#fiictus

     the small legs of a centipede crawl atop his open eye, and he’s begging it to stop, trying to move his hands but they’re too heavy, not attached to his groggy body, and the insect goes, crawls right through his eyelid and beneath the skin, burying itself until he’s vomiting it up, and then one more and another and then dozens spilling from his mouth and HE is there, the 13th ward’s jason, his torturer, MURDERER of kaneki’s humanity, and he says “you’ll never stop spitting them out. they’re your blood and your saliva. they’re you, kaneki,” and suddenly he’s ten years old, begging, and his torturer is not the ghoul, but his own mother, and she whispers to him —

he hates these moments: when he feels a connection, when he sees with empathy and damaged eyes. when they are partially closer than they cared to admit. these were the moments when kaneki had to admit to himself that, yes, kieran was his friend and, yes, he did not enjoy even the subtlest crack in that apathetic demeanor. moving smooth as silk, kaneki situates himself onto the other’s lap. he doesn’t want to talk of grief, nor what it means for either of them, but it’s his own fault for bringing it up. his gaze is uncaring, refusing to let the question sink below the surface. index finger lifts kieran’s chin, kissing him before pulling back.

kieran’s taste was significantly different from both a human’s or a ghoul’s, but that was fortunate. kaneki could lick at him without feeling the urge to devour, yet the press of his tongue on soft skin made him hungry in other ways. he couldn’t think about everything else - the weight of his shoulders, the self-loathing and the death that crawled across his body, whispering his many faults. here, there was no thought. it was hard to admit, but he was greedy for this. selfish, almost. he would have felt bad for using kieran to forget, but he knew kieran didn’t have a care for such trivial issues. this was what it was at face value, and they both knew it.

he didn’t reply at first, too invested in kieran’s jaw, then his chin and his neck. eager, the familiar scent drove him closer to his lips, where he nipped and finally pressed their mouths together. there’s no softness to it. he’s pushing, fiercely, wanting to rip something, break something, consume something - it’s suffocating, a desire so disgustingly heavy inside him. his mouth opened, tongue searching. and then just as quickly, he pulled back to reply, only slightly, voice steady as if this was nothing unusual for them. and it wasn’t. the normality of it was grounding.

☆ ━ If you could live in the world of your muse(s) would you?

tbqh, saguru’s world is pretty similar to our own, except (depending on who you ask) magic seems maybe a bit more possible (see: koizumi akako, ahaha). plus there’s the fact that we’ve got theatrical phantom thieves in this universe, and not so much here. at least, not any that are internationally famous and uncaught. It might be a marginally cooler world.

✦ ━ Are there any muse(s) you miss roleplaying?  

not so much on tumblr, but i have a bunch of ocs (with you) that i miss, though i feel kind of out of touch with them lately which makes me sad. some of them are scorch, alistair, aleksi, cam, u feel?

☑ ━ What’s something not a lot of people know about you?

if I’m having a bad day, I have such a hard time putting into words how or why that all I can say is I feel dissatisfied/weird. On my bad days, I can’t even talk about what’s wrong because i have no idea how, so often a lot of people won’t actually know that i’m having a bad day because i don’t act much differently. It’s very frustrating, not knowing how to reach out and improve despite knowing everyone around me cares

he’d been watching kieran; flitting gaze, observing without thought. just lazily making note of him, whether he was truly sleeping or not. kaneki despised this time of night — muscles aching, everyone asleep, a time of night when he should be asleep but could not manage it. pink and blue neon city lights peeked through the windows. the walls and curtains glazed softly with their light, while the rest of the room sat in shadows. there were purple-black lines on kieran’s back ( memories of scratches ), and he figured there were angry marks fading on his own back, too. it was not interest nor curiosity that made him stare. it was simply understanding. while the creature beside him was still some vague shadow, a man he did not truly know and likely never would, he no longer felt any ill feelings towards him. the more time spent together, the easier it was to understand and distinguish kieran’s habits and speech, and that had gradually eased kaneki’s distrust.