an angel with blood on his hands.

“Of course not,” She replied, a hint of amusement in her gaze and tone that she tried to hide. Lola couldn’t really say that for herself; not when it came to being unnecessarily cruel to people. Sometimes she figured that the truth of how savage she could really be was often written all over her face – like it wasn’t even a secret at this point. It had become natural to believe that any sort of confidant would flee when they saw the darkness that touched her soul on a daily basis.

Blue eyes studied the male’s movements as the words sank in. Her gaze acknowledged the beads of the rosary with muted interest. Her opinion on religion was almost non-existent; her experience even less. Finishing off the cigarette, she stubbed it out as his form moved closer to her. Defined brows rose at the offer of the hoodie, the small kindness so simple and yet missed, belonging to places and moments so different from this. She draped it over her shoulders regardless, a tiny laugh leaving her. “Oh, I know. I just wish it was easier to blank out.” 

          “maybe that’s why so many people turned to drinking and drugs - you know, to blank the horrors out and all that shit.    seems DANGEROUS to me though, because what if you get fucked up on some prison hooch and then pass out and one of those... FICHE come and rip open your chest?”  he snorted, “that’s not survival.”

                 ft.  @whitcshcll 

                                      she’s winded by the collision, a force knocking her from her feet and she swears profusely, words that she had learned from disgruntled criminals as they were forced out of court in handcuffs, defeated. 

                           somewhat disorientated, she exhales heavily, catching her breath as she staggers to her feet and throws him an annoyed glare. “ dumbass, “ she murmurs under her breath before she straightens herself and glances over her shoulder. “ - why the fuck else would i be running ? there’s a group around the corner… “ speak of the freaks and the freaks arrive. “ shit ! “

            time wise he could have been GLAD to knock elena tate off her feet; crash tackled with a feeling of SATISFACTION - but, of course, angel wouldn’t have known that elena had seen his case file - but it was a case of putting a name to a face.   “yeah, calm your tits, chica,” he said, panting as he straightened and pulled out his gun and knife, “we’ll have time to call each other names AFTER we avoid being eaten.”

            “ fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck                           fuck !!! “ 

                  the siren was the LOUDEST thing since the boom ( !! )  and it sent him reeling - he wished he’d been on his bike when it happened;  “shit !”                       but instead he took off on foot, wrenching his shirt on as he ran from the safety of the camp he’d set up for hunting.

She exhaled a breath at the words. “Well, in that case, they deserve everything they got; which I’m guessing is something…” Lola let her eyes drift to his marked hands as he raised them; taking in every scratch and bruise as they purpled his skin. She got the strangest and most sudden urge to just reach out and touch them, but of course did not. If she did, it would make something too real out of her respect and admiration for him and well… having those feelings in the first place scared her to death.

The girl laughed, bringing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them in an attempt to block out the spring evening chill. “Though when you think about it, the world was already kind of insane.” She had always had this feeling that would come and go since being a little girl; of being detatched from her body and looking down on how messy things really were. “Still, it feels okay right now.” She stated, quieter than her usual tone and feeling like she was treading some dangerous waters. “Okay enough to forget the world we live in until at least the morning.”

                 “i don’t make a habit of beating the shit out of people that don’t DESERVE it,” he laughed, “but i don’t think you were meaning to say that i would beat up the innocent,” maybe he did in the past, but that wasn’t important.     he flexed his knuckles, watching her eyes inspect them and wondering what she wanted to do.   - -- —   lola’s facial expression flickered for a moment, and he WISHED he knew what it was.

      - —   ❝     S I L E N T     H I L L     M E M E.

                                 ft. nadja bowman / @switchblcdes

                angel was silent for a time - longer than he usually would be in the back and forth banter that was usually rapid fire between the two volatile personalities.     his chest gives an unpleasant PANG as his thoughs fell to nazlie -   both he and nadja had mourned in their own AWFUL and self destructive, rage-filled, HATEFUL ways… 

    and to have her back… SO SUDDENLY… it was something completely unexpected.

             wonderful. amazing. surprising. shocking.              JARRING. a miracle. an answered PRAYER.

         “Thanks –” He calls down, stepping a little further up the ladder, although had he realized who was holding the ladder he might not feel so sure about doing so. “Oh, uh, I’m just checking up on the supports here, can’t really afford to have them give way.”

