[Gallagher]

Uh huh. I'm so sure.

[Cecily Hopnotch]

Hey, at least I'm not out... doing silly things, or something. I'm just being lazy at my computer...
Speaking of being out, it's so sunny today... haven't had that in weeks. Might go for a walk with my puppy before I have to leave... //rambling

[Twigg]

Let's see. How can I put this eloquently....

GALLAFACE U SO GOOD. D: <3

[Gallagher]

Dudebro, idk wtf you talkin' about.

[Twigg]

I said.
You so good.
At writing.

PAY ATTENTION GALLAFACE. D: <3
jk ily.

[Gallagher]

Nah, bro. You got yourself mixed up or sumfin'.

[Gallagher]

Cold-shoulder

Fear twists in his chest as he stares ahead, a figure talking down to him with a sneer. He looks not to their face; no, he is on his knees, as he deserves to be. He trembles, fueling the other on, but he can't control himself. Louder. Always louder.

All it takes is one hit, the crack of flesh against flesh, and his eyes fall to the floor. He is still. They are still. It drips to the floor, parting their silence. He is still. He doesn't need to look up.

"Don't."

He is ignored.

One Message

Her voice always calls to me, telling me what I need to hear. Sometimes, I wonder, does she see what it means? I never change. Nothing ever changes. We're on a decline, and she keeps fighting. When night comes, that sound is the only one I hear. Hello. Are you feeling better? I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Please, don't talk to me that way. I'm sorry. I don't mean to do this. Don't leave. Don't leave me.

All unspoken. Hours pass. She's still there. I give so little, yet she always offers much. Dawn comes. I don't know why I am awake. I didn't say goodbye. I let her sleep. But I want to hear it again.

Hello.

I'm sorry.

[Gallagher]

There Are Many Things I'll Talk About, But This Isn't One Of Them

There are days when I doubt myself. Oh yes, I know how I seem. I know what people say, when they point and whisper like children. I may play it off most of the time, but you still feel it. And oh, those days where I slip, even when it surprises you, you knew it was there all along, waiting. I knew it, too. Do you believe that?

I fear I'm growing bitter. I find myself wondering if there's such a thing as love, only to realize nothing else explains how I feel. And yet... There are those days. Those days when it threatens to overwhelm me, and I wonder... How can this be real? When we live in a world of finite resources, how can I suffer from something so vast, so endless, so eternal?

Perhaps it isn't what I think it is. Perhaps this life I lead has left more scars than I've been aware of. Perhaps... you've already seen them, and I've been the blind one.

It seems, in my quest to know the world, I've forgotten myself. Ironic, isn't it? All I seek are chances to help others, and to continue refining my talents. If I had known such a simple dream could bring such misery!

... No, I don't suppose that's fair. I wish I had known I could grow distant from something I always enjoyed. I can only pray that, should I be lucky enough to find my passion once more, I'll be strong enough to bear it.

[Gallagher]

TODAY, my dear writing friends, we are going to pull up old things from years ago. About 6 years, to be specific.

Why?

Because we can.

Heaven

From the deep sea of despair,
My soul is born into a cruel world.
They scream and try to break through the water,
And I reach out to them, my heart becoming unfurled.

I grab hold of them, and pull them out,
Finding my baby cold and barely alive..
I embrace them, never wanting to let go..
For I know, I need them to survive..

The rhythem of that small heart begins to slow,
And I feel the darkness lean in for its final kiss.
My universe dissapears so swiftly,
As we are taken to our bliss.

Wings

This feeling I get when we touch,
The shivers that I have learned to embrace..
I am the one that you clutch,
Though your hands don't leave a single trace..

My angel, my flame, my love..
Your wings become my own, and we fly away.
And we rise to the breaking point and above..
As glass falls down and shatters, we still play.

My darling, my lock, my one..
Never let these wings fail, never let this dream fade..
I'll hold you until my life and soul come undone..
As long as you hold me, I'll never be afraid..

