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[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ sweet sorrow

will you remember that i existed , & that i stood next to you here like this?

❧ ꒰ gojo satoru × jujutsu kaisen × quote cr : haruki murakami ꒱ ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

ANOTHER DEAD BODY DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING WHEN YOU'RE ALWAYS WEARING BLACK.

you've heard that before , the words an echo in state of decay. endless ringing in your ears. the person who spoke those words is a dead man walking now, and you cannot wait to spill his blood. it will be an act of cruelty and mercy in one, and maybe you tell yourself that in justification of violence. it doesn't matter, anyway, the difference between sinner & saint.

YOU SHOULD BE IN A CATHEDRAL , SOMEWHERE IN THE SHELTER OF HOLINESS ( YOU WOULD FEEL SOMETHING, THEN ). the rain drenches your figures ; there's an umbrella somewhere in this crowd, but gojo doesn't care to grab it, and neither do you. you stand, shoulder to shoulder, lifeless, devoid, the last of your humanity flooding through your veins.

his hands are fists, hidden in his pockets.

spoken words of kindness and goodbyes go unheard, fall upon deaf ears. it is storming somewhere, but not here. you hear it, somehow, the thunder a distant sign of what is to come. you tilt your head, fingers laced together as you watch the casket lower into the ground. who is in there? you have forgotten already. who are you, and are you there? have they lost your corpse in a forest where they will never find you again?

you whisper an empty i'm sorry, and gojo hears it.

and maybe he apologizes too, but the thunder roars, fills your ears with nothing but numbness in protection of his vulnerability.

you stand there, frozen, until the morrow passes, until the gray skies twist into black and even the stars do not grant you their presence. the crowd is gone now. still, it rains, but you do not move, waiting for the dull thud in your chest to stop. you cannot describe this pain, the ache in your bones, the heaviness that graces itself in every fiber of your being.

it begins to storm. the rain pours and pours. a coldness brews itself into the hollowness you know to be your reflection, the puddles at your feet muddled with conflicted mourning and indifference. your lips part, and you are frightened.

( YOU ARE GOING TO RELIVE THIS. YOU ARE GOING TO RELIVE THIS, AREN'T YOU? )

the thunder rings again, sends shivers down your spine. you tremble, disturbed at the newfound anxiety that weighs heavy at the pit of your stomach. you will not relive this, you realize, eyes wide, lips parted with the forewarning, but satoru will, and it will be at your funeral.

"i don't remember who that was." you begin, voice thick with preemptive grief. "i hope you don't forget me when the time comes."

he is silent. you expect a lighthearted joke, the parting of ways on a brighter note. but he grabs the umbrella, holds it over your head. his hand finds yours. it is cold and warm at the same time, a mess of comfort and unbelonging, and you hope that there's a promise of remembrance somewhere in the little space between your palms.

still, it rains, but neither of you move.

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ bewitched

i'm a fool , but i'll love you dear.

❧ ꒰ zayne × love & deepspace × quote cr : bill trader ꒱ ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

"so it appears you've failed to learn your lesson."

you'd probably be more annoyed-- scratch that, much more annoyed at zayne's words had you not been freezing and fighting for your life in this unexpected cold front. it's just like last time-- the cancelled concert date, the cruel rain that betrayed news of seemingly decent weather. you know the weather isn't foolproof-- the words, his words, specifically, will haunt you until the end of time, and they continue to do so in this moment. what is there to trust if you cannot trust the weather report? where is the hope in humanity if you cannot rely on such a thing? you're not being dramatic. you are simply suffering in the cold. that's all.

much to his amusement, zayne watches as you absentmindedly grumble to yourself, shoving your hands in your pockets in futile attempt to stay warm. you throw him a half-hearted glare, though his lack of reaction indicates that it fails to make any impact.

"in my defense," you start, not having one at all, "i, at the very least, tried to come prepared." you take a hand out of your pocket, gesturing dramatically to your beanie and coat. an attempt to stay warm, perhaps-- a sad one, really, especially when the temperatures are so excruciatingly low. then again, how were you supposed to know?

"a poor attempt." zayne responds, and you swear you see his lips curve just the smallest bit. "but one i'll acknowledge. maybe you'll take this as another lesson to realize--"

"-- that the weather is foolproof, yeah, yeah."

his smile grows a bit more as he takes a step, closes the distance between you as he removes his scarf. you pick up all too easily on his intentions, but before you can protest, he's leaning down, face only inches from yours as he gently wraps the scarf around you. it's a few moments of careful consideration as he adjusts it, hoping to conserve some of your body heat. once he's done, he pauses, gaze meeting yours.

he doesn't pull back-- just studies you carefully, expression thoughtful, gentle. you feel your face heat up, murmuring a small word of thanks as your fingers nervously mess with the fabric, pulling it just a little closer to you in means of distraction. he really doesn't mind the lack of space -- in fact, he finds it too amusing with the way you react, always so shy.

it's only when you shiver again that he realizes you truly are ill prepared for this weather. he lets out a soft chuckle, hands grabbing yours, resting them gently against his face. your eyes widen the slightest bit, but you don't move away, your touch gentle in the way they seek warmth from the contact.

