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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 2 years ago

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Pygmalion (III)

Pairings: Rook/(Pygmalion) MC// Idia/MC (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: Sorry this took as long as it did lmao I was sleep deprived then I was in 2 separate 18 hour (what were supposed to be) naps lol. Ah the human body and its wonders.

Was revisiting Paradise Lost recently and I was like wait did I accidentally create Jesus and or Lucifer imagery????? Omg. I also posted a Lilia/Reader oneshot based on the myth of Dullahan (Beloved Thy Name) ao3 link is here / tumblr link.

A lot of philosophy stuff again because I am unfortunately an INTJ with a type 5w4 enneagram AND a Sagittarius (Rook, Idia, and I have the same sign lmao) so triple whammy I love intellectualizing everything. Another very very sweet ol slow burn but I swear romance is in the air

Enjoy! Comments, reblogs, and likes cherished as always (о´∀`о)

CW: Nothing much

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 (Here) // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

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Rook felt a bit feverish after that critique‒ his eyes swimming as they traced the image of your sculpture inside his mind, melting slowly into the painting of clarity he had been scrutinizing more of lately. Slowly, he gathered his camera and his picture‒ searching for the points you had brought up in your critique, before staggering to his locker in the art classroom, mindlessly sauntering into the hallways for his lunch period.

"You feel it, as it feels you." He couldn't help but to echo those words in your chest, with the clarity in your voice. That was what he had searched for more than anything‒ lucidity, precision, truth above all. And you had embodied its beauty in your sharp expression that gazed far beyond that clock, time, far far beyond anything‒ piercing those eyes through his picture, through his eyes with that arctic solidity. He felt so raw in your presence, even with the layers of fabricated kindness and dramatized passion that veiled his soul‒ protected it‒ you had managed to cut him open, seeing straight through his frantic, aimless fervor in an instant. It made him restless, he knew something inside him was urging with every fiber of its being, to chase and hunt it down‒ but that would mean bursting through, shattering the picture of clarity, of truth inside his mind that he loved dearly. No, it was something different than love, something greedy, the putrid scent of humanity.

He was so lost in thought, turning that clear picture in his mind over and over‒ seeing the blemishes that kept appearing with each interaction he encountered with you‒ that he smashed right into something solid.

"-You! Watch your‒ oh. Rook."

He tiredly gazed from the brim of his hat to see Vil’s face, twisted in slight concern. His lips quickly fashioned into a smile.

“Ah, roi de poison, apologies‒ I was lost in thought.” Vil continued to stare with narrowed eyes as Rook set down his lunch on the table, settling into his usual seat across from him.

"Did something happen today? This is…unlike you. It’s a bit unsettling." The dorm leader stabbed the colorful salad in front of him, bringing it to his lips. “If you need to retire early and skip the club meeting today, just tell me.”

“Non, non. Nothing to worry about kindest Vil. I was simply pondering how well the rehearsal was going to go today‒ are you not curious to how our cast will do on its first run through? I’ve been quivering with excitement to see the freshmen flourish!” With an excitable inflection cast onto his voice, Rook knew Vil would drop the question, sighing with feigned weariness, before engaging in friendly fire.

“There’s nothing to be excited about. It’s just some first year potatoes we have to whip into shape. Honestly, I’m getting tired thinking about it.” Vil said with that sigh Rook anticipated. The corner of his lips curled further, happy for moments of simplicity like this in the spiral of uncertainty you were pushing him into.

“That is what you have me for, roi de poison. And it’ll be fun to see the potential of these first years‒ I trust your instinct with these things.”

“Hm. It’s difficult to actualize the image I have in my head for them. These freshmen are too weak willed‒ but I’ll have to manage with what we’ve got.”

Rook hummed happily, glad that he could retreat into Le chasseur d’amour for just a while, carefully constructing his elation, and the smile on his face. Control, clarity‒ then truth came to him once more, shrouding him in an air of suffocating security.

