mountain spirit

home ; read ; inquire ; memories ; her ; theme Independent role play blog for Gray Fullbuster ; previously known as vortextranscendantale

[anothermagebitesthedust]

daddy give me cummies

drops you off at aisumadoushi

[anothermagebitesthedust]

people that turn me on:

erza knightwalker cana ( occasionally. when she's not drowning in a barrel of beer. which is never. ) lucy ( occasionally. )

people that scare me:

erza knightwalker

[celestial-heartfilia]

[doctaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

[anothermagebitesthedust]

                                                                      i. ghosts.

It's been days now. He's decamped, ambled northward, heeding the call of the storm. A storm of white, pristine in nature, beneath which were laid to rest father and mother both. A grave marked by wood and stone was the only semblance of sepulchre his hands could fabricate, for there had been no body to collect. The initials had been engraved by the extremities of a child. 

( Scuffling steps, trembling body, whimpering little boy ----- the only survivor to be known. The sight of corpses, strewn across familiar paths now laden with ashes and decrepit remains. )

It was the likes of horror that would keep him up at night, that had him screaming awake, covers sticking to his perspiring chest. It was the likes of horror that one neither copes with, nor learns to live with. It was the likes of horror that would always be rooted in your mind, and could render you child in the blink of an eye.

                                                               ii. ruthless snow.

He is a man grown now, and what does he see? He sees the flakes falling, he sees his footsteps filled and effaced. His village was now ruins buried beneath the snow. The mountains were implacable ---- the snow spared no one, offered not an ounce of sympathy, or compassion. Everything was wiped away, good or bad, significant or no. The memory was his burden alone to carry, a sight no one else would see.

His village was two days ride from here ; two days ride, provided he was able to capture a snow jaguar still. His father had taught him how to wrestle the beast ; rather, he'd demonstrated, as they were too big for his small hands to grasp. Approaching the young ones would guarantee the provocation of an angered and vengeful mother, oft times accompanied by an equally violent father, and so they were chosen with care.

He would not do so, however. Those were memories that were better buried where one could not see.

He should feel the cool air seep into his pores ; though his sensitivity was relatively low, he was not entirely immune to the cold. There was no frigidity to be felt, however. Only emptiness. He was curled up, one knee bent towards his breast, his arms huddling around the tensed muscles. Hollow.

                                                                iii. tainted snow.

He could stare at their names for hours ; he did not budge. He hadn't eaten or said a word, though there was no one to speak with. The woods always held whispers for strangers ; he was not. They recognised him as their own, sauntered to examine him, but kept to their shadows. He paid them no mind.

The tears freeze before they're allowed to fall, and there comes the first dampness ; gelid. A moment of lucidness ensues. Juvia had delivered him.

( He cleaved to his figure, not wanting to let go. He wanted his family whole again, this reality be forsaken. He would trade all his realities for just one afternoon in the woods with his father, by the frozen lake with his mother, their bodies whole and unblemished. )

He had forgotten his father's face ; rather, he had willed himself to forget. All he had remembered was the glint of silver. He could see him clearly now, however. His mother, he could not recall. All there was to recall was the snow by his feet, drenched in their blood. The snow had never been brighter, nor had it been bleaker.

                                                          iv. her hands are warm.

She overshadows him. How she had found him, he did not know. A note had been left at her bedside ; one of love, of regret, of whereabouts undisclosed, only purpose.

❛ Mom, Dad, I want you to meet my fiancée. ❜ His voice cracks, and it's borderline hysteria now. Where will he go next? To the ocean, to the water beneath the bridge of Magnolia? Will he reach for a part of Ur and present Erza in the same respect? He's shaking, and he doesn't know how to stop. He's aching, and he doesn't know how to make it stop.

Her hand finds his shoulder, and the tears are too many, and too pressing to crystallise before they melt into ground. He feels warm all over. One hand unknowingly reaches to rest over hers.