"--what are you doing?"

"my gloves are too large for you." he answers nonchalantly, though his hands still rest over yours, thumb ghosting over your skin in quiet reverence. "so maybe my body temperature will suffice for now."

you swallow hard, realize that you are, in fact, getting a little warmer, but only because you're flustered by his affection. he doesn't need to know that, though. but before you can thank him, he speaks once more, and you notice the pure mirth that lingers in his eyes.

"actually," he says, smiling ever so faintly, "it seems like your own embarrassment will be the one to warm you."

you've decided that you're suddenly not thankful anymore.

"...please be quiet, zayne."

he hums in amusement, presses a kiss to your forehead.

"only if you promise that you'll learn your lesson this time."

"what am i gonna do? ask the weather myself if the forecast is accurate?"

another chuckle, then another kiss to your nose, then your lips.

"of course. how else would anyone do it?"

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ ESCAPISM

you may be able to prolong your life , but it's not like you can escape your inevitable death , is it?

❧ ꒰ leon kennedy × resident evil 4 remake ꒱ ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog. reader is a separate companion / not meant to replace ashley.

( 1 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, WELCOME HOME.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN HOPE & DESPAIR. you are so far from home, you lonely little lambs, minds on the brink of corruption, blood spilled and meant to be stained with eternal damnation. you venture further into doom, surroundings crumbled into debris and desolation, places once full of life and vigor and a brewing evil now withered into a type of dead you have killed over and over again.

you are so far from home. something greater and something more sinister than nostalgia embeds itself in your existence, sinks itself in the crevices of a hauntening. everywhere you go -- zombie after zombie, death of the undead, every shot fired, every inch of a silver blade covered in red, you hear it, these whispers among the rot : welcome home, welcome home, welcome home, WELCOME HOME.

you wonder if you are losing your mind amidst the violence. in the quiet, it is easier to lose control, fall back into the rabbit hole you once desperately crawled out of before. you inhale, feel the dreadful air bring a heaviness into your lungs, threaten to crush a racing heart.

you ignore the feeling. some things are better that way.

you wrap leon's arm with bandages, movements delicate as to prevent further pain; your expression is somber, mind deep in thought, so you fail to notice the way leon looks at you, fail to notice how he calls your name in that firm yet somehow gentle tone.

"something tells me that you aren't thinking about me right now."

you blink. the trance is broken. you finish tending to him, and instead, your hand slides down and rests on his. it's almost instinct that he turns his hand over, grabs yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles in silent consolation. he leans in to take a better look at you, check if you're wounded-- and it's only just the slightest bit but somehow already too much.

"i'm not, sorry." he smiles wryly at your words. you run your fingers through his hair, find some comfort in this rare respite, force yourself to express the worries that run rampant. "i have a bad feeling... just--" a pause. "something is going to go wrong, leon. something bad is going to happen and--"

"and we'll survive it."

it is almost fascinating -- the shift of tenderness that hardens into resolve in those blue eyes. you almost feel a semblance of safety, but a paranoia, a guilt, accompanies it, engulfs it entirely until it is nothing in existence. gone, void, and leon knows this.

"look, nothing ever goes as planned. you know how it goes." he leans closer, and maybe there is something of reminiscent sorrow that lingers, and maybe he remembers raccoon city and the brutality of death there. "i can't promise nothing bad will happen, but i can promise that we'll make it out of here. both of us."

you nod. the numbness sinks in, one foot in the grave.

you are so far from home.

( 2 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU ARE MEANT FOR THE SAVING.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home ; the air becomes more suffocating as you continue forth. the weight of each step becomes heavier. you almost wonder if your footprints in the mud will become the last fragment of yourself, should you get lost in the dark.

the hollows of the earth you step on become a walking grave. it is a very tragic thing that you cannot see the crimson that seeps into the roots of her tragedies, this place corrupted with a madness of some higher being.

something in your chest hurts. it burns, almost -- a sensation akin to terror, and you have almost forgotten that feeling, last felt anything remotely similar when you first learned what it meant, killing another for the sake of survival, dead or undead. you force the calm, anchor it yourself, but you cannot see in this building, the staleness of the air suffocating.

you linger behind leon, keep to yourself. you should be stronger than this, but something in your gut, your instinct, tells you that something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and you've got to get him out of here, because better him than you and--

in the quiet, leon picks up on your breathing, senses a shift in the air -- a panic, a trembling, but there's something else he can't quite figure out, something else that isn't part of you. something approaches, silent, so he turns on his heel, hardly able to make you out in the dimness of this cramped room.

something is coming. something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and it's coming now. you hear nothing, but you feel it : this ominous presence, this dreadful dance with death and something that will infect your bloodstream, try to make you something that you're not.

