Ye Olde S33k & Finde

[ObscureInsanity]

For a moment, as he reached for her face, she appeared tentative. Was it... really... happening?

As their lips met her eyes slowly closed and remained that way even after he ended the kiss.

If she pinched herself... she may wake up... but why should she...? If it were a dream, she didn't deserve to be taken out of it... she wanted this, perhaps for all the right reasons, or wrong reasons, or perhaps for no reason at all.

A pleasant sigh escaped her, and her hand reached back up to stroke the base of her neck. Her eyes gradually opened, and she looked at him, expectant in a way; what would happen next? Where would this go?

Part of her wanted to go for it, to take another kiss, to be pulled out of her seat, standing, pressed against him. Their bodies touching: electric.

She smiled. The possibilities were endless, really. The thoughts that spun in her mind made her heart race.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*Several thoughts passed through his mind, but eventually they all fled. He only had one thing left. So he kissed her again. This time he leaned a bit too far forward, nearly sliding out of his chair. Luckily he regained his balance beforehand. The lapse in equilibrium only served to press his lips harder against hers. The hand at her throat was engulfed by his larger one, pulling it away and letting their fingers interlock. The hand at her knee flexed again, giving a gentle squeeze*

 

[ObscureInsanity]

This kiss was exactly what she was looking for: the force, the spark.

She grasped his hand in hers; her free hand clasped the fabric of his shirt, slightly trembling.

The thought came to her to deepen the kiss, but it was fleeting like any other thought that may have popped into her head as she gently let go of the fabric of his shirt. She leaned slightly towards him, making the contact of their lips nearly equal in force, before pulling away for a breath.

Her eyes were aglow with a new sense of self. A sassy smile took her lips, and she felt what little confidence she had stand its ground. Another kiss? Easy, she let her free hand fall to the arm of the chair as she leaned back in for another. She caught his bottom lip gently in her teeth, allowed her lips to envelope it, then let go, kissing softly, once, twice; her hand had not let go of his.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*There was a spark, a flash of lightning, something charged in her eyes when she opened them. She took the lead and kiss him this time, even seizing his lower lip with her teeth. He kissed back, naturally moving with her, feeling the strength of their shared grip increasing. His hand kept caressing her cheek, tracing her jawline with his palm as their embrace continued*

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a book embroidered with nautical themes. Row 933, Middle shelf.

"Mermaids do exist. I've seen one.

She was beautiful and terrifying and irresistible. At first glance, you'd think it to be some twisted amalgamation, an abomination of two things not meant to live in harmony. Upon closer inspection, you'd realize you were oh so wrong. The harmony, the smooth transition is impeccable. Scale becomes flesh in a way that leaves you wondering which is melting into which.

When she spoke, it was a language I could not understand, but the words sounded more like a song than plain speech. If I weren't so sure of what I saw, I might think her a siren in disguise. Perhaps that is what she was, after all.

Despite the risk, the terrible danger of returning to that cove where I first laid eyes on her, I must return. I have to know that I'm not just some crazy old sea dog. Buried treasure will be nothing but trinkets if I can find her again, and make her mine."

(This is part of an idea I've got for a story revolving around a sailor who discovers a mermaid while at sea and then shipwrecks in the cove where she lives. There is great confusion at first because they do not speak the same language, but that and other barriers are overcome as his infatuation grows and she reveals a few secrets of her own...)

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a holo-disc file. Row 3329, Second Shelf.

The air is crisp, the result of a chilly autumn morning with too much cloud cover. He is seated at the old cherry blossom tree that he has made into his home over the past decade. The tree's upper branches are barren, but the lower branches are blooming as though it was their season. His armor is broken and rusted. It clings to him in an ill-fitted manner. It clangs and groans at every movement. The scabbard strapped to his side is dingy and dirty, covered in dark red and brown stains. It still holds the remnants of some sort of dragon motif, writhing along the entire length. His farmer's hat is holey and unkempt. The strands are starting to fray nearly everywhere. He is breathing slowly, steadily. In fact, it would be hard to notice him at all, sitting at this tree that is planted firmly at the corner of a crossroads.

