seraphiism

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ┊ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 , 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

( AT THE END OF THIS STORY, I WALK INTO THE SEA & IT CHOOSES NOT TO DROWN ME. )

chara : scaramouche/wanderer fandom : genshin impact quote cr : jihyun yun a/n : contains scenes of drowning. reader is an angel. not meant to portray a romantic relationship.

ACT I :

A FUNERAL PROCESSION DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING WHEN IT'S YOURS. THE LOWERING OF THE CASKET / THE DIRT AND DECAY THAT COVERS THE ROOT OF BEING. IT IS VOID IN EXISTENCE, & IN PLACE OF WHERE A HEART RESIDES, THERE IS AN ECHO OF WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HUMAN AND WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY.

there is supposed to be a grief that accompanies acknowledgement of loss and death, but in the open wounds of mortality, flesh torn asunder in the killing of a body, a puppet feels nothing.

he stares at the funeral, desolate. it is his, yet he does not mourn. the sight before him is somber, but it is filled with deception, he thinks, and so he reminds himself over and over that he is the one that lies in that casket, dead.

it's easy to forget it's your funeral when everyone there is someone you don't know or someone who pretended to care until it was too late. he cannot recognize half of these faces.

if he opened the casket, would he recognize himself?

"you have experienced both life and death, dearest kabukimono. which do you find to be more beautiful?"

his train of thought is disrupted, gaze shifting to the figure beside him. you have always remained at his side for reasons unknown, denied the existence of guardian angels, but he cannot find any other explanation for the everlasting presence of some supposed divinity watching over him. he could laugh, really. even if you were a guardian angel, you were far too cynical, far too perfect a companion for someone like him.

"i have no heart." the words are filled with spite and hatred and devoured by anger, but beneath it, there is a loneliness, and the ache of it all almost makes you feel something. "you can't experience both if you were made to be a vessel of nothing."

you smile, amused. you study the crowd, its mess of black umbrellas and murmurs and cries. you hear the sobs, but you are certain that there are no tears shed.

"are they mourning for you?"

he laughs, bitter.

"no. not with that pathetic acting."

"they must be very selfish, then." you hum, words spoken more to yourself than anything. "it must be tragic, knowing that your funeral is not full of love and grief. i wonder what would have been more painful for you," you glance at him, but he does not dare look at you, "the absence of the mournful or the false pretenses of sorrow from those who never cared."

you stand next to each other, watch as the crowd disperses, until all that's left is a tombstone with a name he will soon rid of.

"desolate wanderer," your voice is soft, somber, "i am sorry for you. would you like me to say a prayer?"

he does not answer.

ACT I , REVERSED :

the scene changes. the black umbrellas blur into nothing. a coldness washes over him, envelops him entirely in something known as terror. suddenly, it is still. the wretched air is quiet, profound. frightening.

he stands in a body of water, the tides calm, the shore distant. he recognizes this feeling. it is not one he can forget, even when he tries. three times he has known this sensation, the creeping dread, the breaking of something deep inside the void in his chest.

you stand before him, watch as the water drips from your fingertips. your gaze is absent, unreadable, but maybe he sees something so incredibly sorrowful in it. he watches your reflections, notes the feathers that were once part of you. how they float on the surface, lonely and listless, and in the muddled waters, the pure white twists into something black.

"do not be afraid." you tell him, and he watches the droplets trail down your skin, descend into the water from which they came, one by one, slowly.

he could laugh at the words. he wants to say it's human nature to be afraid, but he stops himself-- he is not human, after all, so why does he succumb to fear?

"i'm not."

brash words. liar, you think. but that's okay. you tilt your head ever so slightly, lips curved in a subtle smile.

"are you ready?"

he nods. the water is cold, cruel, invades his senses. there's a numbness that sinks into his skin, but maybe that's an absolution, the cleansing, the awakening. you close the little distance between your bodies, hands cupping his face, tender. there is something in your eyes-- pride, maybe, but he denies himself the possibility. who would be proud of a failed creation?

he closes his eyes. the water grows colder, but there's something warm in his chest, and he does not know whether it is fear or hope he feels the most.

