tfln open post

[byanyname]

***

either leave a message (or set of muses) for one of my assholes, or request a message from one of them. choose messages from the classic source, from your own skull, or whatever you may please.

Comments

[halfdozenoftheother]

[ He doesn't—

Care for this.

That.

He could ignore those final remarks. Could class them as cries for reassurance, ingenuous ploys that have no place here. Could reject them as false anticipations, as presumptions beyond her right.

(Or does he want her to think ahead.

His idle propositions are rarely without grounding. He rarely speaks or acts without some forward-tending purpose.

Not that he considers any of this. Not as if he needs to.)

What an unnecessary phrase to add.

What drove her to it?

(She would keep him here, with her. There's aren't many like her. Aren't any, at all.)

Well. ]

I prefer your violence.

[ ... ]

[ ... ]

Do you tire.

[harpsibored]

[ Something precarious here.

Something demanding a right answer.

'Right' and 'wrong' are difficult for her. Correct and incorrect.

Instinct is easier.

He knows that.

Why is he making this difficult?

What started this conversation? ]

I tired of others before you.

[ Within weeks.

Within days.

She isn't tiring of him. Every day is a work of patience, an exertion of willpower.

Not to run to him.

And now this panic. This fear of loss. ]

Will you answer in kind?

If I were almost a carcass at your feet, what then.

If I were ruined, would would you do.

[...]

Do you tire.

1/2

[halfdozenoftheother]

You were ruined from the start.

Monster without a voice.

[ ... ]

I would watch you.

You, a body in decline.

You, never out of my sight.

Every hour measured by your waning blood.

What to give you.

My blood.

These hands.

Incisions toward awakening.

I would open your wounds.

I would lick your wounds.

Refigure you once more.

2/2

[halfdozenoftheother]

I take interest or I don't.

1/3

[harpsibored]

[ Time slides by. She reads, and re-reads, and still the anticipated feelings - arousal, pleasure, dismissive amusement - fail to form. Instead, something cold.

He's never inspired that before.

That choking. That defiant and slow-rising rage.

She's responding without consideration or caution. ]

You go too far.

2/3

[harpsibored]

[ And then: ]

My voice is no gift from you. Or any other.

I remember the years, and you were not there, guiding me.

For my voice, I worked alone. Crafted alone.

Fought alone.

It is mine alone.

[...]

Take back the words.

3/3

[harpsibored]

[...]

Or take back your interest.

[halfdozenoftheother]

[ White noise and blood-shot. His skull strung with tension.

Fist gone rigid, pressure at his knuckles.

Fucking dramatics.

Fucking obstinance.

Fucking—

What does she think she—

Thinks she can.

Thinks she can simply.

Pressure, everything clamped inward, muscles coiled, his teeth ground together.

A minor shattering he scarcely registers. His phone in pieces on the floor.

He's standing. Bends to press a hand into the pieces, sharp small bites, deeper as he slams his palm downward.

Make certain the fucking device never speaks again.

And stride from the room. In search of prey, a neck to break, veins to stain the cellar.

No sight, no thought, no moment for reflection.

She isn't worth his fucking time. ]