surviveds

[surviveds]

okay adding them back because i'm slightly over it (not really but lmao) and i have decided i'm ignoring it because it really is a stupid fucking episode, and that's something i rarely say, but it's stupid. it just makes no sense writing wise or character wise and i personally think it is very dumb to have buck say he "didn't know tommy could be that cruel" for HAVING A BEARD!!! the buck EYE know does not need josh to explain gay survival and beards to him like he also does not need the kinsey scale explained to him. it's also stupid as hell of buck to say like he didn't cheat on his girlfriend and then coerce her into moving in with him - but am i surprised we're continuing to do taylor kelly erasure/acting like she's the villain in their relationship? absolutely not lmao.

i'm also just. not acknowledging tommy dated abby because it is very silly and unserious and makes little sense. instead he was engaged to a random woman but broke it off because. you know. Gay. and buck spirals because he's sad tommy felt the need to hide like that at All then josh is like: it's not about you. tommy comes over and buck pops the moving in question but tommy says no only because he owns his house so why the hell would he move into buck's loft?? they decide to continue living separately because it's only been six months away but tommy and buck both get drawers in each others houses. ok. that's the only bucktommy 806 plot i personally know, thank you

not that i'm really writing rn but i am temporarily taking b*ck and t*mmy off of my muse list

[surviveds]

not that i'm really writing rn but i am temporarily taking b*ck and t*mmy off of my muse list

[surviveds]

the walking dead season one sentence starters

we didn't have a great night.

would be kind of cool to get on one of them shows.

son of a bitch shot me. can you believe that?

is this real? am i here?

you know they don't talk.

they're even more active after dark sometimes.

just have to wait 'em out till morning.

you pull the trigger, you have to mean it.

got any advice for me?

i'm a glass half-full kinda guy.

guess i'm an even bigger dumbass than you.

i can see you make a habit of missing the point.

sorry for the gun in your face.

little red dot means it's ready to fire.

i got a cool car.

told you i'd be back, didn't i?

words can be meager things.

i did what i did. hell if i'm gonna hide from it.

you're getting cocky now.

i really thought i would never see you again.

we got a second chance. not many people get that.

got us some squirrel.

what i did was not on a whim.

if that's supposed to make me feel better, it don't.

you're putting every single one of us at risk.

you just got here, and you're gonna turn around and leave?

what do i get in return?

i'm beginning to question the division of labor here.

ain't that a bitch.

you keep this up, you're gonna keel over out here.

drink some water at least.

we're not alone here.

you call that surviving?

why don't y'all just go and leave me the hell alone?

you're not doing this alone.

sure you're up for this?

heat of the moment. mistakes were made on both sides.

what life i have, i owe to them.

i don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation.

you're the dumbest son of a bitch i've ever met.

it's the same as it ever was. the weak get taken.

the people here, they all look to me now. i don't even know why.

had i been informed of the impending apocalypse, i'd have stocked up.

you don't give a gift unwrapped.

it belongs to the dead now.

i can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance.

we start down that road, where do we draw the line?

that's funny, coming from a person who just put a gun to my head.

you save a grave for me?

that sound you hear? that's god laughing while you make plans.

i gotta do what's best for my family.

what makes you think our odds are any better?

i think tomorrow i'm gonna blow my brains out.

you didn't leave. why?

dude, you are such a buzzkill.

there's nothing left.

you don't know what it's like out there.

protein helps the hangover.

never seen you do that before.

you have no idea what it is, do you?

it's better this way.

there is no hope. there never was.

if you're staying, i stay too.

i don't want to face it alone.

[surviveds]

So you, uh, jumped in the hole, because what, your wife did? Yeah.

