The Talented Mr Barber
An RP blog dedicated to Serial Killer!Charlie Barber. As such, the content may at times be dark and NSFW. You must be 18+ to interact. Please read the trigger warnings. Tag: iamakiller All credit to Direnightshade for the concept.
We looked inside some of the posts by iamakiller and here's what we found interesting.
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iamakiller · 5 days ago
I'm so glad you decided to take an interlude to open up submissions ooc. I know you already know how much I adore you, (both within and outside of the incredible character you've built) So I'll just tell you again how often you leave me in awe of your talent. The way you and Britt (and the others along the way) came together to weave this story so flawlessly stole my breath, or set me on a roller coaster of emotions more times than I could count.
It's been an honor to have the opportunity to be along for this ride, to watch it all unfold, and to call you friend. So thank you for that, and for Charlie. 💜
Bless you, Claire.  That means a lot to me.
It’s genuinely been an honour to witness your journey as a writer, and see your confidence in your abilities grow.  Your storyline with Father Garupe was honestly one of the most real, emotional stories I’ve read in a long time, and as you know, I was absolutely gripped throughout the entire journey.  You truly have such talent as a writer, and I will continue to tell you this as often as I can for as long as I know you. 
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iamakiller · 7 days ago
Anatomy of a Killer was perfection as always! I’ve been awed by and in love with your writing since day one.
I’ve always wondered, are there any characters or personalities, real or fictional, from whom you’ve drawn to create your Killer Charlie? Or any other external influences behind his persona? He’s so nuanced and deep that I’m constantly amazed.
As an aside, you and Contesa are both wrong. Gandalf and the Ring Wraiths are tied for best LOTR characters.
Thank you very much.  I’m so glad you enjoyed Anatomy of a Killer.  I must also thank you for your enthusiastic support since the beginning of this blog.
With regards to your question, I have had a fascination with American serial killers since my early teens, when I checked the book “Mindhunter” by John E. Douglas out of the library on a whim and read the whole thing in one night.  I’ve always been interested in the darker aspects of the human mind, and especially the why of a person becoming a killer.  Although I never even considered choosing to pursue psychology or criminology as a career path, nor indeed murder.)  I wasn’t inspired by any particular individual, but I’m sure that the ridiculous amount of knowledge I’ve crammed into my brain over the years played its part.
A major influence in terms of how I chose to unravel Charlie’s story was undoubtedly the Netflix documentary series “I Am A Killer” (I swear I had completely forgotten the name of the show when I named this blog!) which deliberately and carefully unfurls the story of each episode in such a way that you feel horror and compassion in equal parts for the titular individual by the end of the hour.  
Other than that, I'm not knowingly aware of any other influences.  Killer Charlie is all mine, I’m afraid!
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iamakiller · 7 days ago
Just here to say I am very grateful for the time you put into curating this space. Seeing you pop up on my dash always gives me a rush of happy, and reading your work is cathartic, particularly over the past several months. It’s something I didn’t even know I needed. Endless thanks and praise 💜
You are too kind, Brittany.  For this lovely message, and your support throughout my time on this blog.
I feel very privileged on the occasions when people tell me my writing has had a positive impact on them.  It has been a terrible 12+ months for us all, and if I’ve helped in any way to provide a moment or two of respite or release for some of my audience, then I am contented.
Wishing you health, happiness, and brighter days ahead.
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iamakiller · 7 days ago
Hi Charlie! I hope you are having a wonderful day! No question, but I wanted to say thank you for always being such a delight to follow and for sharing your talent with us. We are truly not worthy of being in your presence. It has been such an amazing ride from the beginning. I hope you know how deeply appreciated you are. 💙
Hi Meg!  It’s always a wonderful day when I see your name popping up in my ask box!
I am truly grateful for your kind words, and the support you have shown the blog all this time.  I’m so glad to see you’re still here, and still enjoying the story.  Thank you for taking the time to send me this message - I appreciate it (and you) very much!
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iamakiller · 7 days ago
I wasn’t around when you and Britt put together this wonderful AU and I am so thankful to be here now. I’m (slowly) catching up and fucking obsessed. Thank you for coming back to give us more! 💖
Thank you very much for your kind words, and welcome!  I can only apologize for how much there is to catch up on.  I believe that at last count there were just over 1,100 posts, which is a strong indicator that I have had far too much free time these past months.  Although I suppose you could argue this proves the saying about the devil making work for idle hands ...
I do hope you enjoy what we have in store for the remainder of our little writing project. 
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iamakiller · 8 days ago
I’m about to get emotional on main, so brace yourself even though you’ve heard some of this about a dozen times already. Thank you for choosing me to write this story with you. It’s still so wild to me that we went from absolutely winging these responses to staying up all hours of the day/night, plotting and fine tuning this story while also getting to know one another better. Working on this story and becoming your friend has genuinely been the highlight of this last year for me, so thank you. ❤️🦉
Okay, since this is an AMA, it’s only fair I ask you something. So, what’s been your favorite piece of Charlie and Kitten’s story thus far?