❛ She put him to rest. ❜ He need not pronounce her name ---- Erza knew to whom he was referring to. No one had witnessed their confrontation, for it had been brief and poignant. In all his years following his arrival to Fairy Tail, following his urgent dash through the Tower of Heaven to come to Erza's aid, he hadn't wanted to harm someone as he wanted to harm Juvia then. That urge had been replaced with relief just as immediately as it had arisen, and he had fallen to his knees. She had done him a favour, after all. He owed her his gratitude. His father ---- his father had been restless all this time.

❛ It's not over for me, Erza. I still have to do this. You'll… you'll come with me, won't you? ❜ They hadn't said their vows, but it was implicitly there, no? ❛ I … need you to do this with me. ❜ The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. When had he ever gotten someone personally involved with his own troubles? Never. He had always endeavoured on his own. This was no contest for a seat among the prized mages of Fairy Tail. This was a private matter, the only one left unresolved, between himself, and his father. And yet, he needed her.

[anothermagebitesthedust]

scarlet-knight:

           The locker room is the only place where tensions seemed to lessen.

           It’s usually quite, unless you count the ruckus their feverish bodies make during private practices. Normally the only crowd cheering for them here happened to be the stationary lockers inhabiting the quarters as their figures rammed against the metal surfaces. The thuds would sound hollow inside empty storage spaces because we all knew they weren’t being utilized for their proper purpose. Their clothes were usually discarded on the floor; either that or they may still be worn under rushed erogenous pretenses.

           And we all know that they will repeat history once more.

           Thanks to her stature she stares up at him with her expressive sienna optics. The crimson dome retired against the linear surface of a locker and as she engaged in this action, the belts of her helmet slipped between the spacing of her digits. The (unfashionable) and protective gear met the ground with a flaccid greeting, and its placement- leaning against her ankle in hopes of being relevant. Hm, now that her hands were liberated, no longer withholding any items, her earthly hands will use his breathing corpse as nourishment for he is water.

           Water is required in order to earth to sustain life.

           The hems of her fingers traced his contours longingly. His flesh is cool in contrast to her moist touch. Moist from practice, her flesh becomes humid from the extensive session. The burning ire eating away at her flesh fills her with strength, and he, well he fills her with pleasure. It’s evident that she cannot attain his muscular results. He is built; his mass is far more defined. She lacks the swelling in her arms despite being an earth bender, but hey, she doesn’t mind their differences.

           Her digits worked on his pale skin as her palms became hooked upon his teasing complexion meanwhile he spoke. She could make sense of his words, heck even contribute to the conversation, but the bender decides otherwise. Instead she leans forward just as he began to take possession of her body. The scarlet fighter began to breathe heavily because of this. The sounds from her lips were tense as she muted a moan. “Shhh—”

           Barely a whisper.

           Their lips were so close to meeting, so close, yet she diverged from the very action that would entice their sultry inklings. “I want this moment to be about us.” Under normal conditions she wouldn’t say this but she’s too stressed to realize her situation and too distracted to care, frankly this woman requires relaxation that only he can deliver. Coyly she raised one of her legs to rub her inner thigh against the side of his hip with a smile she chose to expose.

           “You may be a waterbender but you sure know how to play with fire.”

He could taste her breath on his, a hint of strawberry for the taking on the tip of her tongue. He resolved not to, their mouths looming just out of reach, opting to devour the fine flesh from her chin downwards. A pressing trail of heated caresses ensued, his teeth emerging, brushing along the column of her neck, feeling her pulse hammering away beneath his every touch. Pearls of sweat gathered in the floor of his mouth, and for that he did not care one bit, only savoured everything he was offered. A beauty so tangible, and she was his. It required a frequent reminder ---- as if, at any moment, she could undo herself from their solid embrace. His.

Her fingers provided warmth where there was ordinarily cold, dancing over the muscles that could very well lift and hold her into place against the lockers. An option to be weighed.

“Where are your new habits?” And to that he was, cheekily, alluding to the stripping tendency she would chide him about, until she too, in turn, had taken to removing her clothes unexpectedly. The attire was hardly deserving of her appealing figure ---- a figure that demanded to be relished by the eyes of all. One hand was already tugging on the ribbon clasped around her waist, quite obviously resisting the urge to rip off the remainder of her garments. Most of the protective gear was removed, cloth the only obstacle stubbornly impeding further possession.  

