You and I Get So Damn Dysfunctional // [Lyoncest]

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d10f ekta ram // [earthling]
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

You and I Get So Damn Dysfunctional // [Lyoncest] Jul 1, 2013 18:59:56 GMT -5

Post by d10f ekta ram // [earthling] on Jul 1, 2013 18:59:56 GMT -5

Done me wrong, done all wrong.
All the wrong I've done I'm sure I'll live quite long.

I love you.

As though those words could possible contain the ocean of feelings they shared. As though those words could explain the horror unfolding. As though those words could bring her any comfort, ever again.

Circe watched Jaime recede, a lion parting a crowd of prey. She floated above the reaping, her heart stopped, her soul adrift. The plastic smile on her face dazzled, but then, it always did. She nodded at the right times, accepted the congratulations. She might have even looked a little jealous, but only because it was appropriate. But only because she was so thoroughly trained. She clapped delightedly, spun around to catch the eyes of her siblings and father. Her feet never faltered. Her eyes never wet. But instead, Circe was breaking apart.

I love you.

It was not a force inside of her that lifted her gaze to the stage. It that was otherworldly connection, a bond born in blood and forged in flesh. Jaime, her lips parted once, in unison with the crowd. No sound left her, no evidence of her heart break. She was mute, imprisoned in the middle of the crowd. It was none other than Duchess Grant, who had been chasing Jaime for over a year, who finally uprooted Circe. The vivacious blonde wrapped her arm around Circe's hip and led her forward, chattering away about the bravery of Jaime, about how she must be so excited to see him off.

The shock wore off the instant Circe joined her siblings at the entrance to the Justice Building. Duchess lingered, an unwelcome shadow. As Circe untangled herself, she drew her sharpened nails along the exposed flesh between the end of her corset and the beginning of her skirt. Duchess gasped and scampered off. It eased something inside of Circe, helped her focus as she turned to her father. "I will be seeing him first," she said, and found it only aggravated her when he immediately acquiesced, as though that had been his plan all along.

Circe wanted Jaime fresh, before the other goodbyes. She wanted him to feel the knife of her words twisting his gut, just as she felt the echo of his I love you

[/color] in every beat of her heart. She looked back at the cameras one last time, her hair down in gentle waves. The afternoon light caught the Lyon gold of it, flashing as she disappeared into the lonely hallways of the Justice Building. Time was precious, and Circe spent it revising the speeches she had prepared: one for the event that she would be reaped, and one for the event that he would be. She had not planned for the day that Jaime would be so stupid as to leave her, and she planned for everything. The speeches had been careful, just the right mixture of truth and lies that she knew Jaime would need to get him through the arena. He needed a reason to come back, but he also needed a reason to endure. To exist outside of their love, which was secret and shameful and would never win him enough sponsorship. He needed to pretend to love someone else. That had been her plan. Her big, brilliant plan, and she saw the shards of it falling around in the dust motes.

The Peacekeeper let her in after a brief lecture on the precious few minutes she had been given. She entered quietly, her blonde hair swaying. She stood still, peaceful, until the door clicked into place. And then she took the letter knife she had hidden in her skirts and put it to his throat. "If you want to die, all you had to do was ask," she whispered, lips a breath from his own. His lips, which were also her lips, which had explored every inch of the other's body. "If you want to die," she said, easing the pressure. "I am going with you." And she put the blade to her throat, nicking the skin over her adam's apple before throwing it onto the carpet.

A promise made in blood and forged in flesh.

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banner credit: El Tillie

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d8170e: black rebel motorcycle club done all wrong[/size][/right]

Last Edit: Jul 1, 2013 19:02:04 GMT -5 by d10f ekta ram // [earthling]

credit hesper hart 🐺 d9f

credit [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨

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You and I Get So Damn Dysfunctional // [Lyoncest] Jul 5, 2013 18:21:04 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jul 5, 2013 18:21:04 GMT -5

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weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart
weep, little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start
rate yourself and rake yourself, take all the courage you have left
waste it on fixing all the problems
that you made in your own head

I'm not sure what I'm expecting.

The second the doors shut and the adoring chant fades from my ears, I'm overcome by a bone-shaking, visceral longing for Circe. I am painfully alone here in this posh, opulent room, left trying to function on a crippled, shattered semblance of balance. What have I done? I don't feel fear. Fear isn't in my nature. But for the first time in my life, I experience regret, and it burns right down to the core of me.

The axis of my universe shifts when she walks into the room, the way it always does. While I'm self-absorbed on my best days, things have a way of always coming back to revolving around Circe, the two of us acting as constant moons, trapped in each other's gravity and turning synchronized circles. I could never tell if it was beautiful or sad, that codependence, but right now it feels like home.

I'm not sure what I'm expecting. For her to cry, perhaps, although I haven't seen Circe cry since we were small. Maybe for her to beg me to stay, call me her great brave idiot, to curl her hands against my chest and search for the heartbeat that's always been her safe haven. Reflexively, instinctively, I open my arms for her, waiting for her to step into them. I'm not sure what I'm expecting, but I definitely wasn't expecting a knife at my throat.

"If you want to die, all you had to do was ask," Circe croons against my lips, the sweetness of her breath mixing oddly with the steely caress of the shiny-sharp metal pressed to my thrumming jugular. I don't know fear, but I do know unease, and it drums loudly against the linings of my veins in the wake of the anger that rolls off her like the waves of a stormy sea. She's never been one to make idle threats.

"C-Circe…" I mutter, trying to sound placating rather than nervous, but in another flash of motion the blade has moved, pressed now to her neck, a thin line of scarlet budding up against the steel. The sight of it stings more than it would have if she'd cut me instead.

I reach out to her, but before I can even take a step forward, Circe angrily flings the knife away from her. It stands upright, wobbling ominously where it's now embedded in the floor. "If you want to die, I am going with you."

"Circe, stop it." Most of the time I know better than to try to boss her around, but time is short and I don't want the last memory of her before I board the train to be of her anger. Part of me knows that she'll probably hit me for it, will probably hiss and spit and try to push me off, but I dart forward and grab her by the arm, spinning her around until her back is pressed to my chest and she's in a bad position to struggle. "I'm doing this for us."

And there's the truth of it. Not for my own glory. Not for the pride of the Lyon name. For us. It's the only reason I've ever done anything.

"I'm not going to die," I whisper into her hair, a hand splayed against the hollows between her ribs and searching out a heart that's always beat in sync with mine (here I thought she'd come searching for my comfort, and the tables have turned). It's not so much arrogance as it is a pure impossibility. Circe and I can't exist separately. It's a fact of the universe, the laws of our physics, the thing that revolves our galaxies and sparks our supernovas. As long as she lives, I can never die. "I'm going to win. I'm going to kill every last one of them, and when I come home, no one can stop us from being together. Victors do what they want. And if anyone says differently, I'll kill them. The whole lot of them, until you and I are the only people left in this world."

but it was not your fault, but mine
and it was your heart on the line
i really fucked it up this time
didn't i, my dear?
didn't i, my dear?