As someone who is constantly emotional on main, I see nothing wrong with that!
Without you, killer!Charlie would never have existed in the first place.  As it says in the header of this blog, you inspired the initial concept.  You give so much to this fandom, both in terms of your wonderful writing, but also the friendship and encouragement you offer to others, and I wanted more than anything to do something in return for you.
It’s easy to write elegant paragraphs when I’m writing as Charlie, but a great deal harder when I’m being myself.  I don’t know how to properly express how much this story, and your friendship, means to me.  But I think you’ll understand. ❤️🦉
To answer your question, it’s hard to choose just one.  Although the more dramatic, emotional scenes have offered more of an opportunity for us to flex our writing muscles, I’m very fond of the quieter, softer moments between them.  Their wedding day comes to mind, and the night before they left New York.  I also love the piece you wrote about the night they met.  It gave me shivers when I first read it, it was so perfect.
What about you?  What’s been your favourite piece of their story so far?
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iamakiller · 8 days ago
I have never wanted to be murdered by someone so badly.
I’ve been sitting on this ask for a few days.  My apologies.
I can assure you, dear Anon, that the feeling is quite mutual.
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iamakiller · 8 days ago
AMA (can be in character or ooc) - what inspires you? I know keeping a blog running is no small feat, so is it just a matter of taking enough breaks to keep your mind fresh, or is it something else?
An excellent question!
The source of inspiration is really the million dollar question, isn’t it?  If I knew what inspired me, I would spend a lot more time writing, and a lot less scrolling mindlessly through Instagram!
Overall, my main driver in this (sorry Adam, not you) was that I very quickly realized back in September that I had a very particular story I needed to tell.  The why has always been very clear to me, but the how has occasionally given me some trouble.  At those times, taking a break has definitely been helpful.  Once you manage to stop thinking about a problem, it seems like the solution appears quite easily, doesn’t it?
Thank you for your ask, and for sticking with this blog for so long.  I’ve very much enjoyed all of our interactions.
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iamakiller · 8 days ago
Hello Charlie & Beautiful face behind Charlie, my question is incredibly important and absolutely needs to be asked... who is better, and why: Aragorn or Legolas?
Because I said so.
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iamakiller · 8 days ago
Thank you so much for your stories.
You have amazing skill and I will be a lifelong fan.
Marie, it’s me who should be thanking you.
Your support and enthusiasm these past almost-8 months has been very much appreciated.  You’ve been so generous with your kind words and reblogs, and your encouragement has meant a great deal to me.
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iamakiller · 8 days ago
Mask Off
Killer Charlie's tale is over.
While @direnightshade and I work on the next part of Charlie and Kitten's story, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank those of you who have engaged with our work so far. Other than a couple of notable exceptions, each ask, comment, like and reblog has been very much appreciated.
I'm intensely aware that the immersive nature of this blog so far has had its limitations in terms of our ability to communicate with each other, so with that in mind ...
For the next couple of days, my askbox will be open for you to speak to me, the writer. An AMA, if you will.
So, fire away.
Nothing is off the table.
Ask me anything.
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iamakiller · 9 days ago
the anatomy of a killer (7/7)
This is about me. 
I see that now.
It was always about me.
Hades was a child of the winter.  Everywhere he went, living things perished, infernos raged, and people grieved.
But in his heart, he longed for spring …
For a while, Hades and Persephone lived together quite comfortably.  She dined at his table, she shared his bed, and she joined him in his work with great skill and enthusiasm.
But one day, she realized she could not account for some of the corpses that littered the entrance of his palace, and Hades could not bring himself to lie to her any longer when she asked him about them.
Although Hades could have forced her to stay like all the others, he let Persephone go.  Where she went, he did not know, and he did not try to follow her.  He was now at liberty to do whatever he wished just as he always had done, but he found he did not want to do anything at all.  Instead, he lay down on the floor and began to weep.
Without his constant attention, the underworld fell into neglect.  The flames he had stoked for so long burned low, and the shadows encroached until everything became cold, and there was only darkness.  Sometimes the darkness spoke to him, with the long-forgotten voices of the flesh and bones that surrounded him where he lay, and at those times he wept harder, although he did not understand why.
After many days had passed, a speck of light appeared in the distance.  At first Hades did not notice it, for he was too engrossed in his own sorrow.  But the light continued to grow bigger and brighter, until finally it caught his attention, and he knew that Persephone had returned to him.
If she was surprised to see him on the floor exactly where she had left him, Persephone did not remark upon it.  Instead, she held out her hand, and helped him to his feet.  “Come with me,” she said, and she began to lead him back along the way that she had come.  Hades followed her without question, so overcome was he with joy at her return.  
