Let yourself scream! (Incubus)

[Andarial]

She was out that night. Unable to sleep yet again and angry at the world Andarial was melting the anger off with a run. This run wasn't just a simple trot at a steady pace. No, this was a full out angry gallop with growls thrown in every time her paws slammed into the ground. Her molten gold eyes glow beautifully in the night. Reaching the edge of the rocky precipice that ended the rocky mountains Andarial leaped, without fear, from the edge and landed on her feet in front of the rocks.

Then something white flashing across the white snow (how she noticed was more of a feeling than sight) caught Andee's attention and she was on it in a flash. A horrible screech came from the hare and Andarial pierced its tiny throat with her large canine. Letting out a powerful and eerie, victory scream herself the snow leopard decided on the fact that this time she would allow herself to eat as she was becoming far too skinny.

The fact that she was becoming thin was not necessarily something that made her look disgusting. It just made her more angular. She only looked angular maybe because she had been eating more because it was getting closer and closer to being Spring and so there was more and more prey appearing. So the Lashia pack was less less in danger.

Trotting to the Oasis she dropped her prey by the side and lapped the slushy water from the pool of ice and water. Her tongue froze and became numb and slowly she began to tuck into her kill.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

Cat and mouse, so simple a game, so often played, so innocent a concept, simple, straightforward, black and white; a chase, a game of catch, the children laugh as they play, yet even the most innocent of child’s games can be twisted, churned, and turned to sin, as even the most innocent child can grow one day into a murderer, a dictator, a criminal…or even a rapist. He smirks, oh yes, he once was innocent, perhaps, long before memory, long before his mother’s hatred, his sister’s blind prejudice, perhaps even before his father’s unclean lifestyle; yes, he was sure, somewhere back there, way, way back, where no memory could touch or would ever touch again, there was an innocent child who cried and wept and mewed at every sinful act which he now gave himself to. And oh, did he give himself over again and again, to the acts which elicited cry after cry from that once innocent soul, that soul which had been twisted and altered and turned to sin, to hate, to violence and bloodshed, to murder and rape and senseless crimes, all for his own raw enjoyment; oh yes, he gave himself quite readily to these twisted, harsh versions of once innocent child’s games, oh yes, he played. Cat and mouse, he, the big, bad cat, the rapist, sin and temptation and all things wrong, stalking, hunting, preying upon she, the mouse, that innocent little girl; oh yes, he would play today.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Blood, blood and gore and death, footsteps in the snow, thrashing, spreading marks, splatters of blood, a scene of death, a murder scene, to be chalked out and marked off—police line do not cross. But he does, oh yes, he does, and stalks nearer, mouth agape as he draws within it, across scent glands and taste glands, the smells and tastes of the hunt, and, even more, of the huntress, that proud little girl, playing in an adult world, unaware of who the true prey really was. Lips turn at the sides, stretch across wounds, cold, sharp reminders of her, yet reminders he knows are soon to be wiped clean, for she would soon be a broken piece of trash left to rot beyond the reaches of his memory, unimportant, nothing. He draws the scents on last time across his glands, eyes sliding closed as he enjoys the aroma, the taste, the anticipation of what he was so sure was to come, and then he’s off, bounding forth, thick prints of his own framing her dainty feminine tracks, seeking her out. The game has long begun, and a score remains to be settled, a meeting, so rudely interrupted, to be finished, a game to be won, and pleasures to be fulfilled. Yet he does not rush, instead loping at an easy pace, reveling in his anticipation, letting it grow, stronger and stronger, letting it course through him and lend him strength, strength to subdue, to win, to force her down and pin her and take that which should never be his, but which he would steal, piling sin upon sin in his quest for pleasure. Oh, creature of lust, what limits will stop your conquests? Yet there she is! At last, his anticipation reaching new heights, a warm heat coursing through his body, and he pulls up short, slowing, reducing his steps, falling into a walk, announcing himself with a chuckle, needn’t surprise the dear. ”Well, well, well,” vocals form up ranks within seductive tones, falling from his ever-smirking lips, ”Why just look who I’ve run across again… What was it you said, last time we saw each other?” He pauses, thoughtful, considering, as though trying to remember, yet all the while approaching, bringing himself nearer and nearer, at ease, languid, unafraid. ”Oh yes…I seem to recall I’ve a good lashing on the way…” Body curves as he encircles her, taking advantage of the distraction her prey provides in order to circle tightly, his flank only inches from her own, his tail trailing lightly across her fur, tracing his path behind him. ”Well then, shall we get to it, my dear? I’d hate to deny anything of so pretty a face…”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
697
lyrics © dashboard confessional}

