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fungiwalker · 1 year ago

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change your name, change your mind, and leave this fucked up place behind

In which Clementine is an infallible witness, and David Garcia does as he pleases.

after

It could be hours Clementine spends sobbing into her arms. It could’ve been decades, centuries, millennia. It could’ve been an eternity, with the world flipped once again on its axis and all the walkers have vanished. Nothing else lives but her and the endless ache and fear and there is no sound save for her wails.

Eventually, after so long, her body gives in to either thirst or exhaustion or something inbetween, and she falls silent.

The sun warms her tear-stained cheeks, and she looks up. Sunlight peers through the holes in the boarded windows. She had never been good at fastening things like that, her hands clumsy and her arms weak from walkers. Kenny would have been good at it. He’d promised her, I’ll get those boards fixed up soon. I promise. But he wouldn’t. He’d lied to her, and it was the most devastating thing in the world.

She can taste blood. Her throat aches in the most horrid of ways, and her head is beginning to throb with a headache that is certainly going to linger.

Was this what it was like to die of a broken heart? She had heard about it. She’d even seen it. Katjaa had gone out like that. She remembered the night it happened, with the sun hanging low in the sky and lighting up the world in orange. She remembers Lee's soft voice explaining, "Duck is dying, honey," and she understood immediately. She had watched Katjaa carry her dying son into the woods. It was weird, watching someone who ran everywhere he went have to be carried to his deathbed. But death was kind to no one.

She had heard the gunshot ring from the trees, and watched crows jerk out of the branches in a panic-- there's a predator, sound the alarm! The silence that had followed had been deafening. Lee had shaken his head, another day, another death, and Kenny's shoulders had sagged and his eyes had gone dark. Katjaa couldn't handle it, Lee had told her after the fact. She just... gave up. But Clementine didn't think she could give up. AJ was still alive (she really hoped so) and there was still so much to be done that she didn't think it'd be okay to just give up. Not after the look on Kenny's face, kill them all for me; she couldn't rest peacefully after that. Not after what had happened. After all, she had fought for.

Her knife rests heavy in her pocket. The gun glitters in the dying sunlight.

If AJ was gone for good, she didn't think she could force herself to go on any longer. She's sure that, if he hadn't already, Kenny would have joined her.

before

All it took was a single gunshot, and the rabbit was down.

Clementine watched in guiltless fascination as it twitched and died, legs jerking out underneath it in a brown blur—a crimson stain spread over the snow, blood washing out of its insides in waves. For a moment, for a quiet, tender moment, she is tempted to dip her fingers in the entry wound and feel the lifeblood slip from its veins. She has never been one to fear death, but to believe in it is something else entirely. Could this be her, one day or the next, bleeding out into the snow?

The thought should have disturbed her. It didn't.

She knelt on the ground, scraped knee pressed into the frost. Warily, as though the rabbit would come alive and snap at her, she ran her hand over its flank, feeling where it was beginning to grow cold. Something about this moment, where man and beast alike passed on, was intimate. Sinful, even. She felt perverted for touching it, even though she had caused this.

"Nice catch," a gruff voice called from behind, followed by the heavy shuffling of footsteps through the grass. "You're improving."

She glanced over her shoulder, a smile worming its way onto her face. She wasn't a bad shot by any means, but something about hunting bothered her more than she liked to admit. At first, she had been hopeless, leaving bulletholes wedged into the trees every time she took aim and fired. Now, gone were the days where she'd hang her head in embarrassment, unable to live it down. She'd be the winner of their game, eventually. "Thanks," she replied. "Think I'll ever get as good as you?"

Kenny's brow twitched upwards as he squinted, peering at the infant in his arms. "What do you think, AJ? You think she'll get as good as me?" Of course, AJ didn't reply, but he blinked his soft brown eyes and dribbled spit all over himself.

On days like these, this could be Georgia, and she could be in the first grade again.

after

Javier García isn't a bad man, that she knows almost instantly.

Clementine kept silent on the drive back to Prescott, gripping the steering wheel as tight as she could. She had fought him for the right to drive, and eventually, she'd won. Okay, you win, he snapped, voice harsh with annoyance. She had been satisfied after that and decided that silence was a valid option.