"good night, kabukimono." you press a kiss to his forehead. "may you find something greater on the other side."

your hands slide down, delicate in the way they wrap around his throat, fragile, and in meaning of divinity and reincarnations and sacrifice for something better, you pull him into the waves, further and further and further down until his body loses all sensation, until he can no longer hear the violent sea, until his breath is gone and he is no more.

ACT II :

"balladeer. scaramouche. kunikuzushi. harbinger." you mumble the names to yourself, keep track of them by counting with your fingers. "have i missed any? shall i grant you another warm, endearing title?"

the balladeer scowls at you, though you find it amusing. perhaps in a previous life, you would have surely teased him, pushed it a little further. but in this life, there is a different kind of danger in his eyes, a deeper misery. you do not think you care enough to provoke him-- he could not hurt you, after all, even if he dared.

you contemplate the possibility. he could not hurt you-- not because he'd care too much about you to do so, but simply because you carry the blood of a higher being. he would most certainly try if he knew he could harm you, should you push him to the brink.

what a bitter feeling. you smile faintly at the realization and he does not like it.

"why are you here?"

"i am always here. you've just been given the impression that i'm a thorn in your side."

"are you not?"

"in your search for power and vengeance, have i failed you? was this my fault, the twists and turns in your path to greatness? i can only guide you so much, and all this time, i have watched you walk down the road to destruction." you pause, watch his expression darken with a kind of fury, some kind of hurt. "every name you are known as holds your past. you change it, try to cleanse yourself, but the truth is that you'll always carry it, unforgotten."

"so what did the sea do for me, angel? did you kill my spirit for the sake of your enjoyment?"

you tilt your head once more, smile so exhausted and worn.

"i did not kill your spirit, lonely wanderer. you already killed it long ago." your words hold a dreadful venom, bitterness on the tip of your tongue, rust lining your throat. "the sea could not save you, just as i could not."

he does not know how to respond. he hates that faint apathy you always manage to have, even when he knows it's only a facade at times. he hates that not even a higher power can help him -- but it's always been that way, hasn't it? just like everyone else, you've failed him too. that's what he'll tell himself because that's all he knows.

he turns on his heel, feels the razor edges of your brutality sink into his flesh. he walks, and he does not stop.

"we will try again." he states, command deep in his voice. "neither you or the sea are meant to save me."

you close your eyes, bow your head. somewhere in the silence, you say a prayer. you have never been a savior.

he is not meant for the saving.

ACT II , REVERSED :

the scene changes once more. it's the sea again, that familiar coldness that fails to abate. it's that strange fear again, that uncertainty. and then there's you, there's always you, he thinks. he stares at the reflections once more, distorted by the ripples of motion. your feathers look darker, the harbinger notes, and there are far more than before. he rests his hand in the water, watches as one floats into his palm. his grasp is gentle as he examines it, and there's a flicker of white, then black once more. he wonders if he imagined it.

"you didn't crush it." you comment.

"you thought i would?"

"i don't know." you reply. "you are not always made of carnage." and that familiar curve of the lips. "it wouldn't have hurt in the end, but thank you for your kindness."

his eye twitches, and you laugh. he doesn't know if you're being genuine, and he's going to dwell on this moment for a bit too long, he realizes.

the air becomes heavy once more. you wonder if he is certain in this decision. it is the second time, but the fear remains stagnant, unchanging.

"do not be afraid."

there is something you cannot quite decipher in his gaze-- determination? wrath? you are unsure. you don't bother to question it. you do it all over again, this familiarity-- the ripples in the water as you move closer, hands cupping his face once more. you press your forehead against his, close your eyes just as he does.