Now, Hades knew every inch of the underworld like the back of his hand, but he did not recognize the route that she had chosen for them, and it did not even occur to him to try to anticipate the destination she had in mind.  The space around them was narrow, the walls seemed at times as if they were closing in, and the ground was rocky and uneven.  Although Persephone held his hand tightly and tried to guide him, Hades stumbled many times.  And each time, she waited patiently for him to steady himself on his feet before they continued on their way.
After it seemed like they had been walking for close to a thousand years, they reached the brink of their journey’s end.  Only now, as they stood on the threshold of the overworld, did Hades realize where Persephone had been leading him all along.  He had never been so far from home before, and he was afraid.  So as Persephone stepped delicately across the boundary that separated the two worlds, Hades let go of her hand, and watched her slip away from him.
Suddenly, he felt more alone than ever before.
Although he was very ancient indeed, he had never known anything but the underworld.  He was perfectly at home down there, in the realm that he had built around himself like an impenetrable suit of armor.  He was the master of that province, and he had spent so many years rearranging it, adding to it, hoping that one day he would be satisfied with his surroundings ...
He should go back, he decided.  Back to what was familiar, and comfortable, and safe.  It would not be so hard to rekindle the flames, until they burned hotter and brighter than ever before.  And there would surely be others, to keep him company for a while, and add to his collection.
“Why do you hesitate, my love?” asked Persephone.  
It was only at that moment that Hades realised she hadn’t gone on without him.  She was waiting, just on the other side of the door.  Just beyond her, Hades could see long, green grass swaying in the breeze.  He could almost feel the cool air on his face.  And he could hear the sounds of what he knew to be birds calling in the trees.  Hades had never seen a bird before, but he could remember reading about them in stories when he was a boy ...
As quickly as his heart had leapt into his throat at the knowledge she was still there, it sank into the depths of the stony ground he stood on.  From almost the moment he had come into existence, Hades had been told of the terrible fate that awaited him in the overworld.  Even supposing he could cross the barrier, the air was so pure that it would choke his withered lungs.  The birds would peck out his eyes as soon as he saw them.  The sun’s rays would turn him to stone, and he would crumble into dust within seconds.
He swallowed thickly before he answered.  “I do not belong there,” he told her quietly.  “I am death and destruction.  There is no room for me in your world.”
Persephone smiled at him, and held out her hand once more.  “There is room for you because I want it to be so,” she said.  “Come, my love.  Hell is no place for us to raise a child together.”
Hades felt a dull ache in his chest at her words.  Hell was certainly no place for a child.  He knew that only too well, for it was where he had been raised.  He remembered being young, and so afraid.  His heart ached for what he had lost, and for the son or daughter that he would never know ...
He shook his head, and did not move.
But Persephone was persistent.  In spite of all that he had done, and the trouble he had caused on their journey to this place, she was still waiting for him.  “Do not be afraid,” she told him.  “I’m here.”
In that moment, Hades realized that if he was afraid, then it was at the thought of not being by her side.  It would be worth turning to dust, he thought, to be close to Persephone one more time.  So, holding his breath and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he stepped across the threshold, and waited for all the terrible things he had been told would happen to come true.
But, of course, none of them came to pass.
The sun’s rays caressed his pale skin as softly as the way Persephone’s fingertips brushed across the back of his hand.  The lush grass beneath his feet did not seem to wither at all.  The air was fresh, clean, and invigorating.  
When he opened his eyes, he saw Persephone smiling at him.  Beyond her, there were green fields, rivers, trees and mountains.  All of them unfamiliar, but so inviting.
Hades had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
As he stepped further away from the entrance of the underworld, he heard the heavy stone door begin to close itself behind him, but Hades didn’t look back, or try to prevent it from closing.  Instead, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a small, unassuming looking key.  It was the only key that could open the door, and he had guarded it with jealous care for as long as he could remember, although he could not remember why anymore.  It seemed so unimportant, now.
Hades handed it to Persephone without any hesitation at all.  She put it in the pocket of her gown, and took his hand once more, her smile brighter and more beautiful than he had ever seen it.
Together, they walked away from the entrance of the underworld.  They were halfway across the field when they heard the great crash which signalled that the door had finally slammed shut, perhaps forever.  His trophies, his weapons ... all of them were entombed behind that door, and Hades did not know if he would ever see them again.
It had all seemed so important once, but standing in the middle of the field with his wife, Hades found that he did not care.
The sun was warm on his face, Persephone was by his side ...
And he was free.
My love, I have been so selfish.
I have been so blind.
After all this time, I think I get it.
I cannot rewrite any of the pages that have already been inscribed, but this book is still half-empty, and now I am the one who holds the pen.
I do not wish to live my life in the shadows, and I cannot bear to live without you.
I want to walk in lush meadows, feel the sun on my face, and hold your hand in mine.
