Posts by Byebyefornow

[fancypost bgcolor=#EBEBEB; border: 10px; width: 400px;][fancypost bgcolor=#E6E6FA; border: none;font-family: times;text-align:right;color:BLACK;width: 410px; height: 15px; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-top: -5px; margin-left: -15px; font-size: 20px; padding: 10px;]Wolfhall "Keyon" Advena[/fancypost][fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: 0px solid white; width: 395px; font-size: 9.5px; line-height: 11px; text-align: justify; color: black; font-family: verdana; margin-top: 3.5px; padding: 4px;][b]warnings: implied rape/sexual assault, alcohol addiction, self-harm, child abuse, implied suicide attempt
please don’t reply to this ic

just in case the writing is unclear, the first portion is a lucid nightmare/memory sequence

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Memories. Inconsiquencial singularities are such things, fading in and out, melting into one to leave images blurred, features and voices unrecognizable, the inhale and exhale of time imprinted upon the mind of the beholder. And yet, to so many, gems are made from these loose coals, crumbling beneath gentle, coaxing touches, cherished as if they might prove the most precious of things one might possess. Something is to be said for those of a more negative result, however, those one will unfailingly try to bury deep, to leave them to rot, decaying in the darkest reaches of the mind, yet always do they come back, raising in moments when little strength is held, all but a mere scrap, never enough to push back those scene.

Like an old film, skipping and jumping at times, the voices disoriented and faces a blurred mass, did those memories come to once more fill their life, heavy just as the day they had bore witness to each, the scenes unfolding with a cold clarity, familiar yet hated. It was all a game, a dance both had memorized the steps to and yet neither dared to pull away, following one step after the other, old patterns that prove all too tantalizing to give up. There were but two options; continue this charade or pull away, let themself be freed of this personal hell they had created about themself, wrongfully judging their actions.

“Cai! Where the fuck are you, fucking useless sack of skin…” A grumbled roar, dulled and slurred as the syllables come to run into one another, forming mere sounds within which only a few words might be discerned, a rich, throaty growl.

So easy does this tear the thin veil of their thoughts, discarded like papers upon the wind, though the child does not yet move, holding no wish to evoke the anger of this man, this vile creature that had seen fit to make their own flesh and blood a victim, enduring so much pain for one so young. From pursed lips a sigh works its way forth, swallowed by the fabric of the pillow they have buried their face within, fingers tightening to clutch at the soft mound. Familiar is it all, old, worn scenes, not a nightmare that it came to present itself, though indeed such a title was fitting, but a memory, though time has done little to cut down the sharp sting of it, the pain they knew they must endure.

The sound that raises might not be rightly called a laugh, far too bitter is it, yet all the same it is, long and slow as it leaves the throat of the drunken man, building into what might only be considered a roar as the faint notes of a chuckle are left behind. It is a slow fall that comes to end it, once more the lighter tones of a chuckle splitting the stale air until it too is gone, leaving nothing, an empty space. Simple is silence thought of, yet nothing might be so complicated as silence, a void where an ugly beast waits for the time to strike. The rustle of the duvet drawn close about their body fills the small space of their room, their body wriggling down so their head might be enclosed within, yet it seems to hold the same level of sound as a thunderclap.

Heavy, slow – deliberate is the slow tread which their sire picks up, placed lightly but beneath the carpet old wood groans all the same, a protest, or maybe a warning, a threat made with no words. All at once the sound of hinges creaking, familiar and yet all at once alien, filled their head and left it to throb, a dull echo of pain, speaking of what was to come. Deep within they felt more pain, stirring within their chest only to tighten, curling about their lungs and restricting each breath they might draw in, eyes drawn shut as lips moved in silent words.

