#but you cannot live drowning in the sins of the past and you are always capable of change

[t-u-i-t-c]

me when people complain about the characters in geats being unlikable/flawed, not getting that's the whole point

[sarshles-cheescake-li]

I wonder if Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi's rule around past and future was about protecting the timeline and the future, or about protecting Cheng Xiaoshi?

After all, on a universal, metaphysical scale of things, physics shouldn't care about whether a change to its pathway is observable to humans or not. It shouldn't care whether someone changes the timeline enough to have noticeable changes on the human level, or just on the micro level -- one second late here, a few centimetres too far here.

Besides, I would presume that for the sake of the universe's peace of mind, it wouldn't give people reality-breaking powers for the fun of it.

But what we do know is that changing the past drains you. It tires you out, wrings the smile from your face and the crinkle from your eyes. After all, if someone got murdered, to you, it's a tragedy. If someone got murdered because of something you did or didn't do, then to you, it's sin. And if they weren't supposed to die in the first place, but you went back and changed something, and now they are? That's practically your crime, isn't it (to clarify, this is a literary hyperbole)?

But you can't just not change the past. Because if someone gets hurt and you could've saved them, then that's no different, really, from dooming them yourself. Does inaction not carry the same consequences as action? Does the crime of omission not weigh on the scale just as heavily as the crime of commission?

Cheng Xiaoshi learns. Cheng Xiaoshi cares, about everyone and everything, deeply. Whether it be because he dives in and inherits their emotions, or because he is too full of love for every single living thing, Cheng Xiaoshi is the type of person to see everyone whom he can reach as his responsibility. But that is a horrible, horrible mindset for a time-traveler, isn't it?

So -- imagine. Lu Guang, in the first few loops, without his rules, changing the past with his partner, watching Cheng Xiaoshi fall apart again and again, drowned by his own perceived sins. And we don't know who Lu Guang was, at this point. Was he perhaps more stilted, less able to be Cheng Xiaoshi's psychologist, as director Li once joked? What would've happened to a Cheng Xiaoshi who carried more burdens and whose Lu Guang was not yet practiced at bringing him back up from his lowest points?

So Lu Guang learns. The first rule is a time limit, and the second rule of obedience. Maybe this was their own rule to begin with, to make sure Cheng Xiaoshi remained within Lu Guang's reach. Maybe it was made later, so that Lu Guang could guide Cheng Xiaoshi and shoulder more responsibility. If he could make himself the gunman and Cheng Xiaoshi the gun, maybe the latter would not feel so guilty over whom gets caught in the crossfire.

Maybe later he learns that that doesn't work, that Cheng Xiaoshi still feels deeply guilty about the people hurt by the new histories they create. So then the third rule: Past or future, leave them be. I had always found it strange why this rule included the future, in addition to the past. If it's about timeline stability, wouldn't it just be about the past?

But maybe it's for Cheng Xiaoshi's sake. If Cheng Xiaoshi thinks that he isn't allowed to change the past for some higher, nobler reason, if it's Lu Guang making him follow the rules and not he himself, then the choice is out of his hands. It's not that he's "leaving someone to die." It's the timeline which demands they must die. He cannot change it, so he will not. And if it's for that same higher, nobler reason that he cannot try to track the changes that he created, then that choice is out of his hands, too. Then it's about him "not wanting to know what happens" it's that he "shouldn't know what happens."

Cheng Xiaoshi, left to its own devices, flies too high and burns himself out, trying to care for too many people too deeply, all at once. But what if Lu Guang chains him to the ground? Here are the rules, Cheng Xiaoshi. You must stay for only twelve hours (So I will know where you are and you will not lose yourself living infinitely in the past). You must listen to me (so you can punch me and blame me if things go wrong instead of yourself). You cannot change the past (So please don't try to, because once you do, it will suffocate you) and you cannot ask about the future (you don't need to know what your actions have wrought). And Cheng Xiaoshi remains, unburnt, unscathed. If anyone asks him why he won't fly higher, it's a simple answer -- Lu Guang asked me not to.

Lastly, this one is purely speculation, and I don't think it's true, but -- do we actually get confirmation, at any point in the story, that Cheng Xiaoshi can't dive into photos that he's already dove into? Did he ever actually try and have it fail, or did Lu Guang simply tell him that?

Maybe there is no diving limit. Maybe Cheng Xiaoshi can dive into the same photo as many times as he wants. But then why would Lu Guang tell he couldn't?

It's simple.

You must not get caught up trying to change a past that doesn't want to be changed.

After all, Lu Guang knows very well what happens if you do, doesn't he?

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore I.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), manipulation, references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and past stalking.

Word Count: 18k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

"She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

i. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow."

The sitting rooms in these types of hotels have always been your favorite place to sit because of the scenery. There is almost always a large window overlooking whatever city you are temporarily placed in with your captor, making everything below you seem insignificant. You see nothing other than your faded reflection in the window and blinking city lights that are so small they seem like a city of stars. At the same time, you can only touch the framed glass panes or the couch you are sitting on. You can only hear Chrollo’s pleased hums and the occasional page-turning of his current novel. You cannot feel or hear the world outside, no matter how much you try to imagine such.

When you were working, you would use your phone to notify others of what you were doing at work or when you would arrive home, but now you can't feel your pants pocket where the phone was usually kept. It would vibrate or chime loudly as its duty as your alarm and messenger. The phone, once opened, would relay your family members’ voices, or your boss’, or your assistants’. Even if some voices were secretly irritating to you before, you feel compelled to admit that they are better than hearing nothing other than the squeaky wheels of a room service cart or the air conditioner. You cannot feel the rest of your work uniform, a classic white dress shirt and black tie. You cannot hear your co-workers’ drunken laughs as they cheer with large glasses of beer in their hands. A small thud catches your attention, making you turn your head in that direction. Chrollo is putting his book down on the coffee table in front of you two. It is closed, with the cover facing upward, and the title in a foreign language. His cup is empty except for a few drops, having been previously filled with black coffee. Yours simply has room-temperature water, still filled to the brim. You make eye contact for a second or two, his eyes calm and composed. Chrollo breaks it as his arm reaches out towards his coffee cup. He picks it up with grace, sipping quietly before setting it back down on its porcelain saucer. A small smile forms on his pale lips as he looks at you.

"You seem rather bored, my dear. Would you mind conversing with me?”

“No, I would not mind.” You say, your lips moving to mimic his own with precision.

“Marvelous. Would you like to talk about anything in particular?” Chrollo asks, his left arm moving to rest on the couch.

“Anything you would like to discuss.”

“If you insist.” He places one of his legs over the other; his posture is relaxed but his stare is suddenly intense. “There is something I would like to ask of you. Tell me, do you enjoy being here with me?”

“I do. I needed some time to adjust, but I like it here. I have fewer responsibilities than what I used to have.” 

“Wonderful.” Chrollo’s smile widens.

You know that he would not be pleased if you told him the truth; that you feel nothing for him aside from disdain. His softness would fade and give way to his true colors rapidly. An eye-catching crimson red specifically. It is the color of blood, danger, fire, some species of spiders and snakes… It is the color of danger and anger. Perhaps he would threaten to murder a dear friend of yours. Perhaps he would hit you. Perhaps he would isolate you even further by not returning for days at a time. Perhaps he will tie you to the bed. …Perhaps he will kill you. It would be easy, you know it from the bits of strength he has shown you. All it would take is a simple wave of his hand and–

“I enjoy having you here, beside me. Your presence is very comforting.” His eyes glimmer for what seems like less than a fifth of a second, a light that you learned only shows when he is curious about something.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

“I am glad you noticed.” His head tilts slightly to the side. “I do have something I want to ask you.”

“Well, what is your question?”

“Do you plan to try to run away from me?” His cold tone and facial expression are unlike the one he had a few moments ago. 

“No. I do not.” You shake your head and take his hand gently. “What better place is there to be other than having you by my side?”

Chrollo’s eyes seem to soften at your answer. His posture returns to one of no worries. His shoulders are not as tense. His breathing is a bit steadier. He looks at your hand with a slight smile. He leans a bit towards you. He squeezes your hand lightly. You put your head on his shoulder to further convince him to believe the lie. Your captor hums with a pleased voice.

He is cold to the touch. It is like your hand is in a blizzard, a small warm flame surrounded by snow. There is a slight stinging sensation. It is colder than literal ice on your skin. Chrollo’s grip is tender yet strong, making it clear that he does not want to let go of your soft hand. 

You feel his nose go into your hair and dare not do anything to stop it.

Your kidnapper inhales sharply and sighs fondly. His breath smells like mint; sharp, fresh, and cool. To distract yourself from the unpleasant truth, you look around the hotel room. There is a rose bouquet in front of you two, still fresh since you both arrived this morning. They are a deep burgundy color, similar to that of the city lights outside. The glass they were placed in is intricate with flower markings. The coffee table is rosewood by the looks of it, most likely polished right before you two came. The curtains on the sides of the large window are a fawn brown, obviously to match the roses. The carpet is a beige with chocolate brown swirl patterns on it. You try to follow one with your eyes but get lost in it after a few seconds. The couch you two are sitting on is beige as well. Perhaps the reason why this room is so dull is because of how colorful the city outside of it is. Designs like this are probably why this city has so many tourists. Either that or Chrollo chose its blandness specifically because he still wanted an aura of superiority, both literally with how high the hotel room is above and in spirit with the colors. It is ironic, but Chrollo’s white dress shirt is the brightest thing inside this room. You wonder if his clothing choice was on purpose too.

You know yours was. A black dress that stops just before your knees, with gold earrings and anklet. It is a part of your plan to lower his guard. You just washed your hair a few hours ago and put on a bit too much perfume. You walk with confidence yet not too much of it. It is similar to how you used to dress when you went to parties hosted by members of high society, tasked to butter them up a little to the higher-ups’ requests for funding public safety projects. Those people were pompous for certain, but still childish and easily fooled. Chrollo, on the other hand, is pompous but intelligent and a manipulator himself, hence why you have done this dance for the past thirteen months for him to lower his guard. You think it is working, but it is not time to escape just yet.

There are still matters that must be attended to. Like a possible escape route. You know that if you try to escape Chrollo in this hotel he will catch you quite quickly since this room is so small and he will for sure notice if the only hotel key is missing. Also, you note that you cannot know for sure whether or not Chrollo fully trusts you at this point. You plan to ask him to take you on a date tomorrow and then run away once you see an area with much fewer people. You will hide a change of clothes in your purse and change your appearance. You will use a false name from then on. You will try to notify your loved ones about your whereabouts and tell them to move within a few days to be safe just in case the Troupe knows where they live. Then you will try to go north then east using the money you have secretly been stealing from him. If he says no or still has a tight grip on you throughout the day, you will not try to escape that day and try within a few more months. You will repeat this process until you have escaped successfully. You must make sure that you have loosened Chrollo’s grip on you enough, otherwise, he will catch you quickly. Who knows what will happen after that? Who knows if you will ever get this chance again? The answer is most likely never.

“Your scent… it’s nice.” Chrollo whispers.

You bat your eyelashes at him as a response.

Chrollo’s eyes appear to be full of adoration. Your makeup is fully done, a style that you know your captor likes. Winged black eyeliner. Black eyeshadow. Dark red lipstick. Your hair is in a braid with your bangs just slightly covering your eyes. Your nails are painted a color to match your eyes.

Deep down, you worry if this is enough, too much, or too little. If it is too much, he will catch on fast, and you will pay dearly for the consequences. If it is too little, he shall not be impressed and not take you outside tomorrow. It has to be just right. Chrollo leans in closer, still making eye contact as you bat your lashes. His hand is still grabbing onto yours, but it seems to have gotten a little warmer because of the heat of your own. Either that, or you had gotten used to it.

“You truly are a sight… My girl…” Chrollo’s other hand makes its way to your cheek. There is a strong scent of flowers coming off of you. He leans in more until his face and yours are just inches apart. “You smell lovely… Let me taste you.”

You hide your disgust and nod your head. 

Chrollo’s lips touch yours. The cold hand that was holding yours also makes it upward toward your other cheek and squeezes lightly. His fingers are thicker than yours. His fingernails are in pristine condition as usual. His wrists are bony. His skin looks callused, but in actuality, it is quite soft. There aren’t any scars or injuries on them, which is remarkable considering what he does for a living. You wonder if those he killed had touched his soft skin and thought they were being strangled by silk instead of actual human hands. His lips are soft too. Chrollo’s kisses always were elegant and gentle, but you think that is because you have tried your hardest to not disobey him. You wonder if the people Chrollo extorted information out of knew the touch of his lips. At least some of them knew, you think. Chrollo is attractive to many people, both rich and poor. He had told you a few stories such as when he had a sexual relationship with an older woman who had a high-paying role in government and one day he ran off with all of the riches in her safe. She died soon after. Chrollo says she died of a broken heart. You don’t know whether he meant she was mentally heartbroken and was joking with you or she had her heart mangled by Chrollo during her last few minutes alive. You don’t think you want to know the answer either. 

Chrollo’s tongue starts to trace your lower lip with greed. You feel your heart nearly skip a beat. Let me out, you want to say. Let me out. It feels like you are black and blue all over from all the tall hurdles you had to jump through to make it this far. A voice in the back of your mind says that the outside will never heal your wounds, but giving in would. It is better to just give up, it speaks in the back of your mind with a forked tongue and unsettlingly calm tone. It would be better to just accept it. Perhaps Stockholm Syndrome is settling in, or it is just your hope for the future withering away.

Your kidnapper bites slightly on your lower lip and looks deeply into your eyes. His pupils are dilated.

You look down at his lips and notice the hue of your dark red lipstick.

Chrollo doesn’t seem to care as he pulls your face towards his own again. Either that or he did not notice it, but it is unlikely considering how perceptive he is. His cold hands hold your warm face in place as you feel his hot breath tickle your nostrils. His elbows go underneath your armpits and stab into the couch. You hear nothing except for his breathing because you look at the clock on the wall to distract yourself yet again. It is nearly midnight. 

Your perfume smells like dahlias and roses, which Chrollo has mentioned liking on you before.

His right hand pushes your right cheek into the arm of the couch and he starts to suck and bite your neck.

Your skin is soft as usual, looking like porcelain.

Chrollo has complimented it before. He has complimented your scent before. He has complimented your makeup before. He has complimented your hair before. You look beautiful, there is always a genuineness in his tone that would make you feel slightly sick like you were going to throw up whatever expensive fruit or chocolate you had eaten. You would never voice it though, because that would mean all the progress you have made to lower his guard would be for nothing. It would only make him test your sufferance further by doing unspeakable acts against you or your loved ones. The only weapons he has not taken away from you are your tactical mind and honeyed words. If you play them correctly, you will eventually escape and live a somewhat peaceful life. 

Chrollo moves upward toward your ear and nibbles at your lobe softly. “You are so beautiful, my precious.” He whispers. “So beautiful…” His perfume smells like sandalwood and musk. “Like a doll. Truly, you’re quite the sight to see…” Chrollo purrs.

His fingers trace the top of your hair.

“Like silk. So soft and gentle…” His fingers dance downward on your braid, twisting back and forth. “The shampoo I chose for you was a good choice.”

You smile.

“White jasmine…” A sweet and soft scent. Swirls of saccharine and fruit. A slight tart smell of citrus. Universally ambrosial paired with the bitter words that leave your syrup-covered lips; making a charming palette of a flavor similar to that of biting into a square of dark chocolate mixed with orange zest. The texture is not ever strange because of how well-crafted the chocolate is. It is not difficult to swallow but doesn’t melt in the mouth too fast either. The delicacy’s flavor stays in the mouth even after it is fully dissolved, coating each tooth in a substance that has a lovely bittersweet taste like honey mixed with black tea. “It suits you.”

*~*~*~*

1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people. 

A lot of them were on the lower floors, scampering away to locked exits like stray, captured cats, clawing and screaming at the metal doors to open. You sometimes envy them, for their time with the Troupe was short. They knew how their fate was going to end; swift and twisted. A quick punch. A sudden stab. A loud blast of a firearm. They knew how they were going to die. They comforted each other as they were ripped limb from limb. 

You don’t know how you are going to die, or when you are going to die. You could die in a few seconds, a few months, or a few years. You could die by being shot, being poisoned, or being strangled. No one came to comfort you, and no one comforts you now. No one listened to your struggles and cries for help as you were pushed in a black car, gagged and restrained. No one helped you in one of your most desperate moments. 

You are tired of doing everything with the person that made your life a living hell. You want to go back to eating dinner at a restaurant and not feel an unwanted hand on your thigh. You want to go back to sleep with a loose arm around you and not a strangling one. You want to go back to talking to someone you like about a topic you like and not think your every move toward freedom is a gamble.

1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people, leaving very few people to tell others of the tale. Perhaps you count, but you are presumed dead by the outside world so it wouldn’t matter anyhow. You are all alone and stuck in a situation akin to limbo. 

*~*~*~*

Chrollo keeps batting his eyelashes at you across the dining table.

His hair is well-kept, he is wearing a fancy suit, and his nearly black eyes are wider and brighter than when you saw him last. It is well past sunset, the sky outside the window a murky, livid color. He is humming now, staring at you rather than the uncut steak in front of him. You are about to stop playing with your food when–

“Black is a good color on you.”

Your head jerks up. His eyes are even more vivid, and focused, while yours are uncertain. Your hand stops moving your fork to your mouth and falls back to the table lifelessly. 

“Your dress,” he smiles.

“I…” You look down and close your eyes. You have to force your shoulders not to shake by thinking of happier times in your life. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You refuse to look at him for it will show what you are feeling. Your heart beats so fast that you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest. “I have something for you, after dinner.”

He has just come back from another successful heist in this city. It makes sense.

“I’m not very hungry, Chrollo.”

He hums. “You are going to go hungry.” You hear him place his cup of wine back onto the table. “At least eat the radish soup. You need to eat your vegetables.”

As if brought to existence by his words, you smell the bowl of vegetable soup beside the uneaten steak. You mostly smell the tartness of the tomato slices, big and bright. Mint comes second, fresh yet light compared to the tomato smell. You don’t smell the radish, though, despite the chunks of them being large enough to hardly fit in your spoon.

You open your eyes and lift your hand to pick up the spoon in the bowl. You take a piece of radish in your mouth, quickly chewing the peppery vegetable.

You still refuse to look at your captor. You just try to focus on eating the soup so you can at least temporarily avoid his gaze. You are never this nervous when you are about to try to manipulate someone into doing what you say, but Chrollo’s eye for tactics is about the same as yours. When you are almost done with your soup, you suddenly hear Chrollo’s chair move, followed by footsteps.

“You’re nervous.”

You shake your head and take the last bite of your soup. “I am not. I am just thinking about something, dear.”

He grabs the hand that was holding your spoon. His thumb makes circles around your own.

You take some of the quietest and quickest deep breaths and look at Chrollo, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into another deceitful smile. “You don’t need to worry about me. You already work hard enough as it is.”

Chrollo hoists you up and hugs you. 

The window gives way to the starless night sky as dark as obsidian–the moon a slight crescent, and a snow white. It floats atop the carefully cut trees onto their tips and stays there, like a strung puppet in a finished puppet show, unmoving until called upon again by its master. 

“What is my beautiful [First] worried about?” He murmurs. 

“I was examining something.” Your fingertips graze against his palm. You plan to recreate the classic dance of Black Swan Pas de Deux, with you taking on the role of Odile. “Something most peculiar.” Your hand clasps onto his. “I am like a train. I can only run anywhere my rails take me. I suppose you are a new track I have yet to explore, and the only option is to move wherever it is you take me.” His hand feels warm, but not warm enough to comfort others. “It has been an unexpected journey with many stops, but it is my purpose to keep moving forward until the end. The end’s length feels far and I feel that only through death would the tracks cusp.” You stand up straighter than before and your breath echoes in his ear. “People focus more on the train’s condition than the tracks but the tracks are the most important part of the journey. Without tracks, trains would not exist. So, Chrollo…” You feel comfortably numb and not as timid as you were a few minutes ago. “How do you feel?”

You look into your captor’s eyes, and all you see is hell. The very gates of hell in the eyes of a human being. When judgment passes, all of your sins shall be weighed. The only way for your sins to disappear before that day is to lie. 

The Devil himself is waiting for the moment when your mask shatters and gives way to a horrid monstrosity. Only then can he punish you for your misdeeds.

“...How I feel, huh?” Long, silent fingers move like a spider’s legs up and down your back. He is now reciprocating your dance by playing the role of Prince Siegfried. The gramophone plays Beethoven’s Für Elise.  “I think you're a fascinating woman, darling.” His tone is gentle, contrasting with the usual coldness and detachment he carries so often. He moves his other hand to the side of your face and gently caresses your cheeks. “You're smart, creative, and strong. You have a unique charm that sets you apart from everyone else.” 

