# motelview : a private and low activity ๐ข๐ช๐ก๐ฉ๐ ๐ข๐ช๐จ๐ featuring muses from tragic narratives. mature & triggering related content will appear on this blog. studying themes of destined encounters, survivor's guilt, forced isolation, and there is no good vs evil. highest muses are jesse & mcsm guest muses.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
sorry for the deadness iโm in the middle of a paused revamp due to moving countries and trying to get married so โฆ + got obsessed with game of thrones, yes, you may point and laugh.
โ nothing built can last forever. and every legend, no matter how great, fades with time. โ
โ who are either of us without the other? โ
โ it's so much easier for a legend to stay nice and shiny when it's a fond memory... easier to control it. โ
โ i'm not proud of it, [name], but i was a little, tiny bit weirdly obsessed with you. โ
โ don't make yourselves the villains in my story. โ
โ you're totally jealous. โ
โ thank you, by the way, for getting arrested with me. no one's ever done anything like that for me before. โ
โ soooo... you're not gonna... you don't wanna just, weigh in, with your opinion... or just, say, words. โ
โ iโm gonna get my OWN mushrooms. make my OWN stew. disregard my bedtime. break whatever rules i feel like! within reason! โ
โ would you rather fight a hundred chicken-sized zombies, or ten zombie-sized chickens? โ
โ there are good things left, if you look for them. โ
โ that's my body, [name]. my broken, battered body. โ
โ they cannot help you. but me? i choose not to. โ
โ i hope iโm not imagining things. goodness knows, itโs happened before. โ
โ you are resilient. though, sadly... still mortal! โ
โ everyone's running away... except for you. โ
โ you will be made useful. โ
โ oh, and pumpkin pie is the universally loved food? i think not. โ
โ you and me have made a pretty good team so far. i'd even call us friends. โ
โ i donโt want you to feel forced to keep doing something you donโt want to. i don't wanna be that person. or... or make you feel scared to tell me the truth. โ
โ boy. when you put it like that, i almost feel bad. โ
โ wow. never knew you cared so much. โ
โ haven't you taken enough? โ
โ i'm just trying to get used to having 'teammates' and 'people who care about me'. โ
โ i hate so much about the way you choose to be. โ
โ hopefully they dig a deep hole, bury them in it, surround it with lava, andโ sorry. got a little carried away there. โ
โ stay safe, okay? โ
โ donโt know if youโve looked in the mirror lately, but iโd watch who youโre calling โgoofy.โ โ
โ you pick up that excuse at the same place you got that haircut? because they're both awful. โ
โ no matter what you've done, you're still a person. like everyone else. you can be redeemed. โ
'' dennis , for the ten millionth time , will you shift that shit of yours up into the attic ? '' ( to dennis ! )
brooding eyes roll, an angry storm roiling between sockets ; seeping a dark stain of irritation against furrowing brows, where they knit together in tandem with a jagged, downward slant of mouth. can already guess what sheโs whining about when stompimg over, squeezing past this haunted houseโs narrow hallways -- shoulders pressed into himself too tight, a permanent slouch bending and warping his back beyond repair ( or so anne crones on about ) , practically just a faded leather jacket and a tuft of hair beneath sizzling tension which explodes from him in blood splatter. leaks out a crooked nose, a split lip, boils through gums and teeth and beads from knuckles broken beyond repair. but heโs whole when bursting into the scene : head jerking her way upon arrival, trying to ooze exasperation out of every breathing pore, before he lolls his neck towards whateverโs scattered across living room floor. records, meticulously & thoroughly tucked soundly into battered, soften edged covers, are strewn around like a hurricane rolled through โฆ a mess specialized by a singular guitar propped up on couch arm, too red and too bold for what boring room itโs gotten stuck in.
bones pop where hands slowly creak into fists, weapons he sheaths deep into jacket pockets with a huff that flares nostrils. decides he wonโt lose his god damn mind because itโll ring consequences in her ears for fucking eternity -- muscles sensitive and swollen near fattening lobes where heโs already been forced to stomach anneโs practiced screeching. he dulls his usual barbs down sandpaper throat and heโs being so kind, seriously, when hissing out, โ hey, donโt blow a gasket! itโs not my fault itโs down here. โ and it isnโt, because dennis never hauls his instrument past bedroom lines unless heโs sneaking out for a show -- cradling it close like everything else deemed important, sleek metal marked by a scrawl of name. so once he finds out if it was megan or anthony elbows deep in his shit, thereโs gonna be a purpling imprint for every album stolen straight outta his attic ; dusty and dark and kept strictly to his liking, where everything he quietly cares for is hidden around rotting beams and saved of any dust by a swipe of heavy hand, smeared and gleaming like ash underneath lamplight.
but his mouth keeps running, toothy as it always is, โ and whatโs the big idea anyway? itโs just my shit. leave it alone if you hate it so much. โ emphasis places itself on his final snarl by action, bending down to swipe up his guitar by itโs long neck -- squeezing so tight there that the cords and strings groan when pressurized. gives her more attitude by sighing, extra loudly ( a skill learned by tanyaโs influencing example ) , while he sets to shoving pieces of himself back into slumping cardboard, still curled in that harsh way of his, half-like all he wants is to disappear.
'' if she dies . . . what happens to me ? '' ( to daniel ! )
โ nothingโs gonna happen to you. โ it whittles out quick -- nothing like the slow drop of crimson, bled and spread from an aging wound, or like a final exhale of air. he says it through a mouth of cotton ( tongue dried until itโs a tiny shrivel of useless muscle ) and doesnโt take it back after, allowing it space to expand, to cement, because daniel wants it to stand unfaltering tall. all this doppelganger nonsense isnโt real, it canโt be, even though something in him churns at the lookalikes ; heart strumming along the thin plane of skin in response, an endless leash tugging forward to go long! or something. itโs total bullshit, he repeats firmly, turns it over and over in his mind. theyโll be fine like this โฆ stuck together as they wander down another beaten road, a scrap of people whose eyes are too heavy for their skulls, whoose lungs burn with every breath from aimless running around, scared, but together, and daniel keeps his pace even with angelaโs as they do the ole walk-and-talk. avoids staring too hard at where taylor trudges by, pink hair hardened into a reddish color, lingering by andrew who she keeps glancing at. not that heโs jealous or anything. itโs relieving to see her face gently open around someone else, and andrewโs โฆ -- heโs good. knows that much about concussion boy somehow, and itโs a nice thing to be stuck on.
so daniel tries not thinking about if she looks his way when dark eyes fall back towards angela : if he could feel the familiar burn of them, that feeling of assessment and falling short, that hurt furrow of brash brow. taylorโs fine, obviously better off than poor angela, although he still has to carefully watch his step to ensure that his body doesnโt naturally fall in line with hers.
fingers then flex around his โborrowedโ flashlight, free hand raising up just barely in little hopeโs pressing darkness in a soothing balm. โ i told you already, that woman isnโt you. if she -- you know. โ throat flushes, adamโs apple bobbing around a final fate he suddenly canโt say, not when he imagines angela in that girlโs place ; wise eyes round with anguish, chapped lips shaped around pleas he didnโt get to hear โฆ broad shoulders hike up, hunching near his neck, and daniel grits out, โ it wonโt matter, right? and if it does, some-fuckinโ-how, i got your back. โ vague comforts taken from his heroine-holed heart and pushed back towards her as a silent regift, a crutch he secretly leans on as his sneakers scritch and scratch against bumpy pavement. mouth sours and he ignores that too in favor of glancing down at the limp wrist swinging beside him, tempted to hold her there, match where her grip had enclosed around him before, or to softly whack their hands together so sheโs assured of his presence. it would certainly be a gesture, but daniel knows how she bristles at men and their faux alpha male-ness ( her bark, not his : which pricks his pride some days & shoves a toothy smile out of him some others ) and so he refrains from any extra actions. better that way, daniel supposes, with only a minor degree of uncertainty that bruises tenderly into a creasing forehead.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
this is an old meta from a private discord! talks a bit about how she perceives romance, what she likes in a partner, and touches upon her feelings for mitch ( @pseudoneiricโs mitch specifically )
been thinking about clementine lately, and naturally how she perceives romantic love and how she goes about it ... like, silly things : her type, what she looks for, her demeanor on it & other similar stuff. it's important to note here that this is centered around my characterization of clem and who she's become over time -- and that i don't hate any ships i might dismiss in this ramble. they're just not something i can see and / or make sense of, so if you like it? all the power to you! anyway ...
off the bat, i think there's such a disconnect for clem in terms of actual romantic interest vs compatibility. for example i can see her finding louis attractive, and housing butterflies just for him and his rather silly personality and charm, yet staunchly refusing to actually choose him, or venture into being in a committed relationship with him. the most important thing for her, to me, is that she wouldn't get with someone lightly ... it'd be very serious to her, making that leap & opening up the doors to intimacy and love. for all her life she has lost everyone she's cared for, in rapid succession most of the time. there is nobody in her life, besides aj, who has made it as far as her ... and we see this is something she's acutely aware of : embedded in her chronic survival's guilt and highlighted in her constant martyrdom. and in a lot of important ways, the ericson kids change this for her! although this is still not easily shaken, and clem is mature, and there's more things she'd need in a relationship than just liking someone. it'd be easy if that's all it took, was just for clem to find someone attractive and to like hanging out with them ... except it isn't, and she'd never prioritize that over other elements. another example for this is that clem would like to partner with someone who can take care of aj! someone good with kids, in every aspect, no 'i make kids laugh!' only, she's thinking of proper care, of being good to aj and him liking them but also someone being able to talk to aj, and guide him, and really understand his incessant questioning and be able to dish out gentle reprimands if need be. there's no amount of personal infatuation she'd put higher than aj, honestly. and with our girl's really realistic and sometimes grim approach of things, knowing he'd be left in good hands if anything happened to her is integral, if not her main priority overall.
which is why violet and mitch would appeal greatly to her over, say, louis or ruby. tenn and willy aren't perfect kids but they've been properly cared for in a world so cold and uninhabitable, and you see the easy way in which violet lovingly acts with aj despite her prickly exterior ... that'd be enough to woo clem on its own haha. mm, but in mitch's case this trait shines as well, in a way he's not really given credit for? like, willy is easily a capable and important member within the boarding school group : he's experienced in handling weapons, isn't lazy, and is responsible. he does lookout well and he thinks really hard about things, stuff even the older kids miss! and all this is probably mitch's doing -- since willy was so little when everything happened, and mitch saw this and decided to step in despite his young age himself. the kid's weird but he was raised right ,,, and, i think, if clem knew this earlier it'd carve this little soft spot in her for mitch. she'd kinda be really into it, very much impressed and wow'd and more than a little admiring. it's silly but good parenting is suchhhh a hit for her lol. just a comforting & attractive thing for someone to have.
( louis, on the other hand, bless his heart, really struggles with aj. like, a lot. he's good with him sometimes but sort of dismisses the boy's natural curious nature and has a thin patience for younger kids ... it's not a flaw, but i do think clem would clock this pretty quick and. it'd be noted. she'd want someone who can be the fun parent & still be able to handle that responsibility, and be able to love aj in a way he could understand! and, simply put, she wouldn't be able to say with certainty if louis is up for the job : or if he could adapt to this )
moving on, hmm, there's other things that would be a must. there's basic traits that would appeal to her of course, like someone loyal and brave and smart, although that's like. lukewarm stuff. for a more heavy requirement clem would have to see them as someone capable. this does semi tie back into wanting someone to be a proper caretaker for aj and also her experience with losing those closest to her! clem is a character of profound loss and being forced to prevail in spite of this, despite her own wishes, her own wants, and it's done irreparable damage to how she views the world, her affections, and her people skills over all. letting someone in, seeing the fondness in her heart and knowing the innate consequences that come with it in this world, yet still opening the floodgates isn't an easy step for her to take ; or, well, at least one she doesn't take lightly, which might be a better way of putting it. she'd want to limit the premature loss, she'd want to be lucky & get to keep them ... so, naturally, they'd have to be someone who can hold their own and be strong enough so that clem wouldn't have to worry about protecting them all the time, not to say she wouldn't fret regardless, but she'd need a limit on it for her own sanity. they're in a tricky situation? they need to be someone who's smart and quick on their feet, without clem's aid, in case she's not there. they need to kill someone for survival reasons? they can do it, and efficiently. if aj's in danger will they be able to save them? yes, at any cost, etc etc. there needs to be a drive and an inherent skill set and clem needs to be able to look at them and never doubt that they have her back as well as their own in a bad spot.
perhaps this all sounds harsh but ahhh, it's something important to me as well, considering how much this girl has had to protect and nurture others, even at the cost of her own safety ,,, she is always the crutch, the net that catches, she's the shield between everyone and danger in a heartbeat, so the idea her romantic relationship would mirror this exhaustive battle is hrmm, not fun or joyous for me. and i can't imagine this wouldn't weigh on clem either, over time. has learned well that you can't drag someone to a finish line they can't reach by themself, knows that you're physically incapable of being able to protect someone forever if they're, uh, weak. which is not a word clem loves to use but it's something she clearly thinks about in terms of people anyway, a natural side effect to being a survivor. it's something she stresses to violet in her time of need, that violet ' isn't weak ' ... so she wouldn't want a weak partner. it'll save her more anguish in the long run and so it is a priority, personal affections aside.
and it all kinda melts into this pot of clem, at her core, for once in her life, wanting her companion to be someone so completely and utterly on her level. she's grown tired and wise in later years, and maybe she doesn't know everything about herself and what she wants, but she probably knows this to a degree. clem has been robbed of an equal since the beginning of all this and a part of her is achingly lonely, and also super hormonal, thus it's so natural for her to be craving this come s4. when she's sort of feeling the pains of caring for a kid all alone ... like, it's finally crushing her, despite her kid being so independent and able-bodied, it doesn't make things easier per se, like she thought it would. there's so many times in the final season where we see clem feel incapable on her own with aj, outside ericson's tall walls, because she's at the end of her rope ... merely sixteen and starving, in more ways than one. being isolated & relying on herself has stopped working, especially so when -- she kinda gets a taste of real community and love with the troubled youth she meets. as i said! they've really helped her in a lot of ways, all of them, and so leaving that behind ?? it creates this hole in her that wasn't there before. she kinda got used to having people watch her back, to bickering commentary and laughs and games, and it's softened her so quickly! made her tender in ways that sadly make her rusty when she's on the road. the ericson kids are lively and comfortable ( in an awkward teenage way ) in their society ; crushes and friendship is natural to them in a way it isn't with clem. all that is to say, their openness about it would be what gets her considering it, and then maybe exploring it if it's safe to do so, and if she wants to.
