verisimilitude
98. boink ( nobody knows – hero's come back )
She talks too much, constantly nattering about things that have no meaning. She whines and wails and moans and complains, with a smile that doesn't quite fit her face.
She's violent and aggressive and decides to chase chequered floorboards that have run black because of so much blood. She screams and roars and claws, her nails raking into her skin, waiting for red blood that should pour out of her body like a fountain of water, spilling the eternal contents of water until it turns stagnant.
She stamps and breaks and she tears and destroys; making a racket and leaves destruction in her realm, shattering glass and leaving portraits asunder, wrath from the heavens.
She's testing her limits.
Until she runs into Demyx, drifting about in his pacifying melody, the rhythm flowing through his nonexistent blood, stuck in his head. He grabs her, an easygoing smile on his face, beleaguered puzzlement in his eyes, though still warm… and unnerved.
"Hey," he says, "when are you going to come back to earth?"
"What does that mean?" She snarls, wrenching her hand out of his grasp.
"Nothing. If you want. I'm just wondering when this…" and he gestured artlessly at her strops and anger management problems, "… is going to stop. You keep floating in la-la land of the crazies and you'll never go back."
"You go to la-la land, you dork." She snipes back, seething a little bit.
"Nuh-uh. Well…" He considers this. "… if I do, then at least it has tasteful music that I can appreciate."
"…" She is silent for a minute, before turning her head high. "Whatever."
"Hey, don't make me boink you!" He solemnly says, his mouth quirking just a little bit.
"And what—" Sapphire blue eyes narrow, and she turns back, marching up to him; he does not flinch, preferring to just stare with a dull but cheeky look, "—does that mean?"
"Well…" He leans in so his finger can lift her chin and his lips are so close they could be touching. "… that really depends on how you interpret it."
And for one second, Larxene thinks that he just might kiss her.
"What do you want it to mean?"
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59. hooked ( nightmare – the world )
It was amazing how quickly Demyx became hooked onto things. The latest fads, the newest songs, and sometimes he brought back previous addictions because he thought they were cool.
For days he would talk endlessly about it, far more important than mission, far more worthy of his presence. Why, sometimes, he stayed up all night listening to the song or playing with videogames, hell, once he broke a damn wall because he kept flinging it too many times.
The worst part was that he lost his fad, often leaving it behind where the members eventually became curious and decided to test it, see if it really was worth becoming addicted over. It was a truly fatal mistake. When he came back, after actually doing his mission, he was different.
By then he had become hooked onto something else. The man-boy-creature was fickle.
And the rest of the Organization had become hooked, much to their chagrin.
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85. flowers ( pearl kyoudai – hitori bocchi )
There's something vaguely romantic about Demyx singing while strumming his guitar as Larxene lies in a hammock, swaying left and right, her nose wrinkling as sunlight catches her button nose.
… it could almost be called domestic.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Demyx says, earning a laugh from the Savage Nymph, "this song I would like to dedicate to a very special lady… the one and only… Larxene!"
She claps, cooing and amused. An eyebrow rises. "Do you want me to hand you the flowers now or later for your stunning performance?"
"Ah, thank you, thank you very much."
"Can it. You're no Elvis Presley, you know."
… then again, domestic romance doesn't involve ruining Marluxia's garden as revenge for his earlier 'married couple' comment.
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75. hit the fan ( t.a.t.u – all the things she said )
He hates the way that she can make everyone melt their composure and hit the fan, reduced to nothing more than pieces of shit, with only a few words that escape her harlot mouth.
She loves the way he collapses before her very eyes, his wide innocent eyes crushed as she slowly develops pretty lies to spin over him. She watches in utter fascination in how he crumbles; his next reaction never predictable.
He can't understand why she's like a vulture to him; plucking out every little morsel until he's nothing but bones.
She thinks he's stupid, a fool, but somehow he's interesting as she dissembles him with his idiotic beliefs.
He destroys her as his hope replenishes, never fading; she devastates him as her words pierce that hollow thing called 'his heart'.
In different ways, they make each other's lives Hell.
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62. reborn ( doctor who – doomsday )
It came, suddenly out of the blue, like a dazed discovery, a realization that had always been there, but never seen.
So great was the epiphany, that Demyx stopped talking and Larxene glanced in his direction, slightly perturbed.
"I think I'm a virgin again!"
"Excuse me?"
"I used to have hundreds of scars, the fans in my previous life, what can I say, they were wild." She didn't like that grin on his face, and make an impromptu decision to wipe it off as soon as this curious subject was plucked apart. "So, yeah, I lost mine a long time ago. Anyways, when I wake up – my body is as clean and soft as a baby's bottom… and all those scars are gone."
"No!" She whispered in a conspiring tone. "They can't be."
"So, here's what I think. The darkness – and the Heartless – recreated our bodies. We have no scars—"
"What about Xigbar, and Saïx."
"Oh, they pissed each other off one day, you know how it is."
