Post by carcinoGeneticist on Oct 20, 2009 1:00:04 GMT -5
Want/Need
Words: 1087
Characters: Apocalypse, Xiven. Strong case of the muse grabbing and throttling me.
Warnings: Some language and sexuality, but nothing graphic. Also, tremendous emo. Like, seriously, this is the most emo thing I've ever written, discounting that unfortunate period in highschool that I think we all went through.
Here we have two prompts smashed into one grand monster of fail. <3 Enjoy!
Apocalypse was in control of himself, his life, his emotions.
He knew, better than anyone else, what made him tick. He knew what he liked and disliked, knew what he could do to put a happy smile on his face or what would make him feel like ripping someone's throat out. The man even recognized that sometimes the latter could result in the former, and he felt comfortable with that fact. Most importantly, Apocalypse knew the difference between what he wanted and what he needed.
He knew that wanted quite a lot out of life, but he needed nothing. At least - he didn't need anything that he couldn't get on his own. That was how he saw it, at any rate. It helped him feel secure in himself, in the world he'd built. It was safe, not relying on any one other person for something. He could be happy with only himself. When he wanted to talk to someone, he had Rhiannon, a part of his soul. When he was hungry and needed to eat, he could cook himself a meal. When he was restless or anxious, he could swim in the lake until his muscles burned, until the spinning in his head had calmed and he felt relaxed once more.
When he wanted sex, he had a number of options, and none of them were at all objectionable in his mind. If that fell through, he was comfortable with the thought that he could find a stranger or -- less commonly, he had to admit, resort to simple masturbation. He no more relied on one person for intimacy than he did for comfort or for happiness, and that was a thought that kept him steady. He didn't want to rely on anyone, after all. He couldn't judge how reliable other people would be when things went bad.
It worked for him for a long time. Apocalypse kept himself from relying too heavily on any one person, and that kept him safe from ever feeling as if he wanted for anything.
Maybe that was the root of the problem. He was too secure, too comfortable. He could say whatever came into his head, do whatever he wanted to do, simply because he could get away with it. If one person was hurt too badly by it - it didn't affect him, because he didn't need them for anything. It would be sad to see them out of his life, certainly, but there was no one who couldn't be replaced.
He'd felt that way up until he'd seen Xiven's retreating form, her words thudding dully in his ears like the traces of a nightmare that clung tenaciously even upon waking. It was a nightmare - right? He was going to wake up soon, and it would all be over. Xiven would be curled against him, and when he woke and told her about it she would stroke his hair, hold his head against her chest, kiss his forehead... It would be done. He could forget about the way his heart was clenching, the way it pained him to take a simple breath.
He didn't wake up.
So he did as his Queen had instructed and left the only home he'd ever known.
It would be easy to find a new home, of course, people did it all the time. Home was wherever he went to bed at night, wherever he felt comfortable. Of course, that thought rang empty in his mind, but there was no fighting it. He'd find a new network of people, wherever he settled. He would miss the old network, the comfort he gained from their presence - but he'd be fine.
He'd talk his way into the arms of another girl, he was sure. He'd never needed any one person for that.
But when it came right down to it, Apocalypse felt lost.
The words - those damn words, they'd ruined everything - had just escaped him without thought, and at the time, he'd felt amazing for having said them. He'd, for an instant, felt like he could hurt someone precious to him without fearing the results. After all, what was the worst that would happen? She'd be mad at him, maybe even for a few days, and then they would make up rather gloriously. That wasn't what had happened. Xiven had turned her back on him as was within her right to do, commanded him to leave his home, his family. He was the one who was leaving, but it was because she no longer wanted him in her life.
He did find new lovers, a half-hearted attempt to tear his mind away from the reality of the situation. A momentary distraction, a release of anger and frustration and hurt. He'd found the hole in his being, grabbed for the closest thing in an attempt to patch it up, to make himself complete.
It was resting in the bed of the dingy room after the girl had left, staring up at his ceiling, that he realized that his worldview had a tragic fault.
In theory, it would have worked perfectly. From a perfectly logical standpoint, all the pieces fit together perfectly and it would have protected him from all emotional harm. But that was the problem - he'd been using cold logic to explain warm, living emotion. He'd assumed that he'd be able to keep himself separate from those around him, that he wouldn't let himself need anyone.
He'd never accounted for the possibility that someone would wiggle their way into his life, weaving the threads of their being into the fabric of his soul. When she'd laughed, his heart had soared, light and happy. When she'd cried, he'd felt her pain, pulled her into his arms and comforted her until she'd given him that smile he loved so. They'd shared pleasure, both physical and emotional. She'd been -- Damn it all, she'd been important.
Apocalypse wanted sex, wanted intimacy. He'd wanted friendship, wanted to be a King of the suit he so loved. He'd wanted to be alive, and that had been enough to force him into the world of the living, a bright red Suit on his breast to indicate him as such. Because of that, he needed to eat, to breathe, to sleep. But he needed something else, too, something he hadn't recognized until it had slipped through his fingers.
The man had never wanted this kind of love, had never wanted a thing that went so directly against his other wants, but there it was, and he could no longer ignore it.