i wouldn't be at all surprised if knowing these things can exist even now, all because of these kids she meets, is also what makes her crave it more than she ever has before, you know? she's seen it with her own two eyes and now she feels that gap at her side, where someone could ... fit ... where someone might actually want to be. a personal helping hand, a shoulder to lean on ,,, again, a manner of things clem hasn't really had. but oooooh it'd poke at her once she knows. clem isn't an excitable person but there'd be a giddiness with, like, mundane romantic things she could have. the title of girlfriend ,,, hand holding ,,, kissing ,,, just, understanding and being told someone likes her. she may be the toughest girl to ever exist but she is still a girl, and most girls like sappy things of that caliber, which includes clementine herself. it goes without saying that none of this would be natural to her and she'd very much view it as, improvise adapt overcome, in every way imaginable. i think a lot about the dance with violet and clem's reactions and thoughts -- the way she nervously looks away, almost freaked, when the intimacy gets so intense ,,, only to then look back at violet with a loving smile. deciding she likes it. and then her โ we're getting better at being romantic, โ comment oughhhh, kills me it does! she is learning and wanting to learn to be more romantic, even if it's awkward and stiff and messes with her sometimes. and her shocked look when violet/louis grabs her hand in the beginning of ep3 ... clem wants romance and a girlfriend or a boyfriend but she easily struggles with not knowing what this actually means. it's not something that comes quickly to her or in a simple way, it's merely something she's getting better at like. which is important to note !!! even with her standards and childish wanting she is still almost bad at this! in fact i kinda laugh at how, right after getting a partner, her immediate response to them mostly is like. ( kisses them. ) she knows that's romantic so she does it and likes it ,,, but other romantic gestures are a little lost on her. so she mostly follows her partner's lead and sees what they like / do and ... is a big mimicker about it all. violet likes hand holding? she will initiate holding hands with her now! mitch clearly likes being called her boyfriend? okay, then clem will purposefully and pointedly call him that a whole lot. again, improvise adapt overcome adjakdjak
( still need to make it crystal clear that. this is not clem being dumb or not being utterly enamored btw! she is extremely smart and loves deeply, she is just. woefully inexperienced and fumbling, just like you see violet and louis do too. and no this also doesn't make her autistic lol she is just a teenage girl!!! she is sixteen!!! she is stunted and navigating completely new territory, she is going to be a bit lost and that's fine. okay? okay! )
anyway, back on topic slightly, the point is is that if clem actually confesses? it's important to know she's serious about it. and that she's picked the person. there isn't any impulse confessing! no happy accidents! no, oh i think you're cute and like you lets date! there is none of that ...
clem has chosen to pursue this and give it her all and that's everything to her, frankly. like you are special. as someone who loves impulsivity and messy situations and finds those tropes endlessly romantic, there's still something sickly sweet about a guarded teenage girl picking someone after careful consideration and wanting it so bad that she's willing to confess at all, that she wants it, that she likes this person. clem is actively staring at everything that could go wrong and deciding to take her chances anyway, because experiencing silly gestures like kisses and the likes is now a thing she'd really like to have, rather than to live without. it's a particular brand of romance but it tickles a part of my brain regardless ,,,
now ,,,, i'll just say mitch/clem is everything to me and is perhaps my favorite ship for her, ever, with violet/clem being a close second. they're easily the two people she's attracted to the most out of all her supposed options ; experienced in kid raising, capable, loyal, and they're not afraid to fight for what they love. they're protective and caring in their own ways and clementine would be stupidly drawn to them, which is why ( in my canon lol ) she and violet become best friends and she ends up dating mitch. they're her kind of people! and while understanding someone so well comes with more devastating fallouts or fights ( something that happens with mitch and, potentially, violet ) it's just how clem functions, and it's just what clem is mostly attracted to. i could easily talk about violet here but i'd rather talk about mitch for now <3 and why clem is kinda super into him <3 because god i think they have mad chemistry and they mesh well together. here's why!!! i say, like a girl about to read you my academic paper lmfao
this sounds shallow ( and it sorta is ) but mitch is so. physically attractive to clem, i think? and yes beauty and looks matter little to her yet it's still something she actively feels ,,, like an appreciation, something that doesn't cripple her but would make her more prone to ; her pulse jumping, heart racing ,,, all the little stuff. and mitch is someone she'd find very handsome! there's not really an ericson kid that she finds ugly but she'd have her preferences, and mitch would be high up there possibly. he's tall ( which clem enjoys ) and veryyy sturdy looking, just broad & wide, kinda like a wall, and that worms at her as something safe. he'd be hard to move and he's strong ,,, it's a rather pointed view of : he's safe looking, right? of course that'd be attractive to clem ... someone with muscle and who towers a little ... not like mitch scares her personally, because clem is so used to fighting people three times her side, but she still admires it in others. it'd appeal to her!
ooooh but there's other things that are more personal, that don't have anything to do with survivor instincts -- like, she'd really find mitch's freckled face sooo pretty. it's just not a feature she sees a lot of! it'd remind her a little of duck, which is nice, but it's also just so much more ... nicer looking than she remembers. it's kinda hard to find mitch intimidating when his freckles make him look so youthful ,,, and cute ,,, lol. idk she'd just be fond of it! and mitch's hair ,,, his little expressions ,,, it'd be attractive to clem if that makes any sense. i just think she very bluntly, in the most crystal clear way imaginable, finds mitch to be a handsome kid. enjoyed maybe seeing him around during the events of ep1, just kinda a nice sight to catch here and there. attractive!! kinda makes her a little warm, a little smiley and girlish ,,, so yeah. oh and his rather vibrant green eyes ,,, those are a hit for her too ,,, they are just so vivid and bright clem would like them a lot. sighs this sounds sooo bland but it's just the truth! she finds mitch hot and this is important! at least somewhat. there isn't a thing about him that she finds ugly appearance wise -- something that's rather tender to me, since mitch has that moment where he implies his neighbors thought his face was. unappealing. and wow would clem disagree! she could not imagine it. hard ' if you say so ' because it's so untrue, right? like obnoxiously untrue. at least, that's what clem thinks. bless her heart and her rather prominent attraction to mitch haha.
more notably, if i had to say what would really win her over -- it'd have to be the greenhouse scene. everything was so crazy before, she lost her home, she failed aj, she had to face the wrath and judgement of the ericson kids ... all after getting her hopes up, about being able to trust and rest and live freely. cannot stress enough that marlon's friends aren't the only people dealing with a lot, since clem has also had the rug ripped out from under her! marlon had seemed so kind ; given them a place to stay, saved their lives ,,, and then he killed brody and tried to kill clem, was going to trade them off -- ! it's a lot to handle. she's so heartbroken and frazzled and that leaves her little time to do much thinking, about her feelings & wants. any kiddish attraction is zapped away, scrubbed clean from her conscious because it doesn't matter on the road ; and it'll never matter again, she believes, even when she's forced to come crawling back all helpless and tired. just hoping they wouldn't be heartless enough to turn away from her injured child ... despite what he did. and then it's a blur : comforting him, violet's office, thrown into planning ,,, mitch's aggression ,,,, she doesn't blame him, really, same way she didn't blame louis. she'll remain defensive and hostile but there's no ill will on her end at his distrust, even if some of it ( 'i trust you to put a bullet in the back of my head' / 'i don't know, maybe he ( aj ) shot one of their friends' ) feels like spit to the face, another boot against her neck. there's inherent distrust and distaste and clem isn't sure she'll win any of the good will back so ,,,, it's all kinda. gestures. the least of her worries. she'll defend these kids even if they hate her and that's fine. she'll do her job, even if they hate her, and she'll do it right. their opinions matter little to her and she's hardly concerned with her own either! now is not the time for ,,, feelings ,,,, of piano and group dinner. it's war time!
though of course this is easier said than done, lmfao, because then there's the greenhouse where the plan is simple : get in, grab barbed wire, get out. don't let ruby or mitch die, and don't die yourself, etc. the usual fanfare ,,,, the typical strategy. but ohhh ... there is. levity. and time spent doing nothing except hovering around ... so easily distracted, the other kids are, and clem pokes around and looks, and talks, way more than she planned to. even with mitch's ugly words and cruelty the air around the kids is different in the greenhouse ; ruby is concerned for her, and she just. talks. about the herbs and other meaningless things and clem naturally follows suit, is drawn readily back into that lightness that follows the ericson kids no matter how bad things are. offers up smiles and does stupid things because she wants to, and is curious -- a mushroom? yeah, some mushrooms are edible, and this is a greenhouse so ... eats it. blegh! disgusting! super childish of her to do. it's a habit left in the past when she'd lick saltlicks due to wondering if they tasted like actual salt lol. and here she is! doing it, again, because it feels almost safe to do so ... and then mitch even chuckles and smiles at her, like she never got his friend killed ,,, and it's nice. there are reminders ; mitch, at first, seems keen on giving those out himself, an unspoken ' you're not one of us, so don't forget your outsider place, ' but there's a lack of hate to his words now that they're stuck to each other. this sort of hesitance & bumbling nature. it does not sting as nearly as much when mitch gives out a couple compliments here and there, like he either means them or wants to, suddenly, lighten his blows. it's strange!!! and still not something clem thinks deeply about, but it silently stabs at her ,,, irritating at first until it's almost a balm. if he wants to play nice then so will she ,,, being forgiven or at least tolerated is all she wants after all, for aj, and doesn't this extend to aj too? it's good news and so it's not questioned or looked at, she just rolls with it! though of course this tune is slightly changed when she's caught off guard, disarmed and grabbed, and embarrassingly can't wiggle away or kill this threat, a walker. misses her hit and it's humiliating, would feel inferior if clem wasn't beyond petrified and panicked. this is not her natural state. this isn't her ; composed and always ready. it's a minor mistake but it's about to be a costly one, until mitch of all people steps in to save her so effortlessly! misses his shot too but the smack of his wrist is still enough, and it's still more than what clem could manage ... and he'd been so mad ... this wouldn't all click with her then, but there's that instant wave of relief when she's safe ; a flood of gratitude and shame mixed awe. so strong and brave! but also, she's clearly expecting him to dig in deep, at seeing her screw up so fantastically. he's waiting for it, any reason to remind her of how awful she is or whatever ,,, so imagine her shock when he only asks if she's all right!!! and then never speaks of it further, dismissive when ruby asks -- we had a scare, that's all. ruby never hears all the gritty details of how she screamed like a girl and lost her cool, doesn't hear mitch wonder why she's the one leading this whole thing when she can't even fight off a trapped walker. it's brushed off as an accident and that's it.
this is ... everything to clem, just a little bit. he saved her. he saved her. clem isn't in the habit of playing damsel ,,, hates being saved and sacrificed for. but it still matters and it means a lot coming from mitch, someone who she was sure hated her and wanted her gone, without a care in the world. there's this check list crossed out, quietly : he's capable, strong ,,, is as sturdy and heavy as he looks ,,, good in a fight indeed ,,, attractive ,,, but most importantly, he saved her. it's not something clem takes lightly!
it's something she keeps coming back to, i think, because it's this hard concept to grasp. the idea she's been saved ; not because of aj, or her age, or anything like that, but just. because! and she doesn't know it yet but mitch has a small habit of saving her already, having been the one to pull her from the wreck, since marlon's hands were full with aj. god if she knew about the car? phewwww ,,, cue gushing <3 cue warm tingly feelings and an uncomfortable sort of shy nervousness in her throat! ahem. i just think it matters so much, him doing all that for her, wordlessly and not even dwelling on it as something special or something she'll have to pay him back for. at this point, i think clem really only trusts violet to have her back, to care for her ,,, but mitch saving her life despite his hatred? the fact he wouldn't let her die on his watch, even if he should? it's that compassion and bravery ... it's just, him, in general. his maturity. his instinctive urge to save and protect. she'd immediately trust him after this, how could she not??? would maybe trust him the most or on equal levels with violet ,,, now this is someone who will have her back no matter what, who would set his personal feelings aside to do what's right. it's more than she could ever ask or hope for. maybe mitch won't ever like her, but she's temporarily his people as much as he's temporarily hers -- and that counts for a lot in this moment, it means he'll see this through and she can have faith he'll give it his all.
( like, the fact mitch just says : oh i can make bombs, oh we can blast those raiders to hell with it ... and clem believes him, which is whatever, but then makes her plans orbit entirely around his bomb? puts trust in him, in his skills, even if she's never seen him do it ... she trusts him so much! anyway, anyway )
things get easier after that, like that sole action broke this barrier that's been raised between them. mitch opens up, talkative and smiling, and it's soooo contagious. clem is helplessly so :) around him too, even here! even when things are strained and when they hardly ever knew each other anyway. tells her little things about himself that she questions and laps up ,,, attentively listening. he asks after her -- what she's doing, what she's found, and she earnestly responses and just. comments back. looks like piss. dare you to drink it. and she responds positively, immediately, turns to look at him and smile and say not in a million years ,,,, and keeps that smile even as he calls her a wimp and it only falls when she turns away. oughhhh. i am getting. emotional and distracted. but. it's mesmerizing, how breezily she acts with him, so friendly and comfy. probably buzzing from how positively he's treating her, the lightness of it all. i think she very firmly likes mitch here, all surface level likings & conflicted views solidifying into an enjoyment for his fierceness, his intelligence, and the likes. mitch really comes out of his withdrawn shell here & that catches her eye, hard. i also think it's sooo interesting that clem, who is defined by doing what she thinks is best and hasn't followed someone else's lead in a long time, doesn't bristle when mitch oversteps and decides something for her. decides what she'll do. โ well i'm not helping you. clem isn't either. โ !! him calling her clem for the first time here is integral too -- it's a sign of companionship, maybe a slip of tongue that reveals more than he wanted it to. the fact she's willing to passively crush ruby but isn't willing to passively reject mitch's ideals implies a little, favoritism issue haha. her complete shock when mitch says they need her? the way it works such a timid, awkward smile from her that we never see again? like, obsessed! the greenhouse scene is essential to these two and their bond finally finding common ground, an admiring outlook on each other reigniting and burning brighter than ever.
anyway. i have more to say but this is all iโve written for now, so enjoy the gushing and insanity!