"Uh-huh…" She was willing to let it go, just this once.
"—and so, we are now virgins."
"Huh. Weird."
"So," He rubbed his hands and clapped her back. "Ya want to lose it again?"
What happened next was completely his fault.
The rest of the Organization knew. He was very, very loud.
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16. better me than you ( hollywood undead – circles )
She was glad she died first. It was a selfish and terrible thought to have, but it was true nonetheless.
If she hadn't… the emotional control that she reigned so easily and smoothly over herself would be gone, disintegrating as he was the only person who kept her sane, saw her as an equal. He feared her, he loved her. Not like God, but something close, something different.
Lightning would have crackled whenever she blinked, shot from her fingernails and fingertips whenever she twitched. Eventually, her body would have deprived her of sleep, and she would not be able to drink water any more.
Her body would have been in a constant state of pain, far worse than an absence of emotion.
No, she thought as the last blow struck her, hard and cold, it was better that she died first, than live long enough to see Demyx die.
She would not have been able to bear it.
Better me than you, Dem. Always.
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47. the sky burns ( hongo yui – my wish )
He doesn't like her eyes. They're like the sky when thunderstorms arrive, clouding her vision with a myriad of emotion; raw and sharp and bitter, burning from dusk to dawn in a menagerie of hate and spite.
He can see everything when he looks into her eyes. The sun, the moon, the earth, the sky… and it scares him. Her wishes keep him awake at night, because if he dreams he can deliver it with such perfect clarity that he doesn't want to do it.
When she's angry, the red flush that's spread over her cheeks is nothing like the sight of her eyes burning away fires that threaten to take away the sky from copper blood and rusted iron. He can taste the tangible metal in his mouth and it sickens him—
—he never remembers what happens after that, staring at her celestial eyes. People say he gets into a trance, but he doesn't believe them.
He wants to touch her, brush her shoulder or hold her hand.
But he doesn't.
He doesn't.
Because it feels like she'll fall apart into a thousand shards and the sun will never shine again, burning his back with ochre ire.
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32. a normal day? ( minori chihara – select? )
"Honey, I'm home!" Demyx called, walking through the doors, immediately embraced by his loving wife.
"I'm so glad! How was work today?" Larxene asked, her mouth pressed together in a hopeful look, and tucked under his chin.
"Oh, you know. Hard. All for the greater good. You know how it is." He replied, looking at her before kissing her heavily. "Now, where are the kids?"
"Anthony! Antonia! Charles! Charlotte! George! Georgina! And the rest of you unisex named children, be it alphabetical or whatever – daddy's home!" Larxene called, snapping her fingers and bursting the fuse.
"Daddy!" The room suddenly became a lot more crowded, a mass of hands reaching their parents in any attempt to touch them. It appeared that his wife's constant caging of them had not changed their affection for her in the slightest.
"I killed a man today!" One said, showing Larxene's teeth.
"Aw, that's wonderful, William. First animals, then man, then worlds. You'll be a fine Nobody." He said fondly, ruffling the pointy teeth child's head.
"Daddy, I drew a picture!" Another chimed in, cheeks brightening and raising it in the air. "It's of you destroying another world!"
"Thanks, Williamina." He grinned and waved it proudly in the air. "I'm gonna stick this on the window!"
—
"You think?" Axel asked, putting in a hundred munny.
"Those two? Nah." Xigbar added four hundred and fifty in the deposit.
"Oh, I don't know. Love is in the air." Luxord sighed wistfully, collecting the munny. "When those two eventually get together, you will be regretting that bet you took against me. Still, more munny for me, so I mustn't complain…"
—
"Dammit!"
"… they better not have that many children…"
"Wouldn't it be more plausible if Demyx was the wife?"
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9. twelve ( miyamura yuuko – it's only the fairy tale )
What begins must also end. It's a universal rule: the twisted fairytale, the broken silence.
It starts within corridors filled with darkness in searing kisses and electrifying touches. It starts with fantasies that spread out like fairy's wings. It starts with silence and ends in noise, two loud breaths with a heart that threatens to beat between them. It's a pattern of flesh and blood and whispers and murmurs and teases and touches and the list could go on forever.
They dream of freedom, a place where they are allowed to love, where they are allowed to believe what they want, without a cage to bind them in this controlled state.
Flutterbies in the sky and jabberwockies at their fingertips, wonderful and fearful creations born from their mind come alive in the whisper of the night, for their mind, unrefined and beautifully tragic, cannot be tamed, and spells of enchantment glimmer in the sparkle of their eyes.
But when the clock chimes twelve… all those magical glimpses in wings and doves and apples and swirls and crackles and whips and snarls and laughter and bubbles… it ends.
For that is the fate of all things, living or nonexistent.
And they live, in patterns of air, mingling, but unseen.
Nothing really ends, after all. It merely seems that way.
a/n. I really enjoyed writing it – each and every one of them. Hope you enjoyed reading.
