comisx

[comisx]

[comisx]

adxmortem‌.

Michael was the name he had given. Harlan had almost overlooked it, thumbing through the prisoner roster in a panicked frenzy that bordered on manic. He hadn’t seen Caleb, or Morris, the bliss of momentary relief lifting him before a glance at the descriptions sent hum plummeting with a gut-wrenching pang of terror and guilt. Blond. Blue eyes. Beard. Combative. 

Then, in different handwriting, the scrawl of Interrogate for possible Enclave ties.

Bullshit. Bullshit. He had sneered at the guard on duty, cowing the younger man into an uneasy silence after the dogtags had been handed over. Michael Morris. Vault 35. Sniper. You show me where the fuck this says “Enclave.” His voice had echoed down the hallway of the repurposed courthouse like a peel of thunder, the low roll of anger reaching a crescendo accusatory rage before he was commanded to leave. Commander Brooks has finally lost his goddamn mind, he’s sure they say.

He’s back now, reasonably composed, clean and in uniform. It’s the only way they’ll let him back into the wing where they keep the prisoners after his outburst. Jackson is gone, off on some unknown mission in the swamps with their Elder. His only sympathetic ear is off the grid. And judging by the sounds that had been coming from his friend’s holding cell, he only had so much time. 

Harlan ignores the wary looks of the guards as he opens the door, stepping inside and slowly latching it behind him. The room is stuffy, smells like blood and sweat and vomit. He feels like a man being lead to the noose as he approaches the table, the mechanical prosthetic leg lagging in step, once again unused to the stiff boots of a more polished uniform. There’s blood down the front of Caleb’s shirt, seeping through the burlap sack they keep over his head. Christ, buddy, he thinks, a mournful tightness gripping at his throat. I told you to stay off the streets. 

Carefully, he sets the box of rations and canteen down on the table, pulling out the chair opposite where his friend is restrained and slowly lowering himself into it. He damn near thinks he’s going to be sick to his stomach, but with a hand that carries the faint signs of a tremble, he reaches out and pulls the sack off from over Caleb’s head. 

Bloodied, bruised, swollen. There’s still a shining dampness in his hair from where they had kicked his chair over and poured buckets of water over him until he was gagging for air through wet burlap. He knows the drill here — he’s had a hand in it more than once. 

He reckons this is what it feels like when your heart breaks. 

“Caleb.”

@comisx

cognizance brought upon pain in multiple areas of his body as he realized he was still alive. the last memory he could recall before everything went black were a large group of patrolling brotherhood of steel members heading straight for him. with no time to act he stashed his items in the floorboard of an old house, careful not to reveal the pip-boy he held so closely due to nostalgic ties. his biggest secret. now he was held somewhere new. the smell of burlap and old books permeated the air around his nose and mouth, and the sight of light coming over head through tiny woven textiles signaled to him that they were indoors somewhere.

warmth soon followed as he exhaled, panting almost as his head dipped and raised to try and adjust through pain to find some comfort. the more he moved, the more he realized how bound he was. pressing back, his spine sat flush against a chair--likely metal. his legs were bound at the ankles, and his arms at the wrists. no matter how hard he struggled against them, they were tightly wound. the inside of his wrists burned as they felt raw against the old rope. when they had brought him in, there was little questioning. a name. Michael. occupation. Mechanic. murky water being poured through the burlap directly into his mouth and nose, stinging his eyes as it spread out, climbing over skin and settling in his hair before escaping off to pool against the back of the burlap.

the silence in the room was deafening. when he focused he thought he would hear distant voices, indistinguishable as to what was being spoken, but he had a guess they were about him. they took his tags, another secret held so closely to protect himself. they had suspected him of being enclave, something he is unfamiliar with. his projected innocence was tarnished, already showing signs of defense at every turn he got--a loose enough restraint made him creative. 