SOMETHING IS COMING.

neither of you can think, fail to move in time from an omniscient being. the last thing either of you remember is a loud chaos, the destruction of a temporary safekeeping, then the collision of your bodies, then nothing.

nothing.

( 3 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, IT HAS BEGUN. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but this is where you are meant to be, you foolish little lambs. you should know your place, know that you are destined to be at the altar, worship in your veins, adoration drowned in black.

you wake up with an ache. when you come to, you are surrounded by a familiar warmth and comfort, realize that leon is holding you, arms supporting your frame. you have seen fear in those eyes too many times before, but there is something so visceral and heart wrenching this time. your vision blurs for a moment, head throbbing so violently that you can't quite make out what he says to you, but you understand the urgency in his voice.

"--with me?"

"leon, sorry, i--" you can hardly hear yourself. you feel the way his muscles tense as he pulls you closer. "hold on, i-- it's okay, it's okay-- i'm with you." you shut your eyes tight, feel that recognizable yet painful sensation in your chest.

you open your eyes, see the horror in your visage reflected by a cool blue. there's a relief to be found somewhere, if you looked hard enough, but you feel guilty for worrying him so much, so you look away, pat his arm gently in silent request for him to let go.

"you're with me." he tells you, breathless.

you nod. there's a lump in your throat.

"always with you."

there is something heavy in your chest and you know it is not grief. you know what that feels like. this is different. unnatural. you wonder if he feels it, too.

"how are you feeling? you okay?"

"yeah. yeah, i'm okay. i'm okay if you are."

neither of you have enough clarity to understand what happened-- to deem something as strange or out of place is rare nowadays, given both of your histories and roles in these catastrophes. but what need, what purpose is there to attack and flee? it would have been easy to rid of both of you, bring an end to the disruption to this corruption.

something is wrong.

( 3.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, A FALSE SAVIOR WILL DEEM THIS AS CORROSION, TELL YOU THAT THERE IS A WAY OUT. BUT THEY ARE SIN THEMSELVES, AREN'T THEY? BE CAREFUL.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but the reluctant acquaintance you find company with is neither unwelcomed or welcomed.

"las plagas, huh? some vacation."

luis's words echo in your mind. a parasite made for the end of all things, set to blossom, devour, destroy, and it's in your heart. there's a small inkling of hope-- something like that, you guess, had it not been for the former umbrella researcher's roundabout words.

you lean your head against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with leon. the taste of blood lingers on your tongue.

"some vacation." you repeat those words, mind in a fog. "some vacation."

he takes your hand in his, all too aware that his other one is stained with his own blood. no pep talk this time, you muse. that's okay. the silence is enough for now. even with a wavering resolve, you both know that this story is yours and that there is always an ending to reclaim.

"you with me, leon?"

you rest your head against his shoulder. he smiles, bittersweet. there will be an end to this, and it will be a good one. you've got a future together, after all.

"always with you."

( 4 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, THIS IS MERCY. SALVATION. WON'T YOU GIVE IN?

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and you are closer to losing yourself forever. you can feel it, that numbness and burning in your chest, in your heart. in your dreams, you find yourself drowning, surrounded by figures cloaked in black. unfamiliar.

when you dream, leon never leaves your side. call it love, call it fear, call it cowardice, but he holds you tightly, the shelter you have found a temporary haven. in the dimness, he makes out the foreign lines that run haphazard on his skin. a grimace.

there is an malevolence and hatred flowing in his veins, but such a thing does not exist in his heart. the black flows through his body, consumes the red entirely, spreads its parasite and curse. it grows more and more, and he almost wonders if this is how his story will end. his jaw clenches. he shakes his head, knows he cannot humor such thoughts. he has too many people to save, too many people he cares for. it can't happen again. not this time.

his vision distorts. everything becomes heavy. he is so tired. the taste of rust overwhelms his senses, suffocates him. maybe he is underwater too, drowning just like you are.

time is running out. he has to hurry.

it can't happen again. not this time.

( 4.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, TIME IS NEARING. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and everything you know, everyone you know. something poisonous engulfs you, takes over your mind and body whole. the visions, the whispers-- you shudder, feel that cool metal against your skin.

no, this isn't right-- you won't call it betrayal because it's not, because you can't be betrayed by someone you don't know, even if leon is the one who holds the knife against your throat. how terribly wretched this is, lover against lover, minds plagued with a reckoning. the virus continues its course, black adorning his countenance. it's coming. he is running out of time.

this isn't him. it's not. you know leon, know he would never put you in harm's way. you know the cause of this, recall the times you felt you weren't yourself, lost in the chaos of las plagas, mind set ablaze, a superficial deity echoing terror in your soul. you know leon, know this isn't him. you don't call this betrayal.

you are too afraid to speak, feel like one word will lead to demise. speak and you lose. stay silent and you lose. move, you lose. stay still, you lose. you cannot win here. there is no good ending, no optimal end game, no way around it unless he can restore himself.

you are helpless and weak and you cannot even save the person you love.

