HAMARTIA.

admin algaea actually had this drafted for the longest time and is releasing them right now as she comes back in a few days. remember the rule that if you reblog it from someone else, send them one back! 

“we need help.”

“you’re gonna be okay.”

“be careful.”

“i am the romantic type.”

“don’t leave me to turn.”

“it’s called luck—and it’s gonna run out.”

“are you still breathing?”

“we’re shitty people.”

“are you flirting with me?”

“what’s holding you back?”

“i’m not comfortable with this conversation.”

“will you /ever/ be comfortable with this conversation?”

“it’s not that easy, you know.”

“our luck had to run out sooner or later.”

“don’t touch me.”

“just fucking go.”

“does it sound like i know how to whistle?”

“i’m a pretty good shot with that thing.”

“let’s get the hell outta here.”

“goddammit—i’m clean!”

(...)

bile forces its way up his throat. with shaky legs, he forces himself off the body and turns to apollo. dragging a hand down his face, dirt mixing with sweat and gore, he croaks out, “i think that’s the last of them for now—how are you holding up?” bishop’s body aches and burns at the same time, bruises splayed over his ribs, open wounds criss crossed over his arms from too many close calls. one of the mercs fucking headbutted him earlier and he’s pretty sure he has a black eye but—he’s still standing and that’s a victory.

“we should get to the statues quickly. you okay enough to touch them or should i? you’re quicker, but…” instinct tells him to do it himself, but bishop knows he’ll be slow and clumsy right now. “we won’t have a lot of time after the alarm goes off, so let’s get this done and get back to chariot.” bishop is surprised at how calm he manages to sound when he’s anything but—his hands are shaking and all he think is, fuck, let this end.

“Never felt better.”

Both he and Bishop are a mess, arms caked in drying blood as he stands before the other, catching his breath with a grimace. A long-range weapon can have its uses but when it comes to short-range fighting, Apollo’s bow had been all but useless, cylinder ending up back in his pocket at one point, fighting with pure strength. His knuckles are fucked. Torn up.  The male’s stamina is also reaching breaking point after forming arrow after arrow, even using them as a tool to maim when rolling in the dirt with the mercs. 

“I say we split- one statue each, meet in the middle, touch it together then high-tail it out. Normally, staying together might be smarter but we just don’t have the time. Sometimes the best way to have your friend’s back is to stay out of their way.”

tw: blood, injury

sometimes, the world still feels like a dream - or like it doesn’t exist.  they’ve fallen into a city cut off from everything else, a world that never was and the only people here are the ones that remain as shadows, lost.  people that shouldn’t exist but do.  people that were erased, but live as an afterimage.

there are a lot of shadows for such a small world - they may live on the flip side and an underbelly to the rest, but it’s still packed with many people that she won’t be able to get to meet before they disappear.  and they all will disappear, eventually.  after all, by all appearances that seems to be the point of this game.  but all the people left behind by a world who has forgotten them is the exact reason why xiii finds herself surprised, though her face doesn’t show it.  this is an entire pool that’s practically empty in the middle of the hot korean summer.  granted, it is late and the sky that hangs over them is dark but it is a small wonder nonetheless.

her head turns to apollo next to her, and though he looks just as he always does with his small smile and his eyes brightening just a little at the water, she almost has to wonder if he did this for her.  she doesn’t say anything, though.  she never does.

just as her toes dip into the water of the pool with the cuffs of her jeans getting wet from the water, xiii realizes a number of things: that the water is cool to the touch yet it doesn’t seem like it, that she should take a photo to remember the moment by, that apollo brings to her more questions than answers.  and in that moment, xiii also realizes that this is what she likes about him.

when xiii wants to look at him, her entire body turns to face him and that is a fact that could not be said for anyone else.  “ are you going to swim?”

⎡       I WANT TO LINE THE PIECES UP ,    @apolloblck

”Yeah, I might hop in now, actually...You’ll join me right?” His blood thrums. Nervous? Happy? Unsure? His blood is thrumming, loud in his ears, legs languidly swaying in water that laps at his lower shin. To be alone with another is quite a thing indeed. Better yet, the illusion of privacy is what Apollo enjoys best. Existing in a space without the overwhelming feeling of eyes on him. No noise. No false bravado. Just the sound of her- straightforward words delivered like a delicate song. 

Xiii has a unique aura to her; analytical, purposeful words, a sharp tongue that he doubts has ever uttered gushy, flowery sentences like he’s become accustomed to in an effort to remain relevant and liked. Yet, he likes the sound of her honesty more than his own, even dry conversations concerning the weather or paint drying could sound sweet coming from her.  So every time she speaks, Apollo is certain to listen, eyes never leaving hers and dopey grin in place. Pool lights reflect rippled light across his features, blues dipping into deeply etched smile lines as his head tilts to his right. “You can stay out of the water, of course... It’d be a shame, though, to waste the chance of having everything to ourselves. Or maybe that’s just me being greedy. Either way, I’ll be getting in.”

