#fatedbedlam

    It’s GROTESQUE, the scene they’ve created. But a part of her is pleased, strangely so, by it.  She hadn’t intended for it to get this way, she had had her plans of course. Though, he seemed more amused with taking it all rather further than she had accounted for. Irene isn’t upset by the turn of events. How could she be? When she was just as eager to join him in this. 

its like they want everything close to the movie date and its just like gross.

—what is michonne afraid of?

if asked she would think the appropriate answer should be death—she should fear it considering how interwoven it is into her existence. she should fear death seeing how it lingered around every aspect of her life but she had grown familiar with death. it’s lingering presence now the norm, it’s threats dull as it becomes an accepted fact. she holds it’s gaze when it stares her in the face knowing both knowing that their time to join will come soon enough. in the meantime they have learned to live with another, coexisting as they must. so instead of death she is afraid of life—the burden of living.

she fears that chaos is all that her life will be. she is afraid that despite her strong hands trying to hold things together, all that she has grown to cherish, to love, will be taken from her. she feels this most for rick, carl and judith if one were to be taken from her she is uncertain of how she would cope because she has finally found herself with something to lost—a family. 

she is fears who was she was on the outside and knowing that being still lays trapped within her chest, poisoning her blood. she is keenly aware that the dirt and blood beneath her nails can never be scrubbed clean, that her very soul was worn and callous. she is afraid that darkness will pour out of her one day—breaking fear from its rib cage prison and will not be able to be caged again. 

—what does she love?

his jaw clenched, the muscle bouncing. his teeth strain as he bite down on every words he’s ever wanted to say. his tongue slid against the abrasive top of his mouth & he thought about sandpaper—wondering if he can grind his tongue into dust & never speak again. he looked ahead, his fingers curled against the fabric of the couch. 

you’d think at some point he’d learn how to be comfort but he hadn’t. his stomach still lurched forward & his muscles always remained tense but at least those reactions had slight more cause since he had come here without notice. lucian probably saw it as some progress & maybe it was: just in what direction?

he waited to be touched, for luican to reach out in some way. he never asked for it but that’s what he wanted. he closed his eyes, trying to breath evenly. he pushed his hand out further, closer to lucian’s just so that their fingers touched. his skin was on fire but he had to. he had to force himself to burrow deeper into lucian—otherwise how could he ever develop that infinity towards him that he had for adam? 

adam.

he fought the frown that triggered to tug at his lips. he curled his fingers & held onto lucian’s hand: a thing he never did before.           

  ❝—the fuck you do that for? the fuck—why did you help me?

     confusion clouded his senses but adrenaline hummed in his veins.      his brows furrowed, forming the familiar crease that usually adnored      his face whenever in the older man's company. his lips parted as he      heaved from exertion, chest raising & following from shallow breaths.      

                                   shit that was a close call. too close.

      he stared at lucian, his eyes shifting and searching in his for some alternate       motive—cause there was always one embedded in the brown of those eyes.       he wasn't used to assistance—he had learned to help himself, to rely solely        on himself & yet. this changed nothing—lucian was still worse than dog shit        on his shoes & yet, he allowed the hand to touch his cheek. maybe it was the       adrenaline but he didn't flinch away, he just stared at lucian. searing for those        hidden answers.