He needed Xiven.
Words: 1087
Characters: Apocalypse, Xiven. Strong case of the muse grabbing and throttling me.
Warnings: Some language and sexuality, but nothing graphic. Also, tremendous emo. Like, seriously, this is the most emo thing I've ever written, discounting that unfortunate period in highschool that I think we all went through.
Here we have two prompts smashed into one grand monster of fail. <3 Enjoy!
Apocalypse was in control of himself, his life, his emotions.
He knew, better than anyone else, what made him tick. He knew what he liked and disliked, knew what he could do to put a happy smile on his face or what would make him feel like ripping someone's throat out. The man even recognized that sometimes the latter could result in the former, and he felt comfortable with that fact. Most importantly, Apocalypse knew the difference between what he wanted and what he needed.
He knew that wanted quite a lot out of life, but he needed nothing. At least - he didn't need anything that he couldn't get on his own. That was how he saw it, at any rate. It helped him feel secure in himself, in the world he'd built. It was safe, not relying on any one other person for something. He could be happy with only himself. When he wanted to talk to someone, he had Rhiannon, a part of his soul. When he was hungry and needed to eat, he could cook himself a meal. When he was restless or anxious, he could swim in the lake until his muscles burned, until the spinning in his head had calmed and he felt relaxed once more.
When he wanted sex, he had a number of options, and none of them were at all objectionable in his mind. If that fell through, he was comfortable with the thought that he could find a stranger or -- less commonly, he had to admit, resort to simple masturbation. He no more relied on one person for intimacy than he did for comfort or for happiness, and that was a thought that kept him steady. He didn't want to rely on anyone, after all. He couldn't judge how reliable other people would be when things went bad.
It worked for him for a long time. Apocalypse kept himself from relying too heavily on any one person, and that kept him safe from ever feeling as if he wanted for anything.
Maybe that was the root of the problem. He was too secure, too comfortable. He could say whatever came into his head, do whatever he wanted to do, simply because he could get away with it. If one person was hurt too badly by it - it didn't affect him, because he didn't need them for anything. It would be sad to see them out of his life, certainly, but there was no one who couldn't be replaced.
He'd felt that way up until he'd seen Xiven's retreating form, her words thudding dully in his ears like the traces of a nightmare that clung tenaciously even upon waking. It was a nightmare - right? He was going to wake up soon, and it would all be over. Xiven would be curled against him, and when he woke and told her about it she would stroke his hair, hold his head against her chest, kiss his forehead... It would be done. He could forget about the way his heart was clenching, the way it pained him to take a simple breath.
He didn't wake up.
So he did as his Queen had instructed and left the only home he'd ever known.
It would be easy to find a new home, of course, people did it all the time. Home was wherever he went to bed at night, wherever he felt comfortable. Of course, that thought rang empty in his mind, but there was no fighting it. He'd find a new network of people, wherever he settled. He would miss the old network, the comfort he gained from their presence - but he'd be fine.
He'd talk his way into the arms of another girl, he was sure. He'd never needed any one person for that.
But when it came right down to it, Apocalypse felt lost.
The words - those damn words, they'd ruined everything - had just escaped him without thought, and at the time, he'd felt amazing for having said them. He'd, for an instant, felt like he could hurt someone precious to him without fearing the results. After all, what was the worst that would happen? She'd be mad at him, maybe even for a few days, and then they would make up rather gloriously. That wasn't what had happened. Xiven had turned her back on him as was within her right to do, commanded him to leave his home, his family. He was the one who was leaving, but it was because she no longer wanted him in her life.
He did find new lovers, a half-hearted attempt to tear his mind away from the reality of the situation. A momentary distraction, a release of anger and frustration and hurt. He'd found the hole in his being, grabbed for the closest thing in an attempt to patch it up, to make himself complete.
It was resting in the bed of the dingy room after the girl had left, staring up at his ceiling, that he realized that his worldview had a tragic fault.
In theory, it would have worked perfectly. From a perfectly logical standpoint, all the pieces fit together perfectly and it would have protected him from all emotional harm. But that was the problem - he'd been using cold logic to explain warm, living emotion. He'd assumed that he'd be able to keep himself separate from those around him, that he wouldn't let himself need anyone.
He'd never accounted for the possibility that someone would wiggle their way into his life, weaving the threads of their being into the fabric of his soul. When she'd laughed, his heart had soared, light and happy. When she'd cried, he'd felt her pain, pulled her into his arms and comforted her until she'd given him that smile he loved so. They'd shared pleasure, both physical and emotional. She'd been -- Damn it all, she'd been important.
Apocalypse wanted sex, wanted intimacy. He'd wanted friendship, wanted to be a King of the suit he so loved. He'd wanted to be alive, and that had been enough to force him into the world of the living, a bright red Suit on his breast to indicate him as such. Because of that, he needed to eat, to breathe, to sleep. But he needed something else, too, something he hadn't recognized until it had slipped through his fingers.
The man had never wanted this kind of love, had never wanted a thing that went so directly against his other wants, but there it was, and he could no longer ignore it.
He needed Xiven.