And he is, in a way. Greedy for her attention, foolishly relieved when he gets it. Apollo asks a thousand questions to Xiii’s one, unabashedly interested despite no encouragement. It’s an unconventional friendship, but it works. Sort of. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Apollo puts it aside before gripping the bottom of his t-shirt, swiftly pulling it off before discarding alongside his phone. He’d come more prepared than the other, wearing shorts and a simple tee, intending to make the most of a reprieve from missions and the sticky summer heat. 

“God, I hope it’s not too cold.” Apollo mumbles and grips the edge of the pool. Slowly, the male eases himself in, nose crinkling as the water hits his lower abdomen. “Okay, definitely not warm.” He hisses, reluctantly lowering himself further until his feet graze the bottom. Half-propped up on the edge, there’s the faintest hint of amusement in his gaze as he gives Xiii’s attire a once over, body slowly adjusting to the cool water.

[ ✂ ]

apollo’s quick clarification was almost as if he had been reading chariot’s mind. it should’ve put his thoughts at ease, but there was some bitterness that came with being talked down to (not that they were wrong). “yeah…okay i’ll do that then.” simply obeying orders was the path he chose for now; can’t be letting any weakness show. “as soon as we scout them out, i’ll find a good spot and fire from there. let’s try to avoid combat as much as possible, though — i rested up a bit during the walk here, but the both of you must be more tired than you’re letting on.” he looks up at the sky knowingly. “i’ll focus on taking them out, and you guys focus on getting out of there alive— i-is that…okay?” the sudden hesitation comes, chariot suddenly remembering that he was the newbie here (damn strategy games). 

The fact that Bishop hesitated at all, niggles at the back of his mind, response both what he had expected but also somewhat of a slap on the wrist. Of course he wasn’t going to make Riot run around nor do something he’s uncomfortable with, he just wasn’t used to someone so reluctant to participate- Don’t be a dick, he mentally reprimands himself, shaking his head as though to clear the building paranoia and irritation from his thoughts. Riot’s genuinely hurt...naturally, Bishop would take his side. 

“Listen, if you’re not okay with it- that’s fine.” He means it, to an extent. “I don’t blame you... But I mean, if we could get you to a secure position on a rooftop, it’ll work more in your favor anyway because I mean, there’ll be mercs on the ground regardless of whether we’re doing the side quest or not. Taking them out is our best chance of getting to the safe zone, in general. Plus, the darkness will work in your advantage, gives you better coverage I assume? It may make it harder to see though...” His voice trails off, hyper alert at the sound of distant gunfire. His lips purse, thoughts scrambling for a suitable ending to the scenario he’s found himself in.

cat was used to attention. be it his smile, his appearance, his voice, he was used to pulling in other’s attention, trigger a sense of interest and attraction. it’s been almost five years since he’s started playing this game and he was used to winning. and then apollo came. cat always thinks of him with a sense of annoyance and a cracked edge to his ego because no matter how much he tries and preens and impresses, apollo always ends up ignoring him. he’s out grocery shopping when it happens again; the other candidates know him, smile at him, glance at him from the corner of their eyes, just waiting to approach, yet apollo couldn’t even be bothered to greet him. immediately, the annoyance spikes in him again and as the thorn in his side continues its twist and turn, cat can’t help but approach. ⟪ just what i was looking for, ⟫ cat starts, slim digits picking the packet of chips from between apollo’s fingers and dropping it in his basket. it’s purposeful and spiteful and he turns to give the other male a sweet smile. ⟪ thank you, apollo. how kind of you to help me out. oh- while we’re both already here, how about you walk with me for a bit? ⟫ it’s phrased as a question, but cat’s fingers are a cool, very much present grip around apollo’s wrist. ⟪ it’s been a while since we talked. ⟫

Five. Five seconds is all that it took before the other seeks him out. In his best effort to not be a complete jerk, he acknowledges Cat’s presence with a snort, eyes firmly focused on the shelf before him. No pushy male was going to bully him into rushing nor playing along, so despite the pressuring grip on his wrist (and the stolen packet of chips), Apollo’s verbal response is purposefully delivered slow.  “Just a sec’... I’m trying to think of a good enough lie as to why I can’t...” Petty? Silly? Mean? Truthfully, it’s all one and the same to the male.

Lower lip jutting out as he mulls over what food to choose, Apollo mutters to himself, “I ate that one on Tuesday... Variety is good but then again, sometimes it’s best to stick with what you know.” A minute passes by in much the same fashion, spoken words intended only for himself and not the other, taking his sweet time. Finally, the male selects another packet of chips and promptly tosses it into Cat’s basket. “You’re paying. Thanks.” The delivery is flat- a on-negotiable tax for the pleasure of his company. In challenge, he raises his brow as he looks up at the taller male, daring him to say no.

Come on, give me a reason to walk away, he thinks, lips barely containing his infamous shit-eating grin.