Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed]

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 19, 2011 20:32:21 GMT -5

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Post by cinder on Jun 19, 2011 20:32:21 GMT -5

WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF KELLA

I wanna watch you sleeping peaceful
Resting your heart and your soul
We should never awake without the other
Lying by our side

Love is a very uncomplicated procession of steps that lead to the ultimate demise of one self and the nascency of a new being. You get to thinking, “Hey maybe I am different and maybe she is also different. We can be different together and our love will never wither because we are strong.” But no matter, love will rapidly unravel herself if you find yourself having such kind thoughts. I should know, I’ve survived multiple love affairs and I know what it feels like to bleed and die alone because of something the universe has done to me.

By most accounts, I am counted as the Lucky One because I am alive to tell you about my countless lovers. But most people I have met have never tasted the flavorful tastes of love. Lemon, from the sour in-between fights feeling. Sticky from the kisses and complicated web of lies we weave for each other. Love smells like cinnamon buns and vanilla ice-cream and I was gluttonous on it. I was fat and big with it. You know how new mothers “glow?” Well I’m a firm believer that love bulks up a man. I felt so strong and bold. And love is a breath of fresh air with mint perfuming the air between you. Love is exciting as a rush of cold water to the face. Why else would the classic Kiss in the Rain be so sultry and tantalizing. Water is so pure and innocent, but cold water carries traces of winter and the briskness of a mind aware of what it wants and who it wants. I guess I never really got that feeling until I met Dylan.

But that’s not to say I haven’t been in love before Dylan. Karina was my first, she was so beautiful when she laughed, and she made me ache in every bone because even when I was still so young, only fourteen or fifteen, I knew she wasn’t mine to keep. Her eyes were like starts, but they were falling. I’ve heard that the image of a star stays in the universe for years after it’s exploded and died away, even after it fades into a billion shards and scatters across the universe, you can still see the image of it up in the sky. I wonder if all the stars are like that, just ghosts of things that used to be. Karina was a star, she kissed me and her lips brushed through me and into my core but there was no substance. She never let me in, she kept her secret self far from me. I suppose I was the rich jewelers son she never wanted, there was just this face she liked and her inclinations told her to play me like a fiddle. I still have memories of the man I used to be and the way I was magnetized by her tricks and spells. She was chaos, she was death and she was anger biting at his skin till he wanted to claw himself into little tiny pieces to please her. But she still just looked at him with sad dead eyes and told him she would never be able to stay with a man like him. But it had never been him, she said, because he didn’t know her well enough to love her, so it couldn’t be him that was killing their love. She told himn she loved him but that she had to go or he would never escape and she would entrap him in a world he didn’t belong to.

I wanna learn from the calm with which you
Aim at your dreams and your goals
And I’m sure your stories always will unfold

The scary part was that I believed her when I was that young, and I saw her with this new comprehension as I left behind my life as Kade William Warren and became Ghost. Ghost was different, Ghost was gentle and caring, not loving and infatuated by the mere presence of the girl he loved. Ghost had fallen for a girl he had no right to, she was younger, she was pretty, and she was ignorant of the pain love brought. Saph, his dear and one and only. His Saph who had eyes he shared chemistry with. It was funny, I guess I like the science of love. Because first there was Karina and she was my falling star, I was the astronomer staring at her from far away and claiming she was beautiful although I never touched her essence. But Saph was there for the taking, and I was a chemist pondering my desires and the nature of love, even though she was so young and fragile. I was ruthless and I tried to steal her heart with candied words and pleasant jewels. But she was too different and too much for me, and I guess it was no surprise when even the Ghost of me faded away into oblivion.

I don’t know who I am now. I’ve been Kade, I’ve done Ghost. What else is there for me? Dylan used to tell me I was her Warren, and that she was a rabbit with a skipping heart, fearing the world and taking shelter in our shared embrace. I guess I always thought of my name, Warren, as sounding like a violent day at the fight-zone of the Career Training Center, but she saw me as a warm home where she could dig her tiny nails into and build a home nestled deep in my heart. She whispered secrets to me while I slept. She played with my hair and touched my eye-lids with the softest lips. She shined and made me think I could be more than Kade, I could be her Everything and she would be my Sanctuary where I prayed and learned and loved and played.

Home held no value anymore to me, because my home was with Dylan and her home was in my heart. We packed away our things and pasts in small sacks with bundles of food and money, then we left our old lives in District One. We ended in the woods, and I was her obedient servant. She told me her father lived in the ruins of a place older than ourselves where only real ghosts, not my old Ghost, lived. But that we needed him if we were going to be together forever, she said. She said so many things to me I try to keep track of them in my head as Dylan fades from my memory and all I see is the Goddess I Prayed To. I am a servant at her shrine, obeying and respecting her every whim. Even now, when I am a sacrilegious nut-case turning from my woes and the broken shards of her icon, I still feel her rooting around in my heart. My memories are as follows: Dylan was a kind girl, and she was pleasant to be around. She saw me for who I was, so I owed her my allegiance. But where allegiance and fellowship was, love took place. We fit like a delicately constructed diamond ring on the slender finger of a new fiancée.

But we were city kids who had no idea how to survive without our money (it was useless to the forest creatures) and my gem-cutting tools. She had no trade, her youthful love of silver and gold had not yet grown into a life’s career in District One. We were obsolete in the new world of wood and leaves, but we struggled together and survived through worse than a fall. It was just a ravine, but we forgot ourselves and tripped together down a hill, falling and landing with heavy, clumsy foot falls. I escaped with scratches on my back and arms, from wrapping them around Dylan’s soft and luminous body. She broke her wrist. I left with a fear for our lives, she left with a purpose. We were more than travelling tumbleweeds now, picking our way through the woods on a quest to find her magical father who would bring her happiness and me a steady job to support ourselves and the family we would bear in good time.

I try to get you up
But you go down
And you are not okay

Dylan used to smile recklessly, and I saw the fresh and dewy freedom taking ahold of my small and dependent love. We were crossing the borders between Districts ten and eleven, as I would find out later, when we encountered a river. The river was bordered on each side by twenty foot walls of ivy and dirt. We had to look down, precariously placed on sifting soil, in order to see the rushing waters. Dylan thought she could fly, and I believed her because all angels have wings. But hers were delicate and ill-formed from years of abuse. Her feather had been plucked and clipped by her own self-restraints. She bound herself to the ground beneath the forest floors, where she lived in our rabbit’s warren.

I told her these things, I said it was too great a risk and that we could find a new way to her father, and she glanced my way with slipping, silver-gold eyes. And she batted her eye-lashes and looked down at the river with an incomprehendable look into her future. Then she sat down next to me and her limbs intertwined with mine, she sat so close to me I smelt the danger-mint of her breath, the electric impulses her freedom had afforded her. She kissed my lips and touched my hair. We spoke about her father and she told me she had secrets from me that she would tell me soon, things that were important if I wanted to make it through this journey alive. I smiled at her and she told me she would tell me once we took the next step into our futures, and that she would see me on the other side of the line keeping us as Childhood Lovers instead of True Soulmates. Then she flung herself out of my reach and her legs slipped away and her arms left the nape of my neck and her lips breezed past mine. I think our love killed her and left me to tell the tale that love is a dangerous enemy to fight against. So she jumped and her wings unfurled, she scraped against the second wall of the river and her head banged against a stone. Her legs scrambled to find footings, but where she looked, there was only air and loose twigs.

Then she looked into my eyes, the grey ones that she loved and told me complimented her own. She was the gold to my silver, we were a perfect match. I desperately told her that she could find footings in my eyes. I was her Warren, she was my warm and soft rabbit living softly and peacefully in my fearful heart. But I skipped a beat and the fear radiating from my skin pooled in her own heart. She saw what she had become, the radiant and luminous girl who kept mysterious secrets and jumped across great distances. And she pulled away.

She plunged into the water, never to take another step on the dry, warm land of our love’s island. We should have seen the water encroaching long ago, but we were strong and powerful on our high grounds. The dangers of a sea of regret and loss inflicted no lasting wounds, only scrapes and broken wrists, so we ignored are reason and sense and pushed ahead. Or I should say, she did. I always knew my place was to protect her from herself, and I felt the burden of her failed flight weighing heavily on my heart. But I jumped in after her and swam through cold, electrified waters and did not think about the thrills of Kisses in the Rain, but instead about the shock of a Girlfriend Falling In the Water With Blood Seeping From Her Head. This was no romantic situation, friends.

I wanna carry you
But you won’t get up
It’s really killing me
You know it’s killing me

But finally a tree snagged her and her body waded in the water, her lips were parted and her vitality was leaving us both. My heart crumbled like dust. The water did not touch me, I was numb and in pain all at once. And she was not in pain, instead she was just dead and at peace. But I am not a Ghost, I am not as insubstantial and death-kissed as my love. That name was as much a lie as my sense of warmth and peace as her Warren. I had always been right, I was not one to be at peace, not even when my love was resting in my arms with her lips pressed to mine and her limbs making loops through my own. I was at war, I was a Warren and now I was battling away the prospect of life without Dylan. Without Saph. Without Karina. Without love. You only get three tries at anything before you strike out and have to leave the game. I had just lost my whole future in the span of a few endless minutes.

But I stayed because I had hope in me that Dylan’s eyes would open and we would connect, gold and silver metals blended. I would set a stone in gold and silver, then I would slip it over her finger and we would be bound to one another. Her father would do this for me, for our love. I would have a job and she would have our children and we would raise them together. She had always told me she liked the name Clementine and I could have learned to love it if it made her happy to have thousands of little children named Clementine and the boys would be Valentine too, so they could all match and be perfect molds of her, of my Dylan.

She left though and when I pryed her eyes open to tell her she had to wake up because I was slowly freezing and hardening in the night’s waters her eyes were not gold, they were yellow and bloodshot. Her body moaned, her face drooped and every time she twitched I hoped she would breath in. But she didn’t, she stayed still as a tombstone eventually. So I carried her away from the water and dug by its side a small hole she could call her own Warren for the rest of eternity. It was so deep, I though if I kept digging I could find something to save her from the clutches of death, or perhaps heaven was at the center of the earth. She would like that, all the jewels deep down there twinkling like lanterns to light her path into oblivion.

I wanna join you sleeping peaceful
Feeling the sun in our room
What a plenty of rays and beaming light
Surely, it does me good

Grief poured into me from every direction. I found her sack filled with secrets and food we’d packed. She had papers, she had a few possesions she’d taken with her when we left District One. I was distraught and I could not find any reason to put them with her in that deep hole. She was dead, she wouldn’t want me to waste the food. But I hadn’t eaten for two days and I thought, even if I do, I will still feel exactly the same. And her jewels were gold as her eyes or silver as mine, and she had letters and sketches from a father she scarcely knew. I wanted to find him, if only to thrust her childhood in his face and blame him for raising such a kind and gentle girl who had spirit and freedom in her and the desire to cross a river only to see this man. Who was he to her? She had left me for her past, a distant voice of a kind and loving man who had left her. I hadn’t left her, she’d left me. Why had she done so?

Comprehension was something I lacked all that week, but eventually I tasted her food and tried to imagine the smell of mint and sticky sourness of love. My tears were salt water and they were a sharp contrast to the electric, cold water still sitting in Dylan’s lungs and in the waters of the deep, low river.

I felt this for days, so many of them. And I blacked out, but when I woke up someone had buried my Dylan and erected a monument in her name, a monument of flowers surrounding shimmering stones that spelled her name across the dirt, and a piece of word that stood high and proud, marking Dylan’s death hole. I tried to find excuses to think about her and I also felt myself forgetting her laugh. Karina’s laugh stayed with me, but Dylan’s didn’t. And when I thought of her eyes, I saw sapphire blue ones of a young girl I had once courted and abandoned. She was blending with the other beautiful creatures I had sought out, possessed, and lost through sheer stupidity. How had I allowed myself to do this? Three strikes, you’re out. I was mindful of my love, I knew it when it was inside of me but rational was replaced by the chemistry of twinkling stars and the skies above, of the ground and stability of being ever and constantly in angsting, desiring, worshipping lust or love.

I wanna trust the pulse
In which decay is followed by bloom
And I’m sure any flaw will turn out beautiful

It is no wonder some kind angels found me and sent a girl down to bring me love. She was waiting behind my selfishness, the way I pursued and brought down three shining stars and kept them tightly in my hands until I found a replacement. Karina, Saph, Dylan – they were so easy to find, my heart just led me to the nearest tall building and when I jumped I landed right on top of them, and grasped at the shards of light they threw my way and called it love. I guess I must seem like a star to them too because they fell so easily and I am the one who brought sadness and death to Karina’s eyes, and hapless understanding of a world she had been ignorant of to Saph, and I had reassured Dylan that if she flew she would land right into my arms because I was her Earth and world and home. But we never anticipated the tides of time and water swallowing her up. But there was a new girl, and she was so much more than the others because she was everything I had ever wanted and seen in all of them. I was not betraying Dylan when I chose to leave her body behind and myself jump over the great river into the future. It had been her idea, and this new girl was Dylan. She was the Dylan that soared instead of dying. I followed her soon enough with all my belongings and memories fresh in my mind. She tasted like mints, this girl, and I found myself recalling things I never imagined I’d think of in my right mind. She completed the broken picture I was. It was like she carried a shard of my soul in her hands, and if I reached out and touched her, she would yield it to me and I would be complete. I hoped that among my meager possessions there was a piece of gold or silver, or a jewel that I could give to her and complete her masterpiece.

I follow her, I will always follow her and I want her because I know that she is supposed to be my future. I don’t know who I am now, now more than ever, but I know who I will be if I am with her and that is why I am pursuing this girl.

I try to get you up
But you go down
And you are not okay

I wanna carry you
But you won’t get up
It’s really killing me
You know it’s killing me

Last Edit: Jul 7, 2011 23:46:34 GMT -5 by cinder

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 20, 2011 14:06:06 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Jun 20, 2011 14:06:06 GMT -5

On the walls of the day, in the shade of the sun
We wrote down another vision of us
We are the challengers of The Unknown
"Be safe," you say,
"Whatever the mess you are, you're mine, okay?"

[/i][/color][/center]

Sleep never really comes once you've earned yourself a waking nightmare. Those are the memories that scorch themselves across your retinas, electric wraiths haunting the edges of your vision, yet evading any efforts to be sought out. Sometimes I'm convinced that I could scare them off if only my glares were fast enough to catch them, but they scatter at every attempt, taunting me from an uncrossable distance. Despite my ability to chill the marrow of everyone around me, intimidating them with no more than a simple shift in my breathing patterns, these remnants of history seem unfazed by my tactics of terrorization. I am utterly defenseless against them — unable to escape, to fight, or to reconcile myself to a future with them. Our discord is insurmountable.

Desperation incessantly begs me to find a remedy and so I search, as if this were an illness I could cure with the proper medication. With open palms, I accept every offer that promises relief, no matter how ludicrous my mind deems the suggestions. I will strip naked and allow Tiva to baptize me in the smoke of ten thousand burning bundles of sage, chanting any rigmarole of gypsy gibberish I'm told will unburden the soul of negative energies, then surrender my body to the frigid undertow of the river. To free myself, I would drift listlessly for days, months, years, centuries, but I know its current will never wash away my sins. These are the kinds of stains that cannot be removed. They are knotted so tightly into the very fiber of my being that I worry I would come completely undone if ever I could find a way to cut them from me, my spirit unraveling in the wake of deliverance. After all, if I've learned anything from the thoughts that torment me, it is how so often the very things you seek are what destroy you the most. Greed breeds regret of the worst kind.

