#cincinatus

[jundlcndwastes]

Juniper didn't know how many days she had spent in Slade's prison encampment. It could have been several months, or it could have been well over a year. It could have even been close to two years before she got out. Without there being very many windows, the days and nights all blended together. The only time she breathed fresh air and felt sunlight on her face was when their enforcement sent their prisoners people out to kill the dead that were banging against the fences. There were too many days that she fantasized about jumping over the fenced perimeter and taking her chances running through the dead to find her freedom away from Redstar. But that freedom didn't come for a long time, and not without great costs.

How many walkers have you killed? How many people have you killed? Why? She gave her answers, as hard as some of them were to give. Admitting she had killed someone alive and human made her sick to her stomach. She never thought she was capable of it, but damn this world for making it so. She thought she'd be turned away, but here she sat in the green grass surrounded by trees and feeling the cool breeze on her back, brushing against her scars just barely visible through her tank sleeves. It had been too easy to let the world go unappreciated until she was kept prisoner by a madman of the apocalypse. He made it hard for everyone to believe they'd ever be let go. Juniper had the scars to prove it.

Rick's voice snatched her out of her daze, flinching at his sudden presence. She'd been sitting out here for so long, it felt like she was in a world of her own, and the rest ceased to exist. She looked down at the bucket of seeds she was supposed to help plant (agreeing to pull her own weight around here to make the community work), and shook her head. ❝ I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to be working, I just...needed a moment to myself, you know? ❞ Her eyes didn't quite make contact with his, looking past him before looking at the tree branches swaying with the wind.

☆ ───── @cincinatus !

[deathscenes]

@cincinatus     : ❛     I WOULD HAVE DIED HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR YOU .     ❜

beads of sweat cool ,     sticking to skin like dew on grass ,     as good as the dirt and grime that speckle his face .     even hours later ,     exertion forces his mouth to hang open ,     like he could still be catching his breath from the quarrel .     however ,     it's only their trek thereafter     that wears on his face .     the long day ,     the road to survival ,     yet another .     from point a to point b ,     they settle ,     let a yellow burning sun finally retire ,     as they remain inside ,     appreciating shelter for whatever it is .     he takes it in     —     only then ,     does such a conversation feel appropriate .     but the loner would prefer if said conversation didn't take place at all .     

maybe the other is right ,     but with nothing to gain ,     a modesty makes him fold into indifference .     ❝     don't make it a big deal     ...     ❞     he looks at the man squarely ,     his jaw catching another breath ,     pressing it into thin lips .     he forces himself to swallow his exhaustion     back     before he looks away .     ❝     it is what it is .     just stavin' off the inevitable .     ❞     with everyone either dead ,     dying ,     or on the brink of death     —     his actions are only temporarily useful .    he remembers this now ,     but back then ,     he wonders why he even went out of his way in the first place .

ambling past ,     he finds a couch while it's quiet ,     almost serene .     turns his back to sit ,     facing the man again .     bends down low ,     checking under his pant legs for scrapes ,    scratches .     ❝     y'look like y'handle yerself pretty well anyway .     ❞

[lehazard]

"You can’t trust how I’ll get somewhere, but you have to trust I know where I’m going."

⸻ one-liner @cincinatus

[stolenfates-a]

Has someone made you unfollow/block them without a second thought because of a petty reason?

let's get salty.

Most definitely. I genuinely believe we all are guilty of this. Recently, I blocked someone I didn't even follow because they made a vague post about some close friends of mine. I don't even think the person knew/knows I exist, but they got a block, regardless.

[nectarot]

❛ chaste + pin. / for tess

boots scrape against hardwood, a trail breaking in the dust. rick walks it back and forth like a habit. one she watches from time to time, mostly the wearing in how he steps. sometimes he'll pause, callouses scraping over his jaw. he looks more worn for wear these days. the world consuming in a different way. “ you’re making me tired just looking at you. ” when tess speaks she leans against the table, weight upon it partially. it creaks from adjustment, of years of sitting and collecting soot. her palms press to oak for further support, bag slipping off her shoulder. the rain had yet to settle, a steady leak in the rotting ceiling in different spots.