She isn't too sure about Javi, not really, but she knows a bad man when she sees one, and he doesn't fit the part. He was awkward, in the Reggie kind of way where he didn't really know how to act around children (was she a kid anymore?). He had cracked a joke once or twice, but she'd furrowed her brow and kept stoic. He wasn't particularly funny, but he was charming enough. She would have liked him, but the name García leaves a sour taste in her mouth. Coincidence, she thought rationally. But is it?

"So," he said after a long silence. "Clementine."

He says her name like it's a line of poetry. Slow and silvery. Clementine. She isn't sure if she likes that or if it makes her nervous.

She considers keeping silent, but his voice coaxes a response out of her, "What?"

He looks at her like she's something hopelessly annoying, but she gets that look often enough that she doesn't mind. "This... loner, thing you have going on. That's no way to live." He also talks like he knows her. Like somehow, somehow, he knew everything about her.

"No one lives anymore," she replied, though that's not her words. Kenny had told her the exact ones before, and she had stuck to that idea. "We're all just waiting around to die."

"Jesus, how old are you?"

"Thirteen." At least, she's pretty sure.

He laughs, though it's more of a huff through his nose than anything. "You're unbelievable." No, he's not a bad man, but an annoying one. He reminded her of Kenny, but only his best aspects on his best days. Not too funny. Not entirely charming, but something about him was endearing. Not too polite, not too mean.

In another life, this was her and Kenny and AJ, and she was learning to drive.

after

They aren't two hours into their return to Prescott when Clementine kills a man.

Her entire arm stings with the echoes of the gunshot. She can feel nausea chittering in the back of her throat. Her legs tremble with the effort of keeping her standing. I killed him. I killed him. She can taste blood in her mouth. Isn't too sure if it's his or her own. "Fuck," is all she says.

Fuck is right. Her jacket was stained with crimson. She felt like she was going to be sick.

Javi stands shocked, rocked, and confused like a rabbit shot in the dome. His eyes are comically wide, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment. He looks at her, back at the man, then at her again, like she has any more answers than he does.

Lies come to her naturally.

“Tell them,” she panted, “tell them he was going for his gun. Tell them he would have killed you if I didn’t…”

But she isn’t feeling too certain this will work. These people have known her for three weeks and all of those three weeks she’s been nothing but trouble. She doesn’t like most of them and none of them like her. Her blood runs cold at the idea; they’re going to fucking kill me for this.

Tripp is furious.

Javi is a good liar.

No, no, not a bad man.

inbetween

Clementine had never begged before.

She can’t remember there ever being a need for it. Not even when it looked like death was imminent. She kept quiet and set her jaw and kept her pleads to herself.

But right now, right then, she lost it.

”Please, please don’t do this, you can’t do this—“

She was babbling. Desperate helpless pleading and sobbing and crying. You can’t do this they can’t please god you can’t.

Kenny is on the ground. He was looking at her with his sad eyes. Kill them all for me.

The gunshot echoed throughout the forest.

AJ cries and cries and cries.

Her life is over in a matter of minutes.

before

The first time Kenny had yelled at her was when Sarita had died.

Clementine wasn’t used to being yelled at. Sure, she got her fair share of grief from the group, but no one ever shouted. Even Rebecca didn’t raise her voice at her. She wasn’t sure if she should be appreciative, or be annoyed they didn’t take their anger seriously because she was just a kid. No one was a kid anymore. But Kenny was the softest. He only raised his voice at other people, but he talked to her like he did love her. It did funny things to her insides like when Lee would call her sweetpea and her parents would call her honey. Things like that.

But all good things never really lasted long, and that feeling shattered.

Her axe is still trembling in her hand as she and Sarita look at each other. Sarita is like a deer in headlights, clutching her wrist (no hand), eyes wide, staring at her like You killed me, my god, you killed me. She fell to the ground with a quiet thump, like she had passed out and was going to be okay. She was just tired.

Kenny’s voice comes next. “What the fuck did you do?”