However, occasionally there are days like gifts to my inner masochist. Days where my grief runs so deep that I will cling to any shadow of Auggie's presence that I can find and if no beloved childhood recollections can be summoned to mind then I will settle for wallowing in the horrors of his death. At least the crippling pains prowling the hollows of my body like hostile tigers remind me that I had him once and I would rather possess those memories than nothing of him. Even with his mangled limbs bathed in the blood of a massacre, nothing could truly damage my brother. He was always so alive, as if kerosene ran through his veins, igniting a life so bright that it had no choice but to burn itself up. —And take everything else with it... or maybe that was all my doing.

Having woken to the ragged sound of my own shrieking, as if I were being strangled from the inside-out, today I can cull no appreciation for yesterday's ghosts. This day is all but the touchstone for my others, waking from one nightmare only to be confronted by the face of another. By now, my caustic cries are so routine that my companions don't even flinch anymore. Zane sneers as if my dramatics were a theatrical production I could drop the curtain on any time I pleased; Lydia greets me with her irritating smile, deludedly convinced she might pull me up with the corners of her mouth; Tiva moves to comfort me and sometimes I even let her — laying my head across her lap as she strokes my hair like a surrogate mother — but not this morning. Instead I flung my body into the depths of the forest, my feet pounding a savage cadence into the earth as I reverted to my most basic of instincts: run away. Regardless of knowing that these aren't things I can outrun, I'm unable to resist my compulsive efforts to shut them out.

So I sprint, hell-bent for leather, counting my exhalations — like an insomniac's sheep before dreaming — and following the path they blaze through the air before me, each step tugging me forward, forward, forward towards an escape that is forever out of reach. I could almost accept its evasion of me, if only I could encounter its border once, press my face against the invisible barrier between myself and relief, just for the sake of knowing it exists. Chasing after something is so much easier when you know it's real. As it is, I pursue myths of my own making, seeking out a place of refuge that I built within my own mind. It may be intangible, but for now the promise is enough.

Extending my hands to trail splayed fingers against the foliage and bark I dash by, I offer my vulnerable palms to the trees, seeking an exchange of vows, for them to give their word that there really is something out here for me to find. Each graze of their touch is rough and unforgiving, much like my own, and for a moment I'm almost certain I comprehend Tiva's affinity for this harsh woodland. It's so solid and beyond questioning, urging me ever onward with such deeply rooted strength that I couldn't deny it if I wanted to. And I don't. The strain of pushing myself without resting weaves sharp aches between sinew and muscle, plucks at tendons until they're just shy of snapping, and scrapes my lungs raw, but I don't stop. I can't stop. I've never known how.

Dark tangles of hair lash against my face, whipping whatever skin dares to cross paths with the ruthless scourge, but I soldier on, shaking strands away until they take wing behind me, like the tattered flag of this wilderness empire. Leaping across breaks in the ground that seem deeper than all the secrets that have never been told, narrow gullies carved by the persistence of some wandering stream, the wind whispers hidden footholds to me, guiding me into safety I otherwise wouldn't have bothered to find for myself. I've always been so careless with my own body, throwing it every which way and delegating the tending of its wounds to others. It's no wonder I'm so damaged now; there's no one left to mend me. Unable or unwilling, it makes no difference to the bruises blooming across my skin and soul.

Gasping as a fresh pang of agony courses across my nerve networks, pricking knees and hips and wrists in a search for the most fragile pieces of me, the sudden surge of oxygen attempts to slingshot my consciousness from my body. As dizziness threatens to snare my feet in its trickster grip, I reach out for the nearest pillar of support, colliding with the trunk of a large tree and hugging my body to it as if it might reciprocate. Sucking in breath after frantic breath, I'm convinced my lungs will never feel full again. I am uncertain if this bout of suffering was brought on by the thoughts of Auggie that drove me here or simply the physical fatigue of overexertion, but I yield to it. It can have me — if it wants me. Arms falling limp to my sides, I turn and prop my back against the rugged bark of the tree, head falling back in resignation as my chest continues its rapid rise and fall, the only part of me determined to keep going.

Palms scraped raw from catching myself and trapped in this purgatory of newfound stillness, I become acutely aware of the traces of blood escaping from my shallow lacerations. The flickering image of death-stained hands, mine, Zane's, Auggie's, those strange men, sears itself across my vision in enhanced neon glory and no matter how tightly I squeeze my eyelids shut, I can't block even a fraction of it out. Yet, I continue to try. If it won't relent, then why should I? A twig snaps somewhere in the surrounding woodland and the crack reverberates across my ear drums, echoing its way into a loop that joins forces with the pictures in my head to twist my stomach into the same noose that ensnared me as Auggie's bones were being broken. I was, and still am, unable to reach far enough to catch him, arms tied to my sides by the paralysis of panic. Each bonecrushcrash of his last moments replays, rewinds, replays again as my heart hammers like a weapon swinging hit after hit of blunt force against my weakened body. I want to howl out like the wounded animal I am, scream at the phantoms of my past to leave me be, that I know how to self-destruct just fine on my own — oh, and how — but then, without any identifiable warning, they send a different ghost to me and I retract my words before even a hint of sound has crossed my lips.

The mirage of loss dissipates, replaced by the presence of all my most selfish desires. I can sense his approach, hear the familiar tread of his hushed footsteps traversing the forest floor, forward, forward, forward. Lifting my head in anticipation, I keep my eyes clenched tight, sewing the threads of my eyelashes together and furrowing eyebrows in concentration as I deny the nearly overwhelming urge to lock my gaze onto his own, to confirm the truth of his existence. If this is a trick of the wind, I don't want to know. I am so eager for the comfort of his presence that I will invent a way to cling to thin air if I must. Zane. The nervous rhythm of his heartbeat cuts through the murmuring breeze, it's pace ratcheting upward until it syncs with my own frenetic palpitations. Pessimism raps me across the knuckles, telling me this is only the wistful masochism of my imagination, but I need him. Desperately.

The calloused touch that always knew how to reverse whatever vandalism I inflicted upon myself, the shield of arms that could keep any threat of misery at bay — I am starved for them, ravenous from abandonment. He is the real cure for my ailments and the only cleansing ritual I want is the surrender of our bodies. With a caress so hesitant that I'm certain it really is nothing more than the wind, snarled strands of hair are brushed from my face, and I visualize fingertips grazing a faint trail from temple to cheekbone to jaw to neck before recoiling from the rise of my collarbone. There's a stunned hitch in my breathing as all warmth within me departs in perfect time with the disconnect, sending a shiver careening down the rope-ladder vertebrae of my spine, striking every rung in its path.

I'm left trembling and the fragile movement shakes all the tension from my body, loosening the creased concentration from my expression. Unable to remember anything that preceded this split second of my existence, my mind is blissfully vacant for perhaps the first time in my life, as if I've been raptured from the infinite burning of eternal damnation and laid to rest. Sleep for the perpetually awoken. This is what oblivion feels like. It won't last, it can't possibly last, but for now I know I've found what I've been searching for: Refuge.

(OOC — I'm not power-playing, I swears it ~~unless you want me to be~~. Basically, she perceives his presence and it triggers her Ellane!angst, but if you want it to be literal and have him get his touchy-feely stalkercreep on, then you're totally welcome to. Go wild. XD)

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Last Edit: Jun 21, 2011 17:52:20 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

cinder
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I dream of a reality where my dreams may come true - 23 y/o in 2020 logging in and laughing

Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 22, 2011 18:21:38 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cinder on Jun 22, 2011 18:21:38 GMT -5

A split second passes through my mind like the slow, agonizing burn of fire on skin. I find myself debating whether Dylan would want me to stay with her body or follow her heart, my soul, across the river and into the woods where New Dylan is already leaving my sight. I have to make up my mind soon though, she's already dashing and clawing her way through the forest and there is madness in her jittery movements. I think that even if New Dylan does not lose me as she runs across the terrain, I fear that in the way she runs.. I fear there is someone else chasing her, and she is headed towards a dead-end of suffering. I have to protect her, wouldn't Dylan want me to?

I whisper quickly to my own true love, raw words scrape the throat I have not used in days, not since I screamed it into cracking silence when I cursed the land I sat on, the air I breathed and the cruel master, God, who claimed to protect all good, pure souls like my Dylan from harm. He hadn't done much to help her this time. But I am not angry right now, instead I feel intense passion mixed with the sting of salt-tears on a fresh wound. "I love you Dylan, I want us to have a future and that's why I have to leave you so I can save you." I kiss the soil above her body and don't bother to wipe the dirt off of my lips. I haven't been thinking much about anything these days, my last words to my love are muddled and incomprehensible - I rasp them and can't understand the sound or the meaning. The irony of my blundering goodbyes to a girl i claim to be following doesn't phase Dylan, beneath the dirt I can't feel her stirring. She hasn't shaken her head and crinkled her eyebrows up while the corners of her mouth drop down, I take this as a sign she accepts my words and wishes me well on my quest.

My only wish is for her to be here, holding my hand as I run through the forest towards the narrowest part of the rive-ravine, and fend off dubious thoughts that even if I can't catch New Dylan, at least I'll be joining my one and only in the land of the dead, if I fail to cross the river. But I mustn't give up my last shreds of newly pieced hope, this girl depends on me, my gut feeling tells me that just as Dylan was the angel who gave a Ghost a second chance, it is my turn to take up the mantle and keep Dylan from harming herself. New Dylan I mean. I mean.. whoever this girl is, I have to stop myself from calling her Dylan now before it becomes a habit. The thought of treating her as a new acquaintance rather than my tender lover sends shock-waves through my blood, but I guess I have to realize a rose by any other name is still a rose. Even though her face sharply contrasts Dylan's, and the color of her eyes are different, even if she runs with more speed and has years of wear and tear covering her slender body, this is still Dylan. I know it.

I know it. And soon I will make her know it to, I have to know her and she has to know me just as well. I can't keep away from her, she is mine.

I take a flying leap, pushing my legs off the edge of the cliff and taking a leap of faith, not knowing how this will end, but doing it because I love my girl and I can't bear to let her go just yet. My arms flail as my legs make contact with the other side, slamming painfully into jagged cliff-rocks and cutting the legs beneath my filthy, dirt-covered pants. My hands wrap around something that cuts into my skin and I struggle not to cry out, not to surprise my angel in flight. She is skittish and when she moves she is a silent, gliding dancer. He can't frighten her away, he needs to tell her all the words he would have said to Dylan if he'd know she was going to glide right into the eternal silence.

So even though it hurts like hell, I embrace the fire in my hands and pull myself up, throwing my upper-half at the stable ground, hoping the weight of my pack will keep my legs from dragging me under once again. My feelings mix and churn as my stomach muscles strain and a bit of water I'd had slush around in my otherwise empty stomach. I want to throw-up and hope the infectious feelings in my gut will cooperate and slip out of me quietly as well. Because hope is a virus I never hoped to catch. Silly me, I was foolish - sitting with a dead body in the dirt and grime, just letting all sorts of things worm into me and make my heart their home, no wonder I ache all over and feel a fever coming on. But of all the diseases I could have caught, hope is the worst one.

Because I shouldn't be thinking about life. Not my life at least, I should be mourning hers and cutting my body up and crawling into the dirt to lay with her and die. I should be desperate and reeling with agony, but I am not. I find strength and courage in the image of a girl I do not know jumping over a hole in the ground filled with water. I am being played for a fool, Dylan is testing me, I should be with her, not the new her. Thoughts course through my head and pound to the sound of my heart-beat reverberating in my temples. If my hands were free, not wrapped in finds and dirt, I would be clawing at my face and trying to dig my nails into the offending areas. The mind that hopes, the heart that soars, the body that aches and burns to be near a girl I don't know. I wallow in grief a moment and my right foot slips, but my left scrapes rock and I pull and push until I'm on the ground, feet underneath me and arms wind-milling as I touch trees, plants, thorns, air, leaves. Anything in between her and me.

What is this revolt? And if my mind has been seized, my body held hostage, and my heart responsible for plotting this travesty, then why do I feel such pain? My only explanation is that Dylan haunts me and she wants me back. I should give up, but I don't. I push forward and try to accept that my girl is dead and I need to find something new to live for, some new, that is. Even though in the back of my mind, I feel a river of sorrow washing over me, my self is traitorous, wanting to live. It happened before. Karina left, so I found Saph. Saph was temporary, I chose Dylan to replace her. But does that mean I should feel any less guilty, knowing my newly dead half is lying still in the dirt? I don't know anything, anything at all. I feel hope, and despise it, but certainly sadness will kill me, so my instinct tells me to follow New Dylan. But it is agony trying to choose between feelings and instincts and rational.

My mind tries to settle things when I spot a flash of color in the not-so-far-off-distance. For a second, I think it's a mirage, or a vision. A flash of color, I think I see my arms wrapping around her and my lips wiping away the cool beads of sweat collecting on her fore-head. My eyes are tender and I am not a walking corpse being chased by a ghost of a former lover, I'm a wholesome guy with his girl, trying to make sense of the world. But then she turns her head and looks at me, the vision shatters and my eyes refocus. Her head is still slightly turned, but I have been eliminated from the equation, she is alone and slowing her pace. I trust my eyes. She slows for me, she sees me. She wants me.

I should embrace her now. I should take her with me and never let her go. She loves me. I love her. We'll learn to be together, alone, and never let family or friends or strangers come between us. I'll take the tree sap my fingers brush as I run, and paint my lips with it, I'll cover my hands and clasp hers, and kiss her lips so we can stick to each other, and I will never let her go.

But I am a stranger, a strange one at that. And I have been following her. Although my inner-reckonings were forceful enough to scare birds from trees and scatter twigs as the world bends away from my passion in fear, she doesn't register the power of my feelings. I should make her feel them, I'll make her feel my love.
All in good time. Right now, I just have to battle the rust and dust away from my voice, my first words to her need to be a taste of my desires and strengths. I need to impress.

"Hi, I'm Kade."

ooc- don't mind me, just rambling. I couldn't really sort through any of his feelings, but I have a good grasp on them now - he's going to repress any mention of old Dylan, and just start stalking "New Dylan" so I don't have to deal with confusion anymore And Im not coding this shameful post. I'm going to pretend it doesn't exist :3

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 23, 2011 0:05:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jun 23, 2011 0:05:00 GMT -5

( E L L A W R E N D A H L )

I know you want to
Run far away from one more
And that it's coming at a bad time
Some cold place, heartless ways
For all we know

[/i][/color][/right]

I have stumbled upon oblivion and am tethered to the brink of its abyss only by the very tips of my toes, impatiently waiting for reality to loosen its hold on me and send the wreckage of my soul turn turtle tumbling over the threshold and into sweet release. I've been burning alive for as long as I can remember, grief and jealousy stoking the harmless embers of my youth into an inferno that greedily devours heartstrings and humanity with no regard for consequence. Every day brings new fuel for the flames — as if my irrepressible sorrow and regret and utter self-loathing weren't enough to sate its infinite hunger — betrayal glutting it with the most abundant source of odium. This is what pulls me back from the edge of abandon, persistently nagging at what's left of my mind until realization clicks into place as if I am a clock beginning a new day, swinging the pendulum of my body back into its physical existence. Tic tok, Zane's touch should be hot.