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[Andarial]

The taste of hot burning blood on her tongue had caused her hackles to rise. She lapped at the blood that pooled in the cavernous abdomen of the white hare and growled in pleasure at the taste. She had always loved the taste of blood ever since she was a kitten. But that taste that everyone talked about that supposedly tasted "metallic" tasted sweet to her. It tasted so sweet she could feel her stomach ache. But that ache was so good and so painfully warm.

Then she heard the stirring of the slushing snow, but this time it wasn't by a small creature, but by a large animal. And then came that chuckle, the one she would never forget, the one whose owner had met her claws. She turned viciously fast. Her glowing golden eyes staring at the marked face of the jaguar she had met that day that Kotori and him had been banned from her pack. Since then Kotori had made his apology but she knew this cat would never even try. As he came closer and closer to her Andarial hissed and lashed out with her paw, her claws extending just enough to cut and warn.

She crouched in a defensive position this time her hackles all the way up and her tail fluffed as she growled low and dangerously. She wanted him to run and yet she wanted a true challenge tonight. She wanted to show this jaguar that she could kick his rear and could very well kill him. But in this state, with how skinny she was and how tired she was, Andee knew it was dangerous to take him on.But she couldn't lethim know that, "Bring it on you disgusting flea!"

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

He sees it now, oh yes, now he realizes; the stage, the stage! He knows this place, this stage, familiar are these trees, this ice-tainted pool; oh yes, he knows this stage all too well. He smirks all the more; this place has brought him luck before, to be sure; oh yes, for his mind has purged the memory of her escape, that tasty little jaguar whom he has already met upon this shore, twisting the memory instead to his favor, allowing only the memory of her true fear, of him atop and her beneath. Oh yes, he is fond of this place; what better a setting, what better a stage, on which to perform this, his most favored of plays, his most favored of parts? None, of course, none but this, this place which has, to his twisted thoughts, brought him fortune, and which can do naught but the same the second time around. And now the audience arrives, catches up with his swift pursuit, settles in, and he waits, waits for her, waits for them; what good is a player without his supporting actress, without his audience? What good is he if he cannot entertain, if there is no one for him to entertain? And so he waits, circles, circles, enwrapping her with himself, a tale of things to come, placing his traps, his web; he need only entangle her in them now. But he waits, and soon, the audience falls silent, their seats settle into stillness, and now, it is time.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Claw-torn ear flicks, mere memory of past escapades within this very oasis, stands at attention, capturing words, placing them within cages, his for keeps, the same as their owner, their utterer, the girl. The audience knows, oh yes, they know this play, have heard the story, read the story, and they wait, like him, breath baited, listening, smiling with his smirk, tainted as he is, anticipating. They know, he knows; oh yes, they’re all in on it, all but she, poor, poor soul, poor little girl, poor proud girl; will pride save you now? No, they whisper, no, he thinks, not today, not today; pride cannot be enough, not to spare her the riptide of the cycle, pulling her down, down, down, circling her and circling her, battering her until senses give way, until she can but cling to him, to him who stands above, dragging him down, down atop her, the author of her own demise, her own downfall; oh no, my dear, pride simply won’t be enough. Chuckle comes again, bubbling forth, growing and growing within his chest, rumbling and roaring as it breaks free of its cage, released at last upon the wind, racing forth to her ears, a taunt, always a taunt. And then, it dies, slain by the script, by the directions scrawled upon that page, cold block print he knows so well, back upon the cycle at last. _{Despite the lies that you’re making…} ”Such strong words… so very proud… so very unchanged… have you learned nothing, my dear?” His tongue clicks, such a shame, such a shame. The audience is with him, murmuring the lines they know will come. _{Your love is mine for the taking…} ”Your words won’t save you, my dear, and neither will your bravery… You, my dear, are just mine for the taking…” He ceases, turns, faces her, lowering his face towards hers, his dull gaze meeting her fierce one, unabashed. ”Surely you see, my dear, how little running has saved you… tell me, will you reconsider my offer now, or have you already pledged yourself to slavery under his control, hm?”

