numb in this kingdom

sad songs for dirty lovers; casey & lexie

“I want to.”

His voice was low; the water running down from the shower faucet drowning out his sounds of appreciation. He could wrap his entire palm around her ribcage, and press his lips full against the spot along her collarbone. She had her thumb grazing over the length of his jawline, while Casey tried to find his footing. Dirt circled down the drain. Lexie was tickling his bicep with her touch, and the way the water put even the smallest of distances between them. He found himself guiding them back with a step, and her backside was gently pressed up against the shower tiles.

It wasn’t only a want. This wasn’t desire. It was a need – impermanence was everywhere, frequently curtain calling. Basic survival: food, water, shelter. Anything else was superficial or materialistic. Like Alcatraz: anything else you get is a privilege. Casey, and every other survivor that loomed about the wasteland of humanity was a prisoner to the infection. Companionship was a luxury. But this– this right here? Basic Casey survival: food, water, shelter, Lexie. He was hoisting her up into his arms, and kissing the hair out of her face, and leaning in so close to her torso that the water droplets travelled from his skin directly onto hers. Her arms were wound around his neck. He had to take a moment to breathe through the rain, and the way she felt against his skin. His fingers ghosted over her thighs, wrapped around his waist. “D’you want to?” He needed a verbal confirmation. He needed.

#para: sad songs for dirty lover #p: casey #nsfw #maybe #ok next iwll probs b read more

With porcelain tiles came the bite against her frame and the lurching of her beating organ shifting to the back of her throat. Her eyes had widened for a blinking-quick moment, taking the unfamiliarity in and understanding how the want became an equal constant for both counterparts. If their past had once been a hindrance, she could recognise the change of her future when he became a part of it.

“Only with you,” half-breathlessly, the notes of her disjointed words signified an instinct she had once believed to have been buried. It was the world at fault -- human nature was altered entirely and what was hungered for became no longer trivial. The heat of another against your skin, such as his (when her eyes fixated on blues momentarily and took in the gentle heart enclosed behind words and actions), was a luxury to be discovered if your own nightmares hadn’t consumed you entirely.

Plump lips made their way across his jawbone, grazing the excessive facial hair and pausing atop the lobe of his ear. In refusal to allow the warmth of water to slip between their threaded figures, a single slender palm had curled around the back of his skull as another brushed against his shoulder blade. “I only want to with you,” low tone and muffled, honesty departed in a way which compressed itself into a soft growl. No other had come even close to the unexpected dependency manifested for Casey alone; her anchor in a deadly seas in which appeared to come with no ability to cease.

for all of the light that I shut out | lexie & savannah.

What even are heroes to someone who’s wondering if she’s ever been hugged with such gentleness before? Savannah eyed the girl as well, trying to see if the girl before her had been hurt or just scratched. Listening to her voice, the calm breeze that whispered songs from her lungs, the girl couldn’t help but grin. Scared her? Part of her was still thrilled by danger, even if her right foot was still hurting. If there was one thing Savannah had learnt from this one moment, it parted her lips with such conviction it was even cocky: “ You could never lose me. ” She was like a sandstorm filling all her gaps, all her limps. “ I’m harder to kill than bloater dust, miss Molotov.” Once she had said so, she put an arm around her body and helped herself to walk just as she tried to help her to. “ Let’s find shelter before it’s too dark.” She needed to rest and so did Savannah. They had gained themselves a pause of battles and wars,of the hunger for survival. It surprised her how easily trust had given in when it came to the girl. But it had a reason to. Long black hospital corridors she feared, doe eyes staring at her. It was not as if she had just offered a hand, she had made Savannah stronger in a way only a resting corpse in the abandoned hospital floor had done before. It was easier this time; friendship, caring, trust. She didn’t need revenge this time. Just sleep and a hand to hold hers instead of abandoning her.

#p: savannah #para: for all of the light that i shut out #savannah003

The jest of the other woman was comforting and well appreciated; no necessity to linger on the unfathomable. If there was one certified truth within a world dancing upon the thin line of misfortune and immorality, it was the sight of Savannah before her; no longer screaming to be mourned and to join the vast names of the deceased. What was real had to be touched, thus Lexie’s emotions had seeped forth and now retreated to their confined spaces and allowed the weight upon her shoulders to alleviate.

Whatever could be thrown at the few remaining survivors would be welcomed; they were stronger in numbers.