your mouth runs dry. his hand trembles. you feel him regain himself, barely, but the blade meets flesh anyway, draws the slightest amount of blood. part of you hopes, prays, that maybe the sight of you being harmed is what will bring him back, but it doesn't. the knife digs deeper. something trails down your neck. you shiver, instinctively take a step back, his name falling from your lips without a single thought, pleading. one step back, another forward.

you cannot distance yourself from this violence. you don't know what to do -- draw your gun, unsheathe your knife, act like you'll hurt him if he continues? would they care if leon died? would they care if you died? you are simply part of the flock, after all. your deaths are meaningless. you do not know if pain would even snap him out of this. you can both push it to the limits, wait and see what happens, but it doesn't matter, not if they see you as another useless puppet.

the possibilities are both endless and limited. something warm continues to run down your skin, leave a faint crimson in its wake. it's now or never ; there's no winning with inaction. another step back. you draw your gun, aim it down at the ground -- somewhere far in the distance, and shoot, once, twice. it's stupid. it'll draw attention. you can't think of anything else though, adrenaline sending your thoughts in a spiral.

it works.

a sudden wild bewilderment in blue eyes-- he jerks away from you, then you hear the knife clatter against concrete. you let out that breath you've been holding for too long, unsure if it is relief or some semblance of hurt that decorates your features.

leon is quick to put the pieces together, sees the wound on your neck. that was him. it was him. he hurt you, he--

"don't think about it. it wasn't you." you grab his wrist, ignore the way he reflexively tries to pull back in possibility that he could bring harm to you once more. "we have to go and we have to go now."

so you do. you run in search of safety together, but there is something that shatters the soul, breaks what little is left of the hearts that cling to humanity.

you run. you keep running. together.

( there is nothing to grant forgiveness for. there is no need for apologies, but you hear them endlessly, anyway. he is careful to tend to the wound, but his hands shake. his hands shake, so you hold them until they still. until he knows you're okay. )

( 5 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU HAVE TURNED DOWN GOD'S WILL, REFUSED YOUR OWN STORY. WHAT WILL YOU MAKE OF THIS?

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are closer than ever to being lost, but you are closer than ever to being found. your lungs burn, your limbs ache. the exhaustion weighs you down, but you and leon support each other, fend off the hallucinations that threaten to break you. you're underwater again, drowning, but the surface is right there, so close--

you cough up blood, wind knocked out of you by the ravaging plague. leon is on the verge of vanquish, but he fights through it, knows that your story together is yours and only yours to reclaim, so he pushes through, even if his body hurts so terribly much. he's so close-- there is no stopping now. luis's lab is nearby.

he's too close. he cannot stop now, even if everything turns into a haze, even if the darkness nearly takes him. so he picks you up, movements clumsy and weak, silently apologizes when he hears your muffled cries of pain.

when you reach the lab, leon rushes to put you in the chair. you do not know what will come next. your lips part in protest, but he is quick to shush you, tell you to save your strength. the parasite inside you lies dormant, but it will wake soon, and then you will be gone, lost forever. you don't have time, but neither does he.

you are afraid. you feel yourself going in and out of consciousness, eyes heavy, your head lulled to the side. you close your eyes, feel leon's hand on yours.

you are so afraid. it will hurt. you know this.

it does. it does. it does it does it does IT DOES.

( 5.5, ENDGAME ) : WHAT WAS LOST IS ALWAYS FOUND. YOU ARE CLOSER TO HOME THAN YOU THINK.

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY ABOVE THE TIDES, HEART CLEANSED FROM PLAGUE , BEATING , ALIVE. you are closer to home than you think, the pain spread through your body slowly fading. you are more tired and more awake than ever, the pain in your chest obsolete. you are safe, and so is he.

leon is knocked out cold, entirely still as he lies in the chair. had it not been for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, you would have thought to check his pulse. you rub your eyes, try to fend off the fatigue. you may be safe, but you are only free from the virus. still, you do not wake him, know that you both have been running on fumes.

you are not entirely sure how you managed to switch places with him ; your muscles ache in protest. surely you will be sore tomorrow. you smile weakly, rest your forearms on the arm of the chair. you put your head down, take a deep breath. you should wake him, start running. you should be going. but you are so god damn tired, and you cannot think. you cannot bear to do so. not right now.

you close your eyes, fall into a slumber in which you do not drown.

you wake up with an ache. this all feels so very familiar.

"--with me?"

when you come to, you raise your head, greeted by the sight of leon's warm gaze. he smiles when you sit straight up, shake your head as if it'd rid of the grogginess.

"good morning, sunshine. are you with me?"

you do not answer at first, though you both know exactly what will be said. you scoot a little closer, a faint worry in your eyes as you study him intently. the black has faded entirely, all signs of infection gone. you glance at the computer, confirmation made by the notification that pops up on the screen. still--

your hand trembles ever so slightly as you reach out for him, but part of you is scared that maybe it's wrong, maybe there's a chance that things could still go south.

