deadmans-flush

[deadmans-flush]

[deadmans-flush]

As he slowly picks his way back to his feet, he gathers himself. Draws strength from his anger, from the heat pulsing through his veins. When he’s standing, and looking at her, though... Seeing her cower, huddle up like a little bird preparing to weather a storm, actually has Nick pause. Draw back, reassess, rethink--

Then the venom spills from between her teeth in a bitter hiss, and he’s actually taken aback. His brows raise in honest surprise, his eyes widen a fraction.. What the hell was this complete shift..? It’s not long, though, before the shock, like any trying novelty, wears off; and his automatic defense to such words getting thrown at him rears its head. His mouth thins into a hard line, lips pressed together so hard they start to pale.

She was going to play this game? Fine. Fine.

“You call that a ravine?” He begins with a scoff, waving a dismissive hand, “It was barely even a fuckin’ ditch.” 

‘I shoulda left you to drown,’ huh?

Some dark glint passes through his eyes as they narrow, and then he breaks into a sardonic smirk. “Shut up, Sparks. I’m not in the habit of lettin’ people use me as their punching bag,” Cautiously, he starts to circle her-- making very sure his back isn’t to the lake. “You can bluster all you want. If you want to kill me, stop spouting off like you’re all that and just fuckin’ try it. But....” Nick pauses, crosses his arms, leers at her with those all-too-insightful eyes. “...I have a feelin’ you’re not going to. Not really.”

“You think that... what? I’m not, ah... worth your time? That I can’t hurt you? That I don’t matter to you? Something like that, yeah..?” Again, he starts to step to the side, measured and slow. “Am I gettin’ close, P?” He lets the words hang, only for a second, barely even that, before he’s continuing, teeth baring more and more into some strange smirking snarl, “It’s real lousy fuckin’ cover, old sport. If you didn’t care if you ever saw me again or not, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me. You sought me out, after an oh-so-final vow to never let me hurt you ever again. Or.. whatever the hell you told yourself so you could run away.”

He stops with a punctuating stamp of his filthy dress shoe’s heel. “You talk tough, sweetheart, but at the end of it all... you’re attached.” That smirk spreads into a grin. Upon her he encroaches, looming over her with a look of finality to his gaze. “And you had as much to do with the reasons behind your whole disappearing act as I did. Cast stones at me all you want, but save some for yourself-- ain’t either of us without sin. At least I admit it... all you do is lay the blame on me, and that just isn’t very honest of you... is it?”

@deadmans-flush || snagged from here ( because we can't stop writing fuckin novels )

Fear. My God, the fear. The heart stopping, blood freezing, breath taking fear. It shrunk her down and curled her up, scared prey facing off against the apex predator. She knew what she did was wrong, and felt the burn of hatred and shame. He had every right to yell at her, to be angry with her, to hate her. And she was about to take it. Her hands went up, defensively, in front of her face and neck -- the fear of him enacting the same abuse on her as her father once did controlled her rigid body like puppetry.

Yet, from behind those shaking hands, a hiss of a voice scratched out of her sternum and up her throat, escaping like ice through her lips before she could stop it.

"You had it comin'."

It was horrifying, hearing herself say those words, but the stubborn fighter in her felt she stood in the right; he had hurt her first. An eye for an eye. He almost killed her with a push -- she would kill him in the same manner. It was like the slightest part of her mind that still held contempt and uncontrollable fire was taking the wheel; the piece of her that hated him, wanted him dead, was going to tell him as much.

"Consider it karma for nearly killin' me when we were crossin' the ravine. You're lucky we were a few feet off from a real drop, 'cause I woulda dragged your sorry ass with me. And if the fall didn't kill you, my bare hands would've."

Venom soaked words, accompanied by her twitching fingers curling into a steady fist as her arms slowly uncovered her face, expression burning with a fire she hadn't shown Nick since the day she had nearly put a bullet between his eyes.

Maybe it was all starting to come out because she didn't feel the need to impress him anymore -- he was undeserving of her attention and time, in her opinion. He had done nothing to show her he wanted to make amends, and felt she had no obligation to repair the shattered pieces of their former bond. She had made her peace when she left it all and became who she was -- and he was gonna know that, one way or another.

"I shoulda left you to drown."

[deadmans-flush]

Nick was, deceptively, strong.