Fear was a heavy presence, a weight that pushed down against their head and heart, as suddenly the duvet was torn away, their body shifting to almost leave them to fall from the bed, yet roughened hands, warm though somewhat wet, sticky from a substance they had no wish to identify, caught them. Curling about their stomach were thick fingers, a hot breath fanning across their cheek and all they could do was close their eyes all the tighter, teeth clenched against the cry that filled their throat, the rancid scent of alcohol and meat filling their nostrils. Almost gentle is their sire, pushing their fragile body up so they lay upon the mattress once more, their first action one to draw them into themself, curling into a ball upon mere instinct.

“We’ll have none of that,” there is no anger in that voice – it is clear, rich with a tone of warmth that does not belong to such a scratchy voice. There is no gentle touch now, the time for that has passed, and instead the hands that grip at them are hard and commanding, pulling at their arms, forcing them to once more unfold, to sprawl out across the top of the mattress. They do the only thing they can as they feel a hand enclose around their wrist, tugging to bring their arm up into the cone of light that spills forth into the dark space; turn their head away from this man, reeking of alcohol that he had consumed over hours within his favoured bar, burying it within the crook of their free arm. “I told you not to do this anymore.”

Sharp and cruel, though there is no sting to these words, softened by the slur he can no longer hold back, no, that is for the blow. Across their exposed cheek does an open palm come to traverse, their lips parting to release a shocked cry at the sudden wash of heat, a pain that brings the prickle of tears to their eyes. Yet they dare not reach up to rub along the throbbing cheek, surly now the skin already gaining a red tone, not wishing to once more be punished, instead focusing on the most pleasant though they could bring forth.

Their arm is twisted, skin and muscle straining as the hand that holds them pulls it around, the sound that leaves them this time a mix between a sob and a cry, raising unchecked. “What the fuck did I tell you about this?!” A cold washes through their body and it i a struggle for them to turn, to see the anger stricken face of their sire, his grip relaxed upon their arm. There is no warning, just fingers entangling within the hair, harshly pulling at it before their head is forced down, inches from their arm. Upon it they find injuries, thin red lines now though they had wept crimson mingled with the salty tears they shed, the knife shaking in their fist, discarded once the job had been finished. Yet it hadn’t been quite finished, not in the way they had so wanted it to, all of it drawing to an end where darkness was all they might find. It was a bitter sweet thought, one that twisted their lips into a smile, yet the edges proved tense and it did not reach their eyes, swimming with unshed tears they would not allow to fall; they would show no weakness to this man, their gaoler for so long.

“Fuck you pig,” a gentle murmur is all it is upon their lips, yet it was pleasant to speak those words, to finally find their tongue after so long. It is a truly wondrous thing to see the anger drain from those eyes, deep set in folds of fat that bring only a sense of disgust forth within the child, yet what replaces it, that heat, the rage slow to build within the man, evokes a sense of panic and fear, a gentle whimper passing their teeth.

“So, the little mouse has a tongue, does it?” About these words there is no emotion, nothing beyond scraps of anger that slowly ebb away with each word that passes his lips, curling to show the mouth-full of yellowed teeth he possesses, a thing they are reluctant to call a smile. The child can only stare back, watching the hunched figure raise from where he had perched upon the edge of the small bed, a brief, but small, sense of relief filling them, mingling with a disgust they are unable to push aside.

“The little mouse wants to be a lion, does it? Too bad, sweet cheeks, it doesn’t matter how big the mouse talks, it will never be a lion.”

But a second comes to transpire between those words raising, a sneering tone wrapped about them that seems half a growl, before the hefty body is moving, a grace they would not give to such a large, bulky frame startling to watch. With little effort does he turn upon them, a single large hand finding easy purchase about their throat, thick fingers closing around it. Upon reflex they draw a breath in, deep and quick, before they lash out with a foot, kicking out at the softest part of the man though they misjudged, their foot instead connecting with the meaty surface of a thigh. Once more that laughter, a bitter sound though it is rich and full, a mirth that does not belong ringing in the drawn out notes, raised to fill the small space, tearing at their head, all too much, their only option is to grit their teeth and endure it, however. “Little mouse is brave this time, but bravery only gets you killed, or did your mama not teach you that lesson?”