Clementine’s whole body flinches at the sound of his voice. He’s angry, he’s really angry, and she messed up badly. She doesn’t understand many things but she understands that she just made a horrible mistake. “I thought— I thought I could…”

He looks at her like she’s a monster. “You… you stupid fuckin’ kid!” He cradles Sarita in his arms. Holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. He runs away.

The herd walks on.

Clementine stands very still.

after

After all this time, Clementine still isn’t used to being yelled at.

She does a full-body flinch as the gun in Conrad’s hand swings in her direction, aimed right at her forehead. There’s nothing but hate in his sharp eyes, and strangely enough, she’s reminded of that day at Howe’s. You stupid fucking kid.

”What the fuck?” Gabe rose to her defense. Of course he does. She liked Gabriel García well enough. He's sweet and stupid, and just enough like her in the way he can survive. But he's short-tempered and angry, and she's sure this will escalate with his input. She isn't sure if she should be flattered or tell him to shut up.

She isn't too sure about what Javi will do. For now, he watches in silence, a frown set on his face like he isn't quite sure whose side to take. His eyes narrowed slightly, staring at Conrad curiously yet cautiously. "Just take it easy.”

Take it easy. Nobody could ever really take it easy. She was New Frontier and maybe it was all her fault these things had happened, in some awful inconceivable way. She can remember Francine and all those people at Prescott that were victims of the New Frontier, and she wondered, is it all because of me?

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.

Conrad doesn’t budge. He talked about trading her off to the New Frontier, for safety for weapons for anything, and all she can think is she needed to get away now.

after

Conrad is dead.

She doesn’t understand why.

She asked, and Javier García had no answer for her.

before

Clementine loved AJ.

God, she loved him with everything she had. But it was so fucking easy to hate him.

She leaned against the wall, listening to him fuss over something or other. Sound attracts walkers, she thought, sound attracts walkers. You need to shut him up. But she can’t bring herself to get up and comfort him. They all needed a little fucking comfort. Where was her comfort?

She regretted the thought as soon as it came to her. It was selfish and childish and Kenny would probably slap her for thinking of something so outlandishly stupid. But she would take it with pride and stick it out until she was black and green from the amount of times he’d hit her. She just didn’t care.

If it weren’t for AJ, she wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t be stuck in the middle of the woods, alone, waiting for the old man to come back. She wouldn’t be stuck with Kenny, someone who didn’t even like her all that much and yet still tried to take care of her, though it was mostly, entirely, AJ he worried about. Maybe if AJ had never existed she would still be with the cabin group, still be with Luke and Rebecca and Jane and all those other folks. None of them had ever treated her great but she would give anything to have someone who would tell her it would all be okay.

If it weren’t for AJ, she wouldn’t be starving. He constantly drove the animals away with all his whining.

But she loved him. She’d die for him. She’d do anything for him. But there was always that trace of hatred in her mind that would never go away, no matter how hard she tried.

God, she was so sorry.

after

Reunions between sworn enemies were supposed to be grand.

Clementine had pictured this countless times, twisting her gun in hand. She imagined David’s look of surprise, of hatred, because how dare she still be alive after he drove her away. And maybe she’d kill him. Maybe she wouldn’t. Murder was murder and violence was violence, but both of those things sickened her. She wasn’t sure if she could kill David even if she tried her hardest.

But right now, David looked like he could care fucking less about her. She had her gun aimed at him and he didn’t care.

“Look at me, motherfucker,” she snapped, but her voice was wavering and her head was pounding and all she was doing was begging at this point. “Look at me.”

David glared at her, like she was the wrong one. Like she was the murderer who had taken everything from him. “Put your gun down, Clementine,” he said slowly, holding his hands up in surrender. But he’s not surrendering. Not a chance. His gaze darted to his family, who were watching from afar in dumbstruck silence.

Jesus watched, too. She doesn’t know the man well, practically not at all, but he’d asked her once, why do you hate David so much and she found herself telling him everything. His eyes are soft and sad. Don’t you fucking look at me like that don’t you dare please just stop fucking looking at me.

”You—“ Clementine’s voice broke, and then started up again. She felt on the verge of passing out. “I’m going to fucking kill you. I’m going to kill you for what you did.” She’s going to cry. Right in front of all of them. Right in front of the growing crowd of onlookers. She doesn’t care that his entire family save for one is watching. She doesn’t care. She’s going to kill him she has to please she can do it.

