theironflower

[theironflower]

Humanity loves to talk when given the chance - it’s a misunderstanding, she thinks, when they stay quiet and hold it all in. Emotional constipation, Alice teasingly calls it, the truth is, people are just waiting for the right thing to get them unstopped. And from that moment on, it’s a FLOOD OF IT, words, endless, they trail on and on and on until they’ve gotten it all out, they’ll sit exhausted in their own proverbial shit, and then start to think. For this in particular, Alice considers herself an expert in the affairs of unblocking humans, their good and their bad. She’s sure she too is waiting for the same at some point, but who knows? How do you describe a life like this, and, besides, hasn’t she done her own, and been trouble enough, considering all her starts, and stops, and pauses?

                       This exchange goes one way, and ONE WAY ONLY!

Silly, darling, she doesn’t expect to meet him for real. Her own personal holiday, how she takes dips in his dreams, and swims in his misery, she helps him, finally, and with that strength he finds it in him to run away. And after that... it’s been hard, hasn’t it? Going back fills her with a feeling of GUILT, it measures and weighs itself, and she knows she ought to be better, know better. Meeting him is a happy accident, paved with her poor behaviour, and clumsy hands, and she only knows how to patch that up with a teasing grin, an attitude that holds as if she couldn’t really care either way - walk a tightrope, and pray you don’t fall. That’s always been the best for her. Or perhaps, it’s all she’s deserving of?

Self pity holds no foothold in her heart, she sits patient as he talks to her, asks her what happened. The dreams he has of her now, she doesn’t spy on, they’re not her, just, the her he’s gone and painted himself, the effigy, blue eyes fixed on him over drinks, the liquor loosens his tongue, makes him WILLING TO TALK about the fact that they shouldn’t know each other, not really. How none of it makes sense, how it makes her doubt herself and the clear definitions and walls she puts up between, that madness, and her reality, he’s banging at the walls, he’s cracking up all her hard work. How cheap she is, a hand sliding down his arm, she remembers the way he likes this from his dreams, her own intrusions. The right kind of smile, blue eyes drifting upwards to meet his own to cut off that long-stream of conscious about impossibility with a kiss, lips parted because tasting him, well, that’s more real than anything, isn’t it?

                                                       Am I real now? Do I EXIST to you?

Her head comes back, coming up for oxygen with a lazy grin, smudged lipgloss from her mouth, to his. “They’ve always called me an IMPOSSIBLE GIRL. But I think impossible is far more interesting than if I had nothing. Now. Do you want to keep saying, I couldn’t have done it, or do you want to finish that drink, and come along with me instead?”

Alice is damning. Troublesome. She drags him through mud and makes him feel the way she does now, unsure of what is real and what is dream. Is this a dream? This place. This bar filled with loud people. The cold touch of her hand as it drags along the skin of tan inked arms. His heart flutters, throat tightens. Wait - is this a dream? It can’t be. Her lips feel real, soft and plump. The lipgloss left after, too. And he wonders, by the way she looks at him if this was just a creation of his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time. Would she know that? Does she? If she even ... is. 

 A throb of his head covered by another shot. Drunk enough to not have to think about it, the repercussions or reality, or not. Well, would it be stupid to ask? “Is this real?” He does it anyway but what is she supposed to say? In his mind, he would make her say yes, or is she visiting his dreams again, willingly. Maybe this was real life and they’re really making out in a pub. 

You taste real. 

Mind in the gutter. Impossible girl, pretty girl. You’re causing trouble (again). “I just have no idea what’s going on and I’m not sure if I’m wasted or asleep, or making this whole shit up in my fucking head. And if I am and you’re here watching, well that’s worse.” Worse, more like embarrassing. What else have you seen in these dreams of mine, Alice? 

But that grin feels familiar. The same kind of grin she gave him in his dreams long ago, once upon his throne of bones. These bones that he hides underneath a facade of a put together man. No one would think twice and he doesn’t talk about it anymore, his past. Not to anyone other than Mika. “Depends, where are you planning on taking me?” 