the garden is the most beautiful place lucifer has ever laid eyes on, though he knows most of his peers would disagree. even the word beautiful seems too small for a place as grand as this. heaven, he thinks, is beautiful. made fanciful because itโs the stomping ground of the angels. everything pristine, polished, in its place. but thereโs something wonderfully free about the garden, about its trees that wave in the wind like theyโre saying hello, the animals that bound around and chitter without being told to. every intricate detail stitched lovingly into place, everyone needing each other, the whole place built on love. or, well, he guesses itโs still built to have order, but he really doesnโt think thatโs the whole story! not when thereโs so much life in this place. heavenโs halls are barren, built to be lovely but lacking that living touch. not that โฆ and lucifer falters to think on it, to really take it apart and wonder โฆ not that the seraphim are dead. but they exist in washed-out whites, silvers, and blues. somber and holy. where's the vibrant green, the succulent red? at least heaven has one thing right โ warm, lovely yellow, the warming tones of sunlight. except that their yellow isn't yellow at all, it's gold โ regal and imposing and making even the most inviting of colours ( lucifer's personal favourite ) seem cold and stark. how does that even happen? idly, the angel touches his lapels, white with a heavenly-bright gold trim. peeks at the inside of his sleeves, noting the calm blue tones of the inner lining of the fabric. it's all very nice and pretty, but it's cold. he much prefers the blue of the ocean, deep and rich in some places and almost white in others. but it's not his favourite colour. yeah, far from it. lucifer much prefers those warm, bright colours to the bleakness of regality and authority. he does like his hat, though. runs a white-gloved hand on the grass delightedly before popping the article off his head. lucifer was created with pants and a coat, gloves and boots. pallid face without a hint of red on the apples of his cheeks, golden hair, no hat. it was fine, the way he looked before, but he wanted something to make him just that little bit taller, so that he could stand next to the other seraphim and not look like a child jumping to find a place at the adults' table. at least something that let people know he was there when he wasn't displaying his ( admittedly smaller than the others' ) wings. he thought long and hard about what he could do. maybe he could make his boots taller. he could alter his coat to have tall shoulder pads. but he eventually settled on a tall hat. not so tall that it looked ridiculous. just a simple, smart-looking hat to round out his outfit, with a nice yellow band all the way around it. lucifer's first creation, all for himself since he wasn't allowed at the table, too childlike to understand the order that must be imposed on the new earth. but he knew it was good, for when he set the hat atop his head, he felt the warming light of โ not heaven as it is, maybe heaven as it was supposed to be โ and as he took the hat off his head, he noticed an addition. an embellishment on the band. a yellowish circle, almost marbled-looking. flew back into the room of deliberation as the seraphim put the finishing touches on the solar system. what's that? asked lucifer, pointing an excitable finger to the sphere that looked just similar to the one adorning his hat.
venus, sera had answered, brows pulling down in confusion. the morning star. a planet just created, where lucifer had been out of earshot and unable to see what the others had been up to. and so he was divinely created lucifer, son of the morning star. the planet was, aptly, named because of the faintest outline of it could be seen at dawn, watching over the garden of eden from a distance, from the heavens. lucifer doesn't doubt that that's what he's supposed to do. yet, he still kicks his feet as he scrunches grass in his gloves, delighted at the stain that appears on pristine fabric. green! fantastic! he giggles boyishly; as much as he's seen grass, it never really gets old. nothing in heaven is ticklish or alive and few things up there make lucifer want to laugh. ( millennia afterward, lucifer would remember it differently, memory nostalgia-tinted and choked by regret. but it wasn't heaven that lucifer hated losing, it was earth, it was the sight of the humans, so full of wonder and curiosity. it was eve. how long he waited for her to show up on his doorstep! to welcome her and to tell her he's sorry she ended up here, but hey, it's not so bad! and if we work together, we can make something beautiful here too โ ) the angel isn't sure how long he wandered the garden, imitating animals and scurrying up trees when he sensed the humans' approach, but a golden bleeding heart can't be smothered for too long. he would eventually shed his facade as an observer in favour of becoming the comforter, soothing lilith when she was โฆ sad? angry? he's not entirely sure what it was, but he knew it was painful, could feel that much radiating from her. this garden, a repose and a respite from the hardships of heaven, is supposed to be paradise. lucifer couldn't possibly sit idly by and watch humanity struggle like that. he does recall that it was difficult, at first. despite observing humanity, he couldn't quite discern what they actually wanted. power and control, he figures, and listens carefully to lilith's complaints, reassures her of her own agency, her own strong will. i wish i were half as impressive as you, he remembers saying, remembers it clearly because her expression had changed once he'd said it, softened to something genuinely fond. and his heart ached for her, a strange feeling bubbling up at the base of his stomach. he'd noticed it when he saw them before and had dismissed it as a sort of curiosity. being forced to sit back and just watch from a distance, it didn't feel good. he wanted to go up to them, to imitate them like he had the snakes and the goats and the creatures of the sea. to learn more about them, to run his hands along them and see where they liked to be touched. dogs liked to be touched behind the ears and around their necks. most felines liked just the top of their head. some animals were more finicky than others, but none of them seemed to hate having an angelic hand on them. he'd learned lilith likes his tongue more than his hands, that there are certain places on her body she prefers he touch in some situations and not others. ever curious, lucifer wondered how adam's responses would differ. would he, too, like mouth more than hands? would he want lucifer to touch him elsewhere? lucifer surveyed his form openly, and adam never hid away. didn't know to, lucifer realized belatedly. the angels told the humans never to eat from the tree of knowledge. the fruit looked delicious, and time never rotted it, never soiled its perfect image. but lucifer didn't occupy himself thinking about free will. not until he saw heavenly light, the image of a rib burned behind his lids as a beautiful woman was birthed from it. not tall like lilith and adam. small, subservient. like him.
he hid away from eve at first, not knowing what to do with her. told lilith that she'd been created as a new wife for adam. at first, the two of them spied together, observed the difference in relationship. lilith and adam argued. they couldn't agree, not because they had different ideas, but because neither of them wanted to admit they thought similarly. they dreamed for the sake of being the most original. they viewed the garden as theirs, divinely ordained and gifted to only the most deserving. eve was humble. she followed adam around like a duckling follows her mother. lucifer became enthralled by her. even when lilith's interest in the new couple waned, lucifer still observed. she at least thrown lucifer a bone in the form of appearing to adam and eve, making herself known to them, and by proxy, her relationship with lucifer. adam's grip had tightened on eve's waist. she'd looked utterly delighted. lucifer didn't know if he saw himself in her or if she was created to be bewitching. she haunted his thoughts. he watched, smitten, as she touched and admired every living thing in the garden, observed with eyes of wonderment lucifer hadn't seen on a single created being. he'd always felt ostracized for his awe. yet, here eve was, open amazement on her features, excitement bubbling in her tone as she showed off every bug, leaf, and dewdrop to her new husband. lucifer's teeth gnashed at adam's dismissive tone, his lack of understanding. but there was no opening. eve was always with him, as if she was still a part of his ribcage, just a piece of bone glued into place. lilith fisted a powerful hand into the fabric of his coat and led him away. he followed, lamb to the lion. she was right โ adam and eve didn't, shouldn't, matter to them. she had nothing but venom to spew when it came to her former husband, and lucifer was inclined to agree, images of eve's smiling face smouldering in the depths of his heart. he and lilith roamed their garden, and lucifer showed off every bug, leaf, and dewdrop to his wife. and it's all ours, lilith had hummed. how nice it is to own such a beautiful thing. lucifer perfected shape-shifting, would take the shape of an animal with a sudden poof! and lilith would laugh, pinch his beastly cheek and kiss whatever snout he'd sprouted. eden should have been paradise. he had a love that was bursting with it.
yet he'd been strolling on his own one day and heard footsteps. one pair. slithered right up into a tree like a bolt of lightning. he still isn't sure why he did it. there could be only one other person walking through the garden alone: his wife. but he was right to disguise himself, to shroud a heavenly form in leaves and branches. for it was eve walking alone, and lucifer's angelic heart did something it had never done before. it had thumped so hard that he could feel it straining against his ribs, echoing into his throat like the footfall of some fearsome predator. every unit of light in his body suddenly felt hot, almost screaming, finally! as if lucifer was meant to do something. as if he had been created for just this opportunity, a moment alone with earth's newest human. it was dawn, adam had not yet risen, and the thin outline of the morning star smiled down on the garden. with a flash of explosive light, bombastic yet quiet and reverent, lucifer shifted into a more human-like form and appeared before her. "hey there!" he'd greeted her, to which she yelped. immediately, heat rose to lucifer's cheeks, colour suddenly infecting a pure, heavenly being. "sorry! i, uh, don't usually see you alone!" lucifer invented the bow then, stooping before her as if she ranked above him, taking her hand to adorn a kiss atop perfect knuckles. he'd asked her why she was wandering the garden alone. a part of him selfishly wished that adam had driven her, too, away from him. an unknown sensation crackles in his chest, a feeling he decides may be similar to the pain he sees from lilith sometimes, a bitterness and a wrath. but eve speaks in sweet tones and explains that she's seen the sliver of light in the sky, a sight only visible when the new morning dawns with her fresh eyes and beginnings, and lucifer's smile grows adoring and soft, widening on his features. that's what i was named for, he replied, pride clear as day on his face as he tapped the venus-shaped embellishment on his hat. that, my dear, is venus. the morning star that smiles upon the garden.
( he'd never learn that humans would later refer to venus as the planet of love, of desire. would never realize that it was eve who deemed it so. )
unlike lilith and adam, eve was soft-spoken and polite. the two of them chatted through the sunrise, and lucifer marvelled with her at how the light put the garden into an entirely different perspective. felt that wrench in his heart when he saw the awed look on her features, a vice grip in his chest that would only become more and more familiar to him as time stretched on, lazy and warm like a sea lion in the sun. his heart made itself painfully known to him whenever he saw her, when her eyes would light up and she'd tell him about a new delight she had discovered. always punctuating her sentences with, do you think adam will like it? lucifer's reply was always the same: it's beautiful, and it's you showing it to him. how could he not? he couldn't live without seeing that look on her face, and so lucifer began to create. new species of flowers, animals, fish. he placed constellations in the sky for her to marvel at. his heart grew when he was around her, so large it almost felt unbearable. but it was a burden he couldn't imagine himself without. he doesn't know it. doesn't recognize the slow creep of poison infecting a heavenly form. this might have been why the other angels never touched divine garments to the dirt of the earthen floor. lucifer didn't know angels could be corrupted. didn't know there was anything in this paradise that could harm him. but bitterness, his first love, had touched his heart. self-interest seized him. it hadn't overtaken him, but it had coloured blue eyes ever-so-slightly scarlet.
he runs into eve near the end of the day, the evening star of venus visible in the sky once more. the garden is dusky, cloaked in shadow. the fading light clings to eve's form, painting her in a different light. still beautiful, though. oh, always beautiful. the sticky thing of it all is that lucifer knows now what he wants from her. he's caught himself focused on her lips, her breasts, her hips. he's learned from lilith, and lilith from him, what these lingering stares mean. the clench in his chest that he's grown so accustomed to, though โฆ oh, that tells him it's not just her body he desires. he desires her passion, her love for life, her vivacity. she is everything he loves about creation, everything he loves about humanity, in one fantastic package. and lucifer knows he shouldn't. knows he shouldn't and yet he always has. he shouldn't have ever come down to the garden, but he did. shouldn't have interacted with the humans, but he did. shouldn't have watched eve's creation, but he had. shouldn't have hid in a tree, pupils shaking with consuming jealousy, and watched eve bathe herself and adam in the lake, but he did. and he definitely shouldn't be seeking eve out, prowling around in the hopes of running into her, desperately craving another one of their inspiring conversations, another hit of that connection they share. "the garden looks so different at twilight." his voice is just as soft as that fading sunlight, briefly painting the world in gold before the warmth of the day goes to sleep, gives into the shadowy night. "the day โ wow, i mean, the day's beautiful, but the night's just โฆ " he can't find the words, doesn't think there is one to describe how full his heart feels, seeing eve bathed in the moonlight. "all those things you thought you knew, you see them with fresh new eyes." an idea strikes him then, and the smile that forms across his face betrays his careful planning. gone are excitable flights of whimsy. lucifer practically glows with want. "and! there are certain creatures you'll only see after dark. owls, foxes, aardvarks โฆ " lilith had named those, adam fast asleep as she perused and claimed them her own. "come to think of it, sweetheart โฆ have you ever seen a moonflower?" lucifer's smile only grows wider, pride blossoming in his twitching, tainted soul. "they're beautiful, sweet-smelling, and they only bloom at night. i could fly you there, if you want." six wings sprout from his back, white and blue and heavenly. and before she can protest, he adds, "maybe you could bring one back for adam." name in sing-song, tempting, lyrical. extends a hand, heart burst and gushing in his ribcage. "what do you say?"
from earthโs dust comes life, and from stolen rib comes you ; eve, labeled and named by the loving tongue that rests soundly in your husbandโs mouth. source of life is what it means, explained in bursts and explosive back patting, a glow smeared across keeper gaze when adam told you. and, at the beginning ( of this, of you ) , all your mind could think about was how smart he was, how lucky you are to be his new bride. the man-made heart inside alight with knowing this is forever -- that the first man, in his infinite wisdom, will never stray his hand away from your own. tightly bound, gold-vined fate connecting the two sides that shall breathe in tandem for a future they'll create, together. you, a second coming, manโs dutiful helper, and then him, your world inside garden walls, earthโs sole protector, a purpose. adam, adam, adam is your first formed thought, first word, first belief โฆ though gray tuft hair wasn't what round eyes first saw, instead there was a warm light, blue, and you wouldn't understand anything for a long time, except that everything around you was beautiful. the thing perched high above was testament to that : an angel, you would be told later, one who's never held flaming swords although his very being shines. and before adam pinched a waist and pulled, openly did awe flow. the two who walked this garden with you were just as lovely as everything else growing here. different, with their halo hair, their bodies, how they spoke, but it still made round cheeks go fuzzy and a bubble of noise ( laughter, you'd also learn later ) blossomed upon smiling lips. seeds planted where skin divots, nestled between crevices where plants will flourish. silver leaves shown in how you marveled the whole journey back, chirping about lucifer and lilith, and isn't it so sweet, that their names begin so similarly? tried wrapping a bumbled tongue around it, drawing out titles gifted, had asked and wondered if lucifer gave that woman her name too. no, is another thing you're told early on. another first taken by who shall have your forever servitude, your life, and anything else that can be offered. adam then said that the pair don't matter, not in the heart of paradise, where he's made a home for him and now her. and you're eve, and youโre the second woman, and he stands tall and smiles with more teeth and who would you be, if you didn't happily sigh and agree? his thoughts are yours, his wants, his dreamy future full of offspring you will provide -- how that happens, you're not entirely certain, the knowledge you hold only tells you it'll be wonderful and nothing more. can see it reflected within flowing water, more humans whisking about as that glow smeared look to adam returns, beamed towards little men and women, sometimes at you. her purpose, your's, his. won't it be perfect?
so time is spent trailed after imprints left by man, curled around him until you find space to fit. thereโs a tender parting just for that, right where one expects ; the side where you'd been removed from, slightly easier and softer than what lies against grass. he doesn't feel your weight, the tickle of mousy hair, just lays still and allows you a comfortable place to rest. life goes on. you spend entire strolls drifting off paths to burrow a face in bushes, gently poking your nose into empty tree bark so you may see what little creature has made home there. eagerly petting fluffy manes that make fingers twitch with a need to thread through dusty hair instead. eternally stuck in eye corners as things fly about, buzzing, while other animals nudge up against your legs. your hair is chewed on, tugged, and your hands constantly find a head to settle upon. names are kept inside rosy cheeks : tigers, otters, and swallows. beetles, ants, and caterpillars. stars shape your face, mouth moving like the loving touch of wind, because isn't this so pretty? how blessed they are to be here, unfurled under an endless sky as if they're ferns -- standing beside all other forms of life, free to smell and taste and see. your husband quickly tells you it's not about being blessed at all, his own mouth slanted into an odd up-and-down, chest puffed ( like a bird, you think ) when he says it's merely his. everything here was made for him, for his children, for the slow crawl forward of mankind. you don't exactly remember what else he said, although his face seemed to bloom at the end, where he then said for us. we're not gifted to be here, when this is all for us. faithfully, you nodded. gratefully accepting adamโs word as holy truths that are stored inside, shown between every lash that bats just for him. but it's in the after, dew hanging shapely leaves low, where you step forward as eve and find yourself not understanding. agreeing? it's confusing, because he's the word of angels, your guide, yet features twist and wilt ; this isn't yours, the land here only owned by you as much as the beasts who dwell here can claim it. maybe it's adamโs. maybe itโs lilithโs. but you know this garden isn't really yours. and that's wonderful! โฆ being allowed to roam and laugh, giggling against wet dirt or a voice carrying in a splash of water, breathing air shared by flaring nostrils, body gaining marks from feasts and a life lived. this beautiful place is better off without you labeling it : mine. you're made for adam, and this place was made for him, and that's all.
