#kira @ me: you've given them long enough with Actually Good Influences. let me back in. stop crying. let me in. open the fucking door.

[quirofiliac]

mageshot asked: BITING. THEY ARE BITING HIM. BITING HIS HANDS.

@mageshot​​​／ unprompted ／ always accepting.

Kira doesn’t bother to wait.

In an instant, he has his entire hand at their throat. Fingers locked around meaty flesh, already beginning to squeeze every... last... inch of air out. Rough, uncut nails (he didn’t have time, yet, today to cut them. it bothers him, makes him want to bite them.) dig in, piercing through skin because he wants it to. There’s no choice in the matter for Lyric, because he’s decided it for them.

If they wanted to act like a feral animal then... oh. 

Then who was he to deny them their wants and needs? It was only right, however, for him to treat them like one.

“You’re a fucking brat.”

He doesn’t think to continue their little “game”-- at least, not as of right now. There was no point, because they’ve already decided to step over the line (a long, thick line kira’s drawn between them in the sand using his foot.) and cross over from “fantasy” and dive straight into “reality”. He’s only deciding to finish what they started, because, evidently, they don’t have the goddamn balls to do even that... because, why?

Because they never fucking do nor will. Clearly, Kira still has his work cut out for him.

All pretenses were skipped in a matter of moments (seconds, ticking away already in kira’s head. already, he’s counted to ten.) with how he regards them. A fury bristles up through his voice, stagnant yet on the constant verge of teetering over the edge. It’s nearing the territory of tr-tr-trembling with anger. A small quiver’s the sole testament to his unbridled, red hot rage. He considers, for a brief second’s worth of time, if manifesting Killer Queen would further help sway them back down towards the metaphorical hierarchal ladder.

He doesn’t know why it was so damn hard for them to understand.

Kira Yoshikage was always above them (it’s why they had to depend on him. it’s why they should depend on him.) and then? Lyric Gravellese would always be below him, nipping away at his ankles for the next round of scraps.

And why was that? Even though it’s so painfully obvious... Because it’s all they were good for.

His stand’s yet to make an appearance -- a waste of energy, he’s both decided and determined -- but he’s more than fine without it. Kira’s already taking a few steps forward, lifting Lyric’s body slowly up off of the floor as he does. Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter... he doesn’t spare them any further room. His other hand’s slathered in spittle (gross. it makes his stomach turn, rolling itself over and over in nonstop flips. he wants to vomit, hoping he aims it just right and hits them in a direct hit.) and he’s only reminded of the fact once the sensation of a bead of it rolls down over his index knuckle.

Disgusting. Nauseating. Revolting. Repulsive. Absolutely fucking abhorrent.

Of course, Kira’s mind couldn’t help but wander (and wonder, too, he supposes.) where Lyric learned the embarrassingly small amount of manners they do have from. Surely, it wouldn’t have been from either of their parents. If he were their father, he would’ve--

“Why do I have to keep reminding you who’s in fucking charge here?”

A twist of the wrist and a jerk of the arm, and, within seconds, Kira had them high up all of the floor. His eyes were slow to follow, trailing almost casually behind the trail he’s made for them before finding their eyes. It’s not a direct look, one that wasn’t meant to serve as acknowledgement nor accepting of their very existence. It was more or less to inform them that, at least, he was still tolerating them. That was the least he could do, considering the amount of attention -- or the lack thereof, as Kira had constantly reminded them -- they received on an average, day-to-day basis.

And, no, he’d always tell them (sometimes he thought about knocking on top of their head using just his knuckles, both to see if he’d get hollow feedback and to see if there was actually any sort of response they’d worth to give him.) that their coworker, Haru, didn’t count. To their defense, they never actually asked him but... ah, he always liked to cover each and every one of his bases just in case.

“You keep doing this to me, Lyric.”