Like a punch to the gut, it feels as if my body is attempting to collapse into itself as I am tugged away from the relief that had quelled the scorching blaze within me, denial dragging my feet until truth inevitably overpowers me. After so many years of adrenaline and intertwined limbs, I am no stranger to the crackling attraction that disrupts the air between Zane and I, luring us to one another as if by siren song. We were wildfire, chaotic combustion so untamable as to be dangerous. Biohacking our bodies together wouldn't have been enough to satisfy the insistent pull, although we still tried. We were an indomitable force, all backbone and lion hearts. We were—

We were. Now he has Lydia and I— I only have the past-tense passion of ten thousand yesterdays. Although we're not a single entity anymore, skin doesn't easily forget the patterns of a lover's fingerprints and, regardless of the passing of time, a heart will still sacrifice itself as kindling when they step too close. Mine always did, that's why I don't have one anymore, and that's how I know Zane didn't follow me into the forest or soothe my fever dream into a sanctuary. He knows how to set me on fire, but not how to cool me down. We can repress the flames, wrap them in caution tape and denial so we can name them Contained — liars — but not extinguish them, not when our blood runs with the same kerosene as Auggie's. So he can abandon me when I'm at my weakest, press his lips to Lydia's until I'm gnashing my teeth with the rage of betrayal, but I will still ignite against the brush of his fingertips. It's what we do. What we don't do is send chills down spines that subdue the savagery of self-destruction. This is not in our repertoire; this is wrong.

Soul snapping back into place with an impact brutal enough to wound any piece of me that had been left in tact after my race against torment, my eyes flash open, widening at the realization that I am not alone. My first instinct, as always, is to bolt. I want to turn away and take flight, not caring where I run to, as long as it's in the opposite direction of him, but I can't. My body refuses the proposition of a second round of sprinting. Instead, it's all I can do not to collapse at his feet and devote the remainder of my energy to screaming myself mute over the loss of salvation. If I'm going to be defeated, I want it to be absolute, but I don't want him to be the victor. I will not allow myself to be conquered by some stranger simply because I'm feeling vulnerable. I have at least enough strength left for this battle. Yet, the nagging resumes once more, adamant that there's another angle to the situation that I'm not comprehending. Time slows to a pause until: Tic tok, your body's in shock. And why? Because something — or someone — pacified you.

Suddenly, I don't know whether to strangle him for pulling me from my rapture or kiss him for giving it to me in the first place, although I could do both with enough force to stop his breathing, but the unexpectedness of option number two infects my mind with bewilderment. Of course you should strangle him. It was the wind that— Locking gazes with his stare, the blue is deeper, darker than my own, and its intensity sends an involuntary tremor through my body, shaking it in all the ways I wish it wouldn't. As he begins to speak, I know exactly why. "Hi," the corrosion of his voice is immediately apparent, edges of syllables worn away in patterns that are all too familiar, "my name is Kade." I want to ignore it, ignore him, but I can't now. Recognition pulls at my weaknesses and right now that's all I've got left. I know I'm witnessing the aftermath of death, grief, heartbreak. I've heard that damaged voice before, seen the intensity of that kind of desperation. That's what I—

No. Not the same. I don't know his story, what or who has been taken from him and I refuse to care. He doesn't share my loss of Auggie, Zane, District One — of everything I used to call home. His concerns are not my own. I mentally shake off my foolish pangs of sympathy and restore the cynicism to my sight. Silence stretches out between us as I do little more than blink in response to his introduction, each bat of my eyelashes striking like a flint spark against my subconscious, until one catches and the all-consuming fire within me flares back to life. Now this is familiar. It hurts so good. Misery may torture me, but it's my element — and artillery if need be.

Passivity slips away as I saunter towards him with the confident, predatory steps of a wolf, steadily closing the gap between us until only mere inches remain. "I'm Ella," my sugar coated tone is all false seduction and subterfuge smiles as I lift my hand to retrace the same pathway across his skin that tricked me into fleeting euphoria. Gentle fingertips trail from forehead to temple, following the subtle shifts of his bone structure while passing lightly over the arc of a cheekbone and wandering off course to affectionately sweep any stray strands of hair behind his ear. My hand comes to rest on his neck as I lean in and press my mouth to his ear, lips catching on the edge of his jawline as I whisper fair warning, "and I'm dangerous." Unable to resist the impulse, my other hand finds his, intertwining our smallest fingers together — "Pinkie promise." — before pulling back and transforming my smile to a sneer. Tic tok, impressed I am not.

[/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jun 24, 2011 13:13:32 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 24, 2011 15:52:39 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cinder on Jun 24, 2011 15:52:39 GMT -5

The wavelength gently grows
Coercive notions re-evolve
A universe is trapped inside a tear
It resonates the core
Creates unnatural laws
Replaces love and happiness with fear

The mind is a wonderful thing.Bitter and old, yes, but still it drags on even when the body collapses in on itself, and the heart stutters its grievances. I - do not - like - feeling - this - heartbreak. Kade's heart thumps to the beat of a drum, his body pounds and tremors. Less than it would have, if he were still the silent piece of stone working over an illuminated table within the dark confines of his former home. Then he shifted with grace and precision, his hands looping and fingers pressing on cut diamond, callouses protecting them from cuts and scrapes. Here, his heart thuds and every movement is a jerk forced from the inner-consciousness of his mind, where everything Kade is and ever has been is kept safely tucked away amongst the unconscious desires for love, wealth, peace of mind, and peculiarly enough, danger.

When his heart broke and his body crumpled Kade's mind didn't stop to worry about Dylan. It kept his inner-eye fixed calmly on the surrounding woods, and felt the presence of a girl who would please all of Kade's trembling urges which not even he was aware of. No, it did not hold the secret passions and desires that the heart and body did, but there was something better in the systematic observations of the graceful, light footsteps pounding long and hard on the forest-green ground. The beat soothed him, and brought him peace of mind. And the mind noticed with a well-trained eye for it, that she was beautiful and exactly like Dylan in every way, because although her features were not as smooth and well-coordinated, she was something altogether alien to his features. The light to his dark, the black to his white. Whatever she was, she stirred emotions in him that told him he could struggle on and find what he always wanted, love.

How much deception can you take
How many lies will you create
How much longer until you break
Your mind's about to fall

With two out of four to go on, Kade followed his love through the woods, and quietly his mind constructed a barrier between Old Dylan and New Dylan. It was hard work, and sure enough Kade Warren's heart was not willing to tear away from the dirt and the grime of a dead love, a supposed`to`be`Mrs.`Warren just yet, but it was tireless in it's defense of his being. First he "felt," or his mind construed for him that she was a dangerous pool of passions and broken heartstrings who had been hurt too many times before. Deep within his own center, the jeweler, the diamond-cutter, the metal-molder was already digging his hands into her body and bringing out the heap of cool diamond that was her heart, and the shining, brilliant mind of gold. He would work with these things and shape them as he pleased, she would love him, and he would be happy with the wealth of her beautiful inner-materials. Just as a chef knows what to do with foreign berries, deep green leaves, fruits, oils, and bread-crumbles, he knew what to do with beautiful, shining materials, even those hidden by an equally flawless but not so shining outer-shell of skin and scars.

And they're breaking through
They're breaking through
They're breaking through
They're breaking through
Now we're falling
We are losing control

The final puzzle piece dropped from fate's sleeve, she had almost cheated him of his ignorant solace, when Ella breathed her name in his ear and confirmed his every desire for her. Her smooth grace and pressing, strong hands brought tears to his eyes, and he forgot her old name, he forgot that she was "New Dylan" and saw before him the perfect creature. Ella She sealed her little finger around his larger one and promised him, what she promised, he knew not. His heart was too pre-occupied with pumping buckets of blood about his body and nourishing his mind's delusions.

He felt speechless in the presence of a goddess, not just any goddess, but the one he owed allegiance and breath to. She could steal it away with a firmly planted kiss to his lips, and root within him insanity, death, self-harm, deprecation, poverty. She could steal from his inner-workings his love of beauty and tender touch, he would not care. Not even if she left her poor alter-boy alone at the shrine of Ella's beauty, would he ever forget to say his thanks to her. If every man had an Ella to steal his pain, he realized that there would be no men left, because eventually they would all die with their hands clasped together and their eyes turned up to gaze on their mistresses. Kade certainly felt that if he could die now, he was be appeased by living these last few seconds in her presence, even if he would leave her unhappily for the unwanted unknown of Somewhere`Far`Away`From`Ella.

Invisible to all
The mind becomes a wall
All of history deleted with one stroke

Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella.

Her name was music to his ears and he breathed it in and exhaled out his undying servitude. His memory spanned back only the moments he had shared with her, and although Kade's eyes pooled with tears and the subtle down-curve of his mouth, the coating of grave-dirt and finally the utmost understanding of suffering lurking beneath the surface of his cool blue eyes suggested yes, yes, yes - the unthinkable, the heartbreak of leaving one love and finding in her stead a cool mistress to serve and preserve with every bit of strength his shackled, frail bones had left, he had forgotten all. His body was a youthful fountain of laborious tasks and monuments to be erected in her name, tracing circles and growing under his skin, his heart bounded with vitality and pressed blood to his lips, distracting from their upset constellation by providing a redundancy of lively, jewel red. And his mind? His mind sat pleased and smug with its handy-work.

How much deception can you take
How many lies will you create
How much longer until you break
Your mind's about to fall

Moments after she swore to him something and sealed it with her touch, he felt his brow knit together quizzically. His mouth made shapes he couldn't understand, but somehow he said it he uttered it the words he could not bear to keep inside because the truth and plainness seemed lost upon Ella. Ella. Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella.

"No, you are beautiful."

And they're breaking through
They're breaking through
They're breaking through
Now we're falling
We are losing control

ooc- eff yes, my creepy little creation! [/color] [/blockquote] [/size]

Last Edit: Jun 24, 2011 16:06:16 GMT -5 by cinder

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 24, 2011 23:51:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jun 24, 2011 23:51:23 GMT -5

( E L L A W R E N D A H L )

So heads down, thumbs up
Four beats from soft and get set
To exercise your right — use it tonight
If there's a choice between a chance and flight
Choose it tonight

[/i][/color][/right]

It's not until I've pulled away from him that I realize my heart is beating twice as fast as I'd like it to be. Each nervous thud reverberates within the hollows of my ear drums and I have to take a second to just breathe. I was already dizzy and lightheaded from the running and rapturing, but this sends my thoughts into a spin as numbness ricochets through my veins and I'm losing track of why. Cause and effect, Ella. Cause. And. Effect. But I'm unable to definitively identify the cause of the shivers trailing frigid fingers down my spine once more and I'm not sure I want to. The only thing I know for certain is that this kid — Kade — clearly doesn't have a knack for comprehension.

I told him I was dangerous and I meant it. Although I may have a number of unfortunate descriptives associated with my name, liar has never been one of them. Unashamed of my opinions, I have no reason to be anything other than brutally honest — and I am — despite the sarcasm that often veils my spiteful words. So after hearing my deadly declaration, anyone with sense would turn tail and make a break for cover, not reply with: "No, you are beautiful." The sincerity within his fractured voice twists my stomach uncomfortably and I have to look away. Genuine people have this way of getting under my skin; it's part of the reason Lydia drives me half-way to madness. I can't handle his damp eyes or the forlorn twist in the corners of his lips, not right now. There's just enough reluctant pity left in me to prevent my hand from attempting to slap the pathetic expression right off his face.

"You know," — of course he doesn't — reaching behind me, I pull my hunting knife free from the sheath lashed to the side of my pack and draw it up to cut the air between us, "I killed the last man who told me I was beautiful." And it's true, as much as I wish none of it was. That man told me I was beautiful and I bartered my body to him for an emerald encrusted mirror and amethyst bruises. He adorned my skin with a myriad of jewels: opal scars, diamond sweat, and ruby blood — although it was all his. The silver flash of his knife didn't meet with his intended target and instead I mined all the rubies from his chest, leaving the bloodstone as a funeral offering, repayment for everything I had received. It was only fair for me to give it all back to him in the end; none of it should have been given to me in the first place.

Without consciously realizing, I begin taking slow steps around Kade, circling predatorily with my blade still held level with his throat. I can't accurately judge the distance between us, how many inches of emptiness protect him against the threat of my weapon, the effort of moving while suffering from such intense exhaustion making the air seem dense and hazy. There is a small voice of reason within me, scolding me not to play with knives if I'm too unsteady to confidently control them, but it's not persuasive enough to convince me to back down, not when he's using blasphemous words like beautiful. That's one descriptive I freed myself from the second I accepted the offer of that strange man back in District One. Beneath his sticky fingers, I shed it like snake skin, abandoning it somewhere in the tangled sheets of his bed. It's not an attribute I'm able reclaim, nor do I want to go back to find it. Beauty led me to hell and I'm still trying to find my way back, lost in a labyrinth of wrong turns and unfortunate decisions.

The metallic taste of blood shocks me from my thoughts and I realize I've bitten my lip so hard as to puncture the skin. Worried I'll retch against its bitterness in combination with my memories, I take the final step of my revolution around the dark haired wanderer and come to a halt, spitting the spilt blood at our feet. My gaze shifts to his face, catching on the dirt that mars his features, the bits of soil clinging to his lips. Briefly, I wonder if it leaves the same kind of foul taste in his mouth as this tainted blood does within my own. My stomach starts to churn restlessly and I can feel the slow burn of bile creeping up my throat. "Spit it out," my voice is harsh and full of agitation as I retract my knife and tap its tip against my broken lips before extending it out once more to gesture at his own. Out, Kade. All of it out. I don't know why the dirt bothers me, but I want it gone. It's as if I too can taste its contamination, as if the evidence of his own tragedies is assaulting my senses and triggering my personal equivalents. If I had the strength, I would throw him in the river and hold him beneath the current until the water carried away everything that sullies his skin.

But I don't honestly believe in cleansing rituals, no matter how earnestly I'm willing to go through the motions, and more than anyone I know scrubbing away the dirt of the earth cannot remove the filth of the soul. If I'm unable to wash away my own stains, I don't know why I think I'd be able to get rid of his or how purifying him would set anything right within me. At least I'd know it's possible, I reason, but look where that logic and the discovery of salvation's existence has landed me. There are things better left as mysteries, causes and effects that will only drive you further towards discontentment once acknowledged. In that aspect, perhaps Kade is more dangerous than I am. I want to leave him unknown, stop myself from taking note of these little details — descriptives of his own — that trick me into feeling ~~attachment~~ familiarity, but he has already become a cause and I am helpless to prevent effects I can't identify, much less predict.