"good night, kunikuzushi. may you find something greater on the other side."

you open your eyes. your hands trail down, fingers wrapping around his throat in yet another means of reawakening. his hands rests over yours, eyes still shut, and you feel how they tremble ever so slightly.

the sea is cold, unwelcoming. the plunge is gentle, but the sensation still frightens him nonetheless. you are merciful even for an angel, comes the bittersweet thought, and maybe he isn't worth such benevolence. he's always wondered why you chose to stay by his side, anyway.

he feels the fight leave his body, feels the way your grip tightens to end this suffering just a little faster. your hands are warm, the balladeer thinks, and it is the last thing he remembers before it all goes void.

ACT III :

maybe you truly are not a guardian angel. you have not been at his side for a long while. he thought perhaps it was just that he had forgotten, that maybe you were nearby all along. but your absence has been all too noticed, and he does not like it.

it is... lonely, here. to be forgotten by all, to carry the weight of what was.

sumeru is vast. it is beautiful, bright, radiant. all the things he is not accustomed to. he stands on the highest of heights, watches the endless landscape below him. somewhere, he hears familiar footsteps : light, graceful.

"do you remember me?"

he stills. he's not sure if he wants to see your face, see that perplexed expression, see the way you tell him that you do not. no one else does.

you hum, deep in thought, and the sound is beautiful. how he misses it so. it sends an ache in the hollows of his chest, some kind of longing.

"won't you turn around? it's been a long while since i've seen that grumpy face."

you can practically hear him roll his eyes. it is a moment or two of gathering composure and courage before the vagabond finally turns, and of course, you have that same stupid smile on your face. this time, it is more genuine, and he's not sure how to quite process that.

"i remember you." you answer. "you're far too stubborn and annoying to forget."

he almost feels something beat wildly in his chest, but he does not understand the sensation. there is nothing there, no heart, yet some kind of heartache. you speak again.

"what do you call yourself now?"

he has taken many names, few of them significant. he has not granted one to himself-- no need, he thinks, though he knows that he would not rid of it if he had one. he thinks back to the sea, recalls your many conversations.

"wanderer."

you pause, and he notes that small flicker of recognition in your eyes.

"familiar and fitting." you muse. you close the distance just as you always have in the past, but this time, there is no water, no vicious wave to overtake him. "do you wish to see the sea?"

the words are heavy in meaning, but it is different this time. in your voice there is the quiet pondering of are you happy this time? have you found the right path? did you find it, that greatness? and he understands it.

he freezes. inhale, exhale. he stares at the sight before him, recalls when you once stood with him at his funeral. things have changed now. he is the same yet different, a harbor for sorrow and anger, but a home for something virtuous. his gaze shifts to you once more. this is not the outcome he intended, desired, nor expected. but there's forgiveness somewhere out there, and maybe he'll grant it to himself one day.

"no," he answers, and in his visage, there is just the faintest trace of kindness you once remembered from memories past, "i've had enough of you drowning me."

you laugh softly, see his lips curve just the smallest bit.

"i am glad, dearest wanderer."

#SR

[seraphiism]

arlecchino y ou want me so bad you came home after my mere 3 pulls after not playing for over a year . tjhank you fo rmy life

i want to write for arlecchino . i do not know anything abt arlecchino .

#the gasp i Gusped

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ┊ 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄

( tomorrow / either i will murder you / or you will rinse the knife in water )

chara : arlecchino fandom : genshin impact quote cr : garous abdolmalekian ; ashwarya a/n : i haven't played genshin in forever, this is all based off her character trailer + wiki

act one : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : HIDEOUS , HORRIFYING , HUMANIZING.

the first time you witness the black that adorns her skin is the first time your heart beats in vast terror. a battle gone wrong, tattered clothes and gloves, and then the reveal of the truest & highest self of a harbinger.

you do not know what to do, what to think. you are unsure if it is the adrenaline of survival that makes the life in your chest ache violently so, or if it is the fear and wanting of the unknown.

arlecchino stands before you, yet you do not dare cast your gaze upon her. you swallow hard, eyes following the drips of sanguine that fall from wretched claws. oh, dearest, how they sink into the hollows of the world, forever fragmented into existence in remnant of death. the blood is too much. it's too much-- the way it splatters across her skin, nearly drenching all black until it is an ocean of madness and crimsons and massacres.

your hands tremble. your stomach churns. you look elsewhere, searching for refuge, but the blood follows, and somewhere in its meaning is the death of those it once belonged to, and that makes your heart beat faster and faster until you feel your mind on the verge of break.