still, this tiny thought, so personal and unsaid, sprouts newness across shoulder blades, a difference taken down to wiggling toes. you begin to wonder when adam is lulled by slumber for longer than your own body allows, company unneeded since heโll rise soon, and you'll be back before then. will bow at your knees, cradle his face between hands and let him awake with a hairy cheek squished into your lap. but for now, you follow the tail of light stroked through dark skies ; ground almost uneven from how balance wavers, swayed too far one side, a mark twitching like wet noses, right where you shelter your other halfโs rib. would fall into his shoulder if he walked with you. but there's no adam, no smile, so all you're able to do is right yourself and keep going. dutifully close behind colors that warm skin from the inside out, colors that are so, so heavenly. brightness glows and everything glows with it, changing into something softer, lighter shades of what were previously carried. it was then, in a burst, you see that blue again and make sense of something before it's explained to you. lucifer is as your mind remembers : kind ( he bends his back like he's trying to touch soil, takes your fingers and easily parts them, like he wants to hold each one individually ; lips brushing there, on top, which causes you to laugh and laugh because it's nice, sweet, a word that used to just be for berries now fitted for this, ) and full of this โฆ wonder. he asks after you, when have you ever been asked anything before? words babble out in bursts of conversation, answering immediately despite hiding behind streaks of auburn hair all the while. his attention doesn't waver like you're expecting, a breath caught tight in what little chest you have, and heโll smile so differently than you're used to. looks softer, long like adamโs but less -- is there a word for it? less shallow. less brief. gaze watches wings unfold, much more angelic beneath morning light, and maybe that's on purpose, maybe what lucifer was made for, because he shares knowledge of a world you'll never touch. that's what i was named for, he said with a tap to his head, that, my dear, is venus. there, seated upon his oddly shaped skull, is a form, one that moves fingers up for the sake of touching. wanting. how would it feel? except arms fall back down, in love with natural gravity, before there's any brushing contact. instead you stare. bat your starry eyes. finally laying a statement at his feet as though an offering ( โ like you! โ directs energy towards curved lips, smiling on the garden. just like venus! his name, his role among them, ) and somehow it feels better than the questions, than showing off whatever bugs you might find. that smile shines like his skin and the skies above them and eve, you, find yourself tangled within it. ensnared, tied willingly against the tree your warm back leans into. time stretches forward endlessly between this and later, a later you'll share only with adam, a later that always feels shorter than it should ; whereas here there's forever meadows, an above that soaks fur lighter, makes luciferโs hair look like a rabbitโs coat. i like mornings, youโll decide as eve and only her, one look not so secretly spared at the angel lounging beside you, with you, him, with all this. ungraceful. imperfect. unlike the garden, except exactly like it too.
( eve, silly woman, heartful girl : every word said out loud & these sentiments may never make the bible, but they'll make it into the chest that lay beside her back then. because the serpent hears it all, and it curses him enough for a damnation she'll receive tenfold. seducing, they'll call it, temptation. but he's only given the first woman what was shared with him first. an eye for an eye, a kiss for a kiss, & a confession for another )
adam doesn't come calling, although he never shall need to, when human ears could hear his heartโs steady song acres away. so you must leave, because heโll wake soon and when he does, heโll need you beside him. to keep the sun out his eyes, to groom his hair and skin, to tend his hallowed side so heโll never be left walking alone ever again. the same old story : eve goes to her husband. but there's tucked away chapters, new tales, verses that say : youโll always come back to venus too.
and so you do, in little ways that adam won't notice. paths crossed accidently but you reap what's sowed, more than content with happenstance. in hearing flapping wings overhead, a chin tipped to catch before heโll land into your upturned palms willingly. gracing the land beside as feet part the grass beneath him, equally alone, with no wife of eden to be seen. occasionally, new eyes wish to catch the first woman more. gaze upon features and be able to trace exactly where they differ, understand what makes lilith perfect for lucifer and what about eve was built to create you as adamโs perfect bride. it couldn't just be a rib up against dirt. couldn't be so easy, could it? glimpses of sharp curves that look like stone and skin that fits around bone tightly, her more kept hair, her night eyes. adam enjoys daylight and water -- melts best when your hands are wet, sun looking down at them without a smile, but still bathing earth's first man exactly as he likes it. pulls of hair becoming softer in drowsy light. maybe lucifer isn't entirely his name, maybe he likes the opposite of mornings and sunshine more. and this is where lilith fits to him as you fit to your own husband ; two opposites, different mounds of flesh and different colored eyes. here, out under the twilight, you feel like you could almost be her, with lavender skin and awashed in pinks instead of reds. quietly do you watch an ever faded sun while lucifer chitters like any other woodland creature ; perfectly capturing those hisses, a tongue that slips between his maw of teeth. talks about the garden, the night, their neighbors with such love in his heart, and throughout your head tips and your narrow shoulders shake from joy. listens, loyal, delicately sat up on the ground they tread and your fingers close around blades of grass all the while. petting like you would a deerโs snout. or adamโs back. or luciferโs wings โฆ that wonderful tenderness reflected in your eyes as plush lips move around excitable words, โ oh, that sounds amazing! i wish i could see, โ a whine, tempered and yielding, โ but adam needs his rest, so i never get to be out late. can you imagine? eden in darkness? โ blurts out thoughts half created, senseless but felt in every cooling limb. yearns to see these nightly beasts and aardvarks, whatever those are. tries not to squirm where your body lofts, excited -- endlessly enamored, taken, by eden in all its blessed sights. by lucifer, who seems to glow brighter under the slow seep of moonlight ; skin pristine and holy, you think, but still welcoming. it's then he talks about a moonflower ( and no, you haven't seen one before! but how you want to! see, smell, taste? can you eat flowers? well, you can feel -- you'd like that too! ) and you're already stumbling to your feet, eager like a little one, except you start wilting into yourself last second. but adam, your heart catches, rightfully swayed back to where it belongs. where eve should be. but you, your head aches, rooted and sprouting right here, on wavering feet and eyes struck on six ( six! ) wings that gracefully extend from a perfect back. the angelic blue already looks darker against blackening skies, but it's still everything to you. and before you can make your own decision he offers his hand and another out, curated just for this and you and you don't even know that yet, but you arch forward to accept. earnestly, โ do you think adam will like it? โ
adam, adam, adam, just like always, your constant, though your hand fits around someone else's and you fall into them happily. pressing forward until a tangled bush of fingers is trapped between two bodies, your face so close you can see โฆ well, everything. it feels good, also, being this meshed together. a comfortable new warmth that slithers up your legs to curl around knees and lay there in wait. hair falls over your shoulder when you tilt to look curiously at your neighbor, your friend, your higher power. โ do i stand here like this? or do i -- โ belatedly, forever frazzled, do you remember that you haven't said yes just yet. mouth runs to trip over some choice words to amend that, โ yes! i mean, um, yes! i would -- i like it. i would like to go. with you! โฆ to see moonflowers. moonflower? uhm, please! โ mess of sentences that are hardly that at all are punctuated with giggles, girlish and alive, ones adam doesn't work out of you like your friend does. cheeks heat and you almost wish to hide them, though you stand before an angel spread and open. always open too, for him. for the this that's grown between you two.
mitch has lived through the beginning of the end of the fucking world. watched the dead rise up and start walking again, some kind of virus that exists in all people suddenly activating and tearing down systems and institutions as if they were made of paper. he's seen friends and classmates become a shell of who they once were and raised a child through it all, even if the shift in thinking was never truly put into words by the other ericson kids. and despite all of that, mitch still thinks the worst night of his life is this one. not the day where he, as a scared nine-year-old, hid under his bed with a frightened willy, childish hand clamped over the little boy's mouth, lips pressed into his hair as he frantically whispered, shh, shh-shh-shh. free hand armed with a kitchen knife he'd grabbed, held out in case one of those things tried to attack. ( when it'd turned its back, he told willy to stay silent and absolutely still, don't move a muscle, don't even breathe, as he crept up on the thing and stabbed it right in its bony back, kept stabbing everywhere he could until he lodged the knife in its eye and it fell still. his first kill, all for his boy. ) even that night's not as bad as this one.
he doesn't know why exhausted feet carry him to clementine's door, except that he does. if there's anyone who would get how it feels to have a gaping hole by his side, it would be her. he feels like she'd understand everything about him, a crazy thought, but it's one he keeps coming back to, a tug in his heart and an ache in his chest insisting that he needs to see her. at least it wasn't aj, he keeps thinking, heart skipping beats to the point he feels he'll black out from a lack of oxygen. at least she only has to imagine how this feels. he doesn't know that she already knows what it's like to have your boy ripped from your arms, to have to fight tooth and nail to get him back. mitch has already killed two of their ranks, their bodies, still human, littering the courtyard. if he hadn't gotten separated from willy, he'd have killed every last one of them before he let them take his boy, or he'd die trying.
small fucking blessing, he tells himself, because he's of more use alive than dead right now. one of the few fighters left in the group. staging a rescue mission is a no-brainer at this point. he'd rather die than let willy stay there, alone and scared, longer than he has to. wonders with a stab to his chest, a sudden sharp pain in his neck, if willy remembers what mitch taught him or if he's ... resorting to old behaviour. mitch grimaces. they wouldn't want his boy as a soldier ( even the ericson kids didn't ), which means they're running on borrowed time. that thought, visceral and petrifying, leads him to burst into clem's room without even knocking. only realizing his mistake when he sees both of them jump with surprise. "sorry," mitch starts. "fuck โ " and with a quick, guilty glance to aj, he corrects, "shi โ darn. uh, sorry. again."
he feels profoundly stupid, the daring draining out of him in an instant, and a face flashes into his mind. louis. he takes turns grieving, different faces coming to mind and making him feel sick. louis is one of the older ones, but he's always been lackadaisical in nature. he and minerva made a good pair, that way, always the life of the party and the eternal goofballs. he wonders if louis has seen her and sophie at the compound. he almost curses under his breath again, but after a glance at aj with his serious, assessing expression, he simply heaves a sigh, so deep it makes his shoulders sag visibly.
there's an unspoken question in the air, a what do you want? or even a, did something happen? that forces mitch to try and get his shit together. doesn't want to alarm the two of them more than he already has, nor is he keen on making a horrible impression on them. the last thing he wants is to be seen as a liability. not when he needs to get on that boat, scoop willy up in his arms and press his face into the kid's hair himself, no matter how embarrassing he might find being smothered in front of his friends. "i needed to see you," he bursts out, staring directly at clementine before his cheeks heat and he steals a look at aj. "both of you." it's a quick correction, but it's technically true. mitch didn't realize how badly he needed to see that the little spitfire was safe in bed, that at least two of the three little ones were still safe. makes a mental note to pop in on tenn and see how he's doing. ruby, he thinks with a tug to his heart, and only presses his lips together in silent respect. she did the right thing, something mitch would have done in a heartbeat had he only been closer to the kid. tries for levity and rolls his shoulders. "we need you two. it would've ... i mean ... " catches himself gravitating towards clementine, wanting to grab her arm, and keeps himself in check, staring at the floor.
at the end of things, he was terrified. terrified that they'd lose clem, too, their unofficial leader and their hope and the person mitch kept scanning for in the crowd. he loves everyone at this school, obviously, but green eyes kept searching for her. even crushed her into a hug as soon as the danger was over, yanking away quick and with a cleared throat when he realized. it's remembering that that makes it crystal clear to him he needs to speak to clem alone, doesn't want to freak aj out or give him anything to worry about. glances at aj, wanting him to know over all else there's no bad blood between 'em, not now, not when the stakes are so high. "is it okay if i borrow your mom a sec?" glances awkwardly at clem before adding, "or should i ... come back another time? once he's settled?" remembers how clingy willy would get when he was that age, not wanting to disrupt the bedtime routine under any circumstances. he had to be able to see mitch before he dropped off. maybe aj's the same way. he's a warrior, but he's still a fucking kid.
nightโs dragging towards sunrise like a corpse, on its last legs and refusing to give up, would sludge through bloodied muck even if someone kicked it down. stretches on like a wound, a scar, like another body she's making others add to their graveyard. enclosed in useless school walls doesn't blind exhausted eyes to whatโs laid outside, charred remains and wreck and a stench of innocent blood spilled -- sees red so vividly, every blink branding it against her, that clementine wonders if black boots stepped in a puddle on the way in. of โฆ ruby. knees hike up closer, huddled tight until her chin tucks around skinned jeans, arms roped around as she looks into nothingness ; decorated bedroom ( that's ajโs, that's theirs ) muted because all she sees is frazzled hair, cages, and her little goofball on the other side. still tracks him, every movement and precious breath, despite not really seeing him there. an instinctual urge she could've been born with, or maybe one she felt take root in her when a bundle of joy was gently pushed into small arms. years of hardship never fully able to damage that memory of pure love, of warmth, cradling little alvin junior close and smiling, as if some part of her knew this would be her world. like she'd never feel this way again, so she better not let go -- but she had, too many times. gave him away and surrendered, head bowed too mercifully when nails should've clawed eyes out, should've cleaved past flesh and bone just for him. never sated or cleaned of anything until his crying was heard, until clem could hold him again. has learned the hard way, hears soft words say she's atoned it, but itโs a failure that clings. a trauma that stays. and it slices down bony, caved in sides because thinking about it now is stupid. it doesn't make sense, not even to her, except this loss, these losses, feel like that moment. tenderly thirteen and grown, shoulders hunched in defeat while her feet pulled her away -- letting this happen, never doing enough. littered bruises battered across caramel skin throb in a piercing cry of protest, testing the weights of her guilt, and it's enough of a wake-up call for clem to lay it to rest. placed elsewhere ; where name-tagged bodies have mounted, ruby somehow still stark red against guts and gore, knowing in her bones sheโs had enough of that nothingness for today.
can see abel, as perfect as ruby but blurred by motion, alive, because that's how she left him. bound with rope, broken with rot. noticed the strained silence in aj afterwards, compassion curved into a frowning mouth, watered across his living eyes. didn't dare touch it then, because what the fuck was she supposed to say? she's sorry? she feels bad? itโd be a lie, so the girl just wiggles further into unsteady quiet, softly rolling the ball in his court instead. for him to think about how he feels without an opinion squeezing hotly around his wrist. maybe she could explain herself, if gold eyes saw an opening, about doing what must be done. a lesson in proving strength, since that's the only thing these raiders will listen to. about how marlon wasn't a monster, but these people are, and they'll only take and take until no mercy is shown.