Miss Molotov caused plump lips to curl at the edges - a roll of hazel eyes would have soon followed had it not been for the shake of her head and the offering of her support. The pair were disheveled (torn fabric and tattered flesh) and yet Lexie refused to halt for even a moment. “I think we’ve got an idea,” she responded, recalling a map and the plethora of ideas pinpointing one particular location. “Doesn’t seem like much, but it sure as hell beats staying out here.”

Perhaps, as they narrowed the proximity of their disorganised group, the warmth in dark eyes merely amplified how trusting Casey had never been a poor choice to make. In more ways than one, he had helped her on numerous occasions. In return, she was then able to be with her friend once more. Everything had happened for a reason.

alloftheprompts

Character Questions #016: Make Your Character Choose #002

gwenbaudouin-blog

mornings or nights? summer or winter? dance or running? beach or hiking? coffee or chocolate? pink or blue? ink or pencil? painting or writing? bar or restaurant? cars or bicycles? cake or pie? cats or dogs? trains or buses? roses or cacti? football match or theater?

#about

for all of the light that I shut out | lexie & savannah.

She had learnt little from feelings so far. Yet she had the feeling she indeed knew a lot from the warmth, trust and companionship. She knew they weren’t close at all to overrated, yet she loathed them for they were, just as those who carried them along, mortal. And there she remained the crow: the one and only ghost, for what is dead can never die. Savannah realized she had now lost not only the blonde princess but that she had intuitively been looking for people around after what it felt like a sacrifice, keeping the bloater away so people could escape. Was it? Was it sacrifice? Or was it only a game to tease death once more? She couldn’t deny she had felt the desire to surrender more than one time and she didn’t have her anger to carry her through anymore. She hadn’t seen Dexter, something that could only mean he was already dead or that the odds would probably never make them meet again. Vengeance was gone, and now she was naked against her own misery, pain made its way out. Such a feble heart was caged in between her repeatedly broken ribs, in this corpse that pursued its way through survival. Just a simple glass of water to clear her dried out mouth, the spores; maybe some more to clean herself. As if Judas himself did confess, Savannah craved for someone to hold the pieces but would have never dared or know how to dare to show or prove it. Maybe, she thought, maybe she never truly wanted to be alone. Although she had been saying so for this long, maybe she never wanted it for real and that was the reason why she followed Piper to Fall City and came back when she left and the same solid reason why her eyes wondered now, trying to find the one sight of grace, hope and strength she could ask for at this point. Nurturing and caring, Lexie had so far been a solid figure for her. Even if they had met so late. Who would be left that she knew? No, Savannah did not sacrifice for a whole community. She knew nothing of it. She had took a chance to save human kind’s hope: the goodness that was left in such lionhearted girl. The thought of all of it together being in vain clouded her already clouded sense of the world. How would she ever learn to live after this? How does a ghost stop themselves from wanting to live again when they’ve been breathed with enough hope? Because that sense of trust had infuriated it, hope through her veins. That she might one day let it all go. With the hopeless void Lexie left behind by her mere one action, Savannah felt as if walking aimlessly would never be enough again. Then one single note. Her feet stopped along with her heart by surprise. Meters away, the figure of a solid soldier moved swiftly trying to get rid of a different cage; while Sav’s heart tried to jump out of theirs. A giggle. It’s me. I’m Savannah. It felt like she was prived from her own voice. Who had been Savannah so far? Could she be Lexie’s now? Instead, she aimed to move forward to the one and only person who seemed to see her, with scattered rain painting freckles on her eyes, trying to avoid the mixed feeling. She felt her right food whining. Her back ached. Her hands felt like they had been dead for so long, deprived from touching anything alive for hours. She had learnt little from feelings so far. Yet she had the feeling she indeed knew a lot from the warmth, trust and companionship. And she met all of it when she held Lexie’s body against her empowering the closest to a hug she knew how to give. “ Yes, it’s me. ”

#para: for all of the light that i shut out #p: savannah #savannah003

Perhaps, when their proximity drew closer and the stench of dark hair (smelling of decay from the fibres of the mutated) lingered within her nostrils, there was no requirement to hear a confirmation depart from the lips of her companion. Despite the prominent bones (the rib cages of their skeletons one of the most defining features from a single survivor to the next), she felt wholesome between her own two arms and no longer a fictional sentiment. Savannah was as real as the very air in her lungs; the importance also equivalent. To imagine the world could exist without her was no longer a possibility.

