#deacon.

[sclfcare]

" did you take a test . . . ? i mean ─── do you know for sure ? "

[survivedsarchived]

@doomdays said: it’s easy to get paranoid when you’re isolated. (deacon + emori)

“i don't think it's paranoia if you've got a valid reason to be cautious.” case in point: the state of the world. too many people looking for a fight, to claim what's yours — or your life. deacon's arms cross together, absentmindedly rubbing the still-bubbled, scarred skin of his forearm, where a tattoo had been, long ago — before it had been burned away.

he sniffs, and he thinks, for a moment, that he can smell burning flesh.

his expression flattens to a grimace as he glances towards emori, mindful of her son, not so far away. his presence reigns in some of the irritation deacon feels brewing in his chest, exhaled harshly through flaring nostrils before he shakes his head dismissively, hands unclasping, knuckles rapping against wood as they rest against the table. “—whatever. i come to check on you, let you know what's going on 'round here, and you're gonna lecture me as thanks?” deacon manages a half-hearted tone, light and teasing, but the creases around his eyes betray his concern. “maybe you're right. maybe i didn't really see anyone out there. but, just in case i did... maybe you should let me stay the night.” not that he doesn't think she couldn't handle it herself, if it'd come to a fight — but the sun's getting low, and he'd be looking for a place soon, anyway. “if it's okay with you and the kid.”

[time-schwime]

i call this masterpiece Deacon Defuses a Grenade Bouquet

[espurrience]

*dates all my old crushes*

[contrariian-archive]

        ‘ TYRANNICIDE’S  a  beautiful  word . . .   if  you  look  at  it  from  the  RIGHT  ANGLE .  ’

@miss-moreno​ || poetry starter call ( accepting )

[survivedsarchived]

@doomdays i’m happy to help. (aaron + deacon)

“yeah, i think i'm good.” a watery stream of blood dribbles from his nose, words strained through pained breaths, chest heaving as deacon lifts his bike: slow and unsteady in its initial ascent, a hard sigh of relief coughed up once it's righted. it's far from his first crash, further from the worst — a stretch of road not as littered with the husks of long-dead cars, where he could catch some more speed, and perhaps he wouldn't be able to stand so quickly.

another hacking cough produces some more blood, spat out on the asphalt before deacon glances upward, eyes narrowed in a glare; not at aaron, but just beyond him, centered on the freak that'd prompted him to swerve — splayed out on the road, little more than a head and torso, its legs crushed to hell.

by a car, he presumes.

“bastard wasn't here last time i came through.” hands still cling to the bike's grips, deacon resting himself against the frame — breaths slowly coming easier, but not without pain, sharp and deep. a fractured rib, maybe. deacon's had enough in the past that he feels comfortable diagnosing it.

“you following me?” he turns his attention on aaron suddenly, grimacing. “you really that committed to the whole welcome wagon shit?”

[ramblinz]

◜ ∵ ★ closed starter for @toorad !

         “ how many times we gonna go down the same road? ” 

[ramblinz]

◜ ∵ ★ closed starter for @servngcunts !

         “ i meant it then, an' i mean it now. time ain't gonna change nothin'. ”