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
594
lyrics © dashboard confessional, skillet
Man, he just won’t let that go, haha}

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[Andarial]

She wasn't afraid of him. Though some part of her wanted to be. Some part of her wanted to be smart and be able to run. But nothing in her would, she wasn't afraid she would never fear something this evil. She would kill this strange cat before she let him have sex with her. A snarl marred her face and she wanted to tear her claws into his already scratched face. Angry at both herself and him, Andee she pulled her body upright and kicked off with her back feet. Her claws extended fully this time and she let out a snow leopard hoarse scream.

Her golden eyes were wide and glowing casting a eerie glow about her face. The moon was crescented. Shining on her back making it silver and bright was the moon and she brought her clawed forepaws down to hit either side of the jaguars head. To rip the ears completely off the cat's skull. But she knew he would move. He would never get her virginity. Never would she allow someone like him to take her.

Glaring down at him she yelled at him, "Never do I run from the likes of you!"

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

_{You feel so lonely and ragged.} Look at her, yes, just look; he watches, watches and studies, scrutinizes and observes, looks and looks, dull gaze unchanging, merely their, connected, bound to her, frozen. Oh yes, just look, he can see, can they? They watch, following stage directions as well as he, directions passed on through short asides, monologues whispered, confidences taken with them and them alone. Just look, can you see it? Conflicted, struggling; can they see the pain upon her face, as he can? Monologues run not only upon the stage, shared with the audience, whispered in secret, slinking tones, a piece of wisdom shared, a plan foretold, a prank to e let in upon. No, no, monologues are not slaves to the stage, to the theater, to the lights and curtains and cushioned seats; not like, not like the player, the blood of the actor which runs through his veins; no, monologues do not remain leashed to one master, to one setting. Within the mind, as well, the monologue can run, the greatest confidence, an argument within, secret, secret, and shared only with one; alone on the stage is never truly alone, but within the mind, words spoken are devoured by the void of thoughts, never to be heard, never to be shared. Can they see it, on her face? Just look, closer! He sees it, oh yes, has always seen it, that look in her eyes, the sides clashing, battle shouts screamed at the volume of the rebel yell, ghostly, chilling, and the other side quakes, voices shaking as their own shouts are launched; the battle! He sees it, oh yes, projected through those eyes, those burning amber eyes, as though a projector to share its secrets upon a darkened wall in a darkened room; private, another great confidence, the same privacy of shaded windows and dimmed lights, swimming beneath the covers where neither can be seen. Oh, how swiftly the mind does sway! Yet the battle, it is the battle he sees now, that conflict within her mind, an inner monologue clashing, breaking her apart; can she choose, can she choose? Can they even see this at all? But he sees, oh yes, he sees, and he knows. _{You lay here broken and naked.} Can she choose? Does it matter? Just look, just look and see, those cold dark letters inscribed upon the page, ensconced upon the stones of the cycle path, unchanging, unchangeable, merely there, invincible, eternal, immortal. To be followed, just look, just look; can they see this, now, or are they yet blind, searching without luck to find the truth, the reality? But he sees, he sees; her choice is irrelevant, this battle fought in vain; win or lose it makes no difference, the soldiers within her mind cannot flee its cover, cannot march from that empire to overtake far away lands, to defend the fair maiden who rules them; they cannot stop the castle from behind stormed, her chambers defiled, cannot stop her being violated, left to fall. Only he, only the ivory hued demon, deceitful pure, deceitful tainted, only he will come, only he will be there to discover her, broken, shredded, left to rot, and what good will his discovery do? Oh, yes, he knows, he knows; but do they? Does she? _{My love is a burning consuming fire.} How long until the inferno consumes her?

