#dclgado

meme. not accepting.

HE THINKS IF HE WERE TO DIE by anyone’s side, it would be nazarely’s. that if there were one pair of sun - speckled, war - torn, smut - ridden eyes he’s left to see on the earth, they’d be her’s. the olive crest of her cheeks & the flax spindle of her hair, encrusted with MIDNIGHT BLOOM, a liminal girl. fleeting   ;   beside him one moment, presence sundered the next. he knows her to return, but cannot, can never, shun the realities of existence. THAT TO LIVE IS TO DIE, & in a world thronged with turmoil, even she cannot always revolve to him. it’s an incriminating thought, if any. & he is not one to think. DO. FIGHT. BURN. his mentality fortified with steel & sweat.

but   ;   even warriors have their repose, times in which they are able to sheathe weapons & unbuckle armor. this is now, as he sits beside NAZ, fingertip touching while they gaze to the high arc of the twilight above. he breathes a hollow sigh, points out the CONSTELLATIONS that he does not know, but calls forth anyway. 

 ❝       IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT.       ❞      a dim remark. candor low & stilted. he is not one for emotions, for the capacity of affection. & yet, he lifts his arm & brings her close with a sense of URGENCY. soft cheek pressed to the concave of his throat. intonation quieted still, he speaks into the brambled mess of her hair, crude mouth brushing against her forehead every so often.       ❝       ISN’T IT FUCKING WEIRD how we’re still alive, naz?       ❞      he hates this. he hates it. he hates it. the intimacy, the luxury, because he knows, intrinsically, with COMFORT comes the removal of it. there was no world that could exist in which they might sit on a log, gazing at the lachrymose umbra for eternity. that within a few spared moments, they’d have to be pulled apart   -------   bone by bone, sinew by sinew, back to the slaughter of man & beast.

so he does as he does   ;   as he always has. crudely, boorishly. in his CHEAP, BOYISH demeanor. all clumsy & crass, all lewd passion burrowed in savage necessity. he grasps her chin, thumb grazing over threadbare tier, lifting her into a vulgar kiss. TENDER SENTIMENTS pushed away for the agony of need. & it’s gone. done & over with as fast as it was proposed. he scathes a palms against her cheek for a moment, gaze lingering, before rising ( no immediate destination procured, his limbs aching to escape the want of it all ), & circumventing the area. only allowing the gentle wisp of his melancholy tone to leave any trace of his hungering.

❝       NAZ. YOU FUCKER. did you take my machete? ——-       ❞