dada · daemons

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(`･ω･´) : What does your muse completely gush over?

＿|￣|○ : What situation would your muse give up in?

(｀-´)> : Who does your muse honor the most?

(´；ω；`): What brings your muse into a state of

depression?

ヽ(´ー｀)ﾉ : What calms your muse down?

ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ : What irritates your muse the most?

(＃ﾟДﾟ) : What does your muse do if they're angry?

（ ´Д｀） : Is your muse loud in bed?

（　ﾟДﾟ） : What does your muse do when surprised?

┐('～`；)┌ : When your muse can't answer something, what

do they do?

（´∀｀） : What could your muse care less about?

（　´_ゝ`） : Who or what is your muse most indifferent

about?

Σ(゜д゜;) : Is your muse easily scared?

( ﾟヮﾟ) : When is your muse happiest?

キタ━━━(゜∀゜)━━━!!!!! : What does your muse do when

very excited?

⊂二二二（　＾ω＾）二⊃ : Does your muse like to cuddle?

(　´Д｀)ﾉ(´･ω･`)　ﾅﾃﾞﾅﾃﾞ: Does your muse pat others on the

head? If not, do they get pat on their head?

(((( ；ﾟДﾟ))): What is your muse terrified of?

Σ(ﾟДﾟ): What would your muse be most shocked to obtain?

( ﾟдﾟ): What amazes your muse?

(´ー`)y-~~ : Does your muse do any drugs? Smoke?

（ ^_^）o自自o（^_^ ） : How often does your muse drink?

ヽ(´ー`)人(´∇｀)人(`Д´)ノ: How friendly is your muse around new people?

('A`) : What does your muse do when they're alone?

（´-`）.｡oO( ... ) : What does your muse think about a lot?

(ﾟДﾟ;≡;ﾟДﾟ): Is your muse impatient?

( ´д)ﾋｿ(´Д｀)ﾋｿ(Д｀ ): Does your muse enjoy gossiping?

（･∀･)つ⑩ : Does your muse enjoy saving or spending money? Or are they indifferent?

(ﾟдﾟ): When your muse didn't expect something, what do they do?

(ﾟ⊿ﾟ) : Is your muse in denial a lot?

（・∀・） : Does your muse like to tease people?

（・Ａ・） : What does your muse consider to be bad?

(ﾟ∀ﾟ) : If your muse was a drug, what kind would they be?

（ つ Д ｀） : When your muse is sad, what do they do?

♪┏(・o･)┛♪ : Can your muse dance well?

d(*⌒▽⌒*)b : What makes your muse the happiest they could ever be?

(╬ ಠ益ಠ): What infuriates your muse to the point they may kill whatever it is?

(≧ロ≦): Is your muse a screamer in bed?

(ΘεΘ;): How much of a tsundere is your muse?

（‐＾▽＾‐）: What does your muse's laugh sound like?

┌(；`～,)┐ : What discombobulates your muse?

ε=ε=ε=┌(;*´Д`)ﾉ : How does your muse run?

ヽ(´▽`)/ : What does your muse look like when happy?

             “Put your head on my pi—llows—♬”

his brow crinkled in intense thought, and why should it not? so much had been said. so much, that it made his head spin at the very idea that someone like her - youthful, bursting with incredible life - had even admitted any of this to him. sure, in the past, there were elements of admiration from women like her - just as innocent and sweet ( in his eyes, of course - their perceptions of themselves were very different ballparks, we must emphasize ). but the difference was, of course, that they were either fans of his work, or simply turned out to be easy to turn away. they had not established so much as a precedent, as a building block, as a foundation. the list could go on into a beautiful eternity if he so wished to entertain the thought a moment longer.

but this… this was…

her outburst of anger was enough to set him on edge - fists clenched, lips pursed, and gaze focused anywhere but her. she certainly had a talent, a talent that he had never expected her to have in the first place - the element of surprise. she truly was more unpredictable than he could have ever imagined, and managed to put her proverbial foot on his own, and grab his arm in place, preventing him from turning in the opposite direction. was there an escape from her? respite? a return to mundanity?