With a single hand remaining hooked around the forearm of the other, Lexie stepped away to examine the damage of what they had so previously endured. Escaping unscathed was deemed far too unlikely and yet the sight of the opposing figure appeared to come without any significant damage; a breath could be exhaled through foreign relief. Evidently, as dust veiled the damaged fabrics of her clothing, no flesh appeared tattered. She knew of immunity, but even with that it remained to no longer be a significance when you still possessed the capability to be torn in two; every single one of them as feeble as a twig.

“Next time you wanna play hero---” hazel eyes glanced towards her surroundings in the attempt to rein back a flurry of emotions which hungered to come forth. No matter the demons she faced head on, composure was often her utmost importance and luck never appeared to be in her favour. Instead, as a rarity, it had shown itself when she required it the most. “You... You scared the shit out of me.” A huff of air, short and rushed, slipped through her nostrils as she spoke. May it be the attempt to keep herself steady. “So, how about next time you get yourself out of there first?” There were few people she could lose; few who could truly tear out her beating organ and disperse of it as if she never required it to live in the first place. “These guys wouldn’t have heard the last of it if we’d lost you.”

With honesty as a common characteristic, the female dipped her head briefly to acknowledge one obvious truth: “If I’d lost you.”

100493503004422

He licked his lips. “Well, if you want my opinion–” “I don’t,” she said. “I have my own.”

Toni Morrison, Beloved (via thatkindofwoman)

#quotes

sad songs for dirty lovers; casey & lexie

It had never been his intention for Lexie to make way toward the bathroom all by her lonesome. We, he silently corrected her, but hummed an agreement. She was shifting between his legs, and Casey found himself tensing at the touch. Lexie then took a swig from the wine bottle: drawn out, slow. Lips full against the rim, slender fingers wrapped around its neck. His breath was heavy against her earlobe, where he was mouthing at her hair– before she was traipsing away, abandoning her shirt by the doorway. The bottle of wine shook against the carpet. Maybe that was just Casey, with his toes curling against the floor while he clambered to the edge of the mattress to follow.

He outlined her frame; the way hunger dipped at her hips, had an easy trail to follow straight down her spine. Dimples above her waistline. He was tilting his head to get a better look, blindly unbuttoning his new-old jeans and slipping them down past his ankles. He could see her ribcage, prominent, against her skin – even from a sideview, where she was craning her neck to see if he was following. Like that was even a question. This wasn’t a random run-in at the hospital shower block. This, along with every other action he swore he’d carry out before her, was deliberate. Slow. He balled his shirt up and tossed it across the room.

“That does sound fair.” Lithe footsteps, and a close-mouthed smile, and Lexie was disappearing through the doorway.

It was an umbrella; testing out the shower. While he craved her touch, and a closeness, it was also a ploy for getting her cleaned up, somehow sourcing the blood that splayed across her forehead and followed all the way up to her hairline. He’d scrub her clean if he had to. He’d try. Lucky enough if they even had water – let alone being lucky enough for a working gas main (two times in a row) and a functioning stream of hot water. She was turning the faucet, and tendrils of dark brown hair were sticking to her backside. He was rummaging through the cupboards before he was stepping in to join her in the shower. He found some soap (circular, wrapped in plastic, smelled like his Grandmother) and the miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Untouched and unopened. Lexie was facing the wall, with a hand playing at her neck. Casey had his fingers lightly moving against her hips, his hair damp and pressed against his forehead when he stepped in under the faucet behind her.

She was almost stumbling to thank him, express something normally unspoken, or communicated by touch. Casey was rubbing the bar of soap slowly down her back with one hand, the other snaked around her hips and holding her close to his torso. “It’s not pointless.” He leaned down to kiss her on the shoulder. But I need you to know that I… If I– Casey was shaking his head, the ends of his hair dripping droplets into his eyes, and ran the bar of soap down her forearms. “You’re stuck with me now. Can’t fix that.” He murmured, hiding a smile in her spine. The slur was starting to disappear from his voice; the feel of lukewarm water and Lexie against his skin sobering. “Thanks for being here.”

#para: sad songs for dirty lover #casey008 #p: casey #whats this who knows

You’re stuck with me now.

The very phrase would have once had her hightailing away from this particular vicinity; her connection to those in the apocalypse far more difficult than prior this new world. It was as if those moments, where the acknowledgement of death remained as consistent as their shadows threaded outwards from underneath their own feet, were enough to make all relationships (whether platonic or romantic) far more significant than the days of functioning humanity. Perhaps it was a trait of selfishness; appreciating the extremities of change and what came with it. Had the world not shattered within the clutches of each survivor, the stretch of her journey would have never included him; his existence unfamiliar until several months prior.