[surviveds]

long as you're not takin' it out on everyone else. there's that memory again, red-hot, never letting him go: trevor on the ground, the slick wetness of his blood smeared against perry's knuckles, the crunch of bone against his hand that he found, in that moment, satisfying. it makes him tremble now, as it does every time he recalls it: a sickening echo in his ears, ringing like the aftermath of a gunshot. he wants to forget that noise: he never wants to forget it. never wants to forget what he's capable of, why he needs to rein himself in - why he can't let himself ever get mad again.

he sucks in a sharp, short breath, the burn of it in the crisp air grounding, refreshing. he looks down to his hand, notes the way it shakes, and is half-surprised to see clean skin: some days, he feels as if the stain's still there. the offending hand is slipped into his jacket pocket, jaw set in discomfort as perry focuses his gaze just past donna: studying the wide expanse of sky, noting how each day seems greyer, as if the arrival of the cold and the snow is sweeping away all color.

“well, i ain't never needed a reason before. probably not best for me to go lookin' for excuses.” he tries to smile, but manages little more than a grimace, a small sigh exhaled as he begins to grind the heel of his boot into the dirt. “but - no ma'am. i won't be putting nobody in danger.” perry clicks his tongue. “and, really, i appreciate it, but i wouldn't wanna bother you, either. got enough goin' on 'round here lately without my whinin'.”

@surviveds said, "sometimes i get angry, and i’m sorry."

donna's eyes narrow in on him for just a moment before she shoves her hands in her pockets, her body shifting back on her heels for a moment as she thinks of all the people who have expressed the same exact thought - either with words or actions. she's one of them, too. this place sparks anger just as much as it sparks fear and desperation, and she'll never blame anyone for letting it get the best of them, as long as they're not putting them all at risk for it, which seems to happen far too often, especially when newcomers arrive. but something feels different about him; not everyone has the same grace as him, and donna's spent enough time here reading people to know that that's worth something.

❝  a lot to be angry about here, ❞ she says simply, shrugging her shoulders as if it's no big deal, like it's expected. it could very easily be a different conversation, but donna's found reason to trust him so far. ❝  can't tell you it'll be the last time you'll feel anger like that. hell, it might not be the last time this week, ❞ she warns, shifting to her heels again. ❝  as long as you're not takin' it out on everyone else, puttin' them in danger... we're good, perry. and i'm always here to listen if it's too much. believe me, i've had plenty of those conversations. ❞

[surviveds]

Twisters (2024) dir. Lee Isaac Chung

[surviveds]

the thing with dakota is he is a lot better with strangers than people he knows. and by 'a lot better' i do mean it is VERY situational still on whether or not he's Good At Talking but for the most part, if he's talking to a stranger? it's all good. he can flirt with men at bars he wants to pick up for a one night stand and he can laugh in line at the cafe and he can definitely hold his own in a conversation at a bookstore, but when those dynamics shift and become something deeper - a guy wanting to stay over for breakfast and/or wanting to meet up again, for example - he kind of shrinks into himself and isn't sure what to do with himself. he was never really sociable as a child or teenager and falling into a relationship and then marriage with his ex-husband was all very accidental and then isaac was really the only person he had in his life for a while - he moves to a city ten thousand times bigger than what he's used to at 18 and his only genuine connection there is his husband and that relationship became strained almost immediately once dakota started acting.

and yes, he had 'relationships' with people in the industry, but it was all very transactional and surface-level and he never allowed it to go beyond work because the strain of his marriage was obvious to him by then and he could tell isaac was feeling resentment towards him, but he didn't fully understand it was because he was being successful and instead thought he was jealous - so dakota tried not to give him reason to be jealous by not allowing himself to have many friends. (which he recognizes is a very unhealthy and toxic dynamic; some part of him recognized it at the time, but he also like, kind of Fine not really having friends and he did want his marriage to work, so he was 'willing'. still fucked up, though, and he admits that.)

so when his marriage ends and then he walks away from his career, he loses the limited connections he'd built in LA and he becomes very isolated.