ah, but wait. who am i kidding? i… do i… oh dear. best not entertain that thought. that certainly hurts so terribly, so much so that if he allowed it to linger a moment more, a stake would have likely been stabbed right through his aching heart. so old, so tired, and yet… desperate to feel that pumping blood, that exhilaration of young love that he had not felt since…

oh. this is… now this was strange. when had he felt it before? was it love, or was it something else that he had felt back then? no. of course there was a distinction between love and lust, that much he knew. at his age, there had to be some understanding of the difference. though, of course, the media tended to romanticize that fine line, and confuse the population ever the more with a sales pitch that concluded with sleep with the one you love, with love being secondary. but WHAT THE FUCK WAS LOVE? WHY could he not grasp it? not even in his pathetic youth could he find someone he genuinely meant the words i love you to. there was only one person in his entire pathetic existence that seemed to fit that bill - she was the one he thought he had some semblance of feelings for, that need to cling to her, keep her close, hide her in the backdoor of his mind and throw away the key.

with annie it was… 

right. his island. the one he curated himself. often, he thought of it when he lay on the couch and granted himself a minute or two to picture something unrelated to his work. there he was, alone, living off the coconuts hanging from the palm trees, the ones that could crack one’s head open if they were not careful. and yet, he had grown accustomed to that isolation - even when someone washed up there, her crusted lips dry and blonde hair stringy from the sea salt, she had eventually left him. annie had left. there was no other way to contact her now. no matter how often he watched, no matter how longingly he gazed at her home from the darkness of his car, knowing better than to walk up the front porch and declare his love to her…

no. you know full well what the fucking truth is, you SICK FUCK.

“ you wanted me. “ he uttered softly, closing his eyes a moment. running his fingers through his hair. for a split second, imitating that sweep of his nose that she had done with her own hand not too long ago. but what was long ago? time had frozen in this tiny, cramped, humid bungalow of his. his temperature was rising, his hands sweating - what had happened to him? where was that mask of his? surely, he had misplaced it - put it away, allowed it to disintegrate for a bit as he allowed himself that frozen second in time where he held her close to him.

BUT NO. KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS TO YOURSELF! SHE INITIATED. SHE DOESN’T KNOW YOU. THE THINGS YOU’VE DONE. THE PEOPLE YOU’VE PUSHED. THE PEOPLE YOU’VE FUCKED - LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY!

 “ that’s… impossible. no. that’s fucking impossible. “ he muttered under his breath, directed at no one in particular - not even the one who had admitted it to his face. then, resolve. the abyss of his eyes seemed to darken in the twilight outside filtering into the room. no lights were on. only the hum of the ceiling fan overhead could be heard - the sunlight had been erased from half of his face, creating a chiaroscuro of its own. his true darkness… she had dug deep, unearthed it with that kiss of hers. that was the stuff of nightmares. but why was it such a tantalizing one? well… there was a good reason for that. 

it made him want her more. that sweet taste of fresh cherries washed under the kitchen sink, of various kinds of candy that could sweep him off his feet, send him into an euphoric dimension where none could touch them. his fingers twitched, trembled. why did this have to be so damned difficult? maybe her blood was made of alcohol - intoxicating, sweet wine. funny - he hated the stuff, and yet…

his gaze focused with a stony intensity, he stared back at her - what raged through his mind was not simply anger. no, anger was far too easy. it was something more. something tantalizing - an anger brought about by intense self-loathing, which had originated in childhood, which had been left unchecked for 40-something years, and left to rot on the front porch of that always-sunny childhood home that was always hit with 100 degree weather in the los angeles sun. that was the way it had to be. jonathan had never had a chance. but nobody, quite unfortunately for him and the rest of the world, knew that.

especially not her. especially not her.

“ yes. you don’t know me. not a thing about me. it’s actually fucking amazing, the more i think about it. “ finally, he was able to speak. the mask was once again semi-materializing back from the ether from whence it had been banished. how lucky. truly a master of deceit. “ but you’re right. i don’t know anything about you, other than you’re incredibly stupid for trying to do that. do you know what you’re getting into? because, once again, news flash - you don’t. “

wait. what had she asked him? my, he just realized. that sad, pouty look on her face that seemed hardly faked had uttered a question beyond his wildest dreams.

“you think i’m pretty?”

he bowed his head, and folded his arms. blood pumping in his chest, reverberating behind his eardrums, and eyes stinging with a tinge of dryness, he toyed with the thought. played it between his fingers, gently. thoughts, gentle thoughts… would he tell the truth, or a semi-truth? a joke, a sarcastic quip? what could he use in his arsenal that–

“ i held you, didn’t i? “

oh. fuck.