Like a rose, Chrollo’s thorns and stunningly beautiful features cut deep into both your psyche and the world around you. He has spent what feels like years trying to pluck your petals off one by one in a game of effeuiller la marguerite, the logic behind it being a bizarre combination of many things. His stalk, the axis that connects all his reasons, would be simple curiosity. He was curious to find out where your traits stemmed from, what and who made you the way you are today if you were hiding something nefarious behind that bright smile and kind voice of yours, and thus began his hunt for more knowledge. His calyx, a shield made of his in the form of sepals, represents how protective he is of his deepest, darkest secrets. He has buried them all beneath a temple of fake phlegmatism and honesty. The petals of his biggest and most colorful flower lead his admirers astray so they could never uncover the real Chrollo, which you think is a mercy in itself. Most of those who have seen his true self are buried along with it soon enough.

You want to take a lighter and light him ablaze so that he shall never reroot in the soil around him. The only way you can do such a thing is to play a game of effeuiller la marguerite as well. This is the path you must take to get your freedom back.

The key is to follow the hidden rules.

That means doing things you find repulsive but he finds lovely.

That means kissing him when he comes back. That means letting him do what he wants with your body. That means lying straight to his face when saying you are attracted to him. It will all be worth it in the end, you tell yourself.

You hum, acting like those words that leave his mouth are the things you want to hear the most.

“Those eyes, so grounded yet divine, are the only ones worthy of reverence.” His pale lips twirl upward like a ballet dancer’s arms. “I shall be honored if you choose me to be your apostle.”

“Do you see yourself when you gaze into my eyes, my beloved?”

“I do.” His voice seems breathless, almost drunk, his mind above the clouds and fantasizing about the future. Your eyes are similar to that of a small, round mirror that can reflect light just like the surface of a pond does. 

“I see myself when I look at yours as well,” You sigh with a pseudo impression of an amorous tone. “I suppose we are meant to be together.” Like an elegant ballerina, you relevé. “So, Chrollo…” Your lips are so close to his. Your voice is hushed, calm, and teasing. “I have a favor to ask.” 

His eyes light up with adoration, similar to how Romeo first saw Juliet at the Capulet ball. 

“Ask me for anything you wish for and I shall see to it that it is done.” The hand that is on your back clenches it a bit more.

“I would like to go somewhere tomorrow.” 

“Hm? Where would you like to go?” Chrollo’s tone is now a mix of curiosity and hopefulness. 

“The planetarium.” Your thumb circles his. “That is if you’d like to oblige my request.”

“Of course.” His fingers curl into yours. He smiles as he speaks, his tone soft and sweet. “I’d like to go to the planetarium with you, especially since you have such a desire to go.” There is a twinkle in his eyes.

“Perhaps afterward we can go to a cafe and sit in the park?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” He casts you an unfamiliar glance before your lips meet. You start to back away as he lets go of you, and you pick up your glass of water. You take a few sips before setting it back down on the table.

The absence of sound doesn't please you, as the music from the gramophone has ceased and Chrollo seems lost in thought. However, you're not bothered enough to not enjoy the silence. You are envisioning a future of peace, where your captor never finds you again. 

Donned in velvet attire and sipping on tea, you frequent the sandy shores, observing the ebb and flow of the ocean. Undisturbed, you create music with your violin for an audience of one; yourself. A life of uttermost pleasure.

“I shall prepare for tomorrow, then.”

Chrollo nods with a satisfied hum.

“Very well.”

You slink off into the bedroom, grab your purse, and pack the money you had stolen from Chrollo’s jackets and pants. It is not much, but it should be enough to cover travel fees. You also pack more comfortable clothes and shoes to run in. They are clothes you have never worn, so they are the clothes most likely to not be recognized by him.  You lay out a fancier outfit over your purse to hide it. 

Now all there is to do now is wait.

*~*~*~*

“Get in.” 

Your mouth is gagged with a tied scarf and your hands are restrained with handcuffs. There is no warmth in the monster of a man’s tone. There is only an open car door and a forceful push. Later, a slamming sound. 

You are covered in blood, your supervisor’s blood–he tried to use you as a shield against the intruders but was met with a bullet to the head–so much blood. Your dress shirt is as red as a traffic light or a ladybug, though you would prefer the traffic light because you signal to those still dying not to scream anymore, that there was no point in trying to delay the inevitable. There are small pieces of his flesh inside your mouth, you are certain of it considering that you can taste something metallic and flabby. Multiple small, flabby things. Your colleagues’ screams still ring in your ears; they hurt so much.

You can still hear the crunching of their smashed skulls and bones, the alarms, the emergency protocol announcement, the gunshots, the loud severing and ripping of muscle and fat, and–

“Greetings.” A voice, calm and placid. A man sitting beside you, visibly comfortable with one of his legs over the other. He moves his left arm and clicks your seatbelt into place, then does the same with his own. 

A blaring statement outside the car. “Two billion Jenny and she’ll be set free,” one of the thieves said, probably the one that pushed you into the car, “if we aren’t paid by next week she dies.”

“Do not worry.” The man beside you speaks in a lulling tone. “It is simply a ploy. We won’t kill you, I will make sure of it.”

You look down at your legs and shoes, considering what to do or say if the gag is ever taken off. 

A firm grip on your shoulder and a say of your name makes you look at him again. His eyes are filled with nothing but obsession and make your heart stop beating for a split second. “If I take this gag off of you, do you promise not to scream?” 

You nod, because what choice do you have other than being compliant? 

There is a pleased hum and a praise you cannot exactly remember, then the scarf is off and on the floor of the car. 

“I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” A warm chuckle. “My name is Chrollo, and… for now, just let me say that we are going to get to know each other quite a bit.”

*~*~*~*

“Stars are such wonders, aren’t they, dearest?”

You give an impressed hum as you look around and sit in your seat beside Chrollo. The room soon goes dark as the public speaker starts talking.

There is a single spotlight on her that is a bright white which contrasts with the pitch-black room. She bows as some of the audience claps, you included. You don’t think Chrollo clapped, though.

“It's been estimated by astronomers that there could be as many as one septillion stars in the universe.” 

“Yet there is only one of you,” Chrollo whispers in your ear.

The announcer speaks with a proud yet modest tone, not being too outward yet not being too quiet to not draw any attention to herself. “The Milky Way galaxy is home to over 100 billion stars, with the Sun being the most well-known.”

You are not the moon above, you aren’t even a star. You are simply a piece of an asteroid, soon to fade to dust in the cold, cruel darkness of space.

You look at him and smile. He smiles back at you.

“The creation of this universe brings me joy, for it has led me to cross paths with you.” The spherical walls light up and turn a dark blue and fill with holographic stars and meteors. “I’m glad.”

“These fiery balls are composed primarily of hydrogen, with traces of helium and other elements.” The speaker continues. “Each star has a unique lifespan, which can vary from millions to trillions of years, and their characteristics shift as they age.”

“The Sun is needed to sustain life in this galaxy, just like how I need you and you need me.”

You hum again and grab his hand gently. “You do not need to hang a legion of stars around yourself to show you are not Neptune, for I already know you are my Sun.”

“Should the sun disappear, the Earth would be devoid of light, warmth, and life.” It is like Chrollo had a vision of the future. “Initially, the planets would follow their orbits for a short while before eventually exiting the solar system. Although the sun's rays would continue to reach us for a brief eight-and-a-half minutes after its disappearance, the world would be plunged into darkness.”

“Within a week, temperatures would plummet to zero degrees Celsius, causing the demise of most flora and fauna.” Chrollo resumes. “As time passes, the atmosphere would also gradually disappear. The Sun is very important if you cannot tell.”

“I concur, beloved.”

“It’s a miracle the Sun’s warmth exists in the first place, or that this planet’s orbit was placed in the perfect environment.” Chrollo sighs peacefully, but you aren’t sure if he is in awe at the planetarium or you. “We wouldn’t have existed if this planet was made in a different area of the universe.”

“It is quite beautiful, isn’t it? Thanks to the Sun, now we have a bright future ahead of us all.”

His hand clasps onto yours. “I make a vow to you that our bond will never break, and we will remain inseparable for eternity.” His mouth is so close you feel like he is about to kiss your ear. “Do not worry about the details, for I shall take care of everything.”

*~*~*~*

There is one mirror. There are two hanging jackets. There are three lights above you. There are four paintings on the wall facing the entrance. Five vases contain your favorite flowers, two on the floor and three on the table. There are six rows of stone bricks, then carpet at the start of the stairs. Seven glass panes make up the decoration above the entryway. There are eight engravings on the locked wooden door, each of a flower or deer. Nine smells are coming from upstairs; garlic, cheese, tomato, onion, poultry, olive oil, butter, pasta, and basil. Let me out. 

It’s dark outside, but the chandelier above provides enough light for you to see that the door is still locked. As much as you want to mask your real feelings from your captor, you have to acknowledge the fact that you cannot breathe. There is a call from upstairs. You put your book down on the sole chair. There are ten steps leading to the second floor. 

There is one staircase leading to the third floor. There are two rooms: the living room and the kitchen. Three footsteps are approaching you. Four words leave Chrollo’s mouth, but you cannot remember them.

You cannot cry. You cannot do anything but smile and hug back. His embrace feels like it is burning your skin. He says something about your beauty. He grabs your hand gently. There are ten steps you take as he guides you to the stove.

There is one pot full of food. There are two plates. Three instruments are playing on the gramophone; violin, piano, and cello. There are four chairs near the kitchen table. There are five books, with one of them being an open cookbook. There are six candles on the table with the lights turned off. There are seven wrapped gifts on the table. There are eight seconds of Chrollo hugging you.

You unwrap the gifts. Matching necklaces with engraved names on them. A gold ring with rubies. A decorated photo of you taken from a Polaroid. A large box of your favorite chocolate. A butterfly pin. A velvet coat with a spider embroidered on the back. Chrollo’s smile almost makes you shudder.

There is one chair you sit in. There are two utensils before you; a fork and a knife. There are thoughts in your mind for three seconds; fantasizing about you stabbing him. There are four seconds of temptation before you ignore it. There are five seconds of silence before you say you love Chrollo. Gifts are celebrating six months of you being held captive. There are seven roses in the vase in the middle of the candles. There are eight bites you take of your food, and then force yourself to eat the rest through your nauseousness. 

Let me out.

*~*~*~*

The nutty smell of coffee brings you a feeling of slight warmth and relaxation. The chalkboard above the barista reads Carte Du Jour with white words, listing off the assortment of pastries, coffees, teas, and fruit-flavored drinks. Chrollo is ordering for you two, spending what feels like an unnecessary amount of Jenny on pumpkin muffins, chocolate croissants, and two espressos. The barista audibly gasped when he gave her a tip that can best be described as more than what she would make in a week. 

The two of you soon make your way to this city’s largest park and sit on a bench away from most people. There is a musician loudly playing clarinet nearby, but he is not close enough for you two to see him, and he is too invested in playing his instrument to notice anyone. The sun is well above the pond, making the ducks swimming in it almost glow. Chrollo is still holding the paper bag full of the pastries and his espresso, but you are holding yours in your hand.

He is still, visibly calm, and enjoying the sight.

You feel an invisible pressure on your neck. It’s just a knot in my throat, you think to yourself, closing your eyes. The sight of his stillness gifts you a veil of comfort so thin that if anyone were to touch it it would tear. I’m not going to die. But you can’t breathe.

Your heart tells you otherwise. You can feel, no, hear blood pulse to the very tips of your fingers. Your feet tell you otherwise. They are cold. They hurt. They are adhered to the ground. Your arms and legs tell you otherwise. There is nothing but pins and needles all over. This is your chance, the little voice in your head says with blind reassurance. Who knows when you will ever get this chance again? Do it now, and be quick about it. But you can’t breathe. You can’t breathe, and you have to try your hardest to stop the hand holding your espresso from shaking and falling on you. 

“Thank you for taking me here,” You smile the best you can, as usual. You try to not focus on your memories of Chrollo’s observation skills. “You made my day. This is one of the best experiences I have had in a while.”

There is sweat going down your forehead. Chrollo nods his head and smiles. You’re afraid, and you never are afraid. His head leans forward until your noses are barely touching. 

He is so close you can smell the mint in his mouth. 

“Of course, my dear. It is an honor to have you in my life, after all.”

“I… would say the same.”

He lifts his head slightly. “Spending time with you is always a pleasure. I would commit the gravest sins if it meant having moments like this forever.” You know that he is being literal. That is the reason you nearly shudder.

He is leaning in closer. You want to run. You have to run.

He backs away after kissing you, and that is when you strike.

You throw your espresso on him, its lid on the bench. You don’t focus on his reaction, because you are running as fast as you can with your purse.

You toss your heels to the side of an unknown road when your feet start to bleed. 

You change clothes in a rat-infested public restroom. You throw everything aside from your stolen money into a nearby lake in fear of a tracking device being on something. You cover the wounds on your feet with toilet paper and then put on sneakers. 

You put your hair up in a bun and cover it with a hood.

You wash your makeup off using lake water.

You soon get on a bus. Then another.

You then eventually take a train. For nearly three days you stay, hardly eating out of fear of vomiting due to nervousness. You walk the rest on foot until you have reached somewhere far, far away from that city. 

You steal money from those around you when needed. You threaten those around you when needed, threatening them to stay silent or their fate will end at your hands. You make use of a few kind-hearted people who let you into their homes when they see you, dirty and injured on the side of the road. They clean up your wounds, give you warm food, and you repay them with a simple, untrusting, and cold goodbye and leave without a trace. 

You move from place to place every few hours.

Then you move from place to place every few days.

Eventually, you move from place to place every few months. You ultimately settle into a town by the seashore, under a fake alias. You move into a cabin by the beach with no warmth other than a few candles and no entertainment other than books or writing. You eat the cheapest food the local saloon sells that day. 

The day you escaped was 1996, May 9th.

It is now 1997, August 3rd.

*~*~*~*

The speakers blare a sound akin to ambulance sirens. A man’s voice soon after, panicky and horrified. 

He spoke of evacuating as soon as possible through the emergency exits. An infamous terrorist group is in the building, he said. Then the sound of a gunshot, cries for mercy, then another voice. 

“Run, rabbits.” Whoever was speaking had confidence and arrogance. 

Your supervisor stands up from his desk and his guards pull out their guns. You look around for a way out. Screams from outside the office. Flesh being ripped apart. The evacuation door was locked, as much as you and the guards pushed and pulled. 

The main door was kicked open by a man taller than any you have seen, ripped apart by its hinges, and fell on the floor. The guards shot at him, but they reflected off of him like he was made of iron. He was fast, fast enough to smash their brains in with his mere fists. He laughed loudly, amused. Your supervisor grabbed you by your hair and put you in a chokehold. 

A gun was put to your head.

He threatened to shoot you. The threat was met with a gunshot behind his head, his body falling on top of you as he cried out for mercy, and his blood covering you from head to toe as someone dressed in black slashed his body again and again. 

You put your hands up and close your eyes, expecting the same fate as you hear his corpse falling off of you with a loud thud.

…

Instead, your wrists were grabbed and put in handcuffs. A hand on your shoulder and a pat.

“We can’t have damaged goods. You have been chosen to live… at least for now. Congrats.”

A push that blurred between light and strong. A walk out the office doors and to the elevator. A thumb pressing the down button. The elevator doors opened with an automated voice saying going down. Another button is being pressed, the doors closing, and jazz is playing.

One of them, the swordsman, asked how people working (or worked, really) could wait for an elevator every day to go to the top floor, saying how boring that would be if it was him. You cannot tell if he was joking with you or was genuinely curious. The elevator slowly goes down, the light at the top of the button selection decreasing from seventy to one. The doors open. Another push.

A walk out to the lobby.

“Oh, do you guys think that the pocket change from that dude will be enough to buy some snacks from the vending machines? I’m pretty hungry right now. Do you guys think so?”

A woman with magenta hair rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You are such a child, Uvo. You want to get snacks, now?”

Another scoff in response. “Hunger is part of the everyday human experience. Don’t think you are so above it, Machi.”

“Fine.” The swordsman speaks, clearly annoyed. He looks at you with a neutral expression. “Take her to the car and Feitan and I will get you snacks, my treat.”

The man wearing all black rolls his eyes.

“I never agreed to that.” He shakes his half-masked head. “I am also not hungry. We can also get food elsewhere. Vending machine food is expensive. Waste of money.”

Machi rolls her eyes in turn.

“Everyone is dead already.”

You are closing your eyes and imagining being somewhere else, anywhere else than here. A cafe. A ballet. Anywhere but here.

“I’m hungry.”

The swordsman punches him in the arm.

“Ow, Nobu!”

…

A man crawls on his arms towards you all, his legs ripped off. He cries out and curses as he coughs up blood. Curses for their family. Curses for eternal damnation. They are quickly snuffed out by Uvo’s punch and brain matter splatters all over the lobby floor.

Then silence.

The man called Nobu sighs, visibly exhausted. He looks at Uvo like he is two years old. He asks Uvo what snacks he wants. He responds with something meaty or cheesy, like jerky or something. An alright leaves Nobu’s thin lips and he asks you where the vending machines are.

You feel like you are about to soil yourself. Why the hell are they acting so normal after killing an entire building full of people? But with a shaky voice, you tell him that it should be on the 61st floor because that is where all the workers go to eat lunch. 

A damn it leaves his mouth then, and another roll of his eyes. But he thanks you, and he and Feitan go back to the elevators. 

Uvo and Machi stare at you. 

“Listen,” Machi finally talks to you. She tries to smile, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If anything, you feel like you are about to cry more at the sight. She puts her hand on your shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you. Far from it, if that helps.”

It doesn’t. You just look down at your feet. 

A sigh. Another push.

“You could have tried to be more gentle, Uvo. Now she’s scared of all of us. What’s the boss gonna think?”

You stare at them. They glare at each other.

“Machi, she’s supposed to be our hostage, at least to the public eye.” He looks at the receptionist's desk, where the receptionist’s corpse lays, her neck bent to an acute angle. You look around for any possible escape route. You see one. The main entrance. 

You run fast. Until you are outside. Uvo’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you back.

“Listen. We do not want to hurt you. But we have to at least seem like we are rough handling you.” His hands go on your shoulders and make you walk towards a foreign black car. “Sorry. But it’s for the best. I  promise.”

“Just put this on.” She wraps a scarf around your mouth, gagging you. 

“Hey, you’ll have a good life from now on. Trust us with that, at least. You’ll be happier now.”

Uvo pushes you, hard, when he sees police cars approaching. He opens the car door. A malicious smile appears on his face, like a mask he has just put on.

“Get in.”

You hope that whatever is in store for you isn’t as bad as what your colleagues suffered.

*~*~*~*

There is a man around your age who goes out around the same time as you to smoke by the beach.

He has dark hair with a slight purple tint, making you assume that it is dyed. It looks long and it is swept to the side, except for a quarter of it which is shaved. He has near-black eyes, but they don’t look as intimidating as Chrollo’s. If anything, they look slightly sorrowful. 

You go on the fishing dock as usual with a box of cigarettes and a lighter in your sweater pocket. The man is there, searching his own pockets and visibly frustrated.

“Do you want one of mine?”

He looks up at you. His eyes wander from your face downward towards your extended hand which holds an unlit cigarette. He doesn’t answer and just stares at it.

“I noticed you are looking in your pockets for one.” You smile, but as you usually do with fake kindness, not caring enough about him to get too close.

“I…” His eyes squint, slightly suspicious. Perhaps it takes a moment or two for him to realize you are talking to him. “Yes, thanks.”

“Hmm. You’re welcome.” You hand him the cigarette and you take another one out for you. You put it in your mouth as you pull out your lighter from your sweatpant pocket. “So, what is your name?”

He doesn’t answer, because he is looking in his hoodie pocket again.

“Damn it.”

You extend your lighter out to him. “Do you need a lighter?” He takes it. “You sure are forgetful tonight, huh?”

He presses the ignition button and orange flames arise. The end of his cigarette turns a yam orange. He hands your lighter back to you.

You do the same with yours. You then put the lighter back in your sweatpants pocket.

You inhale the puff of smoke that enters your mouth, an ash gray. You take the cigarette out of your mouth with two fingers and exhale. You then look back at the man, who just did the same thing.

“Thanks for the help.”

You smile.

“Of course.”

“I don’t think I have seen you before so you must be the one that just moved in, right?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Cool. Out of all the places you could have gone, you chose this town.” He raises an eyebrow, visibly curious. “May I ask why?”

You fix your eyes on him, taking a few moments to process the unexpected nature of his question. He inhales his cigarette again and breathes out the smoke. 

“This town seems quaint.” You finally answer. “The locals are nice, the expenses aren’t that much, and the scenery is alluring.”

You use your cigarette again and use your other sweatpants pocket to fish out your portable cassette player along with your headphones. You then realize that you had forgotten your music tape at your house. You sigh and then put it back into your pocket. Footsteps get your attention and you see the stranger approaching the shoreline. He bends down and picks up a small rock. He throws it to the sea and it bounces; one, two, three, four.