and those were like, Developmental years. getting married at 18 and then moving to a big city are monumental life changes that really affected his growth as a person and specifically as an Adult, especially with how terribly it played out for him. it affected dakota on a subconscious level and continues to determine how he interacts with people and he doesn't really realize it, not fully. he's aware enough to understand the failure of his marriage was scarring and makes him a little hesitant when he recognizes he's heading towards a serious relationship with a man again, but he can counteract it by talking about it since he can acknowledge how badly it fucked him up, but since he's never allowed himself to really talk about how exhausting and painful the end of his acting career was, the trauma from it and how it affects his life is something that he doesn't consciously recognize/doesn't really even want to think about. he tells himself he's fine because he feels like he has to be. he no longer flinches when someone touches his arms or shoulders unprovoked so he thinks he's 'over it' and doing better. yeah he's jealous he can't seem to figure out how to be Close to the rest of the 118 like they are but maybe it's just because he's boring or bad at conversations. (dakota voice) this definitely isn't me unknowingly keeping people at a distance because of trauma

anyway the point of this is. he's simply not very good talking to people. but it is something he's working on, even if he's not acknowledging the root causes of it.

[surviveds]

it doesn't need to be said, but felix appreciates it regardless, warmth swelling within him, a miniature sun come to life in his chest. he's glad to be worthy of leo's trust, even when it'd hurt (he never regretted once agreeing to care for his sisters, but that doesn't mean it didn't sting, to be left behind.) and each time he and will venture beyond the safety they've built here, he's asking leo to trust him again: not only that they'll return unscathed, but that they won't compromise their home. it's exactly why felix needs to be so familiar with the terrain: to be able to spot any intruders, CRM or otherwise. because maybe the military's fully retreated - but there's always the chance they haven't. and felix refuses to let down his guard while they're still a threat.

he's still pulled taut now, an arrow prepared to fire, a hypervigilance he hasn't been able to shake since their flight from the research base. felix feels a degree of guilt, at how absent he is from his family - so many miles and months to reunite, and he pulls will away on his excursions. leo's insight about hope worsens it for a beat, pulls felix's mouth to an undeniable frown, his chest aching for a handful of heartbeats like he's been punched, and he has to struggle against the feeling to suck in a breath.

it's a messy, slow recovery to being able to speak again, and when he does, his gaze is squarely on the floor, felix murmuring quietly, "i always miss her, too." it's then that he decides definitively that they'll take a break from the expeditions; it's an idea will casually floated on their trek back, felix replying with a noncommittal shrug - but maybe he was right. maybe it's the best thing to do.

and maybe it's easier to commit to it when he's actually back home, in the presence of all he leaves behind. a little courage seeps into veins, and felix manages to smile at leo, nose and eyes scrunching, as his arms cross, his thumb rubbing anxiously across a pink flower recently tattooed on his bicep. "maybe..." he starts, and almost immediately, his smile's widening, a beaming grin flashing at his dad. "maybe we could all have dinner with him soon? not tonight," felix says. "will's probably too tired, and i wanna give him a night to settle back in. but - tomorrow." felix raises a brow suddenly, tone turning inquisitive. "hope would be okay with that...?"

leo scoffs,  almost in amusement,  because he'll say the same thing to iris when she finally returns,  too:   ❝  I've never doubted you,  ❞    he reminds proudly,   a soft chuckle following.   it's the truth,  even when felix was younger,    and leo and kari where'd still trying to figure out what they could do for the kid   (   it was already decided,  though—    they knew he was about to be his son.   they were just waiting for felix to allow himself that life,  too.   )   

felix doesn't owe him any kind of defense;   he knew long ago that his kids were all bound to make something of themselves,  and he understood that didn't always mean that they'd be close by.   even he can understand it, personally,  given how long he was away from home—    stuck in a place they'd clearly been suspicious of for good reason,  long before leo himself ever was.   he trusts them all,  no matter how much he wishes they could all be together,  in one place,  building a home for themselves.    ❝  I understand.   hope was doing calculations, you know.   trying to anticipate the day you'd return.   I'll probably get in trouble for telling you,  but I think she missed you,  ❞   he teases,  his smile bright as he gives his shoulder a soft pat.    

he nearly asks if he was right,  if they found anything,  but the change of topic tells him all he needs to know.   his head lifts slightly,  and he offers a subtle nod before his lips turn into a small grin at the mention of garrett.   ❝  he'd be right.  it’s been nice.  ❞    he starts to smile,  because he can’t help it,  always giving himself away to felix before he can stop it.   ❝  — he’s been nice to have around,  too,  ❞    he adds,  before felix has the chance to ask.   

