your watermelon candy mouth

allelujah gave me some writing prompts and I'm slowly making my way through them cause I'm a terrible writer LMAO but anyway, here are three bits because I haven't posted in a good forever.



Orange

In Celestial Being, every meister is assigned a color, generally regarding the Gundam they pilot. Allelujah's color has always been orange. He never really considered things like favorite colors too often. If he had to choose, it wouldn't be orange. But then again, if he had to choose many things they would not end up the way they had. This was life. The things he did consider were varied and regarded what he thought had to do with what was necessary, most of the time. He knew what foods he liked, he knew the past was a painful concept, he knew what type of music hurt his head.

When he first received his assignment to Kyrios, he fingered his suit, noting the color and had no concept at that moment that it would become almost like a signature of his. Orange, and the color of blood and shades of grey. These were the colors that made up his palette. If he could choose, he'd see things in black and white and enjoy his ignorance. To have awareness was pain, to have pain meant, to people like himself, that you had to change something, fill the void somehow.

After his departure from Celestial Being, he doesn't wear orange again.


Falling

The few times Stein can ever remember dreaming mundane things they were disturbing almost inversely. To dream abstract was to be himself, but to do so simply was a foreign concept and was almost as though his brain had been hijacked for a night. Most of his dreams and their imagery wouldn't fit into a standard dream dictionary. Marie, in a psychology phase, bought a few books on the subject and Stein had only told her of that night's dream to quell her desires to analyze him. Stein didn't need armchair psychiatry to tell him how his brain worked. It was a vortex of oddities and complications.

Sometimes, though, Stein dreams he is falling. It never starts from a point, he falls from nothing, but he loses his footing all the same, almost falling from consciousness into sleep, because the dream starts the moment he falls asleep. The sensation is real, the wind whirling past him and everything around him is black as he falls. He doesn't attempt to grab at his surroundings or contemplate his plight. Just falls, free falls. His hands don't even outstretch to accept, he just is motionless and sometimes cannot move, locked up.

He never hits the bottom and the dream dictionary, which he picks up curiously one day out of Marie's books says a fair amount about the cliche idea, but at least one passage stresses, "Falling dreams often represent a sense of failure, inferiority in one area or circumstance of your life. It could mean a sense of shame and lack of pride. You feel unable to keep up or measure up." Others bring up the idea of deep insecurity.

He doesn't dream this often and he doesn't think he can find a pattern in its occurrences. Not believing it anyway, he puts the book back on to the pile she's accumulated on the subject of the mind and sighs, as he recalls the second paragraph that included Freudian theory regarding sexual repression. "... dreams of falling can indicate that you are contemplating giving into a sexual urge or impulse or have a lack of discretion ..." Wasn't that all Freud's theories? There isn't any stock he can find in these ideas.

Sometimes things mean nothing to him and he's tired from a life of being studied, even too much to mentally study himself. Sometimes he dreams about falling, and sometimes he dreams nothing at all, just himself staring into a black void. Sometimes he dreams of the past, just like an old man would.

It's a twisted past, and comes in pop flashes like visions from post-traumatic happening. Bad, good. Stein knows he is deeply flawed and at times revels in these imperfections in a narcissistic sort of apathy.

Sometimes he dreams things he hopes are false.


Shut Up

Nnoitra doesn't touch Neliel. He doesn't dare touch Neliel. In one regard, she's a much higher ranked Espada than himself and to casually grab her, sling her down as he wishes to do wouldn't be prudent. It'd be downright stupid and in another regard, he doesn't know what he'd do if his bare hands touched any bit of her body. He's come so close so many times. He wants to feel strange parts of her, wants to know her in ways that almost transcend violence or sexual desire. Some days he can't help himself and it's easier to raise his weapon.

But, oh, she stands there, that bitch, and he can't even remember seconds later what she said because it's all useless diatribe to him, even if it's right. He doesn't admit it's right, but she's so smug and knows she is right. In a flash he stands over her, his shadow dwarfing her figure and she doesn't flinch, and doesn't stare at him coldly but rather with surprise. His hand snakes out this once and grabs her by the mouth and her eyes don't open a fraction, blink. She seemed to know what move he'd make and anticipated it.

"Shut up!" he roars, wondering why, of these moments, he lost control. His fingers over her lips feel so good and he wants to pull her to the ground and simultaneously stomp her head bloody and move his hand and cover his mouth over hers. The feelings intertwine in a way that isn't alien.

He stares down at her and knows she's not afraid but curious and releases her. Her head leans against the wall as she looks up at him, breathes in and out.

Nnoitra stalks off before anything else is said, and tries to forget the feeling of her skin. He tells himself she's useless, it's useless, but his hand is twitching, eagerly.