( it's what people like kenny knew, something he could see from the very start. carver was worse than walkers or those first world raiders, desperate enough to hold on and someone who had the power to chase you. perched too high on pedestals, secured by too much support, which has bullets and punches barely making a difference. learned quickly from standing there, watching metal cave in skin and bone, that this is how these things must end. you can't just kill the body, you have to ruin everything they've built too. strangle it into something meaningless. turn it into taunts. whatever means used must have the effect of seeing their big talk crumble in on itself, shriveled and succumbing to pain. like they were nothing but another stain soaked into solid ground, forgotten as easily too. carver needed that ending, so did abel, and so does lilly. sheโll never feel remorse for giving people who kill and kidnap what they deserve โฆ though something in her, in the face of conflicted big eyes, almost wishes she did. would make things easier if she could )
a creaky floorboard squeals somewhere past their room, head briefly tilting towards sound before waiting. shoulders shift into herself, tensing. vi stood her ground earlier today ( โ we need rest. real rest, before we go charging into fucking gunfire, โ ) though that didn't mean she was expecting an undisturbed night. those raiders could be back any second, or the undead, or worse, more strangers could appear and itโll be another problem to bury their filthy hands into. anything can happen. and she kinda wants it to, an itch scrawling up a chilled spine, this worried rush that can't be shaked. too ready for something she's now waiting for โฆ sat and poised like a hunter ready, one leg slumping towards even ground without a noise made ; finding leverage to already haul herself on to steady feet. ears delicately pushing past the busy noise of ajโs breathing, his body weight heaved against his ratty mattress, and instead sharpens towards behind the door. expects thin blonde hair and sulky posture, soft vibrations of a low voice that belongs to their leader, her best friend. sounds vague in her mind, having someone she can call that, as if this is first grade and she's little all over again. bright, bushy tailed, happy to squeeze in between the other girls so they can call boys gross and declare who's closer with who. canโt remember who was hers back before everything went to hell. bethony? samatha? someone fierce and fast probably. might've liked those qualities, as adventurous as she used to be. before adventuring turned into a chore, a word lost forever when travel was expected -- always keep moving. still, clem can gingerly admit it's been nice. friends. crushes, she thinks with a lingering grimace. things which made every hard fought battle worth it, despite knowing there's preventable losses rested squarely against a purpling sternum. uncomfortably knotting there like welts, darkened and swollen.
mind eases away from musical teasing aimed at aasim ( away from patented thanks, smart green eyes ) for settlement anywhere else yet again. sometimes it feels as though parts of her will never stop running. no more finicky floorboards groan, and a breath she'd held safely inside breezes out in wisps of hot air that colors her waning mood. broken walls shrink further in, boxing frayed worries inside a box she can't escape from. if vi didn't need her, wouldn't allow her out, then โฆ in dying embers of final thought, wood meets damaged walls with an awful crashing sound that rings between two ears like a dinner bell. leaps to readied feet instantly, the scarred tissue making up her left hand swinging back, back towards a makeshift sheath dug into tight pants. already fisting the bladeโs handle between vice-tight fingers and drawing it, crimson stained steel gleaming under what little moonlight peeks in. when instinct finally bleeds out of her, all she's left with is someone blocking their only exit and entry. tall, filled out by muscle, and body reared back just like her own. mitch. not exactly someone easy to miss. clem glances down, heart shooting to rest oddly near parched vocal cords, embarrassed, all while attempting for a smooth motion ; putting her knife back where it belongs. cautiously hoping he didn't see it, aware of how that could look. they're good now, have been better than ever actually, still generously given smiles in ample amounts, winning a few kind words with an ease sheโs been quietly practicing โฆ two arms wrapped tightly around her tired frame, crushed into smokey clothes and expansive areas of skin, held close enough for something to break inside. a more comforting heat than flames, but still gone too soon. clem has been very careful to not prod the memory since.
lips perk at his slew of apologies, allowing herself more ease ; shaking away bent knees and hitched shoulders for casually crossed arms, a straightened back. looks to aj after mitch does and already catches him staring back at her, clearly seeking some light guiding. naturally offers it up, โ itโs fine. right, aj? โ before letting goofball have the floor. pride crashing through yellow hues like waves when he nods in agreement, at how his quietened tone smooths over any remaining stress by simply saying : yeah, it's okay. you've sweared before. feels her cheeks strain from a smile widening at his error, sweared, and coaxes out a correction. โ swore, โ head shaking softly with bubbled laughter, โ he swore before. not sweared. โ
โ swore. โ ajโs face crumples in thought, sounds the new word out so heโll understand it better. every syllable, every mash of letters. he looks at mitch again, โ youโve swore before. it's okay. โ clem knows she'll get an earful later about how come it's fine for other kids to swear when he can't, but sheโll deal with that later, when it actually arrives.
for a precious few moments, this is all there is. her home, rooted in teeth like a cavity, bruised along a cheekbone. somewhere safe. someplace where little girls can stand tall and smile freely, let happiness make permanent residence inside her heart without needing to stomp a leathered foot over it ; snubbed out for safety, same way she remembers someone freckled and accented doing it, way before, with something tiny. feels flames grow into kindling whispers at personalized walls and mitchโs cute fumbling and aj utilizing what he's learned. finds that inner warmth elsewhere too, because even if it's strongest here, how could she forget the other places where it's gently raged? felt it behind violetโs swinging meat cleaver and unwavering trust, in louis's lilting voice and gift of a bow that held the world for him, in omarโs cooked to perfection meals, in aasimโs obvious respect, and in willy's crooked and toothless ear-to-ear smile. kindly wrapped items that come with sharp stings, damaged arrows which hit every bullseye and land ; propelling an injured body back to the reality around them, of dangers lurking in each corner, gaping mouths and soulless-eyes. just waiting for more kids to take, another person to silently sink a knife into until all that's left is the sliver of hilt. those firestarter names dwindled into fresh ash that bleeds soot in its final resting place, staining any kind of surface with soft but heavy grays. insides probably looking a lot like their courtyard pathways do. pressure builds again right between two shoulder blades, right when fresh wounds go rotten near her ribs, and clem presses her mouth together and bears it. places peaceful afters where they gotta go, images of what this could be, could feel like, put on high shelves she can't reach by herself ( which -- yeah, admittedly, is kind of embarrassing โฆ ) because sentiment being hidden away helps.
finds fluttery moth wings stilling when she finally turns back to where mitch camps by their doorway, fretting returning full force as questions form across slanting features : did something happen? am i needed back out there? like a soldier in war, though she'd gladly be one if it was for this schoolโs odd collection of troubled youth. line drawn between a choice of her choosing versus getting dragged into someone else's right direction, kicking back as teeth bared the whole way there. but then his answer comes, shot out bullet-quick, and it's nothing expected. just that word again, need, needed, all while he stares at her, puncturing the end with you. lashes become flurried clumps of black as she blinks, harsh hands falling from cover to limply hang in candlelight air. even one foot shifts sideways, balance swayed, delicately stricken. finds herself staring wide-eyed and open when mitch shifts closer, stuck in her way despite his chin tucked downward โฆ can hear his muffled laughter from before, although a pink mouth remains closed. past repeats when clem fumbles, just as awkward as before in the face of the boyโs growing sincerity, splaying dirty cheeks crimson in the wake of muffled words. both corners twitch, trying to build one last smile, though flesh twists and curves like a stitched wound ; amateur at every edge, too shy and new. a crush, she thinks again, her battered heart squeezing around the term -- sounds so small when compared to someone so big. then again, so does love, and child, and lee.
โ you really don't have to thank us, โ clementine murmurs, compassion rubbing through to reveal etched designs, โ everyone else helped too. we couldn't have done it without them, or you. โ after all, the boyโs bomb plan had been the heart of their whole defensive strategy. his earnest promises of it working, his fucked up hands cramped and curled from a labor every kid knows too well these days. must've slaved away at that project for hours, a visual that leaves nine fingers aching in sympathy. if things were less awkward ( mm, tense? oof, ) she could see herself asking if he was doing better. if built in tension spilt out immediately when his masterpiece was completed and time had finally run out โฆ or does it linger in his muscles the same way it clamps deep into hers? unshakable, one more thing for the body to be crushed under. it's then sore ears hear him call her ajโs mom, like it's such a fact, like mom and her name can go together, which quiets further questions or selfish wants. swiftly crushed, stabbed, and shot before left decaying on pebbled pathways. moth wings return but there's an added squirming too, something crawling around inside that feels too hot to be safe ; makes a girl shift against tightening insides, ones which freeze in big knots as goofball turns to her again. always listening and seeking. two pairs of eyes, twice the weight, yet she suddenly falters under just one. don't let fear take over, one of her many hurried lessons, so like a survivor she meets it head on.
nods once while lips move, โ we can talk, โ could've said : sure, you can โฆ โborrowโ me, except she chooses not to, โ weโll just be right outside. โ said entirely for ajโs sake, practically thrown at his feet with how trusting gaze falls to him, little but still the toughest boy she knows. the kindest too, even if he can't see that yet. like a good boy he agrees without any complaints -- only happy to let her go because she's agreed, every bone in a small body shaped and sharpened into tools of protection, his keen senses this blanket of security she'll drag with her out past pipe-lined walls. carried loyally alongside the cap she plucks off their nightstand, pure second nature when hole-y material finds its own home on top of her head. stained white providing cover for messy, stringy curls that look more like dust than the mousy brown the sun has bleached it into. unlike most, clem doesn't linger after that. marches forward and saddles mitch with a quick, assessing look ( did the same back in viโs office, how far they've come since then ) until her shoulder narrowly avoids his to get to the only exit. twisting the handle with an ease she's learned from twisting plenty of sharp-edged weapons over too many years, not waiting long when he shuffles out himself, only sparing a second, one little heartbeat, to give aj a softened smile. mushy and leaking sunlight, an orange gone bad but still ripe. fuzzy hair and that normal, serious face on chubby cheeks disappear into nothingness when she then closes the door. has to remind herself it's okay that way, better for him to be lost behind their bedroom door than where she can't find him easily. better than carts or prisons. than lockers. throat constricts, dry as sandpaper when she swallows around soured spit, steadying herself before turning an all too tall boyโs way.
hands place themselves on her hips again, leaning back for full perspective. wanting to be able to see every inch of their surroundings even if they haven't changed. โ so, what's up? โ worry bites into the words, pierces itself against furrowing brows too, like she wasn't obvious enough already. you should be asleep, brushes along sensitive teeth when taking in mitchโs ragged state. but then again, she should be right there with him ; eyes screwed closed and choked by nightmares. sometimes it's better to pick your battles, knowing she'd rather be dead on her feet than defenseless in whimsy subconscious. so clem doesn't ask, just like before. only looks and distantly wonders if it shows in round eyes, in her steadily frowning mouth.
prancing fingers twirl a metallic staff like a body, poised and within hairs of delicacy ; idle movement funneled forward for his main course. โ well, one's expected to have already sold their soul to the devil, aren't they? โ ( STATIC CHOKED GIGGLES ECHO SOMEWHERE, an eternal audience with front row seats to the best jokes media can't buy! ) alastor's grin becoming ever smaller, quainter in nature, yet still unnerving in its own right. practiced performance : cue another showy spin of an irreplaceable item, โ though i'll confess, i've taken that quite literally! ha-ha! โ halfways & shortcuts are a bore, if every sinner's being honest. and for all his soul's meager squirming between fallen claws, he appears rather content about this whole deal thing. who else could ever claim they've owned, felt, hell's very essence in their own once-mortal body? contracts are a two-way street, after all. // he did the soul deal with lucifer and he cracking jokes this annoying ass mf <3
this roadโs been a long one, though long isnโt really in luciferโs vocabulary like it is for the other sinners. itโs the canโt-be-killed of it all, the dreary droning on and on like radio static, though even that grating sound brings affection to the bottom lids of weary depression-dark eyes. almost feels like it did in the early days, idyllic and beautiful, when he was still a dreamer and thought he could change things. ( ah. huh. technically heโs dreaming again, on second thoughts, considering heโs helping out with charlieโs fantasy-gone-game-plan, but it doesnโt feel the same โ guess your hands and heart never work the same once theyโve been burned the first time. ) depression is a word luciferโs picked up from sinners. a word coined at some point since his fall, which, technically, are all the words. but besides the technicalities and all the fluff, the point is lucifer doesnโt know depression on earth or much of anything about earth. but he hoped, stupidly, that maybe one day heโd sprout his wings and fly past the reaches of those grotesque shadowy hands of depression. feel heavenly light back on his face and see beauty in everything, leaving behind all this exhaustion and horror and grief.
not so! alastor would say with his perpetually-grinning face. a mental image that leaves the king of hell with butterflies in his stomach. the thing about the morningstars is that they find the beauty in everything โ they never stop doing it! the apple really didnโt fall far there, marvels lucifer briefly. a face once ugly to the fallen seraphim becoming a doorway to finding the beauty in all manner of grotesque things. thinks about how heโd let alastor tear a chunk off his bottom lip and chew on it like he was sampling meat at the deli and grimaces. yup, even the weird shit and heโs only mildly annoyed about it. could barely muster up the energy to care beyond a dismissive, eh, itโll grow back. heโs largely gotten over the mortification of wanting to fuck a sinner ( that smells like rotting deer meat, no less ) by this point. which makes sense, considering the radio demon now owns his soul. marriage and all, lilith never had that. a thought that leaves lucifer thinking as he fiddles with rubber and squeaking air. wonders if this relationship he adores more than anything is a better one than he had before. well, lilith never chomped off my fucking lip like a sociopath, grumbles lucifer, and maybe heโs a little more than miffed about that when he removes it from what happened afterwards, a pointed compliment, an, mmm! delicious! in a dated affect, scarlet eyes twitching ravenous in a way lucifer can only interpret as desire. leaving him to lament just how fucked up heโs really become.
really โ selling his soul to a sinner. it doesnโt get worse than that. alastor said it best: sinners expect to have their souls sold. the head honcho, though? head honcho usually keeps his. hence why alastorโs so pleased about being owned, considering he got the better end of this whole deal. not that lucifer can complain, being the one that brought it up and all. thought ( still thinks ) of it as sickeningly romantic, a trust he doesnโt think he has for anyone but alastor. a trust he thought he had for lilith, before everything went sideways. but this thing he has with alastor โฆ marriage, he figures, though the thought of it makes him want to kick his feet embarrassingly in delight โ this thing they have is good. charlie likes it and thinks itโs sweet, vaggie is โฆ less enthused, but hasnโt said anything ( and canโt, he thinks vindictively, a hellfire stoked in him at the mere thought that someone might dare to come between him and his queen ). itโs been a long, weird road, but itโs forged from mistakes made over and over, not just the one, not just the fall of humanity and the creation of hell, but small cataclysms carving their path into the natural one forward. a gravitational pull that tethers humans to earth and lucifer to alastor. so yeah, he brought up a deal that benefits him way less than alastor, all so he could be the one to hold a blood-soaked soul and call it his own. something that belongs to lucifer alone, that canโt be shared. you canโt trade your soul to more than one person at a time, and maybe it was eveโs before, but she didnโt do anything great with it, so luciferโs gonna do better. gonna make him feel like thereโs a slice of heaven reserved just for him, even in a place as horrid as this one. rests his head on a puffed-out chest every night and feels a tentative weight, almost a claw of a hand, on his back. love, in its purest form. going against all the rules of how things are supposed to be. letting go of pride and falling into compromise. and who wouldnโt sell their soul for that?
lucifer cocks a brow at alastorโs theatrics, a showman through and through. tries not to smile, tries to look annoyed, but he isnโt and hasnโt been for a while. watches idly as ala-stork twists his little duck head and barks out a laugh. still not perfect. โwhat they donโt expect is for the devil to sell his soul back.โ purposefully stroking alastorโs ego, since heโs used to โ what was that word that spidery pink guy used? simping? well, heโs used to that. always taking the chance to boost his partner up, remind them that they do have a good thing, so they donโt have to pick up their daughter and leave. normal husband things. โyou really lucked out with that one.โ picks up ala-stork and inspects him with pursed lips. โdidnโt even have to lift a finger,โ he muses, enunciating each word.