She approaches from the East, walking with purpose and a cold determination in her eyes. The shops that line the street are busy with their usual customers. The patrons and owners alike turn to look at her. She is beautiful. Her hair is done up in a high bun, auburn locks that would likely flow down to the small of her back. Her eyes are blue as the clearest ocean cove, undisturbed by the turbulence of the waves. The kimono she wears is undone at strategic points, her exposed skin covered by a fine mesh bodysuit. It is a blatant distraction to those with less discipline in battle. The rest of her clothing flows like leaves in a breeze, fluid and non-hindering.

As she enters the crossroads, she stops. Immediately her eyes fall on the man sitting below the cherry blossom tree.

Are you....?

You have to ask?

Very well then. Stand up.

And why would I do that?

Because you'll die slumped under that tree if you don't.

Confident, you are. I like that. But as you can see, I am still here.

Stand up, damnit!!!

You're far too pretty to be so angry...as you wish...

The man stands and before he has even taken his first stabilizing step, she has rushed forward, one hand tucked into her kimono. A flash glints in the midday sun and a blade is suddenly in her hand. Hidden until the last moment, seeking his heart as she thrusts it forward.

He is off balance. There is very little time to dodge. Yet, the man does not flinch. The blade plunges forward into his chest. There is a billow of the man's cloak, the clanking of his armor. He is now off to her left, unscathed.

You're also far too quick to be accurate.

Damn you!

She charges him again, another flash and her offhand is filled with a similar blade, short and deadly. Much like the woman wielding them. She slashes at him, flicking her wrists and switching the grip she has on her kunai to try and jab him with a return swing. His shoulder turns to glance the blow off his armor, the second is met with a metallic shrill. His sword is drawn, both hands gripping the pommel.

He takes a preventative step away from her. He's smiling under his farmer's hat. The moment before she attempts her next attack, he's on the offensive. His blade swings wide, arcing through the air with a whistling like rustling branches. She deflects his blow and counters; his parry makes it seem like he's clumsy, but she knows better.

This dance of blades goes on for the better part of an hour. She is breathing raggedly, gripping her kunai with white knuckles. Her stare is fearsome. He is still smiling. Blood drips from several wounds on his torso and arms.

Are you ready to give up yet?

You think you're winning?! You damnable bastard!

Another flurry of slashes and stabs, the clang of steel on steel, the grating of blades meeting armor and cloth. They have separated a good deed further than they have been. She sets her feet, gritting her teeth. This will be her final attempt. Either he will die...or she will. A mighty roar, the sound of a vengeful lioness escapes her as she dashes at him, covering the distance in swift strides. He walks slowly, meeting her at his own pace. A cloud passes over the sun, darkening the crossroads.

When it is gone, so is she. The man stands alone in the crossroads, still wielding his katana. As he returns to his post, he sheathes his blade. His back slumps down the rough bark of the tree, his armor grating against it. High up on the tree, a naked branch suddenly bursts forth with a new blossom. A breeze blows through the crossroads and on it, one could almost hear the voice of a young woman whispering a silent thank you.

He is still smiling.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*Snow covers the front steps and roof of the shop. He knocks a few icicles off the front door's frame before entering. The tinny whine of the animals is loud and carrying. It seems they have missed him in his absence. He does leave them a bit too long unattended; his smile greets them as they flock around him.*

Alright little ones, it's time to decorate. We may not entertain many guests, but festivity is always fun for this great time of transition.

*And so they set about hanging sparkling streamers, glittering globes, tiny images of the baby New Year, and several miniature representations of the various celebration sites that the world over will have jam-packed in a little less than twelve hours' time.

Once everything is set, he returns to the front counter, propping his feet up and reading through some of the mail that has piled up on the oaken counter top. The mechanized animals mill about, crawling over, around, and on him. A contented sigh leaves him as he tosses the junk mail in a pile of its own and the important letters into another.*

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

A Wolfling wanders. In her small hand a card is held. She steps close to his place and gives a grin at the cacophony of sounds from within. PGoD does NOT spend nearly enough time in his own place. One day, she will have to find him and show him the error of his way..