                  CHEYENNE IS AS REMARKABLE AS A FAMOUS PAINTING. at least, it is to nazlie. sure, cheyenne is no manhattan or los angeles… it isn’t a big ol’ city full of hopefuls, it isn’t the city that your friends travel to for a nice vacation. cheyenne is the city your aunts and uncles live in, it’s the city that’s heart & family instead of bright lights & big dreams. sure, nothing is the GODDAMN same. sure, cheyenne isn’t a treasure to most people… but nazlie? god, is nazlie over the moon to see cheyenne standing. cheyenne standing is a RELIEF because it means there’s a chance that folks like ( FAMILY ) are alive: nadja, javier, topher, briar, and angel. there is a CHANCE that those people fight on ( even without nazlie. ) that makes cheyenne as remarkable as any dégas or klimt or monet that nazlie has seen.

                 and then, ALL THE COLOURS ARE BRIGHTER. almost too bright. teary eyes trail along the rag, the bike, everything—nazlie is trying to commit all of it to memory, trying to keep some sort of photograph to stare at when things are rough. from the what the fuck and the cautious distance, it’s safe to assume that angel isn’t as overjoyed and recklessly excited about seeing some kind of dead girl walking around. ❛ you—um, you missed a spot, ❜ the free hand ushers absently at the cheeks before nazlie swallows down an almost painful dryness,  ❛ and, uh, i missed you.  ❜

       he can see the way she’s looking at him - it’s CLEAR that she’s alive, she doesn’t look infected and it’s still too hard to believe.    his body isn’t sure what to do - because he’s never had someone disappear and then COME BACK ... alive.        he’s never BOTHERED to care about what would happen if someone came back - he’s already grieved for her, he’s already MADE HIS PEACE with her death and now she’s standing in front of him; whole and breathing.

          for her first response, angel wants to be mad because it’s not an explanation, but he laughs ——- because he knows he looks like he’s dragged himself out of the deepest bowels of  HELL right now. “yeah, i know - it’s been a ... long day.”      he dismounts the bike and removes his disgustingly gore-caked shirt and shoves it in his pack, replacing it with the leather cut of a vest instead  —-   and he wants to be MAD and he want to be angry, but she’s alive and he can’t be mad at her for surviving.

                   A CIGARETTE DANGLES BETWEEN TWITCHING FINGERS as worn out black timberlands come to a slow on a bright, familiar intersection. the cigarette brushes against a pair of chapped lips before nazlie leans against a streetlight, smoking to curb the dull pangs of hunger and ( GUILT. ) the spare hand hooks into the pocket of dirty jeans; with a slow exhale of smoke, there is enough room in a tired & empty chest for warm memories. in the corner, nuba stands tall with its noise as vibrant as ever—louder, somehow.  a small CHOKE; home is closer than ever… one, two, three, four, five steps away. home is close, yet it feels so f a r to nazlie. 

                  a slow inhale of smoke into the lungs, a heart dropping into an unsettled stomach. all nazlie can do is stare longingly at nuba—at HOME—with regret. maybe, it isn’t time to come home yet.

           he’s unrecognisable,    gore splattered from HEAD to boot   — — -    the roar of the engine of his bike too loud for the semi-quiet streets of cheyenne; but the fifty or so walkers that had gathered were dispatched by the twenty or so members of the various camps and a few of the ones who lived OUTSIDE of the camps that had gathered to defend cheyenne as a whole.  

  I M P R E S S I O N   M E M E.

           ft. @incantevoles / nazlie el helan

their first impression:     ‘she’s a very angry looking woman, i bet she and the other chick from the bar are fucking.’

their current impression:     ‘you left and disappeared for months on end i thought you were dead. what the fucking fuck?’

what they like the most about your muse:     tenacious spirit, her eyes.

what they dislike the most about your muse:     right now, that she left.

what your muse is for them:    he doesn’t even know anymore, but he’d sacrifice himself to make sure she survives.

a general opinion of their relationship:     he doesn’t know anymore, it’ll probably take time to figure it out because he was sure she was dead.  either way, he’s happy that she’s alive.

 I M P R E S S I O N   M E M E.

          ft. @albctrcss / brooke neal

their first impression:  ‘wow she is very, very blonde.’

their current impression:   thinks she’s kind-hearted, reserved, carrying some sort of secret or guilt or something that doctors her speech. he’s definitely protect her tooth and nail, obviously.

what they like the most about your muse:     her respect, how she’s comfortable talking to him

what they dislike the most about your muse:   he’s pretty sure that brooke thinks he’s some sort of insane killer.    still.

what your muse is for them:   friends, camp-mates, comrades

a general opinion of their relationship:    reserved, budding friendship, mutual respect & quiet walks together.