He sucked in his breath as her leg brushed against his thigh, desire rising, and his hands fell limply, only to relax over hers. The contact of their skin was blistering, and his fingers dug into her wrists, tightening his hold around them, until finally, he yanked them over her head. He leaned in, his skin feverish, obsidian tendrils tickling her cheeks. Then he obliged, his tongue darting outward, forward from chapped but willing lips. They met in the briefest of moments ; smothering, pressing, hungry but never lingering. Tentative. He had already released her wrists, without realising, and found his hands cupping around her cheeks. Spirits, he loved this girl, it was written all over his face. There was a gleam in his eyes as he looked at her not only with lust and need, but trust and adoration. 

[anothermagebitesthedust]

      He was caught in a daze. The last thought he could bring to mind was that of laughing children, those sliding across the water in the lake he had frozen for such purpose, gathering by his side as he challenged them to an ice skate contest ; a harmless, innocent distraction to while away the time as he waited for Erza to join him. He had awoken to neither.

      There was only the cool sensation of the floorboards to draw him back to reality, as well as an ache he could not identify, but he could hear none of the victorious cries that filled the vicinity. His eyes popped open as he began regaining his senses, recognising the edge of a nail biting into his skin. He attempted to struggle to his feet but they were bound, as were his hands, painfully trussed behind his back. His head shot up violently, his eyes blinded by the hundreds of faces leering at him with eager, spiteful intent. This motion earned him a sharp jab with the end of a stick. His gaze found his aggressor, his defiance growing faint as he could not help but cringe.  It was the face of an Equalist, and sure enough, the posters plastered across the walls verified as much, and their leader ---- their leader was here, inches away from him. The colour drained from his face.

      They had all heard rumours of what Amon was capable of. What appeared to be ludicrous, unfathomable, was made reality as Lightning Bolt Zolt erred through the streets, a shadow of the criminal he had once been. It was hard to pity such a man, one whose abuse and manipulation had made these streets so insecure. Ultimately, the world was better off without such a man. The same could not be said for every bender.

      His eyes lost focus, his head buzzing with fear, the clamour of pride, fear and anger alike reunited, ricocheting off the walls, deadening the ears of the waterbender. Out of the corner of his eye, others began waking up by his side. Amon seized the first bender, a woman to his left, a member of his sister tribe. She begged, reminding him of how waterbending was the healing core of the four nations. Amon said nothing.

      There was no water in their immediate surroundings, and her age wasn't lending her an advantage. She did not give up without a decent fight, however. She attempted a couple of lunges, screaming for her daughter, for the lives she had saved, but it made no difference.  He yanked her arm behind her back and pressed a condemning digit to her forehead. She fell to her knees, her colour now closer to his, tears streaking down her face. The Equalists kicked her aside, dragging the next man in. He would come after.

      "With our medical progress, there will no longer be any necessity for the healing of benders." He declared, his statement followed by a new round of cheers. 

      It was one thing to hear of these attacks, it was another to watch them, and even worse still when the very same fate was in store for him. He hadn't a wisp of hope ---- there was no way Erza, Lucy, or even Lyon could know he was here. He was still struggling, the tension mounting in the pit of his stomach, his entire body shaken by the experience he had shared with the woman. The Equalists did not relent in their jabs, but he couldn't stop. The tears were gathering at the rim, but he refused to let them fall. The elderly man disputed that taking one's bending away was akin to taking a limb, that he was crippling them all. This only rallied up the crowd, provoking their fury rather than their pity. "You calling us cripple, old man?" It was no use. These people could not be reasoned with.

      His turn had come.

      They were given a fighting chance, those were the ' rules '. He was already bruised by the blows to his side, but he clambered up to his feet, swaying. The reality of his situation hit him now, more than ever. This was it. This was really it.