It then sinks beneath the waves, and the man mutters something under his breath. “Should have been more.”

You take a few steps towards him.

“What is your name?”

“Sebaste.” His tone isn’t warm, but it’s not cold either.

You stare at each other for a few moments in awkward silence. Your tone is just as strange as his as you say, “My name is [First]. A pleasure to meet you.” You place your lit cigarette on the pier and stomp on it until it goes out. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you live with a family member?” You’re not sure where this question came from, but you are for sure more interested in him than you realize. He turns his back to you.

“Yeah.”

You look out into the deep and dark sea.

“I don’t have any family here.”

“Mmhmm.”

His voice is slightly dismissive, but you don’t think he means to be.

“It must be nice, having people you can rely on.”

He looks at you again, but you cannot tell what he feels.

You don’t look at each other after that. You look down at the items that line the beach instead. Even though they are indeed damaged, they feel more like treasures than whatever expensive gifts Chrollo gave you.

There are mostly large shells that are still vibrant despite it being nighttime as well as being covered in sand. They look like fragments of a broken rainbow when the moon’s light reflects in just the right areas. You have contemplated bringing one home and stringing it into a necklace. 

Sebaste takes his cigarette out of his mouth and points out to the ocean. There is no sound aside from the waves and occasional seagull calls. His two fingers trace the stars beyond the horizon. 

He says there is a constellation called the Hydra. According to Sebaste, during summer, the season of rebirth and peace, the Hydra constellation appears as a reminder of assured death to those below it, whatever arrogance mortals may have had disappearing in an instant. Their fates loom over them like the blade of a guillotine, knowing their hearts shall stop working eventually, the color of crimson fading like flowers in autumn. Memento mori, you suppose.

“You sure know a lot about nature.” You say.

“It’s interesting, but it’s not what I mainly like learning about.” He throws another stone into the sea. One, two, three, four, five. He throws his cigarette out into the ocean and watches the flame die out. “I’m mostly just coding on my desktop. That,” He lightly chuckles. “And playing games. Video games and board games, as well as comics. They are fun.”

You don’t know anything about those either, even more so than nature. “That’s nice. I… don’t know anything about those. They seem cool, though.”

He chuckles at that. You do too.

He turns to you and takes a few steps forward.

He says that that seemed sort of obvious considering how upright your posture is, and how polite you speak. He offers to play games with you sometime and lend you comics. He walks you to your house and says a warm goodbye.

Although the certainness of seeing each other again is unknown, this fleeting encounter holds a remarkable significance, because you don’t feel as alone as you usually do.

You don’t feel alone. It is a strange feeling.

*~*~*~*

You wanted to watch Sleeping Beauty.

“Beautiful.”

Chrollo wanted to watch The Nutcracker.

“Just beautiful.”

The dancers’ feet move with grace and precision as the orchestra plays. Green, yellow, and pink dancers. You let Chrollo have his way with which performance tickets to buy because you didn’t want to fight and lose all of your progress.

“Don’t you think so, dearest?”

You look from your compact mirror to him, your lipstick still in hand.

“Yes.”

Chrollo seems to be smiling, but you cannot tell because of how dark the theater is. It’s a miracle you can see your lips in your compact mirror.

“I spot something even more beautiful, however.”

You almost want to shudder as his hand reaches the one carrying your mirror. He closes the reflector gently. You are thankful for how dark the theater is now because it hides whatever lovesick expression he is wearing. He is the one paying attention to the ballet, while you daydream of being anywhere else.

There is a light chuckle. A light squeeze. A light whisper of a compliment you pretend to listen to. 

“So beautiful.”

…

“Thank you for taking me.”

It’s Christmas Eve. A fur coat covers you and keeps you warm. It is snowing, and the sight makes you slightly less nervous. 

You and Chrollo are walking out of the theater. Hand in hand. As much as you want to break away. Your captor soon opens the car door, and you sit down.

He goes to the driver’s side and sits down too.

The car soon drives away onto the salted road. 

“I had fun.” You try your best to smile. “I did.” You look out the window to the snow-covered, dead trees, as well as the reflection of your red dress and white coat.

Chrollo grins as he turns the steering wheel left. After a few moments, the car stops. “Wait here for a moment. I will be back in a few minutes.”

With that, he steps out of the car and leaves the key with you to make sure the alarm does not go off. 

He makes sure you lock the doors before walking away.

You don’t dare go sit on the driver’s side. You don’t dare touch the steering wheel or press on the gas.

You just sit with your thoughts until he eventually returns, and you unlock the car.

“I have something for you,” His voice is almost cooing, but is laced with honey. There is a large box in his hands.

He extends his arms out and you take it. He sits back down and closes the car door. 

“Open it,” He croons. You pull on the tied ribbon until the knot is undone. You take off the box’s lid. Macarons. Colorful macarons, all spread apart within the box just enough for people to see their fillings. Green, yellow, pink. But there are also a few white ones in the center with red filling. 

You thank him and he tells you the flavors. The green ones are pistachio, symbolizing good fortune in the years ahead. The yellow ones are champagne, symbolizing joy and celebration. The pink ones are flavored strawberry, symbolizing life. 

There is a nefarious twinkle in his eyes as he points to the white ones. The cookies are vanilla with a cherry filling. 

They symbolize renewal and love.

He says that the macarons illustrate your relationship well.

You agree, because what else is there to say?

*~*~*~*

Sebaste invited you to a summer night on the shoreline. He said there was something special going on tonight. 

Most of the townspeople are by the fisherman’s shop, overlooking the pier. They bring lanterns and are huddled together in their sweaters. Knowing Sebaste, he has probably gone somewhere more remote on the beach.

You are right. He is sitting on a picnic blanket with a few takeout boxes of food. He welcomes you with a grin as you sit down with him. There is sashimi, cheese-covered cauliflower, and fried calamari.

There is something behind him. But you don’t ask about it.

Sebaste is a rebellious loner, from what you have come to know from both the townspeople and himself.

He hardly has anyone over because of how judgmental his stepfather can be. He often fights with his stepfather and half-sister, and as a result, was forced to live in the basement as per his mother’s wishes to not cause any more problems. He loves his mother, he does, you can tell. She seems to love him too.

His room is often full of takeout boxes and used cigarettes, as well as video and board games and his desktop. The couch in his room always has comics and food stains on it. But you sit on it anyway to wait for him to finish his work before talking to you about whatever interest he currently is fixated on.

You sit on the picnic blanket and face the shoreline, your dirndl moving slightly with the wind. Your boots are covered in sand, but they are the only ones you have that will keep you warm while keeping the sand out of the inside of them. It’s just you, Sebaste, and the ocean.

Sebaste isn’t smoking for once, and neither are you.

You both agreed to focus on the ocean instead.

Sebaste gets a bit closer by scooting over. He is smiling gently, a smile you know hardly anyone else has seen. He takes a rock and throws it into the water, making it skip. One, two, three, four, five, six. He cheers quietly at his accomplishment, and you do too.

He looks at you.

He looks at your left hand that rests beside his right one. He moves just a hair closer. He clears his throat when you make eye contact. His pale cheeks are a slight pink.

“I…” he starts as his face turns away from you. His voice is a bit jittery. “I think I like you. Romantically.”

Does he mean it? His body language is slightly tense and his shoulders are uptight. His left hand comes out from hiding behind his back as he shows you a bouquet. There are blue thistles, purple sweet peas, and orange poppies.

He waits for a response as he turns to you again, visibly nervous.

*~*~*~*

You continue to try to pull away, but your efforts are unsuccessful.

Chrollo seems somewhat amused at your struggles, though he still doesn't force you to stop moving against his grasp.

"You're acting in a very ungrateful manner, my dear. I've given you this beautiful home and life that you couldn't even dream of on your own. You should be happy and thankful for what you've been given, not trying to escape from it. This is what love is. You are too young and immature to understand that, it seems."

"Love? Do you call this love? You're insane! Let me go!" Your eyes fill with tears as you try to pull away, and your voice breaks as you speak. "You're insane! You're insane and sick and disgusting! You're... you're..."

Chrollo still doesn't force you to stop trying to escape, and he doesn't raise his voice or grow angrier at your words. He just waits patiently.

"Monster... Disgusting... Sick freak... Monster..." Your voice is shaky as you continue to speak, and your eyes are filled with tears. "How can you justify this? What was wrong with my life before you? Why did you have to destroy everything? Why do you enjoy hurting me?" You yell and cry out, still trying to pull away, even though you don't seem to be hurting him.

Chrollo, once again, doesn't seem to be bothered by your words. As the alarm goes off, signaling your time out of restraints, he turns it off and drags you to the bedroom once again. Something tells you that you won’t be sleeping much tonight, less so than usual.

*~*~*~*

“Ah. I… like you too.”

“Really?”

You give him a genuine smile as you nod. “Yes.”

He smiles at that as his posture becomes more relaxed. You take the bouquet from him and set it beside your small backpack. Sebaste seems unsure for a second, most likely thinking that you have misunderstood his question. He thinks for a second or two as his face becomes laced with slight worry. You smile again as you take his hand gently. His face becomes bright red and you chuckle at the sight. He does too, but quieter.

His fingers then intertwine with yours.

He doesn’t smell of cigarettes like he normally does. You assume he put on cologne. Refreshing, sweet, and crisp. Pine cologne, with a hint of citrus. 

He bashfully giggles a bit more. He puts his free hand on the back of his neck.

“Does… this mean we are… dating now? Or is this just a fling or…”

Your grip on his hand tightens slightly. You both seem giddy. This is the first time either of you has felt this way. You seem to have sparked something in each other.

“If you want to, we can start dating.”

“Oh? You… actually like me?”

He seems confused or doubtful as to why you feel the way you do for him.

“Yes, I do. I like you. Would you like me to enumerate the reasons why?”

He looks unsure of it all like you will stab him in his back at any moment.

“You’re kind to those who are kind back. You’re willing to do anything for those you trust. When you trust, you trust wholeheartedly. You have interesting hobbies.”

Sebaste chuckles again. “So, beating you within six turns of Go Fish and collecting frogs covered in mud is interesting to you, huh?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as unique as you. I mean that most positively and genuinely. Well, what do you like about me then? I’m curious.”

“Everything about you. The way you walk and talk, your hobbies, the way you present yourself. Everything about you is just so alluring and admirable. You are everything I am not.”

“I suppose we always love what we cannot have ourselves. Opposites attract, after all.”

He nods. 

The ocean starts to glow a bright blue. You look at it confused, with one of your eyebrows raised.

Sebaste giggles once more at your lack of knowledge of what is happening. “Every year, right before summer ends, jellyfish rise to the surface of the shore and glimmer.”

You’re too awed at the sight to put it into words. “Thank you for inviting me, I didn’t know about it. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. Beautiful.” He looks at you instead of the ocean.

*~*~*~*

You take a deep breath. You’ve come to pay what’s owed.

You knock on the door and wait for a response. After a moment, you hear footsteps approaching the door.

It opens and James is standing there. When he recognizes you, his face turns into one of triumph.

“Hmm, so you have come. Just like you promised,” he says to you in a voice a mix of arrogance and gratefulness.

“Yes. The… night you wanted.”

James’ expression changes to a wide grin. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” He says to you with a chuckle, stepping aside to let you into his apartment. “Come in, come in.”

He steps aside and motions for you to enter, closing the door behind you. It is for the greater good, you tell yourself. To get information out of James, you need to make him believe that you are interested in him.

James is very happy that you kept your word. He’s smiling widely.

“Come in, I told you that I would host a special evening for you,” He says to you, sounding sincere and eager to please. He takes your hand and leads you inside the apartment. “I have a surprise for you,” He says to you, leading you deeper into the apartment.

You have to play the part of the seductress to the best of your ability.

“What is it?”

The usual city apartment, it looks like. Messy and full of mildew from the floor to the ceiling. By the only non-musty window there is a plastic up on the ground with drops of water coming down into it from the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip. You can only hear the drips of water and you and James’ footsteps. You cannot feel your true emotions, because you have a job to do.

James brings you to the only lit room in the apartment; the dining area. The circular table seems to be made of poplar and has a dark stain in the center of it. There is a vase of dark red roses on the top, clearly just bought. The chair you sit in is squeaky and is also made of poplar. James is staring at you. You can only hear the dripping of water, the squeakiness of the chair, the broken air conditioner, and James’ chuckles. Drip, drip, drip. James is still smiling, and staring like you are a piece of meat. You suppose you are, at least to him and at least at the moment. You smell cigarette smoke and spoiled food. You lean down to smell the roses, but you cannot smell them because the foul stink of the rest of the apartment is so much stronger. You pretend to anyway, a pleased hum leaving your painted lips. His eyes are wide and unblinking. Another chuckle, and another drip, drip, drip. His smile widens even more as he looks at you.

“Close your eyes,” He says to you in a soft, commanding tone. “I have a surprise for you,” He adds. “I want it to be a surprise. Keep your eyes closed.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to close your eyes.

You cover your eyes with your hands. 

“That’s good, that’s good,” James’ smug voice says. “Just wait one minute.”

You hear his footsteps on the creaky floorboards quieting, making you assume he has gone elsewhere. You hear a cupboard opening and closing along with glasses clinking. 

“Now, remove your hands from your eyes,” James says.

You do as you’re told and remove your hands from your eyes. James smiles at you, revealing the surprise that he had promised. On the table in front of you are two wine glasses and a bottle of expensive red wine. Cabernet. "This is my special surprise for you," He says to you, still sounding sincere and excited. James pours both of you a glass of wine and places one of them in front of you. He then raises his glass and holds it up in your direction. He smiles at you charmingly and says, "To you, [First]. And to your beauty."

You smile at James and cheer with him, raising your glass and taking a sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you.

James smiles at you, still looking charming and sincere. "Tell me," He says to you, "What do you think of the wine?" He takes a sip himself, smiling as he savors the taste. "I always buy the best when I entertain a guest as lovely as yourself," He says to you with a wink.

“It’s good. But… I feel like it won’t compare to you.” You wink back at him.

James smiles and takes another sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you. He seems to like your subtle flirtation, as if it's having the desired effect. "Oh, don't worry," He says to you with a charming smile. "I've been looking forward to this night all night. You're just as wonderful and beautiful as I remember," He adds. "I can hardly wait to spend some time alone with you."

James takes another sip of the wine and continues to stare at you, still smiling.

“Am I as beautiful as you say?” You blink your long lashes at James, your eyes gazing into his with a gentle but seductive expression. Your hair is loose, gently framing your face, and you look ravishing.

"Of course," James says to you with a smile as he gazes back at you. He reaches out a hand and gently strokes a streak of your hair, letting it fall back into place after it has been gently moved by the gesture. "You're the most lovely woman I've ever seen," He says to you confidently.

“What do you like about me?”

"Every inch of you," James replies, still stroking your hair with a smile on his face. "From your eyes to your long lashes, your hair, your skin..." James pauses, looking into your eyes for a moment. "To your soft lips, your small, delicate hands," He adds, still stroking your hair lightly. He looks at you with a charming and passionate gaze, as if he can't get enough of your beauty.

“...Would you like me to kiss you? It would be our first.”

James looks delighted by your proposition and nods slowly, in response. He finishes stroking your hair with one last, gentle touch and gazes at you once more. "Of course," He murmurs, his voice softer and more passionate than before. He pauses for a moment before taking the initiative and leaning forward to kiss you slowly and softly. His lips press gently against yours, and he holds you close as he pulls you into a gentle, intimate kiss.

Drip, drip, drip.

It’s for the greater good, right?

You kiss back and return James' affection, feeling the heat of passion slowly build as the two of you kiss. You hold him close and slowly pull him towards you. The kiss is soft and tender, and although it is a rather chaste kiss, it leaves you breathless and feeling dizzy. After a few moments, you both come up for air to breathe, and James looks at you with a warm and sincere smile. 

"You're a wonderful kisser," He says to you softly. "I've always imagined it would be like this..."

At any cost, the greater good must come first.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?”

"Yes," James replies with a nod. "Let's go to the bedroom," He adds. "I can't wait to be alone with you." He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the dining area and into a small bedroom. You enter the bedroom and see a large, comfortable bed in the center of the room, with the moon shining through the window. James closes the door behind you and leads you closer to the bed.

You sit on the bed and open your arms. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

James smiles at you and steps towards you slowly. He takes off his jacket and throws it on a chair next to the door. He then comes closer to you and smiles, leaning forward to kiss you passionately. His arms are wrapped around you, and his body is pressed against yours. He begins to kiss you deeply and passionately, his lips lingering on yours for long moments.

James continues to kiss you, and as he does so, his hands begin to explore your body. He lets his fingers run down your arms, leaving soft, tender trails of affection on your skin. As his lips move to your neck, he begins to bite it softly. He starts to explore and taste every inch of your skin, leaving small marks of affection. You feel a jolt of passion and desire course through your body as you feel James' lips pressed against your neck and his teeth lightly biting you. As he continues to kiss and nibble your neck, he begins to breathe more heavily.

You pretend to groan and moan as James continues to kiss and nibble your neck. You lean your head back and close your eyes, trying to appear lost in pleasure. You feel his lips move down your neck, leaving little, soft bruises of passion. You let out another soft moan as he continued to kiss your neck, nibbling your skin and letting his teeth leave marks of affection.

"Do you like that?" He whispers to you, his voice deep and passionate. "More?" He asks, sounding breathless and eager.

Drip, drip, drip.

“More.”

James chuckles softly before moving his lips back down towards your neck once again. He bites your neck and kisses it again, this time leaving more marks of affection. You pretend to moan in pleasure once again, feeling James' breath against your neck.

"How does that feel, dear?" His voice is low and seductive. "More?" He asks gently, biting your neck once again.

“I want you to touch me all over.”

James pauses for a moment, his green eyes looking at you with a charming and seductive expression. He smiles at you, and you notice his eyes are filled with desire. "I want to touch you also," He says to you softly. His hand gently touches your cheek and strokes your hair. "Please, let me explore you," He whispers seductively. He moves towards you and gently pulls you towards him, kissing you softly before moving his hands towards your body.

As you feel James' hands start to take off your clothes, you begin to feel some of the passion and desire that James had shown before fade away. But as James continues to take off your clothes, you start to feel the heat of passion and excitement come back.

James seems intent on savoring and enjoying every moment of this moment with you, every moment of intimacy and passion. He slowly undresses you, taking off each piece of your clothing, as if you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. His touch is gentle, and his eyes are filled with desire.

Drip, drip, drip.

“Touch me, touch me everywhere, for your lips worship me.”

James pauses as he hears you speaking. He gazes at you for a moment, his face filled with a mix of passion and desire, as your words have left a deep impression on him.

"Oh, my love," He says to you softly. "My lips worship you," He adds, leaning forward to kiss you again.

His hands begin to run over your body, caressing you in all the right places. His fingers trace soft arcs over your skin, leaving trails of affection and passion wherever they go.

…

You find yourself standing in the middle of a large and eerie graveyard. The sky above you is dark and cloudy, with little sunlight filtering through the clouds. You take out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, lighting up a cigarette and taking a few puffs. As you lean against a gravestone, you see a figure standing in the corner of the graveyard, just watching you. You can't quite make out who it is, the figure looks like a shadowy silhouette, but you can see the orange glow of a cigarette in their hand as well.

It’s James.

As you take another puff from your cigarette, you see James stepping closer to you, his figure now becoming slightly more visible in the dim light. 

"Hello, [First]," He says quietly, the tone of his voice hinting at a slight twinge of concern for you. He takes a drag from his cigarette, his expression still difficult to make out in the shadowy light. "How are you feeling?" He asks, looking at you with a sense of curiosity in his voice.

“I see you kept your word.”

"Of course," James says, taking a soft puff from his cigarette. "I promised you, didn't I? I'm not one to go back on my word."

You notice James looking at your cigarette, seemingly a bit tempted by it.

"Can I have a puff?" He asks, looking at you with a tiny hint of a hopeful expression on his face. "I've been craving another cigarette for a while now."

James quickly steps forward, seemingly going in for a kiss, but you quickly duck out of the way and move away from him. He stops in his tracks, not wanting to make any sudden movements or startle you. However, he still looks at you with a tinge of frustration and disappointment on his face.

"You don't want to do anything with me, do you?" He asks as the light from his cigarette illuminates his expression for a moment. "Am I just not good enough for you, is that it?" He adds.

You keep your attention on your cigarette, ignoring James' frustrated expression and question as you take another puff. After a few moments of complete silence, James finally breaks the silence once again. 

"I knew you were like this," He says, his voice filled with resentment and anger. "I've always known you were like this," He adds, moving closer to you once again. "And yet, I still fell for you like an idiot." He pauses for a moment and takes a drag from his cigarette. "You're just... so damn tempting," He adds.

“...Hmm. It’s my specialty.” 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," James says, seeming slightly irritated. He takes another puff from his cigarette, the orange glow on it making his eyes seem brighter than usual in the dark. "You know, that was the reason I was attracted to you in the first place." He adds, his tone becoming a bit quieter. "Your specialty of seducing men... and women." This time, there was a subtle twinge of sadness in his voice. "You're just too damn gorgeous to resist, I guess." He adds.