Nick had muscle. Not exactly a gym rat, but, y’know, he liked keepin’ his body in shape. Makin’ up for all the poison and vitriol he pumped into it.

So, Nick was also, deceptively, heavy.

When Prim’s hands pushed against his back, he just felt annoyed. But, then, his shoes slipped, mud sliding beneath his feet, and into a sudden drop. He hadn’t realized the depth of the water they were wading through-- had accepted it, as it seemed shallow, and they stayed (mostly through his own stubbornness) near to the shore. 

As soon as he felt water reach his neck, he was flailing, half like the typical Angry Nick, but also half like a genuinely panicked animal; trying to cover it up by spitting insults and obscenities as he tried to reach a foothold, anything he could stand on.

Weight pressed down on him more. Ares didn’t weigh as much as him... but a hundred and a half was still a hundred and a half, and combined they breached past a cool three hundred. The long and short of it was: he sunk like a damn brick.

“Stop,” He was able to let out, before a swallow of lake water went down his throat, and he choked, gasped, “I-- I can’t--” before he went completely under. 

Legs kicked out, clumsily, with no real helpful rhythm. Blindly, he swiped his hands around; if his movements weren’t slowed by the thick atmosphere of water, Ares would’ve been clipped a few times in the head. Bubbles erupted from his mouth and nose in a stream, muffled, distant sounds of distress rippling out. And down, down, down, they went. Lake weeds tickled at them, almost invitingly-- ‘stay down here,’ they said, no, demanded, and he could’ve sworn they started to wrap around them, fuck, god damnit, the zombie apocalypse happens and of all the ways to die it’s by fucking drowning--

Just in time, he felt Ares’ arms entwine with his, tugging up his bulk, no doubt with a bit of difficulty. Torn between his full-blown panic attack and righteous, blind fury at her, he ended up taking the best of both paths and fought like a sodden wild cat, hissing out precious, bubbling breath in careless fear.

As soon as he felt the humid, pea soup air of Georgia in the dead of summer on his face again, he felt like he just did a line of coke, he was so relieved. Greedy gulps of air instantly turned sour, though, as he started hacking and coughing, a mouthful of water spattering the air in a spray; and more spittle on the way, lake water rising up his throat and dribbling from both his mouth and nose.

“You--” He wheezed, reedy and airy and caught between the high pitch he took when he was truly scared, and the low, gravelly tone he sunk to when furious-- causing an, if not for the gravity of the situation, amusing cracking in his voice. “I- I’ll--” Rolling partly onto his side, supporting his half-coiled body on forearms and elbows, he made awful, wet sounds as he gagged.

“Hel--” His back seized up as he spat out what seemed, for the most part, to be the last water in his lungs, “help my ass! You--” For once, he seemed at a loss for words. Exhausted for the moment by the ordeal, he just flicks his eyes to her, gaze slits promising an explosive fury once he’s up on his feet, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “I can’t fucking swim! What the fuck is your problem?” A sardonic, acidic, one-note bark of a laugh, “Help? You PUSHED me!”

💧- (ares: *shoves nick into a lake* haha asshole nick: *fucking sinks like a brick*)

ain’t enough air for us – accepting

Of course, it was a harmless joke. A prank. Right? Right?

Well, it started out that way. A small lake, nothing really deep. Just a fun little bit of payback. After all, he started it when he knocked her over into a small ravine. Poked by a bunch of needles and scraped up by the rocks, it left her slightly limping, and in a lot more pain than that little tumble was worth. So, it was only fair that he get banged up too. Serve as punishment and even out the playing field.

It was one little push.

It was one little push.

Those 5 words echoed in her head as she kept her hands on Nick’s shoulders, holding him down. She wasn’t even completely aware she was doing it – her mind was stuck on repeat as she watched him sink into the depths below. The horror dawned on her as she realized it was much deeper than either of them had truly anticipated; but, rather than drag him up, she forced him further down. In a way, it mirrored the torture inflicted on her as a teenager – being kept beneath the water, fighting for her life as her consciousness slipped away. She wasn’t letting go, only pressing her weight down more, until she felt herself slide down and get a face full of water. The sensation snapped her back and she panicked, wrapping her arms underneath his and yanking him up as hard as she could. She succeeded, and skittered back, awaiting the rage she had become acquainted with during her travels with Nick.