      Like the Southern Water Tribe woman, he could not use his bending. There were some water in the tubes scaling the walls, but there was not enough time to release it. He would have to rely on standard non-bending combat alone. It was not that he was weak in that department, but he had seen Amon move with his own eyes. He glided, dodging every attack, something remnant of what he had been informed of the combat style Airbenders utilised. Everything Gray did was in vain, and he gave it his all. Soon, the cold, gloved touch found his arm. Then he screamed, and he felt himself go insane. He couldn't have this taken from him too. He jerked his arm in a sudden, savage, desperate motion, dislocating his shoulder in the process. He fell to his knees, but the pain hadn't conquered his fear. There was no escaping this ---- he was but a defenceless lamb in the midst of this angry, hungry mob.

      The finger found his forehead, and he went still. He could no longer hear the voices, or any sound at all. He crashed to the floor and there was nothing more. Nothing at all. There was only a name on his lips, and that name was Ur.

      He awoke in a dumpster, somewhere the Equalists had conveniently disposed of the benders they had ' purified '. Someone must have put his shoulder back into place when he was out of it, not that he could even remember dislocating it. Though many had awoken some time ago, they hadn't moved, under shock, and he was no different. He was trembling, the consciousness of what he had lost weighing upon him, too heavy to bring himself to his feet. Everything that had tied him to his beloved master, the teacher that had taught him everything, shaped him into the being he was today, the one who had made him survive when his parents could not, was LOST. Gone. Nothing more to it. He didn't bother stopping the tears this time. 

      The woman from his Nation was weeping for her daughter, who needed daily treatment. One of them might have reassured her, told her there would be other healers, but none of them had it in them to reassure anybody. None of them were safe anymore.

     Much as the older man had stated, bending was the extension of who they were, and without it, a part of them was lost. His teacher lost. Her sacrifice for nothing. He was nobody at all. What good was he? How could he live like this, how could anybody live like this? Not a non-bender. A non-bender couldn't regret something they hadn't felt or known in the first place. This was different, simply inhumane.

      He already thought he had lost it all, once before. His home, his parents and friends. He had started over, and then he had lost his teacher, and his brother. He started over again and now he lost again. 

      He was utterly crushed, and even though he was sitting around boxes of questionable nature and content, he could not summon the energy to leave. Hours went by, and the area emptied gradually. Only the waterbenders remained. He gave her his hand, but there was no kindness, no compassion or desire to aid someone less fortunate than himself. He just did.

      The streets were empty ---- it was deep in the night, nearing morning. Not another soul in sight ; or perhaps he simply hadn't seen them. If it weren't for knowing this city like the back of his hand, he would never found his way home. His feet carried him. When he arrived, he was unable to note whether the light was on or not, whether she was waiting for him or not, anything at all. He was simply lost. 

[fairytailconfess]

submitted by thatlittledandere

[scarlet-knight-blog]

that’s because gray is not a fucking basic bitch. this man dresses to S L A Y

look at him tucking his shirt inside his pants. PURE CLASS. don’t forget that corset/girdle looking thing, he be keeping those abs in check from the fangirls.

gray doesn’t give a fuck about your gender notions— literally my mom owns those jeans, everyone mom’s owns those jeans. gray fullbuster wears mom jeans and he don’t give a fuck #werk

look at that midriff! can barely see it tho cause of the cape but he’s a man that likes to accessorize so all is forgiven. check out them gloves too like is he hot or is he cold. who the fuck knows it’s gray fucking fullbuster. he’s prepared for everything. 

remember the S-Class exams??? look at this son of a bitch wearing a Hawaiian shirt AND HE WORKS IT. who cares if this is a trial, you ain’t about to see him look ugly

he could have worn a regular long sleeve shirt but no, it just didn’t bring out his inner diva so he cut it to show his biceps. and them pants? his dick just needs enough room to move

idk bout you but these bucket pants can sure come in handy. he can collect rainfall, girl’s wetness and shit. look at how creative this fucker is, he ties in that extra layer of pants at the bottom instead of getting another belt cause this aint fucking kingdom hearts.

gray fashionbuster shits on everyone

[anothermagebitesthedust]

      It's done. They're alone, after what would seem an interminable wait, the doors now closed ( and the lights dimmed. ) Not another sound, not another breath, save for their own. Their semblables had forgotten them, or rather, they'd have liked to have forgotten them. After hours were simply not to be trifled with, many had conceded. 