[/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jun 27, 2011 2:50:37 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 27, 2011 15:12:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cinder on Jun 27, 2011 15:12:42 GMT -5

Fear and panic in the air
I want to be free
From desolation and despair
And I feel like everything I sow
Is being swept away
Well I refuse to let you go

They say if a girl stares into your eyes, it's because she wants to be with you. If she stares at your lips, it's because she wants you to kiss her. Ella is not this girl, when she stares at me it's because she is still assessing whether or not I'm a threat, and when her eyes drift to my lips, I know she is displeased by what she finds. I know her so well already.

Romanticized thoughts like those have no place in my mind. But... But I feel them twisting like worms in dirt, trying to bury themselves into the core of my hopes and dreams. But I am a creature driven by instinct just like any other, and captivation keeps me standing still as a rod as Ella predatorily circles and taunts me with her glances and teasing touch. Won't she kiss me? I dare not breath, she'll cut out my lips because words hold no pleasure for my Ella now. But she doesn't ask that of me, even though I see ripples of shock and reeling pulsing through her body, and her pitiless glares are almost too harsh. She tells me to spit out the dirt in my mouth and wipe it from my face, gruffly, breaking the spell between us, if only for a moment. My mind plays tricks and suddenly I'm falling back into the deep infatuation with my Ella.

I can't get it right
Get it right
Since I met you

There was a moment of hesitation, uncalled and unwanted in my mind. Kade Warren is not treasonous, but I suspect a part of me has a streak of independence from Ella, because in the home of my heart, mind, and body there is a bittersweet fit of intensity. I can't place the source, so I remain unharmed by my self, although Ella's eyes flicker with anger and I want to wipe away the trembles and goosebumps from her skin. There is an answering pressure to the intensity that rises in my chest. Flashing before my eyes like a life I once lived but have soon forgotten, I see a gold surrounding deep pools of black, irises of soulful eyes I remember. And a vibrant dash of red pooling under the fragile network of skin of her tired and flawless cheeks. I am sure I've stroked those cheeks and looked into those eyes when they were happy, not so deep and wide with frozen fear. Once, those were the eyes that wanted to be with me and stared at my lips till I'd seize her with my arms and wrap her with my body so I can kiss away the troubled storm clouds winding circles round her head. I can't make this hand move to this mouth, it stubbornly falls prey to self-paralysis, and not from precious Ella, but from a rued source of fear and hatred mixed with tender, soft emotions. Where does it come from? Ella is the world, Ella is my goddess. It is she who should feel the warmth and comforts of arms wrapping around her waist to bring her closer to my heart. But instead of her, memories grasp my heartstrings silently, unreal hands tie a bow around my neck with them, and threaten to kick away the grounded rational beneath my feet if I break the spell of the past. My neck will snap as a torrent of something pound into me and I am left dancing in the wind as just a body, a corpse. Not even buried in the ground.

Loneliness be over
When will this loneliness be over

That sounded familiar - I try to place the ground with the memories of a girl, she must be near the ground. Everyone stays on the ground unless they're flying in a plain or riding on a boat. So this girl must be on the ground, perhaps walking with a friend and holding his hand and looking into his eyes. But I feel she is not. My hand finally rises to my mouth with utter tranquility, to stroke the brown filth and stubble on my unshaven, unclean face, but it is a calm before the storm. I'm wary of memories, they kill.

They are so silent and sneaky, they wait for you to forget them, hell they wait until they are long forgotten images that pounce on you in the most unlikely of situations so you choke on the bile in your throat from the shock of seeing old friends or enemies ~~or lovers~~. Then you fall to the ground and your tongue jams down your throat so you suffocate, and you grasp for a holding to bring yourself up again, but you trip and fall, maybe hit your head and hear your heart speed before it slows and then it stops and then you die. Innumerable ways for it to happen, innumerable memories to trigger them. Ella is too strong, her skin is damp with sweat and her bones wrapping around the knife turn white from stretching skin too far. She fights back against her memories by forcing a stranger to relive his own nightmares and dreams.

Life will flash before my eyes
So scattered and lost
I want to touch the other side
And no one thinks they are to blame
Why can't we see
That when we bleed we bleed the same

But I know that if she is watching me, she sees a frightened boy giving up until with sudden clarity, his features change. They smooth out with the sudden grace and gravity of a soldier dying from his battle-wounds. When the calm runs over the fear, and you don't need anything because you see in your minds eye a solution. There is a white light behind a door, and if you reach out and open it, you can escape the pain and sorrow. Maybe she thinks he is giving in and about to fall to the ground where his whole face will be covered by dirt, and she will have to wipe it away herself. But she is so wrong. It's not hopelessness settling into his bones and making him drop his hand from his face while an angry, stubborn line appears between his eyebrows. It is the realization that she is wounded, just like he is. That she is no angel, that was a wrong thought to come to when she flew over the river, and that neither is he, but together they will soar higher than the heavens. They will help each other, even if it softly kills Kade and Ella has to relive her darkest nightmares and suffer through it all with him. He'll hold her hand.

I'll hold her hand and tell her countless times she is beautiful until it's drilled into her head and she understands what I mean. Until she knows I am looking past her skin and at it all at once. She can't escape me, I am all around her and my arms will keep her to me. Eventually she will forget the dead and see only that in my eyes she is pure and free of everything.

I'll push her till she almost breaks, and then I'll stitch her up so she will be almost new, and maybe if she wants to thank me she'll kiss me so my heart will burst and the deep pools of writhing, scathing pain fall away and I am left with only her. She is no angel, but she is my muse. She is my reason for existence and my shred of reason at all, rational and thought. I could think all day, I don't want to be numb, as long as I can think of her and nothing else.

I can't get it right
Get it right
Since I met you

My thoughts turn to her order. I'm tempted to submit, but I think Ella needs strength now, not a servant. So I cleverly concoct a plan while endless stretches of time fly before my eyes. With her, every moment is lengthy because I will it to be so. I never knew I had the strength, it's another thing Ella seems to possess in bounty, and I am slowly leeching from her. As I grow bolder, her skin grows slick with sweat and I think she shivers, God knows why. I just want to stop it.

"If I spit out the dirt," I tell her while my solemn blue eyes seer her because I can't help but take her health and wishes so seriously. I don't smile even as my mind screams no! and I have to kindly remind it with silent repetitions of her name to show my mind I mean her no harm. I will abandon the invading filth that covers my body if I wish to near her. I will understand this. I will see the perfect reason of my love's request and follow her dutifully if I see it will preserve her. But first I am pulling out all the stops to keep the soil on my face, even if it unsettles her. It could work for me to make my Ella weaker than myself, painful as it is to hurt her.

Loneliness be over
When will this loneliness be over?

[/center]

"Then I will be free and clean. My mouth will be free to speak and I will tell you again that you are so beautiful, it hurts me and I think I'd rather stay alive knowing you are beautiful, than be dead with a clean mouth."

I almost add, I am so tempted to say "but if you tell me to do it again, I will, because I can't help it. I love you." However, common sense hasn't left the building yet, and the part that wants to live for her and by her side sees that if my feet stir up to much troubling dirt, she will kick out the ground from beneath me and I will hang by the bow around my neck, unable to keep Ella from a similar doom.

And as you know, all I want is for her to live.
I just want to live wit her.
In her.
Together.
Why not now?
No, don't be desperate.
But I love her.
Ella.
Ella.
Why not? Why can't I tell her now and make her mine?
Ella.
She softly kills me with those eyes, and every millisecond of silence passing through her tight lipped frown.

My mind can't help imagining a day without Ella. I swear, I have to protect her from this weakness, I have to make her keep me by her side, and I have to protect her from her own selfish and faulty pride, although I love it as dearly as her eyes, lips, and radiance. But no part of us, not even us destined lovers, will stand in my path to Ella's heart. Or I'll kill it and bury in the ground next to -

~~Dylan. She is gone.~~
Ella is all that is left.

Loneliness be over
When will this loneliness be over?

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Last Edit: Jun 27, 2011 15:22:19 GMT -5 by cinder

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 28, 2011 0:47:59 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jun 28, 2011 0:47:59 GMT -5

( E L L A W R E N D A H L )

You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness
Well jump on, enjoy, and gorge away
Baby, you've got to be more discerning
I've never known what's good for me
Baby, you've got to be more demanding

[/i][/color][/right]

What are you doing, Ella? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know anymore. My hand is shaking as I clutch the hilt of my knife so tightly that the peaks of my knuckles strain white in defiance of my own skin. I grow distracted by their resemblance to a snow-capped mountain range, contemplating the valleys notched between each one, until I notice the blood seeping out from between the cracks of my fingers and the illusion shatters. The pressure of my grip is overwhelming the tender flesh of my palms, pain creeping in through raw scrapes and setting off a chain reaction that spreads through tendons and muscles like an infection before burrowing deeply into joints and bones until even my marrow aches. I am so tired. Fatigue descends upon me, burdening my extended arm with extra weight until it seems impossible that I possess the strength to continue holding it up. Yet, I stand my ground, defying exhaustion with nothing more than willpower, determined to protect myself against —against what? What are you so terrified of Kade doing to you, Ella? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know anymore. But I can feel something happening.

My thoughts begin coiling in on themselves, snaring into repetitive loops that do nothing but spin in circlescirclecircles. The whole world begins to slip away, tree by tree and cloud by cloud, until the only thing that remains of the forest and the sky and the earth is the two of us. We are confined by emptiness, the forest dissolving into a blur as it withdraws into the distance. There's nothing left to hold me up if my willpower stumbles now — except him and he is also nothing to me. Glaring once more at the dirt staining his face, another wave of nausea rolls through my stomach as I realize he has no intention of wiping it away. I shouldn't care if he wants to poison himself on the taste of tragedy. Let him choke on it. He is nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Not to me.

"If I spit out the dirt, then I will be free and clean." Sweat begins to prickle across my skin as I meet his eyes, watching the blue transform the threat of tears into an expression as intensely determined as I am, while each new word leaves his lips more confident and assured than the last. I don't understand. None of this is logical to me. Knives are stronger than stares — so why does my chest hurt whenever he looks at me? "My mouth will be free to speak," — I wish it weren't, that hurts too — "and I will tell you again that you are so beautiful," — but none of it devastates me like that word. Beautiful. He says I'm beautiful and I hate it. The grotesque attempt at praise buries itself in my mind like a bullet forged to target the very thing I despise most about myself, about the things I've done. Colliding with its mark, the impact rocks my body and I visibly flinch away from it, cowering in remorse. Instantly, I feel the memories escaping through the gaping wound it tore into me, like a jailbreak from Pandora's box.

This time the flashbacks aren't of the things that drove me here — Auggie's mutilated body and the horror that followed in its wake — but of the shameless pleasure I took in it all, right up until the moment my brother's bones cracked like gunshots and I realized it's my fault. All of it. I was addicted to the carnage I caused, drunk on Zane's savage jealousy and reveling in the wrath of Auggie's protective instincts. I wanted them to hurt, wanted them to show how much they cared about me, wanted to watch that affection tear them apart and prove its presence. All of this because a stranger threw himself at me and into me and almost right through me and I ~~hated~~ loved that too, despite the ugly, awful, guilty truths of it. I sought out his lecherous touch, begged for it, leaned into it so hard it left bruises, and shared his breath like each exhalation was a sip of communion wine. Every night became Sunday beneath his bedsheets and I was ready to preach our gospel of destruction, to watch it inflict an apocalypse upon my own followers — and it did. It did. It did. All because of that word, all because a stranger told me I was beautiful and I wanted to be and I wanted to be needed and I needed to feel necessary to someone.

But I'm not. I've never been necessary to anyone, I've only tricked people into believing I am, and once they realized they could survive without me, they left. Now this new stranger is telling me I'm beautiful and how— "It hurts me and I think I'd rather stay alive knowing you are beautiful, than be dead with a clean mouth." All at once I'm struck with the understanding that history is repeating itself. I can see it in the stubborn set of his eyebrows, the way he stands against the threat of my weapon, unfazed, as if convinced he's rock-ribbed, like I couldn't kill him if I tried. Or maybe he's senselessly offering himself to me as a sacrifice because I am The Destroyer and he knows it and he's willing to barter himself in exchange for me, as if his bones are made from diamonds and he's daring me to take them. All I have to do is take him. I'm tempted... and that breaks me.

I don't have the strength to cope with this, not after running and running and running and running before discovering relief only to lose it and find Kade in its place and then— my outstretched arm falls limp to my side and it feels as if my soul is collapsing in on itself, supports knocked out and defenses blown. Everything is pain and it's no longer that familiar fire that drives me through my everyday misery, but all-consuming and excruciating. Knife released from my debilitated grip, it plummets into the ground as I step towards him, closerclosercloser, and surrender. This is no longer about a battle to be won, but battles already waged. "I'd rather be dead than beautiful," I murmur vacantly, voice crackling as it splinters against itself, deteriorating until my words are little more than meaningless sound. I'd rather be dead than live through those same mistakes again. It's true. Faltering beneath his fixed look, I grimace at my own vulnerability. I hate this overwhelming sense of weakness, the way someone else is witnessing my moment of desperate self-destruction. I've always been so good at hiding it, but I can't run from ~~anything~~ everything. Not anymore. It's all catching up to me, one way or another.

He doesn't understand what he's asking of me, he can't or he wouldn't say things like that. Reason whispers that he didn't actually ask anything, but I suppress its opinions, because I'm too preoccupied with all the fragments of my life I can see reflected in him. I can name him nothing and threaten him until I scream myself to death, but I can't stop seeing all the worst parts of me within him and that's definitely something. If I hadn't felt the solidness of his body, home to a heartbeat that insists he's alive, I would be convinced that he was simply another one of my ghosts. It would be easier if he were. "If you won't free yourself—" Vowels and consonants get tangled up in my vocal chords and I can't bring myself to finish the thought, to beg him to retrieve my knife from the earth and slit my throat like I should have allowed my other stranger to —then free me. Before, my death would have saved people, but now it's too late for that. I want to rebel against myself, change history, prevent it from rewinding and forcing me to go through all the same motions againagainagain. I want things to change, but I don't know. I don't know. I don't know ~~anymore~~ how.

Hesitantly, I reach out and begin to brush the dirt from his lips, still trembling as my mind pleads to me please, don't break him. Don't break him. Don't break anyone else. Right now, this is the only thing I'm capable of changing. Do the opposite of everything you've ever done before. Stop destroying everything you touch. Do something selfless. Fingertips move gently over the curves of his mouth, lingering at the bow and wandering down to trip over the niche just below his lower lip before nudging soil from crooks and corners and fragile chapped skin. Alternating between rough and soft, filthy and immaculate, he becomes the beautiful one — embodying each hopeful, terrible, heart-wrenching, euphoric, addictive, sadistic moment of the word — and I lose myself in it just as easily as I did in District One, stroking smudges from cheeks and chin and brow bones. Thumbs meander patiently across every angle of his jaw, hooking around corners and seeking out the grime from every hidden space, leaving only fingerprints behind. As his eyes flicker shut in response, I am drawn to the dark threads of his eyelashes, losing count of how many times my touch skims over their tips, marveling at how easily they shift to accommodate me. Always giving way, back and forth like a tide.