Slow is the curl of his lips, a sneer forming about those thick, wet mounds of skin toned flesh, familiar words spilling forth, a silent threat behind those simple syllables. “Don’t play the game if you don’t plan on winning.” Heavy is that sentence, reverberating within their head, drowning out any thought they might try to bring forth to banish it, their fear growing within, a stone pressed atop their heart. About their throat they feel the fingers tighten, a slow process that robs them of their breath inch by inch, what had started as somewhat laboured gasps becoming but faint sips, their mind swimming. It did not matter how hard they struggled, their own hands tearing at that which seemingly intended to kill them, pulling from it flaps of skin as their nails dug deep.

It was all too late, however, they had no chance to fight back against any of, time against them as each second ticked by. Within those last moments, time when the darkness closed about their mind with a tantalizing chill, did they feel the hand trail up their thigh, that laughter once more filling their head, and they welcomed the darkness as it closed around their mind.

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The process of awakening, the period in which the mind comes to discard the veil of sleep and dreams become but faint images, burning away to leave behind only unrecognizable traces, is a slow one yet for the child there was no such luxury. Beneath the cold, harsh images that swirled about their head so easily was the thin presence of sleep torn to shreds, falling apart even as they tried to hold on to it, struggling to keep their mind within the darkness. Yet such a simple wish as a time of peace is one they knew well not to dare utter, simple and childish did it seem forming on their lips or as a thread of thought that fills their head, and their lips twisted, a sudden, sharp intake of breath drawn through a grimace.

They could not recall how it was they had gotten to this place, unfamiliar as they came to stare at the bare wooden surface of the walls, each breath rasping across their tongue, but tiny sips drawn back in to replace what was lost, unfamiliar even to their pounding head. None of this was right, it was not the warm, worn surfaces of their own home, filled with things to soften the hard edges and corners, this was dark and isolated, the silence unbroken. Once such might have been welcomed, a blessed thing they would seek in those moments when the world was too loud, too full of others seeking something they could not give, but now it is too loud, ringing in their ears.

From the cage of their clenched teeth a sob worked its way forth into the darkened space, yet there is no audible sound to be given to such, just the heaving motion of their body, the quick beat of their chest pushing out and taking in a hitched breath. It felts as if they were full to the brim, a point that left only the thought they might shatter, a frightful sensation they wished to be rid of, yet somewhere deep down they knew it would not be done with so easily. Familiar was the presence of such a heavy feeling, one that tore at them, refusing to be pushed aside, only time might leave its strength to fade and for now they could only endure.

All of this was a struggle they held no hope of holding a victorious end to, simply getting through left scars present upon their heart if not body, ones that would never fade with time, rather, the course of time would only strength it.

It felt as if the world was spinning all around them yet they were anchored, their body all too heavy to move, even the attempts they made to twitch a paw or their tail came with no success, a sunken ship with no hope of leaving its sandy grave as the sea storms about its broken hull. The world was but a blur of colours melting into a mass that confused and tore at their already over-filled head, a chill filling their veins, gathering about their chest. They couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t [i]anything and it terrified them, to be thrust so suddenly into this with no warning, torn from the darkness of nightmares to find no comfort in the morning.

In some way it was amusing, to think that all of this was coming to happen and they held no power to stop it all, that no warning, not even the tiniest of inklings, was given. Yet in others it felt right in some way, a deserving end for one such as them, though this wasn’t really an end, was it? No, it did not matter how strong they pretended they might be they held no strength or courage, nothing but a mere mirage used to hide what was beneath, the vile beast within a twisted thing, not to be released but everything had worn down and they had no strength to hold back anymore.