I want a future with you, Henry, Little b, and perhaps another child or two if you are willing.
I want to look back on my life one day and feel more pride than regret.
Yes, my love, I finally understand now.
This story isn’t about me anymore ...
It’s about us.
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iamakiller · 10 days ago
the anatomy of a killer (6/7)
It might serve you well to read this first.  Mind the trigger warnings.
This isn’t about you.
I never think of you at all.
I certainly don’t recall the color of your eyes.
(Hazel, just like mine.)
I don’t remember the scent of your perfume.  The one Dad bought you when you got that office job, and for a while it seemed like everything was going to be okay.
I don’t recollect the time I broke a plate by accident and it made you so angry that you threw a pan at my head.  You told me you were going to arrange to have me adopted, and I sat out on the front step for three hours, bleeding and waiting for someone to come and take me away.
(I was four.  It was raining, that day.)
I never took to heart the names you called me.
(Weak.  Stupid.  Worthless.  Nothing.  A heartless bastard, just like my father.)
I have never even once reflected upon that final afternoon.
(You looked so surprised when it happened, and I couldn’t understand why.)
(I still can’t.)
I never tried to be whatever you wanted me to be.
(The rules changed every day, and it was exhausting.)
I never comforted you when you were liquored up and crying your crocodile tears.
(“I’m a terrible mother, aren’t I?”)
I never loved you.
(I loved you to death ...)
I’ve never wished that I could have a do-over of that afternoon.
(I was just so angry, and the knife was in my hand, and I didn’t know my own strength yet.)
I’ve never wished that I could ask you the same question you babbled over and over again as you lay on the kitchen floor.
I have never once wished that you could see the deeds that I have done since you’ve been gone.
(I have become your every dark, deep, hidden fear.)
(Aren’t you proud of your creation?)
But this isn’t about you.
It was never about you.
You meant nothing to me.
And I never think of you at all.
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iamakiller · 11 days ago
the anatomy of a killer (5/7)
This isn’t about me, it’s about you.
How I made you ...
The great Greek storytellers lied, when they told the tale of Hades and Persephone.
It is true that Persephone was a child of the springtime.  Everywhere she went, flowers bloomed, harvests thrived, and people rejoiced.  
But in her heart, she longed for winter.
And Hades?
He longed for something he couldn’t even begin to describe ...
The long, sun-drenched days of summer have finally come to an end.  The lush, verdant leaves on the trees that line the avenues of the city have grown dry, withering to dust even as they transform to vivid shades of gold, orange and brown.
Autumn has arrived, and winter is just around the corner.  
I can smell it in the evening air.  I can feel it in the marrow of my bones.
The nights are turning so bitterly cold now.
But together, we are warm.
Persephone had grown weary of late, but nobody else seemed to notice.  They cared only for matters which were light-hearted and easy to comprehend.  
Her friends sang and danced in the fields as gaily as ever, so Persephone tried to ignore her dry throat and leaden limbs to join them, because she had never done anything else.   
But the glib lyrics tasted like bile in her mouth, her once-radiant smile felt like it had been painted on, and poor Persephone suffered in silence as everyone around her made merry.
But someone noticed …
The world around us is shriveling, dying.
But you, my love?
You have begun to bloom.
As the shadows encroach, and the days grow colder, I have been tending you with great care.  Soon, you will reach your full potential.  Soon, your true beauty will be unveiled.  And I, your humble gardener, will be there to appreciate you in all your glory.
When I beckon, you come to me.
With a gentle sigh, you sink down onto me.  Your walls twitch and flutter around me for a moment, and then all is still.
Softly, gently, in perfect unison …
We breathe together.
The world is so quiet.  It feels so peaceful, when I’m with you.
Persephone didn’t even think to ask her friends to come with her, when she walked into the field of flowers she had never seen before.  Somehow, she knew that she must go alone.  
But did she know what she was doing when she grasped the stem of the biggest, brightest flower?
If she did, perhaps she simply dreaded the unknown far less than her current, miserable existence.
Regardless, as she began to pull up the flower, she smiled her first real smile in a hundred years.
My sharp edges have become blurred, but not softened.  I can no longer recognize where I end, and you begin.  Our bodies are joined, and our hearts beat as one.  I understand your mind, because you think just as I do.  I know your soul, because it is the same as mine, isn’t it?
And I have wanted ...
I have wanted ....
I want you to know me.
I want to show you ...
Slowly, I reach for the blade where it rests atop the nightstand, and place it in your hand.
When the earth began to split, and Persephone saw what was inside, she didn’t make a sound, or try to run away.  
Instead, she stared into the darkness, and the darkness stared back at her.  Persephone felt seen for the first time in her life, and she smiled once more.
When Hades held out his hand, she took it.  Gladly.
The blade feels right in your palm, doesn’t it?
It’s beautiful, isn’t it?
