[Not a human. Not with intent. Not with an arm pouring red into a stain blossoming across his body, filthy—
[It’s sick. She wanted this. He taunts. It’s excruciating. Aubrey doesn’t move—can’t move, his hand strong enough to stall one that can do nothing but hold on, and linger. It shakes violently. It doesn’t stop.
[And it needs to stop, because she refused to hurt Eren the way he wanted. And it needs to stop, because she’d sooner die than gut Sunny. And it needs to stop, because she doesn’t want to think thThere’s a hand around her neck, and he could end her so easily, and she’d allow it tenfold if only it meant he wouldn’t die—
[Aubrey can’t rip the knife back, but she can grab at the threat to choke—a reckless move that throws her sidelong into the dirt beside him, better elbow folded over her own neck. Bright. But her right hand finds his wrist and clamps, nails digging into thin skin, just to keep him back.
[It’s claustrophobic. Untenable. You might have to; she kicks his leg. Might let go if the force rolls him back. There’s his answer; it’s not one at all.]
[Pain in the Metaverse is temporary. All wounds heal upon exiting the cognitive world, skills and simple meals able to cure the unthinkable.
Pain in reality isn't temporary. Isn't easily cured. He holds it close. Craves it, now that it's pressed into his gut and a girl was fully dragged into the rot with him.
He doesn't relent - she fights, he holds tight. The turn jostles his body - stomach churning, fire rising through his chest, the whole front of his shirt darkening with a red, spreading without mercy.
It's so goddamn funny that he laughs.
She's strong - his arm ripped back from her neck, unable to strangle any air out of her. It stays, featherlight against her skin, ready to strike when she makes a mistake. The kick will leave a bruise and-
He's alive.
Completely alive.
Joy as hard to grasp as the edges of red soaking through fabric. He tries anyway.]
I hate you.
[Slow, soft - he kicks her back. Right at the knee, harder and with intent.]
So fight like you want to live.
[It's the truth. It's a lie. If he wanted her dead, Loki could slice through her body with a single, instant strike.]
Or do you really think your shitty little stab will stop someone like me?
[“I hate you,” and it’s not (just) the kick in the knee that makes her flinch. On the heel of a laugh—it’s familiar, isn’t it? Or—no, that’s not what he said—
[—and he could kill her if he wanted to, and he could have said “yes” and she would have left then and there—
[He didn’t. Doesn’t.
[It’s hard to think, hard to breathe. Sometimes Aubrey doesn’t want to think. Words—words make it hard, and when she moves it doesn’t matter, and what keeps her moving is
[He’s been slashed. Stabbed. Kicked while he’s down. Akechi is her friend and Akechi doesn’t falter and the first time she heard Akechi laugh, really laugh, he was a knight, and she won’t ever forget that; and he may say Aubrey is nobody but he’ll take her hand in the moonlight, guide her to a hallowed ground, and she’ll follow his dance so Akechi is safe
and alive
and what use is breaking reality if he can’t be part of it
[And Aubrey doesn’t want to fight him anymore. Not like this.]
[In an observable reality, it takes seconds. Breaths. Aubrey’s expression has been wound tight in pain; it falters as his words seep in, twisting through muscle and bone and heart. It affects her. She gives up, and—
And it's a warning - the fire in his gut from a blade torn out of his body through clenched teeth cut on rot. He isn't weak, but he's hurt and it's not the Metaverse. A stab is a stab. Organ and intestines punctured. Dizzying. Adrenaline keeps him going. Everything keeps him going. The thrill of battle keeps him going.
The battle isn't over. It starts anew in a manner he isn't expecting. She pulls him
close.
And he hates it.
A gesture mimicking care - a blade about to be dug into his back. It would be funny. So funny. She squeezes him tight and he pushes against her - arms, legs, body entirely. To push over, to shove, to tear at her skin because trapping him is a goddamn mistake if she didn't plan to end it.
It doesn't end.
It doesn't end.
It never ends.
He wants it to end.
It can't ever end.
He'll never let it end.
And she won't either.
It spreads through his gut - warmth that mimics comfort. A mockery of mercy. He can't stand her - says as much with every vile word that falls from his mouth, hand gripping neck, scraping at her face, to do anything to escape.
It's worse than a blade and so -
He responds in kind because she doesn't move. Doesn't stop. A wound healing under her touch, no matter how much he tears at her. Strength rivaling his - years of suffering, unshakeable will, a resolve steadfast.
She attacks and he responds.]
can u believe this happened bc her naptime was interrupted
And Loki churns in his gut, Robin Hood forced to the side. Forced away. Forced back despite the care shown pulling, tugging, ushering it out and-
Loki burns - bright, brilliant and with a force that shoves back against the sickening warmth of a heal. It doesn't keep it from sealing flesh against his torso. ]
You're dumber than I thought. What an achievement.
[There's a warning in the blue flames that wrap around his body - less so, in its shift to a red tower spiraling up to the sky as Loki is summoned with a bitter, resounding 'Manifest, Loki!' that falls from his lips. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw blood violence fuckery etc look if you read this far you know what you’re getting
[She’s never stabbed anyone before.
[Not a human. Not with intent. Not with an arm pouring red into a stain blossoming across his body, filthy—
[It’s sick. She wanted this. He taunts. It’s excruciating. Aubrey doesn’t move—can’t move, his hand strong enough to stall one that can do nothing but hold on, and linger. It shakes violently. It doesn’t stop.
