iobairti

[iobairti]

Deer die with their eyes wide open. A gunshot to the head, a speeding car--the impact doesn’t matter. For you, it’s like opening your eyes for the very first time. The world is clear, all grittiness and rigid textures of reality and humanity softening in one final sweep. No, this is no dam freshly broken, no raging tsunami through you; it’s only the smallest tinge of stinging underneath your skin, a quiet ache for something unreachable, unattainable. This is because you knew. You always knew. You can shape the world without looking away from it, mess your hands in the clay of people’s hearts without pretending you don’t see them, but in the end it’s only a game. The real thing hides underneath your nails and you can’t wash it out, can’t will it away. Does it feel good to see? Does it feel good to understand without tiny filters between you and the outside? How does it feel to feel?

Deer die with their eyes wide open. If only you could close them one more time. If only for a split second, a fleeting moment so you could remember what it was like to feign peace and love--love, love, love. Humans and monsters are doomed to be apart, but not even monsters can love each other. Not even beasts from the same crack in the world. Violence is a one way street. Narrow. Big enough for only one. The deer walks out because it’s innocent, unknowing of what comes down the other side faster than it can blink. You’ve made a home of that street, built a house in the middle of it. When the headlights glare you walk into them. When the gun cocks you hold the barrel to your head. If the deer is innocent, what are you? 

#*KAGERU #me: write something for jiangs bday #me: writes this

[iobairti]

“Don’t you understand?”

He senses the hesitation and grabs my hands, spreading my fingers and wrapping them around his throat. How tightly he holds me in place sends a chill down my spine.

“You hate me. I took everything from you, didn’t I?” The way he smiles is sinister and cold, but his eyes, his eyes are warm and bright, filled with something else -- “You want to hurt me..”

Excitement.

“Don’t you?”

I squeeze.

‘Love doesn’t have to be this way.’

And yet our hands are always drawn in the same way: menacing, uncouth, hungry. We sit with bare backs to each other in the dark, silent. Always silent. Wounds sting and bones ache, sheets ripped and torn.

“It’s only good if it hurts,” says Adam.

I bite my tongue.

#*kageru #*ADAMKURO

[iobairti]

“Lady Ierdmas ---”

“Alma --- please. My name is Alma.” She does her best not to snap at the handmaid. Though she tries as she might, she’ll never be accustomed to who she is now.

“A-ah, yes, Lady Alma,” mutters the handmaid, a quick and apologetic bow to follow. “I have word that Master Frederic will not be coming back tonight. If there is anything you would like from us, please ---”

“No.” Alma turns her head and gazes toward the open balcony. The stars glitter inside the dark of the night. They are close and fervent, different from the way they look when standing atop the Earth. She blinks a few times before turning her head back toward the maid. The wistfulness she feels is too heavy to hide. “I’d like to be left alone for the remainder of the night, if you would. You’ve done enough for me today.” Her lips curl into a soft smile. “Rest.” With that, her handmaid gives a meek smile in response, bows and then leaves closing the large door behind her with an echoing click.

The room grows dim and quiet once again. A draft does not blow through the window and ruffle the curtains as many times as she’d like. The moon doesn’t sit far away. Every detail amiss reminds her of the Earth. Alma stands and strides toward the balcony, large and illustrious clothing draping from her shoulders dragging along the floors behind her. The maids will be so furious, she thinks, but she doesn’t care. She reaches the railing and lays her hands atop it, eyes cast toward the edges of the colony. From afar she sees the city and watches the lights dance. There was a peace to the quiet -- though sometimes lonely -- but it was too quiet.

“You can come out now.”

No one responds. Seconds pass and Alma faces the inside of her quarters, leaning her lower back against the railing of the balcony in wait. She relaxes and gives off a more sultry look as she peers into the dark.

“If you wished to surprise me you’ll have to do better than that next time, Sylvia.” Next time being emphasized as much as possible.

“You don’t make it easy, do you?” 

Out comes her guest. Her sharp voice pierces through the night and she steps into the moonlight slowly and quietly. The gold of her uniform glitters like the stars. Sylvia wastes no time untying her hair and letting it flow down as effortlessly as Alma’s. The atmosphere grows calmer and the two women stand before each other, Sylvia at the edge of the room and Alma resting at the end of the balcony. With no further words said, they both turn their gazes back toward the bustling city and the twinkling stars. After long moments pass, Alma stands up straight and folds her hands together.