Do you see how it seems to glow in the lamplight, as if lit from within by the stories it remembers?  It contains multitudes, just like me.  It is filled with pain … pleasure … history … potential.
My love, I see your potential.  From almost the first moment I met you, I knew what you could become, if only you knew what I knew.
I want you to know.
I want you to know me.
The flame within you has guttered for so long.  You have struggled for so long, and my heart aches for you, as it aches for myself ...
My love, I want to ignite that flame, and watch it rise.
I want to see you burn like me.
“Hold the blade to my throat,” I tell you.
Without a moment of hesitation, you obey.
Hades’ hand wasn’t warm like the sunshine Persephone knew so well.  Instead, it was hot like the surface of the sun.  But it didn’t hurt her, because Hades did not want it to.  Somehow Persephone understood that fact, even though he had not yet spoken a single word to her.
Stern, silent Hades led her down, down, down into the darkness.
Persephone had never been so far from home before, but she was not afraid.  
You feel it, don’t you?  
My pulse beating against the point of the blade.  The blood, coursing through my veins.  My life, balanced on a knife edge.
It’s like a drug, isn’t it?  Intoxicating.  Exhilarating.  
The flame inside you has stopped guttering, hasn’t it?  Instead, it is beginning to grow.  Brighter, hotter ...
You are going to burn so beautifully, my love.
I feel myself harden inside you.  Your eyelids flutter closed, but only for a split second  When you open them again, I find myself dazzled.
With careless benevolence, I have tended you for months.  And now you have finally burst into flower.  You have burst into flames.
With the blade still pressed firmly against my throat, you begin to rock against me.
They walked for a long time, in almost total darkness.  The space felt narrow, the walls felt at times as though they were closing in, and the ground was rocky and uneven.  But Hades knew the way, and he made sure that Persephone did not slip or stumble.
Eventually, they reached the end of their journey, and she found herself in the depths of his lair.  Wide-eyed, she stared around her, and felt confused.
She had often been told of the horrors that lurked in the underworld, but looking around her now, she discovered that not a single word had been true.
This place was dark and hot, but it was beautifully furnished, and so different to anything she had seen before.  Flames roared, and shadows danced on the ceiling.
Persephone had never seen anything so wonderful in all her life.
I hold you.  
I guide you, as I have guided you since the moment we met. 
My fingertips dig into your sides hard enough to bruise, as I look upon the beauty of your form, and I take my pleasure as you take yours.
The hand which is not holding the blade flexes and grasps at thin air until I bring it to rest against my torso. You hold your palm over my heart for a second, and then your nails rake stinging furrows down my chest, and you rock rock rock against me.  
When the blade nicks my skin, you do not stop, but your eyes widen.
I smile at you, with blood trickling down my neck.
I am so proud of you.  Of us.  Of what we will become, you and I.
You smile back at me, reassured.  Your smile is brighter than the sun.  Brighter than all the suns in all the galaxies.  
Brighter than the fires of hell.
“There were others, you know,” Hades said, quite conversationally, as he led the beautiful Persephone further into the depths of his retreat.  “But they did not come willingly.  They did not understand.”
Their corpses littered the floor now.  Some of them still lovely, some of them just fragments of bone, but all of them so empty now.  They had served a purpose once, but Hades couldn’t remember what it was anymore.
Persephone held his hand as he helped her to step over them, and did not say a word.
“Will you dine with me?” Hades asked.  He had never requested before, only commanded, and none of them had ever assented.
Imagine his surprise when Persephone nodded, and followed him to the table, where a sumptuous feast had been laid out for them.
It’s strange ...
My mouth is moving.  I can feel the rumble of my voice in my chest, and in my throat ...  
But all I can hear is the roar of blood in my veins, the thunderclap of my heart, as the flame within you, me, us continues to spread far beyond what I could ever have imagined.
You have probably already realized that I am no wordsmith when I speak, but even though I cannot hear what I am saying, I feel the same sense of clarity, of rightness, that I feel when I commit my thoughts to paper or screen.  If the unknown syllables spilling from my lips are even half as elegant as the ones which adorn the decadent halls and galleries of my mind, then perhaps you understand me better now.
Perhaps you know me …
And then, my voice catches in my throat, and I can speak no more.  
Your hand is steady, the blade stays in place, piercing my skin again even as we begin our final descent.
And you lean in ...
You whisper something to me ...
But I do not understand it in this moment.
We are lost.
We are found.
We are burning.
We are burning, together ...
Hades sat down at the table.  There were a great many chairs to choose from, but Persephone climbed into his lap, and tucked her head under his chin, as though she had always belonged there.  “I’m starving,” she declared. 
It was the first time she had ever spoken to him directly, and her words felt like music to his ears.  If anyone knew hunger, it was Hades.  He had been starving for a thousand years ...
His laugh was rich and deep as he reached out to pluck a pomegranate from an ornate serving dish right in front of where they sat.  “Then eat,” he told her, offering her one single seed.
