#fxithless

[ninctyfive-blog]

            “i can do this. now give it back.”

     she holds her hands out for the gun that had been so rudely ripped from her hands. kiesler wanted to start stepping up more around camp which meant going out on patrols which in turn meant weapons. but, still, everyone was wary to give her one.

@fxithless

[bxmbsxawaya]

+5

@fxithless @talesfromthedamned @amongthcwreck @adelekomtrikru @pyrrhiic

“Ah, shitting hell.”

[dvamirac-blog]

   "what are you doing out here?”

olesya stepped out of the crashed ark,  moving straight for the man who seemed  to be standing outside for no reason. as part of the guard, her was her duty to make sure nothing bad happened- and someone loittering in the dark was oddly suspicious.

            [ @fxithless ]

[alphcism-blog]

[MSG:] STOP BREAKING THE LAW, ASSHOLE.

text message starters, part 1/?

( txt to; murphy )

( txt ); oh my god look who’s talking 

( txt ); how the fuck was i supposed to know that the dude was a cop ? 

( txt ); matter of fact why did you let me go near the cop when i was drunk 

( txt ); now o has an hour long snapchat story of me fighting a literal cop 

[alphcism-blog]

“We’re getting good at this.”

↳ ♕ L y r i c s . L o r d e  S t y l e

                          as they should, because with all honesty, it’s a miracle the two hadn’t run out the medical supplies from the various times arrival came by with busted noses or sliced abdomens ( a good seventy percent from sparring, but they had to go hunt eventually, with mutated animals and all makes it oh so fucking simple. )

                                       its only after that it partially becomes a routine, partially being said that if the other would just sit still then maybe he wouldn’t have to hear murphy run his mouth on his poor bandaging skills. ( which, are simply fine, thank you very much. ) it hardly matters, even with the male seated in front of standing igure does he manage to fidget every now and then.

a snort fills the air, and broad shoulders raise in a curt shrug, idly cautious with the rubbing alcohol dabbed ‘pon bicep laceration.

                                  ❝   yeah well, kinda have to since the princess gave up on us; then again i prefer your snide company over hers.  ❞

                                            he’d leave the tent with a pounding headache and vexation fresh anew in rugged features from all the scolding and back talk she’d give him; hell, let the wounds be damned if he had to hear ‘jesus christ how old are you two ?’ one more time.

movements fluid once extended bandages are coiled snug and fit, he takes a step back, changing positions.

                                         ❝   try not to accidentally drop the alcohol on me this time, yeah ?  ❞

[pakstoka-a-blog]

                               she turns sharply  ;  gaze narrowed  &  braids tumble across narrow shoulders. hand fall from the horse’s neck  &  daggers are pulled from their resting place  and sia walks towards the place sounds has come from earlier  ;  stopping close by, waiting. if there was someone out there  ;  they couldn’t stay still forever.          ||  @fxithless.

[alphcism-blog]

@fxithless​

&& —---- PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT is a line  he’s aware of, heard it a few times and witnessed; but, the kings  sure ‘practice’ shouldn’t take more then half an hour, especially if its for something so simple as  KNIFE throwing. subtly isn’t spared  every time he shoots the other a stare once the blade fails to sink                    into the bark or misses by a foot.

at this point, a knife could sink into his leg and  it’d be less painful then to continue watching                 murphys attempts;

pinching the bridge of his nose, he strides over to the  delinquent, eyes roaming over his posture before flickering to the target before him. with extended fingertips that coil around the base of the knife,  he adjusts the angle with tranquility, arm coming from behind him,                              snorting.

                    ❝ —–– YOU’RE HOLDING THE knife at an angle                                 that has a low chance of facing toward the target when you                                 throw; if you hold it like that then you’re bound to hit it within                                                             the next two minutes. ❞