—————————————————

You felt your joints whirring a bit from how swiftly you had been walking from the art studio to the cafeteria. These old knees, you thought, choosing a box of pomegranate juice from the vending machine, they’re not what they used to be.

“(Name)! Over here!”

Spotting a flaming blue head, raising his hand to beckon you over‒ you drifted towards the table consisting of mostly Heartslabyul students.

“Hello Ortho.” You scuffed the fire on his head, drinking the tart juice from the box in your hands. “Looks good, did Idia install a digestion program in you?” You towered over his lunch tray, glancing at the steaming vegetables and tender meat. You did miss eating once in a while, but you found it to be rather a chore than anything else, disturbing your work flow whenever your stomach growled during the period of your life when you still had a human digestion system. Besides, Dr.Krios had deemed it unnecessary, instead pouring his efforts into your Orpheus protocol and transferring your soul without the demerits of your magic.

“Yeah! Human food is as good as I remember. I can have big brother install one for you if you’d like?”

You shrugged. “No need, like I said, I’m getting too old for big repairs or updates like that.” The creaking in your knees still remained. “Are these your friends, little flame?”

The two young Heartslabyul students stared at the two of you in curiosity, listening in on your conversation. “Oh, (Name), this is Ace and Deuce. They’re the same first years as me‒ and Ace, Deuce, this is (Name), a transfer at our very own Ignihyde dorm!”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Ace Trappola, the smarter and more handsome of us two.” The redhead reached his hand towards you with a crooked grin, while the first year next to him sent a questionable glare. You shook it, the metal inside your skin rattling a bit when you did. “Whoa! Are you a robot or something like Ortho?? You were talking about updates n’ stuff and your arm is so heavy!”

You released the grip on your arm, feeling the weight of your own arm‒ was it that heavy from your human one? The increased strength allowed by the automation made it difficult to tell. “I am not a robot. A cyborg.”

“Ace‒ stop being so rude! Sorry about him, I’m Deuce, it’s nice to meet you.” You took the hand of the other student with blue-black hair, quietly seeing if you could feel the heaviness of your hand in his shake. He had a surprisingly strong grip and steady arm however, so it proved useless.

“Nice to meet you two. Thank you for taking care of Ortho.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your relationship between the two of you? You seem like you knew each other before you even transferred‒ are you another Shroud sibling?” Ace asked with a fist under his chin in contemplation.

“Ah no‒“

“What’s this? Do I hear something about another Shroud sibling?” Another, taller redhead popped his head into your view, which you stared down in silence. “Wait‒ no way! Aren’t you Pygm.AI.lion? I follow you on Magicam!”

Ace snapped his fingers, pointing it at your face. “Ahh! I remember thanks to Carter now! I thought I’ve seen you somewhere!”

“…Magicam?” Must be another piece of modern technology you weren’t caught up with. So much was happening these days, you wanted to live your life simply without having to be caught up with every little thing on this planet.

“Huh? Yeah‒ see?” He shoved his phone in your face, scrolling through a page with the account name “Pygm.AI.lion”. You definitely don’t recognize this page, nor do you remember making a ‘“Magicam” account‒ so you suspected this was the doing of Jupiter Enterprises, another money hungry attempt, using you to gather the funds to pay for the research on your own body, to further blot research conducted by the desperate scientists at S.T.Y.X. You hoped Idia would take over too put an end to the ceaseless testing. “You should totally follow me back and be friends! Since we’re in the same grade and all~”

“Ah, I don’t actually own this account. Probably my manager or someone else at Jupiter Enterprises. But those are my works, and that is indeed me‒ I’m just not too acquainted with social media.” There were various pictures of you next to your sculptures, wearing the same dulled expression you always adorned during tiring galas and gallery events. Had you known they were taking pictures, you definitely would have deepened your frown just to spite them. But you figured with the tech they had been rapidly producing over the years, it wouldn’t be hard to implant a camera in corners you couldn’t see‒ just as small and precise as the ones implanted in your eyes.