I can't even see him anymore, the only things left in the whole of existence are the stains sullying his skin and I want to clean them away until absolutely nothing remains. This is the only penance I have strength enough to give and it's vital. I am so intently focused on my mission that I forget about the things that mar my own flesh until one of my shuddering hands slips and leaves a streak of blood in its wake. No. No. No. Panic urges me to wipe it away before it takes the opportunity to leave a scar, like so many I've left before, ruining him in ways worse than the previous danger of my knife was capable of, but haste impairs my agility and my movements turn clumsy. Anchoring myself to him, I take in deep breath after deep breath — he doesn't smell like history — to settle myself, the even rhythm of my exhalations soothing my anxiety, and lick the pads of my fingers to try again, pride swelling as the red fades away with each new caress. This should be impossible, that I could be cleaning away detriment instead of inflicting it, yet each gesture pulls another mark away and they gradually vanish.

It is no coincidence how the unbearable pain that wracks my soul seems to ebb in precise time with his restoration, but I push the thought down and away until it's concealed from my consciousness, because this is not about me. This is about the bitter flavors of dirt and blood and distress that stick to my tongue, pulled from the fingers that striped them from him, twisting my insides until I don't think I can hold them in anymore, but I do. I've never swallowed someone else's ruination before, but now I understand how often others did so for me and the only way to repay that kind of compassion is to pay it forward. It's too late to help Auggie and Zane won't let me try anymore, but somehow Kade has been burdened with the same troubles ~~I caused them~~ and he's not dead or pushing me away or shying from my touch. He's leaning into me like I leaned into my other stranger, into Zane, into the whole world, only this time the force between us isn't destructive and violent, but hushed and humane and all the things I'm not — I've never known how to be — and didn't think were possible for me. The tenderness makes me so uncomfortable I could die, but I can't, I won't, not while I'm breaking the endless cycle of my collective catastrophes — but this isn't about you, Ella.

This is about Kade, about the last traces of silt caught in the crease of his cheek, driven there by some earlier grimace that disfigured his expression, and how I ~~might be responsible for~~ ~~want~~ need to take and consume and suffer it for him. It is the least and the most I can do. As my tongue removes the final evidence of hardship from the surface of his face, quietly absconding with the remnants of memories so grave that my senses are assaulted by the salty taste of a despair that burns like acid in my mouth, I swallow it down, hiding it so far within me that he will never get it back. Mine. My forehead presses into his while we trade erratic breaths across the all but nonexistent space between our mouths, noses nestled next to one another and eyelashes tangling as my eyes fall shut and I just rest against him. Unfinished words ring in my head — If you won't free yourself — and I break our silence to whisper an experimental conclusion: "—then let me free you." I am doubtful that I possess the ability. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know anymore, but maybe I can change or at least I'll die trying.

(OOC — WHAT IS THIS. I DON'T EVEN. WHY SO BIPOLAR, ELLA? ~~KADE IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE WITH THE STALKER ANTICS.~~)

[/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jun 30, 2011 9:09:40 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

cinder
Retired Staff

[M:-3652]

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I dream of a reality where my dreams may come true - 23 y/o in 2020 logging in and laughing

Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 30, 2011 0:59:59 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cinder on Jun 30, 2011 0:59:59 GMT -5

You were my conscience
so solid now you're like water
We started drowning
not like we'd sink any further
But I let my heart go
it's somewhere down at the bottom
But I'll get a new one
Come back for the hope that you've stolen.

I’ve built a barrier between myself and the actions unfolding. It’s not that I don’t like them. It’s not that it is unbearable for my body to be touched by Ella. But I can’t explain it, I feel that as she brushes dirt away from my skin, warm honey memories are pressing down on my mind until I am left o wade slowly through the pool of the sticky, sweet consistency of memories distorted by time and warped by tragedy. My fingers brush through it slowly, combing through my mind to see if I can catch the important bits of passing moment which grow fresh and raw like a picked-at scab while Ella dusts away the coating of must from them. I’ll be able to sort through the memories soon enough, and my body will be free of the polluting dirt that keeps me from slipping swiftly down the honey-river of half-forgotten memories behind my barriers. But I’ll regret it, as I learn soon enough -

- because there are bad memories in the mix. I force my eyes to close, in vain, as a wash-up of taciturn, scum-ridden emotions ride in on a wave, crash into my euphoria and burn down my stable tranquility. It closes in around my head and presses honey into my mouth till I am nothing but a sticky mess of the past. Sloppy kisses meet days in the studio meet girls with twinkling eyes and boys who scoff at me when I win another girl meet smoke inhaled by eager and inexperienced lungs meet screams and tantrums, jewels and plastic toys. My life washes before my eyes and I can’t help but think something is missing, until the flash of gold lights up the orange-yellow river, no sea, of time. I forget to breath when I spot her face in a crowd of others. She stands among them, but she radiates with warmth and freedom.

She is the girl I knew once when I breathed like any other, and I wasn’t trapped in a time-bottle enjoyed the air as much as my burning lungs. But just like myself, she lost her mind to memories and forgot to breath in the fresh, new air. Her lungs couldn’t carry her on the winds she’d inhaled, because her air was dead and gone. Instead of building wings and flight from our passionate kisses and exchanged emotions, she tried to build herself on the images of an unshaven man who smelt of beer and hot metal. She called him her father, and she told me we had to find him, or she could not be mine. Ever.

I'll stop the whole world
I'll stop the whole world from turning into a monster,
and eating us alive
Don't you ever wonder how we'd survive
But now that you're gone the world is ours

The body in the dirt covered in grime who has wet-hair tangled with leaves and dead-air in her lungs had been with me only twice because of this many I did not know. Once for every year we spent together. She was a friend for months after I met her, but her eyes pierced through the fog in my mind, those tiny, golden suns poking holes through the gloom till I was forced to look inward and find that she was mine for the taking, and that I wanted her. We shared each other a year into our love, and I regret my dissatisfaction and lack of empathy for her plight. She wished to wait for her father so he could accept our love, even as her own body craved me as well. And she told me of another lover who kept her buried under face-paint and silky fabrics, one who cared not for her or her father’s whims, and said he would make her a bride in good time, but he had no use for a maybe-dead man’s acceptance. He told her he’d take her whether she liked it or not.

She told me I had freed her, and if I loved her, I would wait and show her in the time I spent waiting. We’ll find my father so I can trust you with me. I can’t give myself away to you, sweet boy. She taunted and played with my feelings, but kept her distance. Self-preservation, she called it. But how could one preserve themselves when half of them was malnourished as myself? If we were truly two halves of a whole, how had she denied me so many times? Didn’t it pull at her heartstrings and make her shiver with self-loath? I should feel self-loathing now, as I reprise the feelings of disgust I bore her when she pushed me away another night and told me kisses were all I’d get. How I hated her for that…

Kisses were the things I should have loved and found joy in precisely because Ella was never quick to thrust her body to mine and because she was doomed by her own greater desire to please an old man rather than please a young love. I tried to save her from this foolishness, but all I recovered the day she died was a body and a sea of memories. She was nothing to me but a body in the ground and smudges of dirt, or at least she should have been - but no. Ella can’t wipe away the memories of kisses we shared, even if they agonize my heart. Damn it, even if she ravaged me and made me feel shame, fear, and wounds I never thought I could endure, at least my feelings were true. Damn it I still loved her even when she fell into the water with a sickening sound, the sound of my heart breaking in half and her body cracking. Damn it all, damn her, damn myself, I do love her. I did. I really, did, and now I’m paralyzed in this coating of honey, trying to fight for my survival by devoting my energies to a stranger. I know Ella is not my own, and that it will at least be awhile until she is mine, but this does not compute with my senses. Something tells me she wouldn’t be licking away my sins and pain if she weren’t mine to hold and cherish.

I'm only human
I've got a skeleton in me
But I'm not the villain despite what you're always preaching
Call me a traitor
I'm just collecting your victims
They're getting stronger, I hear them calling

My dream, Ella’s touch, has become a nightmare and my mind is reaching a point of hysterics. My unconscious mind calls for the immediate repetition of her name, Ella’s name, as many times as my mental mouth can utter it, to calm myself and dig a grave that the other girl can’t dig her way out of, a grave Ella can’t dig her way into, either even as she persists to drag her fingers across my skin and pull out my hidden desires and gentle pleads with fate that swim in a sticky sea of regret on waves I am unwilling to ride, so long as I know they will lead me to the sickeningly sweet things hiding in the dark crevices of my past and tasting of the rancidity of a stale love.
She tempts me to follow her deeper, and I wish to obey, but I hesitate all the same.

Ella is my goddess of destruction and life, temptation and restraint, and everything between. When she looks at me, through my eye-lids I register the gleam of her eyes as she flicks her snake-tongue out to lick away all other thoughts, and places an apple before me. She taunts and tempts me like another I once knew, but she uses her contemptuous, nonchalant attitude to send shivers through my body and remind me of what I had been missing when the dead girl was my world. Her ragged tongue peels away the layers of sanity and uncovers a crazed, starved mad-man hiding behind silver eyes.

I'll stop the whole world
I'll stop the whole world from turning into a monster,
and eating us alive
Don't you ever wonder how we'd survive?
But now that you're gone the world is ours.

She knows all my weaknesses, especially those for skin, and I feel her gaze like the caress of a destructive lover on my past, even if she doesn’t know what she is seeing. I am sure, however, that she is aware that she is offering herself up to me like a sacrificial lamb to be slain by my unconstrained and lunatic love for her. Where has the wayward goddess of passion and forlorn anguish gone? This Ella is a new creature; she is vulnerable and masterful in her use of this openness. Her cunning is abound because she uses my own fears to bring me to the crescendo of my breaking point and leave me in an easily molded state or ruin so that she can later shape me to her liking and make me a submissive lover who will follow her every command. Yet, she wants to save me even as my hidden pain and lust is brought to the surface by her demands. I suppose Ella is ice and fire in one body, she burns you, and cools you down so that you think she cares for you one moment, and you perhaps believe she is trying to preserve you, but then she scalds and freezes your heart until you are black and blue from cold and wounds.

Why had my mind chosen her? I know what I must do to be with Ella, I must tear down every memory I hold dear, and create a new identity for myself. No longer Kade Warren, or Ghost, or my girl’s simple “Warren.” Maybe I am Kade now, just a simple boy who fate has brought before her, but she will build me up into something of her liking. Fate has wrapped my salvation and doom in the body of a pretty girl, and I’d like to take her mind, heart, and body for my own, no matter the cost to my person. I am tempted by this apple-wielding, heart-yielding snake, and my hand flashes before me to claim this prize which I sense through my translucent eye-lids and feel a few inches before my hands. I eagerly anticipate finding the apple of my eye in front of me, but instead my fingers grasp an ordinary, albite dirty and feminine hand.

Well you found us strength and solutions but I liked the tension
And not always knowing the answers when you're gonna lose it,
you're gonna lose it.

I wind my fingers through it to search it’s ins-and-outs for the apple I pine for, the reassurance that Ella is mine even if she is going to kill me. But all I find is the dirt and filth on her hand, that which she had taken from me. Where was that golden apple my mind envisioned? Here was a girl, here was not just an ordinary girl, but my Ella, not an apple filled with deathly promise.

My heart takes minutes to calm, all I can do is hold her hand to mine, and grasp at her second wrist to reassure myself that she is real and not a dark fantasy my mind has bewitched my eyes into seeing, a twisted series of emotions to break down the barriers my head is building and trick me into believing lies. She is real, I am rubbing circles in the skin of her hands and brushing dirt that I concur is all too real, if I am to believe the dead-girl was real as Ella is to me now. I am soothed, but also excited by her very presence. Although my mind is an unpleasant place to be, under Ella’s touch, my body has become a play-ground for love, lust, kisses, and touch. Even though I am still stirred and bated by my haunted mind, my body will not waste another moment with pitiful thoughts. Ella is enlightenment, not ruin. I am in love with her, and always will be. Whatever emotions and events that have unfolded before me as insubstantial and ridiculous.

My mind has conjured up what some call “wedding day jitters,” and I call the ravings of a stupid afraid of commitment. One who is trying to rationalize leaving the girl of his dreams in the woods, tired and alone, because he knows that once he loved a dead girl buried in the same forest, and that he needs to anchor himself to her body and perhaps die and be dead with her forever. I call it foolish to waste my life in such a way, and I am no fool – unless of course, for Ella’s attentions and affections. I tenderly loosen my grip on her as words replace my tremors and my mind turns to its original goal: to protect and serve Ella. I am relieved to find my near mental-meltdown is finished with, I can carry on with loving her as though none of this had happened.

I'll stop the whole world
I'll stop the whole world from turning into a monster,
and eating us alive
Don't you ever wonder how we'd survive?
But now that you're gone the world is ours.

Self-confidence and smugness enthuses me with the courage to revel in my conquering of untamed, unwarranted emotions. I wish to speak words to Ella, and so I do.

“But Ella – Ella don’t you see, I’ll never afford you the same mercy, mi-ne Ella? I can never let you go now, even if you tried to free me.”

My hands loosen even more until her wrist drops free of my touch, but only so I can bring up one of my brown-streaked, hesitant hands to er face and allow my fingers to delicately smooth away the movements of her fluttering eyelashes and flared nostrils. I want to savor this moment and keep it in my head as a still picture of the moment I made her realize there is nothing to keep me from her or her from me.

“Don’t you understand, I want you.”

Platonic as it sounds, it’s the truth. It’s tender and raw, spoken by a hoarse voice and concocted in the mind of a mad-man in love. It’s to my credit I didn’t try to steal a kiss from her now, but even as I try to evade the fantasy memories of my past, I am still influenced by that one sentiment. That I should enjoy her and let our love breath before I bring her ambrosial lips to my mouth in a first and destined kiss, one of many to follow, and take her as my own, finally in skin, heart, and mind.

I'll stop the whole world
I'll stop the whole world from turning into a monster,
and eating us alive
Don't you ever wonder how we'd survive?
But now that you're gone the world is ours.

ooc … the shuck?

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 30, 2011 2:38:03 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jun 30, 2011 2:38:03 GMT -5

( E L L A W R E N D A H L )

This is a gift
It comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

[/i][/color][/right]

I shouldn't be doing this and I know that as well as I know my own name — but you've been called so many things, ~~whore~~ ~~cheat~~ ~~murderer~~ ~~abuser~~ ~~destroyer~~ Ella, you can't possibly know them all. Turning back is no longer an option; I'm all in and I'll be damned if I'm in it alone. Too many people have broken their loyalties to me, going back on the vows we sealed with sweat and skin and I refuse to join their ranks, to betray myself as easily. This is a path I told myself to take and I'll follow it as far as I'm able to. I'm exhausted from living in the past, glutting myself on punishment, reliving the same decisions over and over and over again. I want change. I want to reach for the things in front of me instead of clinging to what ought to be behind me. I need a future. I lust for it.

The only thing ahead of me now is Kade and he's not begging for escape. His fingers are winding in and around and right through my own, wandering, searching, exploring, and discovering just how empty ~~I am~~ they are. I've lost everything I've ever tried to hold onto, keeping only the intangible terrors of the condemned. Time ticks by slowly as he interrogates my palms, questioning them about all the things they've held before, and I know he sees that I possess nothing worth taking, but he doesn't let me go. Inquisitive touch turns to pattern, tumbling over itself and turning in circles and it hurts, his callouses tugging at my ragged flesh and unscabbed wounds, but I allow him to continue, because he's pressing into my emptiness and it's not deflecting him. So I don't mind. Now that I've surrendered, he's welcome to destroy me as long as he doesn't let me go.