Surely she knew ...
Surely she understood there was a price to pay ...
But Persephone just smiled, and reached for his other hand, which was holding the rest of the fruit.  When she wrapped her little fingers around his wrist, his skin should have been hot enough to sear her to the bone, but she didn’t feel a thing.  
Hades’ gaze was fixed on her face as she leaned down to take a great bite of the fruit.  As she chewed with great gusto, juice dripped down her chin, until he wiped it away with his thumb.  “How was it?” he asked, when he could find his voice again.
“Delicious,” she replied, reaching for the fruit once more.
Still smiling, she offered him a bite, but Hades shook his head.
He had been starving for a thousand years, but he wasn’t hungry anymore ...
You sleep so soundly next to me.  Your hair feels like spun silk against my fingertips.  You are soft and warm, your jagged edges quelled by your slumber.
As I fold my limbs around you, preparing for another long night of watching over you, the words you whispered earlier come back to me quite suddenly, as clearly as if you had just spoken them again.  
I can almost feel the trace of your breath against my neck, your lips ghosting over the shell of my ear, as you speak so sweetly to me from the depths of your heart …
“I love you, Charlie.”
In the darkness, my eyes snap open.  
I want to hold you closer.  
(I want to push you away.)
My love ...
Oh, my love ...
What have I done?
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iamakiller · 12 days ago
the anatomy of a killer (4/7)
This isn’t about me, it’s about you.
This means nothing to me.
You mean nothing to me.
But ...
You wore that red lipstick I like today.
You laughed at every stupid joke I made today.
You asked me to walk you home today.
And you invited me inside …
You’ve been so lonely, haven’t you?  
You have steeped in your own solitude for so long that it oozes from every single one of your pores.  Your Chanel perfume can’t conceal the stench of it, and I savor each atom of it as I press my face against the crook of your neck and breathe.  I see it in the bead of sweat that trickles down your temple, your cheek, your chin, until my parched lips find it and I taste the bitter nectar that feels all too familiar on my tongue.
(I’ve been so lonely too …)
Your body is brand new to me, but it is not so very different from all the others.  You are not so very different.  And that’s what scares you, isn’t it?  When you were at school, didn’t you pride yourself on not being like the other girls?  All the while trying hopelessly, desperately to fit in …
You don’t want to be like the other girls, but you writhe beneath me like them.  You beg for more like them.  You invited me inside just like them.
You would die so beautifully ... just like them.
But you are not like the others, are you?
There is nothing special about you.  I do not care about this, or you, or her for that matter.
And yet ...
And yet ...
You cling to me as if I am a life preserver and you are lost at sea, and ... I think I understand.  
How long has it been since you were shipwrecked?  How long have you been drowning, asphyxiating on your own heartache?  How long have your nose, and throat, and lungs been filled to the brim?
How long have you been dying?
And perhaps you only clutch at me because I am the closest object to you, and in your terror and confusion I seem solid and reliable.  A safe haven from the storm.
(What if I am the storm?)
Or perhaps I am drowning, too.  Limbs heavy with exhaustion.  Resigned to my fate.  And cold, so cold ...
Shall we sink together, you and I?
Or shall we survive?
This means something to you, doesn’t it? 
I mean something to you, don’t I? 
(Perhaps you even like me half as much as I hate myself.)
This means nothing to me.  You are nothing to me.
But the world looks so beautiful tonight ...
It’s breathtaking.
(Just like me.)
I wish you could see what I see ...
I wish you could understand how everything makes so much more sense when you view it through the bottom of a bottle ...
My vision is hazy, blurred like an oil painting viewed too closely.  I can see every detail intimately, and I cannot make out what the bigger picture is supposed to look like, but somehow it doesn’t even matter.  I can spot every single error, every flaw, but somehow they only serve to make the whole work lovelier.  Perhaps they were always intended to be that way, and they are not mistakes at all.
I wish you could see how every sharp edge has become smooth tonight.  Smooth and so soft.  Like the lamplight in this room.  Like your skin beneath my fingertips.  Like the way you whisper my name as though you know me, as though you are glad that I am here, as though you have been half in love with me all these years ...
And I am in love ... with this moment.  Madly, passionately, as deeply and as intimately as I am not in love with you.
I am moved, enthralled, intoxicated -
But not by you.  Never by you.  But you are here, and so am I, and you made me laugh today, and ...
Hush -
Beyond the roar of traffic filtering through the half-open window, the rustling of bedsheets, the crude slap of skin against skin.  Beyond even our breathing, hard and heavy now, still gasping, still drowning … 
Can you hear it?  
Can you feel it?
The earth, turning slowly beneath us, has begun to tilt on its axis.
Within me, the ice in my veins is shifting, thawing, turning to slush.  Soon it will begin to flow again.  Soon my heart will begin to beat once more.  Soon the fire in my belly will reignite.  Soon I will burn.  Brighter, fiercer, hotter than ever before.