[surviveds]

a small dakota meta/hc masterpost so i don't have to make 50 individual posts

he joins the 118 a few months after eddie's ceremony. he'd just finished up his probationary year at a different station but was transferred after coming forward about some transphobic abuse he'd been subjected to by some firefighters. he wanted to keep this somewhat quiet, however, for fear of looking 'difficult' and like a snitch, so he was transferred out. he later ended up regretting keeping it under wraps though, because he despises knowing that the people being abusive towards him got away with relatively little punishment

he exclusively reads physical books because he feels like he can't concentrate with ereaders

he almost always has gum or a sucker or a toothpick in his mouth. it "helps him focus"

he has the kind of southern accent that makes him pronounce 'borrow' like 'borrie' and 'wash' like 'warsh' and he doesn't apologize about it

he has the phases of the moon tattooed on his left bicep

he loves to watch horror movies even though the jumpscares always make him cry

he's allergic to pineapple and milk. yes he still consumes both anyway

he has somehow avoided having any major life-threatening event on a call and does make horrible jokes about how he needs to 'catch up' to everyone else every time they're in the hospital (this is eventually going to come around and Get Him)

he likes to pretend he's a shameless flirt and he DOES flirt with men constantly but he actually gets very nervous when it's Reciprocated and turns incredibly shy. it's embarrassing

[surviveds]

it's never been easy in alexandria, but it's never been so hard. eric's accustomed to unceasing frustration and the building rage it results in, ever-present just beneath the skin because of the pointed looks and snide remarks that aaron's always so desperate to dismiss as ignorance. he knows exhaustion and hunger and even the brief spells of boredom the apocalypse allots - but the one thing he's yet to experience is genuine despair. necause aaron's optimism is infectious, his hope blinding, and eric glimpses it in every shared glance, tastes it in each kiss - like some positive version of folie à deux. he snarks and sighs because it's his nature, the disposition he's had since childhood, but rarely does it ever go soul-deep.

now, though...

now, eric hides his shaking hand in the pocket of his jacket, his eyes miserable and black from a lack of sleep as he looks at denise. they've commiserated similarly in the past, relating over shared fears and complaints about the place they call home - but there's a heaviness to the conversation now that eric feels the weight of settling directly on his chest. it makes his breath feel ragged, sharp inhales pulled through gritted teeth before he says with a grimace, "i'm sorry." it feels hollow, almost meaningless - but doesn't he bear some responsibility for this? he'd agreed with aaron to bring them in - doesn't that mean everything they've done is because of them? necessary as some of it might have been - with pete, at least - it's not fair, what's come of it. that denise has to shoulder such a burden now.

a hand gently comes to rest on her arm, a light touch eric's done countless time without much thought, but he does consider it now. keeps it loose enough that she can shake free without much awkwardness should it be unwanted or just too much. his eyes soften as they linger on her a moment more, then eric's turning his attention to studying the clinic, the corners of his mouth tucked to a thoughtful frown. "i don't think anyone has a choice but to trust you," he replies, only to immediately regret it, because he knows it's far from comforting. "but - i do," he adds. "i get it, it's not really an easy thing to do right now... but if there's anyone i trust to do this job, it's you."

@surviveds said, “ i know how it feels.”

there’s some comfort in hearing she isn’t alone in that, even if it doesn’t technically ease the ache. for a long time, it felt like she was invisible here, and that was comfortable for her, for the most part. it meant the people weren’t looking to her for the answers, and it eased some of the anxiety of being here. but now, everyone’s looking to her for help, expecting something extravagant from her, waiting for her to save them all. there’s a reason she never made it when she thought she wanted to be a doctor before - she wasn’t cut out for this. that still feels true. ❝  I liked it better when people didn’t know my name, ❞ she admits with a scoff, because she feels ridiculous saying it out loud, even if there’s truth to that. she looks up to him, skeptical, wondering if he’s felt the same thing in this place as her - the world changed, and yet people seem to still have their own assumptions; there’s no freedom in the loss of societal rules when it feels like everyone’s still looking at people like them a certain way. ❝ I don’t know if everyone even trusts me.  ❞ maybe it’s all in her head, or maybe it’s not, but she wonders how he feels about it. ❝  I don’t know if I trust everyone, either. ❞