"But Ella —" My name wraps itself around his tongue, holding so tight that I can tell it doesn't leave him, no matter how far it reaches out into the air. Within his mouth it becomes a declaration, stronger than it ever was on its own, summoning me to him, lecturing that where it resides, so should I. I can feel myself tilting into him, acutely aware of how badly I've missed inhabiting another person's body. I want to wrap myself around his ~~diamond~~ bones, let my greed gather him up and claim ~~as much as~~ more than it can possibly hold. "— Ella don’t you see, I’ll never afford you the same mercy, mi-ne Ella?" Again and again he says my name and this is one repetition I wouldn't mind preserving and reliving over and over and over. I want to find out how many different ways I can persuade him to whisper murmur mumble scream yell shout howl bellow breathe sigh cry out my name, tally them with notches on a bedpost, profess each one a victory. "I can never let you go now, even if you tried to free me." That's all I'm asking for. I only want everything you have and whatever is left after that. One of his hands unravels itself from mine, rising to my face and I lean into it reflexively. I want to burrow against, into, within him. "Don’t you understand," Of course I do, but you don't. Yet. "I want you."

He knows nothing of the ways to want someone. Oh, the things I have to teach him— The urge to ravage him with a passion so savage that his entire being would ignite beneath my touch, incinerating him with the kind of kiss his lungs would never recover from, is almost overpowering. I want to crash into him mouth-first, drag my teeth across his chest, crack his sternum open, and feast on his saccharine humanity. I am starved for physical contact, denied by Zane too many times, fed up with suppressing my desires for the comfort of another person. I am so tired— of everything. "I never promised you mercy, Kade." My voice is so weighted with loneliness and hunger that my lungs almost don't have the strength to lift the words into the air. Free hand curling into itself, I reach up to lightly rap knuckles against the ribs that cage his heart, as if knocking to ask permission for entrance. Ducking into him, I press my ear against the space, savoring the palpitations that strike at the barrier between us. His pulse is the thunder that warns of a lightning strike. Something within him knows that he should be running far away from the danger of me, but he's defying its counsel. I only promised myself that I'd try not to break you the same way I've destroyed everything else, but that doesn't mean I won't unhinge my jaw and devour you whole, boy.

"Freedom comes at a cost," I explain as I draw my hand to my mouth and lock onto his gaze, nonchalantly licking the pads of my fingers, tongue laying claims to any remnants of the ruin I removed from him. I have to take it all from him — every memory, every secret, every failure. I want it all. The worst parts of you, the best parts of you, it doesn't matter. Hand them over. Every. Last. Piece. "It's impossible to own something while it still belongs to someone else—" Returning my hand to his chest, fingers splayed and palm pressed insistently against his heart, I begin nudging him into backward steps, adrenaline spurring me to push him forwardbackwardforward until I've pinned him against the nearest tree, bark digging into shoulder blades and spine and thighs. You and I are covered with the fingerprints of others and they are walls and shields and restraints separating us, they are barricades that must be knocked down before you can even get to me, let alone take me for your own. These things require force. A smirk curls its way into the crook of my lips as I look him up and down, appraising his capabilities. I have it in me to tear and tempt my way past his defenses, but he's so gentle and that's one thing I'm inexperienced with. "—you have to free it from its previous captors before you can have it for yourself. I don't want to free you out of mercy..." I don't know how to be selfless, in the end all of this is for me — I want to free you because I want ~~someone~~ ~~anyone~~ you. Completely. I won't settle for anything less ~~anymore~~.

My other stranger and I traded our bodies back and forth, never giving more, never giving less. We craved flesh and physicality, but that's not enough to truly possess a person and that realization ended ~~him~~ us. Zane... I gave him everything I had, but he never gave me enough. I always wanted more, maybe more than he had to give. Skin, soul, heartbeat — I laid them at his feet, ~~moaning~~ chanting take me take me take me, but never knew if he kept my offerings within him, his bed, the palm of his hand. Uncertainty needled at me and I searched the hollows of his mouth for any words that could confirm how we belonged to one another — I always knew we did, but I wanted him to prove it — but never found quite what I was looking for. Almost was never enough. "You want me?" I begin pulling away from Kade, my body wanting the same answers as my words, and I know if I don't pull back now, I'll fall into him with a force more adamant than gravity. I don't want another lover unwilling to exchange everything they are for everything I am. All or nothing, Kade. "Prove it. I dare you."

[/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jun 30, 2011 16:38:30 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jun 30, 2011 17:49:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cinder on Jun 30, 2011 17:49:47 GMT -5

Oh I beg you, can I follow
Oh I ask you why not always
Be the ocean where unravel
Be my only, be the water and I'm wading
You're my river running high, run deep run wild

~~She's mine~~

Irresistible

she's touching me softly, I could be a fool now and give in to her feel, the way her finger tips pulsate over my body and send shocks through me so that I want to lean into her or fall away, to escape. But she presses me backwards, even as my mind tells me all the things I could do to her now. I'll dip my head, meet her lips and softly tell her what she is to me, and what I can become for her. But we are not harmless angels brushing wings together and stroking each other's smooth, white faces with pretty, soft hands and fingers. We are tongues on dirt and dirt on white faces too pale for white-hot golden angels, we are ghosts trying to suck the life out of each other and I have to be reminded of the dangers. The dangerous crackling electric pulses pushing me back, like a drug I want more. I really do but I can't have more it's impossible

she pushes me back.

~~Ella~~

no, she shoves.

Incomprehensible

I was entering a state of hysteria again, I had to be reminded of the danger. Ella punishes me by pushing me back until I feel rough matter dragging through my hair and pulling at the clingy material of my thread-bare shirt. The rips and scuffs where thread barely exists anymore feel it painfully as twigs and thorns snap through and touch my skin. If Ella were true to herself, she'd be a cruel tree. A tree can be a home, mother birds make the highest branches into their nests so they can have a view and feel the comfort of Mother Tree's arms around their young ones. But I know better. Just as ~~Ella~~ she gives life, Mother Tree takes it back with a rustle of her arms and baby birds are no more. Perhaps the music of the birds is not a charming song of love and life, but an ode to the enormous power the Mother Tree's hold over their children. Even if I were a tree, standing my side by Ella's side, she could wait one day and let her roots slip out until she came crashing on top of me, and then we'd snap and break and fall into the river, if we're unlucky. If we're lucky, we'll sit side-by-dirt-by-other-side with me beneath her, and her branches will whisper deadly secrets to my own, and we'll destroy all the things growing and living inside of us.

~~mine.~~

Destruction.

I-I follow, I will follow you deep sea baby
I follow you
I-I follow, I will follow you, dark boom honey
I follow you

Barely conscious, more than lucidly dreaming, I am still able to comprehend that I've sworn to her I won't be merciful. I suppose Ella brings out the most demanding, hungry parts of me because I want all of her, everything inside of her and nothing less than all of it. All of her. All of Ella. All of Ella. Alla? An ironic word to pop into my head. I've heard the word before, perhaps spelled differently: "Allah," "God," "Eliahu." There are people in the Districts who still worship the old gods. In secret, they meet and exchange shreds of yellow, torn paper which proclaim great destinies, days of judgment, and final atonement for all sin. They aren't supposed to meet, because some say they carry a message of Anti-Capitol hate, but the religions flourish no matter what. It is impossible to escape what is all around you.

Ella surrounds me, Ella is in the tree I've pressed my skin and blood into. She's infecting me with dark and vile diseases slipping through the sticky thorns and her bare hand's touch. Ella is the girl with the ghost-blue eyes, mingling with my own. There was a time when I craved the touch of golden sunlight on my own luminous, pale skin. I was the moon, grudgingly sucking away the light of my sun and trying to shine as brightly as her so that she wouldn't grow bored and find another star of her kind to equally be worshiped by, and share light with. I craved the divides between myself and other, but I winced at the friction when my pale light and her golden were placed side by side. Now I see in Ella's eyes that she is not only everywhere around me, but she is inside of me.

It almost disgusts me, at first. To think that the friction I craved was the friction between parts of myself. Who falls in love with a perfect, mirror image of their own eyes and hands and heart? To Ella's ghost-blue eyes, I have silver, haunted eyes that alternate between modes of haunted endurance of a painful past, and haunting chills to scare away the future's coming demons. To Ella's pale, white hands I have my own. Here are her cuts, I present to them my bruises. Her face with the stains she can't wipe away, not lip-stains and eye-colors to make her beautiful, but jagged lines that are so ugly, they make my blank, silver eyes want to close.

But they don't, because I know that even if I close my eyes, her pain and destruction will tear away the skin covering them and force me to see her. I know that face with pretty ~~scary~~ eyes, ~~blood~~ red lips, the ~~sharp and angry~~ becoming femininity of her face's planes and angles is a disguise. Yes, her skin is stretched too thin over a monster's angry, welted insides. I'm shivering with Allah's fear placed in my bones, but then again, if Ella is my Lord..

I am not safe. I will never be safe again as long as she is pressed to me. I'm beginning to think she isn't just my master, but master of everything and everyone. Ella chooses who lives and dies, one touch of her fingertips restores a man to full strength, but a kiss from those ruby-lips will suck away his soul until his eyes are empty, silver goblets drained of life, love, and all that makes a man a man.

But it's all okay, because as my soul shivers and collapses in on itself, writhing with the pain of a thousand falling stars I am at peace. Ella is a warm shroud around my sacrificial bones, she is burning away the sadness and pain in me, destroying not only my will to resist and the mercy in my heart, but the parts of me I want to be cleansed of.

He a message, I'm the runner
He's the rebel, I'm the daughter waiting for you
You're my river running high, run deep run wild

I look at her, I'm beginning to understand the paradox. My sight is becoming clearer, or perhaps Ella is growing to understand what it is she has done to me, and she is quickly undoing the damage before I unravel and die. She's working the kinks of out my skin, she's bending and mending the metal armor around my skin. That's why I am vulnerable to the cutting edges of thorns behind me and ragged hands on the skin before me. She is stripping me so she can refit my suit of armor and make me her Champion to fight for and preserve her.

I'm smug and confident in my realization, and I suppose the challenge she is setting before me is working through her mind as well, because I see a lightning flash working through her eyes before she speaks to me.

She's been weaving dream spells to keep me from noticing my anxiety and hyper-awareness of my position as her.. lesser counterpart? Her unequal, but now she looks at me with challenges fresh in her face, and she isn't trying to woo me or sway me back so my skin breaks and ruptures under sharp and pointed places. Now she is giving me the respect I am earning for myself, feeding my cravings with small bits and pieces which she gives me from the skin of her hands. She presses into me, not against me.

I know the difference between the two, because where one is pain and Mother Tree, the other is a girl who some would consider frail, with more mental scars than skin-scars (although she isn't lacking in the second) It's the pressure change between the air between us. I'm on cloud nine now, my ears are popping and my body feels light from all the emotions being inhaled and exhaled by our hungry bodies.

I-I follow, I will follow you deep sea baby
I follow you
I-I follow, I will follow you, dark boom honey
I follow you

She slips into me. I always thought the suns were the ones who had the pull of gravity on their side. My former twinkling, illuminated star would push her hand out to me, and I'd drag my body through burning shards of glass to reach out for her. But Ella is falling smoothly into me, it's like she's slipped on ice and she expects me to catch her. I see the moment she gives in, and the moments she gets up.

I see myself and I see pain.

She pushes herself back until the gravity pulling us to each other snaps and breaks like a hand-crafted chain of fine silver being pressured by angry, strong hands. I want to blame her for pulling away, but I know it has to have been equal effort on both ends for us to break. Ella can't be so strong, she couldn't have damaged this spell all on her own.

Or could she have? I'm not a religious one, I've never read the shreds of crinkled, broken paper before, so I can't call myself an expert on the ways of gods. My "Allah" or Ella, as I'll call her is a mysterious and amaranthine being who I can't hope to fathom with only the short life span of a nearly-adult young-man under my belt. Even if I spent the rest of my years studying and watching her, she'd be a mystery. It's refreshing and exciting to know I'll never fully understand what I love, I understand religion now.

It isn't just the temporal and blind pursue of faith and goodness, it's the self-damnation of your own soul to a worthy purpose. Leaving your bones out to dry, and hoping your deity will care for them while your spirit goes to far off places in pursue of knowledge worthy of him or her. Ella isn't just the gift delivered straight into my zealous, grimy hands. She is the prize I seek to claim, and she is the judge, jury, and representative in the court of, for, and against my heart. She will decide if I am worthy of her, but it is up to myself to tailor my body, heart, and mind to her liking so that she'll never let go of me.

I once was a troubled young man who couldn't say no to a dare. I was dared to ask out the prettiest girl in school once, when I was young and earnest in my beliefs, especially in the power of Karina. Karina was regal and haughty in her treatment of anyone besides her own self, even the teachers and superior social queens of District One. She was no skilled Career, but her hands were calloused by years of hard handy-work. Her eyes lit up in unimaginable shades of green, and when her lips curled back to snarl, she seemed to smile. She was a tempest in a tea-cup, stirring herself and scalding those who tried to touch and contain her brilliancy.

You're my river running high,
run deep run wild
I-I follow, I will follow you deep sea baby
I follow you
I-I follow, I will follow you, dark boom honey
I follow you
I-I follow, I will follow you deep sea baby
I follow you
I-I follow, I will follow you, dark boom honey
I follow you

But I won her, I never let odds get in the way of a game. One time, I bet on a blind, District Twelve boy with a death-wish, I pegged him as the winner of the Games, and he didn't disappoint. I bet my life on the line, played Russian Roulette and came out richer and better for it. It's a talent, and a curse. As irresistible as Ella is to me.

Ella's lips had sealed my fate. She formed words I couldn't possibly guess the motives behind, but my mind is used to the labors of love and war, and soon enough I'm working circles around my task until I've thought up a suitable solution. Ella wishes to be won over? She wishes for me to woo her, like a real lady and not the damnable, whorish, tempestial and temptresstial, effervescent, holy spirit I regard her as?!??

*(yes I realize I just created the words tempestial and temptresstial. Shakespeare does it, Sarah Palin does it, Cinder does it - Deal with it.)

I am able, I have two hands, a good head on my neck, and broad shoulders to carry the weight of the world for the both of us, while I still keep one hand wrapped around Ella to keep her out of harms way. If she wants me to treat her like a normal, god-damned human being, I am all too willing. So I turn her to me, she seems to be falling away, out of my orbit and sights, and I grasp at her face with my hands, a mess of dust coloring her pale cheeks.