      He leaned against the locker door, having only removed his shirt and restored the coolness to his skin. His chest was nearly always nude to begin with, and that was a distraction, he'd been informed. Desired effect achieved, he thought, and did not fail to exploit it. With that, he began ticking off items from a list, their list, a stupidly wide grin plastered on his face. 

      "So, air ventilation?" It was tradition, so to speak, to propose new escape routes by the end of each bout, an attempt to perpetuate some seemingly ridiculous, dangerous thrill. Their own little game. In this case,  game over  meant they were swarmed by groping, mindless fans, compelled to forfeit precious minutes of their personal time in consequence. It was a small loss, an outsider would think, but it was a loss nonetheless. 

      From the look on her face however, they weren't quite following the same line of thought. "What's wrong? Can't keep it in your pants?" He's reeling now, smirking as he lurches over his feet, his face dangling just out of her reach. He could steal a kiss at a moment's notice. He laughs, and instead, his hands find her, finding purchase around her hips, alongside her back, within the crevices of her palm. Anywhere, so long as it's her. 

[anothermagebitesthedust]

delinquentdevil:

Sacrifice one of your nipples to the shounen name.

So you can grow a new one with unknown levels of power.

And can begin the great ignition of new generation shounens no longer having to suffer.

(fastens belt over chest)

no one is sacrificing anything (triggering flashbacks)

the new generation of shounen has to move forward

they must know the true power of nipples

[anothermagebitesthedust]

# GRAY WAS A REJECT SHOUNEN AND WE ALL KNOW IT# LIVING HIS SHOUJO LIFE AND DEVELOPIN' NIPPLES

[fairymangacaps]

[anothermagebitesthedust]

delinquentdevil:

YOU’RE STARING AT HIM. IT MAKES EVEN LESS SENSE SINCE I DON’T EVEN LIKE THE COLD.

AND HERE WE HAVE YOU ROLLING AROUND IN IT NAKED.

..

How the fuck did you get a tan.

it's not a tan you see, but the bLOOD OF MY ENEMIES. and mud. lots of mud.

[anothermagebitesthedust]

chilietias:

≺   千年間  ≻   

                Sadness.

                Emotional pain associated with feelings of disadvantage, loss, despair, helplessness and sorrow. An individual experiencing said sentiment could withdraw themselves from others. Shedding tears is an indication of identifying such feeling, but none of them were witnessed at this moment. In fact, there was an intermixture of emotions. What follows thereafter sadness could be loneliness. An unpleasant feeling. An unpleasant emotional response to lack of companionship. The causations of leading of such state of mind are varied— including social, mental and emotional factors. A tragic event may cause immense impact on someone’s mind, or if more so, someone’s most susceptible flexor; the heart.

                There could be a miscellany of occurences that could cause a person to fall into such obscurity. It could start from childhood, especially due to lack of companionship, or at least the elipse of that certain individual to depend on, and vice versa. The most significant one is the loss of a meaningful person. According to their importance, the impact could be immense. Their physical absence, their voice, their companionship. Simply everything tarnishes. Reminiscences shall maintain intact, but that’s the factor that expands the mental soreness. Yet this is one of life’s cruelties. Life will never be full of rainbows and dreams. Obstructions shall be bestowed in someone’s way, and it’s up their hand to overcome them, so that they would choose the path they desire to walk, and create a better future for themselves. That would be one of the wishes that their beloved ones would leave him with, before crossing to the other side. However, if someone would run away from the obstacles that were hurled on their way, they will never be able to eschew from this blend of emotions, negativity, and consequently, suffering awaits for them, and who knows what else could follow thereupon. All these overwhelming emotions could lead to perpetual fear. Fear for the unbeknown that is bound to follow. It’s up to the harmed individual, the one experiencing these feelings altogether, to conquer such inner demons. 

      “I would replace the word ‘odd’ with unique.”