it felt like hours the more he sat, which in turn gave him time to think. his mind drifted to days before he moved to new orleans. a quiet night under starry skies, making a camp atop an old pre-war mechanic’s garage with his wife by his side just before her mind began to go. his eyes close under the burlap, and in the darkness he could see the image of her fully. black hair in bountiful curls, held together on sunny days by a bandanna he had salvaged for her. beginning to speak through his thoughts to her, as if she were an angel hearing a prayer, he gives an apology. 

i should have joined the cause like you wanted to.  i should have continued fighting for us; for you. 

the silence weans her image away, but the lingering thoughts remain. with that mental stroll down memory lane, he stretches back even further to his old life. cushioned beds and a childhood that had a pre-determined end. he wonders how his mother is doing overseeing the vault while mourning a child lost to the wasteland forever. rarely, he wonders about her own feelings, but in the situation he has been placed in, it’s hard not to wish their relationship hadn’t been tainted by the duties of the vault.

the image of the man in front of him was soured by the grimace when dodge’s gaze met his own. it takes even longer for his eyes to send the connection to his brain that the man before him was the same gentle soul he had shared happier memories with during his stay in new orleans. his gaze drops, focusing at the tray of rations set in between them, and then at a blank spot on the table. his sight felt so heavy the longer he sat there. eventually, his eyes did lift, and they looked yet again into the eyes of his “best friend”. the hurt in his heart was overwhelmingly strong. he almost couldn’t speak.

“you son of a bitch.” he breathes ruggedly, voice thick with hurt. “this...this whole time.”

[comisx]

adxmortem.

“Kicked his ass then, an’ I can kick his ass now,” the older man grunts. The words themselves are gritty, but his tone lacks the customary gruffness of frustration. There’s no bite left to his bark, not with Caleb. Instead, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a ratty old bandanna he carried while working in his uncle’s shop, wrapping it around his palm. As the pain ebbs away into dull throb, he turns and sits fully on the grass, growing brittle with the chill of late fall. He rests his back against the fence post, knees bent with forearms resting on top of them, and looks over at Caleb. 

“Ain’t tryin’ to make your job any harder.” A beat of silence passes.  “Ain’t here to make friends either. You were always better’n I ever was at that. I’d rather the asshole ‘round here be me instead of you.” 

 A breeze strikes up, giving the remains of the fence a slight rattle behind them, and he thinks he can almost smell the river to the south and the sickly sweet scent of the bliss that permeates its waters.

Fuckers.

His eyes narrow a bit, fixing Caleb with a purposeful look. “How’s the shoulder?”

“i don’t need you to be the asshole. i need you to be smart.” his words are soft, but absolute in nature. he never wants to drag conversation. he looks out towards the county again, sounding a different type of tired than this morning. the drawl from his georgia roots shown through, sounding more like his father as he spoke. “an’ if you won’t be that, well then i don’t know. we’ll hang it up and become mimes i reckon.” a light jab with his knuckle at the other’s knee, trying to be firm but fair to all sides. 

he hoped harlan could see that.

he adjusts his sling when the shoulder was mentioned, a sullen gaze in his eyes before looking over at harlan with a half smile. “it’s alright. bit sore today, but i just took somethin’ for it, hopefully that’ll do it’s thing soon.” he pauses for a moment, remembering the trauma that day which caused the sling to begin with. on his hand, his thumb stretches inward to fiddle with his wedding ring. most days he can focus, bury himself into whatever the day brought and be somewhat content in his head space. 

recently, he discovered that’s been harder to do. this morning was heavily laid with a time before the reaping. slow dancing in the kitchen with his wife, hand on her stomach back when it was a small baby bump, while (sandy) 4th of july, asbury park, by bruce springsteen played on the radio.

“been thinkin’ ‘bout a fish fry. let everyone get together and have an hour or so to relax.”

[comisx]

some 76 stills of my boy, accompanied by @adxmortem.

[comisx]

adxmortem‌:

Welcome to Appalachia. Don’t forget to visit the gun show while you’re here. 

@comisx

[comisx]

adxmortem‌.

“What?”