[surviveds]

it's evan's turn to sink into silence, discomfort biting the nape of his neck like mosquitos swarming in summer heat. going back - it's a concept that he has considered, a dozen times, more, but he could never bring himself to. he'd avoided pennsylvania like a plague ward; skirted along the beaches of carolina, his gaze drawn north, but he never allowed himself to venture further than that. he wasn't sure what he'd find - or maybe, he did know, and just didn't want to see it: more disappointed glances passed between his parents, before their expressions faded to indifference; the awkward, suffocating tension that exists between maddie and her husband. friends from school that have made lives and homes with spouses and children and jobs and college educations, none of which evan is certain he even wants, not yet, at least, but he knows he'd feel jealous of anyway, bitter of the certainty with which they live their lives: a knowing that evan has never had.

freeing as it is to know he can go at any time, he can't help but wonder - will there ever be a day when he doesn't want to?

a sigh unfurls across his tongue, exhaled through half-clenched teeth, evan's mouth curling to something akin to a grimace as he admits, in a soft voice, "sometimes." he meets travis's eyes for a half-second before his gaze drops to his hands. "not really sure what i'd find, though." and maybe he could ask maddie, do they want me to come back? he's had the question linger at the forefront of his mind, a tremor shooting through his hand as he held a pen above a page, imagining the words finally written, tacked on almost as an aside at the end of a letter... but he never allows himself to write it.

does travis understand? evan looks up at him out of the corner of his eye, almost imperceptibly, studying him. there's a sensation within evan that he can't explain, something like a kinship between them, a silent recognition that evan almost wants to bring attention to, but he fears what it might cause - travis to withdraw momentarily at best, and permanently at worst.

tempted as he is to double down on the apology, evan acquiesces, inclining his head slightly as he flashes a sheepish grin upward, lifting a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. his eyes roam, flitting past travis as if searching for an answer, and after a beat, he shrugs again, more solidly this time, sucking on his teeth before he says, flatly, definitively, "not really." he surprises himself by laughing, by the sincerity of it. "but i mean - you're the same age as me, right? do you have anything figured out?" it's playful, teasing, lighthearted as evan leans to bump his shoulder against travis. "but, i mean - i'm happy. so that's good enough for now, isn't it?"

he says the words so simply,  and it brings an ache to travis's chest,   because maybe if he been able to love his brother the same way,   he could still be here.   logically,   he knows that's not true—     the wilderness would have found a way to claim the young boy eventually,   especially after all the times it'd already tried.   he still blames himself for it regardless,   knowing that if he had been a better brother,  he could have found a way to prevent it.   maybe.   or maybe it was inevitable—    and still,   javi deserved a better brother,   one like evan,   who can so easily share the love he has for his sister.   

the idea of telling javi he loved him always made travis feels like he was suffocating,  like it was too vulnerable,  too intimate,  too ridiculous.   but of course he did love him,   of course he did—     and of course,   he couldn't blame javi if he never knew that.

his brows furrow as evan goes on,   his head slowly nodding as he takes it all in.  it's what he did,  technically—-    told javi to go,   loosened the overprotective grip he had on him that never really spared him from anything.   and then javi really was gone.    he wonders how evan's sister feels about him now,   if she regrets telling him to go,  regrets not going with him,  but he can't speculate for long,  because he doesn't know her at all.   ❝  you never considered going back?  ❞   he asks curiously,   his head barely turning to look back at him.   

he scoffs,  shaking his head and waving his hand in front of him.    ❝  don't have to apologize,  ❞    he insists,  and if he could muster up the courage to say the rest,  he would let evan know that he doesn't actually mind listening to other people's stories.    ❝   —  so,   did you figure any of it out?  ❞    he asks,  wanting him to understand that he is genuinely listening, genuinely curious.