@redemptioninterlude

[theironflower]

[theironflower]

She’s heard before that she talks too much. Digs too deep, finds her way beneath a person’s skin. Scratching at that itch of hers, looking for a mystery, seeking out where those bruises bloom out in blood, the wounds track deeper, deeper, down. It’s how she helps, she rationalizes, how can you help someone without knowing what the ROOT OF THE PROBLEM is? So there she goes, cheerfully ready to dig til she’s excised the worst of it, though, often without the sort of care that one might expect, even if she is equipped with the empathy to work through it all.

Damian’s always been a SPECIAL CASE though. The boy that she’s always known, or at least that’s how it feels. The boy that felt like she’d made him up, a friend to keep herself from being lonely, on nights where she felt as if she really, truly was insane. A soothing balm, they comfort each other the way that children know how, they play, they laugh, they talk, they sulk. Sometimes there are even fits, but that’s how it is, when you’re suffering and carrying that weight with you. His horror happens to be a throne sat upon a mountain of bones. Hers is all in her head.

                         There’s comfort in knowing he’s there.

            There’s terror not knowing if he’s actually real.

And meeting him feels like something surreal, his fingers wrapped about her wrist, the way the words just spill and spill and spill over and outwards and on and on, it’s a nervous reaction, she can’t help herself, is she mad or is this the madness, nobody’s ever, ever, breached the dams of her mind to find themselves rooted in reality. SO WHO IS HE? What is this? Alice, who’s stomach ties itself in knots, can’t help but ask, “Does that mean you’ll stay?” with all the imploring fear of someone who’s watched it all come apart like wet sand, he, covers her mouth as if to stop the simple deluge of it all, her muffled words quieting down as he takes what seems like his first breath. All eyes on him; Alice’s narrowing ever so slightly, knowing that what he says, this, will be the difference between dreams, and reality.

@redemptioninterlude

Damian doesn’t expect this. Clearly, she doesn’t either and Alice can hardly keep it together as the words practically vomit out of her mouth. It feels surreal meeting the woman in his dreams.- the girl, once upon a time now grown and he’s grown up too.  He hasn’t seen her in a while. Thought he was sure that he made her up years ago. A way to cope, to get through the trauma at the time. Now, well .. now things were better. Mika and him, they lived together in a small part of Seoul, out out out and away from all the nonsense. Safe from that cancer of a place they grew up. 

“Just.. just wait.” He tries to steady her but those beady eyes, they look at him with hope and he wonders if she was waiting for this moment. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t. Dreamt about it. Thought about it. Tried to recreate it over and over again with his eyes closed. She looks.... kind of the same. Sort of like how he imagined and well, prettier than he expected even in comparison to his own fantasies. “Alice... do, I mean you remember me right?” Because he isn’t sure, still. Could he be just making this entire thing up in his head? Is the medication getting to his brain? Seeping in his cells? 

His hand falls from her mouth and he offers a smile, simple and small. Easy to read, genuine. “Do you wanna sit down or we can go... somewhere else?” Is there a right way to react to a situation like this? He already struggles with social cues enough as it is. The eyes around them stare, heavy and wondering what the next move was. “I’ll stay, of course I’ll stay. I’m just confused....”

[theironflower]

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[theironflower]

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[theironflower]

                                  † A FLAWLESS ENDING †          

I don’t care who you ARE

                                                 it doesn’t change that you’re the enemy

✘ INSPIRED BY: Iron blooded orphans ✘

indie ✚ private ✚ semi-selective ✚ mature content  - - - 18+ only - - - by T 

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[theironflower]

redemptioninterlude​:

Even if his stab at her name comes with the notes of hesitation, she smiles, anyways - how rare it is for someone to even remember her little visits is a treat, and one that she savours, the LONELY GIRL IN HIS LONELY DREAMS. “Alice! You got it. I’m surprised you remember me. I guess coming so often, maybe I left an impression? That could be wishful thinking, too.” Feet swing, back unbent, tucking back stray strands of wheat blonde hair behind the shell of her ear, scanning that look on his face - worried, terrified, the feeling that typically balls itself up tight within her chest whenever Alice woke up. “You don’t have to worry, Damian…”

