Open RP Post

[wuzzafuzzle]

↪ Pick one of my characters (make sure to specific which version) OR drop any character of yours in and get a random choice.
↪ Find a meme, roll something, idefk
↪ Or cheat and just pick something.
↪ You can also just throw a picture, quote, or whatever kind of prompt you want.
↪ Or just leave a TFLN.

Comments

idfk have two

[misjudge]

ugu give me all of them 83 also hurgh tldr and im half asleep, pls forgive typos ;;

[adoptalizard]

[ Some nights it's simply too much. The ship, the death, the stink of rotting in the air, screams echoing in his head, and the nightmares pile up. Some gross macarbe mix of agonized faces of friends, other people on the ship - crying, pained - mixed in with the ones he never knew but memorized every line of, those terrified and begging as some creature than moved his limbs outside of his control mercilessly sunk Jackson's fingers, his hands, his teeth, into flesh and spilled warm blood over each of them, spilling and staining anything and anyone around.

Some nights he wouldn't stay in his regular room, knowing he might wake up near screaming and he'd rather not have to meet Sherlock's eyes sharp on him from across the room. And some nights he doesn't want to go inviting himself in Wesley's container to pass out, given that usually earns some questions in the morning and occasionally a lecture.

The last island hadn't been any kind of easy, and he'd seen more gore than he could literally stomach at some points. Wounds lingered, something COMPASS apparently didn't want those with healing abilities to forget so quickly, and Jackson found himself unconsciously running dull nails over the cuts and bruises still decorating his hands and arms - there's more, on his face, under his clothes. Those he doesn't have to look at and maybe that's why he hasn't gone for his typical shower off the horror ritual yet. Instead, he's just wandering the holds, not really sure where he's going, but just going. At least until he glances up to see Isaac near one of the shipping containers. He's studying him in a side long sort of manner, even without stopping or appearing to want to stop to talk with him, for all intents and purposes, going to pass him by. But he sees those same marks on him - the purple, red, and black of bruises turning a sickly yellow around the edges; the bright red at the center of raised, torn skin from cuts and scraps here and there. Jackson's wondering if he looks similar, and maybe his steps are turning more towards his pack member as he considers it. If Isaac glances up, Jackson doesn't comment on it, either out of not caring how strange he's acting or not noticing, as his eyes are following other features - the curve of his lips, angles of his cheekbones and jaw. The way his collarbones look prominent with the shadows cast from dim lights in the hold.

As much as he doesn't want to remember the things his body did while his mind was imprisoned while he was the kanima, they're there all the same, as if that memory of the night at the rave - of Erica's body pressed hot against his and Isaac hovering so close, breath mingling, near misses on so many thing, and it's like there's electricity courses through him at the thought of it. For the half a year Jackson's been here, he hasn't had that kind of physical release, hasn't sought it out and hasn't taken anyone up on it. Maybe something thinking he doesn't deserve it, thinking he shouldn't, but on nights like these? He's half doubting he'll ever make it back to a place and a person that would mean he shouldn't.

It's almost a natural progression, no real pause or hitch in the motion, as Jackson steps fluidly up into Isaac's space, crowds him back against the container behind him, brings a hand to hook behind Isaac's neck and the other to grab a handful of the thin cotton shirt over his chest, dragging him forward as lips press firm, demanding and hot against Isaac's. Nothing else has been able to shut off that suffocating spiral of horror in him, might as well try this - regardless of whether it goes somewhere pleasant or unpleasant. A fight is just as good a distraction. ]