"stand."

the blood is too much.

you listen, but still, you do not look. you are afraid, but you are unsure of what.

a sharpness digs into your face, sudden. harsh. her claws press into your skin-- not light, but seldom hard enough to draw blood. you know very well that she could harm you if she desired, yet she doesn't. she jerks your chin up, forces you to meet her gaze.

"it's ill-mannered to not look your savior in the eye."

your mouth runs dry. something unfamiliar gnaws at your humanity.

"i... am thankful that the blood on your hands is not mine."

and in the abyss of black and red, there's just the faintest trace of amusement in the echoes of apathy.

"a simple thank you would have sufficed."

act two : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : FRIGHTENING , FOREIGN , FATED.

you do not know what draws you to her, this harbinger. it has been a long while since your first encounter, and still, you have remained by her side. you do not know why. you do not know why she agrees to your companionship. you question it more often than you'd like.

she is a complexity of things you have yet to unravel, and truth be told, you doubt you will ever understand her, her past, or who she truly is, and maybe it's better that way. that's what you'll tell yourself, anyway, even if it might hurt.

because she is both safety and danger to you, and you wish that frightened you, but it doesn't. you wish that it would drive you away, but it doesn't. she is no sanctuary, no haven, and though she is lined with cruelty, there is not always a coldness in her heart. you know this.

"i did not save you with the intention of keeping your presence." she tells you one day, and you cannot help but smile.

she washes the crimson off her hands. an all too common sight you have grown to adore. you watch in fascination every time, searching the bright red that fades into an everlasting black.

"yet you do not push me away, arlecchino."

she does not respond. she stares at the bloodied waters, the hazy red a familiarity. in her muddled reflection, there is nothing but vacancy.

"no, i don't."

( she doesn't. she should. you both know this. )

act three : BUT THE STAIN OF A CURSED EXISTENCE IS A TREACHEROUS BEING : ADORED , ADMIRED , ANTAGONIZED.

the world is not meant to be viewed in good and evil, but how it is deeply desired so. it would make things simpler, wouldn't it? the truth would be so easy, the war between logic and emotion dissipated into black and white and seldom gray.

that's what you'd like to imagine, anyway. because even in a world full of good and evil, you do not know where you stand, nor do you know where arlecchino stands. your heart beats dearly for her, but you do not know whether it is with love or infatuation or with warning of the end to come.

perhaps it will be a happy ending. perhaps you will not be in it, whether in death or other means.

you are unsure.

you sit before her, staring at the translucent water in the basin. it has yet to be disturbed by another, pure. your reflection is curious, though you are unable to study it for long. your gaze shifts elsewhere as she grabs your jaw; it is a familiar feeling, the way she forces you to look at her.

it's a dark nostalgia, you think. the blood on her claws, the digging sensation in your face, though much gentler than before. you aren't afraid this time. she stares at you, visage empty. she waits.

your lips curve, subtle. there is a strange exhilaration in the mourning of it all, and one day, you will understand it.

"i wonder," you begin, hand wrapping around her wrist, "when it will be my blood on your hands one day."

something in her expression changes. you barely catch it, but even then, you cannot read it. she leans forward, closes the distance between you, her lips just inches away from yours.

"will you be thankful, even then?"

her grip on your jaw tightens, but still, the claws do not draw blood. you wish it did. you grin.

"of course." you answer, and slowly, you press your lips against hers. "i will always be thankful."