“Oh that’s too bad. But we can still be friends, can’t we? I’m Carter Diamond, third year and official sweetheart of the Heartslabyul dorm!” Though he sung that sentence with a carefree lightness in his voice, you could feel his eyes shifting at your stony expression, searching for your response. Mood maker was right, you observed‒ the movement in his eyes reminded you of Rook a bit‒ except it seemed like he was using that wit to read the room rather than letting the hunger in his eyes consume him. You shook the thought of that feathered stalker from your mind, taking the hand Carter reached out to you.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m (Name), I just transferred.”

“Oh? Where did you transfer from RSA? I have a few friends there‒ maybe they know you?”

“Not from another school‒ a black carriage arrived at the S.T.Y.X lab one day, and I found myself here like the rest of the students. So I guess less of a transfer, but I’m not sure what else to call it.”

“Whoa S.T.Y.X? Aren’t they super secretive or something? Wait‒ S.T.Y.X is the one that made you then?”

“They did make my cybernetic enhancements. But I still have my human heart and brain, so depending on how you see it I suppose you could or couldn’t say they made me.”

“Wow I’m really getting the inside scoop here!” He laughed “They totally framed you as a robot‒ even in your Magicam profile! Oh‒“ He glanced at his phone. “I godda get going early to make up a test‒ I’m already on thin ice with Trein‒ nice to meet you Pygm.AI.lion!” Waving his hand, he dashed towards the double doors of the cafeteria.

You turned back to Ortho, taking the last sips of your Pomegranate juice. “That reminds me, Ortho. Are there any Art Clubs or Robotics Clubs here? Headmage said I had to join something by the end of the week.”

“Hm…I’m not finding either of those in the school’s database…But the science club is the “anything” club‒ you can join that! Or…” He tapped his chin. “Oh! You can come with me to the film studies club today! We’re actually in need of set designers and Vil would be grateful for a S-class sculptor like you, (Name)! And you can watch me perform today‒ it’s our first rehearsal!”

“Hm, that seems entertaining. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen a play in person. I look forward to your performance, Ortho.”

Ace and Deuce exchanged surprised looks, before the redhead spoke. “Uh..D-did we hear you correctly? Centuries..? How old are you exactly?”

Ah, right. The whole time thing. That thought left a distaste in your mouth, reminded of the clocks that had descended its image upon you today. All those around you were experiencing life at a different pace, all at different points in their path towards a blissful rest you would never know. The arms on your clock moved languidly, much too large to function “the correct way” that clocks ought to‒ in accordance to the beat of the human heart. Your body felt like that weary clock‒ much too tall, much too heavy for the way your heart would reach out to the pulse of other humans, and sink into the brilliant, cindering explosion that was a human’s lifespan. That blazing light you held at multiple points in your life was all too bright, too much, blistering against your brittle body that was weighed with eternity‒ so you took it into your hands, burning, imbuing it into hard marble. Even with your magic, that fire was too wonderful to be able to be ignited properly once more‒ dying out into a swift smoke when you craved that warmth again‒ leaving you cold, and dark. So you tried to let the turbulent waves of eternity wash over you, hoping it would eventually wear you down into nothing‒ a crude mimicry of a dazzling, human death.

“It..” You stopped, counting the centuries on your hands, but heaviness in your head made memories virtually irretrievable. “It’s been about six-hundred years, I think. I stopped counting a while ago, but I can give you a proper number with a history textbook. I was born exactly a hundred years before the City of Flowers was named.” You felt a little bad that you had stunned all those at the table to silence, quietly wishing Carter was here to pick up the mood.

“…You’re from the Shaftlands?” Deuce asked, breaking the awkward stillness.