He doesn’t intend to sound so cross; the word is gritted out as he pulls back a torn piece of the chain-link fence, trying to untangle the gnarled line of barbed wire entwined in the metal before re-fastening it to what little is still standing of the section he sits in front of. Harlan doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s there; he’s certain that even without the steady gait approaching from the prison, he could recognize Caleb by the sheer force of his presence alone. 

“I told ‘im what would happen if he started stirrin’ up shit again. Ain’t my fault he didn’t listen.” Reflexively, he flexes his right hand, splaying the fingers out before clenching his fist to stretch the joints. Ignoring the smear of blood still dried on his knuckles, he pulls another strand of barbed wire out from between the links. It hadn’t been so bad — all it had taken from Caleb was a firm “Enough.” for Harlan to disengage. In the end, he’d backed off. 

“We all got bigger fuckin’ things to worry about than whatever bullshit he wants to bellyache ab— goddammit!” Cold metal tears into his palm briefly; he drops the section of fence, the wire falling away with it and leaving a beading of blood as he shakes his hand. He’s quiet for a moment, still feeling the frustration bubbling at the brim, but the tense silence abates when he sighs gruffly. The flash of pain deflated him, humbled him in front of his friend before the worst of his words could be spoken. Instead he almost looks sheepish, pressing his palm into the led of his pants, already spattered with blood. 

“M’sorry.” 

@comisx

he knew the strength behind the question as he stood behind the man who has been at his side since what felt like birth. hands on hips, he looks around to the calm serenity of the county around him, the land that they had taken back from the peggies. he knew tensions were still high, that there was more work to do, but he couldn’t work on the full picture in this moment. no, this moment was more personal, and he had to be brother to brother, not cop to veteran, not resistance captain to resistance captain.

electing not to respond to the question, he waits until the anger bubbles to the surface again. he knew not making a decision was still a decision, but he knows harlan well enough that pressure needed to be released in a responsible manner. everything was on the line when the reaping began, and it was caleb’s personal mission to not let him get lost in the futility of unfocused anger.

carefully slinking down, being mindful so the sling doesn’t get caught in the fence, he takes a look at the amount of fresh blood being absorbed by denim. “he’s an ass, i get it.” he opens, dipping his head in agreement from the earlier statements. rotating his heel in the grass with he knee bent an an angle leading the motions in a little dance, he thought about the direction to go in next in the conversation. “he’s always been like that, even when we were kids. he got you then and he got you now.” there’s no forgiving smiles, there is no cradling for bad behavior, he was too tired for that. 

“you don’t gotta apologize to me. i just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

[comisx]

      the most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. you trade in your reality for a role. you trade in your sense for an act. you give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. there can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.

[comisx]

iinmortales‌.

        ‘ just wait. ‘ he was going to learn pretty quickly that doctor’s orders didn’t get disobeyed around here. she didn’t have the patience to force him back to the ship, though, and with his injuries it was doubtful he could do any real harm. her attention turned back to the strawberry plant that was just beginning to flower. she’d never had a strawberry before. the graveley hadn’t grown them, and they weren’t worth trading for.  ‘ he’s resting. had an injury he was trying to hide and it just made it worse for lily to treat. ‘ her sister had been steaming about infection and more medicines now being needed. that was when angel had excused herself to the garden.  ‘ you gonna stand there or make yourself useful? ‘

     “he was shot.” he said, almost in a sad exhale. his voice was muted when he remembered that scene. being told to run, refusing, and fighting for their lives until they ended up here. however, when she called him out for simply standing he kind of gave a confused look. “useful how?” he began to wonder what work she could put him through, still feeling the soreness rolling through his body even after receiving care. “i’m a decent mechanic. got anythin’ that needs fixin’?” he gave a casual half-shrug as lifted as he could withstand. “ain’t too good with terminals though unless it’s a mixed wire or too.”