Palms in the grass that draw inwards, leaning back back back until she’s sprawled, all that gold on her head spread in a messy halo behind it. “I won’t go poking at places you don’t let me in. After all, wouldn’t that be TERRIBLY RUDE? I like to think of myself as a little better than that. But maybe not by much.” a bubble of laughter bursts from her lips, but it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? Like this. Spring upwards, this can’t stay, and neither can they, but she’s happy to keep him company, the boy who looks for an out that hasn’t the courage yet to go reaching for it on his own outside of the safe confines of his dreams.

Fingers twinning against his own, GO RUNNING WITH ME, won’t you? Let’s get out of here, she knows, he’s only just marched for a day and found himself lost to a terrible exhaustion of the body. But for a minute, that could be nothing, if that’s what he wanted; she could make it so. “Anywhere you want to be. That’s why you called me here, don’t you know?” nobody does. Not even she, how it works, why it does - Alice can’t help but think that she’s missing something terribly important. But no matter. A mystery for another day, another nightmare. A sunnier grin, teasing, Alice please. “Or did you not want to go anywhere, and you just wanted to see me?”

- @theironflower

“How could I forget you when you live in my heard rent-free?” So it feels that way, a visitor on frequent nights not that he really minds. Worse dreams could be circling through his mind, a cute girl and some free space away from the rat-hole he lives in sounds pleasant. “Is it your job to go poking places?” He follows her stride, leaning back to sprawl into a dream world open and free. “Or are you not supposed to go there? I’m confused.” Though he still doesn’t really understand. This person he meets with at night, she’s just in his head right? Not real. Maybe real. Who knows. Who knows. Who knows. Part of it hurts - that not knowing. 

Their fingers intertwine and it takes him a second to recognize that feeling. There isn’t much contact here, not of that kind. Not where he resides. Love... affection, this care and bright sun that shines in her grin. Tooth to tooth. Toothie girl. Happy and warm. Who are you? “I don’t know where I want to be.” He answers this time honestly, blinks and looks back up at her face again. Fingers tighten. It feels nice to hold someone. Someone other than Mika in his hands. “I just don’t want to be here anymore.” Is that so much to ask? Life thinks so. Stuck in a cycle where it feels like there is no way out. A sick game created by grown ups. 

Damian pauses, searches for the sun as he rubs the buzzed hair on his head. Pitch black, still black. For now. “I guess I just wanted to see you. Is that wrong? Can I even call you here or do you make yourself appear?” 

[theironflower]

[theironflower]

[theironflower]

YOU’RE SO GOOD AT BEING BAD.

[theironflower]

[theironflower]

🖐️ - Alice :)

5 times touched meme ( selectively accepting ) + @theironflower // damian

cut for length ♡

001. only in dreams Can you really see me? That’s the question that always lingers, so rare is it that she’s a repeat visitor save for those who are the walking dead, the truly lonely. Those all pent up with no place else to go, she meets him, a boy and a soldier both, the one who sits upon his throne that rests upon a pile of bones, his legacy, his grief, and his burden with which he’s decided he must bear. SHE IS HERE to bear witness to that, she supposes, is that what he wants? More than anything, she thinks he’s lonely, looking for a slice of what normalcy might look like in some great perhaps, and what unfortunate fortune that he’d end with someone as odd as herself instead, delivered.

They sit, children perched at the edge of a hill, legs left dangling over the edge in some rebellious form of daring, as they watch the idea of the sun that rises. Their time is short, it feels as long as, they allow for it. That’s the power of dreams, isn’t it? Living lifetimes and adventures in a single night that might or might not resound from within, but for them, it’s all they’ve really got to connect by. “YOU’LL NEED TO WAKE SOON, Damian.” Alice’s words, flirting on the edge of cautiousness, with a laugh that rings truer. “Call me again when you need the company, okay? I’ll know!”

