Rather important little note: This fic is not a fic at all. It is a conglomeration of small drabbles, pieces of stories that do not belong in any fic. These were all challenges, where a phrase and the word count were given to me, and I wrote something in response to the challenge. I like some of them, so I'm posting them here, in this story thing. New drabbles go into new chapters. None of them go together. They're just here.
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Challenge #21
Phrase: "I don't think I could stand it if s/he told me the truth."
Word Count: 841
Rating: R
Title: Perfect Opposites
Author: Rydia Highwind
Disclaimer: Metal Gear Solid and Metal Gear Solid 2 and all characters refered to herein belong to Konami. I claim nothing, I'm simply borrowing.
Summary: Right before the final fist fight in MGS, Liquid reflects as Snake lay unconscious.
Warning: Yaoi. A bit of insanity. The usual Liquid warnings. XD
--
It's not just a simple awareness anymore when you twist things this far.
It's not even him that I ever cared about before, not until he reappeared from the void of oblivion and stole the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world. It seems so petty sometimes, even I can see that. To live day in and day out for this one simple purpose, to take each breath with anticipation for only one thing, one insignificant little word that doesn't even have a real meaning: revenge. I had such a hatred burning inside of my for the man who dared call himself my father, and then, when that murder, which was rightfully mine, was stolen from me, I suppose I simply transferred my hatred.
I have kept and eye on him for years now, though never a very close eye. I didn't want to alert him to my presence, after all. No, I let him live on in his delusions for quite sometime, keeping a quiet watch on that little Alaskan cabin near Twin Lakes. He didn't even know I existed until today, while every day of my life, I have longed to meet him. Such perfect opposites, the two of us. How long have I dreamed of this day when I could finally dish out the last bit of my revenge? He didn't know I existed, and I feel like I've known him my entire life.
(I know everything about you.)
It's an obsession, I admit it. It's not a passing interest, a low-key hatred broiling underneath the pure rage I held against my father. That's what it was before, a nagging, secondary hatred...until he stepped in and ruined everything. That's when I transferred my anger to him. You can't just abolish that sort of feeling, you see. It doesn't die, it simply burns quietly in the back of your mind until you can't ignore it any longer. I had to point it somewhere or else I would be the one consumed by the flames.
And all this has grown and twisted and warped until it is what it is today, a living thing consuming me just as much as that hatred would have if I had let it. This is no better, but at least this way, I can take him down with me. I hate him. I hate him so much I can taste the hatred on the air when he is near me. I can feel the texture of my loathing against my skin. It's hate so thick that I can't help but carry it with me. I'm drowning in this and I don't even care.
Someone once told me that the difference between love and hatred is too small to be defined. Now, kneeling here working loose the buckles and lacing holding the top of his sneaking suit in place, he long unconscious from the final explosion of REX, longing to see that chest displayed again as it had in the torture room a few hours ago, I think I finally understand what he meant. Hatred is so strong that it overcomes the entire soul, burning you away into nothing and leaving you without an identity, and love is so overwhelming that you sell your soul to it and become nothing more than a slave to the feeling. What is so very different about it?
(Tell me, brother, what is so very different between us?)
My fingers are trailing down the side of his face, a face so eerily similar to that which I see in the mirror. I hate him more than I hate anything else, and I love him. I've sold my soul to get this close to him. I've given up my identity to try and become him, given it up to sink my claws into /his/ soul. His shirt disappears and his chest is covered in contusions, as is mine. Fingertips are curiously gentle as they explore this new territory. I want to dig my fingernails into his cuts and rip him apart as much as I want to hold him close to me and listen to his heart.
His hair is curling over his bandana, tinted darker with sweat, and it brushes my shoulder as I carry him back up to the top of the ruined metal gear. Love and hate...it's the same, only expressed differently. I don't know how to express both at once. How do you give comfort and pain at once? Perhaps comfort and pain aren't so different as it seems, just as love and hatred are truly the same. Perhaps this is the only difference between us. Perhaps I'm hatred, I'm pain and suffering and insanity. And he's that love. We are not so very different, he and I. We just express ourselves in different ways. That's why he's the only one who can understand...