“Clem, you don’t have to do this.” Javi took a step towards her.

“Don’t you fucking say that!” She’s shouting like a wild animal, probably looked like one, too. Her head was pounding, her heart was racing. Her hands were shaking so badly they might fall off. “You don’t know what he did. You have no fucking idea what he did to me.”

AJ is dead. Kenny’s dead. Everyone is fucking dead. Everyone she’s ever loved and who has ever loved her is dead and gone. She could be dead right now, a disembodied spirit hanging in the void, hanging in the limbo of the inbetween. No matter how hard she should try to escape, to hold to life she will always be trapped in the void, in death, carrying the burden of it with her forever and ever.

There is a long suspended moment of silence.

David is furious. He’s one of those men that felt they could take from anyone without consequence. That their actions were the only ones that truly had any meaning. More tears sting in her eyes, because all that reminded her of was Kenny. “Listen, Clementine,” he demanded, but his voice is soft. There’s an almost guilty look in his eyes.

Guilty.

Clementine can’t even hold on to the fragments of his apology. She nearly staggered, the gun nearly dropping out of her hands and onto the floor. She can barely breathe.

He tells her that AJ is alive. That he sent him off to somewhere. A ranch. But the worst thing David García told her was;

”I’m sorry, Clementine.”

You’re not sorry. You just want to live, you just want to survive. No one is ever sorry for what they do to me.

That was finally when she broke, staggering horrible gasping sobs leeching their way out of her. She can’t even aim properly anymore. Maybe it’s a good thing when Javi slowly took the gun out of her hand, watching her with those pitying eyes. No one’s ever sorry.

after

David is dead.

They tell her the day after the fact. Clementine hasn’t seen him since that day he tried to kill his own brother, since that day she’d put her gun to his head for the second time and had been too afraid to pull the trigger.

Gabe sat next to her in the bed of a truck, holding her hand in his. “How are you?” He asked her finally.

And again, Clementine felt those selfish thoughts creeping up inside of her. She wanted to start wailing, start blubbering like AJ did when he was upset. But she doesn’t. She stared up at the moon and the stars, which came as they always did, every single night. “I think I’m okay,” she said, her voice so raspy she doesn’t even really recognize it as her own. She should be asking if he’s okay. His father is dead. But she doesn’t. Because as casually as she decided she would kill David, once upon a time, she has decided she is going to leave and never come back.

Gabe doesn’t seem to mind. He holds her hand. He doesn’t speak to her. He is eerily quiet.

David is dead, and somehow, inconceivably so, everything is worse now.

after

After everything, Clementine is the one to leave.

People had left her, one after the other. Whether they made that choice willingly or not, they left her either way. But today, it’s her turn to make that choice. She found she regretted it far more than she should have.

Javier sat with her on the last day. He doesn’t seem to mind that she doesn’t want to talk to him. That she doesn’t want to talk to anyone. “How are you holding up?” He asked. He always managed to find the perfect way to talk to her; not like the kid everyone thought she was, and not like a total stranger. “I heard you didn’t sleep too good last night.”

“I slept fine,” is all she said in reply.

She didn’t, not really. Some part of her wanted to reconsider leaving. To reconsider everything. But she thought of AJ, scared and alone and not dead like she’d always thought.

He looked at her, disbelieving. “You don’t have to leave, you know. There’s a place for you in Richmond.”

She shrugged, trying to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t hurt him. ”It’s a place I don’t want.”

He pursed his lips, looking away. He was one of the few people who could look at her the longest without tearing their gaze away. He can’t look her in the eye anymore. “Then… I hope.. I hope you find AJ. And then, you can come back.”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

It is left unspoken between them that she will never come back, and that she hopes she never sees Richmond again as long as she lives.

