#lnglorious

[devourtruth]

@lnglorious continued from (x)

Human contact was jarringly foreign and relatively overwhelming. His hands roved over brief patches of exposed skin, tender, delicate, and yet it felt as if his fingers curled around her throat, constricting, depleting, suffocating. Her initial reaction is to wholly reject the unsolicited contact, push him away, suggest another a different activity that required them to sit across the room from each other, but she couldn’t tell you that she completely hated it. The attention, no matter how unwanted, was oddly nice in a repulsive way. Her breath hitches as his lips moved against her strained neck, and she does not relax even when he breaks contact. Haneul, for the most part, seemed vaguely unfazed, slightly oblivious with what he had just done. Sora, on the other hand, gripped the arm of the couch and was nearing the second minute in which she had yet to take a breath. 

Why was the only coherent semblance of thought in her cluttered mind, concepts and theories forming before disintegrating and re-figuring their place. Why did he do that? Why, in the middle of a cinematic masterpiece, did he think now was a good time? Why isn’t he addressing what he’s just done? Why didn’t she stop him? Why did she sort of like it? His nonchalance grates at her nerves, makes her think for a brief moment, that he had grown bored of her for him to retract and melt back into his side of the couch. She’s hyper aware of the point where their knees pressed together, and is quick to readjust herself in her seat before proceeding to walk on eggshells. Gentle, agile, careful. 

“Never seen it,” Her voice is strained, and she struggles to regain composure. “Probably never will. Heard I could watch Pocahontas and get the same effect.” Her archive of knowledge grows shallow in terms of pop culture, more so that factual statements are etched into memory than Blockbuster hits or music charts. Her interests range from science fiction novels to conspiracy theories sourced from the internet. There isn’t much in between, intimacy included.

“I just don’t think you’ve found what you’re looking for. And there has to be something specific, maybe something just as mentally stimulating, or so new-era that the general public hasn’t fathomed the concept yet. I’m sure there’s something from this decade that’s caught your eye.” 

[detniat]

@lnglorious liked this post for a starter!

"you -" she finally met her previous female lover, eye to eye. well, they weren't official lovers of any sort but it was nice to playfully flirt around, it was the only way to grow closer to the woman she's known for months. ushering over, boots stomping onto the ground until her arm tries to hover over the other's shoulders. but the difference is there and it made hana stumble forward before balancing herself. 

oh, but little birds managed to keep the news out when hana was occupied in going on tour from one city to another. instead, arms were looped around her friend's waist and there's a glare molded within her pair of chocolate brown eyes. "you shit, what the hell. i thought what we had was beautiful." though words were not meant to be serious, if anything she's happy for the taller woman. besides it'd be hypocritical to say anything about it when hana started crawling back slowly to her own ex. 

to portray devastation, she continued to pout a bit longer. a clingy child hanging onto max by the side with arms too secure around her frame, refusing to let go anytime soon. this was the first time in a long time where they finally stayed besides one another. it was oddly pleasant, despite her odd way of approaching the latter today.

[inwolvesteeth]

lnglorious:

┊✩ ❝ “THAT’S GOOD LOGIC, actually.” Maxine was certainly no stranger to loss, whether it was by her own hands or something that slipped through the cracks of her fingers, like sand. Though she had a hard time picturing a seventeen year old struggling with much, let alone having such a bitter outlook on life much like she used to. “Are the things you leave behind or the ones that got away more important? Which one leaves a deeper scar?” she wondered out loud, forefinger and thumb stroking along chin in wonderment.

FOR THE WRITER, the answer was simple. She had left her mother by her own choice and though she missed the woman occasionally, it was nothing like the pain caused when a certain someone walked away. For the first time in her life, she had felt incomplete. She was whole on her own, always had been, but losing the other complete part who made up her existence was the roughest thing she ever had to go through. A miracle brought that part of herself back though, so she felt at peace for once. Happy even. Such a rare thing for the woman who flirted with aggression and chose to be ice cold instead of the feminine warmth most desired.

EVEN IF IT was difficult to remain so angry, when she felt like light beams were going to burst from her at all times.

“SO WHAT ABOUT you?” she questioned, after getting lost in her own thoughts for a moment. Always having been a difficult person, she couldn’t help wondering what was important to a teenage boy. Pokémon? Was that even cool anymore? Memes? Probably. She put up with that enough in her regular life. “Have you walked away from what was important or lost it?” Okay, now she was being nosy. But she considered it her job (though it was really just how she was).

his childhood comes back as an echo. an ominous sort. deep inside the marrow of bone, does it shake and shake. his mother’s happiness is a river that runs through him, and his father’s anger parts him in two. in this childhood, there is nothing of simplicity. no wholeness. mere sordid attempts to wrap themselves around the notion of a ‘family’, whatever that meant. now, his childhood remains in the black pools of night. not as memories, not as nightmares, but as the faint gold light of street lamps that illuminate the wanderer’s path. sometimes he sits on benches with his hands tucked between his legs, gazing at the stars, remembering how his mother used to look at them with him. he guesses he thinks a lot about her. so maybe it’s not his childhood that comes back as echo, but rather his mother’s voice. a soft, cooing mess of withered age. filled with the empty love of a mother.

he doesn’t know what he’s left behind. potential for a good family, maybe. good education. good food. good clothes. good home. a lot of good stuff that didn’t really mean anything if the people in your life were just husks of humans. empty, hungrily craving something he couldn’t give them. here, the people have their own problems. he’s riding with a gang would either tear out a man’s eyes for him or break his leg in two if he tried stealing their money. they were people that weren’t necessarily too good, that didn’t live in good ass homes or lived a good life-- but they didn’t live for him, and they didn’t expect for him to live for them either. he looks past the bullshit, straight at the girl’s face with some strange calm. usually he’d be fiddling about, twisting his fingers or clawing at himself with anxiety throbbing in his veins. he’s never liked talking about himself much.

“I walked away from it.” he’s experienced loss, but it’s never felt as bad as when he ran away from his parents that night. the guilt still eats at him. and he keeps on praying. “guess it’s better to use the word ran. I ran. and I didn’t dare to look back. I thought I was doing something good. for me. for them, maybe. but looking back I just-- it hurts. that I made such a stupid fucking decision. I look at these other kids. I get jealous. real fucking jealous.” he won’t tell her much. she doesn’t deserve to hear it. “but i’ve gotta live with it. gotta make the most of it.”