“I’m so sorry, Nick! I didn’t. I didn’t realize what I was doin’, I was freakin’ out over seein’ you go under and I tried to help, but I got stuck and-!”

[deadmans-flush]

siincore

Agony. Rage. Heartache. Fear. Every aspect of these feelings have her senses alight, her blood fueled by fire and the instinct to run starting to fight against her need to stay. Her hands tremble in the ginger grasp of a dying survivor – a soon-to-be monster. Does she jerk away and get the hell outta Dodge, or does she remain and say her goodbyes? The decision forces her mind into an all out war, her knees beginning to move from under her, her hands remaining unmoved and ironclad within the claws of the pained survivor.

Within her head, away from the burning bridge of the choice to survive, Ares marvels at Nick’s gentleness; only once before had he truly been so careful with her. She remembered it so clearly, so warmly, her face and chest burning with the recollection. She takes her gaze from their intertwined hands to his face, eyes filled with love and sorrow. His cries echoed in her chest, stabbing through her very core with equal hurt. What could she say or do to help him? What more was there for them outside of this room, this moment? She felt she could die here, happy and content with her story’s end. As long as she had him, death wouldn’t be so bad.

Now, the moment of choice. Her next move could end this whole thing.

I can’t go. I can’t just keep running away from this. I won’t run away from him.

Gently, with her resolve completely solidified and her primal urge to abandon him smothered, the flame of her ending burning bright, she squeezed Nick’s hand and sat flat on the floor, legs resting to the side.

“Y'know, it’s strange. When we met, I thought that we��d end up dead on the side of the road, mutually havin’ bit the bullet. I never thought we’d end up dead together like this – loved, hurtin’ from the knowledge. It was unexpected. I really wish we could’ve fixed us, left this whole damn apocalypse behind and start over. Start a family. I wanted that so badly, it burned. I want that still. I want us to live. And I know it’s hopeless, wantin’ that life, but damn it, I do. I.. I wish I could die with you. Because once you go, I might as well be dead too. Losin’ you to my own frustration ripped a huge part of me away, but this? I don’t think I can keep goin’ after this..”

Now, her own tears came back, her head dropping with the shame and guilt and pain. It wasn’t fair. Life had fucked both of them up, ruined them and expected them to keep going forward. And now that they had finally started to pull things back together, to find love and support in themselves and each other, life was tearing everything away again – and leaving them with nothing. They were being abandoned. And soon, it would finally be over.

“Sorry. I ranted, huh? Depressin’ ya with my sadness. Sorry.. sorry. I love you, Nick. So much. I’m so sorry.”

The claws stiffen and tremble as she squeezes his hand, and he gasps-- it hurts, the pressure on still tender skin and muscle and exposed bone. Yet, he.. wants it. Aimlessly for a moment, he flexes his fingers, before tightening his grip back. It pulls another breath of pain from his lungs, stuttering out between his lips, but he wants it. His mind, but a splintered mess; a shitty little ship lost amidst a raging squall, flailing uselessly in the waves, battered with solid sheets of rain. In the hurt, he finds his eye of the storm.

“Sh..” A ghost of a whisper, scarcely a breath, float out from his hidey-hole beneath her jacket. “Shh.. ut... up.”

There’s Nick’s trademark venom, though it rings somewhat hollow-- merely an imitation, now. In some capacity, it’s him. Not fully. Somewhat of a glass half-full, glass half-empty situation.

“G... et.. the fuck.. out’a’ere..” A pause, a swallow, a racking cough past a ragged throat and an involuntary sob. “...wi.. with that... melodra... m-.. matic bullshit..” The jacket shifts. Just the slightest peek of red, dull eyes, framed beneath the edge of the collar.

“Peo.. ple... people die.” He continues haltingly; it sounds strange. A message passed by a raven, crying nevermore. “Get.. s-.. sad. Sure. But you... c.. can’t stop livin’.”

One of his hands draw away, settling to the floor for a moment, before drifting to her legs. A moment’s hesitation, or maybe just judging distance... and then it rests on her knee, fingers splayed out so very carefully.

“A-Ain’t no.. p--.. point, if you don’t.” His voice fades, trails away, this flash of lucidity starting to waver. “..if you... if you don’t keep livin’. N-no.. no point, if you don’t...” Nick stops abruptly, realizing he was repeating himself.