“Frederic will be gone for a while,” she says, softly and sweetly. Sylvia stares back and gives a weak smile. The curtains whip with another draft and she stays behind them. 

“I’ve heard,” she replies. The tone of her voice sounds somewhat lonely and  almost regretful, but she hopes the howl of the wind drowns out the emotions before Alma hears them.

An awkward silence befalls them. Neither know where to take things next. The moment is sweet although it’s risky, and so Sylvia clenches her fists before speaking. “.. I mustn’t stay too long. The maids will be suspicious and I cannot ---”

Before she knows it, Alma has run up and kissed her. The touch is sweet and kind, but it’s hot and full of longing. She expected it to be short but Alma stays and her hands hold Sylvia’s cheeks in place. She wants to pull away before things get reckless, but she denies the thought and leans in to kiss her back, her hands resting atop Alma’s. When they finally separate, she does her best to hide her frown in the dark.

“..We can’t do this much longer. Frederic will know.”

“I don’t care.”

“But Alma ---”

“I will find a way.”

Sylvia keeps herself from scoffing. These were no trivial matters; if the family were to find out she was having an affair with another woman after having such an esteemed marriage, the whole house would be in an uproar and their alliance could be forfeit. At the end of the day, what mattered most was political standpoint. Love had no place in war. She takes her hands away from Alma’s and brings back her serious persona.

“It’s too risky for you. I.. do not want this to end, but I cannot put your family in danger,” she mutters, taking a small step back from Alma. “If Frederic wasn’t in the way ---”

Alma closes the space once again and places her lips on Sylvia’s to hush her before falling back to the balls of her feet. Her hands slips up and runs down the other woman’s neck, over her bust and to her stomach ever so slowly. She looks up and stares into her eyes.

“There is always a way.”

#*other #spits out a fast idea

[iobairti]

“I will not leave my daughter!”

Her husbands hands push and pull at her arms as she shouts. He makes a desperate attempt to rip the baby from her grip and flee while they’ve still got the chance, but she fights as he innocent child shrieks and wiggles in confusion and fear.

“Forget her! If we make it out of here alive, we can have another!”

Her eyes well with tears and she grits her teeth in disgust. The baby nearly slips from her hands as the front door of their home is kicked in. The Z/eon are everywhere now, purging all who are left behind Z/eon Z/um D/eikun’s sudden death. If she’s to die with the rest, she’d rather die standing her ground and protecting her daughter ‘til her last moments. Only a coward would leave their loved ones behind in fear.

The Z/eon soldier loses in and she catches the gleam of a gun in the corner of her eye. Thinking quickly, she tries jabbing her knee into her husbands stomach while the soldier charges to subdue him before making an escape, but he thinks the same and shoves her away, baby and all. Her footing slips and she begins to fall, vulnerable now. The soldier still sprints forward and she shuts her eyes tight, curling her baby close to her chest and shielding it with her arms as it continues to wail.

“Please don’t hurt my baby!” she screams, the sound of a gunshot ringing at about the same time. She awaits the impact, but nothing happens. Before she can open her eyes, she feels someones hands on her shoulders holding her steady just above ground. Right in front of her lies the lifeless body of her husband--a bullet hole in the side of his head. It’s unsightly, and for a moment she winces, but in the end she feels secretly relieved. He’d always been awful, mistreating her for years. Reality strikes and she realizes who’s behind her, jerking away with her baby still tightly held in her grasp. She stands firm and gets ready to fight off the soldier if they make an attempt, but when she looks them in the face, she’s surprised--it’s a woman.

“I won’t harm a mother and her child,” says the soldier, tucking her gun away. The woman still holds her child close in defense despite the soldiers friendliness. She knew she couldn’t trust her even if she lowered her guard. They stand in silence for a moment before the soldier walks toward the body of the woman’s husband, her expression slightly grim. “I could hear him from outside. I wouldn’t leave my daughter, either.”