(Do you hate me, brother? Do you love me as much as I love you?)
I don't think I could stand it if he told me the truth.
--
Challenge #21
Phrase: "I don't think I could stand it if s/he told me the truth."
Word Count: 841
Rating: R
Title: Perfect Opposites
Author: Rydia Highwind
Disclaimer: Metal Gear Solid and Metal Gear Solid 2 and all characters refered to herein belong to Konami. I claim nothing, I'm simply borrowing.
Summary: Right before the final fist fight in MGS, Liquid reflects as Snake lay unconscious.
Warning: Yaoi. A bit of insanity. The usual Liquid warnings. XD
--
It's not just a simple awareness anymore when you twist things this far.
It's not even him that I ever cared about before, not until he reappeared from the void of oblivion and stole the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world. It seems so petty sometimes, even I can see that. To live day in and day out for this one simple purpose, to take each breath with anticipation for only one thing, one insignificant little word that doesn't even have a real meaning: revenge. I had such a hatred burning inside of my for the man who dared call himself my father, and then, when that murder, which was rightfully mine, was stolen from me, I suppose I simply transferred my hatred.
I have kept and eye on him for years now, though never a very close eye. I didn't want to alert him to my presence, after all. No, I let him live on in his delusions for quite sometime, keeping a quiet watch on that little Alaskan cabin near Twin Lakes. He didn't even know I existed until today, while every day of my life, I have longed to meet him. Such perfect opposites, the two of us. How long have I dreamed of this day when I could finally dish out the last bit of my revenge? He didn't know I existed, and I feel like I've known him my entire life.
(I know everything about you.)
It's an obsession, I admit it. It's not a passing interest, a low-key hatred broiling underneath the pure rage I held against my father. That's what it was before, a nagging, secondary hatred...until he stepped in and ruined everything. That's when I transferred my anger to him. You can't just abolish that sort of feeling, you see. It doesn't die, it simply burns quietly in the back of your mind until you can't ignore it any longer. I had to point it somewhere or else I would be the one consumed by the flames.
And all this has grown and twisted and warped until it is what it is today, a living thing consuming me just as much as that hatred would have if I had let it. This is no better, but at least this way, I can take him down with me. I hate him. I hate him so much I can taste the hatred on the air when he is near me. I can feel the texture of my loathing against my skin. It's hate so thick that I can't help but carry it with me. I'm drowning in this and I don't even care.
Someone once told me that the difference between love and hatred is too small to be defined. Now, kneeling here working loose the buckles and lacing holding the top of his sneaking suit in place, he long unconscious from the final explosion of REX, longing to see that chest displayed again as it had in the torture room a few hours ago, I think I finally understand what he meant. Hatred is so strong that it overcomes the entire soul, burning you away into nothing and leaving you without an identity, and love is so overwhelming that you sell your soul to it and become nothing more than a slave to the feeling. What is so very different about it?
(Tell me, brother, what is so very different between us?)
My fingers are trailing down the side of his face, a face so eerily similar to that which I see in the mirror. I hate him more than I hate anything else, and I love him. I've sold my soul to get this close to him. I've given up my identity to try and become him, given it up to sink my claws into /his/ soul. His shirt disappears and his chest is covered in contusions, as is mine. Fingertips are curiously gentle as they explore this new territory. I want to dig my fingernails into his cuts and rip him apart as much as I want to hold him close to me and listen to his heart.
His hair is curling over his bandana, tinted darker with sweat, and it brushes my shoulder as I carry him back up to the top of the ruined metal gear. Love and hate...it's the same, only expressed differently. I don't know how to express both at once. How do you give comfort and pain at once? Perhaps comfort and pain aren't so different as it seems, just as love and hatred are truly the same. Perhaps this is the only difference between us. Perhaps I'm hatred, I'm pain and suffering and insanity. And he's that love. We are not so very different, he and I. We just express ourselves in different ways. That's why he's the only one who can understand...
(Do you hate me, brother? Do you love me as much as I love you?)
I don't think I could stand it if he told me the truth.