He stays quiet, eyes lidding-- almost like he fell asleep. After a minute, mustering his sense, he tiredly murmurs, “...I’m th... the sorry one, Sparks. But let... let’s not..” Drawing in a sharp breath, he grits his teeth to ground himself, eyes opening a sliver to glare at some point on the floor. “..s’th’last time we’ll be... s.. seein’ each other.. probl’y. Shouldn’ be sorry...” Weakly, he rolls the wrist of the hand clutching onto hers, sort of wiggling their joined hands together.

“I love y’too.. Prim. I... thanks...” The jacket raises subtly with his back as he sucks in a deep, measuring breath. He lets it back out. “..for, ah... everything. You’re a... a real dynamite gal.” Despite himself, he rattles out some sorry, airy excuse for a cackle.

It doesn’t take even a moment for his clenched jaw to slacken, his head to loll slightly to one side, eyes going unfocused; the effort to keep himself awake and lucid waning. He’s so damn exhausted-- tired down to the marrow of his bones. Temptation to just let go of the reins whispers at the back of his head... but he can’t, yet. Not with the squeezing warmth in his cold, aching hand.

[deadmans-flush]

⧱ for the Character Flaws! ( >:3ccccccc )

~ Character Flaws ~ accepting!

What really is my muse’s biggest flaw?

Egocentricity.

For his all his natural empathy, and his instinctive caring about people; Nick is very, very selfish. Most things he does are driven by a deep-seated selfishness-- coming up with his Prickly Big Bad Nicolas persona, pushing people away, deceiving others, filching things he wants, and so on.

Nick sees his primary concern as numero uno-- looking out for himself, his wants and needs, and quite forcefully steers himself towards that, despite what his heart tells’im.

[deadmans-flush]

🙊 {from the flaws meme!}

~ Character Flaws ~ accepting!

What would your character say their biggest flaw is?

“...” Slits of jade glare impassively back. Thin lips press together, twitch. Some muscle in his jaw works as he chews on the inside of his mouth.

Teeth bared in some bizarre half-sneer half-snarl, “I care too much.” He turns his head; glowers at some far-off point in the distance. “Way too damn much.”

[deadmans-flush]

so nick is mad bastard man. does that make mitch!nick sad bastard man? 🤔🤔🤔

Nick Mitchman is the saddest bastard man. All he feels is depression and a mighty need for sweets :

[deadmans-flush]

siincore

“Fuck, Nick, hold..hold on. I’m gonna fix this, I’m gonna fix this. I’m not lettin’ you die, not yet. Not here, not now and not like this.” Strained, shaking and agonized, Ares’ voice begins to give out on her. She placed her jacket over him, trying to block the sunlight out, hiding his view of her as her hands grip into her blonde locks. He was dying. He was dying right in front of her and she had no way of stopping it or helping. How do you fight a disease that has no cure? Of course, as he weakly calls to her, using a name she thought he had long forgotten, she felt breathless. He hadn’t forgotten her, even if he could barely recognize her anymore.

And seeing the gouges in the hardwood floor shocked her into reality – he was about to completely forget her and possibly kill her. The infection would warp his senses, make him see things in a way that made them more horrifying than they were. And, if those growing claws were any indication to the survivor of what was to come, being this close would result in him tearing her to shreds.

“Nick, baby, I’m gonna back up slowly and try to find somethin’, anythin’, to help alleviate the pain. But I can’t sit too close, not.. not with you turnin’. But I ain’t leavin’ you.”

It takes her a minute to actually move, her heart shattering at being forced to witness his demise and wanting to give him one more show of love. Her mind forces her to move, rushing through every cabinet and drawer, through both medkits, only to turn up empty handed. In frustration, she growls and paces, deciding what to do. If she leaves, he could turn and she’d return to him as one of them, and risk her life. If she stays, she can be with him for the last moments of his life and she can tell him how much she loves him, and how badly she wanted things to be different, and apologize for her inability to act on those wants. Try to explain why she left. Witness his total transformation and die at the hands of a Witch. Either way, she doesn’t leave that room alive.

“Nick..fuck. I’m so sorry, love. I shouldn’t have left all those years ago. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve just told you the truth. I never wanted it to end like this. I thought we’d finally escape the apocalypse and be able to live a more normal life, somethin’ stable. I thought we’d finally be happy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you so much, I’m sorry I disappeared.. I’m sorry..”