“...It has its benefits. I don’t hate you, just so you know.”

It seems like James still hasn't given up in his attempts to kiss you, despite your repeated refusal earlier. He moves in towards you once again and leans in close to your face, his expression becoming a bit more excited and hopeful. That's when you see his gaze locked in on your lips, and you realize his next move before he even makes it. You quickly duck away from him, moving out of the way just in time to avoid his lips.

"I told you, stop." You say firmly, not wanting to give him another chance to kiss you. “It was a one-night stand. That’s all it was, and… it was for my matters.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know," James sighs, his tone becoming somewhat frustrated once again. He takes another drag from his cigarette, the light from it illuminating his face for a moment as he looks straight at you. "It was just a one-night stand," He echoes, seemingly to himself. "But... for some reason." He pauses for a moment and looks at you with slight confusion. "I still have feelings for you," He finally says. "Even though I know it's stupid to feel this way..." He adds quietly.

“It was just something I had to do.”

James seems to pause for a moment as your words sink in.

"What?" He asks, seeming slightly confused. "Do you mean... you had to sleep with me as part of an investigation or something?" He asks. "Or were you not attracted to me?" He adds. "You felt like you had to sleep with me, even though you didn't want to?" He stops for a moment to take a few more puffs from his cigarette, the light from it glowing orange in the dark. "Is that... what are you saying?" He asks.

You take a soft puff from your cigarette as James continues to look at you with a slightly frustrated expression on his face.

"I want the truth, [First]." He says, sounding more serious this time. "I want to know why you slept with me..." He takes a final puff from his cigarette before looking at you once again. "Was it because you were attracted to me? Or was it because you felt like you needed to sleep with me for some other reason?" He asks, his tone becoming a bit quieter again.

“...I suspected you of something.”

"A suspect, huh?" James says, sounding only slightly confused. "So this was all part of some elaborate plan to figure out who I was?" He pauses for a moment as he thinks about your words, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking up again. "Was... Was I really that suspicious, [First]?" He asks. He seems slightly hurt by your words but still manages to hold on to his composure as he looks at you with a bit of apprehension.

“...You were. You drove me five hours to that seaside town without a second thought, even though your guard shift at that hotel had just ended. I had to know if you had other motives… aside from sleeping with me.”

"I guess that makes sense," James says quietly. "So, that's why you decided to sleep with me..." He adds, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking once again. "Is that it?" He says, his tone sounding slightly less annoyed now. "You just wanted to gather information on me, and nothing else?" He asks. "Did you like, not enjoy your time with me in the slightest?" He adds with a tiny hint of disappointment.

You take a deep puff from your cigarette, the smoke rising upwards into the air before mixing with the gloomy clouds floating above. You can see James looking at you with a bit of disappointment on his face, but you just keep silent.

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, James finally speaks again.

"So, that's it, huh?" He says quietly, his tone becoming somewhat resigned. "You just... slept with me for information and nothing else." He takes another drag from his cigarette, the orange glow from the tip illuminating his face in the darkness.

“...That’s correct.”

"So... you don't like me?" He asks, turning to you with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It was just... part of the job?" He adds. He takes another puff from his cigarette, his eyes moving back to looking at the clouds above. "Is there nothing else you like about me?" He asks softly, turning to you once again. "Not even a little bit?" You can see James' expression change, his heart is affected by your words. "Please don't be silent again," He adds quietly.

“…You aren’t useful to me anymore, so from this point forward you will not see me again.”

"Not useful to you, huh?" He says softly, sounding a bit hurt by your words. "So... now that you got what you needed, you're just gonna toss me out like a piece of trash?" He asks with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "What happened to the [First] I thought I knew?" He says, sounding slightly frustrated. "Don't you feel at least a little bit bad?" He adds. "Even a tiny bit?" He takes another small puff from his cigarette before looking at you again with mild concern.

You start to lean away from him before he suddenly grabs you and pulls you towards him, the two of you now face to face. James then places his hand behind the back of your head and leans forward, trying to kiss you once again. Before you can get out of his grasp, he kisses you forcefully, pressing his lips against yours for a few moments as he tries to make you kiss back. Once James is done, he lets go of you, his expression still filled with passion and determination.

"Well?" He asks, sounding a little annoyed. "Where's your response?"

“...You know,” You throw your cigarette to the ground and step on it roughly, making a loud footfall noise as you squish it against the cobblestone. “I was going to let you go on with your life as I found no ties to the Spider.” Your hands go into your trench coat pocket. “But now you have forced my hand. Most unfortunate.”

James takes a moment to process what you had just said. “W… What?” He looks confused and panicked. “What do you mean by that?”

You display a smile, yet it lacks any semblance of kindness. 

“The Phantom Troupe? You’re… a part of the Phantom Troupe?” The man takes a few steps back in fear, a stark contrast to how he was just a few moments ago.

“No.” You say firmly. You hear James sigh in relief. 

“Thank God.”

“But,” You add, taking a few steps closer and still having that grin. “I promise you that soon, you will realize what I mean. Very soon, indeed.”

James laughs loudly and arrogantly like a crow’s caw. “You’re going to kill me?” He takes a few steps closer as well and crosses his arms, smirking. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you can even touch me.”

“Never say never.” With a smile on your face, you glance back while making your way towards the graveyard's exit. 

James angrily yells at you to come back, but you don’t listen and soon you are gone.

He better prepare himself for death while he still can.

…

You broke into James’ neighbor’s apartment.

Victor, you found out later, was his name. Not that it mattered much. He was reading a book, Crime and Punishment, on his couch and facing away from the entrance. He didn’t have any instinctual gut feelings that someone was in his home, standing above him with a blindfold, ropes, and a scarf. He had good taste in books, at least.

“Greetings,” You bend down to the slumped man, weeping with his hands and legs tied, his tears wetting the white blindfold. “I have a favor to ask of you. Then I shall let you go, alright?”

Your voice is soft, and gentle, like a mother speaking to her crying toddler. Like a Venus fly trap, your jaws will soon lower onto your unsuspecting prey. Tender fingers snake around the back of the stranger’s head and untie the gag. A shushing sound leaves your lips as a finger lays on them for a second or two. You roll on your ankles backward and stand up. You tell him that if everything goes well, he can leave. He simply nods, giving up right away.

Your hands go into your trench coat pockets for a second, worshiping the fur that lines them along with your forged ID card, portable cassette player, and flip phone. It is just to make sure they are there in your jacket and not left out as evidence of the performance about to happen. The guests of honor are James and Victor, and they will never know it.

Drip, drip, drip. Through the thin walls, you can hear the usual drops of water coming from James’ ceiling to the container he probably has there. Drip, drip, drip.

“I just need you to say a few words.”

Your demand is sturdy, not taking no for an answer. 

You open up a window and a gentle breeze flows in, making your braid sway from side to side. After a few moments of silence, Victor says that he will do anything if it means he can leave afterward. The floorboards are creaky and splintered and damaged from all of the feet, wheels, and canes that move on and off them. 

“Repeat after me.”

You look down on him like a God. He is nothing more than a dog.

James deserves this. That’s what you tell yourself. James deserves this. James deserves this for being scum and only seeing you as a possession. He deserves this. He deserves what you are about to do.

The sun is rising behind you. You bear resemblance to a masterpiece crafted with the utmost precision and the most vibrant pigments. Your arrival is akin to that of a deity. Drip, drip, drip.

You take your hands out of your pockets.

“Say the name James Ericsson. Please.”

Your stare is vivid, and even with the blindfold on you know that Victor has sensed its intensity because he says. “James Ericsson.”

You smile and your hands dance with one another in a sort of waltz.

There are cries of pain and the sound of bones bending like plastic straws coming from next door.

Victor falls to the ground, not breathing. It is done.

…

The photos were shown on the news, late at night to prevent younger children from seeing them.

There was nothing left of James' upper half.

There was a huge gaping hole in his skull where the brain burst out. The face was completely gone, caving in on itself. As his body was crushed by the invisible pressure, his chest and arms were ripped apart, the muscles and organs ripping out and sticking to the walls, and the larger pieces of meat slipped down with copious amounts of blood, accumulating on the poplar table adorned with dead roses and a shattered glass vase that had been broken. The rest of his stomach spilled out onto the floor beneath the table he had been standing next to. 

Victor was found dead at his apartment. There were no signs of a break and is presumed to have died of a heart attack or stroke. You were careful to attach and remove the blindfold, gag, and restraints so that no bruises or marks formed. 

It is somewhat regrettable, but there was no other way. You know that. It was for the greater good.

Right?

There was no other way, right?

You know that there was no other way, right?

Because there was no other way, right?

They had to die for the greater good, right?

Right?

…Right?

You ride one bus after another back to town with something inside you telling you that this is wrong. James’ screams, his snapping bones, the way his muscle and fat separated like he was a slain cow being cut into pieces by a butcher. Victor’s begging to be set free, and the way that he trusted that you would let him go after he did what you wanted. All of this is wrong, a little voice in the back of your mind says to you.

This isn’t a crime. It isn’t.

The rest of your brain tells you that.

It was a necessary evil. James deserved it, he deserved every ounce of pain you had inflicted on him through the thin apartment walls. You can imagine hearing the dripping of blood from the formerly white now red ceiling.

Drip, drip, drip.

…

You eat at your poplar dining table, alone, in a squeaky old poplar chair. You have only managed to take a bite or two of your food before feeling the urge to vomit. You drank half of your cup of water though, at least. You would have preferred bleach or soap, though. Something basic.

That way your insides would be scrubbed clean by the mix of enzymes, organs, bacteria, and a strong base. Your skin, eyes, and hair would be cleansed with the sweat and tears produced afterward. You pick up your spaghetti with your plastic fork.

Your stomach churns and it feels like it is eating itself. You run to the bathroom, overcome by nausea. An acidic smell and taste. They are both sour and nasty. 

You gag like you are being choked by a ghost or your guilty conscience. You are loudly gasping for air through your vomit-covered lips. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Plop, plop, plop.

Bile piles up in the toilet water, making it bright yellow. You hold onto the toilet seat like it is your lifeline. After a few more moments of heaving, you adjust your posture to be more straight.

You walk back to the kitchen and put the dinner food in your refrigerator. It hums as if it is pleased with how you are feeling. 

Drip, drip, drip.

There is some water leaking from the faucet. You put a cup under it and try to ignore what it reminds you of. You hope it goes away soon. You do. More than anything. 

You want it to go away, and you would do anything to make it stop. But you’re not a plumber, and the only nearest one is in a neighboring town a few hundred kilometers away and his fees are worth a few thousand Jenny. Even if he was nearer, you wouldn’t be able to afford his services. Most unfortunate for you.

You still feel like you are being strangled. 

Your neck’s muscles tighten and the tendons are sticking out. You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and you are disgusted with yourself. But you have to keep going, for eternal freedom. 

Your skin is covered in goosebumps.

You want to vomit your organs out.

You want to scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work. 

You want to swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.

But you can’t, because you are living in a town now, one where the neighbors are so friendly and everyone knows each other. But you can’t, because someone will come to you, worried sick about you. But you can’t, because you are too appalled in yourself right now to lie to them and pretend you are better than them.

You cannot pretend you are cordial and graceful, because if anything you are sick. Sick and twisted. Your secrets mirror your repulsiveness. You want to lean away from yourself and run from yourself. 

But you can vomit your organs out.

But you can scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work. 

But you can swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.

That’s because this house is nearly impossible to find for most. Only the porch light is currently on, with the rest of the place in complete darkness. There are overgrown weeds and grass, trees, and fallen branches everywhere. You have tripped many times and almost broken something in the past. You are getting better, though.

This property can be the place where you bury whatever sins you have committed. No one comes here, and no one will come for you if you scream. No one will hear you because this property is cramped and large. 

But you are still living in a town full of people who all know each other.

What if someone hears you?

It is best not to think about it, you tell yourself.

It is best to just let it all out, you tell yourself.

It is best to ignore and lie to those who ask you about it, you tell yourself.

So you vomit again.

You scream so loudly you lose your voice.

You scrub your hands so hard under the sink with soap until they bleed and have scratches all over them.

No one comes for you.

Good.

*~*~*~*

You have always been someone who never takes the time to appreciate the beauty around you.

Your thoughts are constantly besieged by a multitude of voices. Unloving, taking pleasure in others' misfortune, outrage, fear, happiness, delicateness, peacefulness, besiege, schadenfreude, wherewithal. In due time, emotions will reach their boiling point, unveiling the authentic hues of your being; crimson red.

You can make people prefer you over the largest of diamonds with just a few words. Your words can be either their exposition or their denouement. 

But you can’t bring yourself to use Sebaste. This feeling is odd to you, but you don’t complain about it. If anything, you feel warmer than you ever have been.

Your emotions find themselves trapped in a state of indecision, teetering between self-centeredness and pure joy. Something has gone off course. You.

You, who was born with an innate desire to only help those who would help you in exchange. You, who never ventured out to explore the depths of your being, to discover the essence of empathy. You, who have always used others in an attempt to better humanity as a whole, to be in control of others. It is what you do best; being in control.

So, why does Sebaste, an impoverished man, interest you so much? Why would you be willing to give everything you have away just to make sure he has a good life? Why can’t you just leech off of him like you do with everyone else?

It cannot be denied that he holds the position of your greatest vulnerability.

But you cannot bear to discard him.

Even if you wanted to. Even if he wanted you to.

You cannot leave him. He holds your heart in his gentle hands, and you will never get it back. There it will stay far past when his body is deep underground and lost to time.

You would jump into the largest crimson tides if it meant he was waiting for you beneath the waves. In the end, the amalgamation of your emotions will birth a monstrous force, unleashing nothing but devastation.

A colossus. 

The devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart.

No exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. It will stay inside you until your last breath. Sebaste will eventually uncover the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

In the future, when the stars twinkle no more, the moon loses its luster, and the night sky breaks apart, you will need to seek a new refuge to conceal your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun.

If Sebaste ever were to discover the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face, or your sticky, sticky, crimson hands, what would be done to stop you? What would you do to stop him from leaving you?

You simply confine the devil into the smallest crevice of your heart, pushing it inside as far as it can go and locking the door. That way, if Sebaste ever were to delve into the labyrinth that is your soul, he wouldn’t find it no matter how much he looks. There the devil will stay even far after it starts rotting, and you promise yourself to keep it that way.

*~*~*~*

The flowers are in bloom. You don’t know what species they are though. The night sky is above you, cold, injured, and bleeding you. Your only physical weapon is your nails, your dull and split nails. 

It starts raining. You don’t have a home of your own, so you decide that a bus stop will suffice for now.

Every inch of you is shivering. Every drop of blood that you bleed hurts. The forest is deep and dark and cruel. If any animals were unaware of your presence, they surely are now considering how you howled in pain as your leg toppled into a bear trap, and howled even louder as you clawed it off with your bare hands, making them all scratched up. The cicadas are crying, even louder than you are. They only respond to your pain with shrill, grating noises and the flaps of their wings. You have nowhere to go that is nearby. Not with your injured leg that has large, deep, painful markings of the trap’s teeth on it. Aside from this bus stop that is in the middle of nowhere. You’re not sure if any bus at all is even on this route anymore, considering how rusty and broken down this stop is. 

You attempt to light one of the few matches you have left. It’s pitch black outside, and the match is your only source of light and warmth from the rain and the night. Your jacket is still caught in that tree, far away from where you currently are. Well, it wasn’t yours per se, but it was your only protection from the elements with its hood and heat. 

Your cries are wasted on your injuries. You know no one will come for you, aside from predators if you bleed out and are near death.

You cannot see anything, even the path of blood drops you most likely made as you gripped your injured leg and began moving once more to the poorly taken care of bus stop, ignoring the pain that shot up with every step. It’s too dark.

You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it.

Even if Chrollo knew where you were and was on the way, it wouldn’t matter. This forest is too big and you may die of blood loss before he even catches sight of you or hears your pained cries.

There are most likely predators here. Wolves, bears, hawks. Something is out there, watching you, you are sure of it. You know it. 

Eventually, the rain stops sometime after your match goes out and you close your eyes after refusing to rest for far too long. You catch a glimpse of the flowers, soaked with morning dewdrops and reflecting the sun’s rays. 

Ah.

Columbines. 

The usual white ones are called doves for a reason. They look like five doves nestled together from afar. The white columbines represent many things. Love. Innocence. Calmness. Peace. Foolishness. Winning. Ironic enough, you cannot relate to any of them.

You’re not in love with anyone. Your innocence was stolen from you long ago, far before you even met Chrollo. You aren’t calm, you are weeping. You aren’t at peace, you are internally fighting yourself as to whether to go back to your captor’s gilded cage. Perhaps you are a fool for running away from the warm blankets and fresh, expensive food. You aren’t winning anything aside from both regrets and desperate want for stability.

Maybe that is why these columbines before you are red. An eye-catching crimson red, as red as your wounds and the trail of blood left from it as you walked to the bus stop. They look like dead doves. They only represent three things. Passion. Terror. Trembling. You find a resemblance of yourself in them, as odd as it would sound to anyone who doesn’t know of or believe your current situation. 

The trap didn’t have rust on it, right?

*~*~*~*

Chrollo and Sebaste are both difficult to understand for you. However, they also could not be more different. This dynamic is similar to a newborn witnessing dawn’s sunrise blossom from the night sky. Both confuse you, for both are very similar yet very contrasting. 

Chrollo and Sebaste both know what they want and they would do anything to achieve it, as long as the people they love aren’t in any danger at the reward of attaining their desires. They only trust a handful of people fully while they ignore other people’s presence. They both have that dark brown hue in their eyes. They both wear darker colors. But Chrollo holds the past in high regard and loves history, meanwhile, Sebaste thinks of the future and modern times more so than the past and as a result keeps up with new technology and media. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a doe or rabbit, while Sebaste looks at you with purpose, for he knows who you are; an equal.

You look at them differently, too. 

You look at Chrollo with a facade in your eyes, as you pretend to accept your role in his theater by dancing the waltz and singing praises.

You look at Sebaste with veracity, for he is the only one to have ever earned your genuine admiration. 

If either were to see the cracks within the mask you wear if either of them saw what was underneath… it would all be over, wouldn’t it? Chrollo would know more about you than you ever did about yourself and use it against you. Sebaste would leave you all alone to rot away.

That is why you will play the role of a doting queen who hangs onto every word her lover tells her because it is the only choice you have.

It is the only choice you have, and all you ever can be.

It is all you ever will be, you say to yourself.

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

( someone is taking you down to a basement where they will weigh out your sins ; someone is mapping your body just like a lover would. )

chara : leon kennedy fandom : resident evil quote cr : dante emile ; john banville

HE HAS FOUGHT A THOUSAND HORRORS & KNOWS HIMSELF TO BE THE WORST OF THEM. HE HAS FOUGHT A THOUSAND HORRORS / SURVIVED TOO MUCH AND TOO LITTLE, YET BENEATH THE WAVES, HE SUCCUMBS TO A GUILTY & GRIEVING LANDSCAPE / DROWNS AND DROWNS, AND MAYBE THAT'S OKAY, BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE DID, TOO.

( because he let them, he thinks, failed to save so many, unable to fight against death in its conquering of all he loved and cared for.

it's never enough, the saving of a life : for one life, there is the destruction and ending of a hundred, and it's never enough, never enough, never enough never enough NEVER ENOUGH NEV-- )

"hey." your hand rests on his chest, gentle, voice safe haven / anchor to the shore / and there is the restoration of the calm surfacing in blue hues when he looks at you.

in his eyes there is sorrow untold, a magnitude of grief so tremendous and palpable and heavy. the world is not meant to bear such weight, but he has resigned himself to atlas in the end, and not even you can prevent the tragedy that roots itself in his existence.

something is stuck in your throat. bitterness floods your senses, lingers on the tip of your tongue. you think you know all the right things to say until it is time to say it.

you swallow hard. you speak, anyway.

"you have done enough, leon."

the words are so terribly thick and heavy and hollow. you almost choke on them, but you swallow hard, force a smile. what a fucking fool you are, to believe there could be ease in those words, that there could be enough. you have not suffered like he has, because you don't know what it was like and you never will.

you, too, have survived, but you have not survived what he has.

