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 THE ONE BEHIND THE TRIGGER, allie&kanti
john alden schmidt
 Posted on: Aug 7 2017, 02:25 PM
john smith
❝ I'VE BEEN IN WORSE SITUATIONS THAN THIS .... I JUST CAN'T THINK OF ANY RIGHT NOW. ❞
POCAHONTAS
30
6'1
HETEROSEXUAL
37

sammi



darkness gets bigger
one you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger

It had been months since anyone had seen the soldier known as John Smith. Some may have thought he was dead, overwhelmed by the Darkness so many were fighting. The last anyone had seen of him was that fall day when he left with Cameron to go scout out a nearby encampment. He walked tall, sure of himself, and many thought he couldn't never be taken down without an act of divine intervention. They were wrong. They were all wrong. John had disappeared and with that, the heart of morale dimmed to a flickering flame. A flame so small that it threatened to be blew out at any instant. John Smith wasn't supposed to be the one who fell.

And yet, he lived.

Perhaps lived was not quite the right word. Survived was closer to the truth. He was breathing, blood was pumping and he could move. But living? Living required autonomy and that was something the soldier was lacking. The soul who longed for adventure, for his own great story, was forced into a parasitic servitude. The body survived, but the mind was darkened by the Darkest parasite. It took months to get him to even succumb to the dark magic; John was always headstrong and willful. But everyone breaks. It was always a time game. A game that was played well. He broke and now he was nothing more than a pawn. He took to patrolling the roads, taking survivors to their designated doom. It was his purpose.

Which is what brought him to the rainforest. It was ripe with opportunity to fulfill his agenda. People became lost in the twisting trees and the luscious green color that was seemingly everywhere. It was too easy. He knew the paths, main and not, that would lead him wherever he needed to go. And that was all that mattered. To do his job. But. But, there was a small voice in the back of his mind that continually yelled at him to stop. Turn around. Leave. Stop this. Stop hurting the people you want to save. He shook away the thought and continued on, brush and leaves crackling under his boots. It was all to plan. And the voice went silent again.

He had been tracking a group of refugees for hours now and he knew he was getting close. Then marks were fresher and more pronounced as he went deeper into the folds of the humid forest. Quick eyes flickered through the surroundings and he paused, thinking he had heard something. A branch maybe? Perhaps a settling of the leaves? The wind? It could have been many things and some of them not quite as nice as the man-turned-killer would have wanted them to be. So, he waited. He set his shoulder against a nearby tree and pulled out a makeshift map, relaxing his shoulders enough that he hoped he looked unsuspecting to anyone nearby. Someone was nearby. Of that he was certain. He could feel eyes on him. Eyes that burned into skin and made him want to turn around and make the owner come out. He wanted to hurt them. It was a surging want that coursed through his veins as surely as his blood did. And blood was something he always wanted to see.

He wanted to see the ground soaked in blood. He wanted the sky to cry crimson. He wanted all of this and more. So much more. And yet, he stood patient. He could wait until they chose to reveal themselves. The closer they got? The better. A dark smirk curled at the corner of his lips, deep blue-black eyes flickering in the little sunlight that crept through the thick ceiling. Let them come. Let them bleed for it.

kanti odina matoax, template replace 💙
^
kanti odina matoax
 Posted on: Sep 24 2017, 06:42 PM
pocahontas
❝ this is the path i choose. ❞
pocahontas
25
5'8
heterosexual
single
22

allie



and fate
chose me and you ----
After all this time, Pocahontas would have thought she would have ceased being so affected by disappointed. Yet, it's sharp edge cut open the old wound in her heart, making it ever deeper. One would think she would have become desensitized to it, the nerve endings becoming numb to the knife-like pain leaving scars across her soul. Each time it was harsh and painful as the morning she had discovered her village destroyed, what was left of her people gone, the remaining ravaged like some foul beast had cut them down for sport. The pain, like then, had been visceral and harsh. The only difference, it would seem, was that she could not cry. Certainly her lungs burned with sobs choked back, her vision blurred with tears unshed, but she could not push past the wall that would not let her release them. She stared unseeing at the bracken covered floor of the rainforest, listening to the retreating footsteps of the refugee group cutting a path through the labyrinth of trees. Not one of their faces had been familiar to her. For a moment she thought she saw something in the set of a man's jaw, in the curve of a child's cheek as they ducked their head into their father's shoulder, but it had been more wishful thinking than fact. When she had looked closer, the only familiarity was the sadness in their gazes as they looked back at her.

Pocahontas almost gave in when they'd asked her to join them, worried as they were for anyone traveling through the darkness corrupted world on their own. In the end, she had shaken her head and waved them on, pointing out water sources nearby. She knew this forest well enough to give them that. As they disappeared into the mist the slithered through the foliage, she almost collapsed where she stood. It had been so long since she'd run into anyone in this part of the animated realm that her hope had risen beyond what was reasonable. It only made sense that the resulting crash made her knees weak. She would not fall, refused to. She'd come this far already without giving in. Her people, everyone she'd ever cared about, they were still out there somewhere. She was certain of it. Giving up meant giving in, it meant letting the darkness win. It meant never seeing any of them again. She hadn't been able to accept that fate back then and she wouldn't accept it now.