โ actually, i lifted a few, โ free hand raises, fingers clawed in gesture, a mockery of past events. โ canโt make deals without some touching between friends! โ airy laughter echoes forward in bursts of static, more punctuated words than authentic sound, never entirely his own -- but still of his own doing. an importance so slight it might not bat anyoneโs red-stained eyes and yet the difference weighs more than souls to him. getting snagged on finer details might do that to you, alastor muses, wide crooked road paving out before him chock-full of antiques, objects marked by convoluted designs. order of his making found within calamity. like this here room! an area picked clean over time, decorated and furnished to preference, though hints of chaos remain ; random collectables strewn about, tacky circus memorabilia, fancy high-end delights, and oh-ho, who could forget those ridiculous child toys held so dearly? antlered head twists to the side, long stretch of what constrains typical anatomy, so ticking eyes may feast upon what's being tinkered with. toothpick horns, monocle, bloody hair? my, my, what an uncanny resemblance. stained teeth hide away behind an ever twisting mouth, always animated, never faltering ( what's a radio without the voice? smiling words with no direction? ) , showing all lip for now. tightly shut, despite what noise transmits past such poorly made gates. static, neverending, eternal. timely tunes of eras long gone playing somewhere hidden, untraceable, a frequency that'll be matched forevermore. now featuring! : tinges of melody, strokes of used keys โฆ opening cords of a love song. who knows the name? little matters beside ancient popularity, or how notes rise an octave more when shadows suffocate space of pure light. leaning in, spine twisted into bizarre designs for the sake of brushing nearer. knife-sharp chin a hairโs breadth above padded shoulder. favored, this angle, this tucked side. left is where a maw can imprint details of its own, surface of skin grown accustomed to gold washes of color, blood. would tease if he could sink low enough for such amateur behavior. run nose tip up and down, lodge it right under a jawline thatโs cut too short. knows he'd squirm, snicker, however the demon must say this suits him just fine. a ghost of touch and laying down a very obnoxiously clear barrier. food that'll sate an appetite but nothing more. gluttony was never his sin of choice, not now, not then. well, ( bottomless cups, beloved flesh torn and swallowed, bit off more than one can chew, as the papers once said ) , he can admit it's grown on him.
all roads, chained & boundless, have never steered him elsewhere, never misled hooved feet down a path that wasn't swollen by pride. alastor preens! his head never bows! has spit blood upon earth and refused anything less than what he deserves! has beat every obstacle that dared to stand in his ruthless way, brought ruin wherever a decayed heart desired โฆ his morality the pinnacle, nothing less nor anything more. aging, rotting, this body couldn't escape a sin curated for itself. list of feats trailed after tattered tailcoats like overlords and their unimpressive remains, long line of accomplishments to adorn battered clothing in splatters ; crimson upon stain, an added branch of antler. although more recent pursuits have led him here, standing tall ( ah-hah! ) beside the very foundation of the sin, shacked one more time to powers not entirely his own. soul given away, in a shriek of finality, because luciferโs apple-tart core was too good to simply dismiss. lessons stretched high above pasts never sticking like the victories do, so unlike tremors in hands and sweeping pupils and teething ambition. physical ailments. and why yes, such a description is as abhorrent as it sounds, it's nothing he can't handle! the radio demon merely buried under newfound infamy, one fearsome title swapped for another. really, what is pride to someone with hell threaded between tipped fingers? where do mistakes matter when reputation demolishes every structure because it's able? how laughable, how insignificant, to a sinner with the hellish world as his oyster! alastorโs mouth splits and oozes white noise from thrilling reminders, ruffled royal decrees stitching along flesh : choices guided long limbs here, crowned, eternally throned the winner. well dressed chest spindles forward as stale air relaxes against what little skin dare show, unashamed in proudness, broadcasting the topic on a pin drop. frequencies full of talks that embrace his morphing mantle, title a million names to suit whoever's fancy -- definition the one unmovable thing in this tar-black cesspool, a demon in power. a sinner who's danced their way into morningstar royalty. sounds easy put like that ( didn't even have to lift a finger! is the encore that drifts back ) and his stomach coils around rumors of howโs and whyโs. they purport him a temptress, a puppeteer! twine at his fingertips rather than a golden band or soul, oh, what an image he must make now. reminiscing while bloody gaze tracks his doubleโs swirling head in-between gentle hands of creation, crudely imitated laughter snapping out in a piercing bark of ear-splitting noise. all while immortal blood thrums and reeks half-a-step near, homely, and as pestering as who it belongs to.
( who houses it, since belonging is too debatable โฆ lucifer, six winged & red cheeked, in all that he was and will be and is, rests under sure weight. could soundly cage a king, tug what strings of power make him out like entrails, denounce and feast for eternity if he'd like. if he only desired to. everything mercifully kneeled before his whims by handshaken commands. doesn't care about trust, not when it's fostered from fools, though unwavering freedom quietly soothes twitching flesh. unclipped, unchained, unholy : alastorโs soul may still be bound but he's more free than he's ever been in spite. who in their right mind would dare cross him now? who would ever own him again, when ruined grace itself would fell armies over the right to? a bite of sound that's his but isn't whistles past clenched bone, kept but released, shared but his. the demon who once lurked within bronze walls of radio exists entirely outside of barriers, vengeful as a head tilts proudly upward, pride, pride, & pride. nothing fits quite as well, the dead voices say )
drawled humming shocks negative space, zaps wood and skin alike. familiar cracking sound as bones canteen sideways, ears brushing against who's dutifully sat. attention spread thinly from the head honcho and what poor rubber mirror is held up before maroon rimmed features. โ for someone with front row seats, you'd think this would be easier for you. โ visceral delight glows in lidden gaze and drawing brows, flashes of red that almost haze across a nose bridge. lapsing into muffled atmosphere until he breaks it himself with his rolling wrist, staff lifting only to slam back down to garner focus. listen : recorded laughs of his on air roll back, pitched high, rumbled low through the chest, and goodnsess, what a trip down memory lane! programs held dear finished off decades ago but sounding as if they were broadcasted just yesterday. he dusts off nostalgic tendrils before they sink below classy attire to seep and mingle with rotten rind. an eye belatedly opening on his microphone, twice red, seamless as it takes after who wields it, blinking when alastor does and strained open to fill crevices. maddening laughter reeling to a close when foggy light dwindles away, sucking red wisps from tidy room corners so original colors can shine again. the array of white, boring red, and gold. third sight seals shut along with this program, a blissful temporary death, which leaves two souls alone in pierced quiet. such affairs don't grate like they used to, seeing as they aren't choked by an appetizing animosity. flight of burning fancy that would frazzle hairs and tear at clothes โฆ no, no! those times are behind him, lamely rested in what cities of the dead house too-small reputations. betrayals. all there is is whatever afterlife this has become, cocooned in private quarters while shadowed claws parse through districts and the art of deal-making ; seeing deadly teeth reflecting off his own in smiles that grow more present by the day, an eternal buffet of compliments that are mouthed here, or elsewhere, the sorts which mark along putrid skin. it's an acquired taste he might've lacked before, although what is lucifer if not the first temptation? the one who leads flocks away from stubborn paths and into the heart of all evil, all good? twisting body curls closer, fake innocence wilting between a carved cheek bumping into another, one that cushions, catches any falls. understands lucifer will intimately feel the squirming wound beneath his protruding cheek ( life lived and tossed in depravity! one he'll never shake, one he doesn't wish to ) and fuzzed teeth pull ever wider because the king should feel it, the uncomfortable flaps of skin layered together, that promising bite of an eater. two prey ears rear back so they don't get caught in the fray, then his surely missed voice punches out, โ or is it a live demonstration your muse is lacking? โ his staff is pushed to be cradled against fluffed shoulders, gloved finger hastily stabbing sideways -- persistent where it crams into rib. mimicking the rhythmic flow of blood.
โ i can give it another go, my dear! โ ( a beat, a slippery drench of sickened green ) โ โฆ for a price. โ
[ PUNCH ] : the sender places a hand on the receiver to draw their attention away from another focus, and once they've turned around, the sender swings a punch at them in the moment of confusion. ( lol lucifer and alastor โฆ )
featherlight weight covers worsted material, so gracious you might not feel anything at all -- although waves of freshly seared brimstone would give any royal presence away despite all attempts at frivolous elbow grease. an angelic purity nothing but a mockery down here, if the hotel's two broken halos could shed some light ( ha-ha! ) on the matter. nonetheless, alastor doesn't hesitate when it comes to a proper greeting. one of broadcasted words and a real winning smile, face split in two like some poor fella's abdomen! ... ah, well, poor for them but never him : power stuck between what razors house inside his mouth as though pieces of meat, raw & bloody, however plentiful. endless supply of it clutched in clawed hands which rest atop the jagged point of his staff. yet every limb feigns statue in appearance, stiff, hand appearing unacknowledged for a beat ( maybe two! who's counting? ) because it's not just hellfire a curved nose smells. repugnant scent mixes in like poorly poured liquor, fruity sour fragrance vividly brushing against class and style. imagines rose beds that wilt, meat spoiling to go bad ; sights lashed red eyes couldn't stand in all their misguided glory. no, no, no, such miserable scenery can only be admired by someone plagued by glum, a soul riddled with it! such description could never trail after hell's southern belle like so, a gal with a penchant for apples she is not, but there's always an aside about daughter's fathers, isn't there? eternally stained cheeks that haunt every corner in matching red. another copycat smile sculpted in accursed rock. whatever happened to originality! radio static wavers beneath outside noise, waiting, bidding, and alastor elects not to fully bother with pleasantries that won't be well appreciated. can give enough politeness in how his neck cranes for someone who already has everything, head curiously spinning to gaggle and stare since the attention's clearly wanted. movement at a price, every other muscle entangled to his former unperturbed position, back when he was unaware of such ... company.
by the time he bothers rearing his head all the way around for their majesty, there's only a fraction of frame, a blip in frequency, where slitted eyes can eat up damned visuals. and oh-ho, there it is : twisting mouth of sin and sunlight hair, white pressed clothes as though the reject enjoys standing out, like the message of stripped holiness is important. coiling stomach hardly digests such a view before weapons strike, used by a privileged fist. broken bones twist and morph back into place with jarring noises -- scary effects no longer for show, just raw exposure to what hell shall do to human bodies. black and red hair fly as he spins once, twice, then gracefully sticks some semblance of a landing. what follows this one-man radio show next? silence, stilted quiet that stretches out each long limb to full height ( a shadow looms, a deer screams one final sound to an otherwise amoral world ... now where's that coming from? perhaps a call from inside the house, perhaps from before, ) however like all things, it's broken. the show must go on! yellow teeth ripple within an ever permanent grin, pulling wider -- higher, blackened gums flashing from the tight squeeze of show-and-tell. looks more like snarling that way, save for the entertainment of spittle and foam and whatever noisy ruckus of dominance predators enjoy making. still, it's a smile. it's perfection. crackling voice scratches, โ you knocked me straight out of the ballpark! โ neck emits another seamless crack! as he purposefully spins his head in one last hurrah, inclined & gifted to someone who so obnoxiously intends to have his cake and eat it too. chorus of forced laughter then reaches through time, merely existing in vacuums after death, to sound off at his disposal. โ how impressive! what a stellar performance of hell's finest! why, i won't even bruise from such a hit! โ grayed cheek stings, throbs, a blistering pain quietly beared. what nobody knows won't hurt him. and yet chained magic still curdles and rots between fidgety fingers, green wisps dying out as they dance and weave through gaps, an anger born, bred, and thus nursed.
( it sings! it shrieks! oh, the horror of blood that boils but must still die! the macabre slope of an uphill battle, of how he hungers and starves for drops of liquid gold, of slaughtered feathers, and yet can only abstain. afterlife, like every step and choice before it, is nothing except a grim reality, an ever walking failure )
โ truly, a miracle. โ alastor drawls to a finish, two pupils wickedly shifting into something greater than circles as flesh twitches underneath, pinpricks of sight beyond the veil. not that lucifer is perspective enough to take advantage of such displays, of course, although the radio demon's been in the market of bestowing mercy recently. or so other influences at play dare say.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
// @deathwis ( tanya. ) said: " it did escalate severely after five minutes. "
Anthony had missed the beginning of this particular argument, too busy kicking rocks and moping to rush the walk home from school โ but just because he was late doesn't mean he missed out on tonight's family trainwreck entirely. Actually, he got home just in time to witness its explosive conclusion; lucky him.
The sound of the front door's slam is still ringing in his ears, deafening in the silence that follows, and it takes everything in him just to remember how to breathe. ( Everything's falling apart again. ) He can already feel the tension building in his spine, a sure-fire sign of the headache that's to come; maybe he deserves it, though, for being so caught up in his own problems that he didn't realize something might be wrong. He definitely deserves it for still being upset regardless, even underneath all the worry and confusion, even as he's wandering over to Tanya to figure out what the hell went wrong.
( Because yeah, it's not a huge deal to walk through town, seeing as he does it in his spare time anyway โ but they'd told him they would pick him up, so he'd waited. Standing in time's agonizing pass while the school slowly emptied out, letting slow realization crush him until he walked away all alone. So now the question burrows under his skin, poisonous and cutting, relentless even when buried under layers of guilt: had his family just forgotten him completely, or was the fighting really just that much more important? Does it even really matter when the outcome is the same either way? )
Of course, when he tries to talk to Tanya, the first response he gets is a flippant one. It's so typical of her that he could scream, but instead he stays silent, beholden to the knot that ties itself around his throat when he thinks of losing her. ( These days, it seems like he always has to swallow around it; it's there when Tanya stays out late, and when Dennis lashes out, and when Megan gets real quiet. It sinks like lead in his stomach when their dad comes home drunk, and when the fighting gets so loud he can hear it over Dennis's records. Some nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat convinced he's already lost them. )
But maybe if he knows what went wrong, he can try to fix it.