"you've done enough." you repeat. your throat hurts, pain transparent in the trembling of your voice. grief is a terribly difficult thing to consume, isn't it? its edges so sharp and stabbing yet dull all at once.

your lover has come home to you and he always does, but there are always pieces left behind. he becomes an echo, a trace of something once was, a ghost : whole, yet missing, but the same beneath it all. your lover has come home to you, but in his heart he exists in two spaces : the past and present.

your hand rests on his chest, gentle, fingers splayed across that beating and broken and bruised mess of a heart. beating, beating, beating, alive, living, here. you can feel it, but somehow, it's not enough. the heart is not meant to carry the burden of those gone, but his does, and how very slowly does it travel down the path to decay and innocence lost.

he smiles. it is a sad smile, a quiet one that blossoms on his lips in instinct of your familiar warmth. he is so very tired, but he says nothing, knows your words to be true yet wrong all the same, and you know this.

so you trace over his skin, touch delicate and holy -- how your fingertips linger over his heart, feel the way it quickens in the knowing of love. he places his hand on yours, squeezes once, twice, three, four times, in his usual expression of i love you forever, because those three words never quite seem to be enough. but he is quick to let go, reluctant, because something inside tells him that he is unworthy, that perhaps it is better for someone else to protect you. you read his mind loud and clear, know his heart as if it beats as your own.

your fingers trail up his neck, cautious, reverent, hands cupping his face. you do not speak. you wait. you watch, but even you cannot hide the heartbreak that reflects his perfectly so. there is a lump in your throat. grief is a very difficult thing to swallow, isn't it?

you press your forehead against his, feel his hand on yours once more. he leans into your touch, knows it to be harbor in the darkest of times -- a beacon, a lighthouse, a safekeeping.

"you have always done enough." you whisper, and something in him breaks, unravels, tears him apart.

because it's true but it's not -- if he had done enough, then why did they all die? if he had done enough, then why is he here when they are not? he wants to deny it, but the words suffocate him and he chokes on grief just like you do. silent, he wraps his arms around your waist, holds you so desperately close until he can feel your heartbeat against his : beating, beating, alive, here.

he has always done enough. you tell him this over and over again in endless mantra, lips on his in the desire for comfort lost and found, and you hope one day, he will believe it.

[summeringminor]

𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑

alimond, past!rhaenicent | E

Alicent asks Aemond to stay in her chambers over night.

read on AO3

or below the cut:

It is the hour of the wolf when Alicent finally slips into bed, her servants dismissed, her candle snuffed out. The dark holds her. Yet even in her exhaustion her heartbeat does not slow and instead thrashes against her ribs like a dying bird.

Heat gathers at her throat, her armpits, the backs of her knees. A rising panic spreads in her chest to her stomach. Her nails find her cuticles, she scratches and the pain brings her back to the moment, back to a body she understands.

Viserys is getting worse.

A shuddering breath. By the Seven, he is getting worse. But he has lived for so long, survived for so long. Surely another few years—

You are lying to yourself, daughter, she hears her father’s dignified voice and his ever present scrutiny does not evade her. She knows it’s true. And when he dies…will Rhaenyra return from Dragonstone? Will she claim the throne she so firmly believes to be her right? No matter that Rhaenyra has spat in the face of propriety, that she has so openly disgraced and sullied herself with her bastard children. And yet Viserys does not spurn her, where he would have done what to Alicent had she born him a dark haired babe?

Bile rises in her stomach. She rips the skin from her cuticle, but she does not feel the sting, not when her children’s lives will be at the mercy of Rhaenyra, her brood and Daemon. She lied to you, her father’s voice echoes in her skull again. She told you Daemon never touched her, and fool that you are: you believed her.

Tears well at her lids at the thought of it, she clasps the sheets in her fists, wants to—wishes—that violence would find Rhaenyra, that she’d even for a brief moment know sacrifice, and Daemon and his queer and vile self be cast into the sea to drown—

She grits her teeth before she stills completely. She is above this. Must be above this. She inhales a slow breath. Goosebumps ripple her skin as her cheeks heat with blood. She must not allow such ponderings. She is queen.

But has she acted as such? Is she not as depraved as them? Perhaps worse. She cannot bring herself to remember the night in which Aemond had knelt before her and pushed up her skirts. Her own son. A cold shiver runs her through like a knife’s edge. Unnatural. Though perhaps not to him, who has grown up Targaryen, not Hightower.

Many hours she has spent in the sept begging for repentance, but can such a sin be forgiven? But how could the seven-faced god condone Aegon’s and Helaena’s marriage, their children? She knows there has always been dispute among the Faithful, going back to the Conqueror’s time, but she cannot bring herself to doubt the virtuousness of their betrothal, a match that allowed her to keep her girl close—

Alicent buries her face into her pillow, breathes in the soft scent of perfumed silk. It does not soothe. She has done all she can to protect her children. Soon, she must do more.

Slowly, she sits. On bare feet she walks to the pitcher of wine and fills a goblet. She drinks it in long swallows. Refills it twice before she lays down once more. The ceiling tilts above her, the wine warms her from inside and the slow sands of dream open beneath her. She sinks.

A rapt knock on the door jolts her awake.

For a moment, she does not know where she is, thinks she must be in her childhood chambers and it is Rhaenyra slipping into her bedroom with a grin and stolen sweets.

The chamber doors open.

She sits, heart pounding.

“What is happening?” She calls, ignites a candle.

Who would the guards let inside so easily? Who would—

She knows who. But what does it mean?

Her lungs constrict and she feels the blood drain from her face.

By the Seven, is Viserys dead?

The tall silhouette of Aemond cuts from the antechamber into her bedroom. He should be asleep, instead he wears his high-collared black leathers, as though ready to depart for war at any moment, given the order.

“What is it?” she asks. She cannot keep the fear from her voice. She rises to her feet and for the first time in the month since Aemond knelt for her, she dares look at him, reaches for his arm—

“Is he dead?” Her heart stutters in her chest. She must reign herself in.

“He’s alive,” Aemond says, “for now.” His one-eyed gaze finds her in the candle-lit twilight. He towers above her, grown so tall and slender, muscles lean beneath his garments.

“Speak plainly, Aemond,” she snaps, feels tears well up in her eyes and blinks them away.

“He’s fallen down as he tried to use the washroom, the maesters say.”

“Is he badly hurt?”

Suddenly she feels like she cannot breathe.

“Gods, I have to go see him.” She makes to rush past Aemond, but he holds her back by the arm.

“The maesters are with him. He needs rest.”

“He cannot die, Aemond. He cannot—”

Aemond squeezes her arm gently. Her other hand finds his elbow, his other hand her arm, too. They stand as they have a hundred times, intertwined. She looks up at him and he gazes down, his sharp cheekbones, his aquiline nose, the scar.

The eye-patch.

“He won’t,” Aemond says and his voice is soft and quiet. “I am merely here to inform you, mother. The maesters thought it best not to spread news of his frailty.”

Alicent inhales slowly.

“They were right to.” Alicent lets go of him and turns. Already their subjects have not seen the king in months, and though his ailment is no secret with Alicent on the throne, it would be dangerous to allude to Viserys’ worsened state. Many an uprising has followed such an invitation. And with Rhaenyra so near across Blackwater Bay…

The world swirls around Alicent and for a moment she sways.

Aemond is by her side in an instant, guiding her back to the bed. She sits. The wine races through her veins and she feels faint knowing that Viserys is wounded. How much of it is the drink and how much these ill tidings? She bites her lip. It is one more thing that Alicent has to carry while Rhaenyra dallies on Dragonstone. Alicent and Aemond have to carry.

She reaches for his hands and holds them in her own. Words choke her of air.

“Forgive me,” she says at last.

He is unmoving where he stands. She hears his stuttered breath. His eye is wide and for a moment he seems her little boy again. A wave of love rushes over her so momentous it almost drowns her. She clasps his hands.

“None of this should fall on you,” she says.

He kneels, gazing up at her.

She strokes his cheek and he leans into the touch, slow and with something so frightful in his marred face. She will never forgive herself for his eye. Nor will she forgive Rhaenyra.

“Sleep, mother.”

Fatigue weighs down her bones like lead, but the thought to be alone now is unbearable. She swallows.

“Will you stay a while?” She strokes a strand of hair from his temple.

“However long you need me,” he murmurs, gazing at her, his mouth an aching line. Why does her son look like he is falling into an abyss? What darkness swallows him? Has it flown from her veins into his when she held him in her belly?

Aemond pulls over one of the armchairs, settles into it, his boot brushes the edge of the bed. She herself sits at the headboard, not quite ready to sleep, heart too quick in her chest. He is close enough for her hand to find his knee. He sits so quietly, but something changes at her touch, he leans forward, if only a little. When has her boy grown so tall? How has he left childhood behind so quickly? Her lungs constrict. He’s a man now. Trained to be a warrior, to serve the kingdom, lay down his life, he who will inherit nothing even if Rhaenyra were not between Aegon and the throne. Will Aemond be put to use? Sent into battle on Vhagar? Will she have to use him thus? And yet his might is indisputable with the dragon he paid for so dearly. Is her wish to keep him near foolish? Perhaps. But Daeron is far off in Oldtown, Helaena endures her, and Aegon…she cannot even think of how he squanders his life, and takes pleasure in bringing shame to this family despite Alicent’s efforts to correct his ways. Of her children she only has Aemond. Aemond who is dutiful if not kind, Aemond who stands by her side in a way no other ever has. Except one, when she was a lady in waiting… But even so, that is long in the past and charred by betrayal. Criston perhaps, but such devotion might easily tip into shame. No, she only has Aemond.

“It is late.”

“Yes.” Aemond’s voice is soft, quiet, as though he were afraid to leave her side.

“I’m keeping you...” Guilt makes her waver.

“Keep me.”

A cold gust of wind wakes Alicent. She cannot remember falling asleep. A horned moon curves in the night sky, fever-yellow and sharp like a sickle. Its scant light limnes Aemond’s silhouette where he sleeps in the chair, straight in posture, only his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. He will be sore tomorrow. She does not wish it. On her bedside table the candle has burned out. She moves closer to him, sits and gently grasps his shoulders. He wakes with a start, eye flying open, muscles tensing all at once. She hushes him, feels herself soften as only her children soften her.

“Come,” she whispers and pulls.

His eye widens, mouth parting. A small noise escapes him, not quite a gasp. She is tired but she smiles.

“It’s alright,” she soothes. He follows her pull. He lies down beside her and she nudges him onto his side so his back lies against her front, and she wraps her arms around him. She hesitates. Gently she presses her lips to his head, his soft hair smells of soap and of him. He is stiff in her arms as he ever was after Lucerys had taken his eye. Any tenderness might deface him, derange him. It is different for men, she thinks. She herself is already defaced.

“Mother…” he breathes.

“Sleep,” she murmurs.

Warm breath on her neck. She cards a hand through soft hair, pulls the warm body closer, warm skin beneath her hand where she slips it into a leather collar as she used to in her youth. How often had they slept in each other’s beds? Rhaenyra had stolen into her chamber countless times and they had slumbered, two bodies moulded perfectly together. She kisses a temple, presses her breasts against the warm body, feels a tingle go through her that she has not felt in years. Her mind swims in the remnants of wine. She frames a sharp-lined face with her hand and kisses it like a secret. The lips beneath hers part with a broken sound, like an animal’s last breath as it bleeds out. How strange. Something hard stirs against her thigh. She opens her eyes.

Freezes.

She moves her leg away from it.

Her breath heavies. But her body is alight.

“Mother…” Aemond’s voice is desperate, small and so open.

“Don’t speak,” she pleads. The wine still sways her gently in the dark. Sways her a moment longer in which heat fills her from the inside out.

She feels for his wrist and clasps it. What does it matter? It’s happened before. And who else might guard a secret for her? Sharp inhale.

She pushes his hand between her thighs.

A gasp against her neck. Would that it were…She bites her lip. All thoughts leave her as the hand rubs between her legs. Only the thin cloth of her nightgown separates them. Two fingers press over her, slowly rubbing, making her moan. Yes. That’s what they used to…

“Oh god,” she breathes as a thumb pushes down on that part of her that makes heat shoot all through her body, that slickens her so vulgarly. She moves against the touch. She holds the hand and guides it in the rhythm she likes until it finds it without her. Another moan flees her throat. She wraps her arms around the neck, pushes her hands into hair, so familiar, long and soft and silvered in the moonlight.

“Pull up my dress,” she whispers, barely recognising her own voice.

The hand trembles and obeys. Thin cloth slips from her skin. The hand returns, slow, slightly shaking. The feeling of blunt fingertips on her bare flesh makes her keen. She shifts, pulling one leg up, spreading the other, and the hand glides into her wetness.

A choked noise falls into the dark. Is it really Aemond’s voice? It might be another’s. Would she be thus affected? They had never touched without cloth between them. Tears bead at her lashes. Want is an ugly heart she cannot allay. Want is her greatest shame.

Fingers move through her slickness, breath so shallow at her neck it might be terror or worship. She pulls the hair. She wants to feel.

“Put them inside me,” she whispers.

A word stutters into her skin. Mother. It’s almost enough to end it. Then two fingers push inside her, reprehensibly easy. She groans, tightens around the fingers, thicker than her own. If only they were more slender and graceful, not so much like Viserys’... She banishes the thought. The fingers halt in their motion so she grabs his wrist again, pulls the fingers out and forces them back inside. Stretching around them feels so good. Sweat collects at her throat where he breathes, at her chest, and there a rousing sharpness beneath her ribs when she thinks of the imperious glance, strong lean shoulders, the muscle in her arms, how even in their youth she had easily pushed Alicent down, the scent of her not sweet but sharp like dragonpit, like smoke. Like fire. Aemond smells like that, too, but colder. She kisses his neck, imagines hers, bites his earlobe as she had never dared bite hers. She cannot think—

“Another,” she whispers, and, “Faster.”

A third finger pushes into her. She could take four. Want deafens her to the world, she aches to be so full she can only be. A low moan tumbles from her mouth into soft silver hair. Her brows crease, she bites her lip, and the fingers start moving in and out, rubbing at her insides. The stretch makes her slicker. Wet lewd squelching echoes in the dark and shame is hot on her skin and hotter yet the friction. Her hips begin to meet the thrusts so the fingers push deep inside. A thumb presses over that upper part of her, shooting sparks through her body. She moans too loudly, she pulls his hair, and with her other hand takes his free hand and places it on her breast. She can feel him swallow against her. Carefully, he squeezes, palm against her nipple. She bucks against him. His face presses at her neck, cheeks wet, his mouth open. They are only bodies. She arches her back, and before she can stop herself, she unlaces the front of her gown. The cool night air does not reach between their skin. Slowly she nudges his head down. A wrecked noise muffles against her. Lips drag over her skin, hot, eager, his mouth closes around her nipple. A heartbeat later a wet tongue presses there. And then he sucks. Pleasure sparks through her, from her chest to her stomach, between her legs. She moans, clenching hard around the fingers, grinding on them. Heat builds inside her, all about her, god she wants her, she hates her. The thumb presses down, desperate, and he sucks her nipple again and again and she gasps, tensing, roughly pulls the fingers deeper, faster. Would that she could hear her low aristocratic voice, smell her fire-scent skin, feel her inside— Does she moan her name? She cannot say. Bliss rips through her white hot and blinding. She sees her face and smile and how she had gleamed in the dark above her so many a night, how life had been open and sweet and precious once.

The fingers keep moving inside her. It’s too much.

She twists away. They slip out of her. She is empty, slick to the thighs from her son’s fingers. His breath is like poison when he leaves off her breast, warm and wrong to have him in such a way.

“Aemond,” she says, grabbing his shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut.

He does not answer, but she can feel him tremble. The air is thick with the scent of her arousal, and within it twines his own. By the Seven, she can smell him. The salt and musk and sweet sweat. To know he must be—

Suddenly the night seems colder. She draws the covers up and laces her nightgown with shaking fingers. The cloth sticks to her spit-wet skin. The urge to bathe makes her feel sick. She cannot stay like this.

“Please go,” she says without thinking. The rush of blood in her ears is too loud to catch his mumble. “I should have never,” she gasps as the deed becomes more real in her flesh’s cooling. Face in her hands, she cannot believe what she’s done. What he has. How has she failed him so miserably that such desire could have seeded within him? Is it the Targaryen blood? Has its malformation made him into this? Or did she?

She recoils from his hand on her arm.

“Mother,” Aemond says, like a prayer broken in half.

“Forgive me.”

The mattress dips. Weights shift. Aemond stands, his back to her, ramrod-straight, hands clasped by his side.

“Do not worry, mother,” he says, cold and quiet, her own cadence echoing in his. “I will not trouble you again.”

Something heavy pulls on her ribs. A space that should be empty. His black silhouette fills it now. The urge to get up and hold him shudders through her, as she should hold him, like a mother. To tell him all will be alright. To know him as her son again.

“Good night,” she says.

He does not turn. He walks.

Somewhere a bell tolls. The hour of the wolf ends, the hour of the nightingale begins.

The horizon silvers and blues. A bird calls in the distance. The world will waken soon and night will no longer shroud them. Alicent moves before she can think. She’s at his side in a second, hand at his elbow, and he draws towards her, hair falling into his face. For a heartbeat she feels the distance between them, his height keeps him from her, his strength too. Perhaps she can no longer protect him. But she must try. It’s her duty.

“My love,” she says and he bends his head. “It can not happen again.”

Hair obscures his eye.

“I know there is custom…and history. Look at me.”

He does. She cradles his cheek, thumb at his jaw, stroking over the light stubble that’s grown overnight though it feels wrong to touch him With a shock of coldness she realises it repels her. He leans into her as he always has. Words fail her, and even though it feels like she should scrub both of their skins clean, she stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. A vulnerable sound escapes him as though her kiss is a knife in his side.

“Do you understand?”

He hums.

“Aemond, do you understand?”

He looks at her, a sheen over his eye and a tremble to his lip.

“Yes, mother.”

She strokes a strand of hair from his forehead. She wants to tell him he’s a good boy and a good son and that she is proud of him and that she loves him. That she can never use him like this again. And her face flares in the brightening twilight and bile rises in Alicent’s throat. Her nails press into the skin above her cuticles. Sharp pain. Blood. Just a drop.

How can they come back from this?

“It’ll be dawn soon,” she says.

He bows his head. She grabs his hand and for a moment she holds it. Then he slaps it away.

“Good night, mother,” he says. And leaves.

[simonsquest]

THE REQUIEM FOR SIMON BELMONT - A Castlevania 2 Playlist

I created a 60 (ish)-track playlist inspired by Simon's curse as it ravages him, guided by my interpretation that Simon is weakened in those terrible years in preparation to become (and eventually is, in the bad end) possessed by Dracula, thus becoming more ghoul or vampire-like as the years go by. I've highlighted lyrics that I feel are most pertinent to that specific idea I have. I hope these tracks inspire you like they do me. If you have any similar ones to recommend please send them my way. I'm always eager to listen to more. :) Genres: Metalcore, Nu-metal, Melodic hardcore, Power metal, Alternative rock, Pop punk, Ambient, Emo, a few Pop songs The post is very long under the cut, but it features lyric highlights and a direct link to each song on YouTube. Please be advised that the lyrics can be very graphic and illustrate disturbing imagery and ideas. Please proceed with caution!