I breath into her and onto her, I don't just want Ella to feel my love, I want the world to understand that if there is anything I hold dear, it is her. It's my first step in claiming my prize. I hold her as close to me as I can force her body, I try to mold and fit her into the grooves of my skin, but I ache with the blood on my back. I groan and push away until she's stumbling backwards, and I never let go of her. My eyes just lock on her own until they understand the true meaning of "friction." It isn't the mesh of sun and moonlight falling together and sparkling prettily, it's the darkness fighting darkness, fire on fire and skin on skin. Our cuts will match up, and I'll knock bruises into my skin until I am exactly like her and we will hate each other and scald away all the things we hate until all that is left is Ella. Ella and Kade. ~~Kella.~~ Then I will be satisfied, because all that will be left is the satisfaction of being. One being, one heart, one mind, one body.

Intensity crackles between us and I hesitate to kiss her lips, but I do. I lean forward until I'm on her, and slick sweat and blood mingle as they roll down my back. Sweet pain responds to every move I make, but its a tangled struggle, trying to grow close to something that is all around me. i want to throw myself to the ground with Ella and feel Ella on the ground. Ella's body. Ella's trees and Ella.

Ella.

Breath

Ella

Kiss

Ella

worthy.

I, I follow,
I will follow you
deep sea baby,
I follow you
I, I follow,
I will follow you,
dark boom honey,
I follow you
Yeah

[/blockquote][/size][/color]

Last Edit: Jun 30, 2011 18:13:39 GMT -5 by cinder

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jul 1, 2011 0:45:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jul 1, 2011 0:45:15 GMT -5

( E L L A W R E N D A H L )

I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me
I'm not calling you a thief, just don't steal from me
I'm not calling you a ghost, just stop haunting me
And I love you so much, I'm gonna let you
Kill me...

[/i][/color][/right]

Don't get me wrong, Oblivion. You're a ~~beautiful~~ abyss, but you've got nothing on this.

I'm pulling awayawayImightbreakifIbreakaway, thrusting escape into his palms, shrieking frantic warnings across the fragile line between our tin cup hearts, offering him deliverance from the eternal damnation of my body, but he rejects everything. Except me. He holds on. He holds on. He holds on. Tugs all of me ~~against~~ ~~right through~~ into him.

Existence explodes. All of it. The dawn, the day, the soil, the sky — they've all blown out, smashed and splintered and deadly, but now we have twice as much skin to shield us, so although I know razor-edged shrapnel must be raking across our entwined backs and arms and thighs, we are bulletproof. I am buried inside the armor of his ribcage, safely sheltered from Hell's hurricane by a vertebrae windbreak, and defended with a second set of fists. Everything that ever was and is and will be has become irrelevant, we leave it all ~~below~~ ~~beneath~~ ~~behind~~ apart from us.

Clutching my face within his hands with enough intensity to crush my jaw, shoulders curl all the way around me, guiding me into every last crack, crevasse, and vacancy he possesses, showing me each place and way I belong ~~with~~in him. I've fit myself into others before, human jigsaw puzzles that bent in and out with astounding complexity, but we were always separate pieces, our borders outlined and definite. This is not that. That was child's play; this is a chemical reaction. Atoms and molecules split and compound, cracking against the air and burning up oxygen until there's nothing left to breathe. Doesn't matter. We don't need it. We'll make our own.

Unsatisfied with such simple science, he catapults himself into me — because there is no such thing as enough — and sends us staggering, feet tangling as we trip over ~~ourselves~~ ourself, uncertain of what to do with direction now that it no longer has a purpose. We are turbulent. We are unstable. We are redefining chaos with every twist of our limbs, but there is no disconnect. Blinking becomes sacrilege beneath his stare and our irises must be bruising from the forcefulness of it. Closer seems impossible, but he leans in anyway and the stutter of hesitation before impact is enough to crucify me. At least we're nailed to the same cross.

He lied. He doesn't want me. This is nothing like wanting.

This is need.

There's a ghost in my mouth
And it talks in my sleep
Wraps itself around my tongue
As it softly speaks
Then it walks, then it walks

[/i][/color][/center]

We collide and I can taste his heart through his mouth, as if it grew right behind his teeth. He is completely raw against me and I could bite down and tear him to shreds so easily. I should, I could, I would, but — he gives me everything he has, exhales it into my lungs until it fills me up and I become a sin balloon. I grow. I am more than I was before, brimming over with new life until I can't hold any more, but it keeps coming, forcing entry into my instincts and amalgamating with everything I am was, reassuring me that I'll stretch and stretch and won't ever break, because now I have twice as much body to contain all of this. Tenderness tempers savagery as our souls search for new equilibrium, but doesn't push it out. They merge, joining forces to prove that benevolence can be just as fierce as anything else. Enlightenment teaches me the violence of kindness, the fervency of affection, the brutality of gentleness.

Through him, I experience selflessness for the first time. Giving something of myself to another person, simply because I am able — I have never done that before, not even when I was cleaning the dirt from his face. Despite going through the motions and occasionally convincing myself I was genuine, I have always expected something in return. Zane, Auggie, Tiva, ~~everyone~~, ~~anyone~~... I take and I consume and I feed off those around me and I taste those destructive habits in Kade too, but he has a measure of sincerity that I lack. The sweetness of self-sacrifice floods my veins and it is a high that even Zane's wildest jealousy could not rival. It promises to teach me to be a ~~normal, god-damned~~ human being. This tangle of unfamiliar emotions and experiences circulates through me and I realize this is what Zane never gave me. We knew how to take from each other and we did so mercilessly, justifying our greed with a willingness to let the other have whatever they wanted in return. Opening ourselves and laying out offerings, we named this giving, because we didn't know any better, didn't realize that the other person still had to reach out and claim those gifts.

I want to get it right this time. I don't want to simply go through the motions again, looking at the wreckage I create and telling myself it was done with good intentions. In surrendering, wanting, proving — I've asked Kade to take me take me take me and I know if I continue to ask, he will continue to take and allow me to do the same to him. I've done that before... with Zane. I don't want to repeat our mistakes, if for no other reason than that they are ours, maybe the only thing we have left, and should be no one else's. I owe him that much — because this is betrayal. I haven't stripped him from myself yet, he still owns rights to me even if he doesn't want them. The idea of cutting him from myself hurts ~~worse than Auggie's death~~ and I'm not even sure I know how to, but Kade's humanity is surging through my entire being and the idea of giving that up seems utterly unbearable. I can try I can try I can—

Let go.

To fall
To fall
To fall
To fall
To fall

[/i][/color][/center]

This isn't surrender — victors versus the conquered — this is equality. This is altruism. This is madness. So be it. I wrap myself around him, over him, into him, weaving myself under skin, between muscle and bone, until we are irreversibly bound together. Pulling tight, pulling until I am precariously balanced on tippy toes once more, I survey the brink of abandon and discover that it has become the opposite of the nothingness I glimpsed before. It is full. Tethered only by a single thread of history, knotted with everything that came before, I sever it with my teeth, a last act of destruction, and free fall into ~~oblivion~~ him. If he wants to match my bruises, my darkness, my skin — I'll give them to him. I'll shed every terrible piece of me into his arms, rewinding into the vibrancy of my youth to excavate any remnants of life I haven't completely annihilated yet and then I'll share those too. Triumphant fists kissing the sky; rooftops crowned by the soles of my feet; a prideful smile that stretched from one end of the district to the other...

The fabric of everything I am was is rent apart as I unravel within him, a tumble of split stitches and frayed snares. Perhaps his calloused hands will smooth me out, painstakingly reconstructing me into new life, or maybe he will hook his fingers into me and play a wicked game of cat's cradle before stringing me into the cage of his ribs. And if he simply relinquishes me, casting me into the abyss of him, sentenced to swing aimlessly for eternity? Then I shall build a cathedral there, write my last breath into a hymn, and name it after us. But my lungs are impatient and the promised covenant of that final breath scorches my throat, begging me not to withhold it any longer, that it composed a silent lullaby just for this occasion. So I set it free, exhaling it into him and onto him, baptizing him in it, because ~~one way or another~~ he will never be the same after me. It is the last of what I have and it leaves me like the death rattle of a ghost, a persistent sigh that tugs my consciousness with it, bringing it to sleep on the bed of his skin, where nightmares cannot follow.

I go blind, deaf, and dumb, faculties dwindling away until I am left only with a sixth sense that I christen Kade as I swing in and out of awareness. Still, he holds on, remaining the only thing I do not slip away from, but I am a heavy weight to bear and he is human enough that I must be a burden in his arms. The endless void surrounding us tilts in response as foolish gravity attempts to reclaim power over us. I am still falling into him and he must be falling with me because he isn't letting go, but I don't know where we're falling to. Nothing else is left.

To fall
To fall
To fall at your feet
Oh, but for the grace of god go on
When you kiss me, I'm happy enough

[/i][/color][/center]

(OOC — LMFAO. Yes, he kissed her and she fainted. ~~Sorry, I couldn't resist. XD~~ Exhaustion ~~and Aaron Johnson~~ will do that to a girl. She's just a little out of it though, not blacked out or anything, only enough to set them off balance and knock them to the ground. ~~Because I couldn't resist that either.~~ I hope it's enough to work with.)[/color][/justify][/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jul 2, 2011 22:34:57 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jul 3, 2011 1:26:02 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cinder on Jul 3, 2011 1:26:02 GMT -5

I'm sorry, but you just try resisting this ^

I was running out in the cold light,
Wondering where to go,
To run away, without you.

Instant connection?

I can't seem to argue with the idea that I am in love, but logic should disprove this. Ella is connected to me by muscle, bone, skin, but are our souls stitched together? My upbringing has taught me love is something that grows slowly and steadily, all-consuming passion is an entirely different matter than ”true feelings.

But my mind rebels against childhood notions because we’re flexing and shifting and rippling in unison, as though we are two torn halves of something being mended together. Our souls are stitching back up so that my upbringing is half right, half wrong. Yes, love takes time to flourish, but my love for Ella, and the feelings she has returned are older than our hungry bodies.

Ella is right when she tells me I have lied about wanting things. I need her and this is not a petty appetite like the ones Capitol residents enjoyment of diamonds, rich fabrics and bubbling champagne. This is the absolute and all-consuming hunger of a champion tribute who is determined to survive the harsh conditions of an Arena. But I am too quick to call myself a “champion” when I haven’t won her yet.

In fact, that’s exactly what I fear. I want to feed from her body and I need to be with her, but I am so scared to if kissing her unrestrainedly means putting myself on the line and risking the chance of losing those rosy, blood lips and soul-stirring ice eyes. It isn’t even the fear that Ella doesn’t care for me, she makes it clear that she is content to spend time wrapped inside of me, I fear her brain with its cruel logic and systematic annihilation of any dangers to the self. Right now our bodies are fused by forces neither my goddess or myself (as Kade, a sole entity) can interfere with. Our hearts ache with desire and emotion, but our minds must be rational if we both carry the dead-quality in our eyes.

All my fear is coming home,
And it's ripped out for the show.
You can't be me,
I will become you tonight.

Neither of us have survived from being soft and whimsical about the way we treat ourselves. I am never out of love, it is my food. She has a coping mechanism as well, something to keep her body and heart from winning the endless battle against reason and doubt. I am sure it’s a hard battle for her too, but not because I can see straight into her soul, but because she scratches and bites at me like she’s fighting a battle for, against, or with me.

We will one time look at each other with disturbing calm and see past the red-hot pulsations of passion, we will see[/color] the red cuts on our lives, half-moon finger cuts trailing up and down pale arms and burns where our passion brimmed over and overflowed from within, spilling on our faces, torsos, legs, arms until our skin, our joint skin, is a master plan of destruction with searing burns as proof. Rational will kick in soon enough, once I've fed to my heart’s contentment and my body grows weary of constant abuse.

People say chemistry can control you even if it doesn't influence a more emotional and therefore meaningful bond. These people are wrong. I feel tears slipping down to cool my crispy cheeks where Ella’s hands have clung too long, and blood, dirt and sweat have dripped onto the smooth surface she once created. How could chemistry be a bodies business when my heart aches and my mind mourns these sensations coursing through me, making me desperate for more reminders that I am ALIVE.

I was wandering under black skies,
Clutching at what is mine,
No control, left to lose.
When I felt that it wouldn't phase me,
I ran and hid like a child.
I feel so guilty,
I'll make it up to you tonight.

So I ask again, instant connection, or
fabricated romance, mutually suitable to the tastes and needs of both parties?

It would be sensible to write off the revelation I’m going through as a complex series of chemical reactions, really all that love in general is. She makes me sad because she is sad. When she smiles or presses her lips to mine, I become happy. Because she makes me happy in the end, I assume I’m fond of Ella, then when she shows a strong interest in getting to know me better, I become so excited that I deem the feral.. requirements.. I sense to be an overwhelming and shocking case of “love.”

Meanwhile, she has been injured, clear from the marks on her skin, and she wants someone to wipe them away. She might not realize that some marks don’t ever leave you, but she is likely to die trying. She finds a nice boy in an unlikely situation. Already her equilibrium is thrown off by the strangeness of their meeting, and when he expresses a desire for her, sparks fly and her mind explodes with a pop. Suddenly she tries desperately to make him feel her appreciation and affections for him, touching his body and spurring him on in his deranged fantasy land.

Her eyes are so calculated, like she knows everything about what she is capable of. I watch her a moment with my mistrustful and dependable eyes, while my sometimes traitorous mouth still meshes with her own, and my hands spread out on an unspoken quest to search for potential weapons those apathetic eyes point to, as though her tangled curls, gleaming skin and feminine form are hiding from me a network of strong muscles with a memory of hands closing over a throat, feet used as fists and tree-bark wielded as a bat.

I know though that just like wounds, some weapons are more than concealed by such nonchalant acts of violence, but also hidden beneath the cap of dark hair, beneath the skin and the skull and deep within the tick-tocking time-bomb of an anxious mind put on edge.

Bridges I've been dreaming are going down,
They're changing my future.
Visions I had buried underground,
Return us our futures.

Ella may have secrets written in her skin that can help me decode her mind, I could try to read her scars and break the code of her language, but my mind is fast-tracking ahead of my clumsy hands so that while I still touch her with a lover’s gentle and rough mixture of emotions, I am presently in an almost state of belief my Ella is dooping me.

My mind screams to me, thrusting clues and motives into my consciousness. All she has for me is a want, it says. A want to use and abuse that body, the foolish mind and the wallowing soul. Both mine. Then she’ll leave me craving more, but she’ll be gone by then because she is a force of nature, and wherever the wind carries her, she goes. No man will hold her as long as he has without consequences. My mind says ”he needs her, but she only wants him!!!!” And above it all, it is a known fact to this twisted mind that we are both liars and cheats. I grow angry and rigid with sudden disgust for my partner in destruction.

I was breaking out of my own skin,
Choking upon release,
I'm in no state, to judge you.
Scratching itches best left alone,
Chasing memories I used to own,
I can't wait until this is over tonight.

But then a soft touch of tranquility spreads over me and I see her clearly watching me with a similar suspicion written across the clear canvas of her empty, whitish eyes. I senses hesitations in her own exploratory mission over my body through the faltering skip to the hands skimming my skin. I squeeze her tightly in case she tries to make a break for it, or throw an accusation at me through our interlocked lips. I press those more tightly too, to prevent words from passing between us in the heat of an awkward and unnecessary moment. But she is uninterested in making words, and I grow comfortable enough to become daring and wild with my passions when a sudden event occurs.

