Please pick only one post type!
❝ parallelism ❞ ✶ [ pervigil ]

Alcohol or morphine — it’d been indistinguishable as to which of the two induced a nausea far more unpleasant. A combination of the two, undoubtedly, claimed the throne of that title. Though, the throbbing atop her cranium— in addition to the array of “purple tokens” adorning formerly pale skin —nullified the sickening sensation whirring in her core.

The reaction had been akin to oxygen and methane. Over a trivial matter, at that; the mind of adult had been expected to rationally dismiss any useless banters, but ah — an excess of alcohol captured even the mind of the most patient. It’d been understandable that any employee harboured some sort of frustration towards their boss; however, the CEO stood strong in claiming that the manner in which she’d been exposed to that emotion…had been anything but fair. Opposing ideologies, lack of self-control — a medley of punching, kicking, and glass-littered floors prompted the ultimate arrival at this vicinity.

Strange it was, the contrast between the environment of a bar and hospital. Though, facilities of this kind hadn’t really been such a marvelous substitute. Especially when one was hooked on to machines via several wires, each with their own purpose, each equally a nuisance to the other. Tired optics flickered towards the figure seated at the other end. Reflective it was, the manner in which they’d undergo their recovery. At least having company was a pleasant part of this experience.

Grey hues grazed over well-defined features. It’d been impressive as to how calm he remained, especially in regards to the numerous injuries that marred his figure. Accustomed to it, perhaps? Only the curious would find answers. Lips pursed into a frail smile as the slope of her back pressed further into the plush hospital bed.


"So — what’re you in for?”

No point in delaying a chance to finally put that phrase to use. Who knew when another instance of this caliber would arrive?


Her heart was pounding even before the first word past Fey’s lips because Rayne knew that this was going to hurt far more than anything she’d experienced. 

The brunette did exactly what her friend had asked, she listened while the other spoke and didn’t say anything. There wasn’t a peep of noise that came from Rayne, but each word hit harder than the ones before. Hands rested on the back of the couch, squeezing tighter and tight with each second, knuckles white from the force. Rayne didn’t even notice when she’d gone from standing to sitting on the hardwood hidden behind the couch.


Even when Fey had finished speaking, there wasn’t a sound from Rayne. Her gaze was locked on the grain of the floor, eyes so empty that, had it not been for the fact she was breathing, she could have convinced anyone she was long-since dead. What was she supposed to feel knowing that Fey was the one responsible for Gem’s death? Rayne couldn’t feel anything—she just felt nothing and that was worse than anything she could imagine. She was so numbed and in shock from the whole thing that she couldn’t even cry.

Optics hadn’t even witnessed the situation to understand the outcome — it was fucking obvious. To allow Rayne in on a tale that Gem hoped to keep secret, to shatter all misconceptions that would’ve settled in her mind better than what glossed lips revealed…—Rayne was destroyed. Nails dug into the thin skin of her palms, a result of holding back the desire to bolt out the door.

To cause this much pain to someone she’d take a bullet for…—it was unforgivable.

With every drop of courage coursing through a curse-stained bloodstream, legs shakily stretched to a full stand before shuffling towards the brunette’s location. Two steps separated their figures, yet Fey’d been aware of the severity involved had she attempted to close the space. Instead, she bent at her knees and attempted to reach out.


"…I’ll spend my entire life repenting for that, Rayne, I promise you, I — I’ll do everything I can to protect you, to keep you alive and to fulfill Gem’s wish, just please, look at me, try and—”


Michiba slowly rose to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. He let out a small sigh, staring down the female in front of him. He looked over her once, then twice and gave a half smile before casually replying.

"Explaining? But mooOOOOOoooom~" He replied, full of sarcasm. He shook his head and let out a small chuckle. "You’re always to the point.. And to answer your question - I’m good! How are you?"

Lips parted to utter some sort of retort, yet like always, forming some sort of sentence remained impossible. Particularly because responding to sarcasm from Michiba proved to be rather challenging. Eventually, the tension in facial muscles eased bit by bit — it’d been difficult to hold back a sigh.

"… …damnit Michiba… …:” A shake of a head is made before optics flicker to meet his gaze. 

"—You’re back for good, right? Or…?"

"There is hope,
but not for us."
- Franz Kafka, to his friend Max Brod  (via polandspringswater) -


Michiba was walking down the familiar streets, eyes closed, and hands in heavy jacket’s pockets as usual. He hummed a content tune to himself, half smile across his face not a single thought staying in his head rather his mind in a constant stream of consciousness. Although, it did break when he heard the heavy footsteps of someone running towards him. As soon as he turned around, it was too late to react… he was tackled and on the ground.

"A simple hello would have been nice enough. But, I guess a simple greeting isn’t good enough, yeh?… yeh.."

He hadn’t changed. The very detail of such a casual response was enough proof that Michiba remained the same Michiba he’d been. Limbs stretched to a full stand, arms folding across her chest as she scrutinized the male on the floor. A medley of emotions manifested the expression upon her face, but one remained prominent — relief. Lips pressed, eyebrows tugged, she clicked her tongue.

"No. It isn’t.”

"You’ve — you’ve got some serious explaining to do. Geez…”

stygiandevil whispered: Fey my birthday is tomorrow I'm excited! eve

"That’s right…"


"So — any plans? Throwin’ a party?"

It’s undeniably familiar, that playful baritone. Albeit harbouring a crown rather common on this planet, something about this male’s aura stood out as unique. The piping hot beverage splashed across concrete floors as optics grazed over that familiar figure. 

A wave of relief washed over — one utterly foreign, one that healed all the nausea regarding potential outcomes following his disappearance.

Without a care did legs break into a sprint — without warning does she pounce towards him.



"My anoconda don’t want none unless you go buns hun ~

                                                                 Silently judges —

fightyoursorrow whispered: ethylamine.
ETHYLAMINE -- What sound do you love?



kemuru whispered: sarin.
SARIN -- What annoys you the most?

"Obvious ignorance. In terms of…—purposely avoiding a question by remaining silent about it. ‘Hey, why don’t we do this’ or ‘we should plan this’ — not even a simple yes or a no; just silence and the forced change of subject.”


"It’s laughable in terms of how they claim the other as being that stupid not to notice. Gosh, it pisses me off…”