Categories > Anime/Manga > Yami no Matsuei
Angel
Author's notes:
Yeah, I know, songfic, but not, trust me. Non-consentual sex. Got it? Rape. This is a rapefic. Because the night Muraki met Hisoka, he raped him (and if you didn't know that, then you obviously haven't watched the show or read the manga). Rape, rape, rape. And child abuse to boot, since Hisoka was 13. That may be the age of consent in Japan, but, oh, look!, Hisoka not consenting! Gyech. Song is Tori Amos; characters are Matsushita Youko's.
dropped off the edge again down in Juarez
"don't even bat an eye
if the eagle cries" the rasta man says just cause the desert likes
young girls flesh and
do-do-do-a-do
Silly little girls. But they contain such powerful magic within them, even if they don't know it. But I do. And they come to me. Silly little girls, so innocent. So powerful, their young flesh, their vibrant eyes. They have no idea how much magic they contain; they have no idea of what it is that I am. They attract me for that power within them, that power that they waste and flaunt. Their giggles and their smiles and their whispers, all powered by something far greater than they; wasting that vibrancy. And so I call them to me, and they come, they come so easily, these silly little girls. So much within them--I crave that. I crave the magic and the power, even as I scorn them so for wasting it. So much power, and all they do is giggle behind slender, fragile fingers; all that vibrancy shining out from weak, delicate flesh that tears and breaks so very easily. How easily the life is snuffed out of them, how easily that vibrancy is lost.
Part of them knows how fleeting and fragile they are and life is, and it is that which comes to me, because they seek death. They go to it even as they claim to rage against it. Something so powerfully alive one moment is limp and lifeless the next; the vibrancy gone, the power pulsing away as the blood flows out of them.
Ahh, but blood is death, is it not? Even their menses--death. The death of the potential for a new life. That ability to create life is their power, housed in such tiny, fragile shells, and they bleed out its death even when they live, as surely as they bleed out their own lives when a knife is plunged into their hearts.
Such tiny, fragile, delicate things. So very, very human. More human than men, more frail, more honest in their humanity--because they can display the weakness and fragility of the flesh honestly, in their tiny wrists and slender waists. None of that broadness, that facade of strength that men have. None of the facade.
So fragile.
So delicate.
So powerful.
So silly.
/ Oh-ho. What is this?/
no angel came.
no angel came.
do-do-do-a-do
and it was a warm night. The boy couldn't sleep; he had tried and found it impossible. The house and everyone in it had been a jumble of emotions that he hadn't been able to filter out. So he rose, slipped on a robe and crept outside; outside in the quiet stillness, he could readjust himself; he could filter out all of the emotions and find himself again, instead of being swallowed by everyone around him. And so he went for a walk, focusing himself inside of himself, away from all of the emotions, filtering them out so tightly that he didn't even notice until
I don't think you even know
what you think you just said
so go on spill your seed
shake your gun to the rasta man's head
and the desert - she must be blessed and
It would seem that I'm being watched.
no angel came.
no angel came tonight
no angel came
do-do-do-a-do
it was too late; he watched with wide, shocked eyes as the man stabbed the woman. When it registered, he tried to run, tried desperately, and found instead that he couldn't, that his robe was falling away
there's a time to keep it up
a time to keep it in
the Indian is told
the cowboy is his friend
"This is your brother, Saki," they told me.
"Pleased to meet you," he'd said, and smiled.
a time to keep it up
a time to keep it in
the Indian is told
the cowboy is his friend
Sweet, sweet boy. It's so much worse because you're enjoying this, aren't you? You can't deny it. That first orgasm was a bit overwhelming for you, wasn't it? Oh, you hate me, I know. I can almost taste the hate in the your sweat. Of course I'm the first to ever do such a thing to you--you never even dreamed it was possible, did you? Still too young to have fantasies of someone taking you in their mouth like I am now. You hate me more because you love how it feels. You're trying so hard not to, your eyes screwed up tight like that and little-boy tears you try so ...manfully...to fight leaking out the corners. Ahh, little boy. Sweet little boy. Your smooth, hairless penis feels so soft even though it's hard; you're still so very young. Not a man and not a boy, are you? You're so innocent. Was that your first orgasm? Hnn.
Sweet, sweet boy.
you know that I can breathe
even when I cheat
should, should, should, should, should've should've been over for me
tonight
do-do-do-a-do
do-do-do-a-do
I will kill you. I will, Saki. Try and say I've haven't competely become you now, Saki. This beautiful boy screams more than I ever did, and you never dreamed of doing to me everything I'm doing to him, did you?