"it worked. i'm okay." leon's words are gentle and reassuring ; he grabs your hand, leans into your touch in hopes that it will ease the panic that threatens to bloom in your heart. "it'll take more than that to get rid of me, remember? you're always with me."

something almost chokes you-- everything you have ever endured, whether good or bad, everything you have ever swallowed in attempt to keep it somewhere unheard, unnoticed. your eyes sting, but you nod anyway.

"yeah." you whisper, voice shaking. "i'm always with you, leon."

he studies you, careful, brows furrowed. he squeezes your hand : a desperate desire for reassurance, more for his own sake than yours.

"i've got you." he tells you, and you've heard those words so many times before, always knowing them to be true. "i've got you. we'll make it out of here."

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ I AM THE KNIFE WHICH WILL SLAUGHTER HEAVEN ( part i. )

IT IS YOUR PART TO KILL ME , MINE TO DIE WITHOUT FLINCHING.

❧ ꒰ childe ⋮ ei ⋮ dainsleif ꒱ ⋮ genshin impact × title cr : heiner müller × quote cr : epictetus ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ CHILDE

OH, BUT THE BLOOD IN YOUR VEINS RUNS COLDER THAN THE KNIFE AGAINST YOUR THROAT, the ruins of salvageable survival echoing in the remnants of a cruel mind. failure failure failure FAILED. you have failed once more, but you do not know if you are sorry or relieved at the realization. you lay there, chest heaving as your lungs burn in despair, but there is nothing except the calm in your visage.

childe looks down at you, wonders if you feel the iron against your skin. curiosity flickers for one, two seconds in blue hues, quickly drowned out by a wondrous adoration and glee at such a sight.

"poor thing." the harbinger says, and the increased pressure against your neck is the only thing that prevents you from laughing at his almost genuine, sympathetic tone. "you were much closer last time. i really thought you'd get me today."

"so sorry to disappoint you." you tilt your chin upwards, a grin blossoming across your lips. "maybe next time, huh?"

childe freezes, instinctively loosens his hold on the weapon. a maddening sense of nostalgia overwhelms his senses, dulls his blood lust. what a wonderful reunion you both share, he thinks, smiling as he leans down, faces only inches apart.

"maybe next time."

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ EI ; RAIDEN SHOGUN

"it has been a long while, raiden shogun."

she stiffens at your words, finds bitter amusement in such formalities. this is the end-- one will find victory ; another will find death. what need is there for such fronts and falsehoods after all you have endured together?

"have you forgotten my name?"

"impossible, ei. i would remember it for an eternity.”

you almost wonder if you see her flinch, but there is utmost apathy in purple eyes. how serene things used to be back then, an innocent youth and strong resolve once drowned in her colors. the person before you is a vessel of tragedy, claimed by calamity and only existing to seemingly protect others for all the wrong reasons. she remains silent, watches you with a growing grief untold.

there are too many barriers, too many unforgivings and too many regrets. too much missed between lovers twisted into something horrid, something ugly, something gruesome, and in the end, you forget you still have a heart.

"enough. you are not here to speak."

she steels herself for the worst, feels something excruciatingly human beneath it all. but it will fade soon enough, and she will return to a shell of indifference. it is all either of you know now, after all.

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ DAINSLEIF

but the bough keeper knows of his mission first and foremost, heart shattered with destruction and the knowledge of a heavy past. his home is neither here nor there, ruined and fallen to gods known and unknown. to seek happiness is unheard of, and perhaps this is his punishment for experiencing such a feeling with you in days long gone.

sanguine colors your hands, but you do not know where it comes from. how it trickles from your temple, trails down your face, almost mocks him in the way it resembles your tears. your jaw clenched, heart broken ; his honor on the line, resolve wavering. things should not have turned out this way. you and him should not know of violence, not like this, not towards each other.

but a bough keeper knows of his mission first and foremost, and he must protect the fate of khaenri'ah, even if that means destroying himself in the process.

"dain." you choke out his name, watch as his blood drips from his fingertips. you are not mad. you are not angry. you are sorry for what this has become. but you must do the right thing, even if it is wrong to him. you smile, dreadful, and hope he understands your heart. "i wish we could have had a better ending."

this numbness is unforgiving. sorrow sinks into his chest, rips out everything he has ever known. how hideous it is, this crimson that splatters across the floor.

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ I DESIRE THE THINGS THAT WILL DESTROY ME IN THE END ( part i. )

THERE'S THIS SOMETHING INSIDE YOU THAT'S ROTTING AWAY & YOU FEEL IT ALL ALONG.