I can barely feel my mask tonight.  I feel light.  I feel as though I am filled with light.  
And I feel ...
I feel …
All the answers I’ve been looking for, that indescribable something I’ve been yearning for might just be within my grasp tonight.  I can sense it.  I can almost touch it.  It’s right there, just beyond my grasp … 
And I reach … 
And I reach … 
And I reach …
And it’s gone.
Evaporated into thin air, like the sweat already cooling on my skin, and yours.  The clarity I felt only seconds ago is receding swiftly, ebbing like the tide.  
I feel hollow, but not empty.  We did not drown, you and I.  
You cling to me, and I to you.  Like two survivors washed up on a distant shore, we cling to each other, with not a single idea of what will happen next.
And even though this means nothing to me ...  
And even though you mean nothing to me ... 
I crush my lips against yours, and let you taste my loneliness, my desperation, my mercy.  My humanity.
For tonight, I am not a monster.
Tonight, I am not a killer.
Tonight ...
I am just ... 
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iamakiller · 13 days ago
the anatomy of a killer (3/7)
This isn’t about me, it’s about you.
This is about the lies you told yourself over and over again, until they became the only truth you knew.  
This is about the life you believed you wanted, until the moment it was within your grasp.
This is about you, you, YOU.
I gave you what you asked for, Nicole.  
I gave you no more and no less than exactly what you thought you deserved.  A picture-perfect wedding.  A beautiful child.  A quiet life in place of the chaotic whirlwind of Hollywood you claimed to hate so much.
Yet even this is too much for you.  But it is also, somehow, not enough.
I am not enough.
And you?
You are bored.
Oh, Nicole, if only you knew ...
If only you knew the sacrifices I have made on the altar of this marriage.  The urges I suppress every single dreary day of my life.  The misery and suffering I endure while we remain together.
If only you knew the man you were married to ...
The mask I wear is impossibly, unbearably heavy.  It fits me poorly, and suits me not at all.  Every single ounce of energy I possess is focused on keeping it in place.  It drains me.  It exhausts me.  Each moment is agony, and I do not know how much longer I can go on like this ...
You love to remind everyone you meet that you used to be an actress, so why is it that I am the one who is putting on a performance?  Every second, every minute, every hour of every day I must find my mark and remember my lines.  But there are no accolades for me.  And the lights never dim.  The curtain never closes.  The audience never applauds.  Instead, this dreadful show must go on … and on ... and on ...
Oh, Nicole …
You used to make me smile.  Do you remember?  I even used to enjoy your company.
I could even have learned how to love you, I think.  
Once the wild frenzy of our early union wore off and we settled into something more peaceful, more sustainable, maybe I could have loved you.  
But I do not think you wanted that kind of love.
Or perhaps you did not want it from me.
Or …
Perhaps …
You did not know what you wanted.
And neither do I, Nicole.  
Neither do I.
I don’t know what you want, and I don’t know who you are, and ...
I don’t think I even care anymore.
(Maybe I never did.)
You still sleep beside me, you open your arms to me, you spread your legs for me.  And I know your favorite color, the foods you hate, the precise location of that spot inside you that makes you scream my name  …
But your mind?
Your heart?
Your soul?
You are miles away.
Where are you, Nicole?  
Who are you?
And who am I, when I am with you?
I do not recognize the man who smiles blandly at your side in photographs.  Who lays under you while you take your pleasure.  Who aches … who pines for something nebulous, incomprehensible, something that lies just beyond the reach of my fingertips ...
I feel dull.  Tarnished.  Forgotten.  Like a blade that has been left out in the rain.  Or a dozen blades, locked in the bottom drawer of a writing desk.  Out of sight, but never out of mind.
(Never, ever out of mind ...)
You may be the star, Nicole, but I am the one who burns so brightly, so fiercely, that I cannot be contained.  I cannot be concealed.  I cannot be stopped.  
(I can’t stop myself.)
Nicole ...
I can’t do this anymore.
You aren’t the only one who is bored.
I am so much more than this wretched form that you have given me.
There is so much more to me than meets the eye.
I need so much more than you are giving me.
(I just want to feel something ... anything ...)
You are going to find out eventually.  
(I will be the one who shoulders the blame.)
But you will never know the whole truth.
You will never know my truth.
And you will never know me.
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iamakiller · 14 days ago
the anatomy of a killer (2/7)
It might serve you well to read this first.  Mind the trigger warnings.
This isn’t about me, it’s about you.
It wasn’t personal until you made it personal.
You made me do this.
The world is such a harsh place, isn’t it?  Cruel, unforgiving, filled with an unbearable cacophony that never, ever ceases.  Oh, how my head aches with it.
And I thought ...
That you could bring me a moment of peace.
And I even thought ...
That you were beautiful.
But now?