Sitting on her knees, Ares took a leap of faith, and gently took his hand in her own. She knew this could be it – this action could lead to him, delirious and becoming inhuman, killing her. But she had to. In her mind, it was cemented that this would very well be the last time she’d see him alive. She was going to die here, and she refused to do it without loving him.

As soon as the jacket is draped over him, he goes still. Very still. Nick says nothing, makes no noise.. just sits there. Perhaps listening, with rapt attention. Or, perhaps, he’s lost consciousness. Hopefully, the former.

When his hand is grasped, it twitches, and his entire body jolts underneath Ares’ jacket. While she had been roaming the room, searching for a cure that was not there and a forgiveness that was not coming, he had been busy mutating; his fingers now longer, jagged, stained with his blood, as the Flu was not kind with its changes. Gingerly, the bony digits curl ever so slightly around her hand.

Another shift beneath the fabric she had draped over him, like the sheet you would put across a corpse. Quietly, almost imperceptible at first, then rising in volume, is a series of keening, hitched breaths. A heavy inhalation, then a reedy exhale. 

He rasps out ragged, airy sobs; weeping. This close, Ares can hear the tears hitting floorboards. Blindly, his other arm snakes out, claws scraping lightly against the floor, until it finds their entwined hands. He almost seems surprised, from how it draws away a scarce couple inches, fingers flexing uncertainly.

His crying pauses; he’s hesitating.

A ghost of a breath rattles out of him, hoarse but calmer now, as he lays his other hand on top of hers. It is gentle, tender, and pained.

[deadmans-flush]

siincore

“Sparks! I like that.” Ares chuckled, running her fingers very gently across his forehead. His fever was intense, worse than anything she’d seen before, even in other victims of the virus. He looked like hell and assumably felt much worse, so Ares took the wet cloth from a bucket and wrung it out, hoping the cold would help ease the deadly heat in his system.

When he mentioned the lack of a cure, she flinched, tears stinging at her eyes. He was right, of course, but she didn’t wanna admit that. She wanted to believe she could save him, keep him human, but his own submission to the truth made her bones ache. “I know. I know there’s no cure, no way to stop this, but damn it, I have to try.” She pressed the damp, cold rag to his forehead, desperately attempting to fight off the desire to sob.

She giggled when he mentioned it being ‘annoying’, watching over him. “Not at sad or annoyin’ at all! Considerin’ you’re basically a dead guy at this point, hearin’ you talk and laugh is rather impressive.” Of course, no amount of laughter would stop the waterworks, and Ares chokes back her crying, hit with the weight of loss.

“Please, you gotta hold on, love. I already lost you once. I can’t lose you again..”

Nick huffs out some kind of snort at her answer, one side of his mouth quirking up in a bittersweet smirk. Beyond that, he says and does nothing else, letting his eyes droop, seeming content to sit there and just... wait. Wasn’t much more he could do, after all.

As the agonizingly quiet minutes pass, he gets less responsive, ceasing the way he would incline his head to show he was listening to her, and not reacting to the damp cloth she would press to his feverish skin. He was already pallid, but somehow the color just kept draining away from him, leaving him a quite frankly awful looking pallor. Inside, he wasn’t faring much better. Thoughts were hard to hold on to, hard to keep in a straight line, hard to keep intact from the Flu’s meddling. The next time the rag touches him he suddenly jerks away, almost... hissing, lips peeled back to reveal a sliver of clenched teeth.

The amount of sunlight filtering into the room seems to bother him more now he was in a feverish daze. Weakly, he looks to attempt to get up or at least crawl to a darker space, but in the end can’t manage the strength and settles for rolling partly onto his side and burying his face in the floor. The arm not pinned under him reaches out blindly, fingers clawing at the wooden floorboards and leaving behind smears of blood and defined gouges. Ares could already see the sharpened points of his digits, either nail or, quite more disturbingly, bone. His lips part again, and this time he lets out a keening little whimper. Mustering what must have been a huge effort, he cracks his eyes open, just enough that Ares could see how red they were.

“..p.. Prim..?” Nick gasps out, voice hardly even a whisper. Eyes mere slits, he glances around, though he’s barely able to move his head. He tries to speak ( beg ) again, but his voice fails him, and words come out instead a stuttered, pitiful noise.

