[lightleech]

202 but it’s just creeks on repeat only this time it’s louder because fuck

[lightleech]

202 but it’s just creeks on repeat

[spacehunter-m]

Visit Original Link

[lightleech]

lightnull‌:

she laces her fingers together / presses her palms together / stares off into nothing and everything and the infinite space in between and she’s neither here nor there nor much of anywhere. but when he approaches her she senses him and there’s something inside of her —— something riotous and poisonous and thrashing and her grip on herself tightens / and wavers / and her hands fall to her side. still and fading and limp. he anchors her as unreality tries to suspend her and she wants to look at him —— wants to see him —— wants to ———

her gaze remains transfixed on something he cannot see and she cannot see and she tries to imagine it : the best ending / the happy ending / her end, by his hands. like the others. like the rest. ❝ why didn’t you kill me? on that hill. ❞ or the moment you saw me. or the moment you realized what i done.

@lightleech // ♥

guilt from the wrong thing, the lack of. remorse self-sustained in the hollow space inside him where his memories remain drenched in dark, it would be easier to say grief had driven him if he'd—like the rest of them—actually lost anything. he rubs his palms together and twists his fingers so tightly together it hurts because now he has some semblance of an understanding of what it meant. sometimes he still feels the ghost of elastic around the soft skin on his cheeks, blunted red when he, trembling, managed to pry it away. he'd considered pressing too hard once, gouging out, because home wasn’t an option. 

in a sharp breath, he turns to her and smiles softly, sickly sweet and false but still he feels the same kindness towards her he always has. if he were to pay attention to the part of him that still could delve through the static around that year, maybe he'd be able to figure out why. maybe not. she watches nothing in front of them, he watches her, waiting for a reaction he understands she probably won't give. "i had. planned to."

[lightleech]

yall tonite: riku....

[lightleech]

lightnull‌.

they stand side by side and it’s like a dream and isn’t. she did and didn’t dream while she was one with light and they are things half forgotten and things half remembered. dreams of : the princess and the forest and the assassin turned guard turned assassin and the hero and the protector turned something else turned darkness and —— the line blurs, between what was real and what wasn’t. but this? there is an unreality here / but the water is lapping at her ankles and he is beside her and she doesn’t have to turn her gaze to him because knowing his presence is an age old compulsion. something from twilight days that stretched and their time together, lost and found again.

❝ i don’t think so, ❞ she says simply and there is a gentle curve to her mouth and he’s joking and she replies as she always has : like diving into the cold ocean, all at once. there is a lightness to her chest and her shoulders and her being and there are shadows lurking behind but in the here and now —— a truth lies upon her tongue and it’s saccharine and soft and she considers it and, ❝ i’m happy, too. ❞ and she is. she is. she’s still learning that she can feel and that she has the right to feel and that she is beside him and ——— feels.

too many maybes, uncertainty in everything. the girl in white, the girl in the window, washed in a lack-of and so walking the thin line between existence and the other thing. tangible in the same way an idea has the possibility to become; never evoking more than a sigh, there was some dedication to herself in the soft way she handed bad beats to bodies fighting against them, then so suddenly not. riku remembers the mansion; grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the other boy who couldn't stay. borne violence but at her passivity was the most she could force. he wonders in the same way he always has what she see in him, what makes her make herself the way she is (which in itself feels too thoroughly bold an assumption).

he feels everything rather quickly, a rapid expanse that washes away before he has time to latch on to anything particular. they stand next to each other and it’s something like nostalgia (which is to say, something like guilt) and then a particular feeling that he can’t put his finger on just yet, terrifying and wonderful and she has the habit of drawing it out of him with the way she exists. becoming aware of the space she takes up—knowing her private uncertainty of it’s belonging—he notices the salt water dripping down his arms and wants to shrink and hide but fights against it; she’s seen him worse. ”really? i... well that’s good.” he laughs as if the world is listening and he wanted to keep some small semblance of joy between just them. “sorry, i guess i just wasn’t expecting that.”

[lightnull]

YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO EXIST. // independent and private naminé of kingdom hearts, written by mimi. not spoiler free.

[lightleech]

come plot with me (◦˘ З(◦’ںˉ◦)♡

[lightleech]

“oh i should’ve put an outer glow on that star. oh. ugh. doesn’t matter. i’ve WASHED MY HANDS OF IT.” says mimi, seconds before going to edit an outer glow onto the star.

[lightleech]

lightnull‌:

He looks to her and she has been found. Re-found, found once more, dragged from the depths of —— where? The ocean the sky the earth the abyss the shadows : wherever, whenever, whichever. Though to claim that is to say she does not exist when he is not focused on her, isn’t it? Preposterous !! She exists ( in one dimension or the other ; in some meaning of the word existence or another ) irregardless of his attention ; though perhaps the trick is that she always has his attention.

❝ Of course not, ❞ her voice is the feeble laps of water around her ankles / her voice is the shuddering lurches of the sea caught in a storm. Deep and shallow and blue-black and translucent. Her eyes followed him as he broke the surface and as he grew nearer, the way her eyes always follow him.

Riku is beautiful. Jagged and tumultuous and beautiful.