“..You have a daughter?”Her question comes out before she even thinks about how foolish small talk with an enemy soldier would be, but she won’t deny herself the fact that she was curious in the moment. She turns to see the soldier and waits for a response, still standing cautiously. 

“No,” she replies, “but I’ve wished for one.” Another moment of silent ensues before the soldier turns her head. “There are ships leaving soon with those would like to leave. I can escort you and your child.” The mother takes a small step back. “How can I trust you?” 

“There is no reason for me to kill a mother simply trying to protect her child. You’ll most likely end up like your husband if you stay here.” The Z/eon woman turns to her again and tries to persuade her into following. Though skeptic, the mother decides to go. The soldier was right--if she wanted to protect her daughter, she needed to go somewhere more safe and start anew. She quietly nods and the soldier pulls her gun out once again, quickly directing the woman to follow behind her closely. They sneak through alleyways and make their way to the space port without being detected. Before they part ways, the soldier speaks up again.

“You’re a F/eddie, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

“..Alma --- Alma Barnes. What about you?”

“Sylvia Norcross.”

The woman’s baby begins to cry again and she gently rocks her in hopes that she’ll quiet down and soon fall asleep.

“And your daughter?” she asks, looking down at the child. 

“Her name is Sazia.”

“Sazia --- I’m sure she’ll be as breathtaking as you someday.”

The comment almost makes her gasp. The soldier woman smiles briefly before looking the other woman in the eyes sternly. “We’ll be enemies if we meet again. All of this will disappear if we end up in battle against each other.”

“---Then let’s hope we don’t meet in battle,” she jests, a tiny smile forming on her lips. The other woman almost seems shocked, but slightly pleased all the same. It was strange and dangerous, but she felt relieved that the other woman had practically saved her despite their differences. She was glad they’d met, but she knew they would always be enemies in the midst of momentary pleasantries and kind deeds. A shame, really. She almost wanted to get to know her more, wanted to trust her and put everything aside. In the end, they’d never be able to truly find a middle ground, but she honestly wished they could in that small moment. Just this once.

“..Yes. Let’s.”

#*OTHER #slaps down my ideas for g/undam oc's in the dead of night

[iobairti]

You are a kaleidoscope, a painted glass window with an untold story:  an open meadow,  a mixture of sun and shadow, and a girl. In her left hand she holds a flower, and in the right she holds a knife. Now, tell me, which one is good? Answer: neither. No one ever said she was a hero.

#*KAGERU

[iobairti]

He’s gone through every cabinet, every drawer, every closet, every door once locked for reasons he’ll never really know. He warps the doorknobs and handles each time he desperately yanks, each time he swings a door open in hopes something new will pop out and catch his eye. But nothing does. Nothing will ever be new again.

He leaves every room ransacked and cluttered, random items in piles of disarray. Only a few times does he think of fixing things--put the books on the shelves, fold the clothes on the floor, put all the photos back on the wall, place the mat over the red stains on the carpet--but he never does. He lives in the mess like it’s never been any different. 

There are rooms he enters daily and rooms he never touches. Rooms he’s torn apart and rooms he’s only glanced at from down the hall. In the summer he visits his parents room, a thoughtless tap at the wood to let the ghosts know he’s entering. The door creaks throughout the whole home and he moves in quietly, leaving the door wide open. Bed sheets are thrown about and pillows have holes and claw marks abundant. He finds old necklaces and holds them in his hands as delicately as possible, admiring the way they shine when the light peeks through the old, tattered curtains he’s been too afraid to tear down. In the far corners of the room are worn boots he so fondly remembers, and after minutes of sitting in silence, he attempts to place them on his feet only to be met with harsh disappointment and the sheer reality that he’ll never be a man like the one he remembers. He closes the door quickly on his way out, nearly slamming it from time to time. He tells himself he’ll never enter again, but a lie only lasts so long.