Departed Way - SoTN soundtrack No lyrics, it's ambient. :)

Bloody Tears - The Megas The land is wrought with terror He roams the countryside They call him “Vampire Killer” Wipe the blood from your eyes Seeking the ancient weapon A journey far from done Racing the setting sun This battle must be won These bloody tears fall Blinded for ten thousand years This nightmare just keeps getting worse What a horrible night to have a curse This bloodline's sole devotion Is ending evil’s reign Standing upon the shoulders Ancestors rise again He’s found another token To bring about the end The dark will rise again Given flesh by sin And so, the shiver of the night arrives The rite that will save their lives This family damned to fight The demon’s gift of eternal night And now, the quest consumes his heart A marked man, slowly torn apart In these eight accursed years He’s been drowning in his tears Bloody tears

Heart of Fire - The Megas The reaper takes what's his That is what they say He wants to take your life It won't be this day You can feel it burn Somewhere deep within You can hear them scream What is it they say? Who's imprisoned here? Is it you, or they? Death comes for all men Now you come for him You will not be denied Death takes no bribe He can't stop you tonight Your heart of fire burns inside This heart of fire burns tonight (x2) You cannot leave this place That is what they say The keeper has the key But you found a way You can feel it burn Feel the flames surround From the darkness you You can hear him say He has the power here You will take it away They cannot cage what's in your heart Tonight, tonight, tonight And now you see what sets apart Tonight, tonight, tonight They cannot stop you now, no Nothing can stop you now Let the flames consume you Let the fire burn

Out of Time - The Megas A lifetime of training, a legacy of pain Bringing honor to those who remain Portraits of heroes, from his recall Faces torn from their place on the wall Nexus of evil, a castle of ash The existence of man slipping into the past He carries the burden, now nearing the peak Perhaps he will find the redemption he seeks There's something here A staircase to darkness appears Out of time Saving this dying land The hourglass, it runs out of sand Shedding his human lies Tonight, the lord of darkness shall rise The bone dust, it settles Between the gears Machinery powered by mortal fear Blood is the fabric that covers the stair The words of his master, becoming his prayer Behold the omen, eclipse of the moon Convergence of evil awaits in this room A demon resides in this living corpse Cut off the head, and another springs forth This can't be real Into this nightmare revealed Out of time Evil, it stands at midnight Weapons, they flash in the moonlight Now it's time to strike this demon down once and for all The moment of truth If it's lost, our legacy shatters The strength of his ancestors gather, to say: "Simon, fight, for the good of all mankind"

DAYWALKER! (feat. CORPSE) - Machine Gun Kelly, CORPSE I'll never be the same I wanna know if I tell you a secret, will you keep it? I need someone to blame (take it) When I find this motherfucker then I'll lay him in his grave I won't ever be the same I bit the fucking apple, I'm surrounded by some snakes I prayed to God, and then I went to sleep with bloody hands I came back Nah, not getting better, can't change it, I left blood all on the pavement I'm on borrowed time, can't shake it, blackout when I'm raging There's an invisible voice that's talkin' to me, and it's always tellin' me to kill I got a problem with separating what my head is creating from things that are real I'm in a room, hyperventilating, and debating to pop off the cap of these pills

Werewolf - Motionless in White I can feel you, I can hear you, howling in my bones There's an evil lurking in the dark Ever-shifting, skin is ripping as you take control I can't tell where you end and where I start I could be up all the night, but I'm paralyzed when the creature comes alive 'Cause it's fight or fright in the full moonlight You can run but you can't hide Smile for the camera, but don't flash your teeth I feel like somebody's watching me (feels like everybody's watching me) Can't fight these cravings in the night A beast who's burdened by his bite And in the pale moonlight, a debt to be paid For one must suffer for all eternity

Porcelain - Motionless in White God knows I tried, but broken, I bow to the beast inside An altered state, sometimes I even scare myself Is it too late to question fate? And hope is fleeting, still tethered to this grim divergence of my being I can't stop the bleeding I can barely stand myself I saw your face, but it couldn't save me I fell from grace, and I cracked your smile Don't rescue me, I can't escape it Ravenously, feed my feral mind

The Black Parade - My Chemical Romance He said, "son, when you grow up Would you be the savior of the broken the beaten and the damned?" He said, "will you defeat them? Your demons, and all the non-believers The plans that they have made?" Your memory will carry on We'll carry on And though you're broken and defeated Your weary widow marches On and on, we carry through the fears Disappointed faces of your peers

Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones And I watched a change in you It's like you never had wings I took you home I pulled off your wings Then I laughed I look at the cross Then I look away

Blood on My Hands - The Used You felt the coldness in my eyes And something I'm not revealing Though you got used to my disguise You can't shake this awful feeling Feel the pain that I never show And I hope you know it's never healing Straight from your eyes, it's barely me Beautifully so disfigured (there's blood) The other side that you can't see Just praying you won't remember There's blood x2 There's blood, blood, blood Is it really that hard for you to believe?

Closer - Nine Inch Nails You let me violate you You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you You let me complicate you (Help me) I broke apart my insides (Help me) I've got no soul to sell (Help me) the only thing that works for me Help me get away from myself I wanna feel you from the inside My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to God You can have my isolation You can have the hate that it brings You can have my absence of faith You can have my everything (Help me) tear down my reason I drink the honey Inside your hive You are the reason I stay alive

Devil in a Midnight Mass - Billy Talent I was alive, but now I'm singing (Silent night) for the rest of my life x2 (Violent knight) at the edge of your knife ("Forgive me father") won't make it right A devil in a midnight mass Killed the boy inside the man The holy water in his hands Can never wash away his sins Put my trust in God that day Not the man that taught his way Whisper, whisper, don't make a sound Your bed is made, it's in the ground

Cirice - Ghost I feel your presence amongst us You cannot hide in the darkness A candle casting a faint glow You and I see eye to eye Now there is nothing between us From now our merge is eternal Can't you see that you're lost? Can't you see that you're lost without me?

Ritual - Ghost Tonight, we're summoned for a divine cause Remembrance, no, but for their future loss This chapel of ritual smells of dead human sacrifices for the altar On this night of ritual, invoking our master To procreate the unholy bastard "Our Father who art in Hell Unhallowed be Thy name Cursed be the sons and daughters Of Thine nemesis whom are to blame"

This is How I Disappear - My Chemical Romance To explain the unforgivable Drain all the blood and give the kids a show Who walks among the famous living dead Drowns all the boys and girls inside your bed Well, heaven knows That without you is how I disappear And live my life alone, forever now Can you hear me cry out to you? Words I thought I'd choke on, figure out And now You wanna see how far down I can sink Let me go, fuck

Pet - A Perfect Circle Head down, go to sleep Pay no mind what other voices say They don't care about you, like I do (like I do) Safe from pain, and truth, and choice And other poison devils See, they don't give a fuck about you Like I do I'll be the one to protect you from Your enemies and all your demons I'll be the one to protect you from A will to survive and a voice of reason I'll be the one to protect you from Your enemies and your choices, son They're one in the same, I must isolate you Isolate and save you from yourself Swaying to the rhythm of the new world order and Counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums The boogeymen are coming x2

Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums - A Perfect Circle (This song has the same lyrics as the previous track, just more ambient/discordant.) Go back to sleep Go to sleep

Lullaby - A Perfect Circle (This song is also related to the tracks above. It's ambient and discordant.)

Spiders - Slipknot Well, you can go in alone, or keep it in between The pages of the books you burn so no one gets to read The fingers pull your stitches tight, but knowing someone's secret is not enough Everyone's a little bit a lot of the time Who is food and who is thrown away? When now is not the time, tomorrow disagrees But your real world isn't ready to face the face behind the real me Go in alone, suffer for your feelings, I'm not enough But everyone's a little bitter all of the time

(sic) - Slipknot Here comes the pain Enemy, show me what you wanna be I can handle anything, even if I can't handle you Readily, either way it better be Don't you fuckin' pity me, get up, get off What the hell am I sayin'? I don't know about malevolent Sure as hell decadent, I want somebody to step up, step off Get a grip, don't let me slip 'til I drop the ball Fuck this shit, I'm sick of it You're goin' down, this is a war Fuck it Who the fuck am I to criticize your twisted state of mind? You're leaving me suspect, I'm leaving you grotesque Feels like a burn from which you never learn Cause and effect, you jealous ass Press your face against the glass, suffer You can't kill me 'cause I'm already inside you x4

Rotting in Vain - Korn Repulsion evades me, I say goodbye Digging deep inside of me, getting past this agony I can't seem to get away Another day rotting in vain I can't take this

Duality - Slipknot I push my fingers into my eyes It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache But it's made of all the things I have to take Jesus, it never ends, it works its way inside If the pain goes on I have screamed until my veins collapsed I've waited as my time's elapsed Now, all I do is live with so much hate My future seems like one big past You're left with me 'cause you left me no choice If the pain goes on, I'm not gonna make it Put me back together or separate the skin from bone Leave me all the pieces, then you can leave me alone All I've got, all I've got is insane

Solway Firth - Slipknot They mutter as the body loses warmth They pick your bones like locks inside a tomb And take great care to not take care of you I guess you got what you wanted So I will settle for a slaughterhouse soaked in blood and betrayal It's always somebody else Somebody else was me You want the real smile? Or the one I used to practice Not to feel like a failure? I just want to feel like any other man I won't show you the whole story I won't show you the aftermath Don't look away If I'm alive tomorrow I will alleviate the pressure By cutting you out of me I found my bottom line Dead on the front lines I know I'll never go home While I was learning to live You taught me how to die I guess I got what I wanted Another needle in the back through purified scarification It wasn't somebody else You fucking did it to me You want a real smile? I haven't smiled in years

Eyeless - Slipknot I am my father's son 'cause he's a phantom, a mystery, and that leaves me nothing How many times have you wanted to die? It's too late for me, all you have to do is get rid of me It's all in your head It's all in my head It's all in your head Do you wanna take my life? Better get away from me, stay the fuck away from me Look me in my brand new eye

I'm Not A Vampire (Revamped) - Falling in Reverse Well, I'm not a vampire, but I feel like one Sometimes I sleep all day because I hate the sun My hands are always shaking, body's always aching And whisky seems to be my holy water 'Cause I'm insane, I can feel it in my bones Coursing through my veins, when did I become so cold? For goodness sakes, where is my self-control? If home is where my heart is, then my heart has lost all hope I swear to God, I'm not a So God bless all of you now 'Cause I'm going straight to hell And I'm taking you down with me Because you know damn well So I sharpen my teeth, 'cause I love the way it feels When I sink into your skin and draw the only thing that's real You don't believe me? Should I write it in blood? You better drive that fucking stake right through my heart and try to run I'm a vampire

Disasterpiece - Slipknot You'll never get out of this 'cause you were never alive How does it feel to be locked inside a another dream That never had the chance of being realized? Once again, it's me and no one else I can't remember if there was a someone else It's not mine, it's not fair, it's outta my hands And it's shaking - you'll never take me No one is safe Hate ain't enough to describe me Somewhere between screaming and crying When do I get to know why? I'm gone, goodbye, it's so depressing Withering away Take a look inside, my soul is missing All I have is dead, so I'll take you with me Can't see through the sties in my eyes I'm not supposed to be here I'm not supposed to be Scratching and clawing all the way Is there another way to live? 'Cause it's the only way to die

Mx. Sinister - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME Oh you never seem to notice When I follow you home In the dark of your apartment When you think you're alone Oh you never seem to notice That my heart beats for you So I'll open you up And make yours beat for me, too

Self-Destruction - I Prevail And everything is fucked, and I cannot be saved Maybe that's because I'm on the way Took everything I had and threw it in the flames Watch it burn while they're steady taking aim I guess it came with repercussions I've been in it for a minute, this is not up for discussion All the preconceived premonitions from people who never listen Creating all the division, how can you live with yourself? I'm the definition of coming to a collision The old and the new edition, the hero becomes a villain Now let me tell you a little bit about the Devil, first I am the one Alpha, omega, I won't be undone My power's limitless, you are like Icarus You have been flying too close to the sun I see what's mine, and I'm gonna take it I do what I say, call it dedication I built an army into a nation Now karma is coming, you can't escape it If you don't know the Devil, then you don't know me

Frankenstein - Rina Sawayama Put me together, thread and needle I'm trying to be normal, but trauma is immortal Oh, my God, this is so unbearable Make it stop, this is more than medical I was doing fine 'Til I hit rock bottom Opened up my problems Watch the poison blossom I could be your Frankenstein, Frankenstein I don't wanna be a monster anymore

Dead Until Dark - Powerwolf Prone to the grave, the dark side you walk In the light of morning we fall Confront the brave, the rebel we stalk In the still of the night we awake Don't dare cry, when fever up high No escape, no break, your life we will take Gone with the night When the unholy demons of dawn Pray When the sunlight is dead we're reborn Cursed by our fate, the undead crusade For the sanctum deep under your skin Raise up the blade, by night we invade For the last of times the fight may begin For in blood, in God, in heaven we trust In the night we are Dead until dark

Nighttime Rebel - Powerwolf In the night of surrender In the full moonlight and the midnight came Be the ghostly defender And of glory be thy name In the curse of a nightmare Be the lightning and thunder And ignite the final flame Seven heads, seven demons, seven murders in the sky Take your fate in your hand now, and so we rise up high Nighttime rebel, stand alone against the wind Nighttime rebel, break the holy sin Nighttime rebel, wake up in the night and let begin Nighttime rebel, holy light against the dark Nighttime rebel, bear a holy heart Nighttime rebel, summon in the dawn and let begin In the ongoing darkness Where the sky is torn and belief has failed Be the guide, the pretender And invoke the dreaded rain Like a wolf, like a phantom To the cross bound nail by nail In the curse after midnight When inferno born and the mask unveiled Be the last man unbroken, and in light the one to fade

My Will Be Done - Powerwolf In times of war we strike with sancted power When from the sacristy I rise To bring the final sacrifice Sing words of praise to glorify my name and Stand still Sacrificed to my will Sainted be what I say Preaching My will be done Here and all my life in heaven My will be done Christ our savior bring the sacrament for My will be done

Fire & Forgive - Powerwolf Sons of God and sacrament The night we're dying for Rest in flame by testament At midnight we return Fundamental armament The price we all ignore Bring to fall the last of savior To son of God we swore

Kimdracula - Deftones The earth will see our eyes go blank tonight The earth will rot away Go blank tonight I, I really wish these snakes were your arms

Good God - Korn You came into my life Without a single thing I gave into your ways Which left me with nothing I scream without a sound How could you take away Everything that I was Made me a fucking slave Your face that I despise Your heart inside that's gray I came today to say You're fucked in every way Won't you get the fuck out of my face now? You stole my life Without a sign You sucked me dry

Bloodbath & Beyond - Ice Nine Kills It's been six days since I've had my fix and now I'm fixed on you Despite your trembling body, I can tell you want it too I'm every man you've ever dreamed of, all your fantasies combined You can tell I'm the best by the blood on your dress, there's no bite as good as mine Through the darkest of ages and blackest of plagues I have fed on the blood of the land Every girl that's in sight knows she's mine for the night They're all trapped in the palm of my hand I've crossed oceans of time, caused unspeakable crime But I wouldn't change a bloody thing Hunted by all mankind but they're one step behind "Prince of Darkness"? Fuck that, I'm the king And I'm slipping through the cracks again They'll never take me alive because I'm already dead And forever in your head So won't you come with me and taste immortality You're dripping from the ecstasy of one last crimson kiss When your blood pours out like rain Take pleasure in the pain You're not the only girl to scream my name, but the first I can't resist So here's one last crimson kiss Don't think of this as damnation 'Cause we don't need their salvation Your neck is up next

The Greatest Story Ever Told - Ice Nine Kills How could this happen? Am I dreaming again? Her body's not moving, I'm assuming she's dead She's covered in bruises but the truth is that I never committed the crime Time to burn and dig the whites of my eyes But, what went on that night? "Listen closely as I tell you I'm not who I seem I'm gonna touch you 'cause I like it when you scream I wanna watch you when you're sleeping and thinking of me" And that's what he told her as he killed her Don't believe what he says, he's not real It's murder and he did it My God (hear me) You better fear me 'cause I'm gonna find you Last night I dreamed we had a future and you were alive It was springtime on our wedding day, there were birds in the sky The sun was glowing, it was beautiful and everyone was there I still can't believe that you're gone, I'm so lost I'm sorry (I'm sorry) Don't go Oh please, God no 'Cause you'll be lying awake From this nightmare and feel betrayed I gave my life And you took it away "Am I dead? Or am I still breathing?"

The Coffin Is Moving - Ice Nine Kills I'm holding my life in my hands And you're holding your views of the world Around never knowing Just make me whole again 'Cause I'm a soldier for misfortune But I believe we can turn it around This memory, the final enemy now We are, we are the walking dead A generation of negligence brought down upon our heads

The Fastest Way To A Girl's Heart Is Through Her Ribcage - Ice Nine Kills There's blood here in the water as I'm slowly losing grip 'Cause your insanity, it's killing me What's inside you is inherently sick Now that the blood is getting darker You drown in your true colors and just the truth remains All you are is a masquerade You always had a way of creeping in my life You're always so inclined to tear apart my mind Is it difficult to breathe with your fate wrapped around your throat?

The Product of Hate - Ice Nine Kills This world is spiralling down The segregation of everything Is the source of the blood on the walls It's passed down by generation This hatred could swallow us all A story told so full of holes Just allows the lies to breathe And to leach into the heart Of the disillusioned and the weak And I'll pray to God we make it out alive I see through this illusion But what's the solution if all that they see is what's different in me? There's a hole in my heart nobody can see It feels like the sun is gone and hope is locked away There's a hole in my heart, why can't they see? God unstitch their eyes please I hope tomorrow's not too late 'Cause today's time is running out Don't turn your back you know it's real So wake up, 'cause something's wrong There's something wrong

Connect the Cuts - Ice Nine Kills Well I've been looking for redemption What was gold, now is lost to the wolves As the choler inside swells like locusts swarm With little faith in a God or humanity, I'm lost Sometimes I think to myself "you should burn, motherfucker, burn" There's no truth in resting on laurels Or the blindfold of crooked ideals and morals On and on 'til the end, the serpents in my head Will show themselves through the whites of my eyes If all is lost again, will I repeat or repent? Or will I realize the Devil's in disguise? I'll fucking self-destruct Well, I've been bitten by temptation Body of rust and a cynical soul I can't seem to fend off all the vermin I hear the Devil, he's calling Fuck Doubt has dragged me down to rock bottom this time Despite the weight on my shoulders, I continue to climb In my final hours, towards a higher power to find I'm damaged by design I can't believe it was so difficult to see That all along my only enemy was me

Jonathan - Ice Nine Kills God has taken my eyes If I see no reflection How the hell do I know I'm alive? As the darkness bleeds into my mind The force that screams to give up Is grave enough to crave my name into stone Inspired by hope or defined by disease? If you knew what it meant to be me Could you close your eyes and never say "never"? Or would you call this the end of the road? I'm running out of memories, a shell of what I used to be As this curse drains the life out of me

Communion Of The Cursed - Ice Nine Kills So where's your savior tonight? As angels fall from the sky His idle hands let me inside Where I cannot be crucified Forgive me father, have I sinned? Who gives a fuck how long it's been? Just let his holy war begin I am the darkness deep within The devil in her daughter's skin And I'll be there 'til the bitter end In the name of God I command you to flee Relentlessly, 'cause we believe By the power of Christ we will set her free You spent your life in his light Still faith can't save you tonight Yet evil stands the test of time I cannot be crucified Pass the cup and drink from me instead Savor the taste and quench your thirst With the communion of the cursed Get on your knees and prove your worth I will cast him out (his grip is weakening) Cast him out (this is his day of reckoning) Through the father, the son, and the holy ghost I will lure this parasite from its wholesome host Eternally, my last decree If a soul must be taken, I demand you take me "Now I lay her down to sleep Her soul is mine, and mine to keep If she dies before she wakes I'll find another soul to take"

Me, Myself & Hyde - Ice Nine Kills I tear apart the pages of the story of my life In black and white, the wrong and right will struggle to survive And I've been falling apart in the pouring rain I'm waging war on myself, a captive casualty Traded a merciful heart for a murderer's brain But now I curse what's in my head Because I can't stop seeing red Did you really think I would falter, my friend? I've destroyed you before, I'll destroy you again I'm the hell that is your future, I'll incinerate your past I'm the devil on your shoulder, but I'll always be your better half We might share one body But this spine is fucking mine By now you should know You're just a spectator, I'm the show Is this the end of me? I bid thee farewell Fuck my fate Just save a seat for me in hell

Cheers To Goodbye (feat. Spencer Charnas) - Escape the Fate, Ice Nine Kills, Spencer Charnas Losing myself, put you through hell I've been fuckin' actin' up too much Tell me that you've had enough I fall apart, you don't look surprised Think I need some fuckin' therapy Figure out what's wrong with me So come gather 'round, you can watch my demise Been living too long in this fuckin' disguise Consuming every substance I can find You can laugh at my life, it's a joke, it's a lie It's time for the moment you've all been waiting for Step the fuck up because the final act of the evening is here A vanishing act, the likes of which you have never seen Count down with me Three, two, one So kiss me goodbye, say goodnight Hold back your tears, don't you cry Which would be worse? To live as a monster or die as a hero tonight

DAMAGED (feat. Spencer Charnas) - In This Moment, Ice Nine Kills, Spencer Charnas I wish there was a way for me to put this into words All these feelings that I have as I start to lose control I feel panic rushin' over me and grippin' at my chest And no matter what I say or do, I know that it won't rest I feel my vision fade, sweat drippin' down my back I can hear my heart pound, I can feel my mind crack And I know that you love me and you wanna save me now In the end of it all, you can't save me from myself The more I try to fight it, he grows stronger every time Post-traumatic stress, yeah, that's what my doctor said So when I think of dying, I just gotta take a breath

Funeral Derangements - Ice Nine Kills Slave to the plot Let 'em rot Or bring 'em back forever They say "Behind those gates, eternal life awaits" But those beyond the grave, come back beyond depraved With church bells ringing, I'll start digging We pray to thee our God (it's all my fault) For the blessing you've provided I'll see you on the other side But I'd kill to bring you back tonight Don't give up, don't let go I'll make this right I'll dig through sorrow and disgust Ashes to ashes, dust to dust They say that time heals all But I won't heed the call Buried in misery Spare me the eulogy Still, I can't escape this struggle Driven when push comes to shovel Whether God's hand or my own Nothing here is set in stone The flesh is living but the souls have spoiled The wrath of God lays beneath this soil

Enjoy Your Slay - Ice Nine Kills Plagued by the past And down a badly beaten path A mess of a man, his fate unknown He can't give up but can't go on like this Oh, I'm not gonna hurt you I'm just gonna bash your fucking brains in Now the fun has just begun And one by one your wife and son Hang in the web you've spun as family ties come undone Come drain or shine, I'll hit your whole bloodline A chopping spree around the family tree Where you can hang once all work is done

