#apocalypsxridden

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Send me a ☂ to find my character in a dark alley in the middle of a storm, beaten and bloody || accepting || @apocalypsxridden

                                                                          --

he’s  sure  no  one  will  find  him.  normally,  these  situations  arise  because  diego’s  gone  looking  for  them.  normally,  diego’s  prepared  and  ready  to  take  on  whatever  danger  might  be  lurking.  but  lately,  nothing’s  been  normal.  not  when  they  keep  making  new  enemies  and  each  one  seems  deadlier  than  the  last. 

this  time,  they’d  gotten  him  off  guard.  the  fight  had  been  close  and  then  diego  had  been  certain  he  was  losing.  the  hold  the  other  had  had  him  in  sent  diego  into  panic  mode,  his  only  goal  was  survival. and,  somehow,  he  had.  though  he  isn’t  sure  how.

wincing,  he  spits  out  some  blood  looking  at  the  body  across  from  him.  it  was  like  his  knives  had  mind  of  their  own  and  had  attacked  the  man.  but  that  was  silly.  that  wasn’t  something  they  just  did.  but  then...how?  how  had  it  happened? diego  must  have  done  it  but...he  hadn’t  thrown  anything  and  all  but  one  had  be  tucked  into  place  on  his  body. so  how?

he  tries  to  stand  but  finds  that  too  difficult  at  the  moment  and  opts  to  stay  in  place.  he  needs  to  regroup  anyway.  calm  down.  he  had  just  killed someone.  violently. he’s  almost  lost  enough  in  his  thought  that  he  nearly  doesn’t  register  five’s  arrival.  nearly.  looking  up  at  his  brother,  he  has  no  idea  how  he  looks,  how  this  whole  situation  looks.  or  how  to  explain  why  all  of  his  knives  along  with  random  scraps  of  metal  have  made  their home  in  his  attacker’s  body.

❛ it’s 2020. ❜ little man out of time && out of place, so brazenly asking for ‘DIRECTION.’ sweet voice answers with too much ease, unperturbed by the occasional 31st century goer or missing hero returned —  this leaves the demand for such information unextraordinary. but from one so young comes collected && articulate vernacular — odd, but also not unheard.  

          WHISPERS OF ILL INTENT           / steady thrum of heart beneath withered ribcage , housing naught but a black husk caught within barbed wire -- predatory , singular word to encompass all she was , watching ; GAUGING . yet , oh , does pout grace crimson painted cupids bow , as though it were a simple INCONVENIENCE && not a carefully constructed plan beginning to crumble , whilst claws dug in near DESPERATELY . would not relent , jaw snapping shut , clenching tightly / the only sign given , yet minuscule in it’s offering -- would not show more than simple movement . he speaks with a CONFIDENCE she had seen more than enough , had felt ripple through interactions , && nearly … nearly , does she consider leaving well enough alone . allowing him what it is that he wants from her .

( 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙱𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙴 / 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽 )

                            But no , she cannot release , cannot remove claws from where they grip ; torn && tattered , she would not give in . click of tongue against ivory canines before they snap together -- never would she allow for alteration , it simply would not do . BAD FOR BUSINESS , as it were / loft of flaxen brow , cant of her head to shift snowy locks as gaze remains unwavering , HOSTILITY in the flex of fingers / all i have ever released has claws marks in it .                                                         He would be no different .                ‘ you think so ? ‘                        three simple words spoken ; dulcet tones honey-coated yet laced with such a venom . paralysing with a single blink -- would hold tight with teeth bared , determination within spine . not a single ounce of genuineness in the brush of the backs of fingers to his cheek -- LINGERING , a threat unspoken ; so easily to change , not a moments WARNING would be given if she were to turn , years of irritations && RAGE locked away beneath the surface ; a powder keg awaiting a lighter .

( 𝙑𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙇𝙀 . 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙊𝙏𝙄𝘾 . 𝙑𝙄𝘾𝙄𝙊𝙐𝙎 )