And if you did dream it...you never dared try it, did you? Did you dream of forcing your mouth on me like I am on this boy? Dream of hearing cries of pleasure being wrenched out of me through my tears?
Ah, but you never made me cry, did you, Saki? At least, not like this.
no angel came.
no angel came.
do-do-do-a-do
no angel came tonight.
no angel came.
and the boy closed his eyes and tried not to scream; tried to understand how this had happened, how this could be happening, trying to believe that this was a horrible dream and that he would wake up any moment. One moment out walking in the cool night air, and the next...the next...now, somewhere else somehow, a monster in the form of a man reaching out and grasping him in a way no one had before, and now he was drowing; drowning in the sensation and drowing in the man's emotions that were like an abyss; he was drowning in the abyss, drowing in a darkness that he had never imagined before, tethered only to reality by the lips and fingers on him; the horribly wonderful suction that made him moan even as he wept, a counter-pull to that of the darkness; the depths of both feelings he had never fathomed until now. Drowning in the sickening way that it felt like nothing he had ever felt before, completely overwhelmed now and limp
do-do-do-a-do
no angel came.
no angel came.
no angel came.
no angel
came.
but then, there was only pain, there was only the feeling first of his legs pushed apart, and then of the darkness pushing into him; of blood and tearing and drowning in the abyss. And then, the feeling of his skin being marked, of now of his entire body being swallowed by the abyss and knowing, horribly, even as everything started to go grey and black and faded, that he would never be able to surface, that it would kill him. It was a dream, but one he would never awaken from, it had him, it was pulling him deeper into it.
/ No, he realized in quiet, horrifying certainty. This was not a dream, but everything that happened afterwards would be; a dream he knew was a dream but couldn't prove was a dream, that would work like a splinter in his brain; the dream he would never awaken from until it killed him./
/ Help me, he screamed in a desperation-filled voice that had no words, as he sank into the abyss, as everything that had happened began to fade and darken and slip away from his mind as a dream upon waking. He tried to hold on to it desperately, knowing that if he lost it, he was lost, and he would slip into the dream abyss and never awaken again. Someone, please, please help me! he screamed silently./
/ And no one came./
/ no one came. /
/ no one came./
/ no one/
/ came./
Author's notes:
Yeah, I know, songfic, but not, trust me. Non-consentual sex. Got it? Rape. This is a rapefic. Because the night Muraki met Hisoka, he raped him (and if you didn't know that, then you obviously haven't watched the show or read the manga). Rape, rape, rape. And child abuse to boot, since Hisoka was 13. That may be the age of consent in Japan, but, oh, look!, Hisoka not consenting! Gyech. Song is Tori Amos; characters are Matsushita Youko's.
dropped off the edge again down in Juarez
"don't even bat an eye
if the eagle cries" the rasta man says just cause the desert likes
young girls flesh and
do-do-do-a-do
Silly little girls. But they contain such powerful magic within them, even if they don't know it. But I do. And they come to me. Silly little girls, so innocent. So powerful, their young flesh, their vibrant eyes. They have no idea how much magic they contain; they have no idea of what it is that I am. They attract me for that power within them, that power that they waste and flaunt. Their giggles and their smiles and their whispers, all powered by something far greater than they; wasting that vibrancy. And so I call them to me, and they come, they come so easily, these silly little girls. So much within them--I crave that. I crave the magic and the power, even as I scorn them so for wasting it. So much power, and all they do is giggle behind slender, fragile fingers; all that vibrancy shining out from weak, delicate flesh that tears and breaks so very easily. How easily the life is snuffed out of them, how easily that vibrancy is lost.
Part of them knows how fleeting and fragile they are and life is, and it is that which comes to me, because they seek death. They go to it even as they claim to rage against it. Something so powerfully alive one moment is limp and lifeless the next; the vibrancy gone, the power pulsing away as the blood flows out of them.
Ahh, but blood is death, is it not? Even their menses--death. The death of the potential for a new life. That ability to create life is their power, housed in such tiny, fragile shells, and they bleed out its death even when they live, as surely as they bleed out their own lives when a knife is plunged into their hearts.
Such tiny, fragile, delicate things. So very, very human. More human than men, more frail, more honest in their humanity--because they can display the weakness and fragility of the flesh honestly, in their tiny wrists and slender waists. None of that broadness, that facade of strength that men have. None of the facade.
So fragile.
So delicate.
So powerful.
So silly.