Look at the things he misses!!

With a small sigh, she slips the card into the mail slot and retreats. He will find her. He knows how.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*The sound of the mail slot sliding open and then shut brought him out of his reverie, reading some request for antiquated items from someone with too much money and not enough culture.

He rose and retrieved the new offering, smiling as he read the words. She was quite the thoughtful wolf. He would have to return her sentiments, but where he would return them, he wasn't sure yet. There were a few options.

He wandered off into the shop to find a good gift for her, the animals trailing behind him*

 

[fr33ks33k]

*The night is near over and he has been distracting himself with the usual time-wasters. Truly though, he knows that he's simply putting off the melancholy he feels from time to time. It hits him in a rush now, as he sits on the roof of the shop. There are three of the mechanical animals with him: the bird, the bear, and the wolf. Each attempts to comfort him in their own way, bringing a smile to his face, though it is forlorn and lopsided.

The moon is setting, the sun giving the first signs of its arrival, and a cool breeze blows from the West, ruffling his hair. The only clothing he wears is a pair of comfortably fitting gym shorts. His eyes close and he envisions the things that have brought him the sad solace he currently feels. Little gifts and interactions help to keep him from being too morose, but nights like this most definitely give him pause.

He rises to his feet and the trio of creatures move aside. They know what he plans to do now and they know better than to be near him when he does. In his left hand is a silver handle. It could belong to an old sword or a futuristic broom, but its real purpose is revealed with a click and a whir of energy buzzing into existence. A slender beam of red light extends from the hilt, nearly 4 feet in length. In his right, a small orb of the same silver metal, buzzing similarly as it leaps from his hand. It begins to emit a green glow, a shield of sorts that wraps around it entirely.

The orb whirls around him once, beeping and blipping randomly. He smiles again, and it is somehow more sad than if he would frown. Nonetheless, the duel begins.

The orb darts to and fro, trying to make contact with his body, be it at shoulder, chest, neck, or leg, and he parries each blow. Red meets green, sparks fly, again and again and again. The power of the orb grows, the ferocity of its onslaught becomes feverish. Yet, it never finds its mark. The orb glows like a beacon and comes crashing toward him; he closes his eyes.

At just the right moment, he swings his blade. The orb has overloaded itself in its earnest effort to kill him, leaving its defenses vulnerable. The strike of his sword short-circuits the orb, slicing clean through it.

He opens his eyes, surveying the damage. His sad smile spreads wider. He's breathing a bit heavily, but his pulse is returning to normal as he heads to the roof access ladder. Another night, another sunrise. One day it will lift his spirits as well.

 

[Faux_Pas]

A little wanderer with a little gift.
Red fur and panting at his door, the lithe fox Eartha, bounding in with the bundle she was sent with. Dropping it at his door, jumping up to scritch-scratch-scritch claws and paws at the wood to gain his attention.
Little brown parcel, all tied with string, left on the stoop and avoided by Eartha's feet.
Nestled inside, a present.

A small box of melting chocolates, and a note.
"We'll find a use for these." And signed with red lipstick kiss.
"And that as well."

 

[fr33ks33k]

A little wanderer with a little gift.
Red fur and panting at his door, the lithe fox Eartha, bounding in with the bundle she was sent with. Dropping it at his door, jumping up to scritch-scratch-scritch claws and paws at the wood to gain his attention.
Little brown parcel, all tied with string, left on the stoop and avoided by Eartha's feet.
Nestled inside, a present.

A small box of melting chocolates, and a note.
"We'll find a use for these." And signed with red lipstick kiss.
"And that as well."

*He hears a sound at the door, going to see who's not sure that it's unlocked. Instead of a person, he finds a red fox. It seems to be bearing a package for him. He picks it up and pets the fox's head before she departs, reading the note attached.*

Oh we will? That sounds promising.

*He smiles and brings the parcel inside, eating one of the chocolates and smiling*

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from The Devil's Heart. Row 666, Bottom Shelf.