❝ Are you happy? ❞ she asks, as if she, too, doesn’t already know the answer.

quelling tightness that reigned over the still foreign place in his chest ( foreign, frozen more like, still childish even after — ) proved as pointless as when he first met her. a hammering heart might’ve been useful in showing the body was not without its host; whatever void had filled him and ate ate ate at feelings until there wasn’t anything more to him than ‘ husk ‘ came in waves, lapping tides on days to be calmly sabotaged. that was some other time’s concern, as well as one might expect ( it’s a strange sort of grieving ) he forgets most of the time that he is supposed to be something else. naminé’s doing maybe, lest he ever learns to stop thinking the worlds of her.

“yes,” and there’s a moment where a look nothing short of wonder befalls him,  he’d spoken in an instant: her him. so not to dwell instead he focuses on her as he moves to sit, papery and unnatural, dusk-ish, because he’s seventeen and nervous. Her ankles are in the water — strange and frigid concerns come to him often now, with no explanation, this causing one of them — and so he moves his legs to be alongside hers. small offerings of belonging. “i guess that makes me awful?” he jokes, because he can, because he doesn’t believe it.

[lightleech]

lightnull‌:

                   Salt coats her tongue and she sips her sandals off where the sand meets the half-ruined path and they dangle carelessly from her fingers as she makes her way closer to the water. Waves build / crash / break / wash ashore and she stands where they lap inconsistently at her ankles, feeling her feet sink as the ocean tries to reclaim the land beneath her.

                  She can see him —— somewhat lost to the distance / the grey sky / the grey sea / everything blending and blurring and becoming one. For a moment ( a bare moment ) she imagines her, the ocean, claiming him —— wonders what she would do.

                                            Go after him, her mind claims immediately. A truth, most likely —— if he were truly in danger. Danger caused by danger ; when does danger become disaster?

@lightleech​ // for whenever ♥

                  He holds his breath, opening his eyes under the water to goad forth the familiar sting of sea salt as if nostalgia remained reliable. An investigation into childhood, when did he learn to swim? Or has the grit of the ocean been ingrained into him long enough - that is to say before there was a body at all - for there not to have been a need. His chest hurts, feels as though it’s shrinking under a great compression he can’t see that holds him down by the shoulders, arms pushing against the quiet waves that attempt to drag him back to shore. No care for him or anything, a wide span of antiquity.

Coming up for air, one long gasp dragging coarse and brittle down his throat, his head turns to where she’s sitting on instinct and with no time to bother being embarrassed, dips under the water again to move back to shore. Quick and easy, until he can stand and walk on the damp sand, he keeps his eyes closed.

“Aren’t you bored?” He asks with the knowledge that her answer will be what he expects for reasons he can’t fathom.

[lightleech]

lightnull:

               Misstep / misspoke / missed / missing. She watches him ( he stopped watching her ) in his entirety ; his bad habits. She wants to —— stop him? Reach out and —— hand on hand / hand in hand / fingers slotting / fingers curling / people hold hands. They don’t. She reaches up and tucks white blonde hair behind her ear, instead, and watches him. Openly / blatantly / unapologetically. ❝ Tell me about it, ❞ voice goes soft voice goes almost-gentle voice goes anti-empty. Is she —— teasing? Not malicious, at least. Wondering, somewhere in the middle. ❝ What you were watching. ❞

    for all he cannot see (her eyes and their ocean blue beckoning) the crawl of a shiver along his spine tells he's being watched and wonders, as he rubs his thumb hard against the red marks marring his skin, if she would ever dare touch him. the affair they suffer is never more than a burning look, familiar and fitting are the worn defences / standing on shattered glass broken by the pitch they emit; impossible to human ears and yet they both listen, intent, to the steady stream of it. like screaming, like singing. he wishes she would hold his hand, he wishes he could hold hers.  ❛  — um.  ❜  behind her is a wall painted rich green and a bookshelf at odds with itself, they're the only two in the room and he gathers she doesn't what an actual answer.  ❛  impossible to say, it's in flux. i haven't been able to get a proper look yet.  ❜

[lightleech]

rping riku on and off for upwards of six years has made playing any kh game really fucking wild. at a certain point, i forgot i was taking liberties with his character and now refuse to acknowledge any canon that doesn't fit directly with the way i portray him gjhdfkd

[luthienne]

What did she think / when all her strength / was twisted for his bearing; / did it break, / even within her sheltered heart, a song, / some whispered note, distant and faint…

H.D., from Collected Poems; “She Contrasts Herself with Hippolyta”

[luthienne]

The most tremendous change takes place in silence, / unseen, however you mark the sequence, / unheard, whatever the din of exploding stars.

Anne Ridler, from Selected Poems; “A Matter of Life and Death”

[lightleech]

this post has nothing to do with mimi or namine related business

[lightleech]

lightnull:

                 ❝ Obviously, ❞ she says with little by way of intonation nor actual emotion / meaning / cadence. Nearly BLANK for all that he pulls her focus and tethers her to the here and now, not letting her slip away. He doesn’t mean to, she’s certain, but he gives his excuses and remains to be wholly himself and there’s something about that which draws her. She knows what that something is, for all that she won’t say it.  ❝ What’s behind me must be interesting. ❞

    switching like a sudden stop, the same bad habit that he picked up around the time he started peeling off the skin around his nails. the solid drumming of his heartbeat, a breath he held retreating back into him, waves of anxiety sweeping in and causing what quick destruction they always must. he pinches at the pliant skin on his wrist, twists and digs his nails so the crescent marks tell he didn't mean what he did (whatever he did) as he smiles taught and casts his eyes to the ground. ❛  — mhm. it's very interesting.  ❜