                Quietude replaced deep voice, as amethyst complexions scrutinzed the manifestation of magic that was demonstrated before him. Truly exquisite, but purposeless. Customarily, a demonstration requires individuals to be presented, to observe and express opinions and impressions. But there was none to be found, aside the ancient spirit. And it was apparent that such deeds weren’t performed for his sake. The unwelcoming tone of voice coming from the youngster was the consummate illustration. Albeit his amazement for this element, concernment was taking over. Of course, he would bear no grudges if the other male would jostle him aside. He was a stranger, an outlander, but a willing person to provide his assistance to those who are in need of it. It was in his nature to show kindness to those who deserve it. But does this boy deserve it? No menace could be sensed from him. Merely, the emotions that evoked his heart ache. A sad sight indeed. One that Yami couldn’t behold any longer. After all, those who bear wisdom have a duty; To guide the next generation. He was thousands of years old, and his experience in helping people in such terms was nay exceptional. Hence, he has his precious partner.

                Feet started moving, eliminating an amount of distance amid both individualists. Expression remained placid, as his pattern of pace was normal, almost idle. There was no need to rush anything. In fact, it wasn’t even his own business to meddle with. But a soul in pain was an abhorrent sight.

                Worth a shot, right?

      “What about you?             Is there something that struck you in fear?”

      It is to strike at the heart of the matter, if one were to ask him so boldly of the contents of his over-brimming cranium. His is more so a victim than a perpetrator of sudden changes ---- he has ceased to grapple with the reigns of the course of life, the struggle too FUTILE, and aimed to execute himself no matter the outcome.

      He remains unmoving, the sole proof that he was even alive the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the breath perceived aloft in cold air, but nothing more. He cannot appreciate the source of admiration that was pouring from the stranger's lips, the thrill and excitement palpable in the air ; there was an invisible wall the stranger had not yet breached, a remnant of the darkness that had sought to consume the ice mage, woes and anguish athwart.

      His craftwork was not unique, it was SURVIVAL. It was the only tool he had against the untameable waves of madness that inundated his every habitat. It was a source of light, it was a manner in which to imprison diablerie. Its properties so vast, so extreme, so unfathomable, he might have spent a life guided entirely by the pulsing energy within.

      Any and all attempt at conversation fell flat to his ears, and were not registered in consequence. His resolve was prodded rather vigorously. Resolve was certainly one thing he had not lacked, but this? This emptiness weighed so plainly on his conscious mind, he might have just been bled dry. Covered in bruises, mottled with blood and sweat, his body in one piece but not unscathed, he had clearly been set to the test. Was he victor or loser in the former combat? What was once his father's was passed on to him ---- tendrils of obsidian twisting and coiling around his wrist, implementing themselves as scales made of steel into his arm ---- but at what cost?

      He reminisced tugging on the corpse that was now finally, ultimately at rest. Could it be that it was joining his mother's side as he stood, ankle-deep in snow?  He oft strained himself to forget the matter of death, of afterlife. He did not make it known, but his belief in a higher power had ceased long ago. What was to be said about a better place for those that suffered such an injustice? Of course, he'd like to hope they had found peace, and that they were not mere bones in the ground, flesh feeding the earth, returning from whence they came. 

     He clutched the fabric, a piece that he had been unable to part with, when he had risen from the carcass that his father presently made. He had advanced solemnly, fist tightening around this single remnant of what had been a man of honour, a man of decent standing, a man who had been taken from him before his time. Life had not treated him kindly, yet wrath and vengeance lay under lock and key. It was not to say he was a man devoid of emotion, he had merely learned to bury them. Fear was no different.

      ❛ You cross a line. ❜ It was uttered with a simplicity, imbued with a tone worthy of a dismissal. Fear latched onto him like a parasite, and would not cease in its headway until he was a boy of ten once more. He could not allow that, however, not with this new power, not with this very necessary task ahead of him. It had never assumed control, not ever since. Today would be no different. ❛ You shouldn't be here. Too much is at risk.  ❜ Firmness tainted his words. Magical being or no, the loss of human lives were not taken lightly by the guild of Fairy Tail.  

[anothermagebitesthedust]

delinquentdevil:

People need to quit saying we’re somehow related.

who wouldn't want to be associated to my splendour

[anothermagebitesthedust]

He calls her name but she cannot hear. he at times touches her arm but what's the use, she doesn't react. She can see from a single eye, her fake one, but what of it? She never looks at him, she doesn't look at anyone, she escapes by leaving home and returning until night fall.

