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Liebesleid Chapter 5 (Ib fanfiction)It's so dark...so very dark. He knows for sure he's dead, but he can still hear the beating of his concrete heart against his steel ribs, taut skin stretched across metal framework.
She's not here. The darkness slides away as he blinks with non-existent eyelids and sucks in a breath with quicksand-filled lungs.
This world is empty. There is no Ivonne waiting for him with open arms and a warm smile. Nothing but blankness, miles and miles of empty, empty loneliness.
It's too much.
The realization that he is forever trapped in a cage of his own design- he can only watch numbly as he sinks to his iron knees, acidic tears burning holes into his eyes, his hands.
Over the endless decades, he gets accustomed to it. Watching as his artwork takes on a life of its own, devouring people, spitting them back out if they are indigestible.
Behind carnivorous, candy-colored bars consisting of mannequins and lady fingers, he can only dream pointlessly.
Until they arrive. A tiny, crimso
Liebesleid Chapter 8 (Ib fanfiction)After picking up the water-stained pages of the last sonata outside of the mirrored room, Ib closed her eyes and leaned against a wall. She knew she didn't have much time left, but she was so tired and cold...her rose was still in her pocket. She hadn't looked at it ever since leaping out of Ivonne's painting, and she could tell that it was missing at least two petals. With a sigh, she rose, eyes shut, and took a deep breath as she faced the direction Ivonne's room was in, her fists clenched. Raising her head, Ib felt her determination and energy rushing back.
Hold on, Ivonne, Guertena...Garry...I'll be there soon.
"...Guertena? Guertena, are you alright?!" Worriedly, Garry knelt down next to the slumped artist, shaking his shoulder. "Come on! Wake up!"
"Ugh..." Guertena coughed and curled up. "I-Ivonne..."
"What's wrong?! Talk to me!"
"She..she's going to come back...that other side of me came back, that bad side...I'm...almost complete again...God, it hurts..."
Liebesleid Chapter 4 (Ib fanfiction)"I remember how she laughed when I took to her to my favorite cafe, and we had macarons; they were so delicious, and we made a whole show about feeding each other." Guertena's eyes glimmered with a faint, wistful happiness as he remembered the surprised expression on her face when he popped the strawberry macaron into her mouth.
"Those were good days, weren't they?" Garry smiled at the pale-haired artist, who nodded and continued to mix away at a pleasing blend of coppery brown.
"...I only wished it lasted the rest of my life."
The fake Garry was in an absolute rage. He had no idea where his Ib had disappeared to, and to make matters worse, there was a completely annoying green mannequin that kept throwing palette knives at him.
There was something very, very strange about that mannequin. It had attached a head to its neck, and somehow even acquired a blonde wig. It seemed familiar, but he had other things to do. Pacing back and forth in front of the strange painti
Liebesleid Chapter 7 (Ib fanfiction)"..I can't believe this..." Garry and Guertena stared at the easel as Ib rose, the second sonata in her hands. Guertena's eyes were wide and disbelieving. "She...I mean, I had high expectations for her, but...to peacefully subdue Mary...I didn't see that coming."
Garry remained silent, his eyes tracing Ib's features.
So much pain...it had taken all his strength to crawl away from that wretched blue woman, but his rose-
Dimly, he thought he sensed a presence. Gentle, small fingers pried the key away from his hand, and footsteps retreated. A few moments later, his vision cleared.
Standing in front of him was a little girl. Out of fear that she was an enemy, he leaped backwards; but then he calmed down and peered at the petite figure standing in front of him with a bewildered
Whether it was the fact that she was the first friendly face he had seen since entering the gallery, or the fact that she looked tiny and vulnerable, his heart instinctively reached out to her.
Liebesleid Chapter 6 (Ib fanfiction)Why are you in this room?! How did you get in here?
Get out. GET OUT!!!!!.
Ib...she burned her portrait with the lighter...it didn't hurt, really. She didn't have a concept of being hurt.
After all, she was only a fake. A faux little girl, pretty and happy with blonde, bubbly curls and wide blue eyes. The picture of innocence- but only a picture.
She didn't really know what any of these things meant though.
What was anger?
What was pain?
What was sadness?
She knew the words, but like a color-blind child, she was never capable of attaching any of them to the multicolored blend that raged like a thunderstorm in her head. After a while, the "feelings" arranged themselves neatly. She learned to use them, like masks, but the masks always fell off when people realized who she was.
What she was.
So she waited, and waited. The dolls, paintings, and books kept her company. Letters, words, and sentences that she automatically knew how to read were the only windows to a worl
Don't look back.Everything consists of a lot of rain, a window, two numb hearts, and one emerald painting.
The first splattered down and spilled into the streets like lifeblood, as if it wished to wipe clean the world of beautiful and indestructible sin. This rain finds itself begging at the doors, hoping to forget.
In this weather, people are blind to one another, each enveloped in their own thoughts of home. A bunch of giggling and drenched students flee from the watery onslaught, rushing to the nearest lit window and exclaiming to one another that it is better than nothing, at least until the sky stops crying.
As they step in, the puddles surround them protectively. Perhaps the rain they carried in with them knew? Not unlikely. Their chatter fills the air like pretty bubbles as they look around the art gallery.
There is a girl. She sits very still, on a stool, and holds her spine away from them. The green folds of her coat are weary, creasing with age and velvet.
Like a statue, the man stands next
SheIt was in a dream when I arrived at the city and began to eat my way through the skyscrapers. Manhattan took to my skin and formed a second layer consisting of fluorescent lights, screeching cabs, and people. God, how they stuck to my eyes.