Alice, without the unsure pause, she hums alive and shifts closer to the edge - as if testing the weight of it, the potential, the thrill. A hand reaches out, and grasps onto his. “Wanna come with me this time?” There’s a smile and a promise, who knows what will happen? ALICE IS WILLING to try something different for this once, it’d be, so reassuring, wouldn’t it? To know if he were real and actualized, and not some madness within her head, breathing in deep, for once, twice... the countdown that trips her tongue, 3... 2... 1...

                                JUMP!

She wakes within her bed, a cold sweat, and GASPING BREATH, fingers coil within her hair with an anxiousness that claws from the back of her throat, looking for a way out. A pause... looking down at the open emptiness of her palm. Real? Not real? God only knows.

002. terror in renaissance                         Through bone, through flesh - he cuts, and he eats.

Alice should be above this judgement - above the fear, the feeling, that hits deep within her stomach, she’s not human the way that others are human. But he is fragilely so, and so, he suffers beneath the terror with which he’s been made to live and inflict, eat to live, eat your loved ones, watch as you march on, another day of living. They’re always quiet when they watch, with Damian unable to think of anything else, the nightmares consume him, as he has a friend, his head in her lap, fists made against the looseness of her skirts. Fingers in his hair, she’ll scratch, and knows that even as his face turns inwards against her thigh, he can still hear it all in front of them, the sound, the scrape, that turning of his stomach.

            Others that vomit, that cry, that try to go without.

His words that encourage them, he reflects on it all, the weight, the depth of it. Sorrow that drenches through him now, like sweat, she is soft and quiet as she watches, without a word, even if she looks at him and wonders too, HOW COULD YOU, but she knows the answer there in him. That he must, just to live. That there is little other option, without hurting all those that are still there. “Will you run?” she asks him, a quiet prompt, she wonders if she can rouse him to the occasion, her head dips, her hair a veil to separate him from those ghostly memories, the way he walks through his reality, both awake, and in dreams.

Palms that frame his face, angle his gaze upwards, to meet her own, blue and piercing, she feels it roll within her stomach, find me, she wants to tell him, but how can she even know that he is real, that THIS IS REAL? “Run. Please... there’s so much that you can do, so much you can be if not here. Take those that you can. Those willing. And step into an uncertain future. While you might not know what is coming...” a catch, she worries; what comes next? “... you will at least be safe. You deserve that. And so do they.”

003. careless endeavour  They’re seated now within the place he calls ‘home’... it’s beautiful and ragged and torn at all edges, but Alice sits amongst it all, her knees pressed together, her back left straight. It’s interesting.... this place, this world, he speaks at her with all these words and phrases and places that she’s meant to know, and all she can do is nod back, solemn. HE WON’T UNDERSTAND what business he has here, he only assumes he’ll be apart of it, which is helpful after all she’s seen him do. Demon. That’s what he calls himself, she thinks. And she remembers what those words mean back home, what that might mean for him, too, though he thinks of her as something similar.                                               

                                    Maybe it’s the dream walking.

Here he REGALES HER with stories about his come up, this place, she’s leaned in and asked him squarely, “Why are you the king of this place?” but not the King, per say. He doesn’t have a lot to say, but it all fits together like puzzle pieces with the snippets she’s picked up, the crumbs she’s been dropped. Hansel and Gretel would be proud of her right now, as she slowly eats the food he’s left her, praying she hasn’t encountered some Hades and she remade to play Persephone. You never know, even as her fingers dip, pomegranate staining her fingers, red on her lips.

“Is this really where you want to be?” Alice interjects, a blinking blue left studying him from across the table, as she stands, then, a sudden movement that makes Damian THINK TWICE, as she walks over to his position, his rounded end. “You’re... not lost like me. You’re helping a stranger find their way. But who knows.... I could still be make believe. I’d like to think that your presence, though, is its own kind of blessing.” a hand, there, to gently squeeze at a shoulder before she slips off to grab a little more food, returning to the table, a bowl held up to him this time. “Hungry?”