“ i let you kiss me for longer than five seconds, didn’t i? “

WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU FUCKING MORON?!

but… my. someone is startlingly confident, a real rebound from just seconds earlier. we are running out of synonyms for that rapid succession of time. we definitely are! isn’t that more important than putting on that smirk of yours? the one that’s pricking on your lips, the one that emphasizes the fucking darkness behind your eyes, that endless abyss?

it was complete, the picture of sensual challenge: smirk, haughty confidence, the kind that came from a bestial, primal excitement. his heart was racing now, irregularly, his joints freezing up, that tug-of-war inside his mind becoming ever clearer. and yet, still, his mouth moved before his mind could jump on it ( a rarity ). now, how could he resist that crying face, the one that if he were in a softer mood, he would want to stroke, wipe the tears away from? soft, supple… he could absorb it all.

he took a step forward, arms still tightly folded across his chest. though her own emotions had just been showcased like an exquisite art exhibition straight out of hell, though his own were quite turbulent within the recesses of his mind, this reckless confidence came centerfold. why? simple, really. surely, you know - it’s as clear as day. but let’s spell it out just to be clear.

he’s attracted to her, plain and simple.

“ you’re lucky i’m not a fuckin’ wolf, cherry. let’s just say you’re real lucky. ‘cause if i was? there’d be nothing left. that’s the kind of man i am, that’s the kind of man i always will be. in fact, this is about as honest as i’ll ever be. do you know who you just kissed? who you’re asking this of? you won’t like it. but let’s say, for the sake of argument, that i answer you directly. “

“ you can toy with men. easily. make them fucking fall for you in ways they never imagined. that’s how pretty you are. “

          Her fingers curled into fists. She squeezed so hard that some of her joints popped or cracked. She didn’t wince, didn’t flinch. “How is it impossible?” A small, quick jerk of her head emphasized her confusion. She squared her shoulders. “It just happened. I said it right to your face. It’s possible.” He was infuriating. Even if he teased her or twisted her words on an average day, this wasn’t the time or place for that. Here she was, giving him the privilege of witnessing her vulnerability, and he threw it in her face. She didn’t know who was the bigger clown. Her lips curled, indignant.

           “So...we agree. We don’t know much about each other.” She went over that too, qualified it and clarified it. Did he hear it? Was he listening at all, or was he blinded by his own ego? He was a monster, she didn’t even know him well enough to know to fear him, et cetera. Yadda yadda. Badabing, badaboom. Shut up. “You’re making it hard to think.” It was for both positive and negative reasons, but in this exact second it was hard to find the bright side. 

           “Can you quit that weird fear mongering? You’re not some monster under the bed—and if you were, I’ve already conquered those. You’re a human fucking being. I am too. I’m not scared of you, Jonathan.” She swept her arms out to the sides, open palms facing him. “If you got something to tell me, tell it to me straight. I’m a big girl. I got a handle on it.”

           Cherry bit down on the inside of her cheek. Oh. Hard, much too hard. The resulting metallic taste only increased her frenetic energy. All of this and now she’d have a swollen mouth. It was remarkable she hadn’t thrown a tantrum already. “I chose you, dumbass. How many times are you gonna make me say it?” A scoff accompanied furrowed brows. She didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. She couldn’t make it any clearer; she didn’t understand what he didn’t understand. 

            “If you’re really that much of a demon, you wouldn’t care if you hurt me...but, uh...you’re here. You’re still listening. So let me have my shot. I make my own decisions.” An incredulous shrug and widened eyes formed a silent challenge. He always told her not to take his words seriously. There she was, confronting them directly. “Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m right. I don’t know yet. I want to know. Do you know how much I look forward to hanging out with you? I actually wanna be around. I’m lying in bed at three in the AM, telling myself not to message you whatever dumb stuff I’m thinking about because I know you’re up and I’m pretty sure you’ll humor me, maybe even enjoy yourself. You are the idiotic highlight of my stupid, boring day.” 

            Her arms dropped. Silence overtook her for one brief moment. All Cherry could do was stare at him. This was impossible. She was talking to a wall. A wall that was looking out for her. A wall that was speaking in hypotheticals that she had a hunch weren’t so imaginary. She swallowed. For once in the past minutes, she felt hope. The shadows that puckered and pocked her exaggerated expressions evaporated. What was left was a smooth olive surface and an impossible intensity in her eyes. If she could control him with her mind, or even implant her own feelings into his brain, her expression would be the same. It was total concentration, unwilling to even blink.

           “Are you chicken?” She let the words hang. “I’m giving you permission. Be whatever weird kinda wolf you want. If I get destroyed—devoured, whatever—that’s on me.” Her skin, already warm from frustration, was hot to the touch. Too hot. She was ready to strip it away and face him head-on, soul to soul. The trouble was in naming what destroyed her beyond hurt and rage. 