Where once the calm of blue and green did lay across my mind, now the fires of red and gold do burn and flare in kind. Where once the peace of dull and ache did fill this wasted void, now the rage of lust and hate doth flood and seethe and boil. Where once there was completeness, now all is stripped and bare. Where once my lover's eyes I held, now naught but spiteful stares. I know not when this shift became the truth from falsity. But...I do know that now it sits within my heart and oft tis all I see.

Where once I claimed love for you, and meant it every time...now I find only distaste for you, hate for you, rage for you, all these angry days...for you. And though I hold your heart no longer 'tween my calloused hands...I am grateful. For if I did, I would crush it with no remorse, no regret, no reprieve...as though I was making glass from sand.

So lover found of times now past, revile me if you please...in fact, I pray you do. Then may you know a fraction of the building pyre of hate I've begun to feel for you. So lover found of times now gone, villify me if you need. Then may you know the reflection of your own damned self in every mirror you see.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

From the ether a hand extends and leaves a small gift on his counter before retreating.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*When he eventually made his way to the shop, he saw that there was a new addition terrorizing the rest. A mammoth of a spider, all cogs and gears and springs. He smiled, knowing who it had come from instantly. His mind had a glorious capacity to sense those things that went without saying.

He scooped the spider up, turning it to face him, even as it skittered and tried to escape in vain.*

Listen, little one. You shouldn't be a bully. We dismantle bullies. You wouldn't want that, now would you?

*The spider ticked and tittered and continued to try and run up his arm, but to no avail. Eventually it seemed to understand and acquiesce. When he set it down, it carefully walked over to the congregation of mechanized animals and clicked and whistled in their clockwork language. They all seemed to come to an agreement, or so it seemed. He was content to have them content, and disappeared into the back of the shop. There were some new items he had need to investigate*

 

[fr33ks33k]

Found carved into the base of an intricate hourglass. Aisle 305.

The sands spill out from a velvet bag and they are no longer sand. They are a castle, a forest, a man. It is no normal man that is made of these sands. It would not do to have a mere mortal command this kingdom.

And yet, for all his Endless nature, he is bound by many things that humans contend with daily. His kin are often the source of these stresses. Fighting Destiny, forestalling Death, drowning in Despair, losing oneself to Delirium, finding solace in Destruction, giving everything to sate Desire....Fortunately for him, this realm is of his own creation, influenced but not dominated by these qualms and concerns.

It is a gift; the Dreaming. A place for all to escape the tyranny of their pressure-filled lives. A place of whimsy and sometimes darkness. Those things that go bump in the night and also those things that glow brighter than the sun. Every thought that has drifted from someone's subconscious has found a home here, for a time. Fleeting, yet eternal. Endless. Unless he wills it gone.

He sits upon his throne; dark hair, dark eyes, but a pearly white smile. Pale flesh to make the moon envious. Every so often, he will dig his hand into the bag that holds the sand that is his lifeblood, and cast it across the landscape, giving it new shape and form. Giving unto others the dreams they seek. He watches, waits, and rarely...smiles.

The sands shift and the man is no longer a man, but a giant, wearing the skull of a long-dead name, his spine a jagged reminder of what becomes of dreams that try too hard to become reality when their time is not at hand. He rules his domain with an iron fist, a fiery heart, and a stare that would crumble stone to naught but...sand.

It is not often he must heed the call of his sigil, but when he does it is with the inexorable prowess and purpose that brought him into being. When the mind is fast asleep, even when one thinks there is no thought to be had, there is always...Dream.

Despite this resoluteness, He is truly kind. He is more human than he would like to think. Perhaps he is the most like them, having spent so long walking with them in their dreams and nightmares, living among them when they feel they are the most alone.

Again they billow and blow and rustle and there is naught but a pair of dark eyes, flickering and fluttering like an ethereal butterfly. Watching, waiting...and rarely, they are accompanied by a smile.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

small wolfling sprite reads words on hourglass and smiles...really smiles.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Written on a chalkboard near the front of the store.