Now I see your true form.  
Now I see how grotesque you truly are.
You are a demon, wrapped in the facade of an angel.  And somehow, I am the only one with the vision, the clarity of mind, to realize it.  
And who gave you the right to pass judgement on me?
Who gave you the right to diminish me, to shame me, to torment me?
Your words are like bullets, and you are an expert marksman. Each one finds its target, buries itself deep inside me and implodes, and I have no defense, and my head aches, and my heart aches ...
And you ...
You are lovely, and you are hideous.  
You are impenetrable, yet I have been inside you.  
You want to leave, and yet …
And yet …
I don’t want you to go.
The world is such a harsh place, isn’t it?  You were probably kind once, but life has twisted you, disfigured you beyond your own recognition.  When you look in the mirror, do you even know the person looking back at you?  Is she a stranger?  Do you like her?
(Are you ashamed of who you are, too?)
How about when you look at me?  
What do you see?
I may not be much to look at, but inside, I am beautiful.  A glorious cathedral decked in gold, wrapped in the facade of a long-abandoned building.  The windows are all shattered.  There is unsightly graffiti sprayed all over the walls.  But if you swallow your distaste and step inside ...
Oh ...
The view is breathtaking ...
So let’s try this again.
I’m going to give you one more chance.
I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy, I swear.  More than worthy.
Just look at me.
See me.
There is so much more to me than meets the eye.  
Entire universes live inside my head, and I am their creator.  I am a God among men, and you don’t even know it because you just.  Won’t.  See.
And maybe ...
Maybe that is because you are the one who is unworthy. 
Maybe you are the one who deserves judgement.  
And maybe I was sent here to serve in the role of your judge, jury and executioner.
And you ...
Are ...
You may have fooled everyone else, but not me.  I see you for what you are, and I am repulsed.  I am entranced.  
And I am not ashamed anymore ...  
I know what I have to do.  I’ve done it before.  It was so easy, like breathing, or sneezing, or falling asleep.
I’ll do it again, if I have to; if I want to.  I’ll do it again, and again, and again, and again … until the clamor finally stops, and my head no longer aches, and I find that quiet space I long for, and -
Oh -
Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry.
The world is such a harsh place, isn’t it?  So cruel.  So unforgiving.  So cold.
But no need to worry.  
In fact, there’s no need for you to do anything at all.  I’ll take care of it.
I’ll take care of you.
Because the world ...
Will be a better place ...
When you’re gone.
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iamakiller · 14 days ago
Good to see you back.
-no-name-yet (that might change soon)
It’s good to be back.  This website might be a hellhole, but it feels like home.
I hope you’re well?
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iamakiller · 14 days ago
Hello Mr. Barber. I've missed you.
Ms Sackler.  Or should that be Ms Dameron?  It’s so hard to keep track of things these days ...
I do hope you’ve been keeping well.
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iamakiller · 15 days ago
the anatomy of a killer (1/7)
This isn’t about me, it’s about you.
I exist because you willed it so.  I am your humble servant, entirely at your beck and call.  Your every wish is my command.
I am whatever you want me to be.  A cooling balm to soothe your wounded soul.  A raging flame to rekindle the smoldering embers of your passions.  I am a toy, an avatar, a mannequin for you to pose with to your heart’s content.
I am strong and silent.  I am gentle and talkative.  I am solid, and I am intangible.
I am an open book, filled only with words that you have written..
I am a mirror that shows not who you are, but what you have yearned for in the long, lonely hours of the night while the world around you is at peace.  I am all of your dark, deep, hidden desires, reflected back at you in all of their terrible, glorious, technicolor beauty.
Open your eyes, sweetheart.
Open your eyes and look at me.
This is what you wanted, isn’t it?  I am giving you what you asked for.  I am bestowing upon you the fate which is no more and no less than exactly what you deserve.
And you don’t have to be afraid.  I’ll take such good care of you.  I know just what you want ... because I am what you want.  I am your friend, your lover, your Daddy, your dom, your plaything.  
Nobody loves you like I do.  
Nobody ever will ...
All that matters here is your pleasure.  Take what you want, sweetheart.  I know my place in this world.  I know that without you, I wouldn’t exist.  I am your greatest work, your magnum opus.  And when you are gone, I will cease to be.
But tomorrow …
Tomorrow,  I will be reborn.  Tomorrow, I will reinvent myself as a figment of someone else’s imagination.  Tomorrow, I will serve a new master.
Or perhaps …
Perhaps someone will glance my way, and instead of their own reflection, they will see me.   
(Who am I?)
I am so tired.
I am so bored.
I do not like who I am today.  
I do not think you like who I am either …
Ah, but that’s the trouble with creating a monster.  You see, you never know when it will turn on you until it’s too late.
Close your eyes now, sweetheart.  You don’t have to cry.  I promise I’ll make it quick.
This will only hurt a little ...
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