          She wanted a reaction out of him. Anything beyond his acerbic quipping and that awful, obnoxious stare. He could throw hands—fingers, all over her. Those bony fingers and their impractical rings tracing the small of her back and the pit of her knee and the ridge of her collarbone. He could brush her hair from her face and whisper what he truly meant. Tender words and the smell of cigarettes. That wasn’t too bad. She was ready to take his slender wrists and ease her grasp up to his shoulders once more. She could hold him steady while using him to support herself. There was always something more. He had plenty he could give her to work with.

        powerful arms (and BOOBS)

        cute waist???

it was… weird.

actually, it was a lot of things. but, uh, wait a minute - what were some synonyms for weird in the first place? hmm… maybe odd. unusual. strange. no… those were too light for the situation at hand. how about bizarre, or peculiar? no… even those did not do this justice. her lips against his, and his eyes having closed almost on cue so that he might not see how close they truly were ( hah, now that’s a laugh - your brain is really going tonight, is it not? ).

touch… when was the last time he properly touched someone? touched someone like this? the mind… the mind boggles, and it twists and turns, and it… no. wait a minute.

allow us a moment to philosophize - because as we do, we can allow a moment to distract ourselves from the moment at hand. it is a difficult situation, imagining what would happen if he allowed this to continue - so we will deal with that momentarily. the truth of the matter was that the last time he had felt any sort of touch was with adri swann, which was months before. adri was gone, having chosen to vanish into the ether of the past that all the others before her had. except, of course, that her departure was different. the screaming, the crying, the disagreements, the everything else other than touch was what he remembered most.

then, his hand began to violently tremble - the one closest to her. except, he could not bear to move it an inch closer - she was the one touching him. she had her hands on his cheeks, those youthful and soft fingers of hers feeling every inch of his rotting, corpselike skin that likely had the consistency of sandpaper. so rough, the kind of texture that could scratch the surface of such supple skin without so much as a second thought.

when was the last time you shaved? a few days ago? disgusting. no, bad. wrong. that certainly won’t help things. and yet, frozen in the moment he eventually found himself, with his entire body having gone ice cold. yes, like a glacier in the middle of an unaffected north pole. the north pole of the ice age, of course, with the lowest temperatures possible, perhaps comparable to standing atop the peak of the thing, or maybe even mount everest. 

if only he could stroke her hair. feel strands of it brush between his fingers; perhaps it was thick. maybe it was warm to the touch. maybe if it wrapped around his chest, it could imprison him in a cage of fantastical youth and gentleness, prevent the relentless stampede of the past from catching up to him. oh, how relentless it was - he could even hear it in the distance now, his hand still trembling as he brought one hand to her waist ( no, not the hair. the hair was off limits, fool ) –

supple. as expected. oh no. now this is a problem. it hurts. why is my heart beating so fast? i’m not a fucking teenager! this shit happens to little boys! when was the last time it beat like this? …wait, wait. no… NO–

OH DEAR. you see what happens when you get too involved in the moment? SEE?

suddenly, with the strength of atlas bearing the world on his muscular shoulders ( ironic, of course. remember whose shoulders we are dealing with here - cherry certainly would know. ), he pushed her away and brought the hand that had briefly held her - gave himself the chance - to his lips. he wiped away at anything residual, as subtly as possible of course, and shut his eyes. shut them as hard as he could. only darkness could be dealt with - that was comfortable. looking at her would be…

well, you know what it would be.

“ …what’s wrong with you? “ he spat, wiping at his forehead. sweat. sweat everywhere. his mind? going. certainly. this was. undoubtedly a… a problem. “ are you out of your fucking mind? “

ah. there he was. jonathan velazquez. no vastielle. the real piece of shit making an appearance! this truly was vaudeville at its finest. he finally managed a glare at her, though that was partially manufactured, partially true. the manufacturing half of the glare itself was, however, far weaker than its honest counterpart.

“ don’t say shit you don’t mean, “ he growled, malice lacing his tone. the little boy within was repairing the wall as quickly as he could, bricks piling higher and higher until the only brick remaining would break the remaining line of vision between himself and her; the one who had, with that one kiss, shattered the vulnerable back door. “ you like me? shut up. jesus - who are you kidding? you don’t even KNOW me, and you felt like you could just… just do something like that. holy shit! “

he brought his hands to his head, and started to walk away - slowly, of course, as he intended only to pace back and forth. not leave. not yet, anyway. he turned back to her, lips pursed. all throughout his skin there was no longer cold, but warmth - perhaps from embarrassment, perhaps from something more ( arousal, just say it, idiot )… regardless, the room’s temperature had suddenly spiked, and he was none the wiser.