Bite Back

Bite back on the bile you feel like spilling from your guts onto the pavement. You're sick, you're ill, you're lost inside this venom that you drank like it was wine. Bite back on regurgitation, still your stomach, you'll be fine. Bite back on the anger, on the violent purple bruising that you left here on your arms. Bite back on that knotted rope you keep for when yourself is who you harm. Bite back on that melancholy, on that tried and true sadness that you feel when you're alone. Bite back on that emptiness you feel even in a busy home. Bite back on that pain you're feeling when your knees are weak and weary, when you feel your spine is giving out. Bite back on that roaring voice you use when you feel that you must shout. Bite back on that sorrow that you drown in, that you dive in, that you swim in like the sea. Bite back on all the anguish, all the torment you've received. Bite back when you are bitten, leave your warning, leave your marks. Bite back on your outrage, on your surprise, on disbelief. Bite back on false impressions of redemption, of relief.

The single truest lesson that we learn in white and black; whenever you are bitten, no matter what the source, the cause, the inflicter. No matter what the hurt, the loss, the sickness. No matter whether raw and torn and blistered. No matter if it takes your final breath within, if it swallows you in depths below, immerses you in cold and black. If ever you are bitten; You must bite back.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*Another dark and cloudless night has set well on the shop. Not a single creature moves. In the depths of one of the aisles, the obsidian globe beats like a monstrous heart, giving off a red glow as though blood has become electric, casting a carmine aura about its space. In his half-sleep, he murmurs a few words*

Take me. Make it end.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a holo-disc. Aisle 532, Bottom Shelf

She stood in the darkness of the trial chamber, intensely focused on her palms. She held them up, cupping an invisible weight. Her breaths were shallow and quiet. If she failed this test, she would be cast out, made nothing more than another pretty face at the slave auction. If she succeeded, then she just might get a chance to fulfill a destiny greater than she could imagine.

From the shadows, the Council watched, conferring without words.

She is not the one.

She is most assuredly the one.

She cannot conjure the fire, and even if she can, she cannot possibly harness it into the power required.

She can. Watch.

The girl stared into her hands until she felt she would go cross-eyed. Without warning, a single flicker of orange leapt into being. If it were possible, a hush fell over the deathly still chamber. As the single finger of flame grew, the amber glow it provided gave a better look at the lithe frame of the girl.

All pale flesh and subdued curves, she was thin but not waifish. Her hair matched the hue of the forked fire that danced in her palms. Bracelets given to her by her mother, a hint of color at her lips and eyes. Another gift from her bearer, the woman who had been a fire dancer before her.

It was her mother's legacy that had brought her to this very moment. Now that it had been realized, she felt a lightness, a giddy air filling her lungs.

Though she was excited, she was enthralled by the flame she held. She could not look away, even as the Council rose from their seats and surrounded her.

She is the one.

She is the scion.

She is just as her mother.

She will dance with fire and purify our nation.

She will be the guiding light.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from The High Cost of Living

We're all so fucked; up and down and inside out from simple shit trapped in our heads. And it's all so much easier said than done, but we'd still rather fight to find the words than struggle through action. Inaction in action, wasting away or ballooning until we reach critical mass, or living is passed. What an impasse. Empath? I am sometimes, but in truth I never want to feel again.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Written on a piece of parchment. Aisle 33214, Bottom Shelf

"You know, I just don't think I give a fuck anymore. A is for apathy, as the song goes. Somewhere along the line I gave up on dreams I once held in high esteem. Now they seem so far away, and I doubt I even want them anymore. The things in life that make me happy have become so very seldom and select that it's hard to imagine that there's more to it, even if I blatantly know that there is. Another song goes: Mate, Feed, Kill, Repeat. I feel the urge for these things more and more. I don't think I want to bother with love and instead I will gorge myself on lust. I don't want to just eat, I want to devour in every sense of the word. I find it worrisome that the thought of blood on my hands is not worrisome. To repeat the process, expecting different results. Definition of insanity. But who the fuck is making the barometer for sanity? Whoever it is, fuck them.