A concept, she knew, was as destined as if Ananke had forged it herself.

Her head dipped when the curvature of her spine was warmed by his own lips, to which (like a figurine attached to a spindle) she turned to line her gaze with his. The constellations which splayed across his flesh were mottled by the water above them - how the droplets were coaxed away underneath the buds of her fingertips as she drew them across his bicep. They had faded with age, no longer as tawny as those flecked across his facial features. Evidently, it had been a characteristic she adored, with her own fingers grazing against the stubble which enveloped his jawbone. Through blue eyes and the signs of survival, his traits existed to lure out one particular desire she had yet to ease into submission.

“You don’t need to thank me,” the words dismantled against his mouth with the tugging of his bottom lip between her teeth. Whatever desire had grasped her by the throat, left her consumed by unfathomable hunger, had presented itself in a light she had yet to know existed. The last time another had been unwilling to seek proximity had occurred without permission - had torn her in two and forced her to rebuild from the ashes of her remains. Thus, with slender arms coiling around his neck, she offered her trust for the taking; to break it if he so pleased.

sapphicreyes

isaackrane

Character Flaws && Strengths | 001

↳ Bold what applies to your muse!

╳ Flaws

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny

controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | lies

impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry

greedy | lazy | judgemental | forgetful | impulsive

spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky

♔ Strengths

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave

patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky

intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous

merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming

cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm

#about #italics for dependent on said situation

asdarknessfell

#I want to use him as a chair #{ my only constant }#tag: i can fix that

cockholmsyndrome

sad songs for dirty lovers; casey & lexie

“You did,” he mouthed against the rim of the wine bottle. “Always will.” The words were slurred. A strange concept, he thought: ever since she’d stumbled into his line of sight, it’d never been anybody else. Trust was limited within this world, but he’d let her hold his own life in her hands, and squeeze it out, if she wanted to. The amount of times he put Lexie, and her life, in front of his own well-being was stifling (or maybe that was the red wine, smooth against his throat). Another thing that had a a hand scraping down his neck was this: he wouldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t want it any other way. He hadn’t felt so attached to another human being, not even something he’d inherited in friendship among the masses, since before the outbreak. Casey couldn’t concentrate on the loss – the way the number of survivors had been cut straight down the middle – when she was smiling like that. He couldn’t think at all. eyes outlining the angle of her jaw, and the way the apples of her cheeks puffed up when she grinned. The way that something fluttered in his chest when she pressed against the edge of the mattress. He slowly pulled himself upright, offering her the bottle. “Nah,” he found himself crawling over to her section of the bed, positioning her between his thighs. “You’re staying right here.”

It might’ve been the alcohol, or the way the attraction was bursting out of his chest – but for once, Noah wasn’t a ghost that lingered behind closed eyelids. Like he’d filled up a quota for the day – setting the scene for a reenactment, with Lexie fighting off infected a distance away. Casey had reached her in time, before any damage had been done. Even despite that, Lexie wasn’t a seven-year-old child. She’d never been incapable: she was everything but. It was, he thought briefly, a relief that he could focus himself entirely on her, and not the skeletons from his past. He didn’t feel the desire to talk about it, or anything else that had occurred during the day. For once, he didn’t want to talk loss – and, for once, he didn’t even feel it.

Casey loved her hair. Dark, curled at the tips, and slipping out of a ponytail – wound by an elastic band. He nudged it along, let her hair fall back down past her shoulders. Even mussed, with dust and blood against her scalp, it felt beautiful between his fingertips. More blood – hers? Hers. – sticky on her forehead. “Wanna go test out the shower?” He propositioned, fingers warm as they splayed out against her hips.

#p: casey #para: sad songs for dirty lover #casey008

Melting against his touch was a simple way of describing her following reaction, how hazel eyes had closed momentarily to embrace the soothing nature of his action; tendrils of dark hair interlacing out against her flesh - the stench of it no different than that of the decay which had varnished the mutated. No matter the gesture, whether it be the mere knotting of her hair behind a single ear or the unspoken acknowledgement of his refusal to leave her to face this world alone, there was always an intimacy professed to her. “You want me to test out your shower?” She arched a brow at the sentiment; the brush with Death itself a harsh reminder to the only life she possessed and the choices in which she would make.