      It was not to say he wasn’t prepared for a situation in which he was entirely impuissant. Or at least, been given opportunities to prepare. It didn’t change a damn thing when it was actually put into effect.

     He was only a puppet now. One by one, his possessions, his foundations were wrenched out of his grasp, scattered into the wind. It was punishment, mere coincidence had willed it so. He had danced too close to the thread of happiness, he was recovering far too effectively, he was whole and complete, and that could not be tolerated.

     Once it had been his parents, once it had been Ur, once it had been Ultear, and then once more his father —— and now, they wish to take her away too? He had abandoned any belief in the divine on the day of the massacre, but that didn’t make him any less a victim of tragedy.

     Knuckles were alabaster white as his fists clench, trembling not from the snow that fell —— surprisingly, as it was ordinarily a source of comfort —— undesirably in the current state of affairs, but out of anger, a sense of injustice. His jaw stiffens, and sets to stone. She cannot even sense his tension, his grievance, his failure. She’s not dead, oh no. She had been given a fate far worse than that of sleep eternal.

     Robbed of all her senses, she erred aimless, a being without purpose. She had been spared one thing, and one thing only. This one artificial eye that flitted between him and the door, as if she wished to bolt at any instant. He couldn’t know what she was thinking. She was entirely at the mercy of the confines of her imagination, and who knew what mental strain she was putting herself through? He couldn’t step foot there. 

     He could wrap his arms around all he wants, lavish her body with butterfly kisses, pull her onto his lap, she would never be able to tell the difference, or even feel the paradoxical balance between warmth of the heart and cold of the spirit that exuded from his form. What could he do?

     At first, the fairies had been allowed to visit. Their purpose being, to provide her with comfort, reassurance, a vote of confidence —— they were a family built from the bottom up, if anything could help her, it must be this. But that too stopped, after a while. Not because the members were unwilling, but she seemed even more distressed when she saw the number of concerned visages surrounding her. There were some he had outright refused to approach her until he got the behaviour right. It went without saying that Natsu had never seen such a threatening side to Gray before. There hadn’t been much at stake, back then.

     There was no time to grieve, no time to come to terms with her impairment. She was meant to be supported, pulled back to her feet, given something to fight for. In theory. The Titania had an iron will, but she too could break. And she broke.

     Still, he wasn’t going anywhere. He could not mope, or falter before her. That one eye, it fixed him when he least expected it. As if it were waiting for the moment when he, too, would leave her. She couldn’t notice right? It would make no difference if he were there or not. At least, that’s what she might be thinking. Who wouldn’t? At her very core, she had been rendered useless. She couldn’t do a damn thing. Not for herself, not for others. She was as powerless as back then ——

      Sometimes, she would escape in the night. And he would follow after. Every time. She wouldn’t look into his face when he finally pulled her back, and he never forced her to. No matter where she wandered off to, he always found her. There was a pang in his heart at how much they might have once enjoyed these chase-hunt antics. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t meant to be.

     They hadn’t touched one another ever since the incident. Not extensively, at least. Neither of them wanted to. It was just… another senseless thing. Everything that had happened since was senseless. He hadn’t gone on any missions, either. He refused, point blank, to leave her side. If this couldn’t convince her that he was here, that he would always be here, then he didn’t know what could. Of course, he couldn’t blame her. He could never blame her. He would just have to bear the brunt for them both, and never shed an ounce of weakness before her. He had no right to be weak. He had no right to be a snivelling child. Power or no power. Cruelty or no cruelty, this was it for him. For them. 

      Did life end here? It was one thing to lose a loved one, many loved ones, it was another to lose oneself. To be deprived of the necessary elements to exist. She was essentially an empty vessel, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Did he fear that she would take her life? He would be lying if he said otherwise. It was too easy. She literally wouldn’t be able to feel a thing.

      At the thought, he squeezed her hand tighter than he might have in the past. It still didn’t matter. His heart heaved in his chest —— neither of them were living right now. 

[iluvfairytail]

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