Ears filled with the mellow sounds of classical, quickly shifting to the guttural metal gratings that many swear they cannot understand, but what more do you need to know besides the slide of the pick across the strings, plucking staccato solos and rigid riffs and bellowing bass lines. Eyes filled with sights and visions, dreamscapes and daydreams and other nonsense, often tinted pink and red, green and blue. Nose flaring with the scent of musk, of sweat and sin and shame all at the same time. The smell of sex-soaked flesh and innocence lost. I want that deep breath, I want to hold it in my lungs. I want. That is the problem. There is no end to my want, my desire, my cravings. Yet, I am stuck in the rut of work-sleep-pretend-to-have-a-life-outside-work-sleep.....fuck it.

The hours draw late when I do my best thinking and have my worst ideas. The sun drags its lazy ass into the sky again and again and I feel just like it. Circling this earthen drain like so much toothpaste-flavored spittle. One of these days I'll just cut the fucking cord and free fall into the canyon. Maybe I'll have a parachute. Maybe I won't.

Only time will tell."

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from The High Cost of Living.

What I want is visceral, violent, violet tints and verdant flashes of contact that shimmer like emeralds and crackle like lightning. What I want is more than I can attain or achieve, more than I can maintain with these crippled hands that hold on so dearly to my life. And while I cannot make a noose, I can make a fist, one that will break through glass and stone and solid steel if only to find home. What I want is not a place to fit in, but a place to belong, not paradise, but certainly not the purgatory I know. What I want is not buried in the past, nor rooted in the future, what I want is that next second not to feel like a hammer on my skull.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Even as I sit and witness the withdrawal of your life from mine I cannot usher it on quickly enough. I will stand by idly and watch you strain your back from heavy lifting, know the struggle that I made when I moved every piece of your shit to this place damned near on my own. My help was less than stellar, my time constraints were strict, my resolve was unshaken and I did what needed to be done. Now, I can relax and watch you with passive hatred as you lug your seemingly unending bins of this and that and other useless overflowing garbage down those stairs. And I hope you trip before you reach the bottom. And I hope that trailer gets a flat. And I hope you fucking rot in Hell and never make it back. And....


...You know, it's really not worth my vile vitriol nor my fucking time, but I feel it must be said over and over and over until my lungs are black and my face is blue and my heart is gray and empty. You might have painted me the villain, and I certainly did do wrong, but your reaction, your lack of even common civility that gave me all the answer I needed to know whether or not we could try to be friends after? That was crystal clear. And so I'll spit my venom at you silently, from the safe and sanctified halls of the written word. Because if I spoke any of these words to you, it would only cause a fight. And as much as I wouldn't mind the physicality, I know it would only end with you restrained and me being made into an even darker foil.

So please, for my sanity and yours, make it snappy. I'm not going to lift a finger for you, but I will put all my positive thinking into willing you away.

 

[fr33ks33k]

Excerpt from a book bound in red velvet. Row 409, Bottom Shelf

I'm full of hunger, violent hunger, angry eyes and sharp sharp teeth and rivulets of red. I'm full of anger, burning anger, hungry eyes and wicked claws and rivers full of red. I'm a beast, a monster. I only aspire to be death incarnate, carnal, primal vicious murder in the flesh. I want for nothing, need for nothing save the weight of heavy hands upon the lightest skin, the fairest skin, freckled by the sun. Made dappled, ripe and wanting, so naive and apt to flaunting.

I want a pretty little thing, a porcelain so clean, I want to take her, fucking break her, make her see what lies within. I want to know her every wanting, every wanton fantasy. I want to fill her, leave her empty, make her crave for all my venting. All my focus, all my rage and all my purpose. I want to give her joy and tears and watch them stain her lovely cheeks. I want to taint her, give her evil, just an inkling, just to watch her twist and change. Like the purest ocean, made polluted by one single drop of oil. I want to claim her, every inch that has a name to, every bend and arch and flex and taut and all her parts from crown to ankle. I want her absolution, absolutely, want to give her freedom in little deaths. I want her, how I want her, though I know not where she dwells. Perhaps my mem'ry, just my mem'ry's where she lives. Or simply daydreams, idle daydreams, mayhaps her home it is…

Oh I want her, how I want her, though I know not who she is….