004. fleeting glances It’s almost like a coincidence, isn’t it? Alice, with a headache - a hand on her head, scrunched through impossible blonde, an ache that feels like something’s piercing through the eye, something’s dying to get out. Still dressed for work, clutching to the edge of the counter, a coworker asks after her, and she tries to BRUSH IT OFF. “I just need a pain killer~” a sing song voice, with a false note of cheer, a tiredness that’s sticking to her insides, souring her stomach. A sickness that threatens to crawl out her mouth and seeps through her brain, yes, that is what is sick, she’s never been quite well with that, has she?

Troubled dreams, then troubled nightmares, Alice who skips through them all, telling her that she is nothing, just the recycled ends of someone else’s heart and soul, she is but drawn on strings for GLORIOUS PURPOSE, none of which she dreamed herself. That which did and did not work, she’ll take a pill, and then another, anything, anything as a distraction! But none of it is enough, is it, it all comes down, persistent, consistent... and Alice, well, ahhh, she lives on, tries on, because after all, she must. A glance upwards; a face that stares back at her in mirrored surprise through it, the looking glass between them, but a memory that pulls on something that she thought not to be real.

              It’s him, it’s him!

Lips part in a shock, but he’s already inside, closing the gap before her mouth knows what to summon out to speak, his hand on her arm, he pushes her back with a shock - as if sensing the need in her, FIGHT OR FLIGHT. He chooses to fight, head on, tells her it’s silly to think that he’d just let her go, but, where else could she? Blue eyes that squint, a face so familiar that she’s know ever dip, every curve, every part of him, but that couldn’t be real, and neither could he. Had she taken a pill for this? Knees that feel weak, this is her dreams bleeding out into reality, now, she can’t, they can’t, he is... beneath the warmth, that pain of his grip, real. Then what is she? A crack, that threatens to shatter. “Alice.” the name slips easily, as does his when she doesn’t think about it too hard. “And you’re Damian. We’re not supposed to meet like this, oh...” the worrying, nervous, twitching of a girl that’s never quite believed in her own power.

005. 1-2-3 shot! This time, she thinks, it’s him inside of her dreams. How things have changed, as they do too, they meet for real, THIS IS REAL. And yet, she feels absolutely mad, this is, madness, isn’t it? He slips her a number, that look on his face enough to tell her that he too remembers, both the comfort, and, oh, those other things too. Like she could forget, that slip, that taste, his mouth against hers and the feeling when he watches her like temporary relief, she thinks, does he know? What it’s like to pull and find that there’s no magic trick at the end of the rope, it’s him, and her, and he asks her out for a drink.

                                         Alice simply couldn’t say no.

There’s shots lined up, her face lit up, or was that the neon, of this beautiful place? All dosed, soaked through, this is the Wonderland of her choosing, and it’s easier to talk, isn’t it? Without feeling as if her skin were itching, her heart was bleeding, that she wants to touch him to confirm what’s truth, BUT THEN AGAIN, those dreams had always felt so real too, hadn’t they? One, two three... another round. He orders too, as if he doesn’t know the answer around the edge of his tongue, the worry that lingers, she wants to catch him at it, Alice with bright eyes and a smile to match, red cheeks that burn the way that the liquor does, in her veins.

He asks her if she’s flirting with him, in a dress like that, crowded in a booth like this, and she can only say maybe, because that’s the truth. “Haven’t we already done it before?” with a laugh that almost makes him spit in his beer, but she takes the glass from him instead to drink, blonde hair dripping, over pale flesh. She is not real, not like him. But then neither is he, and if that’s the case, why the reservation? Leaning inwards, a hand that slides across his thigh, her voice is honey, her smile like a knife’s edge. “DO YOU WANT ME TO?” asking as if it were innocent, when her hand suggests anything but. “Flirt with you, that is.”

[theironflower]

[theironflower]

Will be making a discord sometime this week.

Been a little slow but I’ll be around :)

[theironflower]

[theironflower]

[theironflower]

@redemptioninterlude

Les choses qu'on dit, les choses qu'on fait (Emmanuel Mouret, 2020)