When the days are cold he stands before his sisters door and thinks of things to say. Sometimes he asks if he can enter, and sometimes he simply announces that he will before his hand touches the door and he slowly turns the knob, taking as much time as he possibly can before he hears the click. The door is pushed open all the way and he stands before the frame as if waiting for a response, but nothing comes, and so he moves in and leaves the door open all the same. He leaves hers the most destroyed; piles of belongings are scattered here and there, shirts torn and stains of red left on her mattress, stains he always laments over. It takes him time before he settles himself in a certain corner and simply observes the entirety of her room. He looks at the cracks in the walls from the time she kicked and kicked to alleviate frustration, the wooden boards on the floor she’d pulled up to place things under, the scraps of paper crumpled and torn. He imagines her figure walking through, reenacting each scene the same way it’d been done years before, but in the end the idea only makes him angry. He searches through heaps of things, digging for things he’s not even sure of, until he finds an old t-shirt and holds it in his hands until the black rubs off and leaves smudges and all the points poke little holes. The shirt is brought to his face and he presses it against the side of him that’s still human, holding it there and closing his eyes until it’s time to let it go and leave, though to his dismay. He walks toward the door frame, takes a step out and turns his head to say goodbye before he pulls the door to a close, his hand still wrapped around the doorknob. He waits and waits for something, anything, but there is nothing. No one responds. No one opens the door to invite him back in or calls his name. The doorknob creaks and twists in his tight grasp until he eventually lets go.

And in the spring, when the weather reminds him of flowers and a small semblance of peace, the door he sees at the end of the hall is all he has left. There are seasons where he goes without ever visiting this last room. He pushes it from his thoughts and often times pretends it doesn’t truly exist, that it’s only a figment of his imagination, but this time it’s there and he decides to take a long walk down the hall until he stands right before the door. It’s locked--he knows this--and he’s careful with the handle while he twists it and feels the resistance. He does it again and again, listening to the click like it’s some sort of personal ritual until he forces it open and takes his hand away, letting the door slowly turn in and show him a small glimpse of the inside. It’s darker than any other room. Neater. Cleaner. Emptier. Part of him doesn’t want to step in but he does it anyway, and this time he closes the door behind him politely. Locks it, too. There’s nothing for him to step around, no piles of random items left in all the walkways. He takes a straight shot toward the old bed and carefully takes a seat, dust dancing at the touch. The curtain on the window blocks out most sunlight and he sits alone in the silent dark, turning his head to look at every wall. There’s scribbled drawings on one wall that he remembers faintly, old stick figures and terrible attempts at flowers. There’s a collection of rocks at another end, different shapes and different sizes displayed. But by the bedside there’s a small table, one made simple by his father, with a single homemade card sitting on top. For a time he just stares at it. In the dark it’s harder to see, but he knows what it is even if he can’t make it out completely. He’s hesitant when reaching over to touch it. His hands tense up and he purses his lips, but he grabs it anyways, bringing it toward his face and using the tiniest bit of sunlight that peaks in to light it up. 

There’s writing on it: three different kinds. One looks clean and concise, another is bold and rigid, and the last reminds him of the drawings on the wall and how they’re all like chicken scratch a child would make. He looks at each style and thinks about who it could be, lets his eye follow the lines and curves. In the light he can see that some of it has begun to fade with time, but the dents from the writing stay and he tries to make out the words. He tries sounding it out, tries thinking of the letters he knows and what he remembers from the dictionary he tries to read, but nothing works. It’s only lines. The card is placed back at its original spot and he decides to leave, fixing the curtain to capture all remaining sunlight before he closes the door and locks himself out until next time. There’s no one to turn back to, nothing to say. He leaves down the hall without looking back and puts the card out of his mind.

‘Happy Birthday, Adam’ it says, but he never knows.

It’s only lines.

#*KAGERU #happy birthday adam. #nothing makes me sadder than you.

[iobairti]

I want to live Say it like you mean it, like the world doesn't disappear when you close your eyes. Say it like they're not even watching, like your body doesn't tremble when you breathe. There is a furnace in your throat, wood splitting between your teeth. How many times will you swallow, mouth dry? Say it louder. Say it like you mean it, knife in your hands, knees buckled, eyes straight forward into the dark: I want to live I want to live I want to live

#*KINGDOM OF PARADISE

[iobairti]

“You like crepes, don’t you, Sen– Oh, Sorry. Guess I still haven’t gotten used to calling you by your first name yet.” She tosses one of her pigtails over her shoulder while trying to hide the embarrassment on her face.