You imagined your hometown, but you couldn't recall what it looked like, who your neighbors were, the smells, the dishes, the festivals. But your memory had not failed you when retrieving the memory of that night Dr.Krios found you, the smell of alcohol and bleach still stung your nose; the phantom sensation of broken marble embedded in your skin. After that night, there was nowhere for you to truly return to, reminisce with friends what flavors, smells, and experiences you tasted during your youth in that city‒ fuck. Your memory truly was failing you‒ you tried to remember your mother’s face, but all you could remember was a distant, muffled voice and nothing else. What did she look like‒ sound like again? What did you call her? Mama? Mother? Mom? You mentally shifted through multiple faces in your mind, aimlessly matching those words to them‒ but nothing. It almost brought you to tears, but you swallowed it with the tasteless, dryness in your mouth.

“I was, yes.” Was, everything always “was”. Nothing never “is” in the face of eternity.

You had been pushing it into a dark box inside your mind for a while‒ but you knew you would have to face this idea of eternity over and over again, like some Sisyphean bastard. It nestled in your heart as a part of it for a few centuries, growing as you attempted to replace the hole people would leave inside of it with anything‒ anger, apathy, madness, something you could grip and squeeze, searing your hand to preserve something of their fleeting existence. When their body and memories began to wilt however, so did that thing in your fist‒ allowing the hollowness of eternity to fester, eating away at the remnants of your heart. So for the last two centuries, you had retreated solely to the S.T.Y.X labs, severing almost any human connections to preserve the last fragments of yourself. But after six hundred years of repeated heartbreak‒ perhaps being alive was finally getting to you. You could feel the concerned gaze of the three first years, but your mind just drew complete darkness when searching for words to reassure them.

Suddenly, your mind suspended an image in your mind‒ a moment of clarity. You rolled the image in your mind, feeling out its shape with a delicate grip. You were surprised to reveal a picture of your own sculpture, however with the touches Rook made in his own photography. It was soft‒ like fresh laundry baking under the sun‒ green like a young spring sprout, pink like the color of a human heart. It mixed together in a muddled shade, swirling in a mess, a frenzy of colors. The humanity in that grotesque, fleshy shade made you look upwards again with clear eyes‒ reminded of your own sculpture from the first night he had made his way into your atelier. Rarely did you witness where the images in your head descended from‒ but you could clearly trace those words that came from him which parted the fog of your mind.

“Magnifique….With my human eyes, that is all I can see.”

You squeezed that image of his crystalline eyes, and muddy picture in your head‒ feeling every curve, tasting every color, delicately burning that picture inside your inhuman flesh‒ hoping no protocol would overwrite the wound it made. The breath you didn't realize you were holding came out in a slight cloud once you released from your tense stomach. Were you overheating? Gods, you felt feverish, though the metal of your skeleton still moved coolly inside your blot-packed tissue.

“(-me)? (Name)?” Ortho swung a hand in front of your face, eyes swimming with concern. “Are you okay? Lunch is over soon.”

You traced the engraving that picture made in your mind. “I’m alright. Thank you Ortho." A small smile graced your lips. You looked forward to the next image that would descend upon you, itching at the tender wound stored closely to remaining human flesh. Perhaps you could look at that divine inspiration through those striking viridian eyes before you let it possess you, but it was difficult to say if there was room for more humanity inside your rusting vessel. Still, the novelty excited you.

—————————————————

Ortho showed you around the parts of the school Rook hadn't had a chance to get to during your initial tour‒ giving you detailed explanations to each and every room before arriving at a door decorated with a white plastic plate, elegant black ink indicating it was reserved for the Film Studies Club. You swung the door open, allowing the younger Shroud brother to enter before you did.

“Ah, Monsieur Doll‒ oh! And Maître d’Ivoire, I didn’t know you were a fellow fan of the drama and beauty of theater! How wonderful‒ Vil will be thrilled.”