“ it doesn’t look like it’s passing anytime soon. ” in other words get comfortable. he hums alongside the steady downpour, eye drifting to the broken window. it’s darker now with settled storm clouds, dying foliage rocking with wind. it airs out the room, gives life with damp green. he treads again and she yawns, muscles begging for relief. her shoulders ache and feet throb. the dust covered bed looking more tempting since @cincinatus seems uninterested.

“ suit yourself. ” she's the first to move and disrupt his track, her feet catching at the hand upon her wrist. she turns quick to him in her space, a gentle push that brings her back to damp wallpaper. his fingers toy with the end of her hair, ends split and grey. she's watching the way the space between them closes until the warmth of his mouth is near her own. it. “ what are you doing, rick? ” her question is soft from the heat found. her gaze half lidded and wandering into the dip of a dark blue button up.

[deathscenes]

@cincinatus    : ❛    CAN YOU DO THAT WITH BOTH HANDS ?    ❜

from his firearm ,     he looks up at the other ,     tinkering with the object     almost like a toy .     flipping switches ,     changing magazines ,     pulling and pushing in all the right directions     without even a second glance .     a casual check - up ,    done so with certain fluidity .     how the old goes ,     now in with the new ,     so easily ,     every motion of his appearing just as ordinary     as any other .     so long as it doesn't grab ,     bite ,     or scratch ,     it seems as if anything could roll off his shoulders ,     enough to make a firefight seem like the simplest of tasks ,     somehow always second nature ,     even before     all     this .

at rick's question ,     he almost comes up confused .     ❝     what, drive and shoot ?     sure .     ❞     he refrains ,     standing up , the firearm falling at his side ,     his attention sharpening with intent .     ❝     i ain't ambidextrous though if that's what you're askin' .     whaddya need ?     ❞

[arkehtype]

— [ uncharted ] , @cincinatus : > YOU'RE NOT GONNA PASS OUT ON ME OR ANYTHING, ARE YOU?

borrowed time, she thinks; IT'S ALL THEY'RE RUNNING ON. one harsh cough or one neatly placed bullet away from the end. it's why she fights the trauma between her teeth. spits out the uneaten chunks and makes room for breakfast. every day, michonne is reminded of that. it isn't the end until the end, BUT IT COULD BE. it ... always ... could be. and it could ruin a good morning but it could never ruin a morning on its own. that's her prize. having the damn morning at all. whether that's in consolation or not, well, she picks her teeth for what lingers in the mirror before she stares down death.

pine needles stick to the bottom of her boot, with her weight leaned into rick as she trudges along. even weapons need to be put down sometimes. there was once a time she would have taken that literally. SNAPPED HER OWN BONES IN THE FOREST. laid herself to rest on a bed of greenery. now, her put down is shared weight. not letting the twist of an ankle and a gash on her head leave her measuring her survival in cups against the inevitably of what will become of them all one day. * what has always become of them all one day, even before the world decided it would never return to them. can't blame that day for everything. it'd make things a whole lot easier if they could.

a half-scoff lives and dies in her throat. rolled eyes to the sky. "y'think a little bloods is what'll take me down?" it's a punchline to a joke she hasn't quite mastered yet. WORDS ARE SLURRED, like what she imagines the streets of new york looked like on a monday morning. she feels woozy but she won't stop. RISK, RISK, RISK. the leaves crunch with each step. she watches a droplet of crimson fall before her lashes. head wound owned. weight pushes heavier against him as she tries to pick up speed. should it be anyone by her side, SHE WOULD WANT IT TO BE NO ONE ELSE. "how far are we?"

[stagborne]

❛ Even God used silence as a strategy. ❜

INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

There were more polite subjects than God to be discussed, and somehow, Will had found him in opposition to the other. It was pure delusion, he thought, to even be concerned with the existence of God, to be compelled to still have blind faith in the end of times. Wasn’t it all around him? The undying proof that God did not care if they lived or died. Where was comfort in any of that, he wondered?

It would have been cordial of him to skip over it, take it as a way to allow hope to prevail, as Will didn’t want to try to steal that. It just seemed, after everything it seemed actually distorted to consider a notion like divinity, as if they had not been so detached from that for many years now, and some of them in Alexandria had more years in this world than outside of it. Come on, Grimes. He hadn’t taken him as a god-fearing sort.

“Is that strategy or is that neglect?” Will hums, voice light.