How she knew, whether it a single moment or for what the future would allow, that he was the choice she had made.

With a single sip of red and him between her thighs, she lowered the bottle atop of the carpet and maneuvered herself out of his proximity; footsteps leisurely in pace as she strolled towards the showering cubicle. Lexie could recall the many weeks having gone without warm water prior to the hospital, so to believe such a possibility could reoccur was only further reason to enjoy what each survivor had within arms reach; a concept applicable to the living and the inanimate. With that a prime focus as of late, slender fingertips worked underneath the hem of her tattered shirt, descending it alongside her feet as she paused underneath the archway of the door. Only then did she turn to see if he had followed.

“Something tells me that it’d be a fairer test if it was the two of us.”

Waiting for an answer would have deemed itself unnecessary, a useless action when crimson imprinted visible flesh and she had yet to source any wounds in which could scar her figure; to survive this world without at least a single permanent blemish could only be among the plethora of impossibilities. However, what enticed her further, as (one dainty step after the other) she inched herself underneath the faucet and welcomed the many droplets which rinsed her limbs clean from a past embedded in dirt and grime, was the sense of freedom in which came with freeing herself from the confinements of clothing. The fabric having frayed from months of abuse in all weather conditions and the nightmares which insisted on clinging to closed eyelids.

“I’ve rehearsed a thanks in my head so many times that it feels almost pointless now,” she muttered, running a single palm throughout her hair and refusing to face him as of yet. Honesty came easier when your line of sight could scour for nothing other than blank walls and the dust which speckled the atmosphere. “But I need you to know that I... If I--” lose you among the wreckage. An additional name I only hope to never mourn. “Thank you for not dying on me.”

maddys

Ricky Whittle periscope sdcc 2015

#y does this make me think of the #2021!au #like #au cavera #on snapchat #or some shit #*

suspend

Find a way. If there’s none, make one.

(via suspend)

#quotes

for all of the light that I shut out | lexie & savannah.

“ Keep ‘em coming! ” Savannah grinned. The bloater right in front of her, her whole body feeling as a bag of ants running up and down it. The adrenaline, the thrill. How many times had she been put to face death like this? For a second, a shadow mirrored what once were Xavier’s position as the dark haired girl danced in a fight against the dead. The alcohol bombs played it cool. It confused the bloater. Lexie and her, after such little time, they had found something on each other. Savannah was unsure to tell what the brunette could have find on such bird bones as hers but would definitely agree with every thought of the brunette being one of the strongests pillars of this community. Community. What did Sav know from communities?

She was usually a one focus girl but the long day had been enough to distract her. Her ankle cracked. It could have been worse but it caught her off guard and she hit the floor. The rage of the beast found her when she screamed, way more angry than hurt, when she put her foot on the floor again. One hit and Savannah remembered what pain Stephanie used to suffer from.

One last bomb hit the bloater.

Confused, Savannah watched him fall with one last agony scream and felt shivers down her spine. Then, as if he had been the lowest instrument of this Wagner’s theme and it was Russian’s time, the clickers showed up as in Tchaikovsky’s Swan’s Lake; in groups of four. The girl glanced over the furniture, inclined against a wall. Lexie was behind that barricade, trying to come to her. And the dark haired girl smiled at the sight of her conflicted face. The clickers were quicker and easily sorted it out: the running sounds, people trying to move each other, coming from behind. Even Lexie was loud, trying to make her come back. “ Shut up and run! ” Savannah threw right at her one and only companion, now. “ Meet me outside! ” And as if it was poetry, the man who was with her seemed to understand as she fired her last bullets. ***

They came in at 14:12 pm. In less than a half hour or so, the monsters had made another hell out of an utopic heaven. Savannah’s stupid clock said it was 14:56 pm. The sun was shining in its most idyllic way, as if he couldn’t foreshadow the horror that was left behind her. Dexter didn’t show up, so he was most likely dead. Pressumably dead. Savannah was now left alone: not an only answer, not a solid way of survival (since she was left without bullets and had fiven the male her knife). And lord only knew how hard it had been to get away from the damn clickers that isolated her again. Apollo graced her with a solid midday shadow on the flor her hurt ankle scratched as her new adcquired limp screamed to be recognised. Savannah was not one to heal. Her red scarf, made by the only familiar she would admit she ever had, was teared, such as her clothes. But she kept walking, born back to her endless solitude.