/ Oh-ho. What is this?/
no angel came.
no angel came.
do-do-do-a-do
and it was a warm night. The boy couldn't sleep; he had tried and found it impossible. The house and everyone in it had been a jumble of emotions that he hadn't been able to filter out. So he rose, slipped on a robe and crept outside; outside in the quiet stillness, he could readjust himself; he could filter out all of the emotions and find himself again, instead of being swallowed by everyone around him. And so he went for a walk, focusing himself inside of himself, away from all of the emotions, filtering them out so tightly that he didn't even notice until
I don't think you even know
what you think you just said
so go on spill your seed
shake your gun to the rasta man's head
and the desert - she must be blessed and
It would seem that I'm being watched.
no angel came.
no angel came tonight
no angel came
do-do-do-a-do
it was too late; he watched with wide, shocked eyes as the man stabbed the woman. When it registered, he tried to run, tried desperately, and found instead that he couldn't, that his robe was falling away
there's a time to keep it up
a time to keep it in
the Indian is told
the cowboy is his friend
"This is your brother, Saki," they told me.
"Pleased to meet you," he'd said, and smiled.
a time to keep it up
a time to keep it in
the Indian is told
the cowboy is his friend
Sweet, sweet boy. It's so much worse because you're enjoying this, aren't you? You can't deny it. That first orgasm was a bit overwhelming for you, wasn't it? Oh, you hate me, I know. I can almost taste the hate in the your sweat. Of course I'm the first to ever do such a thing to you--you never even dreamed it was possible, did you? Still too young to have fantasies of someone taking you in their mouth like I am now. You hate me more because you love how it feels. You're trying so hard not to, your eyes screwed up tight like that and little-boy tears you try so ...manfully...to fight leaking out the corners. Ahh, little boy. Sweet little boy. Your smooth, hairless penis feels so soft even though it's hard; you're still so very young. Not a man and not a boy, are you? You're so innocent. Was that your first orgasm? Hnn.
Sweet, sweet boy.
you know that I can breathe
even when I cheat
should, should, should, should, should've should've been over for me
tonight
do-do-do-a-do
do-do-do-a-do
I will kill you. I will, Saki. Try and say I've haven't competely become you now, Saki. This beautiful boy screams more than I ever did, and you never dreamed of doing to me everything I'm doing to him, did you?
And if you did dream it...you never dared try it, did you? Did you dream of forcing your mouth on me like I am on this boy? Dream of hearing cries of pleasure being wrenched out of me through my tears?
Ah, but you never made me cry, did you, Saki? At least, not like this.
no angel came.
no angel came.
do-do-do-a-do
no angel came tonight.
no angel came.
and the boy closed his eyes and tried not to scream; tried to understand how this had happened, how this could be happening, trying to believe that this was a horrible dream and that he would wake up any moment. One moment out walking in the cool night air, and the next...the next...now, somewhere else somehow, a monster in the form of a man reaching out and grasping him in a way no one had before, and now he was drowing; drowning in the sensation and drowing in the man's emotions that were like an abyss; he was drowning in the abyss, drowing in a darkness that he had never imagined before, tethered only to reality by the lips and fingers on him; the horribly wonderful suction that made him moan even as he wept, a counter-pull to that of the darkness; the depths of both feelings he had never fathomed until now. Drowning in the sickening way that it felt like nothing he had ever felt before, completely overwhelmed now and limp
do-do-do-a-do
no angel came.
no angel came.
no angel came.
no angel
came.
but then, there was only pain, there was only the feeling first of his legs pushed apart, and then of the darkness pushing into him; of blood and tearing and drowning in the abyss. And then, the feeling of his skin being marked, of now of his entire body being swallowed by the abyss and knowing, horribly, even as everything started to go grey and black and faded, that he would never be able to surface, that it would kill him. It was a dream, but one he would never awaken from, it had him, it was pulling him deeper into it.
/ No, he realized in quiet, horrifying certainty. This was not a dream, but everything that happened afterwards would be; a dream he knew was a dream but couldn't prove was a dream, that would work like a splinter in his brain; the dream he would never awaken from until it killed him./
/ Help me, he screamed in a desperation-filled voice that had no words, as he sank into the abyss, as everything that had happened began to fade and darken and slip away from his mind as a dream upon waking. He tried to hold on to it desperately, knowing that if he lost it, he was lost, and he would slip into the dream abyss and never awaken again. Someone, please, please help me! he screamed silently./
/ And no one came./
/ no one came. /
/ no one came./
/ no one/
/ came./
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