❧ ꒰ zoya ⋮ hamel ⋮ m!chief ⋮ cabernet ꒱ ⋮ path to nowhere × quote cr : sylvia plath ; haruki murakami ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ ZOYA

THIS CORPSEBORN IS MADE OF DESTRUCTION & VIOLENCE IS ALL SHE KNOWS, THIS SURVIVOR OF THE SYNDICATE. because it is much easier to wreak havoc than to speak strained words of diplomacy, so with bloodied knuckles and aching hands, zoya speaks volumes in her rise in the rankings of a place gone wrong with relentless betrayal and reckless abandon.

but in the haze of red, red, red violence, there is something akin to love that lingers in the heart. you wrap the bandages around her hands, touch gentle and tired. you are too familiar with this routine ; this is nothing new -- it's not, never will be, yet there is this foreign heaviness that settles on your chest : a far cry warning that you want to ignore and acknowledge all the same.

something is coming. something is brewing beneath it all, something has been here all along, something so terrifying is going to twist and turn everything and everyone into something they are not and never should be.

something is coming, should she continue down this route. something tells you, in this moment, in this air that should be made of tenderness and belonging, that you will lose her, that things will go wrong and her own strength and resilience will be her own damnation.

your hands tremble when you kiss those bandaged knuckles. zoya smiles, faint.

"don't overthink." she tells you, fingers lifting your chin ever so slightly as she looks at you with a quiet pride. "i'll be fine."

there's that confidence that always rings true, and you hope she will be right, for her own sake and for everyone's sake.

"you have to be." you whisper as she pulls you closer, and when her lips meet yours, you are afraid to let go.

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ HAMEL

THIS IS A VERY LONELY PLACE, THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA, BUT THIS IS HER STAGE : AN ENDING, AN ILLUSION OF JOY THAT CRUMBLES BENEATH THE WEIGHT OF DESPAIR AND CORRUPTION.

this is the home of a dancer frozen in the pits of sorrows ; this is the home of a savior who knows nothing but selflessness. this is the home of someone you love, and if you let this continue on, this will become her burial site.

you feel like you are drowning. you feel like you are so far away from her, the seemingly calm waves a deception to the madness in the tides.

"this is not your home, hamel." you whisper the words like it is sacred, like you are afraid. because you are-- you are, because you know that you cannot win this battle, know that the return to shore will be a path you take alone. "it never was. your grief is not theirs. you can--" and your voice breaks. "you can come home, please."

time does not pass in this place. you feel frozen, as if your heart stills, only to beat once more when she laces her fingers with yours, offers the most gentlest of smiles. but on the curve of her lips resides a heartache, and you know that this will end in the shattering of the soul and the continuing decay of a dancer's spirit.

"you're right." she answers, and her voice is so light, almost drowned in the waves. "but who will carry it for them?"

she squeezes your hand. it is a dreadful feeling. you cannot speak, feel yourself succumb to devastation, so she does, instead.

"my grief is not yours, either. it's alright. please, go home." hamel tells you, and her smile grows, but it is a pained one, and it is one that you will remember until the end of time.

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ M!CHIEF

& FATE IS NOT MEANT TO BE LEFT IN THE CRIMSON SHACKLES OF REDEMPTION AND RENEGADES, BUT OH, HOW IT BINDS YOU SO. there is no call of the divine upon his awakening, his mind and body thrown to the wolves in the moment of consciousness. he does not understand it all, not entirely -- this burden, this pressure to do good, to be good, to follow his heart until the very end.

but righteousness and self-sacrifice are not meant to go hand in hand, but in the connections he's made to those deemed outcasts, he puts his life on the line, pushing himself further and further from the light and deeper and deeper into the darkness and corruption of black rings.

is it self-destruction if it is for the sake of others? he is not sure. it is not a question he deems worth thinking over, not when there are too many things to do, too many people to save.

but when is the savior saved?

"you're straying too far." you whisper, and there is a quiet fear in your voice, a fear of what if, when or how, and your hands cup his face, tender, forcing him to look at you. "you're going too far. what happens when we lose you? what happens when i lose you?"

he pauses, and you see that flicker of conflict in his eyes-- this is all he knows, sacrifice and foolish courage. it is a necessity. this is all he knows, memories of origins lost. what else can he do but save everyone but himself?

still, he smiles, though it is laced with reluctance and apology as his hands gently grab your wrists, lowering them before he kisses your forehead.

"the shackles are not the only thing that bind us." he murmurs, another kiss placed on your nose. "wherever you are, i'll be with you, no matter the distance." another kiss, but this time, his lips meet yours. "i don't break my promises."

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ CABERNET

BUT THE SOUL IS NOT ALWAYS BIRTHED FROM PURITIES AND INNOCENCE : LOVE A LESSON LEARNED , HONOR BESTOWED THROUGH SELFLESS MEANS. the soul is the heart, the vessel, the sacrifice, and for an insatiable sinner, it is meant for the DEVOURING.

cabernet knows of horrors & treacherous beings : human or sinner, sinner or saint. she knows of the bitterness that coats her tongue at the thought of a tarnished feast, knows of the desire that seeps through her veins in the consumption of another. there is glory in the hunt, just as there is glee in the reward.

but in the rot and decay contained in this sinner, there is a soul that does not bore the features she desires in the chosen, and if you look closely, you will learn she is made of everything god has admonished : pride . greed . wrath . envy . lust . gluttony . sloth.

she is so terribly forsaken yet not forgiven, but even you cannot deny her.

in this moment, rose colors her cheeks, and in those drunken eyes, there is a desire unspoken but told. she laces her fingers with yours-- slow, almost reverent, but you know you are not seen as a person, but rather, prey. still, your heart does not beat as quickly as hers does. you watch. you wait, cautious, though you know she will not hurt you.

when her gaze meets yours, she smiles, wanting, and she presses your hand against her cheek, leans into the touch as she lets out an amused hum.