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Conflict escalates to violence, the two sides clash, and yet, above all, she reigns, and through the chaos, the clashing swords and spilling blood, the cracking shields and whisper of arrows, the death rattles and screams of the wounded, yes, through it all, still she retains control, and in the moonlight, all is washed out, turned to dust, before his eyes, disappears, and in its place, is her, only her, innocent, pure, defenseless, ready to fight, ready to die, and yet, not truly ready at all. Ready or not, here I come… child’s play and games, simple little phrases, how sinister are they in truth? How much is there to be hidden behind the games of children? What truly lies there which they do not yet see, cannot yet understand? How corrupt are they, when they cannot even realize it? Yet child’s play has not prepared her for this, child’s play has not given her the knowledge, the truth, which churns within his mind, which rises at the will of the demon upon his gilded bone throne, is thrust to the forefront by his very word, to be used, to be obeyed. No, child’s play has not prepared her for this, not one bit. Smirk only grows in the face of her anger, of her berserker’s rage; vile, it is, upon her pretty face, and so much without skill, without purpose; a blind need to hurt, for the sake of hurting, of paying him back for pain wreaked within her mind, the nature of a predator, instinct alone, with no real technique. Dangerous, or so it would seem, yet he is above such things; anger does not blind his eyes, does not redden his gaze and bid him to fight where he has no right to fight, no chance of victory; but wisdom, yes, wisdom, and experience, and the cold, harsh truths of a cruel world, oh yes, wisdom, it is, which bids him fight now, if only to subdue, but not to harm. No, it is not wisdom’s job to harm, but lust, and lust waits, clawing at chains and shackles, pulling at bonds, roaring in rage, impatient, so very, very impatient, to be freed, to ravage her and take her and break her, to leave her broken for that bastard who would challenge this creature which fed his own lusts so well, so often. Wisdom would not harm her, wisdom bid him fight only to defend himself, to subdue her and save himself harm, but how long until lust broke free, until that cruel demon set it free? Only long enough, only until she lay beneath him, broken, ragged, defenseless, just waiting to be taken. _{Mine for the taking…}

[/sub] Lust would have him step forward, take upon broad shoulders the blow she would have for his head, and, in return, take that pretty white throat within his jaws, break her once and for all, yet lust cannot rule him now, does not rule him now; oh no, for he wishes her warm and breathing beneath his body, to feel her movements, her struggles, her pains and lusts, all writhing beneath and with his own. Instead, wisdom would force him back, and so his paws shift to follow, his head venturing just out of her range, his own body rising to meet her gaze, lips curled in smirk which is all the more cruel with the efforts of his movements. ”I do not recall asking you to run, Andarial,” he purrs, the words seeping like acid from his mouth, intended to stun, to force a fault. And he waits; blind rage would force one to leap, to upset footing for a killing blow, or the mere glimpse of one, but no such rage pulls at him as it does through her. He waits, for all lunges must land in a head, paws so strategically placed for a blow become so poorly placed for landing, so incapable of collecting one’s weight, of stopping one from thudding into the ground, a heap, defenseless, unmoving. And he waits, gravity upon his side as his muscles pull taut beneath his pelt, sustaining his pose, paws uplifted, held at the ready. And, slowly, his claws slide from sheaths, released at last from bonds of muscle and fur which would so readily arrest their movements. And, as she hits the ground, as only she can, beneath his rearing frame, his muscles, too, give in to the inevitability of gravity, adding momentum now where before they served to resist it, fueled by his mass, and his brandished claws come crashing down.[/color]
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but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
1297
lyrics © dashboard confessional, skillet
Woah o.o Incubus is apparently having fun, now that he’s so sure of himself, Rofl}

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[Andarial]

As she realized her mistake it was too late for Andarial. Too late for the beautiful she-leopard. She landed upon her feet like the cat she was. But it didn't matter what she did. As she scrambled to get out of the way he was already crushing down upon her. In her weakened state she could barely breathe when he first hit her and as she coughed and sputtered, struggling for breath she was trying to turn away from him, scrambling against the ground.

Coughing she wheezed out, "I never said that you did. But you did say that I ran and I just told you I didn't." It was so hard to breathe even through not all his weight was on her. She was just so malnurieted that he lungs weren't in the best working order right now. She could almost fell an invisble hand around each lobe, squeezing them tighter and tighter and forcing the air away from her brain.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