My new flat was in SoHo; the building was a little bohemian affair, bricked and a huge mess of those stucco and plastered things. Quite cute in a vintage old-girl sort of way, if it weren't for the fact that I realized the place was a literal mental asylum during the first few weeks.
The people in the holes next door, above and below; they were champagne in essence. Mr. Lucksley and his wife were utter schizophrenics. He sang Carmen while she smashed the pots in the kitchen and screamed that the alley cats were planning a raid. At the same time, they were darlings; the wife gave me a beautiful dream catcher upon my arrival to "snatch up the nasties".
Below, Ms. Bunt always smelled like something burning. I often wondered if she dealt with pottery ki
Ephemeral Solitude Ch.1 (Yume Nikki fanfiction)He doesn't remember anything. In his floating white and black shell, he doesn't remember how he got here. He doesn't know why there's a table for two, he doesn't know why he's always searching, forever roaming that beautiful void of color.
He hates it and loves it at the same time. Those vivid nebulas, shimmering galaxies, brilliant stars-they are close enough to touch, but at the same time he knows for certain he will die if he steps out of his safe, monochrome world.
So at a distance, he falls in love with the luminous space that stretches for miles and miles in front of his warped, stunning eyes, with his pale hands pressed against the cold glass.
It is a terrible fate, really, to be locked away from something that is unattainable and still seeing it every day, every night, every hour and minute of his timeless life.
With naive fingers, the aimless melodies pour forth from the piano and sprint off into the distance, odes of desire, regret, and sorrow, such an aching sorrow. At times
Ephemeral Solitude Ch. 3 (Yume Nikki Fanfiction)Nothing lasts forever.
They both know it. As each second ticks by, Masada is aware of the sighs dying like ghostly butterflies on his nonexistent lips.
Madotsuki stares out into space, as the nebulas twist into a heavenly kaleidoscope.
It hurts to breathe.
It hurts to smile.
It hurts to think.
It hurts to live. But to live is to dive into colors; emotions of red anger, carnation love, blue melancholy- he wants to immerse his blank mind in them, soaking up everything.
Regardless of internal conflict, however, the white ship continues its meaningless journey.
Lying on the bed, arms tied around her, he dreams. Or rather, he remembers- but the role he plays in these flashbacks is questionable.
I'm real? Or I was?
"Madoka, you're not paying attention."
"Ah! Sorry, Sakamoto- sensei."
A gentle laugh? and then he takes her small hands in his own graceful, thin ones, placing them on cool ebony and ivory keys.
"See, it's this." A tinkling deepens into a stron
Old Habits -Ib+Oneshot-Garry flicked his smoked cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his heel as he faintly heard the final school bell ring. He waited patiently as the students began flooding out the entrance gates, talking of how they were going to just waste their days away, as opposed to studying for tests or working on school projects. He exhaled the plume of smoke he had been holding back, and settled his hands into his pockets. It was just like every other day.
Ever since their reunion after the art gallery, Garry made it a point to see Ib everyday. After school he would walk her home or to his house to help her study. If it were a weekend, the two of them would go to the cafe and have some macaroons and some drinks—juice for her, coffee for him. Then after that, they'd stop at Garry's apartment just to hang out and talk about random things. There was quite an age gap between the two, but Ib was Garry's best friend.
The aforementioned girl rounded the corner to the entrance, walking to
Ib - Memories Crannies - Chapter 1Chapter 1
Ib walked into her school, forced to squeeze her way through the corridors to her first class: art. It was time to see if the substitute teacher was any good. As she settled down into one of the chairs, she looked around and saw that there was no one. She sighed; that was a good start. She had arrived before the teacher himself.
"I am so sorry I'm late I-" A roughly twenty-year old man with fascinatingly purple hair and a maimed blue coat stopped as he took in the fact that there was only one girl here, "Ah. How are you Ib?" He said with a smile and said girl looked up immediately from her book. Garry frowned; who was Ib? How could he possibly know her name? If it was her name; it probably wasn't. Although, come to think of it, 'Ib' wasn't a very common name in the first place. Garry didn't even know it existed; yet the name had felt so familiar and normal rolling over his tongue. Anyway, it would only make matters worse if the girl responded.
"Sorry, what di
Ib All Alone - Oneshot'One of us holds something special to you. Can you find it?'
Garry hastily read the paint scribble on the door—the locked door—and quickly whirled around seeing the many doll faces staring back at him. He didn't like dolls. Garry wasn't sure where this fear had emerged, but something about the blue-faced messy-haired rag dolls made him uneasy.
The fact that a very violent, unpleasant looking one was crawling through the painting didn't help, either.
Franticly, he dashed forward, noticing some of the dolls looked a little overstuffed.
'Something special,' he thought to himself. 'Maybe its inside the belly of this doll!'
Garry tossed his fear away, and grabbed the doll with both hands, tugging at its stomach with his slender fingers. When he couldn't get the fabric to budge, he tore at it with his teeth. With a rip, the seam became undone, and the contents inside...
Some paper crumbled up.
Garry let out a f
Promises Of Midnight Macaroons "I have to see you again."
My footsteps echoed through the corridor that was bathed with a mix of a soft violet and a powerful royal blue.
Where am I? I mused as I continued.
A hand rested softly on my shoulders as we walked.
Who is that? I wondered in my thoughts.
A red rose was clutched in my small hands protectively, its soft velvet petals letting off some sort of mellow glow.
I turned around but nobody was there, meaning I was alone in the corridor. I began walking again, back to where I was headed.
Where am I going? I thought to myself silently.
The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, the only sound was my footsteps as I walked. I felt the hand resting on my shoulder but knew there was no one there.
"The rose "
I stopped walking and felt the sudden urge to turn around. Not being able to resist the temptation, I slowly turned and something caught my eye. A full and beautiful blue rose
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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