Love Bites - Ice Nine Kills, Chelsea Talmadge It's tearing me apart, but it's us or them So howl at the moon, oh, how can it be? The softer the skin, the sharper the teeth I've fallen prey to a curse I can't disown Is it all in my head? Blood on the hands of a man so filled with doubt I'm counting on beauty to kill off the beast So just put me down

The World In My Hands - Ice Nine Kills, Tony Lovato How'd I end up here? So uncomfortable I'm a stranger in this body The world's an ugly place And that's a fact that fate has brought me So tell the town below As death took hold You watched helplessly But to hell with letting go 'Cause when it snows It falls to you from me

Hypnosis - Sleep Token Lift, oh, lift me out Of my own skin Of all my doubt Take from me Leave nothing left Take everything Sink, sink your teeth Split my skin, no Just make me bleed Oh, and give me Give me all All that I want You know you hypnotize me always (x6) And I am almost under

Stabbing In The Dark - Ice Nine Kills When the hands of fate Fall on the midnight hour Behind this mask of hate I don the Devil's power These are the Devil's eyes I'll haunt you day after day Knife after knife Taking life after life You can't kill the boogeyman I am the shadow where there once was light Strangling all signs of life

Headache - Motionless in White Some days I try to speak with pins and needles in my brain Some days I feel sadistic, a portrait of my pain Some days I live in fear that I am every fucking thing I hate I know that I'm gonna be fine Oh God, am I gonna be fine? Bright lights, am I dead or alive? So insane I'm losing my mind I made a deal with the devil inside Decay and follow me down, under skin, I am doubt Feeding the flies in your mouth through my eyes I swear that I'm gonna be fine

Mephisto - Crystal Lake You've got nothing left, you're as good as dead Pay the price to be welcomed to hell Now it's time to pay the price, this is a death sentence Your soul is mine Love and hate, you got everything you wanted Price to pay, your fate is already sealed Be prepared, the gates of hell lie waiting In despair, I wanna hear you scream It's too late to repent, you got what you deserve When the clock strikes, you'll be torn apart, damned in hell I've waited for this moment for four and twenty years He won't come to save you, no one will hear you scream Oh, you are mine

Curse - Crystal Lake Our time is up, we're dehumanized You took our hearts out, lobotomized Are we so weak? You set the bridge on fire Too late, you've gone too far, dead end Checkmate, congrats, you won this game But will it be the end of our nightmare? I'm all alone Burning my soul as I'm losing myself All alone, on my own Life, is it a gift or curse? Saw him taking another soul above the sky They left a thousand stories untold Broken dreams make memories shine in gold The harder we try, the deeper we fall We'll burn away when the sun rises up This road is paved with bricks of broken dreams Stand all, walk through this hell with me

Trigger - In Flames I am running from something I don't know I am searching for something, which way to go? I am trying to separate what's real I'm running in a wheel Please tell me my name I haven't checked it today

The Quiet Place - In Flames Spinning further deeper I know you're out to try me I'm not in this to be a slave I push the dirt Make me feel Drown the monster Make all bad dreams go away Whatever it takes to keep your hands free Open scars The quiet place All the bridges fall to the ground And you say you sacrificed And then I close my eyes (x2)

Do Or Die - Magnolia Park, Ethan Ross (warning: flashing images in the video) I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die young It's a fight to survive, we're suicidal I walk in the building to burn it, setting a fire they all getting murdered I'm feeling my demons returning, fuck up again and I guess I'm not learning Got the opposition nervous, y'all are really only tough on the surface I'm living through all of these curses, bringing the pain and they know that I'm hurting Not affectionate, my face is still expressionless Take his head off clean, sleepy hollow I'm collecting it Messing with a king, hit the dirt, you gon' rest in it I'm meant for this, you try to take it from me blow your head to bits It's do or die We live to fight so Don't let me drown, don't let me drown It's flooding in my mind I think I got a problem why I'm always in my head Really going back to my old ways, running so low on the tolerance, all of the stress I'm going back and forth, slamming my fists, I'm losing it again All of the hate makes it feel like love and I can't even trust any of my friends, damn No remedy for all this pain We live to fight so come try me

Kool-Aid - Bring Me The Horizon (warning: flashing images in the video) Is this what you wanted? (no) So suffer your fate, oh, come here and give me a hug Nobody loves you like I love you, oh, my dear But you should've known that it was gonna end in tears Such a sucker for an execution The void is a vampire, fat on our blood While they try their hand at playing God Afraid there's no cure I got my (hands around your throat, I love the way you choke) 'Cause I am yours and you are mine, I'll never let you go I'll never let you go Get the fuck up That this was gonna end in tears

Running In Circles - Dead Poet Society Feel like I'm never enough Slowly coming undone, yeah I run in circles Get back, get back, get away Watch me try hard anyway It's all fake, the self-hate's killing me I know that I'm not that And I'm sick of pretending So sick of pretending I need to run away Soon I'll be just like the others Hide my face No one knows it's pulling me under Feels like I'm running in circles Feels like I'm running, running, oh I'm fucked up and I can't see straight I'm so sick of pretending, oh That I'm someone and something I'm not So I'm back where I started Falling apart

Watch The World Burn - Falling In Reverse Yeah, I got voices in my head again, tread carefully I got problems, I got issues, yeah, apparently Trauma that I'm burying, I think I need some therapy I'm past the point of no return, fuck being passive-aggressive I'll brandish a weapon, teach all of you motherfuckers a lesson They swim in the deep, and they creep in the shallows, I'm lost They're licking their chops, they're fixing to rip me apart, I'm swimming with sharks You started a battle, bitch, I'ma finish it 'Cause I got enemies trying to get rid of me Evil tendencies are fucking with me mentally I can't control the monster any longer that's inside The pain and sorrow left us hollow No tomorrows hard to swallow Death is calling so appalling Tightrope walking, now I'm falling down The pain inside is the fuel that drives The flesh and bones through blood-red skies The death defying, hypnotizing One day you're gonna figure out that Everything they taught you was a lie Watch the world burn The fear is what keeps you alive Break the fucking chains, take back your life The fear is what keeps you insane Break the fucking chains, take away the pain

[hotpinkstaples]

i was crushed when angel said buffy could handle herself in home bc like….. she wasn’t. she was drowning, but it’s not like he could read her mind. buffy repressed until the very end until she was finally released from being the only one with the sacred duty, whereas even tho angel DID come back to help her, he didn’t overstay. im glad she wasn’t the one who put him back on the right path in s5 bc not only were they not ready to talk just yet, but angel did not come into his own, not even in not fade away. the story of buffy and angel is a decades-long one, and i think angel needed a LOT more time to come into his OWN power, whereas buffy was finally released from hers in chosen. even tho los angeles burned in not fade away, im glad he had to go at it knowing his friends were mostly dying if not dead. if the metaphor is to suffer until the end, then suffering it is. im much more appreciative of cordelia’s part in angel’s story now bc truth be told, angel’s story was too difficult for joss to tell in just a few seasons. here’s a man whose devil never really dies because HE is the devil, and until angel can learn to mourn his losses without implementing a new timeline every time things just Do Not Go His Way, he’s never going to become human. he hates himself too much, is willing to have a hissy fit at every turn, can’t handle his losses and CANNOT deal with his goddamn emotions to save his undead life. even tho i believe not fade away would have been different if we got a season six, we didn’t NEED a season six. you couldn’t tell angel’s redemption in five or even ten seasons. his sins are aplenty, and what he deserves is up for debate, but what we DO know is that he’s not ready to become human again. he’s got to love a hundred more people and lose them, deal his catholic guilt and resolve his religious trauma, work out the daddy issues and own that he’s used and abused people both without and WITH a soul, come out of the closet and admit he enjoys sex with both men and women and demons, admit there’s a part of him that’s always craved finality and death, and ACCEPT that he IS a monster at heart.

and that monsters have a choice too. to DO good, not BE good, bc even after five seasons of angel and three seasons of buffy, angel still had to struggle with the concept of what’s inherent vs what’s learned. he never really forgave himself for anything, and sometimes he got too much of a pass to put his sins to rest by establishing a couple of new timelines, but like, hey, he’s both a champion and a harbinger of the apocalypse, right?

until he chooses to be a champion for good. until he can forgive himself for his sins and accept that angelus is a part OF him and not a piece to repress forever. if buffy’s story is a metaphor for the inevitable agonies of adolescence and the crushing loneliness that comes with it, then angel’s metaphor is that the past never really dies. and you can’t kill it, but you can’t brood and repress it either. bc redemption isn’t eating rats in a sewer for a couple of decades, just like establishing new timelines doesn’t erase the fact that he’d killed his son to save innocent lives and ruined his chances of being buffy’s human househusband. the fight is forever, forever working on yourself and helping the helpless, and finally accepting that even he himself is just a human being, and that it’s a CHOICE to wake up and do good everyday. angel wasn’t ready for that. he might not be for a long, long time, but trust, when he finally grows the fuck up and can introduce himself as liam at the town christmas party without buckling down in shame, buffy will be right at the center of the dance floor, waiting for him.

[curtiscroachblog]

Jesus is the way

Word for Today written by Bob and Debby Gass

Saturday 26th October 2024

'Jesus said... "I am the way."' John 14:6 NKJV

A minister writes: 'Between the human race and God stands a barrier called sin. If we are going to be reconciled with a perfect God, that barrier has to be dealt with. We cannot go around it or over it. Sin demands a payment. Jesus came specifically to make that payment. He lived a perfect life and died a sacrificial death to pay for everything we've ever done in the past, present and future. If your home is on fire, you had better call a firefighter and not a policeman. If you break a leg, you had better call a doctor and not a firefighter. If your home is broken into, you had better call a policeman and not a doctor. If you are drowning, you had better call a lifeguard, not a plumber. If, as a sinful human being, you want to come to a righteous God, you had better get in touch with the Saviour, because he is the only one who can help.'

Jesus didn't merely say, 'Come to me, and I'll show you the way.' He said, 'I am the way' (John 14:6 NKJV). He is the way to forgiveness. He is the way to peace and joy. He is the way to fulfilment in life. And he is always as close to you as a prayer.

Here's a prayer: 'Lord Jesus, I believe that you died for me on the cross and paid for my sins and that through faith in you, I am made righteous and reconciled to God. I accept you today as my Lord and Saviour and receive from you the gift of everlasting life. Amen.'

[beevean]

❤️️

I started writing Grip at around... I think November 2022? And I published the first chapter in March 2023. I published the third one in June 2024. That's more than a year of growth in writing, and it shows! Reading it now gives me whiplash because it's like someone else took over by the end! But no, it's still me! I'm proud!

like, maybe it's just me, but I see the evolution chapter by chapter:

He had discarded his old armor, sometime before collapsing and awaiting death: even as he left a trail of blood in his way, he had enough pride to not accept going to Hell in the clothes of the life that he had thrown away. While Hector is aware that his silver hair makes him stand out amongst crowds, he had refused to brand himself – he never felt the need to flaunt – therefore on his skin, at the very least, he doesn’t carry the sins of his past. Without the crest on his back and the demonic legions at his command, he should be hardly recognizable as one of the infamous Devil Forgemasters that became the scourge of Wallachia. And yet he can’t shake the fear that the others can sense it coming from him, the curse that taints him, comes from him like a miasma, that marks him as an abnormal creature masquerading as a human being.

On other days, the tide overflows and overwhelms him, and Hector drowns in a cell of his own mind. The dark magic that flows in his blood and impregnates his flesh screams and gnaws at him from the inside, it doesn’t accept being suppressed and denied: Hector can wear the mask of a human as long as he likes but he cannot repress his true nature as demon. It is what his old friends tell him, who have come back to whisper vile temptations in his ear, because they never left him and will never leave him and are part of him – they cackle at his futile attempts to pretend to be a person, coward who doesn’t know how to accept reality, how can a spit in the face of God expect to find a place among His creation? Murderer, traitor, scum, what are you doing here living among innocents? You should rot under the ruins of your true home, in the grave of your old master, keep company to your dearest friend. And they pull him by the collar, they sink their claws into his skin and don’t let him go, they insist on dragging him towards the castle once again like when he was a child and they showed him his only source of salvation, the only paradise that a blasphemy of nature like Hector could deserve.

He crawled as far as his broken body would carry him, low and miserable like the beast he was. The magic that Lord Dracula had imbued in him had long bled out of him, leaving him sapped of all strength. On the edges of his mind, the memory tasted familiar, like ashes and coal and shrill screams of people who deserved to die; but unlike then, Hector no longer burned. His bones were rattled by uncontrollable tremors, as he dragged himself towards nowhere deep in the forest, sight too bleary to enjoy his first dawn ever since his rebirth. A particularly old tree near a crumbled wall marked the end of his wandering. As in a dream, he ripped from his chest his damned uniform soaked with mud and blood, his and Isaac’s, and there he closed his eyes, and allowed the dullness of senses to envelop him in bliss. The smell of petrichor and chirping of birds lulled him to an end that didn’t fit an executioner like him. Death would not be so kind as to reach him soon. That was fine. He was in no rush. God, God – hah, he truly was delirious, he’d always be a deluded child – if You have mercy for the wretched as the Christians say… send me back where I belong, I beg of You. Please, for once, heed my voice. He would have laughed. All that effort to sever his bonds with them, only to rejoin them soon in the afterlife. They would all have a good guffaw, as they tore each other to shreds for all eternity. But God, the spiteful being He had always been, did not send His smiting hand. Instead, the one who lent her hand was an angel with a smile warmer and brighter than the sun shining upon Lord Dracula’s and Isaac’s defeat.

I fear that I've grown stagnant and complacent in my writing, then I re-read my past works, and aside from the occasional cringing, I do see that no, I've improved, while still being recognizably me! So once I'll be done, this unassuming 4-chapter fic will be testament to all my work and I'm very happy :D

... well, if I can keep up the quality ofc. It's not given. I'm a huge perfectionist...

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

=================================

Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.

[letterstomonkey]

Understand Me

You don’t understand me, you don’t understand

You don’t see me for who I am

Because you have never stepped foot into my sacred, lawless land

Watching as I sharpen my nails enough to slash my trembling hands, my own body dismembering the little value its rotting limbs still had, another example that I cannot be trusted to have, 

or to hold, 

or to keep my feet on the ground and my head on my shoulders

Because I live in a land where gravity can’t put a hand on me

 while I keep pushing this broken car down deserted miles of highway-

Blistering prematurely wrinkled skin

With no bulletproof cage

To conceal my sins

As I disintegrate

In the winds of age,

My hair tangled in cobwebs silver and grey

Burying what should have been youthful, innocent days 

You Don’t Understand       How my mirror has been poisoned by people I don’t remember inviting into my hell in the first place   

And now when I look in the mirror,      I see the ghostly,        undesirable,      shell of a person that I never wanted to become,  unravelling faster than my sanity,     ��coming undone,      You don’t understand-            

I can’t just get a new mirror because It Follows Me Everywheretaking root and tearing it’s teeth into the fruition of fresh new creation, ending the game before I began playing, I never stood a chance at winning anyway- Sit back in acceptance of the mirror Slaughtering my confidence with my own wretched presence, mocking me from my damning thrown of untouchable perfection; My innocence aching for resurrection.

You don’t understand me.  

 I picked up a shovel , I learned how to garden , digging hole after hole so I can hide deeper inside my body I am miserable in my own company and I am   allergic   to my own scent    I will never feel , , comfortable        around anyone    again    because I know they will never understand me  ,   -----So I run past the poltergeist guarding the graveyard of my scarred memories that I twisted into a dvd movie series   so I could replay myself ruining everything       again        Rewinding my mistakes  ,  every night ,  every  day ,    for when I cannot recall exactly when my right mind became left      and    yet------------------------------------------      I always find my way back to     blood flowing through my sidewalk cracks   into the storm drain    I’ll meet you there someday , , , ,     but don’t think for a second you understand me                         

You don’t know how I convinced myself   I could learn to build  one meaningful house    ,  and how it took       seconds     for    the    architecture   ,  and delicate   woodwork     to  become my one purpose  ;  my passion  ,   enthralled  and  entranced   by the idea that  , one day ,         I        would    make   a   house ,   where I would   make     my      bed       and         lie           in it      until the splintering wood planks come    crashing   down    around  me  because nobody ever taught me houses need a strong foundation   ,   so I am left here with the destruction   of   closureclosingin on me ,  flooding from the ground to my bed , surrounding drowning controlling    me            , , , , ,   Just as I considered the possibility I could survive this ,  I could stay afloat in the millionth mess I made   ,  accepting the   darkness ,  surrendering control     ,  I remembered how I cried when I took swim lessons because nobody ever taught me to hold my breath when   I  feel    like       I am drowning   in something , anything  ,      and nobody ever taught me there is not a middle ground  ,            you sink  ,   or    you swim    ,    how naive for me to believe I may  close my eyes  as  reality  floods  around me           as if I was experiencing a temporary pause on living           water clogging my ears drinking my tears stinging my eyes Stillness for This Moment in Time            kissing   the    cheek    of  mortality ,   tenderly  ,   sleeping      feet treading     beneath me--- 

You don’t understand me      like how I wholeheartedly believed    in my practiced ability         to walk the tight rope above my death bed  ,   refusing to live fully and instead pretending this is all a dream- 

State , and I will make it out alone , alive and okay ,    my sheets are suffocating me and I’m tangled in the mess I made       Please Understand Me When I Say : : : : :      I wish I had never built this house and    that     I was not so idealistic to the point where I trusted my trembling handiwork ,   you don’t understand ,   me ,   ,   ,   and everything is sinking   ,  and you have never felt    the feeling of breathing merciless freedom   ,   into the sharp pain , and continuing to cut deeper anyway    -      I haven’t been the same   ,     and I haven’t been   understood since that moment when I knew exactly who I was  and 

I haven’t been sure if I am truly alive since I felt sandpaper scraping my tongue----------               but you don’t understand me ---------------------- because deep down  ,,,,,,,,    it is only I who knows I stained everything pure and whole   leaving a trail of  broken glass instead of breadcrumbs everywhere I go   so I   can rule out which     road               might finally            take me          home  

What is the point of my existence if

You still don’t understand me

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ┊ 𝐈𝐗. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐒

( why does tragedy exist? because you are full of rage. why are you full of rage? BECAUSE YOU ARE FULL OF GRIEF. )

chara : xiao fandom : genshin impact quote cr : anne carson a/n : rewritten + revised 3 yr old fic :^) my very first xiao fic

IN DARKNESS LIES :

REGRET : TO FORGET SINS OF DAYS GONE BY IS AN ACT OF COWARDICE, A VIOLENCE SO KNOWN THAT IT LINGERS IN CENTURIES PAST. to carry the weight of one's burdens is a trial of living, of survival, and it is one xiao knows to endure until the world lays him to rest and the calling is heard by another.

he tires of it, this cruelty of karma known. the blood on his hands serve as a reminder of the horrid past meant to be spoken of and remembered. it is a hauntening, these phantom ties. its thorns take hold of his being, burning and burning and burning into his mind and flesh in memorial of those he brought brutality upon under another's command.

"keep your distance." an adeptus warns, but the trace of false malice in his words is drowned by a melancholy, an aching, a yearning. his soul trembles in your presence, and he does not know what to make of this.

yakshas survive loneliness through the protection of others. it is all he knows. it is all he is meant for, after all. it is his redemption -- words spoken for his own sake, his own comfort, but redemption is something unobtainable, just as you are.

it's better this way. safer.

what will come in the near future, he wonders, if you continue down this path?

in his lifetime, he has witnessed too much loss, most of it caused by him. perhaps he had a heart once. he simply wonders if it was torn from him or whether he rid of it himself. a final act of cruelty, of release, of mercy.

( it doesn't matter. it doesn't. it won't. a single beating heart would not make a difference in this world. not his. )

CORRUPTION : & THE SUNLIGHT IS TOO BRIGHT AN EXISTENCE , TOO KIND & GENTLE IN THE ENDEAVORS OF A MADDENING DARKNESS. it reminds him of someone, and to even indulge in the thought brings reluctance.

you are too close, yet he cannot distance himself, even if he tried. you find a way. you always do. perhaps that is what draws him closer.

his head hurts. he cannot think. it is happening again. again, again, again--

he is weak. he knows this all too well. all these years of drowning in hatred, all these years of fighting and fighting, yet the darkness is the one thing he fails to defeat. a flood of memories intertwined with havoc and destruction: endless, ruthless. he will never escape it, will he? but surely it is deserved, after all. it must be. it has to be. he seeks logic in the suffering because it is the only way he survives.

( somewhere, there is an absence of being in him. in eternities, there is much untold and too little addressed, comfort lost yet desired so deeply. but his suffering is meant to be unsaid, and so he will remain silent, keep his pain close to the soul until it gnaws away and away until there is nothing left.

"the warmth feels nice, doesn't it?"

your words are kind. gentle. bright. the pain dissipates, slow, and the darkness turns into a soft light. the voices of those he ruined fade in the background, and all he hears is you. it's always you.

he does not respond initially. you offer a faint smile, hand resting on his, slowly, hesitant. he likes the feeling more than he expects, likes it more than he should.

his lips part. he pauses, afraid, and answers.