[deadmans-flush]

STOP talking shit about the l4d suvrivors,

zoey is COMPASSIONATE 

louis is OPTIMISTIC 

bill is a GOOD LEADER

francis

rochelle is INTUITIVE 

coach keeps everyone MOTIVATED 

nick

ellis is SWEET 

[deadmans-flush]

continued from // x

SIINCORE

Ares laughed at Nick’s half-assed attempt at a joke, her panic only dissipating slightly. She knew he was sick, and he was already starting to change, which amplified her fear back up. But, she wasn’t about to leave him there to die, so risking her life was fair game.

“I know you don’t, Suit, trust me. It’s all over your face that you’re not doin’ too hot. But, I ain’t leavin’ you here. Even if I get myself killed. You just gotta keep fightin’ it. I’m tryin’ to figure a cure, I really am.”

Not like there’s much I can do.

She knew there was no cure for the infection. She’d watched countless people die at its indiscretion and violence. But, watching him begin to die because of it, it yanked at her heart. They’d been through some shit together, even if it was things she’d rather not remember.

“Just keep holdin’ on, Nick. The livin’ ain’t done with you yet.”

@siincore

Muscles locking up, muscles spasming... Fatigue. Headache.

Nick had, by virtue of his specialty in medicine and the rarity of the disease, never seen rabies first hand. It was, by and far, a terrifying prospect-- luckily, it would never have fallen into his lap, if a patient ever even had it in his hospital. But, of course, it was so ubiquitous that the symptoms were fairly well known.

Mental confusion. Seizing. Delirium. Fever. Hallucination. Light sensitivity.

It was even now, to his addled brain, morbidly intriguing how the Green Flu took on so many aspects of rabies. He wondered if it had been engineered with samples of rabies, if it had been engineered, that was; but then, the Flu was too anomalous, too convenient for waging war, to be entirely natural.

Slowly, his eyes, reddened and sallow, flicked back to Ares as she laughed. He had gotten distracted again. That was, perhaps, one of the most infuriating things-- how slow his mind was. He didn’t have the energy to register the flicker of fear and primal panic when he, through blurry, half-squinted eyes, got the hint of sharp, too many teeth folded much too neatly in her mouth; how she seemed bigger, angrier, more monstrous than she really was. He at least had the wherewithal to, for the most part, ignore that part of the delirium. For now.

Oh, but there he went again. Getting off track.

“Don’ know what... what you’re talkin’ about. I feel like a new man, Sparks.” It’s difficult to get his jaw to open, with how the muscles lock and cramp-- he can’t but help but slur through his teeth and the excessive drool that, were he in a better state, would feel horribly disgusting about. “No point in... lying. Ain’t no cure, not in time, anyway.” He croaks, the very edge of his mouth curling into the barest smirk. “Maybe.. maybe beatin’ it, though. A.. possibility, I mean. After all, we’re... immune. Or, I was.” His shoulders bob a slight in a shrug. “Either way, I.... appreciate you. Watchin’ me. Must be... be real annoying, hm? N’... sad.”

He chuckles, then, though it’s weak, raspy, and more the cackle of someone that’s resigned themselves, and lets his head tilt back against where he was laying. 

[deadmans-flush]