A train wreck; they don’t want to look, they ache to turn away, to abandon this scene, to abandon her, to him, to fate, and yet, they are drawn, gazes refusing to turn away, to break from the scene unfolding violently before them. A train wreck, horrendous, terrible, and yet they can’t look away. Bound in temptation and sin, lusts and desires, bound to him, bound to her, bound to the stage, the cycle, the scene; yes, bound through all things wrong and unholy and hellish, bound to remain, to simply watch. And how dirty, how wrong, how utterly disgusted they feel for it! And yet resistance, so futile, lasts only so long; only so long do they struggle to turn away, to close their eyes, to shield their minds, their souls; yes, only so long do their attempts last, before, at last, the bounds draw tighter, choking off their morals, strangling them until they simply are, until they can do nothing but remain, for that is all that is left to them. And so, they watch, waiting, waiting with him, feeling his anticipation, his desires and lusts, so ready to burst, to overflow, trying so hard to claw grips within his mind to force full control, force him to obey, to act, and, with him, entrapping the audience as well within its burning control, and they, too, ache for him to act, waiting, waiting, yet growing so very impatient. _{A burning, consuming fire…} And the inferno grows and grows, raging within him, within her, within them all, consuming at last, exhausting itself upon her, within her, and through it all, he only grows more excited, more energetic, ready, yet he waits, letting it all build, letting the flames ravage them both, letting the anticipation grow. A train wreck, her pinned beneath, suffocating under his weight, struggling and writhing, unable to escape; a train wreck, and yet now they wish to watch, are eager to see, as though cheering the train onwards, keen to see that commanding mass crush the fair maiden entangled in ropes and left upon the tracks. There is no hero to come riding upon a white steed to the rescue, no cowboy vigilante to shoot the villain and untie the maiden in the nick of time, just as the train comes blowing by with horn and roar of the tracks and engines, no, there is no hope left to her today, and the audience knows, yes, just as well as he, what is left to her in its stead, what is to come of this chance encounter, this game of cat and mouse; her ivory hero, that cruel reflected demon, has no part in this play, cannot protect her now, and in his stead, all that she has to look forward to, the ebony demon, the challenger, the invader, pinning her, crushing her, the train to entrap her beneath mass as unmovable as the steel frames which roared upon the tracks of iron; oh yes, they know, so, so well, where this story leads, where this cycle leads; they know, oh so well, that all that is left to her now, is him. _{I will be the one that’s gonna’ hold you…}

[/sub] Oh yes, for now she is his; the game is over, though both players may not know it yet, and he the victor, standing above, enjoying his moment, letting it build, oh yes, she is his, to hold, to trap, to entwine his body with her own, to take for all she was worth and more, to take just for the sake of taking, for lusts, for desires, for temptation, for sin, for the demon upon the throne, and, above all, for him. Oh yes, she was his, and he would take her, take her until there was nothing left for him to take, and then, when lusts were fulfilled at last, when desires were satisfied, he would leave her, _{lonely and ragged, broken and naked.}. Oh yes, he knew, he knew and they knew, and soon enough, she would, too, that this, this moment, this anticipation, was all that was left to her, all he would ever give her, all that she had to call her own before he took from her all that had ever been hers, all that had ever mattered. All but her life, meaningless and broken, all that had worth, all that she was good for, all would be his, all was his already; all that was left was for her to know it, to realize it. And through it all, they watch, the bystanders, afraid to help, or perhaps too uncaring to help, or, worse yet, not wanting to help, because they, like he, wanted this for her. And so they watch.[/color]
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with legs so long they go straight to heaven