Take me away, take me by your side.
Let us be together, like we are now.
Our passion, our flames, will never subside.
I'll love you, my angel.. This I vow..

Untitled #1

I`m an angel about to fall,
Leaning closer and closer to the edge.
Please, pull me from this brawl
That brings me nearer to my ledge.
Don`t hurt me, don`t push me
Not when I`m here on the line.
My love, won`t you hear my plea?
Don`t you remember that you were once mine?
Let`s go back to those days
When we were in love.
Our hearts were one maze
And our voices one dove.
Yet falling and screaming now,
I only see your smile.
If only I had known how
Things had turned so vile.

Untitled#2

If I had a thousand years
To tell you how i feel,
I could never find the words
To make my dreams be real.

If I said to you those words,
What would you say to me?
If I held you in my arms,
What would come to be?

As I gather strength this night
To share my heart with you,
I wonder if you'll finally
Make my dreams come true.

Untitled #3

If I had one tear to shed,
It would be for you.
If I had a single breath,
I'd call out your name.
If I could share my soul,
You'd always see something new.
If you were mine and I were yours,
Then I would take the blame.

Hold me now, my dearest one,
Say those words to me.
Show me what I've wanted most,
Show me what I need.
Never let me out your sight,
Never leave me be.
Lie me down and make me yours,
And I will let you lead.

[Gallagher]

I have more goodies from my favorite boo, Kier. This is a snippet from younger days, when we walked five miles to school every day in the rain and snow.

Just Like Football

Standing just outside of the unfamiliar door, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous twist in his stomach. After a moment, he finally reached out, knocking his knuckles against the wood. The door swung open instantly.

“Look what we have here,” the tall boy exclaimed, a wide grin plastered on his face. “I’m just chuffed to bits to see you here, you little minger.” He stepped aside, casting an arm out and gesturing toward the middle of the room. Kier gave him a questioning look, but headed past him and into the room, his attention soon shifting as he considered the messy but otherwise dull state of the place. He didn’t notice when the other closed and locked the door behind him. “Listen close now, hm?” Slowly turning to gaze up at the young man, Kier raised his brows slightly, as if to tell him to go on. “Good. Before we can really get started, there are a few rules we have to go over.”

“Rules-? Just what kind of rules?”

“Oh, you know. Just the kind to make sure we don’t have any, well, misunderstandings, aye? We want this whole—” His eyes narrowed, his already large grin widening by another fraction. “—Mentor-pupil thing to go smoothly, don’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” the younger agreed, throwing in an enthusiastic nod.

“Then belt up and pay close attention. We’ll start simple. You, call me Nev. Never Neville, and never ever Laban.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Get it sorted yet in there?” Neville called from the bedroom.

Kier could hear his steps as he approached the bathroom and the light creak of the doorframe as he leaned against it. From his place on his hands and knees, scrubbing one of the sides of the tub, he grunted softly in acknowledgement. “Just a little longer-“

“Hurry it up. You’ve taken too bloody long as it is.”

His mismatched eyes fell to his own gloved hands, a small lock of his tied hair falling into his face. “Sorry, Nev- Just trying to do a good job.” Glancing back at the older boy, he offered a small smile, and then turned his attention back to the tub. Reaching over, he turned on the water, rinsing out the sponge he’d been using. When satisfied, he went to washing off the remaining suds from the bath.

“Just like always,” Nev commented, sneering despite his pleasant tone. Unable to see his expression, Kier’s own smile warmed slightly at the sound. It wasn’t long before the smaller boy stood again. The brunette looked over his work with little actual care, making a show of letting out a long, low whistle. “Not bad, but I’ll bet you’ll manage better next time, aye?”

His brows twitched together for a second, but Kier nodded anyway, tugging off one of the gloves as he headed toward the sink. “Of course. I’ll get it perfect one of these days, just you wait.” He started to remove his other glove as well, only to be stopped by the sound of a clearing throat.