These were the things she told herself as she stood there, willing her feet to move, to propel her forward -- in any direction so long as she was moving. Words, it seemed, were no longer enough to keep her motivated. Like a slow reel of film, the faces of her loved ones moved through her head. Her father, his wisdom lines crinkling as he smiled at her. Grandmother Willow's soothing voice singing. Nakoma, Meeko, and Flit. John. If she had known what was coming, would she still have let him go? It was more selfishness than not that answered yes to that question. She would have dragged him aboard the Englishmen's ship by herself. Every day, she remained grateful that he'd left their land far behind him by the time the village had been attacked. What had happened to him, to Thomas, and the others, she would likely never know but it didn't matter. They hadn't been there for the attack and, in her mind, that meant John had been safe, had remained safe. It was easier to believe that than to wonder, to worry. Without thinking about it, she had pulled out the compass. It had meant so many things before, its arrow a prominent figure in so many of her dreams. Now, she thought, fingers skimming over its dented edge, it was only a memento.

How long she stood there like that, she wasn't quite sure. Surrounded by nothing but greenery and the low thrum of life, it was easy to lose oneself to time. It was only when that thrum died, when her surroundings went silent, that her thoughts were interrupted. Pocahontas raised her head, like a dear caught grazing, straining to hear...anything. Something was coming her heart told her, though she hadn't heard a sound to qualify the feeling. On instinct alone, she bounded up the nearest tree, sliding gracefully along its long extended branches. She flattened herself against it, brown gaze directed downwards. None too soon as a lone stranger, much like herself, passed beneath her. Paused. Leaned against a tree. Her tree. Though she only had a top view of the man, something about the turn of his head, the golden hair the crowned, made her breath hitch. It couldn't be, she thought, the sight of him striking like flint against her memory; it was almost as if her thoughts had conjured him here. Or something like him. Could the dark magic that had corrupted so much already do that too?

Heart racing, her hand slid to the pocket in her small pack where she usually kept the compass. When her fingers felt nothing but emptiness, she panicked, momentarily losing her grip on the tree. The effort to catch herself made the branch creak and she winced at the sound. The man below her didn't move. Pocahontas sat perfectly still for a moment, trying to slow her stuttering heart before she gave away her hiding place. Brown eyes remained focused on the blond head still visible between the lower branches, only leaving him long enough to search for the compass among the bracken. There, she spotted it a few yards away, the sight glass glinting up at her. Did she dare try and retrieve it while the stranger still stood there? Of course she did, her unwillingness to part with it overriding her instinct to remain hidden. Pocahontas didn't think so much as let her spirit guide her from one branch to another, over and over again until she dropped down from an entirely different tree. Landing in a crouch, her secondhand boots sinking into the soft earth, she didn't immediately rise. The compass was still too far to reach from her position but the realization came too late to decide to keep herself hidden now.

Expression blank, she rose slowly, eyes lifting to meet the stranger's. Even at this distance, she was poised to run. That is, until the details of his face became clear through the fog of humidity rising in the air. Her heart twisted, her demeanor faltering. She was caught between feeling frozen and wanting to run to him. In great pants, her chest rose and fell with effort to keep her lungs pumping air though, the way her lungs felt, it didn't seem like it was working. Her eyes grew shiny as she stared, lips parting. When she spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. "John?"


john alden schmidt |you 'bout to break her heart johnny boy
^
john alden schmidt
 Posted on: Feb 1 2018, 10:06 PM
john smith
❝ I'VE BEEN IN WORSE SITUATIONS THAN THIS .... I JUST CAN'T THINK OF ANY RIGHT NOW. ❞
POCAHONTAS
30
6'1
HETEROSEXUAL
37

sammi



darkness gets bigger
one you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger
So much movement overhead. The rustle of branches, of leaves, in the earth itself as the tree swayed and gave way under the weight of one in its canopy. To anyone who wasn't attuned to tracking, the noises would have seemed no more than the wind through the boughs ---- something natural and not to be worried about, but to him, it was something else. His mind was trained to this, for this. Catching people was what he was good at. There was a reason he was chosen for such an important task. But, for now, he remained still, as if he couldn't hear the tell tale noises around him. Let them come, let them move and adjust, or let them run. He didn't care. There was a group not too far from here that he could take just as easily.

But, this? This felt like a challenge. He had always been loathe to let a challenge lie unanswered.

And with the softest of thumps, the person hit the ground and dark sapphire eyes flickered over to land on the... woman? A savage of some sort, he could see it in the way she held herself, in the cheekbones and cut of her jaw. Ah. So that was who was in the trees above. Made sense. They weren't known to take conventional methods.

( What you mean is not like you. )

The voice that cut through his mind was hauntingly familiar, distant, however. Like a dream that couldn't quite be remembered. The revelation fading as quickly as it came. And like a trap, it snapped shut on the voice and it was gone. A twinge of a smile curled on his lips for a moment before it became a blank canvas again.

"You say that as if I should know you," came the drawled reply. The voice that left him was much more deep than the Captain of the Resistance's had been, much more rasp woven into the syllables. ( not his own ) Nonchalantly, he tossed the map aside, and stood up straight, eyes boring into her from where he stood. "Do I know you? Because, honestly, you're just another sorry face in a crown of sorry faces who are just too dumb to face reality."

He pushed off of the tree, his head slowly tilting to the side, blond hair carelessly moving in front of his face as he did. His hands raised upwards, palms up, and he managed a twisted grin that seemed to stretch his face in all the wrong ways. "This world is lost, and we're all going to die here. Might as well give up, right?"

kanti odina matoax, O u O ..... i hated writing this ugh 💙
^
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