[surviveds]

he's never really asked about alden's father - mostly because alex has no desire to answer any similar question about himself in return. he'd been interrogated thoroughly by gregory when jesus has initially brought him in, thought nothing he said seemed to satisfy the man - as if he expected martin dalton to somehow be grateful to hilltop - him especially - for sheltering alex; as if his father gave a damn about him, even at the end of the world.

but alden's response piques his interest, alex tilting his head to study him, as if attempting to see the truth of it. it's not too hard to imagine: alden does seem comfortable with a bow, a years-old familiarity. "i tried out competitive archery for a while," alex says, "but i got bored of it. i liked hitting live targets better." a confession he'd once be hesitant to divulge; it's not something people like to hear (it's not ladylike, his mother would often say, and that was the first time it occurred to alex how much he liked hearing that). but he'd taken to hunting well; enjoyed the buildup as much as the payoff. his father despised trophy hunting, possessing a you kill it, you eat it mindset that he'd drilled into his children, and alex of all of his siblings excelled at it: if not a deer, then a squirrel, a rabbit, a turkey.

alex slides the arrow he'd been toying with back into the quiver, nodding thoughtfully, snorting out a laugh as he nods understandably. "smart people are scared of guns. you can kill just as easy with a bow, of course, but - i don't know. i guess they just don't feel as..." he clicks his tongue, shrugs. "destructive is a good word, i think." even now, alex still isn't accustomed to the thunderclap of a bullet, the way you can hear it cut through the air, the gunpowder smoke that burns his nose. "honestly, a spear's way cooler anyway," alex says with another laugh. "very spartacus, you know?"

he dismisses the question with a wave of his hand and roll of his eyes. "i just don't really have a better choice," he admits. he's passably capable of defending himself with a knife, but he's always meant to ask for further training - and maybe he's a little jealous that he doesn't have a better, cooler weapon. "but at least i don't have to worry about ammo. not with you around."

he thinks back to his childhood,  a vision of a boy he can’t imagine anyone who knows him now would’ve recognized.  his father worked so hard to mold his sons after him—- he was partly successful,  though he failed with alden,  who turned out to be a “trouble maker” on his eyes  (  though he mostly kept to himself,  unless determined to call his father on something,  and his arguments only seemed to set him off.  )   ❝  not exactly.   my father,  he had me and my big brother learnin’ archery when we were real little,  but we never hunted.   I preferred it that way,  but I never really understood it—- s’pose I’m grateful for it now,  huh?  ❞   he chuckles,  because being grateful for anything from his father seemed to be so rare.  ❝ I’ve never liked guns,  though.  was real scared of ‘em as a kid, and I s’pose—-  I got used to ‘em now,  when we had to,  but I try not to use ‘em if I don’t have to.  I like my weapons handcrafted, anyway,  ❞   he notes,  playfully tapping his spear against the ground as he places his other hand on his hip, looking back to alex.    ❝ so,  that why you like the bow now?  ❞

[surviveds]

her assessment prompts baby to actually study the decor as well. he'd given a halfhearted glance around the entryway, mostly to assess the crew and the exit, but beyond that - it hadn't exactly been of interest to investigate. he'd been content to find a dark corner and shuffle through his collection of music players, settle on a playlist, and ride out the wait. it still plays, a comfortable thrum that drowns out the incessant whine of his tinnitus, and baby finds his hands easing back into proper rhythm as he looks around, taking note of the peeling wallpaper, the fine layer of dust settled across the house like a second skin, and baby suddenly feels his nose begin to twitch, as if noticing the dust has given it permission to irritate him.

he wipes the sleeve of his jacket across his face, squinting behind his glasses.