“You know better than that,” the large young man said simply, his tone just as pleasant, albeit more commanding.

“Right- Yes, sorry-” Making sure to use his gloved hand, he turned on and adjusted the water, then retrieved a squirt of liquid soap from its container and into his uncovered palm. Only then did he awkwardly move to remove the other. Neville watched the entire time as the boy washed his hands, then dried them on his pants instead of the towel easily within his reach. When he went to turn off the water again, however, Nev cleared his throat once again, making him stop. “Ah- S-sorry, I remember-” Kier fished through his pockets, pulling out and on his usual cloth gloves before reaching out to turn off the stream. He tossed the rubber pair away into the trash bin.

“There’s a good minger. You’re getting better already.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“You’re moving in with me.”

“You’re kidding.” Nev merely arched a brow at the boy’s disbelief, but the gesture was enough. “You’re not kidding.” Unamused eyes narrowed. Kier couldn’t stand that look. He turned his own gaze down to the glass in his hands. He suddenly wasn’t quite in the mood for soda. “Sorry,” he mumbled quietly.

“I didn’t catch that.” Flat. Succinct. It was as simple as possible yet more than enough.

He cleared his throat, his voice becoming more nervous but louder nonetheless. “I’m sorry, Nev. I would be happy to.” He paused, and then asked suddenly, “Why do you want me to-?”

“Do I need a reason, minger?” For the first time in their brief conversation, Neville looked up from his tea and the less than family friendly magazine he’d been enjoying.

“N-no-” Kier replied quickly, “of course you don’t- I-it’s just- I know that you have one. You always do, and always a good one at that. I’d just like to know what it is this time.”

A vague token of approval made the boy’s shoulders relax. “I’m tired of waiting for you every morning. You stay here to start with, it’s not an issue. Easy enough for you, aye?”

“Yes, Nev. Thank you.”

[Gallagher]

Say it with me now.

Writing other things does not get what I need to write done.
Writing other things does not get what I need to write done.
Writing other things does not get what I need to write done.

Better

There’s so much to do…

I’ve thought about it, every now and then. That is to say, the thought crossed my mind, before I brushed it away.

It’s almost the same thing, really. Just… not quite.

It’s a frightening thought. I know I’m not like others. It’s an understatement, really.

Preston.

I wonder when he’ll be back. It’s been a while… No, I suppose it hasn’t. I miss him. But it hasn’t been too long. It’s alright. There’s no need to worry.

I wonder what we’ll be doing tonight? I should come up with some ideas. It would be a nice surprise.

What was I doing?

I did it again.

Oh, right.

The thought has crossed my mind before. I don’t know how many times. I don’t know why I ignore it. It seems like it would be important.

I think I’m afraid.

Huh… What a strange shiver…

What if I’m crazy?

No, I don’t think I am… Wait, they never think they are, do they? I wouldn’t hurt anyone, at least. Not myself, either.

Liar.

Well… Not anymore, I think. Why would I? Everything’s fine now. Everything’s perfect.

Except me.

But that’s alright. I don’t need to be. No one does. No one can be.

Do I want to be?

It wouldn’t make me happy. I know that. ‘Perfect’ isn’t me. It was never supposed to be. And I like me. I want to be me. I just want to be… better.

My head hurts. Maybe I should take it easy on the reading for a while.

Better.

Yeah… I think I’ll do that.

What does ‘better’ mean? A better person? A better man? A better me? Is it all the same?

What’s wrong with me in the first place?

[Gallagher]

We are very good at not finishing what we should be.

We are not proud of this fact.

We have something from a different character this time! Not only that, but also involving characters that aren't my own.

This fella has a... let's say limited emotional range. And a fondness for forcing his version of justice on people.

Something About Him

There was always something about that boy.