#alternate universe #hmm this fic is angsty #i also wrote this one a while ago #but hey #whatever #just thought id post #clementine twdg #twdg s3 #javier garcia #david garcia #kenny twdg

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azullumi · 11 months ago

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“withering desires of a cruel man with broken confessions” ; aventurine

to you : 🧀 nonnie !! i hope you had a wonderful birthday and i’m sorry for taking a long time to finish this but hey, it’s done now (finally). belated happy birthday and i wish you all the best <33

premise — his belief that he doesn’t deserve the good things is rooted deeply underneath the dirt where he buries his corpse, and he doesn’t deserve you; this is an ode to clementia and he wishes that his song reaches you.

tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, fluff to angst, friends to friends that knows they like each other, orange as a metaphor for love, angry and forced love confessions, aven my self-sabotage and mixed signals king, 1.5k ; one-shot

note — made while listening to phoebe bridgers, faye webster, adrianne lenker, and ichiko aoba. this was supposed to be a short drabble about peeling oranges and sharing with them what happened

They say clementines are a symbol for mercy—gentle, soft, and sweet, like an echo of the sun.

There’s the fresh smell of citrus in the air as he delicately pulls its skin to reveal its form, a warm burst of sunset trapped within its fragile walls, and his nails will be tainted by the color of its penance and he’ll forget what it feels like to only have hatred in his heart. Maybe that’s how forgiveness tastes; salvation will fill his blood as he sheds tears that carry his sins (they were never his).

“I don’t know how you can do that flawlessly.” You say, your voice drenched in wonder and amazement as you watch the movement of his fingers, adeptly peeling the fruit. The sections come apart neatly and perfectly in his hands.

He smiles, “It’s easy.”

“It’s not.” You insist, reminding him of the horror of the state the orange has become when you tried to share it with him. “Did you see the holes I tore through it? I was left with nothing but the mere coat because the juice sprayed in all directions.”

The sound of laughter forms in his throat and escapes, “It’s because it was small and the skin is hard. Come on.” He holds a small piece near your face and you part your lips open enough for him to feed you; a warm feeling resides in your cheeks as you chew. There’s a burst of sweetness, with hints of sourness that lingered in its nature in your mouth—it reminds you of the night when he held your form and gently guided you to the melody of the song.

“Is it sweet?” He asks, his head tilted a little to the side as he bores his gaze at you. There are lingering touches, whispered honey-coated words, affectionate gestures, and eyes painted of different vivid hues and contrasting pristine tones that never seem to hold the light, only reflecting your form within. You hum, nodding your head as you answer, “You should teach me how to peel them, you know. I don’t want to be calling you everytime or having to rely on you too much.”

(Truthfully, and hopefully so, may you never learn so he’ll get to be this close to you always.)

He smiles, sunshine peeking through his expression, “I wouldn’t mind.” He wouldn’t mind if it were just a small matter or nothing at all, you can keep on calling for him, ask for his assistance or simply just his presence—he’ll come running to you. He whispers, “Use me as you wish,” and his words shatter as it falls to the ground. (See him as a tool that has never known its purpose. See him as worthless but mere dust that covers your window sills. See him as nothing but a fool who never understood the lines in his heart.)

You say, “You know you’re not just as little as that to me.”

“Then what am I to you?” The comfort of silence settles in the gaps of his fingers and he finds himself seeking, waiting, with bated breath. His gaze seems to still at your eyes before falling to your lips, lingering for a few moments before meeting your eyes once more, and your hands tremble; you know the answer, you know what to say, you know, you know, you know, you know—and, at once, there’s the warm feeling of his lips on yours as you pull him in, as he pulls you in.

It’s gentle, soft in all of its edges and cracks. He holds your face in his hands and you intertwine yours in his locks, and you pull at his hair, eliciting a hum from him. It’s a burst of warmth, the taste of something sweet still left in your tongue as he kisses you. It’s short yet it will be engraved and buried in the depths of your mind for eternity.

“I like you.” You whisper against his lips as you part, eyes heavy on each other yet his gaze wavers and his breath shudders.

“I…” Why else would he continuously seek your embrace? Why else would he prefer to be alone with you even if it’s just silence between you and him (your presence alone brings him comfort)? Why else would he take such time to understand your form and cradle your being as if you were born from glass? He didn’t have your hands carve the shape of his thoughts into the form of your being just so he wouldn’t capture the feeling of your touch on his skin and how he craves, yearns for it like a starved man—and yet, he’ll hold his head down in humiliation as he looks for the words on the ground. He’s worthless, useless, nothing like his ‘luck’ that seems to curse everyone around him, and you’re everything he’s not. “I’m sorry.”

