♞⊱⊱▬ If he universe were kinder and more just, Zephaell felt he would have a fearsome stature to go with the off-putting appearance he’d been given. Skin so red, so hot to the touch, it was if he’d been fashioned from lava. A spaded tip on a tail nearly as long as he was tall. Which, wasn’t very tall, but the disproportionate length of the tail was annoying at best -- and at its worst, it hindered balance rather than helping. -- His ears were webbed, a pointless addition given how few times he actually braved the lake. He’d have cursed his creator, except it’s impossible to know the creator by sight, but when he’s in the forest, Zephaell can f.e.e.l. it. And the demonic creation goes there.
It’s an instinctual tugging. It says go-go-go to him, thrums like a low chord vibrating in his bones, curling in his tail, frozen under his claws. The small demon does. Sometimes he follows the dreamer, sometimes he just misses him. He’s so fast sometimes -- in and out like the flicker of a mirage or the ghost of a thief.
Zephaell is actually amazed to finally catch him. To wrap a small hand around the arm and stare up at him. The colors of Zephael’s eyes are simply the inverse of Kavinsky, and he wonders why the dreamer would create him to look so obviously inhuman. But before he can speak, they’re not in the forest anymore. But his hand is still on the dreamer and it’s enough to leave the demon feeling less afraid of his new surrounds. He doesn’t try to hurt the dreamer, not intentionally anyway; even if the small hands have fine, razor-sharp claws attached to each slender digit, all of them unconsciously digging into the flesh of Kavinsky’s arm. But he doesn’t scream, or bit, or try to attack. Instead, he pouts sullenly, eyes focused on the dreamer as he awakens.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Ronan had managed, for the first time, to wipe the grin off of his face completely. It flickered only for a moment, replaced with a brief sort of wide-eyed shock. It was a moment of weakness he almost couldn’t forgive himself for. But what other reaction was he supposed to have to Ronan’s sudden proximity, the unexpected weight pressing him into the seat? His pulse thudded in his ears, louder than the music. His breathing stopped.
And then the flicker was gone. A casual, insolent smile played about his lips yet again. He leaned back, let his hips shift slightly under the new burden, looked up at Ronan with a question in his eyes. He snaked his hands over Ronan’s hips, hooked his fingers in his belt loops. It was a casual gesture. But there was nothing casual about the way his grip tightened, prepared to either pull him closer or keep him from leaving.
❝ Gonna buy me dinner first, Lynch? ❞
Ronan didn’t know what had come over him. Maybe it was the alcohol or the music or the fact that Gansey wasn’t there to be his conscience.... but there was Kavinsky, and there was his lap just waiting to be sat upon. So he did.
He registered the shock in his gaze and felt smug at the fact that he unnerved one Joseph Kavinsky. But then he was moving, adjusting, and holding Ronan’s hips, and belt loops, and it was almost like he was challenging him to try and leave. But Ronan didn’t want to leave, and maybe that should’ve scared him.
But it didn’t.
Ronan tilted his head at Kavinsky’s question and his mouth curled into a sly smile. “Didn’t know you were the wine ‘em and dine ‘em type, Kavinsky.”
Drabble for @desiderrium/ @despxcable . About Revas post losing Kavinsky! Because it’s sad.
word count: 1,304
content warning: death, family death
It was an unholy sound. The crackle of fire, or maybe it was his bones snapping. Fire coiling around him, the explosion of it all. The dragon gone, and his body limp. Still & motionless while the world around him is chaos. Yet, everything else blurred, and no sound reached her ears. Every motion slowed but her steps towards him. His corpse.
Broken. Bloodied. Empty.
And at first she felt nothing.
Not the heat surrounding her. Not the wind coiling around her. Not a thing.
Her knees did not buckle, and her chest did not heave as she knelt next to his body. Her hands were gentle as they touched his cheek, brushing stray hairs from his face. Her arms slowly moved to pull him close, careful as if he'd push her away still. Expectant of his resistance. But none came. Perhaps that should have been the breaking point. But she's lived this, before. Over and over and over. The vision replaying in her head. Part of her is screaming to wake up. To just wake up.
But this isn't her vision. This isn't a dream.
As the police arrive, asking questions she has no answer to. As they take him away from her, she only watches. Some part of her twitches as if she should be holding onto him, screaming no. But she goes through the motions of it all. And she still felt nothing. She didn't cry. But she didn't laugh or smile at anything either. She looked past people, as if expecting him to be standing there with his smug smile. A prank. Something he knew would break her. She looked through people, because she wasn't really there. She was still in that field, still watching it over. And over. And over.
When they asked her if she wanted his body wrapped, covered up before she could say goodbye. She didn't really say anything. She wanted to laugh. Like it was a joke still some stupid prank he was pulling. But, looking at his paled skin, the way his features carved DEAD into her mind, made her still. Hands tracing the curve of his cheek, taking in every little detail. Memorizing every thing. Comparing and contrasting his living memory to this ghost of her son. She did not weep. Her chest did not heave. Her face didn't twist with pain or grief.
She could see him, for a moment, standing there with a smile on his face. One he saved for when he knew he had hurt her. One he wore only a few times. & his words echoed:
“Give it five minutes and some body shots.”
Back then, in that moment, it had stung deep and left a mark in her chest. The words she spoke after that, in pain and in resistance to him left her lips, softly. A whisper against his cold skin, “I won't ever fucking forget my son, Kavinsky.”
