Expression Meme // Accepting // @doesharm

Gentle are the hands that draw face away towards work. How they are deceptive they are, made soft from lavishing in crimson ichor daily. For a few moments he tries to ignore those loving fingertips tracing pale marks around his eyes and soft lips that press against the stubble of his cheek and steely focus begins to slowly rust.

Focus lent towards the blueprint unfurled on his desk, split then forgotten. It’s slowly that his eyes lift to meet Klause observing him from his throne of complacency.

“Later,” he assures in a quiet drawl. Absently he reaches for that grasp, strong hands holding to that palm that rests against the roughness of his cheek.

“Later.” Dell repeats in more of a promise, quieter softer tones are spoken under a breath. The Engineer brushes Klause’s finger with the tips of exposed digits before lips press against pale skin. It’s a simple brush of his mouth along the sides of others knuckles, a certain reverence to the touch.

Such a sight.

Oh, god of creation what unholy demon do you give your tainted soul.

Safety ; How short lived it was. Constantly running from one end of the city towards the other, lingering around buildings and rooms in search of equipment used to survive. The infection spread  /  people grew scarce. Nowhere to run or hide from the ever-changing virus that looms over their head, a storm ready to strike. 

There were three things that made Ellis feel incredibly safe : his gun, the rooms boarded up by brick doors, and Klause ( safety in numbers, yet he became ellis’ number one ). One could say it was because he was a doctor, a man of medicine and a strong vocabulary. He held himself up in fights against the undead while clean a wound in a matter of minutes. Those were none of the reasons, oh no. A benefit, sure, but it was Klause’s warm personality and charming demeanor that made the mechanic feel at ease. One could say Ellis wasn’t the best at judgment, as he’s always polite and welcoming to strangers, in and out of the zombie apocalypse. With Klause———– it was different. An old friend he reunited once more after years of phone calls and emails. Klause became familiar. Familiar and safe.

Their backs press against the wall of an abandoned building they found shelter in, side by side. Words leave aimlessly from the trucker’s lips ( one time, my buddy keith – ), a ritual the two have created with one another. Rest was needed  /  a day to simply relax and reminisce in the past. Little did he know was Klause slowly drifting into a deep slumber, all thanks to Ellis’ pleasant memories. Pressure was applied to the top of his head, instantly causing the words to stop. Eyes drift upward as if he could see what the medic had been doing, but to no avail, nothing ( thanks cap ).  A smile, warm like the summer rays, curve onto his features, while his head tilts and finds home onto the other’s shoulder.

      ❝     G’night, Doc.      ❞

i want ace to kill me please and thank u

solitarysurvival replied to your photoset:

[softly] these so cool id let him kill m

     ❝     That ain’t right.     ❞

The two stopped briefly at an abandoned building in search of equipment ; they needed anything they could take in order to survive the next day. Fingers curl around the jar, cool glass pressed on his palm while lifting it up from the small table. Disgust paints his face, observing the sickly green liquid sway back and forth in its containment. No matter how many times he’s seen it, Ells never gets used to the bile bomb.