"i’m yours." she tells you, and you almost wonder if your pulse quickens as she kisses the inside of your wrist. "i am yours until you allow me to devour you."

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ everybody's gone to the rapture

you'll get it in the next life , where you don't make mistakes . do what you can with this one while you're still alive.

❧ ꒰ ais × touchstarved × quote cr : disco elysium ꒱ ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

ー THE CHOIR ONCE SANG :

ACT ONE : DRINK FROM THE WELL / CONSUME THE ICHOR / FEEL IT DRIP DOWN YOUR CHIN, POOL IN THE HOLLOWS OF RUIN, AND CONSUME YOUR BLOOD. IN YOUR VEINS THE ROT DECAYS / HOLINESS REVIVED AND RAVAGED / AND YOU WILL BE ONE AND YOU WILL BE MANY.

ACT TWO : DRINK FROM THE WELL. CONSUME THE ICHOR. RELEASE THIS CURSE AND SURRENDER THE MIND, BUT YOU'LL STILL SUFFER IN THE END, AND YOU'LL STILL BE SOME KIND OF DEAD, ANYWAY.

ー AND SO YOU WHISPERED : you'll still be some kind of dead, anyway, but you won't be yourself, so what does it matter?

( IT DOESN'T MATTER ; YOUR HANDS NO LONGER AFFLICTED WITH VIOLENCE, MIND A BLANK SLATE.

NONE OF THIS MATTERS, SO WHY DOES YOUR REFLECTION IN THE DEEP RED HOLD SUCH A DEVASTATION? )

ー BUT SOMEONE IN THE CHORUS WATCHES, SILENT, FEELS THE MANY EYES OF A SOULLESS AND WICKED BEAST. OH, DEAREST TRAGEDY, HOW THEY PITY YOU SO :

you are not meant for the seaspring : this decrepit, vast emptiness. the endless bloodied waters, murky and thick with sin and the groupmind of sinner and saint. what lingers under crimson eyes and crimson gazes is akin to a vessel of truth and madness, a converged consciousness of craze. you are not meant for such self-destruction, even if your past and terror you have invoked on others deems you so.

ais finds you here too often ; your presence always known and understood. the sight is a familiar one nowadays, neither comforting nor alarming. your worn body sits so still before the red lake, gaze twisted into something of lament and contemplation. how melancholic this scene is : it reminds him of a false deity, this setting -- a lost lamb in the midst of judgement, a sanguine altar, and the musing of salvation over sacrifice.

something echoes in his mind, speaks through riddled tongues, but he understands. you could lose yourself here so easily -- a simple push, a drowning guised as purification. too easily, ais thinks, and the higher being that resides in his mind laughs and laughs and laughs, slaughter under means of sanctification the highest form of cruelty.

ais inhales deeply, rids himself of such venomous thoughts. his coexistence with another is a curse in itself, but the violence in his blood is his and his alone ; he will not subject you to it.

an echo of approaching footsteps. you recognize it, know it to be the devil himself, but the fear that was once in your heart has faded now, changed into something of unspoken fondness. he sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder, and you almost smile, knowing it is a silent teasing. there is far too much emptiness in a place once filled with old comrades gone missing ; such little distance between your bodies is entirely unnecessary.

you stay, anyway.

"you'll think your pretty little head off, sparrow. still wondering if it's worth it?"

the seaspring seems to come to life at the sound of his voice. a ripple, seemingly small, then a sequence, a disruption of the flow, a violent wave crashing against another in a mere second. you blink. nothing. a single ripple, silent. alive.

"always wondering." you murmur, brows knit in slight confusion. you fail to see ais smirk at your bewildered expression, but it quickly falls, turns into something somber. "you told me that i survived this far, got away with this for so long--" you look at your bandaged hand, watch how it trembles ever so slightly. the words turn into something incohesive, something so horribly hard to speak that they lodge themselves in your throat, make you feel like a fool.

"you're still wondering."

you swallow. something hurts.

"yeah."

and you wish he would talk you out of it, tell you that there's another way, that you shouldn't give up hope yet. but he doesn't, because no matter the choice, he'll respect it. whether friend or foe, lover or enemy, no matter whether you give yourself up or save yourself through other means, ais won't stop you. he won't intervene because he knows the seaspring by heart and he knows you by heart.

this is not his story.