It had been days — or weeks, she couldn't remember — since the incident. She stood, watching workers fill the grave. She knew her friends, her family, weren't too far away. She could feel their eyes on her, watching just in case she faltered. As she stared at his name, the ironic way he died on the day he lived, all of it carved into stone; she couldn't stop from hearing him, seeing him beside her. Smug smile on his face. The look of I told you so loudly pointed in her direction. The reminder that she'd failed him, failed to save him. Failed to give him a new life. That she'd lost him, despite everything she did and tried.
It was the same expression she saw when she thought of how she hadn't cried yet. It was the same ghost she saw when she ran to his room to see if he was still alive, only to find everything untouched.
Yet, so badly, did she look at him with a smile of her own. One more glimpse of his face, smiling and not gone. Alive and living. So badly did she want to pull him close and hope that it was all a dream, only to have her fingers brush across nothing. For him to vanish.
So she stood, staring at his grave. Staring at her loss embedded in stone.
It was an unholy sound, to her. Wailing sounds echoing off the walls. The cacophony of screams in her house. Her own screams. For she had finally broken.
It wasn't the emptiness of her home. Nor the silence of it. Not the dreams she had, or the confirmation repeatedly that he was gone. It was simply when she grabbed the wrong keys.
Hands clutched the keys to her chest as her knees buckled. She fell with ease, limp almost as if the weight of it all had finally crushed her. Her chest heaved as a scream left her lungs empty, craving air more than she had ever in her life. Everything ached & felt like it was breaking under this weight. Alone in her house. Her empty & so still house. She broke finally.
Fingers traced the logo of his Mitsubishi on the key. Her mind flaring with memories of the white car, the one sitting in her drive way that was now covered in leaves and dust.
Her hand resting on the stick shift, eyes looking at the road ahead. Foot moving in accordance to properly shift the gear. A smile on her face, smug as she looked over to him, “That's how it should sound when you change gears.”
“You should have gotten more sprinkles, seems like a rip off,” her voice echoes, body leaned up against his car. A smile on her face, again, as she looks up to him sitting on the hood. Ice cream towering in his hand.
Standing on the top of his car, she felt the horror rush into her veins. Nothing could have been fast enough. Every regret she had pounding in her head as she could only watch. Horror and breaking. The explosion of fire engulfing him & his limp body rolling off the car.
The present snapped back as the metal dug into her hand too much. She couldn't stop crying, she couldn't breathe. It was ugly and raw. Her screams, wailing, falling upon only emptiness. Falling only on her own ears.
She crumbled in a whirlwind of pain, grief, guilt, and loneliness. In loss. And she couldn't stop it. There was no stopping the crushing weight of it all. Not even the happiest of memories with him could negate that she could make no more with him there.
Revas didn't know how she got here, didn't remember really. It was a blur of how she found his sea of white cars with knife decals. Sitting on the one she drove in, she simply looked at them all. The grass overgrown. Some paint peeling & losing its color. The dust and leaves gathered on the windshields and roofs. A ghost of him, still lingering here.
She wondered if anyone else would find this place. If someone in the future would find it, and wonder how they all got here. If someone would remove it all and build a stupid apartment building. A mental note to buy the land later so no one could remove this. Remove the memories of him.
Looking at the mangled Aviators in her hands, she felt her chest start to heave again. And she folded, once more. This place reminded her of how long he'd been gone, how very long she'd been alone. How long she lost her son. & how very much she missed her son. Even if no one else did, she would miss him & remember him. Because he was her son, and he deserved to be remembered.
Ronan felt like lightning: celestial & urgent. He felt like the cosmos: burning & forever. He felt like a GOD: raw — hungry — cruel. A vicious smile cut his face, ferocious in its joy. There was an ache inside him, but it was one of exhilaration, a sense of rightness so fierce it threatened to eat him alive. His arm burned where Kavinsky touched him, a fire that spread to sear all his nerve endings until he was shaking. He was being unmade, only to be built up stronger. When was the last time he had felt so present? He felt vital — ALIVE.
Kavinsky was already so close, but Ronan leaned in closer. His veins sang with danger, and without hesitation he voiced his thoughts:
It stung. It stung a lot more than she was braced for. And she was tired of trying to hide how it hurt. Too many times she just shoved it down and let it roll through her system. Too many times he'd snapped & dealt his poison at her. There was always this feeling, this thought of 'at least it's me and not someone else. Not himself.' It wasn't some excuse for the damage dealt, but it helped keep her from falling to pieces.
Yet Faron's voiced echoed in her head, fighting that thought; Why waste your time on him? He doesn't care about you. Maybe he was right. Maybe it would be a waste of time, and it would crush her later. Perhaps Kavinsky hated her guts, only staying with her for some fucked up reason. The image of his death replayed in her head as he spat his venom. The feeling of it creeping up her spine until she buckled, her knees screaming from the impact. His words felt like echoes in her head, distant but pounding and fueling that doubt; that fear of all of it being for nothing. Of losing him.
She didn't look at him, letting her hair cover her face – cover the tears she couldn't stop.
❝You think it's just that easy? You think I can just forget you, act like your death didn't happen? Are.. Are you fucking kidding me? ❞ Her voice cracked, pain ripping into her voice. Pain from the memory, pain from his words. All of it tangled up in her chest. She didn’t want him to see this, to hear the cracks in her. But it wouldn’t stop.
❝ I can't forget your death, Kavinsky. I can't. I can't. I. Can't. ❞
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