"creepy, all right." it's a half-murmur, noncommittal, his agreement stemming moreso from the deep-seated instinct to not argue. typically, that entails not speaking at all, his default, his comfort zone - but she's more approachable than the rest. (maybe joey's a close second, but he's not eager to be dissected anytime soon; he'd slipped away once the analysis had started, found his way here, expecting to be undisturbed.)

at least baby doesn't feel the immediate need to get away - though he does shift slightly in his chair, undeniably unnerved by the way she's looking at him. his mouth is dry as he responds, in the same mumbling tone, "don't ever feel the same to me." maybe the thrill overpowers any monotony. baby's never had reason to question it - not only because he has little say in what it is he does; he just doesn't want to. oppressive as it is, living under doc's thumb, he gets to do what he likes. it's the small things that make life, after all.

but he doubts that answer will satisfy her; he's never had anyone inquire after him like this, so his experience in the area is minimal, but there's a gut feeling about it. the corners of his mouth press downward into a contemplative frown, and baby leans forward, slides his mp3 into his pocket, and, in a move that surprises himself, lifts his glasses from the bridge of his nose - and busies his hands with fidgeting with them, smoothing his thumb along the round, plastic edges. "requires a lot of thought, actually. driving, i mean. gotta pay attention. miss a turn, and it's over."

he looks just past sammy as he speaks, focused on a spot on the wall, some long-dried, indecipherable stain. he's not accustomed to speaking so much, to being looked at like this, and for the first time since he was a child, he feels an anger towards doc for forcing him on this job. whatever favor owed, whatever debt needed to be paid, baby shouldn't have gotten involved. this wasn't their deal. it sours his expression, like a child tasting sour candy for the first time, and as quickly as they'd been removed, baby's sliding his glasses back into place, easing into his chair in a practiced effort to seem relaxed. agreeable. his arms fold across his chest, casual in theory, but his knuckles are bone-white from the force of his fingers curling to fists, anxiety humming through his system. he shrugs, indifferent, sucking at his teeth before he replies, "don't really have a style. any car's good enough for me, 'cause i know what i'm doin'."

she’s bored,  because without the technology she uses like a clutch,   she’s not really sure what she has to offer.   this isn’t her usual type of job—   in the beginning, sure, she had her place, she knew what she was doing.   but babysitting?  spending the night without her devices, without a way to bring her own expertise to the group— all she’s really left with is picking apart the others,  trying to figure them out.   she doesn’t have the same skill as joey, though— but baby gives her enough to be curious about.

❝  well, yeah.  it’s fucking boring,  ❞    she agrees,  fingers twirling at her hair absentmindedly as she glances around,  taking a look at the room they’re in.   ❝  and— creepy as hell.  kind of cool, though.  ❞    maybe a story she’d love to tell, surviving a night in a place straight out of some old horror film—  not that she’d ever have the chance, sworn to secrecy, keeping her business and personal life separate.  

she brings her attention back to him in a quick turn of her head,  leaning forward as she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth.  she examines him,  eyes looking over his features,  studying his body language,  a small smirk forming on her lips.   ❝  that can’t be too exciting,  right?   doing the same exact thing every single time?   ❞    because that’s what this is for her:  it’s fun.   it’s also all she has,  and she takes pride in it.   but joey wasn’t wrong,  calling her out the way she does—   she doesn’t get her hands dirty,  that’s why it’s so easy to fall back on the fun of it all,  not really allowing herself to think about it deeper than that.  there’s also a reason she’s glad to not be on child-watch.   

❝  i guess you and i are kinda in the same boat,  ❞    she points out,  pushing herself off the counter and spinning around slowly,  taking in the sight once more before eyes land back on his.   she’s quick at her job, too—  but she never usually minds how long a job takes beyond that.  it keeps her busy.  that’s better than the alternatives, she thinks.   ❝  i bet that van isn't your usual style, though. ❞   