He went through the items in his bag, one by one, making sure that everything was there and in place. His tools were always the same, no matter what the occasion, but he knew they would be put to different use. As tedious as it was, reorganizing before he arrived would make everything smoother.

Logically, there shouldn’t have been. There were plenty like him in the school alone. There was nothing special about him. Nothing that made him stand out at all.

He grasped a small mirror by its edges, his hold firm enough for him to feel it biting into his skin, but careful enough to make sure that no blood was drawn. He tilted it just so, checking for imperfections on its smooth surface. The reflection of the boy, sitting on his bed just behind him, made his movements stop for the briefest of moments.

His talents were few and unrefined. His demeanor left something to desire, to say the least.

Dean looked away when he saw that he’d been caught watching, his attention falling to the cold bugne in his hands. More were in a box on his desk, treats sent from home, an apology from the family that quite obviously had no intention of paying a visit on the one day they were allowed to.

The fact that they were brothers was trivial.

He shifted the mirror just slightly, a subtle movement that allowed him to glance at the other bed. The heavy boy upon it was scowling to himself, a rather hefty bruise visible on his arm as he flipped through a magazine. Malcolm tucked the mirror away. “Comment vas-tu?1” he asked suddenly, neither of the others in the room questioning who it was directed to.

Clayton looked up from his magazine to eye the small boy, who didn’t fail to take notice. This conversation wasn’t for Clay’s ears, and they both knew it. Dean swallowed audibly, swinging a foot just off the edge of the bed. He seemed to have more trouble finding the words than his brother did, though it may simply have been because of his nervous nature making things more difficult. “Co-comme ci, comme ça.2”

No, there had always been something else that fascinated Malcolm and made him feel for the boy where even blood bonds could not.

When the eldest offered only a grunt of a reply, Dean fidgeted in place, an unasked question clearly on his mind. “Qu’est-ce que c’est, Sprog?3”

“Tu vas où?4” the boy asked suddenly, only looking at his brother for a second before he averted his gaze.

Perhaps it was the sense of innocence he managed to maintain, despite the sorts of people that were usually around him.

Malcolm shook his head as he closed his bag, casually slinging it onto his shoulder. “T'inquiète pas. Je serais de retour.5” He turned, taking the few short steps to stand just beside Dean. As he set a hand lightly on his shoulder, the boy only looked up as far as the man’s chest. “Quelle heure est-il?6”

Or, perhaps it was the natural kindness he held, something which Malcolm, more often than not, could only pretend to have.

“Heure?” Dean repeated, thrown off by the abrupt redirection. He frowned, looking for the nearest clock, until he remembered the watch on his wrist. “Right. Quarter of seven.”

It was something he didn’t want to lose, even if it wasn’t his to begin with.

“Good.” He leaned down and, without warning, placed a kiss on the boy’s head. Despite being the closest person there was to Malcolm, Dean was visibly surprised by the tender gesture. Though he heard a less than pleased scoff from behind him, the man’s attention remained on his brother, who by now was positively beaming. It brought a small smile to his own lips.

Perhaps that was why he went out of his way to protect it, even when Dean didn’t even know something was amiss.

“I’ll be back soon,” Malcolm assured again, heading out the door. No sooner had he shut it that he heard Clayton’s voice, muffled behind the wood and apparently none too happy. Either way, a quick kick back against the door managed to shut up the young man inside.

It was a job he’d grown to love.

Bonus: translation

1. How are you?
2. So-so.
3. What is it?
4. Where are you going?
5. Don't worry. I'll be right back.
6. What time is it?

[Gallagher]

One day, we shall finish writing what we should, and there will be no more starving or homeless, and rainbows will cross the sky on an hourly basis as the heavens smile down on humanity.

... For now, though, another character piece. This time, with a little dose of self-harm.