He flexes his fingers, to both test his strength and to test how much oxygen they have left in their system. Kira’s head doesn’t move another inch, remaining completely still even as his neck grows stiff. It’s a mildly uncomfortable feeling, but he’s been through far worse.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this treatment, but clearly you think that I am.”

His eyes finally meet theirs officially, but there’s no fanfare. There was no standing ovation. Instead, it was cold, dead silence. Hardly any life withstood inside of them, gazing at them through a baby blue, barren wasteland serving as little more than one of his five senses: sight. Not another muscle dared to move upon his face, even as he himself considered (humored, even... because it might’ve worked in his favor... but it’d be too cliché, he thinks, now.) looking more enraged.

He could’ve bared his teeth at them, haphazardly snapping his jaw and gnashing his teeth at them like a rabid dog. Give them a taste of their own medicine, he thinks, because it could’ve been oh-so cathartic. Them flinching back in fear would’ve made this entire situation all the more bearable... if only for a moment, anyway. Some amount of outright terror might’ve made this whole, unpleasant altercation betwixt actually matter. Maybe then Kira would’ve thought that his suffering would have some weight to it.

But... no. It wouldn’t. It’d be fleeting, and he hates that feeling.

“So, tell me.”

He doesn’t let them.

He only squeezes more, as if to toy with the idea of genuinely, actually popping their windpipe. To feel it crush beneath his grip, caving in under the immense pressure. He’s never seen it happen in person in such agonizing delay before, come to think of it... but maybe there’s a reason for it. There was never much good reason for Kira to stay behind, to watch a victim writhe and twitch out towards him as if he would be their salvation. They would crawl towards him (like a newborn babe.) with one hand stretched out towards him, fingers sprawled out like a mangled starfish with a wild fervor shining bright behind their eyes. They fought against him for the right to live, and they would only continue to fight.

Admirable. To some, at least.

Not to one Kira Yoshikage, however. He’s always found it somewhat... unsightly, for lack of better word. There was something so unnerving (uncanny, maybe.) about watching someone fight so hard against the inevitable. To some, they might’ve referred to it as disheartening while others would call it inspiring. But to Kira? It was nothing short of embarrassing.

It was more than enough to give him secondhand embarrassment and so? He’s always decided to leave the room, because it cut out a lot of unnecessary outliers.

Most especially, however, it always cut out the awkwardness.

“Stop being a fucking baby and tell me.”

Craning his head towards them, he clenched his fingers tighter around their neck. He could feel their flesh start to give, but only enough to enable him to leave  these deep purple, garish marks and then?

“Go on.”

Oh, and then...?

“You fucking pussy.”

Even had he given them a chance to speak (he doesn’t.), he’s quick to rip it away. Like pulling out the rug out from under their feet, he swiftly cuts off any opportunity for them to respond with a quick, simple action.

He shakes them--

“Fucking say something.”

--and he’s going to leave marks.

There he allowed for a small curl of the lip to display his true feelings, a look of sheer and utter disgust directed at them and only them. Opposite hand suddenly makes itself known, mashing itself straight under their chin. Thumb smashed against one cheek whilst the rest of his fingers the other, holding their head snugly in place. His eyes squinted (like a cat’s upon the first sight of prey, pupils going as far as to dilate mere miliseconds after.) at them, practically challenging them-- daring them to just try and say anything.

He’s going to leave marks. They’re going to be a deep purple, with blacks and blues mixed in. It’s going to be obvious, he decides. He’s going to make them ache any time they touch them, see them in the mirror, thinks about them. He’s going to leave marks on and in them.

Oh, yes. He’s going to leave marks--

“Do as you’re told.”

--and all he’s going to do is ask, in his best soothing and worried voice, them what happened.

#mageshot #short but sweet <3 #gaslighting tw / #choking tw / #kira @ me: you've given them long enough with Actually Good Influences. let me back in. stop crying. let me in. open the fucking door. #＊ 💥 持味：in character. #＊ 💥 返事：answered.