kyorano-blog

[kyorano-blog]

                      if the sun was god, i’d be covered in faith                             (and if i’m fake, i ain’t noticed, cause my money ain’t!)

[kyorano-blog]

                      if the sun was god, i’d be covered in faith                             (and if i’m fake, i ain’t noticed, cause my money ain’t!)

[kyorano-blog]

✚ tbh

BAD END: START

[kyorano-blog]

do good end or bad end u choose,

“Hey,” she starts, cymbal silence breaking in the perfect acoustics of their auditorium, shatters of fabric covering her legs like hessian scars, hair held up in six different knots just to keep it away from her face. “Hey.”

She taps her foot out where it rests on the director’s legs, wobbles the makeshift table balanced on her ankles. Tidy feet, messy feet, tidy feet. Her stomach hurts. She’s probably hungry - light filtering down from the overhead only, windows as black as the day they were born.

"Sensei."

They’ve not eaten in a while, if she remembers it right. Typical, though, cut off from the nagging whimsies of theater hands and classmates while the doors stay jammed shut, almost obvious that a steady lunch schedule would be the first to go. She’s rambling to herself. She flexes her toes again and giggles as Aiko’s eyes finally meet hers.

"I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we’re here, that it’s us, that of all the gin joints in all the world you rolled into mine with an Ibsen tucked under your arm. I’m - no, shut up. This is my speech, not yours. I don’t - I don’t really make sense. To a lot of people. They never think about the stories, do they? But you do. You do, so, I’m glad that I met you. You’re probably the only other person in the world who can go toe-to-toe with me on references and callbacks and colours."

Aiko doesn’t say anything, but Akazome knows she understands. Aiko doesn’t say anything, but Akazome knows she feels the same. Aiko doesn’t say anything. She hasn’t since she died.

Tidy feet. Messy feet. Tidy feet.

[kyorano-blog]

Our characters are in a dating game and they are a love interest for each other. Send ❤ for our muse’s Good End. Send ✚ for our muse’s Bad End.

[kyorano-blog]

█ She really did it.

[kyorano-blog]

ostara, vernal equinox. color your children’s eggs and pretend Christ gave you the dye.

[kyorano-blog]

              if you expect someone to be an angel,                                       you must first create heaven for them.                                                            && — because angels do not live in hell                                                                    but demons do.

[kyorano-blog]

and we could really do some damage together (if we tried.)

[kyorano-blog]

{ burn subject to change. he sees her—unwitting parson at a funeral, jaw in hand and heart on ground. he sees her fall and he sees her burn and he’s frozen. unbearable heat and he’s frozen. unbelievable. the aftermath is worse, plunging in like swimming pool after their deity, screaming and crying, but it’s the prelude that gets him. glasses. glasses. glasses. it’s the fucking black rimmed seeing machines.

he runs. gangly and irresponsible, ash on air and screams behind, burning licking flames, and all he can do is run until heaving lungs crash him to pavement concrete below. bloody palms. scrape, rock pulled out. another. another. another—fuck, wait, that’s his own skin. breathe. okay? breathe. the fire wasn’t blue and so therefore it didn’t exist. tantalized by the delude, the prelude, the killed ones. okay.

a footstep. it’s maria, probably, but he looks up and it’s a new ghost and he screams, bloody murder, calamity, red rouge hands smearing terror on pale face. it’s not maria—he didn’t trick her and induce rage so it’s not. it’s not brick wall boy and she’s not buzzing or spilling coffee but rather standing there, fair haired and sad smiled. royal blue—incense burning at her lips, it’s fucking shikome baisu, matching sweater and painted nails. 

it’s been a long-ass time, he says to her.

this had to happen, you know. she says back. the know it all. this had to happen.

i should have seen it coming.

she laughs, at that, light blue. he’s seeing things because when he blinks, she’s gone, but he’s walking and he’s walking towards shelter. not yet, but soon. not yet, but soon, the noose. she possess his soul. it feels wrong; it feels wrong but he’s—god, he’s in love again! sixteen friends gather; they wait at the heel of a tree. } 

[kyorano-blog]

Ground meets her knees, jarring movement. Hands stay, veiling her face. It’s over, it’s happened. Nothing to do now, nothing to see here. Fire kindling everything inside her head. It’s over, it’s done. Pupil burns with the fire. The fire consumes all. The fire consumes director’s mind. Script, flats and platforms of the set. It’s all it is. Flats and platforms, flats and platforms, flats and platforms of the end. File cabinet, eaten. Curtain, flame retardant but still entirely capable of the consumption. Heart bursts in fury, in pain, in grieving. Black clothing represents the ashes eating her alive. Her hair parts into its own wild flame. Her face twists, distorts, tears pour out of it like a fountain. The Macbeth costumes took everything. The theatre, everything. Home. Home sweet home is gone, gone forever, gone and Aiko can’t see anything but black, she sees it. Then she sees it, promise kept. Blue smoke, bones, ellipsoidal, fuzzy. Shutters pulled. Dimmer on. Dim. Dim blue. Dim blue smoke from the hazer and she can’t hear a sound. 

[kyorano-blog]

TRUE ROUTE: BEGIN

Holding her tight in his lap, bags under his eyes from the sleep he hasn’t gotten this month. His face presses to Chie’s hair, he expects screaming soon. Yet it hasn’t come, for some reason it’s gotten quiet. He looks up from his safe space, sees utter b l a c k. Coming from someone, who’s walking up there? What are they doing? He takes a moment, processes…

Fu..Kui..KAGARI!?