“Ortho suggested I join the stage set crew, but I’m only here to watch. I’m between the Science and the Film Research Club at the moment.”

“In that case I cannot possibly recommend only one! As a member of the Science Club it would be a joy for such an advanced cybernetic being like yourself to join our circle, however‒ as an assistant here at the Film Research Club, we could surely use your masterful skills in designing a truly spectacular set. Ah‒ I'm so torn‒ but the Science Club has so much potential for you, on the other hand ‒ “

“Rook! A word, please?”

“Ah‒ excuse me, mes amines, duty calls.”

You nodded mutely, unable to cram another word in the ceaseless string of sentences that flew out of his mouth. Bidding Ortho good luck with a pat on his head, you sat yourself in the auditorium, mumbling to yourself how you seemed to never be able to escape your feathered stalker.

"Alright‒ look bright first year potatoes‒ we've got a lot to work on! Rook! Where are those two third years that are supposed to be here for rehearsal today? I specifically asked him to come today for just a brief run through!" The inflection of his voice reminded you of an angry, chirping bird, one which Rook reflected with a mulled rumble.

"Désolé, Vil. It seems they're stuck in detention today…perhaps we can run the rehearsal without their parts?"

"No, no." The one you assumed was Vil shook his head. "These first years will be absolutely lost without the two leads for this scene‒ Rook, you'll stand in for Hyacinthus for this scene. And…" He threw his gaze right at you. "You. I don't know what you're doing lounging about‒ but be useful and play Apollo for today."

Briefly catching the smile quirked onto Rook's face, you sighed, pushing your body off of the seat, climbing the steps of the stage and taking the script pushed towards you from Vil's hands. You've never acted before, but it was like sculpting, right? Let life, let humanity, let death possess your cold body like a sublime ghost. Like your hands which carved that glory into glistening ivory, it was now your words which would shape a life out of the breath sucked into your lungs. You were quick to memorize the words on the page, embedding them in your throat as you took position by Vil's command.

"Lie, like this." He instructed. "Loosen your body Rook, lean against their body." Vil directed your bodies at the center of the stage, embracing each other under the dusty theater lights. Both you and Rook did as you were instructed, pressing warmth against warmth. You felt him squirm under your hardened fingertips that rested on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry if my cybernetics are uncomfortable. I could try to touch lighter, if you'd like."

His golden hair gleamed like ribbons in the light, swaying as he shook his head. "Non, you're quite soft." Despite being rocked by his deep breaths close to your own, those words felt distant‒ or perhaps a better word was "distancing", or something which attempted it. It didn't feel quite far, just muffled from your senses‒ still "soft" rang clearly in your mind like a bell, echoing the warmth it brought in your chest as many times as you allowed.

"You're comfortable, then?"

"Yes." His answer came like the wind, a quiet whisper, grazing lightly against your ears. You began, words at your throat bubbling, when Vil commanded action onto the scene. You let the image in your mind possess you.

"Your hair never quite lies flat, here." You touched the smoothed sheen of Rook's hair, plucking a golden strand out and feeling its silk between your fingers. "I don't think I've ever told you how I like it."

Rook pulled the script closer to his face. "You haven't."

“I should have." You let the strand go, seeing it fall gently into the bright curtain crowning his head. Its glow reminded you of gilded gold, glowing porcelain shining through from its age. "What about this? Have I told you what I think of this, just here." Reciting the script with your body, you tipped his head back, drifting your hands at the base of his throat, feeling the pulsing beat which echoed in its hollowness.

"No." He turned his body towards you, taking one slow step back to kneel below you. Sliding his script into another hand, he kept his gaze on it, before slinking his other hand into your gloves. The metal creaked inside your skin, and you thought to cringe at its harsh sound. But the tenderness of which he muffled that metallic squeal with his palms, wrapped lightly over your gloves, stopped you from hardening your face. "And have I spoken about this?" He lifts your hand above his eyes, you follow it, hoping to catch a glimpse of green pointed towards you. "Your hands calloused, from the divine poetry you pluck from your golden lyre." A pause. "Surely I haven't forgotten‒ tell me I did not, Apollo."