#genshin impact x reader #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #arlecchino #gi x reader #this was supposed to be a fluff/comfort fic but then i was like . so what if there was blood. what if they were insane. wh #.: writing

[seraphiism]

i want to write for arlecchino . i do not know anything abt arlecchino .

#the fanart mkes me insane what if we kissed #.: kay talks

[seraphiism]

Hi! I noticed you don't self-reblog your writing posts. Is there a reason why you don't? I've seen many blogs tend to reblog their own posts in case people from other timezones have missed it. I don't really know how posting on tumblr works, but maybe that can help with engagement? I'm not trying to dictate how you run your blog or anything, I hope this doesn't come off that way. I just wanted to share my observation with you ^-^ I hope you have a great weekend!

hello!! i actually do self reblog when my dash is more active, but i don't like it clogging up my blog so i tend to delete them a day or two later-- but yes, i do it every so often! not lately as i haven't really been around on this blog & no worries !! i didn't interpret it as you trying to tell me how to run my blog ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡ thank you very much for sending the tip and trying to help me !! i hope you have a very safe and relaxed weekend as well

#.: asks

[seraphiism]

Your Xavier fic is 😍😍

hehe thank you !! appreciate your kindness and support 💕

#.: asks

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ┊ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

( do you love me enough that i may be weak for you? )

chara : xavier fandom : love & deepspace quote cr : alain de botton a/n : sorry but if i ever made contact with xavier looking at me like That i would burst into tears and then we might even make out or smth

& IN THE DELICATE RIFTS OF HUNTER VERSUS HUNTED, YOU HEAR SOMETHING RINGING IN YOUR EARS, FEEL IT POUNDING SO VICIOUSLY AGAINST THE HOLLOW OF YOUR RIBS. SOMETHING STRANGE BURROWS INTO THE ACHING OF YOUR CHEST, LINES ITS EXISTENCE INTO THE CREVICES OF BRUTALITY AND GENTLENESS. THEY'LL CALL THIS YOUR SURVIVAL, BUT YOU WILL CALL IT YOUR HEART.

the beating of the heart is a very primal thing, you realize. you place your hand against his chest. you listen. you count.

42. 48. 46.

you do not know why you always have to track the beats. maybe it's the touch that brings you comfort. maybe it's reassurance that here and now, he continues to exist by your side. maybe it's the need to know that despite all the injuries, he's okay, he's safe.

it's always the same, isn't it? this slow and steady means of living.

you close your eyes. count again. 49. 44. 45.

you open them, and for once, you dare meet his gaze. your mouth runs dry. you're always afraid to look at him; you seldom know why-- or so you think, but the truth is, you've always known.

"xavier," you murmur, and the space between your bodies is so far and few, "why do you look at me like that?"

you do not move your hand. something beneath it thrives in the presence of your warmth.

49. 49. 51.

xavier tilts his head slightly, that familiar trace of curiosity and kindness in blue eyes. a quiet smile falls upon his lips, and there is something so excruciatingly close to reverence and worship in it that it almost makes you want to cry, and you do not know why.

"like what?"

you stare. you stare and you stare, searching for something you yearn for but are so deeply frightened to discover. your lips part, but the words lodge themselves in your throat, unspoken, in dire need of release. you pause, swallow hard. he can tell you're struggling. his smile does not change, hand cupping your cheek ever so gently in silent means of it's okay, i'm here with you. and somewhere in that little gesture, there's the knowing that he'd wait until the end of time for you to speak if that's what you needed.

"i... don't know." you murmur, and the courage in your voice falters, decayed into absence. "like you could love me or something, i just--"

a moment, a beat, a spark.

your fingers grasp his shirt, tight. scared.