“It’s alright. Sometimes it’s hard to be less formal, but our situation is different. Special, even.”

It was comforting to be friendly with M*koto so easily, she thought. Even if it took time, A*n was thankful that she would be able to feel close to someone by just calling them their first name. It reminded her of how calm she felt with S*iho, and even their leader. But there was something different about M*koto, too; there was a feeling she felt when walking with her through the busy streets of Shibuya that she’d never felt before. A little something special, just like she’d said.

“It’s nice, don’t you think? The circumstances are a little weird, but being Ph*ntom Th*eves has really brought us all together. Sometimes I wonder if we all would be friends if it weren’t for the group.” She brings up their job to form a good conversation. Making friends was never easy, and she had occasionally thought that her and M*koto just weren’t compatible, especially so after what happened with the volleyball coaches nasty ways and their small fights before M*koto was accepted as a member. The two of them threw the blame in all the wrong places, but in the end, they learned to look into themselves and find the courage to be the person they wanted to be. They were more similar than they thought.

“Yes, I agree. It’s.. nice to feel like you belong somewhere. Like you’re useful and not just a passerby.” M*koto closes her eyes and a small smile appears. They’d made it to the crepe stand long ago, waited in line for what seemed like an eternity, but time sort of.. stopped for a moment when A*n saw the way she looked. She looked happy. Content. Free. The other kids at school had always assumed M*koto was a “robot” or that she was simply a “good girl” for all the wrong reasons, but there was a more pure side to her that she slowly began to let shine.

She was beautiful.

“..A*n? Is something wrong?”

“O-oh, no! Nothing’s wrong! Sorry, I just… spaced out there a little..” A*n gives a light laugh and waves her hands around before tossing her other pigtail behind her shoulder. Before she knows it, a worker at the stand announces that her order of two triple chocolate crepes have been prepared, and her eyes light up. “Yes! Thank you!”

She hands one to M*koto and takes a loving bite into hers, making all kinds of pleased noises and even swinging herself around a few times. “Oh my gosh… it’s SO GOOD! We’re so lucky we made it in time.”

M*koto smirks. “You look exceptionally pleased. You’re like a kid in a candy store.”

“Come on, you gotta try it!”

Eventually M*koto takes a bite and her eyes widen, a hand covering her mouth after pulling away from the soft crepe. “Wow.. it really is good..” She looks up to see A*n giggling with traces of chocolate on her lips. The sight makes her let out a small laugh, but they grow louder after realizing they both have chocolate on their faces. Time passes by. They laugh, they talk. The serious nature M*koto usually displays wanes by the end of the day, and every now and then A*n catches her again, beaming so softly. There really was something about her that was special. There was something warm in her chest that swelled when she was near, something growing whenever she looked her way. A familiar and soft feeling. A flower blooming.

The streets of Shibuya would surely see them together more and more as the days went on.

#*OTHER #*MA

[iobairti]

    “You called, Your Highness?” Formalities never dwindle. His future king awaits him by the fire, tossing twigs and stray pieces of bark into the fray. He stands idly by, arms behind his back and legs tight together. R*gis waves his hand and frowns a bit. “No need to be so respectful. As you can see, we are far away from the royal capital. Sit.” Though reluctantly, C*r complies. The others sleep while they sit together, the night strange and unpredictable. Somehow peaceful despite all that goes on. Yes, that’s right, he hasn’t forgotten what they travel for and what it is they’re truly doing outside of the city. But what of R*gis? Sometimes he wonders if he’s having a little too much fun. The silence between them begins to make him worry, and so he breaks the ice.

    “..Was there something you needed to speak to me about?”The idea was a little unnerving, but it seemed that was the only reason he’d be singled out. “Not particularly,” R*gis begins, tossing his last stick into the fire, watching it crash and send sparks flying. “I simply enjoy your company. Believe it or not, it’s nice to be away from C*d and Cl*rus. Even W*skham.” C*r’s eyes seemed to widen. They were years apart, and he’d assumed R*gis would be closer to the others considering their ages and backgrounds, but.. to hear this from his own mouth is somehow.. honoring. Humbling. Relieving. Kind.

    He gives the tiniest smile.     “As do I.”