A purr rips through his chest, rattles across his chords, spills from his lips, as the sensation of tearing flesh flashes beneath his brandished claws, savory the feeling of her blood, warm and thick, against his paws, caking among the fur which encased them, which soaked it up as though the most quenching drink, more satisfying than water. His shoulders roll and shift with her movements, her struggles, muscles languid, merely there, merely letting his weight rest upon her, balancing it above her, pinning her with so little effort, savoring the moment, the control; he atop, and her below, this was the way of things, the proper way, the only way, and every muscle within him rejoiced with the position, the power; the only way it should ever be, and he was at last getting to live it, and not one second would he tear from his rejoicing grasp. Smirk carves itself across its proper place upon his maw, twisting his lips as his chuckle rumbles past, his head lowering, dipping closer to her, drinking in her scent, the scent of blood, of muscle beneath, of her, of everything that he was so soon going to take, that would so soon be his, entwined with his own scents, churned up with his own musk, with everything that was him, just so everyone knew whose she truly was, just so all would know how easily she had been used, taken, and left, broken and naked, to rot. For that was his way, and was all that was left to her, this cycle, from father to son, through a mother unimportant, taken for fun, left to deal with the consequences, to raise the spawn who would only grow to do the same; would she birth a son as black as he, as soulless as he? Would she birth a demon like himself? A demon with a demon who sat upon a gilded throne of bones and skulls? Would he grow to resent her, as she resented him? But he knows, he knows; these things were set, for the cycle demanded that such things be done, that such things take place, from father to son, from father to son, to begin again anew with each new life, each new breath from an unholy spawn birthed of the seed of the preceding demon; the cycle, his life, their life, and now, hers, as well; these were the things he left to her, these were the things she’d call her own, for that was all that he would not take, by time he was done with her tonight. His chuckle falls silent, dies upon the air, strangled by the scents which he draws so readily across his glands, through his gaping, smirk-twisted maw, and yet, these, too, fall away, as words send breath to clear the air, if only for a moment. His mouth dips closer, between his forelegs, past claws ripping and tearing, grabbing hold of her, pinning her down, just to bring himself closer, to whisper in her ears, to make sure that every bit of him that left with these words would become mixed with her. ”Is that so? Hmm, you see, that’s just not the story I remember… but I don’t guess that matters, does it? We’re both here now… wouldn’t you say that’s fate?” His lips dip lower, his words bringing the tickle of her fur across his moving lips, ”Mm, oh yes, I think that means that we’re just…meant to be together…don’t you?” He does not wait, does not expect an answer, and, instead, his head drops lower, and his caresses the nape of her neck with his maw, rubbing his ebony fur against her ivory coat, drinking in her scent for a moment before his tongue slides lazily from his mouth, running roughly across her fur, picking it up off her withers before letting it drop against her as his tongue recedes back within his lips. And it all began with just one kiss…his maw parts, and in place of his caressing tongue, it is, instead, his fangs which are freed from his coal-tinted lips, setting themselves firmly within her nape, one more grip to secure his quarry as he shifts above her, releasing paw by paw from her flesh, turning himself about her, spinning around without once relieving her of his weight, pinning her as he positions himself properly above her. Ebony hued tail snakes down to entwine with her own, and he pauses, poised above her, for just one more moment, as the anticipation, his own and the audience’s alike, peaks, and then, when the audience can hold their breath no longer, as their air comes rushing from their lungs to be filled anew, when nothing is left to wait any longer, he gives himself fully to lusts at last. _{You love is mine for the taking…}

[/sub] And so, at last, he takes it, against her thrashing and writhing, against her every protest, he takes everything she had once called her own, fangs and claws embedded within her flesh, gripping, holding, entangling, entrapping. Fueled by lusts and desires long since building, he takes her, without mercy, without remorse, or regret; she is his, and his alone, and he takes her by right, the prize won by his victory, his trophy, to do with as he pleases, and so he does. No time is given to spare her pain, to be gentle, to bring her joy; for this is his moment, and his lusts are not kind in their fulfillment, and, when at last he has taken all there is to be taken, when at last there is nothing left to her, nothing left for him, when all is said and done, and runs his claws one last time down her sides, sliding himself backwards, away from her, until he stands, proud and satisfied, above her, leaving her to lay, broken and naked.[/color]
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but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
1754
lyrics © dashboard confessional
Power-playing with permission for the sake of plotting ^^
And holy cow did Incubus’s muse have fun with that post XDD}

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[Andarial]

As she felt his claws slice through her flesh she winced and arched her back at the same time. Her tail tried to whip away from his but couldn't. She knew what was coming and yet she could only hope it wasn't. It was the only thing keeping her from screaming out help. That and she would never let him have the satisfaction of hearing that. Suddenly there was searing pain as he breached her and continued with the act of sex.

She forced herself not to moan and groan because even though she hated it and it hurt it felt good too. Her mind was so confused buther body knew exactly what it wanted. It arched against him and tensed. Her claws were fastened into the ground and she was trying to ignore the spikes of pleasure roaring through her body by focusing on the pain.

Suddenly he was off her and she was whipping around faster than she could have ever thought possible. She cried out at the pain in her shoulders as the skin pulled taut when she rotated. She was tired and wary of this jaguar. "I hate you," she growled so low and hateful that it would have shaken any normal cat's nerves to the bone.