70. 78. 74. 88.

the beats grow faster. you do not break away from his gaze. you search and you search, looking for answers. you are not sure if you'll find what you're looking for, but in the way his smile grows just the slightest bit, and in the way his thumb grazes over your cheekbone, you are almost certain you understand what his heart calls for.

he leans in, just a little closer, lips just inches from yours.

you hear something beating, feel something beating, and you cannot tell whether it is your heart or his. your breath hitches, waiting.

a closed distance. a kiss to your forehead, your nose. you close your eyes at the sensation, letting out a shaky exhale.

"look at me."

his words are as soft as ever, and when you open your eyes, you sense a different kind of warmth in his. his thumb continues to trace over your skin-- a ghost of a touch, but more than enough.

"i do love you." xavier murmurs, and he presses his lips against yours, gentle, devout. "i love you, forever and always."

another kiss, endless. you are not sure who loses themselves in the other first.

you pull away, just barely, fingers clutching onto his shirt like a lifeline. you feel your cheeks burn, and you almost wish to tear your gaze away from his. but you don't. you smile, letting out a soft laugh before you kiss him once more.

"i love you too," you answer, "forever and always."

#love and deepspace x reader #love & deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #just an fyi . i am so behind on the story so if theres smth going on with his low HR. i do not know abt it . #i haven't written since like jan </3 i am sorry if it is rusty #.: writing

[seraphiism]

[ IF NO ONE HAS EVER TOLD YOU ABOUT YOUR FATE, I WILL BE THE FIRST | pathologic ]

This is my entry in the Seraphiism '23 event! By of course, the lovely @seraphiism . I'm trying out a new format/writing style, so lemme know what you think <3

WARNINGS: A little blood, nothing graphic WORD COUNT: 3.2K (This got away from me)

{ I.THE BOUGH KEEPER IS SACRIFICE FIRST, SOLDIER SECOND, AND LAST OF ALL MAN}

And least of all, yours. The weight of eternity weighs heavily on his shoulders, but he presses on, and you mourn him for it. He pays the price of honor enacted by a far lesser man of his past, takes up arms and spills blood in the scorn of the divine. Because of Destiny’s decree.

You try to imagine it–eternal penance for a crime you could hardly remember. You imagine bearing a sword and a curse, one and the same, for hundreds of years, and your heart recoils at the misery that wraps around it. You can hardly believe that that is to be his fate-you refuse to. It cannot truly be his choice, not one made in any good faith at least. Or perhaps any faith at all.

You suspect he lost it ages ago.

“Do you ever think…” You begin hesitantly. “That you could leave it behind? All of it?”

Dainsleif, your lover, sets down his book. It's one of the ones you’ve kept around, and it seems he finally has time to peruse them, however borrowed that time it is.

“All of it?”

“...Yeah.” 

“No. No.” He reiterates. And he smiles for you, because he knows how much it makes your heart warm. 

“I can't abandon my duty, neither can I abandon you. They are one and the same.  You are…woven into me. Cutting you off from my life would be cutting away the fabric of my soul. I could never.”

“...Why do you feel they’re one and the same?” A weight on his heart. Perhaps.

He fingers the worn pages of the book, his eyes dark in thought.

“I have a responsibility to the world, and you are a part of the world.”

“Those two sound so very far removed. I'm just one person, but if I could decide, my sole desire would be just to rest with you.”

He chuckles, good naturedly, like always. “If the world was ruled by our desires, I'd have been forever and solely yours already. And there would be no gods, but you.” For a man who rages and detests the divine, you’re not sure how to feel about that.

“But alas, the world often ignores our most fervent desires, unless we force it to acknowledge us that is.” A weight tugs his brow down, and his features buckle under it. Something like grief. “And that…is a very hard thing to do.”

“Alas.” 

You nod, and return to your wayward gaze out the window. You imagine a life where he lives for you, and nothing else. You try to deny in your mind that he would want anything else. What could he find out in the world that he cannot find in your arms? A cursed man, believing himself content in penance and self flagellation, of service to the world at large.

But he is yours. You deny the world in his place.

{II.THERE IS A ROT THAT REPLACES THE MARROW OF HIS BONES}

It is woven into him, and he cannot escape it. He has long stopped trying.