    Council meetings come and go. With the Queen’s death and many other things coming to face, R*gis shows signs of weary, things C*r notices out of the corner of his eye even when he pays little mind. A little Prince sleeps, then awakens into a young man, and a King never shuts his eyes as dawn breaks. The wall stands and things continue on despite all. Years go by. Their time together slims, but he makes little of it; friendships come second to his duty as a Crown’s Guard. At times, when he is alone, he wonders if there is much of a friendship aside from duty, or if he fools himself thinking so. At the end of the day it never truly matters. Things will never stop changing.

    At night he catches the King by himself and waits until he’s invited to stand nearby, never showing up without a warrant. The two of them are older now: taller, manlier, though C*r is still behind as he always will be. His King grows grey and brittle, ring on his finger at all times. The stars shine and R*gis simply watches them, C*r shooting glances.

    “Your Majesty—”     He raises a hand. “No need. We’ve been over this countless times.” He almost grunts in response. His King sighs roughly, hands moving to his sides. “..I only ask for a moments peace. I lose time each day.” Ah. C*r closes his mouth and stands beside him quietly. He knows what this means, and he buries it deep to pretend that it does not hurt him. There are friendships small and simple, different from others. He would cherish this one for as long as he could.

    “As you wish.”

    “I will have you go with him.”     “But Your Ma—” He stops himself before R*gis can. “..there is too much at stake. We don’t know what the Empire could be planning–”

    “Which is why I need you to take N*ctis away from here.“The tension in the air festers. Frustration is thrown from both sides, but C*r does his best to stay polite and respectful. The Cr*wn’s Guard are to always stay beside the King, never letting harm come to him. He swore an oath that he’d never let anything happen to him, but how will he do so if he’s outside of the city? Cl*rus is the only one left from their olden days, and C*r loathes the idea of leaving him alone with just one companion, loathes the idea of leaving him at all. R*gis turns in his chair and gazes out the window. “..My time is coming to an end. Your top priority is to keep the L*cis family line safe. My sons life is more important than mine.”

    He furrows his brows after hearing him say such things, casting his gaze elsewhere. He can’t deny the truth. Perhaps he’d planned this all along and C*r just wasn’t able to see. From day one, he knew that things were more serious than they seemed to be. Princes would become Kings, so on and so forth. Time would continue on and duties would stay the same. There was a small, closed off part of his heart that wished there were easier things in life. He remembers being young and thinking about how one day this man before him would become a valiant King and rule just like his father. These things were set in stone and created many years ago, but death was inescapable and never unknown. He only wished for a little more time, a few more chances. There was never truly peace, yet he could find it in a dream at his side.

    Only in a dream.

    “You are the only one I trust with this task,” R*gis says, turning slowly to face him once more, a softer expression given. C*r looks back and tries to hide the way he feels. “Please.. do me this one last favor, old friend.”

    “..Yes… R*gis.”

#*OTHER #*CR

[iobairti]

Do you love him?

No. I love the way he laughs. I love the way he tells stories. I love the thick rim of his glasses. He shines bright even in the shade and I watch him, far away, far out of touch. He stands like a sunflower to the Gods. I couldn’t reach the place he looks for even if I tried. But, I truly love that about him. If only that.

Do you hate him?

No. I hate the look in his eyes. I hate the way he says my name. I hate the way he holds on so tightly. He could take everything into his palms and keep it there if he wanted. The broadness of his shoulders keeps him firm and casts a large shadow, one large enough to leave it all behind once he turns away. I hate the way he never turns away.

Will you ever say it aloud?

No. That’s the best and worst part.

#*KAGERU #*RL

[iobairti]

You, in the shape of a quiet darkness: wooden floors creaking with old screams, a shadow in the hallway cast by no one. Howling wind and rattling windows. Broken light bulbs and mirrors misplaced. Doorknobs are all red hot, locks on the outside to keep something inside. A voice comes from behind a locked door telling you to come close, closer, let me out. You open the door but no one’s been home for years. There’s only you.

The burn on your palm never heals.

#*KAGERU

[iobairti]

    “While you were in front of everyone, I was alone.”