“ you have the audacity to call me an asshole - which yes, i am, fucking NEWS FLASH OF THE CENTURY - and then do some hot shit like that, huh? “ perhaps a freudian slip could be gleamed from the way he spoke. but goodness, forgive him! he was so terribly flustered. “ just ‘cause you think you’re young and attractive doesn’t mean you can just mess around with older guys who don’t have much going for them, y’know? for fuck’s sake. “

an irritated chuckle. the kind that ground against the back of his throat. except, of course, that there was that part of his brain that had kept those fantasies of his stored away. kept behind lock and key, of course. the fact that she had kissed him was only step one of several - that was the filth present in that aging brain of his.

but god forbid anyone - especially her - see it.

he gave her a final glance, lips now slightly agape as he took a deep breath inward. exhaled. again - and exhaled again. then, of course, came the gesticulations the would accompany that final, damning thought:

“ …you’re fucking arrogant to think that that’s going to work on me. any of it. “

           So this was happening. She couldn’t call it a dream come true; it wasn’t exactly anything she’d weighed with real potential or even hope when awake or asleep. Her body had moved nearly of its own accord. It wasn’t, of course, that she had not intended on kissing him, but that she hadn’t planned on kissing him yet. As cliche as he might have found the phrase, as much as he might have found her basic for thinking it, actions did speak louder than words. He had to agree with that. This was more than a simple demonstration of her feelings. He kissed her back. His hand was on her waist! This was a moment. She’d begun to relax, thumbs gently brushing against the coarse texture of unshaven skin. Then he pushed her away. She didn’t realize he had that kind of force.

           Cherry stumbled back and nearly tripped over her own feet. Her brows furrowed. She blinked as though her eyes wouldn’t focus. “Maybe I am.” Out of her mind. The three words were nearly unintelligible, the dying croak of a shipwrecked sailor with nothing to drink. “I thought this was what you wanted.” If she’d misjudged the situation, leaned into mutual feelings bubbling under the surface that didn’t actually exist, that was her own fault. That was what happened when you got cocky or comfortable. 

           His face was still red, beads of sweat decorating him with a hundred tiny crystals. It was beautiful. Chiaroscuro in cinéma vérité. She would have marveled at the scene were she outside her own body. It was a struggle to keep up; all she could do was stare. His fury was unfathomable. No matter what anger Cherry thought him capable of, she hadn’t considered how it might feel to be on its receiving end. She was above this. She was the dream girl, there to make everything better. With a healing kiss, he’d melt and she’d melt and any tension would evaporate. He would still be coarse—a personality overhaul wasn’t in the stars—but he’d be pleasantly surprised by her apparent devotion and would be more than happy to have her by his side. All that, and he’d read it and rejected it.

           “Shut up. Just shut up.” Both hands clutched either side of her head, pushing her hair up and away from her face. Her lips twitched. For two and a half seconds, she froze. Where did this begin to fall apart? Her nails pressed into her scalp, urging her to think. With every word and every breath Jonathan made less and less sense. The urge to slap herself was immense. She had to wake up.

           “The hell are you saying?” She dropped her hands. “You wanted this. You said you wanted it!” He was the one who invited her to provoke him. If she knew she’d do so great a job, she’d never have attempted it in the first place. “And—And I wanted it! Or you. Wanted you.” A hand raised to her lips, those same lips that still tasted him. His breath was hot, not foul, but tainted by the pepper of smoke. It had been comforting. Erotic, even. Like kissing a dragon, she’d have told herself on a lighter day. Her fingers worried her lower lip, not caring if she managed to rub away any of the liquid luxe long-lasting lipstick. “I wanted you.”

           What fresh garbage was he spouting? Messing around with older guys—who did he think she was? “You think that’s how I get off? That I’m here saying all this ’cause I pity you. You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal.” Her face contorted in several gruesome ways, various expressions passing in rapid succession in an attempt to find something more neutral to wear. It didn’t work.

           “I meant every word, so get your head out your ass.” Her laughter was chilled poison and crunching gravel. “This is so stupid. I can’t even be mad. If that’s what you think of me, it’s not worth it.” Her face burned. “But you’re not wrong. I don’t know a lot about you...and that’s okay! Jesus Cristo, I’m not asking you to marry me. I didn’t even ask you out. It’s a kiss! A confession and a kiss! We could learn, if you weren’t so fucking stupid and I wasn’t even stupider.” With one furious sweep, she used the heel of her palm to wipe her nose. She wasn’t anxious. She wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t going to cry.

           Deep breath. One, two, three, four, five. Hold. Exhale. Repeat.