It wears and tears at his soul, and marks his skin in scars, and he continues on.  Fate has decreed that he will do so forevermore, until the day the abyss drags him down into its depths, its spindly fingers already grasping at him in twisting, molted blues. But he tries, because when you kiss the expanse of cursed flesh, a blissful smile on your face, a sudden rush of heat makes his skin prickle. It’s not love, though he loves you. It's rage.

Its disgust, and sick vitriol. You deserve better, you deserve more. You don't need this broken tapestry of pieces clinging onto some semblance of humanity. You don't need your nights interrupted by his nightmares, or his form clinging to your doorway, bloodied and offering the only tribute he knows to your altar.

He does not worship the Gods, but he knows something more divine, having long since slipped into the pews of your chapel.

“...I’m sorry.” You rush towards him, and he leans into the shoulder you offer him, letting you pull him into your bathroom where he stains the white porcelain.

“If you were sorry–” you huff as you set him down. “You wouldn’t get hurt so often.”

You pull out the first aid kit, and set to patching him up, removing layers of clothing to see the hurt beneath. He hardly winces, but his heart tugs.

“...You know I can't help myself.”

“You’re just one man, Dainsleif, there's too much for you to do on your own. And we both know this is about more than just your honor, or duty.”

“...Yet I am beginning to wonder,” he mumbles as you wipe away the blood. “Whether it has always been my fate to deny Fate.”

“What do you mean.”

You sound too upset for it to sound anything like a question. A demand, perhaps. He sighs. He is tired. So tired. He’s always been.

“Whether Fate is truly something we can overcome, or whether my rage is just a by-product of providence. If it was all preordained.” He shuts his eyes.

“The Gods that cursed us, the people and the nation I failed, my curse, my duty and obligation; I wonder if you too are foredoomed, just another predilection.”

“Is that why you do all this? To prove, what? Fate wrong?”

He doesn't answer, but he does open his eyes to see your mouth flatten. You continue patching him up, taking care of him, but he sees the way your eyes tremble.

“...Or perhaps just self-actualization?”  

“...I have an obligation to the world, and to you–”

“Don’t say that, don’t pretend that this is for me, this is not for me. You’ve been doing this long before I was a thought on the breeze.” Centuries wear down his memory, but the tug of your mouth and brow pulls at him like a drawn bow, piercing through the fog of his fatigue.

Your shoulders shake next. “So if I asked you to stop, would you?”

He doesn't answer, even when the tears spill from your eyes.

“I don't care for fate, destiny or whatever. I care about you. Keep your honor, keep your anger, but stay with me. Is that not enough?”

“....It’s for you, too.”

“...I don't appreciate being your excuse, Bough Keeper.”

Celestia always watches, but even he cannot help but utter a prayer to some unknown god, that their eyes do not fall on this wayward moment.

He is fine with cursing the stars, his fate, with breaking body; he is fine with letting the heavens bear witness to his rage.

But not his grief.

It settles, thick and cloying on his tongue. The sour tang drowns out everything else.

{III.HE WILL NOT CHOOSE YOU. WHEN DESTINY TUGS AT HIS CLOAK AND BIDS HIM LOOK, HE WILL TURN FROM YOU}

You know he wishes he never met you. That he never fell in love with you. You try to take it as a compliment.

You would give anything to remove the burden on his shoulders, if only he were not so adamant on carrying it. You do not see the reason why–you would rather love a coward than mourn a legend. You would rather he stays home with you, in your arms, than leave and come back, over and over and over and over again.

You know he wishes he never knew you.

Dainsleif, he holds you, works in the garden with you, bathes with you, loves you–but his hands are tense, and his eyes stray to the world outside your window. You at least know that when he is gone, that he leaves because he is thinking of you, that he cannot handle being perceived by you for too long; It renders him asunder.

