[Rave] Desolate, my name is (30kisses)
Pairing: Shuda/Sieg
Fandom: Rave
Theme: 30_kisses #16 - invincible; unrivaled
Disclaimer: Umi-chii don’t own Rave. Hiro Mashima still does.
A/N: This is a bit, er, poetic and full of nouns. And present tense.
Desolate, my name is
For 30_kisses, #16
Green blades of grass bow down to death with each of his passing step, a battle of unspoken emotions raging inside of him. Courage wields its blades against Fear as Trepidation hides away from Uncertainty, Strength lost in the midst of the fight, not knowing anymore which to side. Anger rises above them all, and so does Hatred, who has grown to become Wrath and vows vengeance as Hope lies helpless and defeated at the very bottom like in Pandora’s Box, trampled by all of the rest.
Not knowing what to feel, not knowing what to think; it is a struggle against the Self where the Soul is at stake. It is a gamble that he must partake and this terrifies his shaking heart. How will he know which is the right path? There is no sign here. What more can pacify the growing anxiety planted deep inside of him, haunting his every thought, creeping in the darkest corner of his mind as he makes each decision, big and small?
He does not wish to see the carnage that will be brought by his own emotions. It is like watching the dam cracking under the pressure, like a sack of sand threatening to burst by the seams.
He does not know what to do nor what to feel. All he knows is to run and hide, to cower behind a wall erected by stubborn ignorance.
This is not what he wishes, yet it is what Fate has given him. What more can he do?
--
Shuda does not know when he started caring. All he knows is that he began to look at the other in a different light, taking note of things that he normally does not mind. It isn’t something that happens frequently, and this realization only puzzles him more than ever. Just what does the sorcerer possess that makes him this curious? It is as if some sort of enchantment was casted on him and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
But Shuda knows, and he is aware that there is no outside interference here. This is him and purely him.
He watches the sorcerer’s every move like a hawk; pale lips curling into a snarl, eyes narrowing in annoyance, displaying the blatant irk from within-
Shuda knows them all, knows the meaning and the reason behind each gesture or movement, and worst of all, he knows what will come after. And he worries what all these knowledge means.
He can’t know this much from just observing the man. It has to entail something else - something that he is afraid of learning.
--
The first time it happened, neither of them expected it.
They were each walking on their own respective side of the corridor and not minding the existence of the other.
Sieg, for all he cares, does not even realize there was someone else breathing the same air he breathes. He was too engrossed with his own thoughts, too busy labeling every emotion warring inside of him. All he knows was that something from a near distance suddenly grabbed him by the arm before tackling him to the ground, and he was too surprised for a second or two to fully comprehend the situation. It is only when he was staring at the stone ceiling of the corridor did he realize that there is another man on top of him, grunting and scrambling back up to his mountain boots-clad feet with a sword on hand.
He remembers staring at the broad back of the stocky man, all hardwired muscle and brawn and action. There is something raw emanating from the man that it takes Sieg more effort than necessary to assess just what was going on. There was the sudden blossoming of something inside of him, so much like a rosebud that he quickly nips it before it turns into something else. He ignores every warning signal blaring from all sides, nothing red flashing all around him, and quickly returns to reality where he is needed more.
And by the end of the day, when all thanks were given and names were exchanged and he cannot think of anything else but that pair of piercing red eyes that looks more like solidified blood than rubies, they separated ways. He returned to his own path, yet his mind and body was too affected by those calloused hands and hard muscle that for once since his stay in this cold, barren castle, he felt the touches and the caress and the stray kisses that he fooled himself to believe belonged to him, to that man with crimson red eyes.
END
Fandom: Rave
Theme: 30_kisses #16 - invincible; unrivaled
Disclaimer: Umi-chii don’t own Rave. Hiro Mashima still does.
A/N: This is a bit, er, poetic and full of nouns. And present tense.
Desolate, my name is
For 30_kisses, #16
Green blades of grass bow down to death with each of his passing step, a battle of unspoken emotions raging inside of him. Courage wields its blades against Fear as Trepidation hides away from Uncertainty, Strength lost in the midst of the fight, not knowing anymore which to side. Anger rises above them all, and so does Hatred, who has grown to become Wrath and vows vengeance as Hope lies helpless and defeated at the very bottom like in Pandora’s Box, trampled by all of the rest.
Not knowing what to feel, not knowing what to think; it is a struggle against the Self where the Soul is at stake. It is a gamble that he must partake and this terrifies his shaking heart. How will he know which is the right path? There is no sign here. What more can pacify the growing anxiety planted deep inside of him, haunting his every thought, creeping in the darkest corner of his mind as he makes each decision, big and small?
He does not wish to see the carnage that will be brought by his own emotions. It is like watching the dam cracking under the pressure, like a sack of sand threatening to burst by the seams.
He does not know what to do nor what to feel. All he knows is to run and hide, to cower behind a wall erected by stubborn ignorance.
This is not what he wishes, yet it is what Fate has given him. What more can he do?
--
Shuda does not know when he started caring. All he knows is that he began to look at the other in a different light, taking note of things that he normally does not mind. It isn’t something that happens frequently, and this realization only puzzles him more than ever. Just what does the sorcerer possess that makes him this curious? It is as if some sort of enchantment was casted on him and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
But Shuda knows, and he is aware that there is no outside interference here. This is him and purely him.
He watches the sorcerer’s every move like a hawk; pale lips curling into a snarl, eyes narrowing in annoyance, displaying the blatant irk from within-
Shuda knows them all, knows the meaning and the reason behind each gesture or movement, and worst of all, he knows what will come after. And he worries what all these knowledge means.
He can’t know this much from just observing the man. It has to entail something else - something that he is afraid of learning.
--
The first time it happened, neither of them expected it.
They were each walking on their own respective side of the corridor and not minding the existence of the other.
Sieg, for all he cares, does not even realize there was someone else breathing the same air he breathes. He was too engrossed with his own thoughts, too busy labeling every emotion warring inside of him. All he knows was that something from a near distance suddenly grabbed him by the arm before tackling him to the ground, and he was too surprised for a second or two to fully comprehend the situation. It is only when he was staring at the stone ceiling of the corridor did he realize that there is another man on top of him, grunting and scrambling back up to his mountain boots-clad feet with a sword on hand.
He remembers staring at the broad back of the stocky man, all hardwired muscle and brawn and action. There is something raw emanating from the man that it takes Sieg more effort than necessary to assess just what was going on. There was the sudden blossoming of something inside of him, so much like a rosebud that he quickly nips it before it turns into something else. He ignores every warning signal blaring from all sides, nothing red flashing all around him, and quickly returns to reality where he is needed more.
And by the end of the day, when all thanks were given and names were exchanged and he cannot think of anything else but that pair of piercing red eyes that looks more like solidified blood than rubies, they separated ways. He returned to his own path, yet his mind and body was too affected by those calloused hands and hard muscle that for once since his stay in this cold, barren castle, he felt the touches and the caress and the stray kisses that he fooled himself to believe belonged to him, to that man with crimson red eyes.
END