"Hey, I'm being serious," he finally manages, shifting anxiously on his feet as his gaze wanders toward the stairs. He can hear the floorboards creaking overhead, either Megan's cautious creeping or the sound of Anne pacing in the bedroom โ or maybe a bit of both, chipping away at the foundation, waiting for an unsteady housing to settle. "It sounded bad, Tanya. What did you even get into it about?"
โ and so am i. โ freshly cut pink-bled hair wisps when an elegant neck twists and turns, envious glance shrouded with the greener pastures of eyeshadow. make-up already settled tackily against fair maiden skin despite promises of everlasting materials, another gash stabbed through forevers. tanya barely spares her wayward brother more than a look over ( ugh, the shifting, can anthony grow out of that already? ) before turning the other rosy cheek. too-broad shoulders purposefully rigid under mirrored scrutiny ; irritation matched like twin cards, because everyone in this shithole wears it the same โฆ and her baby brother, with all his simmering frustration, isn't special. could painstakingly draw naturally arched brows along glass, detail branded into brain, a blessing and a curse. although this flicker of fondness doesn't stop her from trying to leave the conversation there, as she braves old stairs to finally squander away in her room. pointedly ignoring how incessant footsteps slowly follow her the entire way and then some. seats herself at a neglected vanity and briefly peers into it before grimacing at her own eyebrows, too hairy and thick. something noted as an instant do-over the second fingers can steal tweezers, since she's not wasting hard earned cash on buying one. girlishly purses coated lips next -- wiggling a curved mouth to inspect if there's cracks in foundation, if vibrant warmths will fade after some movement. itโs during this that she accidentally spots blue wool in the mirror and realizes running away isn't going to cut it. she could hide anywhere, could say anything in the world & none of it would work as conversation enders. and while something squeezes around her neck, this insatiable urge to pick one last fight and really win it, sheโs reeled in by how miserable anthony simply feels. knows nobody picked him up today, real classic parent moves by their breadwinners, so natural capacity shrinks two sizes too small for further cruelty. despite queen croneโs theories, tanya clarke isn't a complete asshole. sheโll bite. โ look, it's not a big deal. you know what it's like when iโm here and you're not. โ
he's her buffer, her shining knight in armor, and this isn't news, so why sheโs being shoved into reaffirming that is anyone's guess. just allows brittle honesty a passage, flowing out air light and gently fogging mirror surface. crystalized sight that's gone too soon, vaporized by lofty heat, glazes of sun finding ways into the clarke house despite minimal effort of keeping it out. slowly pieces a few puzzles together : her cakey make-up, dennisโ red hot anger burning more than usual, momโs everything. in that same 'holy' revelation, she suddenly understands her efforts were fruitless in the beauty department, hit with annoyance hard enough for marble features to crumble, pockets of skin knitting together in an area here or there. fine, tanya relents, iโll go without. painted nails pluck at wet wipes nestled into the crook of decorative furniture, missing fluffy tips by cross hairs ( aggressive swats as though she were an unlucky, blind cat ) before finally hearing a zip! of sound, smears of moisture wetting mushy palms already. begins combing away every flaw tacted to her face as words hang between them, left there swinging. is so used to this, making men wait, leashed and on her line -- only thinking to cut when she feels like doing it. when attention is assured. โ dennis wanted to โcatch upโ, โ voice withers around those two words, โ and that went perfectly for about three seconds. then mom heard us going at it like dogs and โฆ it's the same old story. โ attitude flares, bristling from memory. of becoming her family's favorite hill to pile upon, of bitter tears that curled thick lashes vanishing seconds after they appeared. mind cluttered with get me the fuck out of here, like, now. though that wasn't ever happening, not when she was broke and without a car of her own. so no paris, no big apple, no squat, just a ruined house full of broken toys pretending they're still worth a dime.
white foam is pulled back from now vividly clear flesh, colored with thick lines of rouge-green. carelessly tossing used tissue aside, heaving wrung sighs all the while. decides on divulging more details after a beat. โ plus, megan probably heard all of it. โ she draws on the word probably, lazy & unaffected. information generously gifted because anthony always worries about her. and because he followed her all this way to begin with.
btw clementine after getting her leg removed deals with a lot of internal & physical issues, at least during the beginning of things ... she's grown so much because of the ericson kids and aj, but fully embracing being dependent on them isn't easy. she's relied on herself for so long! has been capable, and strong, and agile. it's just hard to have that taken from her in such an extreme way. there's depressive episodes and morbid periods of thought ; of abandonment, of believing that the ericson kids would leave her if the school was attacked and they had to run ... it's mostly this raw feeling of uselessness and knowing the cost of that. all irrational and not true but hurtful anyway. puts on a brave smile for aj though,,, and once she's given the crutches it gets easier to combat the grief of it all. hmm i feel like louis would help her out a lot here actually, given he also has to adjust to such a drastic change too. would probably help clem find new outlets to quell her restlessness, to find new worth, like laundry & mending clothes for more use ... not something she's super into doing, obviously, but it would still help for a while. and then with some mobility she can do more, and then with a prosthetic ( courtesy of mitch, willy, and aj ) she can almost go back to normal, with some trial and error. idk! just interesting to think on. all the little ways the kids would try helping her during this rough time and how that support and love is what helps her deal with this new reality. helps her settle and find happiness despite. but even when she was in the worst of it, she very much still agreed that all the people they lost, all the injuries she personally sustained, was still worth it for all of this ... aka a home, their home <3
โ hey. โ is all dennis bothers with before a heavy hand, calloused and lined from guitar strings, finds leverage ; fleshy skin, rounded by bone, where fingers can dig into. gripping pat's shoulder more firmly than needed, no thought shoved behind the gesture besides demanding attention. dark eyes, shadowed by thick bangs ( looks broody, tanya said once upon a time, approving nod and all ) , fall on the other boy instantly, narrowed and red-rimmed with aggravation -- cause when are they not? โ cancel your plans. you're needed with me. โ mean tongue curls at the end there, uncomfortably rested near razored teeth, since he managed to catch wind of the ... tree hugging, creepy damn cult coven hangout vince invited some wannabe cool people to. was easy enough to squeeze it out of boy blue back home, couple well aimed jabs and shoulder slams working miracles, roughhousing, even if the fun's been spilt out of it.
good thing he found out quick too, bursting outside into the thick of january's unforgiving air just in time to catch up to his brainless band mate. gives pat a good shake, extra forceful, like dennis half wants to just yank him back towards his place without another word huffed, time too valuable to waste on that freakshow who's charmed every inch of this shitty town. some-fucking-how. but he manages some patience, some semblance of control, and out waits his seething temper ( enough to warm him out here, steaming skin underneath rusty rose leather ) to see if the guy's gonna listen or not. then he'll deal with whatever he's given accordingly, practically the lead choir boy of responsibility and reason and mercy, an amusing enough thought that he almost settles. lightens his grip, softened, a kiss of a bite more than anything else, though thick fingers don't move an inch so much as they relent. a guarded warning.
there are a good few things that mitch can't believe in this world. like that he used to worry about having to pay taxes, that if he did it wrong, the irs would show up at his door like the men in black. or that water doesn't behave like pretty much any other liquid, even though it's the first one people think of when asked to name a liquid. but one thing he really can't believe is that he's cool with clementine now. when this whole thing started, years ago ( eight of them now, since he started making notches on the furniture when he thought this would all blow over and then stopped, opting to just make one notch for each season that passed ), there were so many of them there, the place practically overrun with kids. he was only nine, fucking terrified and left abandoned by the adults. but the older kids stepped up, and marlon most of all. and mitch liked marlon, felt safe around him. believed him when he said that they could turn ericson into a real home, the kind mitch hadn't ever really known. even at nine, though, he knew marlon wasn't infallible, noticed when some of the younger kids would fall through the cracks of planning, no one wanting to put them in harm's way, especially since they couldn't do much of anything anyway. the process of adoption was totally unofficial; there weren't a lot of young-young kids, the youngest of them besides willy and tenn being kids mitch's age โ nine, ten years old. tenn was sheltered by his sisters, protective of him from the start, but willy? no one paid attention to that kid except to offer him weird looks. so he became mitch's, and everyone was just thankful that someone was teaching him to put his little dick away.
and though willy was stuck to mitch's hip, always eagerly running his mouth off about whatever thing has most recently caught his interest, when mitch lingered awkwardly by the old headmaster's office, marlon never seemed to mind explaining some of his plans to the kid. had told the awkward, shy adolescent that he was doing a great thing. even marvelled at mitch's affinity for bombs and traps. it was easy to see that mitch looked up to marlon, trusted his opinion and learned to have faith in the older boy's decisions. even, sometimes, touched his hair and wondered if he'd look just as cool with the same haircut, though he heard the other kids' ribbing at marlon's expense and never bothered to try it out. they all fell easily into their roles after a time โ cook, medic, gardener, trap-maker, tactical support, whatever louis did. and mitch stuck to his traps and his role as ... well, he always just said friend, but in his heart of hearts, he knows the feeling that swells up in his chest when he looks at how far willy's come isn't anything but fatherly pride. so mitch, despite his love for bomb-making, never really ventured much into ...
the greenhouse, yeah. a place that's become way more significant to mitch than it's ever been. he's not coward enough to hide that he's looked down on the others a little for childish games of truth or dare and spin the bottle or whatever else. their penchant for getting into messy situations with each other. he knows, because he sees, when relationships spark up and can tell when they inevitably fizzle out. but he's always turned up his nose at them, and he pretends it's out of some sort of moral high ground. like, hello? the apocalypse fucking called, you might wanna stop frenching and pick up the phone! being a judgmental prick is a great distraction from how utterly bitchless he is, anyway. a reality that settles deep in his bones sometimes when he thinks about how he wanted his life to go. he'll be honest, he never had high hopes for it, but he had vague ideas. like a girl who loved him, a dog that ran around in their garden and a kid or two whose laughter livened up a home. he never considered it a tall order back then, way back, when all this started. only now does he realize what a damn pipe dream that was. remembers un-fondly how crushed he'd been after confessing his feelings to a girl, thinking, what the hell? if we're all gonna die, then fuck it, i'll go for it! โ only to get brutally turned down, heart torn out and stomped into what looked like walker guts on the wooden floorboards. ( hey, so, uh, you're the best fighter ... girl here, and i'm the best fighter, like ... guy? here, so ... god, he'd sounded so fucking stupid! )
another thing that mitch pretends is that he's never looked too hard at any of the other ericson kids. attention wholly focused on the kid he'd taken under his awkward wing ... or so he likes to front. mitch has been captured by a fair few of his friends ( all older, the kids mitch's age are all dead by now ), heart squeezing in his chest when he looks at them, tongue-tied in their presence, the whole shebang ... but none of them worse than clementine.
from the start, she was wildfire. capable and cool in the face of danger, the kind of person mitch frankly thought didn't exist, couldn't exist. she was a kid their age, younger, and she'd been out there, past the safe zone, with her own kid in tow and neither of them dead yet. he never told her this, but he'd helped marlon wrench her out of the wreckage, pried her out of red-hot metal like he couldn't feel a thing. at the time, all he'd cared about was ... fuck, human altruism or whatever the hell it was. hadn't even realized how beautiful her eyes would be once they opened, and ... shit, he sounds like fucking omar when he's talking about fine herbs. never thought he'd ever be this stupid and act so crazy. sure, he'd liked marlon, but that white-hot anger that exploded out of him ... he still cringes at himself thinking about how he waved a knife in clementine's space, like she couldn't easily disarm him, like he would ever add a scar to her precious face. which โ which is stupid! he hated clem for a while there, and that's just as true as how his stomach did flips when they were standing so close to each other. when he jeered at her and claimed she was expendable, and then she just narrowed her eyes in that ( bitchy, hot ) way she does and decided she would just go first, no matter how overrun the greenhouse was with those things. remembers how his heart almost somersaulted out of his chest when that evil fucking walker made a grab at clem, how he couldn't calm down after the fact. it's not a her! he'd shouted, shrill, still thinking about how that inhuman thing could so easily have bitten a chunk out of their best shot out of this whole raider garbage, and it would've been on his watch. his fucking fault.
so maybe he got a little out of hand, wanting to burn the bitch. can anyone blame him? clem definitely didn't, went along with his childishly cruel suggestion and stomped over ruby's feelings with him by her side. and so they started a sick little blaze, sick in the ill sense and not in the fucking metal sense, and he'd thought again about how clementine burns so bright he wants to avert his eyes and creep closer to soak up the rays of warmth all at once. she makes him feel sick in the ill way and the fucking metal way, makes him want to spill all his guts out like a disembowelled dead guy. cramped fingers twitch, imprecise, when he remembers how he'd regaled a near perfect stranger his entire life story, why he got sent to this shithole in the first place in more sentences than he usually musters up in a week. and she'd just looked at him, beautiful and kind, and he'd felt ... insane. felt like he was going mental with how she made his body gear up like he was up against an army of undead fuckwads. all that in mind, you'd wonder why mitch keeps staring at her. every time she shows up, he's casting green-eyed envious hues in her direction. like his twisted stare can't get the memo, even when he'd made a point to look down when he was helping her up into the greenhouse, pointedly avoiding looking at the goods he already knew she was packing in those too-tight jeans, goods he'd already sized up when he hoped she wasn't looking. but his stare isn't just for looking at her body, it's also ... curious. cautiously admiring, even. feels similarly ( though not the same ) as how he did with marlon in the early days, and that scares him.
but he's roused from his thoughts when his perked ears catch clem's snippy tone, eyes widening as he tries to look anywhere but her โ settling ultimately on the bomb he continues to fiddle with, as if he could just pretend he wasn't rudely staring, that he's not just as much of a pervert as his own little boy. there's a brief moment where he considers being suave, like โ hey yeah, clem, there is something on your face, lemme get that for you. a course of action he ultimately decides against, because โ well, what if she asks what was on her face? then mitch'll have nothing to show her, and it'd be weird, weirder than weird. instead, he scowls and fiddles with his fertilizer-propane solution. "there's nothing on your face, alright?" tone too confrontational, like he was caught doing something wrong. "i just, fucking, looked up."
glances sidelong at the bags deposited on the ground, sizing them up as various building materials. sighs soft as he tries for a joke, guilt eating him up for his weird tone. it's not clem's fault she's bombshell gorgeous, and he doesn't want to break the fragile peace they've built between each other. thinks about how far up violet's ass she is and sours momentarily. they're probably two girls cut from the same merciless cloth. no way is he going to make the same mistakes he did years ago. and yet he's already starting to, with his mouth twitching into a sort of smile as he asks, "you didn't happen to find any dynamite out there, did you?" and with a low mutter, he adds, mostly for his own benefit, "having a good detonator'll really fuck those assholes sideways."