"You did not, my muse." You went to cup your hands around his, like the script instructed, but you found the paper to be in your hands‒ in the way. Without a second thought, you threw it out of your hands, somewhere out of your line of sight, its spine cracking harshly against the wooden theater floors. The words were engraved in your mind already. "And what of this‒ Hyacinthus‒ have I spoken of it?" You rested a knee to the ground like him, separating each of his fingers with your own.

“No.” His answer comes even quieter this time. You don't worry if his voice carries to others as it should during any rehearsal. The mountain in his throat bobbed, the muscles near his jaw shivering.

"There is this too." You reached a cold hand towards his face‒ still the anxiety of your harsh body instilled in your mind. The skin round your metal bones, to the organs sitting, packed in your torso were all made with the violence of human desire. You searched his eyes for that same hunger, again, but you found nothing this time. The space you held, hesitant, above the pink of his face softened into a solid touch. "I know I have told you of this."

He sucked in a shallow breath you could feel under the pulse of your palm. "Tell me again."

For a moment, you felt that divine image withdraw from you. It was petrifying‒ there was no instance in the six hundred years you had lived where that holy possession left you empty before you could carve it into the hardness of reality. But when you found yourself warmed not by its fleeting light, but the one that beamed from the flush of Rook's cheek‒ you let go of that chill, drinking in the heat that throbbed under your fingertips. Still as marble, you let yourself sink into the green of his eyes, this time, which were pointed directly at your whole with what could only be described as adoration.

"-Cut!" The brightness of the entire stage lighting up once more brought you back to reality. You shrunk your creaking hand from him, cringing at the scraping sound it made under your skin. "Zephyr‒ didn’t I just tell you that it was your cue right there?? You should already be on set by 'Tell me again'. Mark that on your paper so you don't forget, again.."

You chilled your face by feeling the metal under your skin, draining yourself of the remaining pieces of that image, that heat‒ moving smoothly before you reached a hand to Rook, still on the ground with the script in his hands. He looked up at you, seeing the shadow you created, staring blankly for a minute before shaking it off in favor of his usual fox-like grin. Even in the harsh darkness, you saw that shimmer pooling in his eyes.

"Merci, mon ami."

You stared mutely, watching him take your hand, the tip of his middle finger drew softly across your bare pulse, revealed by the pull of your glove by his grip. On instinct, you pulled away while he pulled in to lift his body off the ground‒ the tendons in your arms stretching, stretching, stretching until you felt them snap beside the metal bone. Anything but your hands‒ the curse which ineptly attempted to infuse your eternity into still flesh‒ much too quick‒ gone, gone, gone, you remembered.

Rook jerked backwards while the base of your arm tore into two‒ your body falling towards him to catch him with your other arm, stabilized with your light-fast knee lunging to him. Your in-tact hand easily caught his back, while you stared, wildly, into his widened eyes. Raising him to an upwards posture with a controlled straightening of your leg, you brought him back up to the soles of his feet‒ letting go as soon as he was balanced on top of them. You felt many eyes on you once more, concentrated at your shoulder where you uniform ripped, revealing the blot that bubbled from silvery metal under your ruptured skin.

Vil turned his head towards, you his stiff body following it. “You‒“

“I know.” That answer came sharply. You inhuman brute, immortal beast, machine‒ I know, I know. In the centuries you had lived, the eyes and whispers of many never bothered you much‒ but when you felt Rook graze against your cursed hands which spearheaded your parting with human flesh, after you two had held flesh against, what you thought was your flesh once more‒ it plunged you back into that hollow body, too large, too tall for your human heart. You felt words scorch your throat.

Play the part‒ let it possess you‒ empty the cup, fill it with an image not your own.

