#fairsaint

“ Most of them, once they know the cost, choose to save themselves.  Why don’t you? “   He doesn’t wait for an answer.  Claws sink into Dwight, rending and ripping, leaving deep wounds.  The Demon stands over him -- conflicted.  There is no grim satisfaction here.  He looks at the hook and returns his attention to survivor, who he hoists up into his grip and carries to the exit. 

    dwight  fairfield  is  a  strange  creature, and julie doesn’t mean anything bad by it. after all, nowadays you have to be a little off to survive in this world. otherwise it’ll be ruthless in a way only it can be. she watches him with curiosity, because he’s a curious figure and she’s... doodling. a half assed attempt at drawing one would guess, it was rare these days that she’d tinker around with one of her hobbies, rarer still that she’d do it in front of others. the blonde refuses to ask about what horrors he saw, because she knows the kind of weight they carry. she sees it in r, she sees it in huntress, she... refuses to acknowledge what she, herself. has seen.  ❛  did  you  have  any  family?  ❜  it’s a bad idea, asking about that stuff. it’s a surefire way to end up accidentally attached,  ❛  they  could  still  be  kicking  it  somewhere.  ❜     /    ♡  : @fairsaint​.

“o-okay” it’s a sharp whisper to herself, stifling the sniffle. “okay--” she repeats, firmer. “y-yes of course!” it’s almost a squeak as she focuses on the process of dressing the wound as best she can. there’s too much blood. but she won’t say it. “i’m right here. please stay with me. please don’t go.” even when she isn’t quite sobbing anymore, the saltwater lands in little splashes on dwight’s mottled white shirt. michael had called her selfish, once—maybe he was right. selfish and weak. her hand finds dwight’s, fingers intertwining carefully and gently. “i-i’m right here, alright?”

❝    so like   ...   what was it like?   the world,   i mean?   before  all  of  this.    ❞    before in the history books was life full of  war,   death,   suffering   —   melodramatic shit to make you all feel  good  about living in a quarantine zone.    to make you  thankful  you hadn’t been infected   &   to discourage any of you from sneaking out.    there had to be  some  good to the old world,   right?

     they bond over music, not too dissimilar from the way r and julie bonded over music. the difference is, they blare seventies and eighties music and sing it at the top of their lungs. it’s so bad, it’s so funny, julie always ends up breaking her singing to laugh while dwight just completely rolls with it. it’s fun, just don’t get dwight to dance. please.

                    there’s  no  light  pollution  this  far  out,  and she only knows this because of perry. his ghost, while she doesn’t believe in them, haunts this building like a roach haunts food. this is his death site after all, where r had destroyed the person she loved and jump started events that had changed the world they knew. he hadn’t known she came here, but all the same they knew she left. ‘ going for a drive ’ , she said with a shrug of her shoulders. they didn’t fight her on it, but they knew something was up. julie would come back with things, but more importantly she’d come back with, hopefully, some understanding of the events that had altered her life. in the death room she found nothing but blood and debris. on the roof, julie had found ache and relief at once. she found guilt as well, draped in a weighted blanket, embracing her tightly and crushing her ribs.      dwight asks if she’s okay, and for a few moments she doesn’t even react. doesn’t say one word; in fact --- it looks as though she might be dead. the way she doesn’t even rock, doesn’t shake, one would have to look close to see her shallow breaths.  ❛  people  come  to  these  places  because  they’re  perfectly  fine,  ❜  she breaks the silence, before apologizing a few seconds later. aggression as a reaction had always been the way she’d manifested her grief. it was easier to explode than dissipate into nothingness. it’s self sabotaging, the way she is so quick to immolate and burn those who come too close. those like dwight faifield who just want to help in their way, to check on her. you can’t lose people if they just walk away.       ❛  not  really,  ❜  her head shakes, eyes glassy as the lump in her throat swells. she hates this, her mother was right: she was veal. a baby cow waiting to be slaughtered, who’d only managed to survive because her friends were stronger than she was. she knows it’s not true, not entirely, but she’s already there and it’s too easy to wade into pools of self-doubt. she looks to dwight, swallowing.  ❛  my  dad  wanted  ordered  my  execution,  i  killed  my  mother,  my  godfather  of  sorts  got  blown  up,  and  r  killed  my  boyfriend  at  the  time  and  it’s  all  kind  of...   ❜  her voice shakes,  ❛  now  that  everything  else  has  been  dealt  with  i  don’t  ---  i  feel  really  shitty.  you  know  the  most  fucked  up  thing?  i  felt  a  bit  relieved  when  perry  died.  ❜                                                     julie felt tears stream down her face.                                                     the admission had brought everything to light.              ❛  dwight,  i  feel  like  a  monster.  ❜