⚔ the princess bride sentence starters ⚔

“  you  mock  my  pain!  ”  “  life  is  pain.  ” “  he’s  only  mostly  dead.  ” “  i’m on  the  brute  squad.  ” “  you  are  the  brute  squad.  ” “  prepare  to  die.  ” “  we’ll  never  survive.  ” “  nonsense.  you’re  only  saying  that  because  no  one  ever  has.  ” “  who  are  you?  ” “  get  used  to  disappointment.  ” “  you  keep  using  that  word.  i  do  not  think  it  means  what  you  think  it  means.  ” “  i’ll  use  small  words  so  that  you’ll  be  sure  to  understand,  you  warthog  faced  buffoon.  ” “  that  may  be  the  first  time  in  my  life  a  man  dared  insult  me.  ” “  drop.  your.  sword.  ” “  shut  up!!  ”   “  you’ve  made  your  decision  then?  ” “  i  bet  my  life  on  it!  ” “  truly,  you  have  dizzying  intellect.  ” “  you’re  just  stalling  now.  ” “  you  guessed  wrong.  ” “  enough  of  that.  ”  “  surrender.  ” “  you  mean  you  wish  to  surrender  to  me?  very  well,  i  accept.  ” “  i  hate  waiting.  ” “  morons.  ” “  you  are  wonderful.  ” “  you  seem  a  decent  fellow,  i  hate  to  kill   you.  ” “  why  are  you  smiling?  ” “  because  i  know  something  you  don’t  know.  ” “  goodnight.  good  work.  i’ll  most  likely  kill  you  in  the  morning.  ” “  oh,  there’s  something  i  ought  to  tell  you.  ” “  think  it’ll  work?  ” “  it  would  take  miracle.  ” “  hear  this  now —  i  will  always  come  for  you.  ” “  this  is  true  love,  you  think  this  happens  every  day?  ” “  death  cannot  stop  true  love.  ” “  i  died  that  day.  ” “  we  may  as  well  die  here.  ” “  he’s  dead.  he  can’t  talk.  ”   “  as  you  wish.  ”   “  why  didn’t  you  wait  for  me?  ”   “  you  can  die  slowly,  cut  into  a  thousand  pieces.  ” “  you  killed  my  love.  ” “  it’s  possible. i  kill  a  lot  of  people.  ”   “  yes,  you’re  very  smart.  shut  up.  ”   “  you’ve  been  mostly-dead  all  day.  ”  “  inconceivable!!  ”  “  let  me  explain.  ”   “  your vote of confidence is overwhelming.  ” “  what  hideous  sin  have  you  committed  lately?  ” “  will  you  ever  forgive  me?  ” “  there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. it would be a pity to damage yours.  ”  

[deadmans-flush]

character flaws meme;;

Flaws. We all have them. Even our muses. In fact, they often make for better, more engaging characters. Send a symbol to learn about one of my muse’s weaknesses!

🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is

⧱ what really is my muse’s biggest flaw

🤳name three physical imperfections my muse has (birthmarks, gray hairs, muscular definition, etc)

🙈what’s my muse’s biggest blind spot?

🍰what’s my muse’s guilty pleasure?

😰when my muse is stressed, how do they act out?

💚what does my muse get envious over?

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?

🛌my muse’s biggest nightmare

✍️does my muse have a learning disability?

🎒what was my muse’s worst subject in school?

🙅‍♂️what does my muse feel insecure about?

👾what was my muse’s childhood bogeyman?

🙉what are two things that make my muse uncomfortable in conversation

[deadmans-flush]

continuation from // x

@hells--legion

Nick seemed entirely unimpressed as Francis swaggered, one brow raising upward in a doubtful sort of look. Sighing, he closes his eyes for a second and turns away, organizing the medical supplies he had accumulated. He did seem to admire his work from the corner of his eye, though, watching the bigger man test it out. It was pleasing to see he hadn’t lost his doctorly touch.

“Nick.” He supplies, after a few moments of, probably, ignoring the question. Pausing, he side-eyes Francis, shoulders hunching a slight. Almost.. defensively. “What’s it to ya?” 

Already he was throwing up his barriers; trying his damndest to deflect interest away from him through being thoroughly unapproachable. God damnit. I shouldn’t have helped him. He’s probably going to think we’re friends now or some shit. Can’t have that..

“And, I don’t want you thinkin’ that,” He pointed and wiggled his finger at the bandaging, “makes us buddies or pals. It wasn’t some-- token of kindness. I ain’t lookin’ for friends. As soon as the sun’s up, I’m gone.” Pausing, his lip curls into a vague sneer. “Don’t take it personal, or nothin’. I just don’t want someone else slowin’ me down.”

[deadmans-flush]

I did this little thing based off of that one vine…

[deadmans-flush]

An uncharacteristic yelp comes out of Nick as he feels Ares’ palms striking his back. He staggers forward, trying to catch himself... but can’t quite, and ends up wheeling over face-first into the mud. The pure sound of disgust he makes is... impressive. Standing, he glares down at his (formerly white) suit, lips peeling back in an offended grimace, arms held slightly akimbo in clear discomfort. He turns his expression of sheer discontent onto Ares, and it is withering. “You--.. Goddamn fuckin’.... asswipe--...” For once the man is at a loss for words, trying and failing as his mind stalls in his absolute fury. Eventually he just growls, tries shaking his hands off as best he can, and turning on his heel to continue stomping forward, posture rigid, arms held out stiffly to his sides... steps making a quiet, and rather amusing ‘squish, squish, squish’ as he goes.

