wary upon dare ,      shoulders rise      like the fur along a cat’s back      when he turns head ,      eyes wide with illuminance ,      the creases among scars and dents      casting sharp shadows,      painting man macabre .       for a moment ,      𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛  …      then      —-      slow    downturn ,      plummeting into awe .      ❝     …  i know you  …     ❞      speaks gruff in the collapse of his breath ,      despite pleasure in a new sight for sore eyes ,      steely eyes all too familiar to him .      prompts newfound grin ,  huffing onto one side …      𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 .      ❝     joel ,  right ?     ❞

he’s  getting  tired  of  this,  the  familiarity,  and  somewhat,  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭  it  gives  him.    how  the  weight  of  a  loaded  gun  —  always  resting  either  in  holster,  close  to  his  heart,  or  tucked  in  the  back  of  jeans  waistband,  watching  his  back  —  𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡  𝘩𝑖𝑠  𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦  𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑,  as  if  by  having  it  on  him  for  so  long,  it  had  become  part  of  him,  one  he  needs  to  keep  himself    grounded.  he’s  getting  tired  of  the  times  he  mindlessly  inhaled  the  smoke  of  a  fresh  bullet  shot,  and  let  it  𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧  his  insides  in  equal  amounts.

𝑜𝘩,  𝘩𝑒’𝑠  𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒  𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡,  someone  might  murmur,  but  it’s  far  from  that.  ruthlessness  is  still  what  keeps  him  fueled,  hardening  his  features,  darkening  hazel  eyes  until  there’s  no  color  there  anymore    .  .  .    𝘩𝑎𝑑  𝘩𝑒  𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒  𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡,  𝘩𝑒’𝑑  𝑏𝑒  𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑.    joel’s  well  aware  of  it,  and  while  the  one  attempting  to  regain  composure  says  he    knows    him,  joel  takes  one  step  closer,    ❛❛    don’t  –  even  think  about  it,    ❜❜    a  warning,  finger  with  mind  of  its  own,  almost  begging  to  let  itself  dig  into  the  trigger  of  firm  gripped  pistol.    it  almost  steal  a  wicked  grin  off  him.    ‘  𝚒  𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠  𝚢𝚘𝚞  ’    hilarious    .  .  .    or  not  at  all,  actually,  since  𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚠𝚢𝚗    is    still  drawing  breath.    ❛❛    what’d  ya  do,  kid  ?    ❜❜    he  figures  it  has  to  be  bad  for  them  to  send  him  after  his  ass,  perhaps  it  was  to  teach  him  a  lesson,  to  remind  him  they  owned  him.    for  whatever  reason,  𝐡𝐞  𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬  𝐭𝐨  𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.  

[donesurvivin1]

unhome​.

donesurvivin

      “You look like trouble,” her tone is friendly enough but the eyes do not deceive, those are eyes that know the kind of things men do in a world such as theirs, once any pretense of hiding their most violent nature blows away, along with all shadow of consequence. Those speculative eyes know very well how hard it is out there on her own, particularly when faced with a guy easily twice her size. “If you’re here to take my shit I might find you some.” She doesn’t look like much, probably quick, might just dodge him fast enough to pull a gun on him. Might not be necessary. That was up to the big guy. 

what  is,  exactly  looking  like  trouble  ?  murderous,  vicious,  dangerous  ?  —  what  is  danger  if  not  the  eyes  of  a  person  who  has  nothing  left  to  lose    ?    once  that  switch  turned  off,  joel  welcomed  the  darkness  nothingness  that  came  along  with  doing  whatever  it  took  to  survive  (  there  laid  the  catch,  though:  for  him,  it  had  to  be  only  about  survival  )  —      she  didn’t  look  like  someone  who  was  far  behind  his  own  stance,  quite  the  contrariare;  the  friendly  --  ish  tone,  he  supposed,  wasn’t  thrown  to  actually  fool  anyone.  just  a  heads  up.  he  could  blow  a  chuckle  at  having  her  threatening  him  in  some  way,  instead  he  showed  his  palms,  as  much  a  white  flag  as  it  was  him,  getting  ready  to  grip  the  guns  resting  loaded  at  both  his  sides.    ❛❛    don’t  look  like  you  doin’  that  well,    ❜❜    he  didn’t  either,  and  the  path  this  was  following  could  only  either  leave  them  both  empty  handed  or  gaining  a  couple  bullets  from  each  other’s  guns.  he  hadn’t  seen  hers  yet,  he  wondered  if  it  was  stashed  somewhere  in  this  shithole,  or  she  had  it  on  her.  for  a  fleeting  second  he  thought  about  just  leaving,  and  leaving  her  be,  but  the  paranoid  cricket  in  the  back  of  his  head  kept  yapping,  on  and  on:  don’t  turn  your  back  on  her.

[donesurvivin1]

bewrath·.

𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 ,      𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙰𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙸𝙼 ,      𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 .      it is in      the crease      center      of his forehead      the moment      brows knit ,      drifting away      from the vacancy       of consideration      –      𝙲𝚄𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙴     as it juts across     to     companion ,      the dim blade      of viridescence      as eyes caution ,      narrowing      in revelation      in light      of      faint      curiosity    [  …  ]      he says nothing ,      until he lifts      his mug ,     finding something unceremonious      in the      fragility      of nonchalance      —-      nearly      spills caffeine      when he retracts      his hand      and skips out      on a      mindless      sip      last minute .      ❝     𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳      𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚈      with that look ,       you know    [  …  ]      you’re makin’ me      look like      i’ve done      something      wrong      –      like i’ve      pissed      in your cheerios .     ❞

@donesurvivin·

there’s  little  to  no  attention  paid  to  the  man  sitting  before  him,  even  as  eyes  have  been  seemingly  set  upon  another’s  features.  he’s  been  staring  through  him  as  if  the  man  wasn’t  flesh  and  bones,  but  of  glass  and  air  instead.  the  𝒂𝒍𝒍  𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈  need  to  be  absent  sometimes  took  the  wheel  without  him  realizing;  brought  back  by  the  smell  of  coffee,  david’s  voice,  a  familiar  sound,  crashing  at  full  volume  into  his  eardrums,  which  made  him  wince.    ❛❛    that’s  just  —  𝚒𝚝’𝚜  𝚖𝚢  𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎.    ❜❜

[donesurvivin1]

i’ve been slackin but have this amazin incredible audio as a token of my appreciation of you + ur patience