"yes," his voice trembles, but you pretend to not notice, "it does." )

FORGIVENESS / re: AWAKENING : INSIDE YOUR HEART RESIDES A WRATH , A VICIOUS SELF-LOATHING. WHEN WILL YOU PUT IT TO REST? HOW WILL YOU PUT IT TO REST?

-- CAN YOU?

his soul is too entangled with those he has destroyed and slaughtered; there is no separation in existence. his soul carries the many who do not live on, and if you searched closely enough, you would see the way it rots, withers, and decays in despair.

why doesn't it frighten you? why doesn't this darkness, this violence-- why doesn't any of this frighten you? he has made what little peace he has with it; he hopes you will, as well. there is no saving here. he does not need it.

you are a force : an enigma of hope and everything wondrously bright. it is contagious, almost-- but he is quick to remember who he is, and he is quick to remember the difference between higher beings and mortals. you cannot save him. he hopes you will remember that. if there is ever a way out of limbo, he will find it himself. but until then, he will stay here, alone and in the place he belongs.

"xiao." you speak his name and he only hears love. your fingertips ghost over the markings that have found a home on his arm, touch reverent as ever-- delicate, holy. "you are more than your darkness."

your voice wavers, but he pretends to not notice. his gaze meets yours, and it is painful. it is love; it is grieving. there is a heavy yearning in the deep hues of amber, and in such emotion, there is the knowing that he cannot have what he desires, because what he desires is too good, too innocent, and he knows all too well that light and darkness are not meant to coexist. but he aches with weakness, and he allows himself to succumb to it.

( now, he is the one who closes the distance. hand in hand, a subtle squeeze of affection. you cannot help but smile at the proximity, and his breath hitches at the sight of such quiet joy.

you frighten me, he whispers, lips finding yours under the moonlight.

perhaps this is another cruelty, another trial he must endure. xiao knows this. but for you, he will happily do so. )

[methysos]

Hi love,

Doesn't it hurt when the one person who should understand you doesn't? Doesn't it hurt when you've used all of your lifelines and you're the one drowning? Doesn't it hurt to look at your planned suicide letters every night before you sleep? I do not feel bad for you little me, I feel bad for the wreck you've become. You used to mount stories and create them with a swoosh of your will; now you chose mediocrity. You were destined to be somebody, you didn't follow the status quo and therefore I admire your foolishness. I'm sorry that you have felt inadequate every step along the way and I'm sorry you couldn't be a brat sometimes. You've earned it though, right? You've been there for people through their utmost sorrow and their rock bottoms, didn't matter if you were falling because you fell slower so you could accompany them instead. Isn't it justified that you feel sick to your stomach when you've led everyone towards a light they needed to find yet absorbed their darkness in and out? Aren't you allowed to have your moments when you silently, lovingly held people's hands through their fits, childishness, arrogance, nerve, their unyielding desire to just be a shit person and when they just screamed at you. Weren't you there when they never gave a shit and went their own ways after countless hours of crying and begging, pleading them to just not do what's hurting them and they hurt you instead? Weren't you the scapegoat of many situations you shouldn't have been responsible of? Weren't you threatened every second along the way with empty promises or full proposals of how people would hurt you? Yet, you stood your ground. It's alright that you're having your own episode, if they don't stick with you through it they lead double lives and they're ungrateful. You always spent yourself away for years when all you got was a piece of thanks but still you cherished the shit out of that. You were a rock for people all along but it's time for you to place your own rock into somewhere isolated. How brave of people to be so harsh on you for that, how dare they with that level of selfishness. Look at your past, since all the love you gave was taken granted you deserve to take things for granted a bit as well. Look at your past deeper to find how many times you've tried to save someone and to be there for someone when you were pushed to the exact other edge of the universe so that you can find the courage to say no sometimes. Look at all the agony and the anxiety of being late when you sometimes deserve to show up more than late, if you decide to show up that is. Know that people should look at their past with you before slicing you left and right with cut-throat replies and snarky remarks about you being just a name. There were times they did worse, love. There were times where it took you all your strength to not say "What about me?", it's okay now to say it. If these milestones cannot see the beautiful mess you are clearly, transparently then they need to work on themselves first. It's okay for you to ask something in return: the kindness, the love, the empathy, the blood, the sweat and the tears you put into mending their broken hearts over and over until you realized yours crumbled all along and they were stepping on the trail. You didn't think of it as an attack, they shouldn't either. You are a wise fool, a charlatan of a shadow who used to be present. It's okay that you fade. It's okay that you are blurry. If you come to think of it, this is the climax of your movie, the make it or break it. Go forth and shatter all your anguish into art. Make them pay hell for it or worse with their conscience. They should probably check that. Thank you for not being shallow even though you've earned some of that too. I'm not going to be harsh on you too, people already pay themselves enough credit for that but they'll never admit that. I'm proud of the person you've engraved yourself into. What a beautiful mess you are, I wish you could see that.

Sincerely,

your heart.

[thefanficmonster]

Breathing In

Sequel to: “In Too Deep”

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Cheating (Past), Mentions of toxic relationships

Genre: Romance, Angst

Summary: It’s not just about leaving a person behind, it’s about leaving behind what feels to be a separate world, one you want to detach from yet you still want to hold onto for the twisted comfort it gives you, the familiarity of it all. But then again, you’ve been drowning in the deep too long to still want to hold on, and all you want is to swim up to the surface and breathe in.

Requested by the lovely readers who showed the first fic “In Too Deep” so much love and support. I’m so glad to be writing a sequel for this piece because I enjoyed writing it so much! I love the storyline and I can’t express how grateful I am the Anon who sent in the request for it in the first place. Love you all, Vy ❤ 

A romantic relationship should never be a responsibility. A person should never be another person’s responsibility. One cannot be a pillar and stand strong while the other is falling apart, leaning on them and depending on them for everything in their life. That’s not love, it’s hell. It’s a job you get paid for with nothing but exhaustion, pain and emptiness. Your mind’s constantly flooded by images of all those times you could’ve experienced had those ‘what if’s happened.

What if she didn’t turn up to class late that day? What if she didn’t need anyone to distract the professor for her to get in the classroom undetected? What if when Kaylor asked for sex as a repayment she refused and slapped him across the face?

Well, things would be different. She wouldn’t be living like this, that’s for sure. She’d be working her ass off, just like she’s wanted to all her life. Coming from a family of drunks and bums, she’s always wanted to prove her worth, not to others but to herself. To prove that ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ doesn’t always apply. She’s always been terrified of that saying, never wanting to become like her parents and older siblings. Never wanting to become like Kaylor who started off as her acquaintance, proceeded to become a guy she regularly hooked up with and then became her boyfriend. And then, the worst decision among all she’s ever made, she allowed him to slip that ring onto her finger and a few months later exchange vows with her in front of an altar. Had her phone not died the night prior to meeting him, none of this would’ve happened. She’d have several normal jobs instead of one barely-paying one and one she didn’t know she ever even signed up for - taking care of Kaylor.

She’s been drowning in the deep for so long, she can barely remember. Long enough to forget how breathing in feels.

However, she’s not the only one.

He has his own fulfilled ‘what if’s as well: what if he hadn’t left his apartment that night? What if he had stopped after the second beer like he originally intended to? What if he didn’t choose exactly that night to socialize with the stranger who sat down on the bar stool next to him. What if he simply paid for his drinks and left?

But he didn’t, he didn’t do any of that. Didn’t manage to preserve himself, didn’t manage to keep it in his pants or hide the lust in his eyes. Still, the hook-up on its own wouldn’t have been so horrible had it not led to what it did afterwards. Had it not led to a relationship with one very fragile girl. A girl much like him, too much like him. Constantly insecure, fearful, paranoid, dependent, distrusting. A girl always in need of a firm grip on her hand and an external voice telling her it would all be alright because her internal voice is never optimistic. Her own mind doesn’t like her, she can barely stand it, and he got caught in that crossfire.

He can’t really picture what he would be doing with his life if it wasn’t for Ida, he’s that sucked in. He’s that deep into this mess. It’s not water he’s drowning in, it’s quicksand, the type that’s taken form with his regret and self-hatred as a base. Breathing in would result in sand-filled lungs but at this point his only wish is to breathe in, no matter the consequences. After all, if it doesn’t save him it’ll kill him and he can live with that.

Still, it hasn’t all been dark for our broken lovers. There are several ‘what if’s Corpse and Y/N don’t ever wanna imagine or know the outcome of. Such as, for example: What if the two of them never met? What if they didn’t strike up the relationship question? What if they didn’t share that kiss in that parking lot that night. That single contact between their lips was the only thing they didn’t regret that night. What they regret the most, however, is walking away from one another, spiraling their situation out of control, turning it into a twisted, sticky spiderweb, laced with the sin of cheating on a significant other. 

If it were as simple as people make it out to be - break up with the other person instead of cheating - they would’ve done it so long ago. They would’ve been far from here. Very far from this fucking place and these fucking problems had they been the ones holding the leash of their fate rather than let the current of events manipulate them.

Maybe they’re a little late with the grasp of this realization, but that’s not what matters. What’s important is the here and now, the events that are about to occur or not occur. The actions that will or won’t be taken. Y/N and Corpse have been a will they/won’t they pair from the very start, always leaning more towards won’t because of how impossible it all felt. How hopeless the spiraling hell they were in made them feel.

But now the tables have turned.

Corpse was the first to leave his hell-cell. He did so by cutting things off with Ida a week ago. He did so rather gently and caringly, promising he’s always a phone call away whenever she needs him. It took a lot of preparation and guts he didn’t have but had to develop in order to execute such a delicate operation and make it a successful one. The response he got from her was rather surprising.

“I was hoping you’d call it off.“ She said with a small smile, shocking him to the point of letting out a small gasp, “I mean, you know me, I could’ve never done it. But I hated what I was doing to you and I hated myself even more for not being able to stop and...“ she trailed off, her lips pressing in a thin line, eyes glistening with tears, “...I’m so glad you did it. You’re saving both of us, trust me.“

As he was packing his stuff, he overheard Ida’s phone call with her parents, telling them she wanted to move back in with them for a little while but refused to answer any further questions, at least not over the phone. That was the biggest relief, a whole-ass boulder lifted off him, allowing him to finally breathe in. But he wasn’t breathing in at full lung capacity, he still isn’t even no as he stands outside a gas station, leaning on the side of his car which is loaded with all his belongings which he doesn’t have many of, thankfully. He’s waiting for her - the half of this relationship that’s still swaying between will it/won’t it. Corpse is all will, all in, ready for a new, fresh start, ready to be able to breathe the air of the real world, feel the breeze of a real life finally. Whereas Y/N is not as certain, not as prepared and a lot more emotionally attached. It’s understandable, she’s leaving behind a husband, not just a boyfriend.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Corpse. I won’t be able to live if something happens to him. I’ll forever feel guilty, I’ll hate myself forever. You gotta understand.“ She told him the same night him and Ida had their break-up. He called her, telling her he had some big news to share. His excitement was quickly shot down when she gave him this response, eyes glossy with sorrowful tears.

He understood.

She asked for time. He gave it to her.

He gave her an ultimatum. She gave dubious agreement.

The ultimatum? : meet him at this gas station, with her belongings, right at sunset, prepared for the adventure filled with struggles, the whole experience of starting new.

And so he waits, watching as the sun goes lower and lower, leaving the scene to be taken over by the moon and now dark and starry sky - just like his hopefulness is stepping aside for his depression and dread to take over.

She’s not here. She hasn’t tried to reach out to tell him anything. Even a rejection would’ve been better than to let him wait here, his heart breaking a bit more with each passing minute. All this time he’s been trying to convince himself he’ll move on without her if she doesn’t show up. He’ll skip town like the two of them planned to do together. He’ll leave and leave it all behind, Y/N included. But now, looking from this standpoint, being barely a minute away from having to put his foot down on the gas pedal and drive out of the city, pass the sign that’ll tell him he’s passed the threshold, he finds it brings him almost physical pain.

He’s not sure he can do it.

With a heavy sigh he spares the horizon one final glance to see there are only faint traces of the sun he was observing just minutes prior, the final reminder that he has to go now, has to stay true to himself and respect the ultimatum he posed, no matter how much it hurts emotionally, mentally or physically.

Just as he’s about to enter his car, he hears what sounds to be footsteps, but before he can even look up to check where they’re coming from a loud, cheery yell startles him.

“HEY! Look what I got!“ He’d recognize that voice anywhere and no matter what words it says, it’ll always grab his full attention just like it did just now.

Corpse whirls around to face the direction of the voice to see her, Y/N beaming at him brighter than the sun he just watched set. Over one shoulder she has a duffel bag and in the opposite arm she’s dragging a suitcase and if that isn’t confirmation enough, in her free hand she proudly wields what looks to be a document. When she gets closer, his eyes widen at the realization of what she’s holding - divorce papers.

“H-how?“ He stutters in disbelief, his jaw hanging, his heart beating like crazy, his eyes brimming with tears of joy that’s just exploded throughout his chest like a firework.

She rolls her eyes, dropping the papers, suitcase and duffel bag in the dust, “You talk too much.“ With that, she rushes over to him, throwing her arms and legs around him, her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

Breathing in, they’re both breathing in, with full lung capacity at that - something they never thought they’d have the chance to do, but here they are. Here they stand, shamelessly in each other’s tight , loving embrace that they never want to have to let go of again, afraid of the wrong eyes seeing it.

They are finally free, finally out of the deep end and back to being afloat, floating towards the nearest island to make it their own. And on that note...

“Let’s get out of here.“ Y/N whispers in Corpse���s ear, her fingers tightening the hold of his shirt at his shoulder blades.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

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[cavsansspice]

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-

It is strange to have peace. 

Xiao has spent centuries painting fields vermillion with the blood of his victims. 

He has never liked nor enjoyed it. Even if it is all that he has ever known, or that there was little choice, those memories sit like poison in his mouth. In the age of old, it was to devour or be devoured. Xiao’s only instinct has always been to survive. 

He isn’t a weak being. He refused to bend under the knee of another—whether his life was saved or not— and so he became Morax’s bloodhound instead, pulling himself through the slog and mud just to live another day after day. Xiao still tastes the dreams he was forced to devour, spicy and acrid on his tongue, fear and panic coating his palate. Creamy and soft but with just enough bite. 

Memorable, in the worst of ways. 

Xiao tells himself that he doesn’t sleep because it isn’t needed, not because he can still hear their screams when he closes his eyes. It can’t be drowned out, it can’t be forgotten, it will always be remembered.

Some days, he chokes on the headiness of his past. Morax rescued a man that didn’t want to be rescued.  Xiao knew there wasn’t anything else left for him, and even now, with his newfound and supposed freedom, he waffles about, unsure what to do.

One day, Morax comes to him with a job. 

“Karma,” he says softly, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at Liyue spread forth before them. The Archon War has come and gone, and their land is halfway back from repairing itself. “I’ve run the course of my luck, it seems. The gods that I’ve put into the ground and beneath the sea still fight a vengeful battle.”

“That must be the evil that I smell,” says Xiao. “I was wondering.”

“Liyue is mine to protect, but—” Morax stops himself, sighing. “Loathe as I am to admit, I cannot be everywhere at once.”

“Get to the point.” Xiao is calm but terse. Even if this man is his master—willingly chosen—Xiao isn’t one for long, drawn-out conversations. 

“Your power is needed once again,” says Morax. 

“My power isn’t needed anywhere. I’m better off dead.”

Morax pauses, head tilted as he looks at Xiao with eyes golden like cor lapis. “Alatus,” he murmurs, uttering a name that Xiao wants to forget, “polish your lance and don your mask once more. Fight this evil so that our people may live in peace.”

“Your people,” says Xiao, trying his best to be obstinate.

“Our people,” repeats Morax, firmly. 

Xiao finally meets Morax’s gaze, his own weary and beat. He’s only of use in times of war, be it under the hands of an evil god, or as a yaksha fighting beside he who would ascend to Celestia. 

He feels utterly obsolete. 

Morax sees the conflict in his eyes and tries another tactic. “What is it that you seek? Penance?”

“No,” says Xiao. Nothing can wash away the sins of his past. His fingers will forever be stained red. 

“Then what is it?”

Xiao thinks for a long and quiet moment. “Redemption,” he says softly, for once, speaking the bitter and honest truth. Morax stands there, hand on his chin as his elbow rests on his other arm as he thinks in that quiet way of his. 

“I will do as you ask, of course,” says Xiao. “Everything that I am now, I owe to you.”

“I do not ask out of expectation,” says Morax. “I ask because this is the job that you were made for.”

Xiao laughs, dark and sour, screeching like claws across a stone, a sound he isn’t accustomed to. “Made for,” he repeats. “The only thing that I was made for was to rend flesh from bone. To devour the dreams of my victims.”

“A person is worth more than the sum of his worst actions,” says Morax. “Otherwise, I would not be suited to rule Liyue.”

“You rose above the others. You paved your own way.”

“And now you can do the same.”

They meet gazes again, Xiao considering this. He has never thought it possible to make his own future. “The peace feels strange,” he finally says. “It’s too quiet. I’m meant for a life of solitude, but not quite like this. The more time that passes, the more my fingers itch for blood. They miss it, even.”

“And so, you have it,” says Morax, sweeping an arm out across the horizon. “Hundreds of gods waiting to be bested by your spear. The opportunity to fight out those urges alongside others just like you. You will help lead the masses in this fight.”

“Others. Like me.” Xiao reconsiders. He doesn’t work well with others and has no desire for it. 

“Four, total. Four others like yourself, lost and feeling without a purpose.”

“Perfect for bad karma,” says Xiao. He doesn’t mean it as a joke but Morax chuckles. 

“The five yakshas, more fierce than their brethren, fighting a debt that no one else can pay.” Morax then falls quiet, like the calm before a storm. “It will not be easy. You will take and take and take, and it will wear you down. Eventually, you will succumb.”

But it will be on his own terms and that is something that entices Xiao. 

“I feel as though I should apologize,” says Morax. 

“No,” says Xiao. “It is only apt that I fall to such a fate. Both penance and redemption, as one. I will accept this request of yours.”

Morax smiles, a small quirk of his mouth. “You will like them,” he says. The others, he means.

“Unlikely,” is Xiao’s acerbic reply. 

Morax says nothing more, disappearing almost as soon as he’d come. Xiao stands there on Qingyun Peak, wondering if Morax is right, and that there is more to life than what he’s already had. 

Xiao cannot undo his harm. He cannot turn back time and make himself anew. But, he can fight for a new dawn. It will not be for him, but for others, a thought that sinks deep into his gut and takes root. 

No longer an enemy of man, but its guardian instead. 

He can think of worse things. 

[tabernacleheart]

As we celebrate the passion of Jesus Christ, we [must] remember that these are not some events relegated to the past. Rather, the paschal mystery invites us to contemplate and live these realities anew today. One need not look far to see pervasive examples of suffering and death in our families, churches, communities, and world. It is easy to lose hope or become overwhelmed by the magnitude of such distress. [Violence, fear, and acts of hatred against minority groups] are increasingly rampant. Children are gunned down in their schools. Refugees drown at the border. People starve while others dance in excess. Thousands die of COVID-19 every day while individuals cry for their freedoms and rights without understanding the importance of solidarity and interconnectedness. We know, however, that death never wins. Life is always victorious. This is the essence of the paschal mystery and our Christian identity in Christ. Even so, we cannot use this as an excuse to ignore suffering or perpetuate injustice. We are called to name these social sins and actively work against them.

When we think of Good Friday, we might immediately imagine the reading of John’s passion account or the unveiling, procession, and adoration of the cross. Both speak to the deeply relational nature of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, and are fundamental parts of today’s liturgy. But there is a third significant component of our Good Friday prayer, [that also relates directly to the salvific work of Christ]. The Good Friday solemn intercessions contain specific prayers for the Holy Catholic Church, for the pope, for all orders and degrees of the faithful, for catechumens, for unity of Christians, for the Jewish people, for those who do not believe in Christ, for those who do not believe in God, for those in public office, and for those in tribulation. In 2020 the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) approved an additional prayer for an end to the pandemic. While we raise these prayers of intercession every time we pray, [on this solemn day] we name them in a special way. [As we acknowledge our global pain, our frequent helplessness against it, and our constant need for God's saving help, we pray to bring the hope of the Resurrection into every place and life haunted by suffering].

Pick one (or more) of [those] intercessions and find a way to live that prayer in your own life. As Pope Francis reminds us, “You pray for the hungry. Then you feed them. This is how prayer works.” Make a concrete plan to pray for that need and then work to do something about it [according to your unique situation and talents]. Commit to something that interests you, remembering that our liturgy shapes the way we live. As we encounter in every liturgy, but particularly remember today, God gives of Godself for others. We are called to do the same.

John T. Kyler