been wanting to come back to tumblr SO badly lately, but this antidepressant has given me such horrendous brain fog that i still can’t really write and i know i’ve been gone long enough that a lot of you have unfollowed ( which i understand ) but it still fucking sucks and being logged into this account just makes me sad and overwhelmed.
me frantically fanning the tiny flame that is this sudden burst of muse for walker in hopes that it will soon be a roaring campfire of being able to write in general again
@storyscrawled sent : “ woah woah woah hey, okay—- ” john rocks backwards in the chair, bound hands futilely grasping at nothing as he continues to lean ( almost far enough to topple ); he lists forward just as abruptly, the action leaving him even closer to the blonde currently wielding a very sharp looking knife.
“ — easy with that thing ! ”
"does this scare you?" alice asked, flipping the knife in her hand. fucker was squirming, and alice thought she might be kind of enjoying it. people being scared of her was rare, and she had a mission. "what about this?" her eyes went white as she dropped the temperature of the small room they shared. when she breathed out, they could both see her breath. she hadn't been the one to overpower him. that was all butcher, but he didn't have the right touch for this. butcher was expected. she wasn't. "you'll have to let me know when it gets to cold for you in here. i can't really tell." she could keep going, and hold the temperature in a space as small as this for a while, she'd realized. and then, if he didn't talk before then, she'd start cutting.
john’s eyes go wide for a moment as she twirls the knife, blade glinting in the harsh overhead lighting. the sudden drop in temperature is extremely apparent, even before her first exhale of chilled breath, and the plunge leaves him reeling, head spinning as it nearly sucks the air from his own lungs.
of course, the super soldier serum coursing through his veins does little to protect him from the rapidly dropping temperature.
gaze flicks upward for a moment, “ i don’t —- i - i don’t know w- what you w- want from me—- ” there’s a brief attempt to keep his speech stable, but the shivers that quickly rack his body force him to give up almost immediately.
there’s a brief beat of silence after melina speaks before a soft snort of a laugh somehow manages to escape from somewhere buried deep in his chest and out into the space they’re currently occupying.
john coughs, awkwardly clears his throat, averts his gaze, “ hey— you said it. not me. ”
𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒 : an independent, mutuals-only multimuse for characters from various media, exploring where the person ends, and where the myth begins, a perception so strong it becomes the truth, charades and masquarades, and the vast strangness of space. adored and beloved by odette ( 27, gmt-1, she/her ).