[Trench]

i’ve got an eye for top tier women

And, suddenly, all is quiet, all is still, and the audience falls back into cushioned seats which creak protest at the sudden weight, weight which had, for so long, been perched at the edge of seats, and yet, with the release of anticipation, with the final fulfillment of his lusts, with that single final climax, everything falls still, and no longer do they perch, no longer do they wait; the play is all but over now, what action is left, that he would bother having a hand in? What is left to their proud, cruel actor, their vile villain? All has been taken, all is his at last; what is left for him to do? Nothing, nothing, nothing; and they know it to be true. The script holds so few lines left to be spoken, so few directions left upon that page, so little to be done, so little to be left, so little for her, so little for him, so little left for the audience to see. Her anger, her spite, her hatred and rage, these things remain, yet are meaningless, so very hollow; nothing is left to her, no pride to defend with that raging fire temper, no temple innocence to fight for, just a hollow hatred, a hatred they know means nothing to him, nothing to them; so little left, so very, very little left, for he has taken everything, everything and more, from her, from them, for they, too, are just as weary as she, entangled in his exhausting web of sins and temptations, bent and twisted to his will, caught in his pestilence and left broken and ragged to merely wait out the end; so little left, all that’s left, is the end. And to what end does this come? What matter, what matter? He’s had his fun, and so have they, sinful creatures that they are, cheering the villain in his dastardly acts, leaving him to his sins, watching, encouraging; what matter is left to them, either? No matter, none at all; the end will come, and with it, the cycle born anew, and what matter is that end at all, in the face of so unavoidable a fate? One black cub, just one, a boy, is all it will take, and her world, all that is left of it, caves in, twisting along paths he has walked so many times before, passed on from father to son, father to son; to that end they all turn, waiting, waiting, all still and quiet, for that is all that’s left.

with legs so long they go straight to heaven

Entwined, they are, twisting together along the harsh, cruel paths of that ever winding cycle, entwined, his scent in hers, hers in his, bound, chained, shackled, and yet, bonds so easily ignored, so easily broken, though traces may always remain, so easy it will be for him to simply…walk away. Shoulders roll, stretching muscles still lively, still active, loosening joints gone stiff from use, all the while the smirk rests securely upon his twisted ebony lips, a constant taunt, a constant reminder, one last sight, one last memory for her to carry with her, one simple thing that would cause her to loath the very cubs which she bore herself, for every smile which turned their lips upward would be his own, for her to hate, to hate and to hate as she hated him now; one last thing he steals away, a mother’s love for her cubs, one last emotion he can pry from her mind, from her body, one last way to leave her lonely and ragged at his feet. Chuckle rumbles across his chest and through his maw, unfazed by the ire which sends dagger-bearing words his way, unwounded by venom meant to poison his mind, his soul; so tainted is he, so sinful and twisted, what knives can pierce the knot of his soul? No hatred penetrates this nest of temptation, for hatred is his realm, as are all other sins, gluttony and lust and desire and murder, all temptations he gives himself to, all which have no effect upon him when brought by others, for the strongest of sins are his own, and so, he merely laughs, one more spite against this defiled female, one more taunt, one more reason for her to hate him, a hatred that would burn and burn so great that, when it never found purchase with him, would turn to others. Broken, her spirit would burn until at last it shattered, and the Andarial who drove the lusts of that ivory demon mad, the Andarial he would claim as his own, would forever be lost, tucked tight within the memories of one more female conquered and broken beneath the ebony demon’s frame. Just one more victory, and certainly not the last. ”Hate as you will, my dear, but just know how little difference it makes. Hatred won’t change how easy you were to take, now will it?” One last barb, one last knife to stab into her, to twist and slice and ensure her eventual downfall, and then, there is only one thing left to say, and one thing left to do. ”Enjoy crawling back to that slave driver of yours…if he’ll take you, that is. See you around, babe.” And, with one last smirk and a shake of his frame, he turns and pads off, leaving her to rot as was ever his intention. Exuent all. And the audience files out to the dimming of the stage lights.

but tonight i’ll take what i can get
_{incubus
914
lyrics © dashboard confessional
-sigh- He just refuses to stick around now he’s had his fun, Lol}

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[Andarial]

(END)