[surviveds]

yes tommy is bitchy and i will call him a bitch (affectionate) forever but he really also is a guy who cares so fucking much. even putting aside the fact he puts his life and career on the line for people who kind of dropped him from their life after his transfer, he still has so many moments in s2 where he clearly cares!!!! he smiles at hen when she first shows up and it isn't until gerrard walks up behind him that he becomes rigid and withdrawn. he not only thanks chimney for saving his life but hugs him, too. he gently tells sal to shut the fuck up when he's arguing with bobby because a) tommy clearly doesn't like conflict, but also b) he understands bobby is Good For Them and in the right and he doesn't want sal to ruin that. he's happy to see bobby in the bar. people are so easy to dismiss tommy as one dimensional or even "emotionless" because of lou's delivery of specific lines but it's just so purposeful - mostly, the monotone way he speaks is a shield, but i also think to a degree that he just Sounds Like That (relatable for me, because people constantly think i'm either upset or feel nothing because of how i talk. which is a big "criticism" i see for tommy's character/something people try to weaponize to make it seem like he doesn't actually care about buck.) so much of tommy's emotions come through in his expressions - his eyes, especially. the soft way he looks at buck when he simply asks him "you okay?" the way he immediately shifts and starts smiling at him when buck is rambling in 704 and tommy is Understanding what's happening here. the way he swallows as he looks at buck at the basketball game because He Likes Him and he's really not good at hiding it.

the point of this is, tommy actually is very emotional, even if his voice rarely shows that. but he is a man with a lot of feelings and although he allowed himself to be little more than just his snark for so long, he really is so much more

[surviveds]

TOM PELPHREY as Perry Abbott OUTER RANGE • 2.07 "The End of Innocence"

[surviveds]

is it too demanding to want merely an hour without contemplating their survival? picking crops, walking the perimeter, clearing the stray dead that tend to bunch together in the same spots along the fence - it's all important work, tommy knows, and he relishes in contributing, grateful he's able-bodied and capable to do so - but he just wants quiet sometimes. to be away from the constant motion, the noise. this refuge may not provide total solace (there's the growls carried on the same breeze as the smell of death) - but it's better than nothing.

and tommy doesn't mind sharing it with aaron; he waits patiently for the man to sit. tommy studies him once he's settled, a casual lookover with guarded eyes before his attention focuses once again on the disappearing sun - like a fire on the horizon, slowly dying. it makes his chest ache a little, breath catching, and he has to work through an inhale/exhale before he answers, quietly, "i try to, at least." he flashes a smile tinged with mourning. "this view's great and all, but - there's nothing quite like seeing the sunset from a bird." and there's nothing like the sensation of freedom that flying provides. that's what he misses more, prompting an ache in his jaw like a rotten tooth every time he thinks of it, and tommy sighs wistfully as he levels his gaze at aaron once again. "i really try not to be so nostalgic, but - i miss being up there, all the same."

there’s always something to do,  and aaron has always prided himself on staying busy— even if it’s just routine maintenance around alexandria,  anything to ensure that the people who have made this place their home are set for the long haul.   there had been too many times over the years where it almost didn’t make it—  but he would’ve,  and did,   do anything to make sure they’d keep it going.  ❝  there’s always more,  ❞   he counters in a quiet voice,   a brow raising as he turns to look back at tommy.   

he starts to smile, though, instantly relaxed by the suggestion—  because that,  he can do.   as a father,  he knows just how important it is to appreciate the little moments,  too;   he never wants gracie to take those for granted,  so he won’t,  either.  ❝  sure,  tommy,  ❞    he says,  taking a seat along with a deep breath,  glancing up at the sky and smiling softly. ❝ sounds like you make a habit of this.  that true? ❞

[surviveds]

"you ever hunt? - before all this, i mean." alex studies the arrow he's filched from alden's latest batch as he asks this, admiring the weight of it, the glint of the arrowhead as it catches the light. he's accompanied eduardo and kal on a handful of trips in the years before taking up his medical position - begrudgingly grateful for his father's insistence that he learn as a child not only how to use weapons, but how to dress what he'd killed, too: the one skill his father gave him that alex puts to use. or did, at least; he hardly ventures out on hunts anymore, his presence ever required at hilltop, a burden he hadn't anticipated when he'd committed to the job. "my dad taught me with a bow," he continues, glancing up idly at @doomdays. "he actually preferred 'em to guns, despite his politics."