[comisx]

iinmortales‌.

          she wondered, and not for the first time, what sort of elf her father had been. after all, necromancy didn’t really seem like a wood elf sorta deal. and he’d been in neverwinter long enough to seduce her mother. what sort of man willingly came to that sort of environment? ‘ what about half-elves? ‘ she never wanted to ask that question, and the tips of her hidden ears tingled with shame. did elves have the same prejudice?

     the question makes him lean back, touching the wall behind him as he searches his mind for an answer. arms cross when he believes that he reached an answer. “depends on the circumstances.” he begins, chewing the inside of his cheek as he pauses in between his answer. “if you’re curious about my personal belief on it? half-elves are acceptable. i believe in the person, all life has good and bad qualities. me showing prejudice won’t help either party involved.” he then thinks about the motivation behind the question. “why half-elves specifically? do you know one?”

[comisx]

iinmortales‌.

            she always had somewhere to go. one more place to put her foot down, carrying her further and further from the vault of horrors they had escaped from. one more step toward finding her sisters. but she didn’t think he meant it like that. she was sure he was asking if she had a safe place to stay for the night. ‘ uh, no, not really. i like to keep on the move. ;

    “i know the feelin’.” he knows all too well what staying moving felt like. that was until he hit a wall when winter came not so long ago. a quick glance at his hand and the thin silver ring laid so delicately and purposefully on his finger held a reminder of a softer time soured with the demand of the wasteland. “i have a spot nearby, the town is a pretty weird place but the locals are nice.” he pauses to break the conversation so he can punctuate his afterthought. “safe enough for a night.” he elects to omit the part about the brotherhood laying their camps near his home’s district. 

[comisx]

iinmortales‌.

          does it bore her? sharon scoffed at the question, wanting simultaneously to walk away and never look back and just scream at the top of her lungs. ‘ being interesting has never been a requirement for survival. ‘ that was all she wanted. the world was shit, and she hadn’t found any better alternative than the vault. apparently he had. ‘ where did you run off to? ‘

    he knew not everyone would adore his outward disdain for being benched inside the walls of the vault, and he had to keep reminding himself that not everyone in here is out for making friends. especially with the kid of the overseer. that was fine with him, he had plans to leave and never come back. he would make new friends, and enjoy being free. it was all he could think about. “there’s this place in athens we haven’t explored fully yet. honestly sharon, we could do so much more if we weren’t canned all the time.”

[comisx]

you knew I was gonna do this ♟

 send me somethin’. accepting.♟ : patching up a wound.

     ❛ i don’t know, i’d have to crunch some num-- dammit, hold still. ❜ a hand raised to stop harlan’s arm from moving as much as it was. his voice wasn’t raised, keeping in tempo with their casual conversation. well, as casual as it could be in the reaping. they aren’t medics, but when psychopathic cult members are hunting the resistance down one by one -- they make do. wiping the space between his brows with his forearm, he applies the bandage. 

      ❛ there, try not to move too much. ❜ a joke, but also a serious piece of advice. caleb didn’t know when this nightmare was going to end, but he hoped soon. grabbing the washcloth off of his thigh, he wiped idly at his hands to get excess grime off. 

      ❛ i’ll go get you somethin’ to eat. ❜

[comisx]

sphinxmemesmusings‌:

♔ : Finding your muse wearing their clothes ♕ : Holding hands ♖ : Having their hair washed by your muse ♗ : Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse’s lap. ♘ : Cuddling in a blanket fort ♙ : Sharing a bed ♚ : Head scratches ♛ : Sharing a dessert ♜ : Shoulder rubs ♝ : Reading a book together ♞ : Caring for each other while ill (specify which party is which) ♟ : Patching up a wound ♤ : Taking a bath together ♧ : Your muse playing with their hair ♡ : Accidentally falling asleep together ♢ : Forehead or cheek kisses ♠ : Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc. ♣ : Back scratches ♥ : Your muse crying about something ♦ : Slow dancing

nonsexual acts of intimacy --- select from the following for my muse to respond to:

[comisx]

Marisha Pessl, Night Film

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adxmortem‌:

@comisx | in this house we celebrate friendship

buddy expert

[comisx]

and let’s not forget, the most in character thing caleb has ever gotten the chance to do.

caleb saw @adxmortem‘s ass.