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𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝 .

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this is what it feels like to be a self—contained hurricane floating on calm waters — teeth gritted, knuckles white, trying to hold in the storm instead of making waves.



fingertips grazed the sand in soft manners , drawing unknown signs within it . red - purple decorated skin beneath swollen eyes . tired , haze like . how long has it been ?


“ maybe . “ shoulders rolled into a shrug, slipping arms around her own upper body . “ perhaps I should head back , help the others . “

He knows that. He’s met enough men like Joe, seen enough things out in the wasteland to know that people in power do what they want and the rest fall in line or die. ❝ Seems like you’ve done something. ❞ Gesturing to them, to the rig. ❝ A knife doesn’t have to be a knife. ❞



𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝 . Reposted

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒.

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“ there’s nothing i could’ve done against him . no struggle , no fight , no weapon could’ve done something . “

A hand brushes his head, dust and sand falling out of his hair in the process. ❝ Knives only hurt on one side. You — uh. You want it to hurt, right? Want to hurt someone. Can’t have it pointed at you. ❞ A shrug.



“ I don’t understand .” quiet murmur , bigger frown now .

A noise of understanding, shifting awkwardly in the sand. A smarter man might tell Angharad that she’s still pretty, but he’s never been all that smart, and he’s fairly certain she doesn’t want to hear something like that anyways. ❝ Knives face outwards for a reason. ❞



𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝 . Reposted

we were his 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠! he'll 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 us, i know he will!



we don’t have time .

Maybe not. But it won’t hurt either.



“ I . . . I thought if I wasn’t pretty anymore he wouldn’t do . . . do this to me anymore . “ a mumble , glance avoided . frightening with the fabric of her clothing covering her abdomen .

❝ Uh. Shot. A couple times. Run over, once. ❞ He doesn’t go into more detail than that — the circumstances aren’t necessary. ❝ What about you? ❞ He points as the scars on her face — it’s only fair.



resting won’t keep the fever away .

It isn’t. They can’t afford to get sick.



“ everything is sour . “ a glance towards his knee , slight frown visible . “ what happened ? “

❝ The walls smell sour there, ❞ he says, hand digging into the scarred meat of his knee now. ❝ Too many…mm. Too many dead people. ❞



“ I hope not . I don’t want to go back . “

❝ Yes, ❞ he says after a beat of hesitation, extending his bad leg with a hiss. Too long in any one position and it locks up, refuses to work. Like a gummed up engine, almost. ❝ Do you think you won’t? ❞



no , no . it’s fine .

She needs water. And a place to lay down.



“ got a lot of that in it , still . “ a snort , an exhausted sigh . clumsily letting herself down in the sand again to sit . “ do you think we’ll be found? “

A grunt. She isn’t…wrong, exactly. But it annoys him to have to admit to that. ❝ Mm. Don’t really like sand in my hair anyways. ❞ He gives her the smallest quirk of his lips, almost a smile.



“ you stick your head in the sand and wait for the worst . the world doesn’t work like that either . “

He looks at her frankly, and then points to the bag of guns between them. ❝ You can’t stick your head in the sand and expect the best. World doesn’t work like that. ❞



cold . and warm . sweat . fever maybe .

What’s stopping her?



“how can anyone prepare for something terrible? it’s not possible. it will hurt and stain anyways.” shoulders lifted into a shrug, glancing at him.

They’re alive — it can only get worse. She’s being delusional if she thinks that they’re all coming out of this alive. In all likelihood, none of them will. ❝ When you expect the worst, you’re — uh. Prepared. Gives you time to react. ❞



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