One Day, Life Will Go My Way

It was already afternoon. It wasn't as if Gabriel was in any sort of rush. In fact, he'd already spent far too much time chatting with the man in front of him. He was the owner of one of the two stables this particular town had, and the only one that happened to lie next to an inn. All the same, time was ticking away, and though he'd only just arrived in this relatively quiet place, he had work to do. Out in front of the building, his horse and small covered cart just behind him, the two had been attempting to sort a deal. Simply, he had money, and he needed to make sure there would be room for not only him and his animal companion, but for his belongings as well.

The trouble with this man was, he, like many others in this world, was greedy, and Gabriel had been hoping to keep enough to spare for himself. Unfortunately, it didn't seem things would be working out that way. With a bright smile, he removed several coins from the purse at his belt and handed them over to the man, who offered a grunt and a nod before heading back inside. Gabe watched the door for a moment, then sighed, turning his attention to the mare. "Well. Maybe tomorrow."

With at least one thing taken care of, and his purse significantly lighter, the dark haired man led his horse not into the stable, but farther into town. His new goal? To find a suitable spot to, hopefully, earn a little more before the day's end. If his only worry was getting by, he certainly wouldn't have bothered. Sadly, these days he had more on his mind. There were far too many things that needed taking care of, and not nearly enough work as of late. Hell, the last village had little more than some scraped knees and a case of the sniffles. A lot of good that did.

The pair eventually came to a stop. As he patted the horse's nose, he took a chance to get his bearings. This area seemed to be his best bet, and he soon figured out why. Not only were there several shops — granted not enough to really call it a market — but a seemingly lively tavern just down the road. Lovely. If all went well, he already knew the first place he'd be going. He grinned brightly to his horse, giving her one last pat. "Let's put on a good show then, shall we?"

Gabe put on his best smile, setting aside his worries and frustrations as he hopped up onto the small plank of wood that served as the driver's seat of his cart. Familiar words left his lips as he called out to those passing by. The same enthusiasm, the same promises, the same confidence as he always held, his every movement fluid and punctuating just the right points. Bright eyes watched the passing faces. A few seemed interested, though only a couple enough so to actually stop, and the rest couldn't have cared less. Not that he blamed him. Even he knew how he seemed, just another case of snake oil. What he needed was a good demonstration, and that was just what he gave them, courtesy of the knife at his belt.

Slowly rolling one sleeve up, his knife held delicately in the very same hand, Gabe beamed down at the small gathering group. Of course it took such measures to get the attention he needed. Of course most of them would wander off when the thrill was over, shaking their heads and brushing it off as some sort of trick. Of course the ones that would stay would be the young and innocent, with either nothing for him to work with or being so much so that he wouldn't have the heart to ask for what few coins they may have. But what other options were there?

"Now," he called, smoothing the rolled fabric at his elbow, "I won't ask that you don't try this yourselves-" Holding his arm out straight, he drew the blade against his skin and down towards the ground. "-But I would suggest keeping it for when I'm around." Without so much as looking at the newly created wound, his smile never quite faded as he flipped the knife back around, keeping it in his hand while freeing a couple fingers. He ran them down the bleeding cut slowly, the bright fluid smearing and dripping down onto the ground.

Just as smoothly as he had performed the display, he retrieved a cloth tucked at his belt and wiped the mess away. No sooner had the skin been revealed unblemished that a mix of mutters and whispers greeted him. "So then. Who's interested in an end to their suffering?"

For a long moment, it seemed as though his question would go unanswered, despite the lengths he went to. He arched a single dark brow as he watched a portion of the already small group. Lovely, this town looked to be as bad as the last. The first to step forward was an older couple, the woman looking far too pale and delicate as she held her husband's arm. Tucking his things back away to his belt, Gabe hopped gracefully down from his impromptu stage, offering a softer smile to them.

"She's been ill for days, but nothing's helped."

"Ah." He nodded, looking the woman over. "Pretty little thing like this? Let's see what I can do, shall we?" He gestured toward the back of the cart, moving to tug its cover off part of the way.