His hands fall from your cheeks and he stands up, saying, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

The chair screeches beneath him; his thoughts remain silent yet deafening, your voice fading into white noise as you call for him. He has to leave—each of his footsteps are heavy, echoing back to him as if a semblance to contempt and mockery that trails his wake.

Fear and shame forms at the bottom of his lungs. What even is he afraid of? Is it the lack of experience? The fear of abandonment? But humans are not strangers to those thoughts, people are bound to leave and Aventurine wasn’t unfamiliar with that, so how could he be afraid of something that has become a friend to him? Maybe it’s when he’s torn apart from flesh to bones and they’ll see there’s nothing in him—he was born out of barren wastelands and dust, his form has been long since buried under the golden sands. Maybe it's when he’s shown everything to them and they seek for something that he doesn’t have; the disappointment that lies in their expression will forever haunt him. Was it fear or was it worry that nobody could ever love him for what he truly is? Behind the expensive clothes he wears, the shining and heavy jewelry on his wrist, the suffocating rings on his hand, maybe they prefer his skin tainted with letters instead of wounds that brands him as human.

“—Rine.” A hand grasps at his wrist, preventing him from leaving. He stills in his position, feet glued to the floor and his back turned against you. Your voice breaks, “Stay, please.”

He’s stuck, sutured to the ground, hesitation sewing his mouth shut. You urge him to turn around, your fingers tugging at him, so he could face you, so you could see him—he’s tattered, torn and conflicted over something you’ll never know. The unfriendly air of the cold night wraps around his figure, but your hand eases warmth and comfort in his weary bones.

“Why did you kiss me?” You seek for something in the gaps of his expression, looking for a falter in the lines of his features to know the thoughts that he hides beneath all the charades and facades.

“…It was a mistake.”

You answer, frustration slowly seeping into your tone, “You know damn well it’s not.” He knows completely well it’s not and it will never be. And you don’t cry nor plead, you beg with sore, trembling palms for an answer to soothe the disturbance of the waves that will come to swallow you, drowning you in the murky waters of your mind. “You don’t get to hold my hands and cradle me in yours and tell me it’s nothing. You don’t get to look at me in a way that is reminiscent of lovers and tell me it doesn’t mean anything. You don’t get to kiss me and say that it’s a mistake. You’re a cruel man, Aventurine, and you’re unfair for telling me that it was all nothing but a mistake when you haunt my dreams.”

“…I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes for a moment, darkness swallowing his vision yet his mind conjures an image of you in it, berating him. The broken pieces of your words are left scattered on the bottom of yours and his feet.

You ask, voice low, “Do you like me?”

“Why—“

“It’s a yes or no question, ‘Rine. Do you like me or do you not?”

“I love you.” His voice is raised and cracks start to form on the surface of his expression, “and it’s scaring me.” Forgive me. The clock continues to tick despite the world seemingly coming to a still at his words.

The air is suffocating and the silence sits on your shoulders before he says, whispering in a broken tone, “I’m leaving.”

And this time, you don’t stop him. His steps are rushed against the flooring, the sound of the door closing echoes throughout the corners of your mind. The walls of your home stand tall over you, his confession written and tearing through all over your wallpaper, screaming at you; you’re left crumbling on the floor. The sweet scent of citrus lingers in the air, the mess the two of you made still on the counter tops, and you wished you told him you love him too.

tagging @toorurs, the loveliest and sweetest of all. i hope you know that you're cherished and loved by me, and i'm so glad to have you and the sun that touches your skin must be too <33 always be reminded that you're beautiful and i appreciate everything that you do and say (you always make me laugh even when it's just the smallest and useless of things like wow you must have a special talent in making someone smile) !! thank you for always being there for me too and always cheering me up, and also making my day because everything for me nowadays is becoming unbearable and you're the only one that keeps me sane (fk exams and projects and research im going to cry)

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