Within their head voices roared, a tide they could not escape that rose and fell with each breath they came to draw in and release, a groan passing their lips, but a faint sound. Sudden was the urge to let their teeth draw across the soft, supple flesh that encased their wrist, to tear at it until the coppery tang of blood touched their tongue, but they couldn’t. Their head dipped down and about the thin joint did their jaws close, teeth grazing along the skin yet no further did they go, eyes screwed shut and tears leaving behind wet trails along their cheeks.

Across their skin did the sharp points of their teeth come to trail, tearing at it to leave behind thin little cuts in a few places, a thin dribble of crimson trailing from them to stain the white surface of their fur. Amongst the cold that tore at their veins this small burst of heat and pain grounded them somewhat, their mind focusing intently upon it. Blurred was the vision that stared down at the soft inside of their fore-leg, taking in the white surface and the small points of injuries not yet healed present upon the otherwise, not quite large enough to wrap all the way around. Their movements were jerky and uncoordinated as they lifted their other paw, the claws gleaming though how within the darkened space of the cabin was something they would not question, releasing a rugged sigh.

Sudden was the flare of pain as the tips dug into their skin, blood welling around them before they drew their paw down, tearing at the skin. The lines they came to make upon their skin were in no way even or else legible just yet, the crimson that touched the limb hiding the things they were tearing into their own skin. “I-I’m sor-sorry,” disjointed were these simple words, all they could push forth through the gasping breaths, their body shaking as laughter rose within their throat, a bitter, harsh sound that grated on their ears. Their head fell forward, forehead resting atop the new cuts they had made and leaving it to flare up, pain wrapping around it, and their laughter came to grow, filling their head.

They were a joke, nothing but a trickster attempting to show themself as someone they were not, so well formulated was this little thing that they had even tricked themself into believing that the mask was true rather than crafted only to hide who they really were. But no more, the cold touch of reality is one that can not be escaped for long, a harsh lesson that learnt that night, though there was more within store; this was only to be the beginning of their pain
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[fancypost bgcolor=#E3E3E3; border: 10px; width: 400px;][fancypost bgcolor=#D5D5E3; border: none;font-family: times;text-align:right;color:BLACK;width: 410px; height: 15px; letter-spacing: -2px; margin-top: -5px; margin-left: -15px; font-size: 20px; padding: 10px;][i]Wolfhall "Keyon" Advena[/fancypost][fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: 0px solid white; width: 395px; font-size: 9.5px; line-height: 11px; text-align: justify; color: black; font-family: verdana; margin-top: 3.5px; padding: 4px;]impulsive thread with no context or reason beyond i hate one-shots and needed a break but it seems i am still in one-shot mode, so i guess a mini one-shot maybe? either way it was rather enjoyable to write this and helped me unwind a bit, i might have to do a couple mini one-shots in the future since it is a lot easier than proper one-shots and was a ton of fun to plan and write

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They were terrified of the dark, those things that linger beneath the shallow shade of black, memories warped and twisted given a chance to invade the night in the guise of dreams, a slow burning poison that had pushed aside rational thought, in its place a constricting weight. It had been strange to feel such fear, an intense mix of absolute terror that mingled with a sense of anger and longing, confusing was such a concoction to them when first found, for something they so adored. There had once been a time when only the scape of the night had proven a friendly, welcoming sight, the darkness comforting as it wrapped about them, broken only by silvery light, the moon a gleaming silver coin they sought to capture. Beneath its cold gaze they found a way to bring together the shredded aspects of their life, to give some base meaning and purpose to it, yet they knew it was wrong of them to become attached, to let themself sink into a familiarity that brought with it a wonderful sense of…

It did not matter how hard they strained, the long hours spent thinking there was no word worthy to fit that place, the overall lightness of the sensation one might consider joy, yet there was an edge about it, a hardness that spoke of hardship and expected them to stay detached, but it was easier to speak such words than to perform the action. From the beginning a certain impulsive nature, a need to do what set about their mind with a flurry of activity, had been present, coupled with a sense of adulation for the world it grew hard to stay detached. Time only worsened it and it grew to a point they sought the wonders and good within all, those little ghosts of things hidden behind taunt smiles, the truth buried in a landscape shaped by lies.