Almost immediately he stands up, realizes the person in his way. Chie’s still there, no fuck he’s grabbed her hands he won’t be able to race there in time if- He throws Chie off and hopes she can read minds, read the apology in his wave of frantic sprinting. Barreling past the followers like they’re nothing but blades of grass to be trampled on, he sees nothing. Nothing but the burning flame and Kagari’s not there and she’s…She’s in there.  

He screams and plunges his arms in, doesn’t think, doesn’t feel. No bright red no dark blue no green for nature for tranquility no black for the devil for the flames licking at his arms, his face, his eyes. He hurls burned body after burned body away and he can’t see her, he can’t see her. He just saw her go in. Year spent with her on his bed talking about how she just bought a new sports car to compliment her five other ones, picking at his food like it was foreign. Complaining about how she’d walk into his room and it’d always smell like sweat yet feel too cold. 

He can’t see her, he can’t see her. He can’t SEE HER. 

The only thing that stops him is finding the charred pen she always wrote with. 

Zoom? Zoom did you leave me this..Is this what you’re goodbye to me is..Is this your apology for you fucking it up..Hey..Hey speak to me. You said..You’d show up in my dreams right? You’re not lying? Cause..I’m going to fucking, I’ll fucking-

He can’t stop himself from throwing the pen to the ground, stomping it into the dirt, the dirt she was on just A MINUTE AGO IF HE HAD MORE FUCKING TIME. He’s so angry, he wants to choke something, he wants to find him but his body says otherwise. Strength leaves him as he finally collapses on the ground and….Cries. Everything bottled up, his self loathing, his hate, his love for some girl who’d eat her hand if it gave a more interesting outcome. It’s all there and he can’t stop the tears from streaming down his face.

[kyorano-blog]

— he is the scales cut from their chains with the brutality of the sword, interest in the defence annulled like law and creed itself in the apocalypse’s wake. the defence pleads, but no matter their call, he hears nothing. execution brims on his tongue; he merely waits for the stutter in repose, the breath that catches in their throats when they see he is nothing but exact law and mercy does not glimmer in his eyes. the fire provides light and burns for the victims, but not heat. the spirit of justice seizes all warmth. it is not greedy, for it does not lap the coals in the hearth for flame, nor does it snuff out torches in cold winds. the warmth is simply swallowed.

light without warmth. burning flesh with only the burns. her words are a beacon that he must destroy.

the crowd parts for the arrow, for the pointed sword, for the — archon of justice that pushes on narrow shoulders and enraptured figures breathing in gasoline, fumes light in their lungs like the forty year old mass grave of the cult’s people rose to witness her prophetic suicide. the char that floats off in the fire’s rising heat flutters down upon him. it catches on his glasses.

"cult activities are forbidden in this district," he does not say, for it is a lie, and lying ties another noose around your throat. she can see it in him, if not his eyes than his character. the eyes of the seer came from the infection that crawled inside her and festered a devotion until it drained her veins of life’s desire and left her desolate. pin-cushion heart that ran out of room. the wood sighs underneath his feet as crowd voices rise in astonishment, whispers of the sky and the utterance of the ground coming together to swallow the trembling atmosphere whole. 

justice is cruel. justice is unkind.

he grabs her hands. they’re lined with sweat and gasoline and they’re too cold, and she is not afraid, and she is certain, and so is he.

her wrists are thin, curve of wrist bone pressing into the crook of his fingers, he pins them together with both of his hands as he speaks to her alone, voice steady like a mountain’s base and absolute like the hellfire that rises behind them. "the law isn’t deciding your fate tonight. your death isn’t a courtroom fate, i’ve come to realize. it’s been a long time coming,” he repeats, voice cut like a cord, and he wonders what the crowd is thinking, if it’s rehearsed, if it’s planned, if it’s an interruption, if she has never met this burnt man before on her life and her demeanour tricked them into believing she knew, she knew all along, she knew that this paragon would come but she truly never did, and one of those hands finds her shoulder. the fire roars when she’s swallowed whole. justice is absolute.

[kyorano-blog]

Stagebuilding was never her forte. It rocks beneath her, shoddy foundations, wood pegged down until it hit the sewerlines and fell though. She sways with it, almost, eyes cloudy and hands blank by her sides. There are no pens. There is no ink. The box sets rock to her side, flicker in and out of vision as she lets the sleepless buzz move her past the pyre, picks up the first canister and dips her hands in it, holds it over her head like and offering and does not close her eyes as it splashes down. The second one curls a circle around ugly feet, draws looping farewells over the wood and the planks and the metalcast dirt beneath her. The crowd is silent, or she cannot hear it. Either way.

"There are - there is. Here is the truth. I have dug it up and given it out, I have put the pens to blue veins and I have destroyed what would have held me high when I kicked the chair out underfoot from us, and there are no ghosts. We knew this. We knew this. There is nothing shining in the light and it does not wait for us to come home to it. We are dead and we are dying and I - I do not think there is anything else after this. I am never going to see my mother again. No, here - here is what I know."

(She's speeding up, the crowd parting slowly for the final blow, the spear between her ribs, words jumbling. Fear takes the best of her, leaves her bent double beneath awful rotting exhaustion, more one of them than ever before.)

"There will be a ghost in the fire tonight, and it will be me, and I will forgive you all. I never said the words but you said them for me, never gave it but I will now. It burns to speak. You have done bad things, but I will love you always, and I will protect you wherever takes us next, and -"

[kyorano-blog]

[kyorano-blog]

[kyorano-blog]

We're here.