    A quiet curse. The two of them break eye contact and stare down at their feet. His eyes narrow and his face goes blank. The color of his eyes–a brilliant pink, soft yet bright–shine through even then. He grew tired and dim, old and worn, but a fire stayed lit as always. Adam never could find out why.

    “You.. you had everything. We grew up believing there was nothing better than having that something, devoting ourselves to it, but you.. you didn’t even want it.”

    He wants to retaliate. There are truths and lies hidden in all the walls. No one ever truly knew anything. The dreams they dreamed were all fake, all disasters and all fabricated by their own strange desires. The Gods they loved were no Gods, the heavens they sought no heaven he could’ve ever imagined. The world they lived in was upside down and inside out, wrong in every sense, but no one knew. Only him. His eyes shoot back up and he steps forward, brows furrowed and fists beginning to clench.

    “I didn’t have anything! You have no idea—”

    “Don’t give me that shit!” Jiāng jumps up just as quickly, snatching the collar of Adam’s clothing and holding it tightly. “You took everything from everyone! From me! They paid attention to you while I sat there and died! I watched you.. I watched you everyday. I heard you scream, I heard every single word that came from your mouth, and so did everyone else, but I didn’t even exist! I threw my life away for it all: for those people, for that town, for myself, and you know what I got? Nothing!”

    “You don’t even know what it is that you want!” Adam quickly rips Jiāng’s hand away and pushes him back, creating distance between them. Though he wants to continue on, a brief silence follows his words. Jiāng’s head hangs low.

    “..You never even turned my way. No one did. Next to you, I was nothing. A waste. Ruined. I tried so hard to be like they wanted me to be.. like you, but it didn’t matter. It was all yours the moment you arrived.”

    “You don’t fuckin’ understand,” Adam barks, “they were gonna kill us all–”

    “Then why didn’t they kill me?! Why did they leave me behind?! Why was it only ever you?!” He screams and shouts, teeth clenching and hands shaking. “You stole everything from me! My life, even my death! Everyone ran to you and left me to rot on my own, but you.. you.. you had everything!”

#*KAGERU

[iobairti]

Loving me is like loving time, she thinks. Loving me is like loving something unstoppable, something unfathomable. Time is an endless abyss. Untouched. Untouchable.

#*RIVER OF REBIRTH

[iobairti]

    “You scar me,” she says, neck lazily craning to the side while the satin robe loosely over her shoulders slides down to show her exposed bosom. There are teeth marks between her breasts, some leaving little red holes and rings of dirty bruises. Goosebumps still linger long after the moment is gone; her hair stands on end but her face shows relaxation, no tension or pain apparent in the way she moves. Her lover sits motionless at the other end of their bed, her long, dark hair pooling down and mingling with the rustled sheets they’ve left behind. She thinks of inching closer, but instead catches a glimpse of herself in the nearby mirror and stands to move before it, fingers delicately brushing along the fresh wounds lining her chest.

    “But not enough.” Moonlight shines through a small window across the room and her skin glows. She watches herself and pays mind to everything new: the coils and knots in her hair, the mascara smeared below her eyes, the way her robe could fall and leave her bare at any second. Before long, her lover stands. She walks over rather casually and stands behind the other woman, hands raising to drape the robes over her shoulders properly. They stand together for a short while, idly looking into each others eyes through the mirror before the woman behind slips her hand through her lovers hair, soon cradling her chin and easing it aside to leave her neck out in the open.

    “I can bite harder,” says the dark haired woman, eyes closing slowly. She leans in and bares her sharp fangs right before her fair skin, simply teasing. There’s no reaction to her movements, and so she decides to actually bite, though not harshly; she sets her teeth on her neck and gradually pulls away, grazing her flesh and leaving small trails of red behind. “I can kill you.”

    The fair woman smiles, eyes narrowing, a stray hand reaching upward to caress the face so close to hers.

    “I like that about you.”

#*OTHER

[iobairti]

“God curse you,” he said, “and God curse me for loving you.”

#*OTHER

[iobairti]

A distant, beautiful crescendo plays in every moment that you die. You will hear screams and never know they are yours.

#*KAGERU

[iobairti]

REPO MAN: Who will take back from you? Who will reclaim the things you were never meant to hold?

#*KAGERU