“I’ll be fine.” You raised a hand to cover the hideous healing of your arm, spurting and gushing with viscous black ink to forge your body back to its original form. It felt cold, writhing and twitching in the air‒ a heartless mockery of warm blood which fluttered delicately under human flesh‒ one you felt on Rook’s face just a few fleeting moments ago.

You saw Ortho appear from the curtains, floating towards you, examining your arm with worry. “(Name)- are you okay?? I think you should get that checked! Brother can take a look at it‒ just in case?” He pleaded.

Shifting your head downwards to examine the blot, you made the mistake of sweeping your eyes across Rook’s‒ his lips parted slightly, eyes widened into a crystalline solidity your wavering eyes did not possess. Too bright‒ burning. It welled a tightness in your throat.

Clenching your teeth, you answered Ortho. “I think I’ll do that. Excuse me.” Your legs leapt off the stairs of the stage, body swallowed by the darkness of the auditorium, back warmed by the light that radiated off of the stage. You heard Vil clap his hands, before the murmurs of first year students began once more as you slipped out of the room. Your body moved automatically, bringing toward the courtyard, where the shed was situated. Slumping your shoulder against it, you forced your way in, stumbling onto the wooden floors. Looking around, gliding your bleary eyes across the statues‒ you recognized no one.

Who’s memories did you hold? Who’s sadness was this‒ who’s hurt? Wounds felt too large, too feverish, too alive to feel like it belonged to your cold metal body. Who’s heart was this? Take it out, take it out. Your hands, your body, your life had been one filled with that action‒ stripped of anything you embraced. But just this once, you begged the sky where divine images descended from, to take just this one thing‒ everything, if you must‒ away from you. But it was fogged from your ragged, white breaths‒ and even without it, you weren’t sure if the gods above would gift you that clarity, the hope of a human‒ for, surely, you did not recognize humanity within you anymore. You tried to remember your own face from six hundred centuries ago, one which held the liveliness, the hunger, and the grotesque flush of a human’s. But no images descended upon you, so you shook that hollowness in your metal hand, hoping to crush it into a solid form with the pressure. No tears were shed, for such pleasures were only reserved for those of animal flesh. But you wept, voice rising from your chest, becoming foreign and uncanny when they reached the throat.

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Notes:

Rook’s character kind of reminds me of Oba Yozo from No Longer Human by Dazai Osamu‒ I think one of his biggest fears is someone seeing through the mask of his character because behind it, there’s fear, anxiety, an emptiness which he seeks to fill with even just the fabrication of passion (in that way he also reminds me of Confession of a Mask by Mishima). For him, I think he’s paralyzed with choice, so he kind of overplays his character of “hunter of love” to cover up the quiet anxiety he feels about all the possibilities that are stretched out before him. But in some ways that becomes security, truth, clarity for him to the extent that the straight forward/intuitive manner in which you speak and create kind of muddles that picture of clarity for him. So theres a reality in that "hunter of love" character but its also very fragile because it was originally meant to be a stand in for something more concrete. I saw a post on tumblr with a concept drawing for his character that said “表情��ウソくさい“、meaning his expressions seem “made up”/played up, so I was like ah yes, I’m absolutely going to read too much into this. And now here we are lmao

Is mood maker a phrase in English?? Lol i don’t remember lmk if its wrong

When Mitski said “Yet Now I find I’ve grown into a tall child” I felt that‒ lesbian Jesus strikes again Mitski seems to find way into my writing every time but she’s also a hyperfixation of mine

Greece actually fell like 2100 years ago around 146 BC BUT i figured with the help of magic technology/culture would move more rapidly?? So I shrunk it down to like 600 years

The play part is pulled directly from Song of Achilles lol (except I changed it to Hyacinthus and Apollo), I knew if I were to write a bit in the play I'd get waaaay into it and the chapter would take forever so, you win some you lose some I guess

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