( he silently hopes that you don't give in, make the same mistakes he once did. he begs, pleads, but he's too prideful, too cold and warm all the same. this is not his story to tell and this is not his choice, so he'll stay by you, close and too far, and he'll wait and watch. )

no one speaks, but that's okay. there are no words to be said, but there's still something that threatens to choke you, weaves itself into your skin and wraps around your throat. maybe you are choking on the tale of this calamity they call your existence. maybe you are choking on the guilt of all you have harmed. maybe you are choking on your death.

you tilt your head back, breathe deep. your eyes sting. ais watches you fall apart, little by little, but he cannot fix you. he knows that. you both do. neither of you will try, anyway. that's not how the story is supposed to go. tragedies become tragedies and stay that way; no loss if there is nothing to lose.

something is choking you. it's hard to breathe, hard to see. your eyes still sting, so you look down, because it's better that he doesn't see the tears you will endlessly shed in the realization that you were born into a death you cannot escape.

you look down, refuse to look anywhere else, and that's alright. ais makes sure he's in your view, reaches his hand out, palm up, and offers himself to you. he doesn't say anything at first, doesn't feel the need to until he sees your shoulders tense. bandages or not, there is always a risk, always a chance that something could go wrong. your lips part to speak, protest, heart beating too quickly in both fear and wanting, but he reads you loud and clear.

"it won't hurt me, sparrow. your bite did more damage."

you look up for the first time in minutes, catch sight of his lazy smirk. there's something so incredibly gentle about it that it makes you defenseless, so hopeless and hopeful, and you do not know what to make of it. you both lie in wait, one in the calm, one in frenzy, but neither knows which feeling they drown in, and neither of you dare to dwell on it.

slowly, carefully, you place your bandaged hand on his, and it shakes so violently that you almost think to pull away, but he squeezes your hand with such a softness that you could never imagine him capable of.

something is choking you. it's hard to breathe. your eyes sting, but this time it's different. better. this time it's something of relief, something of starvation, something of love unspoken. you cry even harder, but he says nothing, only squeezes your hand, once, twice, five times, and in those gestures is a don't go. stay with me.

( but you don't know this-- you never will, he thinks, because he has lost everyone he's ever known, ever cared about, and even the devil cannot stop the evils of the earth, even if he has become an evil himself. )

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ ad victoriam

strange how there's always a little more innocence to lose.

❧ ꒰ childe × genshin impact × quote cr : dishonored ; kudukolove ꒱ ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

ACT 1 : IF THE WORLD DETERMINES EVIL BE MY NAME, THEN SO BE IT

THE FIRST TIME YOU WITNESS FOUL LEGACY IS IN MEANS OF PROTECTION, your body dyed in horrid colors, chest heavy in trepidation and all things alike, your mind a haze in the midst of doom & survival. you do not know what to think, what to feel, what to do. your hands tremble with a violence unheard and unfelt, but you do not know if it is from the adrenaline that has failed you, the air of death that grants decay to your lungs, or the transformation of someone you love twisted into something unrecognizable yet all the same at once.

it is silent. heavy, deafening. you feel so terribly dreadful, but you do not know if there is justice in such fear. something has gone terribly wrong, yet you are safe now, you think, the figure before you surrounded by what once was and who once was.

but your heart pounds against your chest in warning , tells you that you should run, hide, understand that you are living in falsehoods & fatalities.

you do not move. you do not know if you can. foul legacy approaches you, and there is something you understand in his gaze : yours filled with bewilderment, his with fascination and the faintest of relief. slowly, cautiously, as if to not frighten you further, he gets down on one knee before you, notes the tension that fills your body.

he does not speak. what is there to be said?

so he holds out his hand, watches as you still, place your hand in his. how beautifully so that it trembles even more.

WHAT WILL WIN, YOU WONDER : LOVE OR CORRUPTION?

ACT 1, REVERSED : IF YOU ARE THE WORLD'S JUSTICE, IT MAKES ME SICK TO MY STOMACH

THE LAST TIME YOU WITNESS FOUL LEGACY IS IN MEANS OF A KILLING, your bodies dyed in crimsons, chest heavy in fatigue, your mind steeled in the midst of blood lust and the knowing of morality. you do not know what to think, what to feel, but you know what to do. your hands do not shake like they did once before, but the fear still remains, and perhaps there is a guilt that follows in its shadows.

it is silent. heavy, deafening. your heart was right all along and maybe you knew it, knew that this love was not meant to be forever and that it would succumb to his desire and loyalty for the cruelty in higher beings.

you recognize him beyond the transformation, the disfiguration that tears his body and soul asunder, infects him with a madness and brutality. you recognize him, and it hurts very much so. you miss him.

you will miss him after this is over, too.

neither of you speak. what is there to be said?

so you smile in devastation, fail to notice his expression falter only the slightest bit, and ready your weapon.

IT IS CORRUPTION THAT TRIUMPHS OVER LOVE, AFTER ALL, AND IT IS YOU WHO WILL BRING THE END TO THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN CAPTURED BY THE ABYSS.