Yet how might they perform such a task when they refused to admit their greatest lie was one they uttered to themself, held with contempt yet close all the same, caught in the web of their thoughts to be plucked forth into the light when they felt their resolve waver? It seemed rather childish, this wish of theirs, now they thought over it for the worst liar is one who spins a web they become entangled within, lost in the words they weaved to fools others. Such was why they loved the night, caught in the embrace of the dark they were free, the weight of the world lifted from their shoulders, waiting for daylight to descended upon them once more, but even that had been stolen from them.

Slowly did their lips come to part, a small space all that was necessary to release the heavy breath they held in their lungs, burning faintly as the seconds ticked by, seeking oxygen they would not give. Nostrils flared as another breath was drawn, once more held though the time for this was much shorter, once more rolling from the tongue in a gentle sigh. Only a few days had passed since the nightmare, those scenes so familiar, burned into their brain where they might never be removed, the mark it left behind clear, written in the taunt set of their body, the hunched shoulders and lowered head. Before the abandoned cabin they had awoken within did the youth come to sit, simply letting the cool wind encircle their body, focusing on the grass and attempting to keep their breathing calm, drawing in deep breath after deep breath.

Painful, such was the sensation of returning to this place, though they knew it would worsen if they stepped inside, hate, anger and fear would raise within, mingling with the ghost of bitter joy, derived from a simple act they had not done, but, rather, had orchestrated. About their lower lip their teeth came to close, the points digging into the soft skin only to be drawn back, the tip of their canine teeth breaking skin. Faint was the coppery tang which touched their tongue, barely there for only a few seconds before it was gone. Small might have been the sting of pain, a faint sensation they might have overlooked, but it drew their mind back into the harsh folds of reality, their thoughts falling away to be replaced by white noise, a hum filling their head.

Wolfhall came to blink a few times, the hollow brown eyes regain a small glimmer of light though it was nothing that might be thought of as close to what had once touched them, their head slowly lifting. Upon a few items set before them was what their attention caught on, things they had brought with them to make this place a little less scary, to ride it of the fear that plagued them; a few paint cans, one white amongst numerous black, old, discarded cloth, and a book. The tome was old, rather dry as well, scientific fact leaving no room for anything else within those white pages, but the diagrams was what interested them, not the words. Laid out on the grass a scene was printed atop two pages, the sky as it appeared within summer, points of white upon the black mimicking the placement of stars. Already the wall behind them had been smeared with black, covered in the paint so it resembled the night sky, though it was clear the work was shoddy and done quickly.

With their purpose depleted the cans which held black paint had been moved away so Wolf might not knock them over, a futile activity for already they had spilled one, evident by the smears of black that marred the surface of fur previously grey and white in color. Taking the cloth they rubbed their forepaws over it, trying to wipe off the black still present on them, yet already it had started to dry somewhat and only water might complete the job.

Growing impatient the apprentice threw the cloth aside, setting about their work again. Upon the side wall of the abandoned cabin the progress proved slow as they painted the night sky upon the wooden surface, regarding the book every now and then to be sure it was all correct. Still it was overly messy, many of the white points meant to be stars were smeared and ran into the black, though it would be at a later time that such mistakes would be fixed. It was a large project, one caught in progress for some time now, but one they set about with a clear mind and found a ghost of enjoyment in, even as frustration grew.

[b]“I need more paint…” A gentle murmur on their lips was this comment, made when they turned to find the paint can which had previously contained a small amount of white paint had almost run dry. They tapped their claws along the side of the can, wondering briefly where they might get more, only to draw a blank. It seemed their project would sit, within a state where it was only half way through completion, until they could lay claim to more paint, an unpleasant thought.
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