Mud bath! get this dumbass' suit all dirty >:3c

get ready for a little dirt! — accepting

The duo had been trapped in the rain, and the weather finally came to pass, allowing them a clear path and walkable ground.

Or, so they thought.

The moment they stepped out, it became apparent to Ares that the dirt had turned to into a squishy mess. This didn’t bother her, but she knew it bothered Nick, and felt a little mischievous. She kept her eyes low, aware Nick wouldn’t really be able to see her gaze behind her sunglasses. Watching, waiting for the right spot with a good amount of mud before she makes her move. She finally spots one, and smirks to herself. 

“Hey jackass, think fast!” She shoves him into the mud puddle and watches his pretty suit get soaked with the dark water and wet dirt before dropping her bat as she laughs herself to tears.

[deadmans-flush]

hells–legion

Francis gritted his teeth, visibly tensing up as the gauze pad made contact with his wound. He fought the urge to pull his arm away - probably wouldn’t work anyways, considering that the stranger has gotten him to a sitting position with relative ease. Francis pretended that he just hadn’t been expecting it, that was all. Definitely.

“I dunno, would you?“ he shot back, more than a little uneasy trusting the obviously-irritated man with this task, “For all I know, you just poisoned me or somethin’.”

Could you poison people through a gauze pad? The thought momentarily held his attention captive, before he returned to the present.

As much as he hated it, the other was right. He might have survived in the apocalypse for - what was it, a year now? More? - but that didn’t mean Francis had a whole lot of medical expertise. Hell, most of the time he relied on his friends to help him with that. Of course, now, they weren’t here, and now Francis had to let the guy who looked like a dangerous criminal patch him up.

Okay, maybe the ‘dangerous criminal’ bit was hypocritical on Francis’ part. Yeah, it probably was. He figured it didn’t change anything, though.

The man has at least the decency to pause when Francis is clearly discomforted, brows drawing low together over his eyes. He waits, with what little patience he can muster, for the big guy to relax somewhat. 

Nick snorts derisively, and his gaze flicks to the side in a momentary roll of the eyes. “Poison you. With hydrogen peroxide.” He deadpans, brow arching in a slight bit of mockery. Seemingly uncaring of Francis’ suspicion, he wets a rag and wipes off the wound, cleaning away the remaining peroxide and fresh blood welling up. Tossing the rag to the side, he briefly turns to pick through the sparse medical supplies he had gathered up, pawing around for a moment, before pulling out a roll of gauze. It’s crumpled and half-used, and the sight of it makes him pout a slight. Waste not, want not. He eyes the wound for a second, thinking. Then he shrugs, and tugs Francis’ arm to extend it further. Absently he grunts, “Keep your arm out..” and, in meticulous, nimble movements, starts looping the gauze around the wound. It borders on tight, just enough to keep pressure, but not enough to cause discomfort. Nick is certainly quick about it– only taking a minute at most, before he’s wrapping tape around the bandages to keep them in place. He stares at his work with a critical eye, face scrunching up ever so slightly in scrutiny. He draws away as soon as he can, wiping his hands off on his pants, and brushing invisible dust off his sullied suit. “There ya go, big guy. Guess we’ll know if I poisoned you by if you start feelin’ better or worse.” A pause, then a sardonic wink. “Before you, ah, lose your shit: I’m jokin’.”

° ( my muse patching up yours’ wound. reversed! :3c )

Franciswanted, very badly, to protest. He didn’t trust this new guy,especially not to patch his wounds. Besides, it wasn’t like the mostrecent meet up with a horde had really helped his mood. Reaching thesafe-house had been one less worry on his shoulders, of course, butthat didn’t help a lot in the long run.

He flinched, as a layer of bandage touched an open wound.

 “Yousure you know what you’re doin’, suit?” he asked tensely, visiblyunhappy with the situation.

Helookedlike he knew his stuff, and he hadn’t killed Francis yet. He had toat least give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he hadsurvived this long, so that had to count for something.

Francisdecided, after a moment, that his best bet might be to let the suitdo his thing. Sure, now he had a favor to return, but it was betterthan bleeding out somewhere in the apocalypse outside.