"We don't have much."

He shook his head without hesitation and waved the man off. "First customer of the day. I don't need a thing. Come now, let's get her feeling better."

[Gallagher]

This fell out of my brain earlier.

I'm not giving it a title.

I don't know what it is that wakes me, the night cold, thunder calming. I don't know if I was asleep in the first place. I remember watching the ceiling, and the shadows that curled there. I remember reaching out in the tangle of my sheets, fumbling for some sort of comfort. Without seeing, I filled the near silence of it all with songs long since memorized.

But I find they only bring tears to my eyes. I tremble, those shadows curling and joining in the corners of my eyes. I'm afraid to blink, I yank on my clothes, and fall into a cold, familiar seat.

I don't know what to do. No one is here, but I have to speak. I try, and I can't find words. I stop between lines, trembling, illuminated by my only escape in these hours.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Does anyone see me here? It's getting colder.

[Gallagher]

I have interesting nightmares.

Tricks

The house was full, packed with odds and ends from the last hundred years at least. I knew my family was scattered within it, too, but I didn't have time to worry about them. The beasts were among us, watching our every move, prepared to do whatever it took to stop our escape. I remembered this. As impossible as it was, I remembered this, and I knew our enemy.

I only wish I could say that would have helped us.

We were scavanging the room for supplies. Not to survive. Not to fight. Getting out was the only thing that mattered. But there was nothing here, only distractions.

The door burst open, a wave of shadows flooded in, the forms of monsters blended together, impossible to tell one from another, let alone how many there were. We ran, myself and my friend through the opposite door, my brother through the side. When they went after him, we knew he was lost.

Bicycles stacked halfway to the ceiling filled the next room. It wasn't what we had in mind, but we were out of time. Each of us took what we could, what was in reach without being tangled in the limbs of its bretheren, or on the edge of decay. We could only leave the way we'd come, and hope the shadows were still busy feeding.

Past door after door after door, not daring to follow any screams, acknowledge any eyes, give heed to any movement. Outside, what remained of those we loved waited patiently. Few had found their escape like we had, but it was more than we could have possibly hoped for.

There was hardly time to take count before we heard him. To say it was a laugh that made the ground tremble and that old house shake on its foundations would have been almost believable. It was certainly the closest any beast could come.

The Rabbit was here.

The Rabbit was free.

The Rabbit was tired of playing.

We took to the streets and rode. I led them all, knowing what none of us should have, knowing the only place we might be safe.

I never heard any screams, any crashes, any cries. There was only the thump, thump, thump, closer and closer, and the chatter of insects, chasing their queen, absorbing everything they touched into their numbers.

There, up ahead, a street lamp. That was it. I turned the wheel and skid, the asphalt giving way to mud, the clouds to endless blue, the noise to silence. I stopped, I turned, I met the eyes of The Rabbit, its eyes as bright as its children were black, long ears set back against its massive body, its form almost like any other hare.

We stood in silence.

They were gone. Everyone I knew. All that had hunted them.

We were alone, The Rabbit and I.

I never wondered, "Why me?" I didn't have to ask, "What now?"

I already knew, among those impossible things I never should have. I already knew.

All proper warrens have their chief, after all.

[Gallagher]

No comments.

cold fingers, hot blood
sweat
dust and dark, suffocating
a melody
screaming
it's not enough

There's comfort in it, a twist of the fingers, metal on metal, scratching, creaking, broken. Clean skin ruining itself, smooth against dents and ridges, rust flaking off in pieces. It clings like glitter, something insignificant, beloved in childhood and a mere annoyance as age wears. It's just the opposite. A mark of life, of strength, of sanity itself, falling apart so slowly, so painfully. There's comfort in it, helping the process along. Wearing away to the very bone.

A terrible thing in finding love is those moments when you realize how alone you are without them.

You should know better by now.

Suffering alone is so melodramatic.