She faints. It really isn’t too graceful, and it’s precisely the moment when my mind not only ignores doubt, but gives in to hope for a joint future. In a moment all I can think is that Ella is falling to her death and I’ve watched this happen before, I haven’t saved her with my manic touch, I’ve doomed her. We should have spoken gentle words and shared soft touches, this is all too much for her.

I’ve fried her nerves, - no - doubt. But then as her hair spreads away from her face and I pull back a millisecond long enough to drink in the view of my love, I see her cheeks are flushed and her body is heated underneath my own. My mind can’t argue with this “series of emotions” running through my veins, it isn’t just an aphrodisiac but an ambrosia nourishing my hunger and leaving me plenty full with energy and adoration to spare.

I close in over Ella, diving into her and leaving no room for mercy. Our words are pointless, talk is cheap. This is the true spice to life, a touch and a half. Anything less is cheap and suspiciously unwanted. I recall in my minds eye that my fears of Ella dying stem from a half-remembered occasion when I watched someone die without a touch of my hand on her spine or her face or my lips on her mouth. She died with empty words filled with declarations of eternity and nothing to remember me by except my over-used speeches and bumbling, clumsy tongue trying to form the words my hands should have been making all along.

Bridges I've been dreaming are going down,
They're changing my future.
Visions I had buried underground,
Return us our futures.

This is all the proof I need that I am in a fabricated state of connection. That’s right, I’ve blended my minds fretful questions. Perhaps we shouldn’t have fallen so quickly, maybe I shouldn’t be sitting practically on top of Ella feeling her body, touching her mind and listening to the beat of her ever-quick heart, but I am. I won’t stop now, either, there isn’t a thing to keep me from becoming a part of her because we have connected like two perfect parts to a whole. But even so, I acknowledge that maybe that "whole" is fabricated. Our mutual needs have created something that might not have been there if Ella had had the owner of her skin’s bruises by her sides, or I’d have my chatting, wordy doomed one that belongs to half-forgotten events stirring in my unconscious mind.

Then we would have been happy with our others, but now we are full of something different.
It isn’t entirely wanted, but I sure as hell won’t give it up now.
We’ve stitched together two broken pieces in order to form a complex diagram of one self.
We are an I.
I am in love.

Well the nightmares Ive been having have arrived,
They're changing my future.
Signs of my creation at my door,
How could you do this to her?

[/size]
[/blockquote][/color]

Last Edit: Jul 3, 2011 1:51:16 GMT -5 by cinder

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jul 4, 2011 19:14:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jul 4, 2011 19:14:05 GMT -5

( E L L A W R E N D A H L )

Wait at the light and watch
For a sign that you're breathing
'Cause you can't just live on air
And float to the ceiling
Who's gonna answer profanity prayers?

[/i][/color][/right]

I have always been savagely possessive. What little I have, I hold close, curling my body around it like a protective ~~prison~~ shield. When you grow up knowing the true definition of nothing, your palms turn sticky as you learn to glue your fingers to anything that falls into them and murmur mine, mine, mine because this is not something you have the opportunity to do very often. If you are foolish enough to let your guard down for even a moment, life quickly teaches you how easy it is to lose even what you believed couldn't be taken from you. So although I know I have no right to claim Kade, I also realize that whoever he rightfully belongs to clearly isn't holding onto him tightly enough right now and I can't stop myself from turning the taking on someone else for once. I need more than nothing and the art of theft is something I've been taught quite well over the years.

This isn't taking, this is ~~receiving~~ giving. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I want to believe that, but I've so rarely been given much. It's undeniable that he's pushing himself into my palms so adamantly that I don't have to reach for anything, the prize is already there, but hesitance stirs within him as his body goes rigid and I brace against it. Doubt pricks at me and I'm too dizzy to reconcile anything with logic, the only thing I'm competent enough to do is hold on and maybe that's enough, because the resistance leaves him with a jolt. Perhaps he realizes it's too late, understanding that I wouldn't let him go even if he tried to leave me now, but it ~~shouldn't~~ doesn't matter because his intensity doubles in the wake of his mistrust and I—

I am tugged away by another riptide of darkness, held helpless in the grip of a vacant nothingness that I've always been familiar with. It reminds me that my body has limits and I simultaneously balk at its dispute of my immortality and find reassurance in having proof that I am indeed human — I am so often accused of being otherwise. Before, I would have welcomed this desensitized escape from the world, but now I'm impatient to return to the electric numbness that Kade provides me, terrified that he might have disappeared the same way my consciousness has. I won't so easily give up the possibility of having someone to run towards for for the first time in too long. So I fight against the empty void that holds me back, because I've found something and that's always enough to trump nothing.

Clawing my way back into my waking mind just in time to fully experience the crush of my body being caught between the earth and Kade — a (w)reckoning of jutting hipbones and ~~forest~~ undergrowth — I moan from both the pleasure and the pain of the collision, uncertain as to which one is dominant, they've always felt so similar to me. I am pinned beneath the entire weight of him and although I won't pretend to mind, it makes it impossible to breathe. If that were all I had to sacrifice, then I could be content to live a life without oxygen, but even my short-circuited mind knows that I probably can't have one without the other. Primal self-preservation instincts ~~and simple muscle memory~~ take control, lending strength to my exhausted muscles, until I've managed to roll both of us over.

Now he is the one with his back pressed to the ground and the burden of my body sprawled on top of him, and I won't pretend to mind this either. Gasping wildly for air, I rest my forehead against his throat, as if pleading for it to share with my ravenous lungs, while I clutch the fabric of his shirt within my hands. Clenched fists are a lifelong habit, so automatic that I can hardly begin to identify the multitude of reasons for their necessity. Food, shelter, self-protection, property rights — everything has always been earned with the crack of knuckles and a round of fisticuffs. My grip continues to tighten as my erratic breathing stabilizes and I catch myself turning a single word over and over again within my mind: Mine. I will fight ~~against~~ ~~with~~ for him if I need to. Mine. Mine. Mine.

However, while my fatigue addled rational may possess the ability to cull its own kind of sustenance and shelter from him, he is clearly not the type of resource I grew up battling for and I've already tried ~~and failed~~ to wage that type of combat against him earlier. This is not a struggle I can face with my fists or win with a well aimed uppercut punch. If I really want to build a cathedral within him like my delirium instructed me to, then I suppose I'll need a little faith. "I believe you." I hazily mumble into him as I relax my hands, uncurling fingers to release him from my forceful hold, and convince myself I mean it. "Now tell me something about who you were before you met me, because I swear you'll never be the same again."

[/size][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Jul 13, 2011 15:06:06 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed] Jul 5, 2011 13:47:49 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cinder on Jul 5, 2011 13:47:49 GMT -5

Gravity
Don't mean too much to me
I'm who I've got to be
These pigs are after me, after you
Run away, like it was yesterday
And we could run away, if we could run away
Run away from here

She believes in me.

Words sing, and moments shine. My mother used to describe to me back before she was too far gone to remember, that the day I was born the earth stood still and she woke up. She would say that I did not cry, I sang to her a melodious harmonic to her already pained and gasping breaths, drumming the beat to our first song together. She cried from joy instead of pain, and forgot at all to fret over her cumbersome husband who had fallen behind the curtain wrapped around her bed. She told me when the nurse left me to her, and I was wrapped inside her arms and skin, that she saw me shining. It's no wonder so many parents call their children the "light to my life."

I got a bulletproof heart
You got a hollow-point smile
Me and your runaway scars
Got a photograph dream on the getaway mile

This moment shines, and following along to our accelerating heartbeats. I fear we could have caught ourselves before we fell into this heap, but I have a hard time convincing myself of the "should"

reasons. If there are any left in my mind, that is. Our song is taking shape and speeding. The voices in my head sing to me that if we would have willed it, we could have frozen in time and never grown into what we are, just stayed still and flat. But what sort of song is a constant, flat note being hummed together eternally? That is only a radiating moment in time, never expanding into glowing moments together.

I feel a holy rapture coming on because my goddess believes in me. She's brought me through transcendental barriers I could never have crossed all on my own, and lain me at her feet as both a worshiper and a fellow god. This moment is just as, or more than the sacred rituals of bearing new life into the world and passing it by to join the dead. I don't mean to be callous towards the important events in humans lives, but I've just died as a man and been born as a god, born again. How can anybody discount or argue with the profoundness of the moment, and we're still moving through time, faster and faster.

Let's blow a hole in this town
Too much talking with a laser beam
Gunning out of this place in a bullet's embrace
Then we'll do it again

Ella and I have made a choice to open ourselves to each other and climb into one body, but we have to know each other first. Rather than entering an endless cycle of what-if questions and worrisome thoughts of betrayal, we're going to trust each other. It comforts me to see in her eyes a gruff understanding of my moments, she's at least grasping at me.

But I already know her.[/i] I'm accustomed to the tune of her heart, beating faster and faster. Her hands grinding into my skin through the loose cloth of my shirt, grasping, ungrasping as a slow bass counterpart. Her breaths and reedy whistles in time with her heart, but more unstable as they skip and hitch and are buried in my lips.

How can they say?
"Jenny could you come back home?"
Cause everybody knows you don't
Ever wanna come back
Let me be the one to save you

[/right]

She doesn't know me yet, though. I feel it in her hands trying to dig in me, and her head to my throat, listening and watching with deadly seriousness. She wants to know me, but does she?

I can't say with all accuracy and affirmation that she does, but I'm willing to believe that even if she doesn't realize what she loves, she still loves. She's being very delicate and trying to keep herself in check, when all she wants to do is loosen her minds grip and tighten her hands. I admire her for trying, but I know that if she cuts her own bindings and restraints, she still could not hurt me. Ella has a greater goal to her madness, she wants to build in me a work of art to stand the tests of time and radiate like remembered childhood moments.

Gravity
Don't mean too much to me
I'm who I've got to be
These pigs are after me, after you
Run away, like it was yesterday
When we could run away, when we could run away
Run away from here

[/right]

I have to teach her this much, to let go of inhibitions. "You are so beautiful." The words get caught in my lungs and try to die in my throat but air slips through my lips and the murmur them gently as a harsh contrast to our fast-paced dancing song. I feel the tempo slow and honeyed sweetness comes about the lyrics. Our breaths are falling into time together. I turn red, because I've shocked her and myself with these words. When I tell her to let go, I don't mean to become sporadic and crazed i what she says and how to act. My example is making an example of me.

I'm shooting out of this room
Because I sure don't like the company
Stop your preaching right there
Cause I really don't care
And I'll do it again

[/color]

I have to act fast before we fall back into a slow and easy rhythm of ignorance and bliss. So I lean forward, push my arms behind me and me lips in front of me to greet Ella's. Ella. I'd almost forgotten in the heat of the moment how I enjoy the noise her name makes. Ella. Like a breath of fresh air.

"I was a ghost and I was just as haunting towards my former loves as I was haunted by their presence. You say "the last man who called me beautiful is dead." The same is true of the last girl I called beautiful, and it was by no actions of mine, she just fell and died and I regret it, but it's unbearable, don't you understand, Ella?

So get me out of my head
Cause it's getting kind of cramped you know
Coming ready or not
When the motor gets hot
We can do it again

[/right]

Ella please." Pause. I contemplate filling the moment with an all-consuming, mind-numbing, distraction of a kiss

"Ella, I can't go on but I'll do anything you say, but don't make me speak about that girl yet, alright? I'll tell you trivial things, trivial for now."

The papers say
"Johnny won't you come back home?"
Cause everybody knows you don't
Want to give yourself then tell the truth
And God will save you

And so he whispers into her hair that his name is Kade William, and he deletes the Warren because that name is someone else's property, and not his or hers. He tells her he was a craftsman of metals and jewels, working for the highly elite of the Capitol and hating it. He even tells her how he was once a dare-devil and he never feared a challenge, how he's drawn to Ella because she is such a challenge and he feels its all too easy for him to fall into her. Kade attempts to describe his life and his acquaintances in as few words as possible, and he excludes all of the flames still burning in his heart, from the tender Saph to Karina. But he's forgotten to mention something important, and his heart-beat is suddenly a ticking-clock waiting for the moment he slips up and makes a mention of the one thing Kade has yet to say.

"from a studio in District One..."

Gravity
Don't mean too much to me
I'm who I've got to be
These pigs are after me, after you
Run away, like it was yesterday
And we could run away, if we could run away
Run away from here

Suddenly four eyes are widening, a tea kettle somewhere is singing to its own tune, wildly thrashing at the same time as an explosion over a minefield where a mocking blue bird has blown up and red insides splatter through the air. A Capitol worker smugly smiles at the destruction. The President signs a death warrant, and yesterdays executions are carried out until the countless victims legs are twitching with post-mortum death-jitters. A lightning strike kills someone innocent, and another dies peacefully in their sleep, only to be carried down to a pit of a hellish after-death dimension.

And though I know how much you hate this
Are you gonna be the one to save us
From the black and hopeless feeling?
Will you mean it when the end comes reeling?

And through it all there are soft and gentle moments, tender as love's first touch. Two children kiss before their teacher can see them. A woman in the Capitol sobs dramatically at her daughter's first wedding dress fitting. Two lovers exchange wet, hot breaths into each others mouths after narrowly escaping their doom. In fact, I'm sure a baby has been born somewhere, and that baby will free the world from all suffering and pain.

But no moment radiates like the one they're suddenly tangled in now. Because their love has a radioactive, flashing warning light about the joy. All those feelings mix up into one word, a mutually shared past Kade and Ella could never imagine to be their own.

Hold your heart into this darkness
Will it ever be the light to shine you out
Or fail and leave you stranded?
I ain't gonna be the one left standing
You ain't gonna be the one left standing
We ain't gonna be the ones left standing

[/right]

Kade feels it I feel it in my bones when the earth shudders beneath me, the air crackles and electric pulses course through our body. Ella's eyes have a vibrancy I'm unfamiliar with, and our song is evolving as hell breaks loose and dances around the beat of our hearts together. This place, this thing this quizzical notion that we could have known each other before our pain and ripped away the traits we could have loved naturally and easily. Before we became mere shells of ourselves, filled with rage and human passions.

We come from the same place.
~~Home~~
District One.

Gravity
Don't mean too much to me
Is this our destiny?
This world is after me, after you
Run away, like it was yesterday
And we could run away,
Run away, run away
Run away from here

[/color]
ooc- I tried to use the longest song evar with ohso many verses because I am sick of this stretched out first page XD

[/blockquote][/size][/color]

Last Edit: Jul 5, 2011 13:49:07 GMT -5 by cinder

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Astra[y]l Affections & Constellations. [closed]

Post by cinder on Jun 19, 2011 20:32:21 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jun 20, 2011 14:06:06 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jun 22, 2011 18:21:38 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jun 23, 2011 0:05:00 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jun 24, 2011 15:52:39 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jun 24, 2011 23:51:23 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jun 27, 2011 15:12:42 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jun 28, 2011 0:47:59 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jun 30, 2011 0:59:59 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jun 30, 2011 2:38:03 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jun 30, 2011 17:49:47 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jul 1, 2011 0:45:15 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jul 3, 2011 1:26:02 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jul 4, 2011 19:14:05 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jul 5, 2011 13:47:49 GMT -5

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