[And it needs to stop, because she refused to hurt Eren the way he wanted. And it needs to stop, because she’d sooner die than gut Sunny. And it needs to stop, because she doesn’t want to think thThere’s a hand around her neck, and he could end her so easily, and she’d allow it tenfold if only it meant he wouldn’t die—
[But he would.
[So she can’t.
[Aubrey can’t rip the knife back, but she can grab at the threat to choke—a reckless move that throws her sidelong into the dirt beside him, better elbow folded over her own neck. Bright. But her right hand finds his wrist and clamps, nails digging into thin skin, just to keep him back.
[It’s claustrophobic. Untenable. You might have to; she kicks his leg. Might let go if the force rolls him back. There’s his answer; it’s not one at all.]
CW: ALL CONT
Pain in reality isn't temporary. Isn't easily cured. He holds it close. Craves it, now that it's pressed into his gut and a girl was fully dragged into the rot with him.
He doesn't relent - she fights, he holds tight. The turn jostles his body - stomach churning, fire rising through his chest, the whole front of his shirt darkening with a red, spreading without mercy.
It's so goddamn funny that he laughs.
She's strong - his arm ripped back from her neck, unable to strangle any air out of her. It stays, featherlight against her skin, ready to strike when she makes a mistake. The kick will leave a bruise and-
He's alive.
I hate you.
[Slow, soft - he kicks her back. Right at the knee, harder and with intent.]
So fight like you want to live.
[It's the truth. It's a lie. If he wanted her dead, Loki could slice through her body with a single, instant strike.]
Or do you really think your shitty little stab will stop someone like me?
1/4
[“I hate you,” and it’s not (just) the kick in the knee that makes her flinch. On the heel of a laugh—it’s familiar, isn’t it? Or—no, that’s not what he said—
[—and he could kill her if he wanted to, and he could have said “yes” and she would have left then and there—
[He didn’t. Doesn’t.
[It’s hard to think, hard to breathe. Sometimes Aubrey doesn’t want to think. Words—words make it hard, and when she moves it doesn’t matter, and what keeps her moving is
2/4
…“someone like me”
[And she doesn’t want to kill him.]
3/4
[He’s been slashed. Stabbed. Kicked while he’s down. Akechi is her friend and Akechi doesn’t falter and the first time she heard Akechi laugh, really laugh, he was a knight, and she won’t ever forget that; and he may say Aubrey is nobody but he’ll take her hand in the moonlight, guide her to a hallowed ground, and she’ll follow his dance so Akechi is safe
and alive
and what use is breaking reality if he can’t be part of it
[And Aubrey doesn’t want to fight him anymore. Not like this.]
[In an observable reality, it takes seconds. Breaths. Aubrey’s expression has been wound tight in pain; it falters as his words seep in, twisting through muscle and bone and heart. It affects her. She gives up, and—
4/4 :)
—grabs the knife, yanks it with abrupt force; whether it’s dislodged or not, her hand is there after and presses hard against the wound
[and the other arches over his back and pulls tight, trying to keep him still
[and she will stay in that embrace if it kills her, if he chokes her, because she wants to heal him. He’ll feel it, if it works.
[“Someone like me.” Whatever Akechi may be.
[Aubrey loves him.]
1/2 cw: BLOOD VIOLENCE ??? suicidal ideation (????????????) MAYBE
until he doesn't.
And it's a warning - the fire in his gut from a blade torn out of his body through clenched teeth cut on rot. He isn't weak, but he's hurt and it's not the Metaverse. A stab is a stab. Organ and intestines punctured. Dizzying. Adrenaline keeps him going. Everything keeps him going. The thrill of battle keeps him going.The battle isn't over. It starts anew in a manner he isn't expecting. She pulls him
close.
And he hates it.A gesture mimicking care - a blade about to be dug into his back. It would be funny. So funny. She squeezes him tight and he pushes against her - arms, legs, body entirely. To push over, to shove, to tear at her skin because trapping him is a goddamn mistake if she didn't plan to end it.
It doesn't end.
It never ends.
It can't ever end.
He'll never let it end.
It spreads through his gut - warmth that mimics comfort. A mockery of mercy. He can't stand her - says as much with every vile word that falls from his mouth, hand gripping neck, scraping at her face, to do anything to escape.
It's worse than a blade and so -
He responds in kind because she doesn't move. Doesn't stop. A wound healing under her touch, no matter how much he tears at her. Strength rivaling his - years of suffering, unshakeable will, a resolve steadfast.
She attacks and he responds.]
can u believe this happened bc her naptime was interrupted
It would be so easy to kill her.
And Loki churns in his gut, Robin Hood forced to the side. Forced away. Forced back despite the care shown pulling, tugging, ushering it out and-Loki burns - bright, brilliant and with a force that shoves back against the sickening warmth of a heal. It doesn't keep it from sealing flesh against his torso. ]
You're dumber than I thought. What an achievement.
[There's a warning in the blue flames that wrap around his body - less so, in its shift to a red tower spiraling up to the sky as Loki is summoned with a bitter, resounding 'Manifest, Loki!' that falls from his lips. ]
What the hell are you thinking?