careful eyes narrow, brows so furrowed her gaze slits like a knife while she stares back ; keeps him pinned there, wiggling and caught, not relenting even when he tries fixing it. his โฆ direction, clem thinks. watches green shrink behind clouds of shocked white before they're being aimed elsewhere, far away from where she's noticed him looking. still, toned skin prickles from where mitchโs attention had been, hairs raised along the path charted, since it's not exactly something you can take back. not much can be erased these days, every clean slate dirtied and cracked down the vital middle. from certain angles she could compare it to a skull, rot turning solid bone mushy, any weapon you can wrap wounded fingers around able to cave it all in. effort thatโs wasted in an instant. so, yeah, these constant glances only strain paranoid instincts thinner, cooling and warming her flesh in the same breath when she allows herself time ; seconds spent standing there all sore shouldered and letting the side effects crawl inside rather than brushing it off. hands at her sides instead of outstretched towards other things, because things don't stop, and they tend to pile. the back wall, building defenses, traps, training? it just never ends. made ignoring it ( the stares, not mitch, who is not an it and won't ever become an it on her watch ) natural for a while. another thing silently swallowed for the sake of progress, delicate peace placed above all this hard work for safe keeping. there wasn't any talk of genuine forgiveness, whatever that must look like, yet this balance came in other forms ; particularly remembers finding it in a brash voice softened, smoothed over, quiet where there'd once been loudness. words said like an affirmation -- we need you. if that's mitchโs way of burying the hatchet then she accepts this, readily. not like clementine was waiting on an apology, open arms full of unconditional acceptance. what he said had been enough, maybe even too merciful for someone like her. his friendโs life snuffed out and added to their growing graveyard by her hand, under her misguided intent. doesn't matter if she'd wanted to do good or bad, it remains a snap decision sheโs forced everyone else here to live with, and thatโs why she didn't fight the vote. dangerous people can't stay in groups, shouldn't be allowed to. heard countless echoes of voices, when roles were reserved with her trapped beneath furious eyes and snapped at : youโre becoming a danger to the group, we can't trust them, youโre not coming with us. been so long clem can't recognize whoโs who in her own head, but she doesn't need to. pretty pointless when experience makes their messages clear. she couldn't scavenge up any anger for how they treated her, mitch included. an endless well of grudges and red hot blood dried out, damp stones being the only thing that was left behind besides actual blood itself ; pooled underneath sharp nails, blended against the skin of her hands, and scrubbed deep into pitiful clothes. if clem can't hate anyone for it, then there's nothing useful tied into muttered โsorryโs. this battle isn't being fought for winning the schoolโs affections, just โฆ their favor. needing more of that kindness she heard vibrate in violetโs brittle voice, shining in rubyโs thickened smiles, in what she thinks could be lurking in mitchโs green eyed stare, sometimes. though that's just the generous read on what his staring problem could mean, a stretch.
( louis will come around, is what tenn says, a real dreamer through and through. but clem notices everyone elseโs silence on the matter and believes the truthโs found there instead. leaders can be replaced but best friends linger forever, invaluable, because itโs love and that's even rarer, and she firmly presses on faded reminders like bruises ; this isn't about being liked. there's nothing necessary about these kids wanting her around. she will earn her keep, secure aj the home she's promised, live a few more years and that's -- that )
except she hasn't stopped liking them, every piece attached to ericson's boarding school for troubled youths. and her โฆ uh, fondness? gratitude? hm, affections? well, whateverโs locked away in this distant heart still burns brightly. a candle which doesn't give out no matter how strongly air knocks against the flame. carrying those small torches prove quite challenging, however, especially when the situation is as fucking fucked as it is. stakes raised, every shadow heightened into a looming figure behind your back, the cost of laziness suddenly too steep to pay honorably. whole thingโs an unorganized clutter of mess, and caring about people only makes everything worse ; screws her head on crookedly and turns sure footing into walker legs, clumsily disjointed in ways that can get others ( and herself ) killed. makes her cowardly, how much she tries not to think about that burnt wick inside, only using it as fuel thatโll push them forward instead of back, but it's whatโs right, still makes her braver than marlon. at least she's covered some bases in the middle of all this chaos -- managing tiny accomplishments, like mitchโs change of heart when they'd been in the greenhouse. a token comfort, watching walls too sharp for barbed wire lower and wrangling more smiles out of him than she ever thought she'd see. an added wave of heat, an extra flame, another quiet fear placed in coarse palms, although she eagerly took it then. for the herd of nothingness they had before, conversations so brief clem could repeat them back to anyone who asked, she could admit ( soundly, alone and in her mind ) she liked mitch better than most. gone were fleeting admirations, stilted first impressions of a kid who was super into crafting some knife, scrambled thoughts finally set into something recognizable. solidified into that singular word she's been indulging in, despite a tiny voice tucked in her chest trying to convince her otherwise. learned from watching an arm disconnect from a decayed hand that she can trust him too, and maybe that's the most important thing, more than liking and wanting. being capable and fearless counts for a lot now, so he's squarely been placed next to the other people whoโll see this through. who clem can look to and instinctively know that theyโre ready to do what it takes. wouldn't plan around his bomb if she didn't believe in him, if there was ever any doubt. it's this confidence thatโs been withering like dead weeds at his glances ; spreading only with time without a word shared. mitch doesn't need to like her but clementine thought ( assumed -- ) he did, or at least could tolerate seeing her loitering around. believed he agreed with her leading them beside the familiar sight of a lanky, hunched blonde. if she was wrong, she'd like to be told as much. air out whatever extra grievances mitch is nursing so they can work together, the way they should, the way they had inside glass walls fogged by condensation. why were things so different now?
catches a soured scowl before his words come out in a bite, all canines and gnashing, which twitches at her frowning mouth. effortlessly mirroring her mean look from earlier before thinking twice, responding just as quick. โ uh, yeah. up at me. โ thumb presses into leather, automatic, a gesture for aj ( me, goofball, itโs me! ) she hasn't bothered nipping. rapid fire teenage frustration bristles out as quick as it comes, fizzling back into humid shame and guilt after speaking -- a place with company, if mitchโs own sidelong look is anything to go by. almond eyes releasing him to openly size up what heโs been slumped over recently. rusty ignitor kept close beside his โhomemade explosiveโ, his words. head tilts sideways while she looks, forehead scrunching when dark eyebrows seesaw at what counts as a bomb these days. before her isn't some black ball, round and metallic, it's instead plastic bottles, held together by haphazard tape. is almost gripped by an urge to question it, because how can this blow the raiders back where they came from? nothing about it makes sense to her, though clem refrains from saying anything, not too into openly fretting in the face of someone so critical. gracefully accepts that this isn't her area of expertise and smothers down fragments of curiosity, swallowed until a pink tongueโs wiped clean. probably for the best, given how easy they rile each other up on accident ; hopes it's accidental, anyway. saw passion claw its way across the boyโs face when they found the fertilizer to begin with, sulky nature soaked up at just the idea. for whatever reason, making explosives means a lot to him ( you'd kinda have to be totally blind to not notice ) and it's enough of an interest for her to keep ten feet away for now. wearily nudging sacks of forgeables which lay at black booted feet, breath lodged somewhere between rows of teeth like fishing line, stinging the same too. has half the mind to save them both further embarrassment by slinking back towards marlonโs, viโs office and offering more help. arm power, strategies, anything. clearly her original plan, barely formed and stupid, wouldn't do anyone any favors so --! โฆ girlish hesitance lifts slowly at what she hears, chin jerking upward while gold eyes expand, fully filling out circular sockets that immediately stick through the older kid sitting near. hood of uncertainty bleeding into shock, helpless against the onslaught of confusion that crashes into her temporarily. doesn't realize she's smiling back already, corners reserved and small but amusement making lips beam, a wilted chuckle slipping past clouded sunshine. โ i don't think that's something you can just find, mitch. pretty sure those are long gone. โ left behind in wacky kid cartoons, or those greyscale westerns she vaguely remembers her mom loving in-between hospital shifts. still, clem takes the bone and doesn't let go, happily adding, โ it would fuck us sideways too, so maybe stick to smaller explosions for now. โ a safer option than what could've burst out of her, too teasing for the occasion : you don't even have a cool hat for that! if there were more bombs to be made for less grim reasons, she could allow herself to say that with no potential regrets. storing words securely under her own hat, filthy yet standing tall in muted blue.
air relatively softer, clem sweeps her gaze across a quiet courtyard to peek at the sky. sunlight barely beating on sensitive eyes thanks for said cap she's never seen without, though the girl squints a little regardless. there were still hours of daylight to go. good. all their time might be borrowed but there isn't a second that they can spare, every trickle of a minute precious and lucky ; and luck counts for a lot, she'd been taught. it's this line of thought which beats her into shape, posture straining to reach full ( miniature ) height, face purposefully stony so exhaustion and pain don't creep in. hidden, tucked out of reach like the best of supplies. squares pinched shoulders that flare in swollen aches at the steeling motion, which only smudges away any lingering trace of a smile, beating back melodic and surprised laughter ( not giggles, clem isn't sure she could even make those sounds anymore ) before facing mitch again. eye contact quickly maintained because itโs respectful, because his smile is more blinding to look at and isn't something that can be shielded by her hat. as a waspy noise of consideration warms her throat, picking at original plans and schedules, she goes for it. says it because someone has to, and that someone is never not her. โ listen, you can't just work on your โฆ bomb, all day. we need everyone pitching in everywhere if we wanna win this. so the way i see it, you have two options : come help me with the back wall, or, โ pauses, grappling for solid ground, โ i teach you how to fight. like, really fight. โ violet said mitch was good in one, gotta be one of the best if the girl felt like clem would be safest with him around. it's an idea that heats a small belly, because it sounds ridiculous, being safer around someone who hates ( hated? ) her, yet it'd been true. she appraisingly steals a look up and down his sat figure, broad and towering, and knows she can work with that. work with it well if allowed. though fixing all the mistakes done on the back walls of the school would be good too, an actual necessity. really, it's mitchโs choice, clemโs fine doing whatever, wouldn't have offered if she wasn't completely willing. besides, itโd be fun to -- hang out more.
boot-shaped bruises have begun to fade when day four limps closer, something clem's kept track of since that awful scrimmage in the woods. remembers all too well how her legs burned with exhaust, how aj's mangled side had looked when dirty nails peeled back blood soaked cloth to see. still faintly hears his whimpers of pain -- hurt she couldn't take away on her own, a fact which bit at her, walker-jaw tight, as if she'd proven everyone right : that clem was unfit, too young and defenseless to hone the skills necessary for child care. it's a failure she carries silently, like the bags of supplies hefted against a muscled shoulder, because while some kids have forgiven her ... there were others who'd be too excited to dig their knives into exposed wounds. not as observant as who clem's met on this long and tiresome road, but they're still survivors despite their luxury, and that comes with keen eyes and an instinctual craftiness. if they're smart enough for traps, they're smart enough to tear someone they hate down.
clementine doesn't care much about it, whether they forgive her or not. once she saved their school, their home, they'd most likely get over it. and if they don't, the girl would do what she's always done ( what she's only done for them, what she's stopped doing for a long time ) ; open herself up and make it clear she'd work for their kindness, slave away until she'd be bone tired if it meant they'd be able to stay. they needed this place, and she needed them. how could she care for aj otherwise, when they hardly lasted an hour alone out there? an admission that grates along dirt speckled skin, shedding pieces of herself off, tearing deep holes into sharpened pride, except it's just the truth. clem wasn't that little girl anymore, the one who warranted adult protection, and she wasn't full of fire and spite anymore either. she was -- she's an adult, a mother if she's allowed that much, which meant things are no longer easy. so ... she'll do what everyone in this world does and prevail. survive. claw her way through rotten guts and evil fucking communities and live for aj. it's all clem knows how to fight for anymore.
duffle and sack bags hit courtyard grounds with a loud thump! of noise, an awful sound full of raw weight given the contents. bricks, debris from useless parts of the school, sticks she scavenged, and whatever else you can use for defenses. not much, though it'll do. flares of pain stab at an already sore shoulder when it's over, something that prickles at dark eyebrows and nudges her mouth into a brief grimace. doesn't bother rubbing at the area, an already dismissed injury, before she's taking stock of what's been done so far. light brown ( almost golden ) eyes squint into slits, looking more angry than she actually feels when evaluating -- violet's going to want details and updates from where the slender girl is seated within the remains of marlon's office. fully shoved into leadership and getting crushed by that weight. it's a sympathetic enough sight for clem to do whatever she can so the boulder lifts a little better, putting on extra duties to give her some breathing room. violet's not weak but she's still a girl. it's something she notes with everyone else who's made base here. wonders : how can these kids become soldiers? when they've been allowed to just sit on their asses all day, shielded from what monsters really lie out there, past their so-called precious 'safe zone'.
hands perch confidently on two hips, gazing around clusters of in progress works, when suddenly clem feels something cold settle against her side. gently scratches up, further and further, before ghosting near a battle ready face and staying there. knows someone's looking her way ( like how she can predict storms, settling beside her just the same too ) and doesn't hesitate to meet them head on. not too surprised when she locks gazes with mitch, a clash of amber on bright green, because she's caught him looking more than once in the past four days. yeah, all four of them. doesn't get what his problem is or why he's so interested with the side of her face, or her side, or her back ... could've maybe understood it as morbid curiosity if mitch was caught stealing looks at her hand, the one that's missing a finger, yet it's never, ever that. sometimes, she lets it go, in the name of this tentative peace between them that's been fostered since the greenhouse and a putrid fire that warmed their skin. other times? hand raises in irritated gesture, face hardening as her voice bursts out ; steely and sure, โ what? โ it sounds mean even to her own ears, packed tight with her long list of frustrations, which is enough on its own for guilt to slither up inside. strong enough for the battered teen to attempt smoothing things over. โ if there's something on my face, you can just say so. i won't be mad. โ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
a. ย warfare and strategy . ( how others see you )
prideful and ambitious, your followers come to you for guidance and luck in battles they feel are too much for them. you embody the bravery and bloodlust of warfare and the battle intelligence for strategy and leadership. your patience tends to thin around those who donโt respect you or question your intelligence and strength.
a. ย weather and calamity . ( how you see you )
tempestuous and fearsome. your moods are hard to read and you strike on a whim. not a soul can avoid you as disasters strike across the land. you have your own standards for what makes sense and what you value and if anyone dares challenge you there will be nowhere for them to run.
a. ย balance and revenge . ( who you really are )
another seemingly intimidating figure. some only know you for revenge and fear you. however, youโre fair and provide justice and balance to your worshippers. you are regarded as the judge, jury, and executioner and no one can escape.
tagged by : @quillheel ( thanks sm for the tag !! <3 )
tagging : @hcmiey, @luminarot ( for wes or fern! ), & whoever else!