#rotttnapple

[sebastianshaw]

"So far the record for amount of objects I have hidden in your chest hair while you sleep is thirty-seven."

"See, if it had been fifty, I might have noticed, but 37 really isn't much more than what I'm usually pulling out that forest in the shower." @rotttnapple

[mettleborn-a]

Plotted starter for @rotttnapple​

These men are the kind that would likely tear Sam’s throat out, just for sheer the pleasure of it, but right now they seem content to play nice – they may be a gruff, rough, feral looking bunch, but they ain’t dumb and they know a fair deal when they see it.

Siphoning a sample of the fuel they have given him, making sure he checks every container, Sam smiles to convey he is satisfied, as he loads it into his car. He knows better than to take these people at their word - wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to trade him fuel for his guns, only for it to turn out to be water and it likely won’t be the last.  

The old Sedan Sam’s driving looks like a rusted piece of shit, especially with that bent bit of mental welded to the front; useful for plowing the dead out of his path. That’s the point though isn’t it; to keep it looking like it’s about to break down, so no one bothers to steal it -so no one bothers to check under the hood, where they will find it to be pristine and completely refurbished. In this world you keep your most precious possessions hidden or they’re taken from you.

Their eager eyes and overly friendly smiles tell Sam that they’re hungry for more - more guns and more grenades and while Sam has plenty more and some stashed under the back seat of his Sudan, he will wait to trade again until they have something he actually needs. Several weeks ago, in the basement of a secret military base, he discovered a relative goldmine of supplies and Samuel has taken time to stash them carefully. No one has any idea that he currently has access to a literal arsenal.

When Vernon, the leader of this clan of bikers, offers him some food, Sam knows better than to refuse; men like these may have little manners, but that doesn’t mean they’re not easily offended. Checking to ensure it is really wild boar meat they’re serving and not something more insidious, Samuel sits by the fire, accepting a plate and a cup of water.

Hearing a shout and a clatter, his attention turns to two men, both standing over another who has been pushed roughly to the ground. The man, who is much younger and slighter than those surrounding him, who are now laughing and cheering at his expense, attempts to pull himself out of the dirt and mud but soon finds a firm boot levied against the base of his back.

“Did I say you could get up, you useless little bitch?”

Just as the man looks like he’s about to break the kid’s spine, he relents, before turning towards the others, receiving another dose of cruel laughter from the group, with all the quality of applause.

With a frown on his face, Sam watches as the young blonde is forced to pick his dinner up out of the dirt, though as the other man approaches him, it becomes clear that this abuse is not them ‘showing off’ for Sam’s benefit but is rather more likely a regular occurrence.

Hauling the young man up by his hair, so that he remains down on his knees, the bearded biker draws close and presses the young blonde’s already bruised face hard against the zipper of his crotch, smothering him, before releasing him with an amused laugh, which in turn is accompanied by another triumphant jeer from the others, who seem entertained by the blonde’s continuing humiliation.  

In truth, Samuel has no idea how this young man came to find himself in such bad company, but one thing seems likely; he probably didn’t choose it and isn’t free to leave. Glancing up from his plate, Samuel regards Vernon thoughtfully for a moment before casually pointing his fork towards the man, as he chews.

“How much?”

“For what?” Glancing around the camp, it’s clear Vernon isn’t quite catching his drift.

“For the kid, how much?”

Sam’s well aware that it may look like he’s only interested in purchasing something to eat or fuck, but he’s in no hurry to correct that perception – should they work out this is motivated by moral objection, they’ll likely try and push the price up.

Bursting into laughter, Vernon slaps his own knee as he turns to regard the blonde.

“You hear that Charley, this fella’s lookin’ to buy you. Question is, how much d’you reckon you’re worth, boy?”

[tatbro-a]

"I think it is my business."

Stated plainly. Not a threat, of course. Charley would know when Jason was threatening him. No no, this was simply a statement, verbal disagreement with Charley's pointed quietness.

If it was on Rook, Jason had a right to know.

Taking out his water canteen and draining it, Jason gave the immortal time to consider his answer. His options. His outcomes. Then asks again.

"Who is he?"

@rotttnapple

[irritableteadrinker]

   What? Never seen a chonk before?

@rotttnapple @sugarxfferings​

[delusionalxideals]

   @rotttnapple​ said:  Charley slaps Mathew's ass, "I'm having a crisis."

~~~

   Mathew looked as if he was about to snap Charley’s neck.

   “That will be the least of your concerns if you touch my ass again without my permission.”

[fuckyouvaas]

@rotttnapple continued

Wow, rude. Grant smiled sharply down at his drug dealer and pointedly did not put his dick away. First, it was a thing of beauty that deserved admiration and attention, and second it was hard and he wanted a pretty little mouth on it.

"Don't be that way." He stroked his cock slowly, something idle to keep himself interested, "What's wrong, hmm? Lemme know and I'll fix it." He didn't have to know what was wrong to know he could take care of Charley. Grant prided himself in taking care of people who needed him. He was delusional enough to think most everyone needed him.

[wrathfulmercy]

"I can't do this anymore."

Right in the guts angst sentences from here

“What do you mean?” Rick snarled back while opening the little fridge in the mans trailer which Rick organized him to live in. They mostly met in here since nobody saw them and Charley could easily inform him about the news, but in fact Rick definitely enjoyed to have a place to go to at night, since being in a mansion on his own wasn’t really what he would describe as comfortable and somehow a cozy down to earth place like this was making him feel more secure. “Are you talking about your job? This place?” He picked up one of the beers he stationed here before and opened the bottle to take a sip, while the other man still looked at him like a lost puppy without saying anything.

“What? Or are you talking about... this?” With his hand he gestured between them, hoping that this wouldn’t be the right answer which he didn’t want to hear. “Talk to me.” he commanded and placed the bottle on the kitchenette before walking over to him to cup his face in his rough hands and make him look at his face. “What is it you can’t do anymore, Charley?”

@rotttnapple

[thcbixticscntinel]

@rotttnapple​ asked: "Can you get wet like a normal person?"

   “I ahh--” Someone was clearly confused by the question. “Last time I had a shower, I think I was pretty wet, yer? Where... where are you going with this question?”