“Like a predator, staring at the open carcass of my soul,” he once said. “You just make me feel so…”

‘So what?’ You had wanted to ask, but you had known better, didn't he just tell you? So you acquiesce, but on the inside you ache. You plead and you beg, and you don't let the words spill past your lips; You hold them in your chest and your eyes and watch him leave.

You trade chaste kisses for letters in your mailbox, blissful sighs for dandelion fluff on the wind. Your love is like a hot air balloon, you cannot keep him close but you can keep him tethered even as the rope frays and tears at your hands.

Welcome him back with them open, and settle for apologetic kisses on your knuckles, from your knight, for a ring on your finger. No god would hold your marriage sacred, anyways, despite your tears.

“And what knowledge have you gleaned from your travels this time, my love?” You smile. Please don’t leave me again.

“Nothing that I don’t already know dearest.” I’ll do anything. Just give me the word. Just give me the knife.

“Which is?” Why don't you ever ask me? You know I'll do it.

His eyes, so deep and somber. They know, but they don't answer. “Fate has foretold that I will return here, as always.”

“Of course.” And he will always leave. 

{IV. WHAT IS IT LIKE TO LOVE SOMEONE WHO IS ALWAYS RUNNING, ONE FOOT OUT THE DOOR? TIME DOES NOT SIT STILL, FOR NO ONE.}

Celestia is always watching.

Even here in this quiet moment, where the night holds vigil to the stars' homily, as they drag their forms past that pale corpse of a moon.

It's a still moment. He has removed you from his arms and you continue to sleep peacefully, your chest rising and falling, your heart the drum that starts off all his nights and days.

He is going to lose you, but before that he will lose himself.

Even now, he could feel the curse, like an ever burrowing parasIte, slowly consuming him. It replaces him. Eats away at him, fills him with rot, and he has the audacity to find solace in  your garden. You dig out the rot and replace it with something far kinder, but that doesn't stop the curse from growing.

He is like an inteyvat flower. Hardened and unable to wilt unless placed back in the soil of his home. You’ve decided to love a dying man, and stand vigil, always, at his never ending wake.

Sunshine from a past life. Peers who trusted him and stood at his side and back, carrying the weight of honor. He doesn't remember them, but he remembers the sunshine. He remembers how he failed them. He remembers only what he can and only knows what he should. And he knows this tale like the back of his hand, the curve of your cheek.

This was fated to end in tragedy.

You move in your sleep and he startles. You roll over, and Dainsleif waits until you settle, to breathe easy again.

He can not reconcile who he is with the man he was before he met you. He doesn’t wish to go back, but he muses on how much easier it would be. He could deny the Gods, defy Celestia, the Archons, even Heavenly principles, even Destiny. But he cannot choose to remain alongside you as well.

He mourns this indecisive fool you turned him into. He will not survive without you, but that is alright because it has to be. Not every story has a happy ending, but every story needs a narrator. He'll re-read your scripture and memorize your chapters for as long as you remain, and even after.

And he will remain long after you are gone.

{V. IF NO ONE HAS EVER TOLD YOU ABOUT YOUR FATE, I WILL BE THE FIRST}

The sunlight paints the fields honey and gold, and soon it will be time to return to your little cottage. There will be cherry wine waiting on the table, and some mending you still need to finish, but beyond that you take in this moment, drink it down greedily; an open bud unfurling like a fist to an open palm, demanding the world its due.

Your lover on the other hand does not share the same attitude. His head rests in your lap, but you feel the restless energy in him, and stay still in the hopes of encouraging him to do the same. It doesn’t work.

“Settle down, Dain.”

“I am calm.”

“No you’re not. You’re fidgeting.”

“...I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave soon.” Ah. As always.

“Then all the more reason to relax now, while we have the time.” He scoffs at that word, time. He rises to meet your eyes, and you smile at his mussed hair.

“I might be away longer than I usually am. I’m not sure how long I'll be away for.”

You crack a knuckle in anxiety. “But you’ll be back, of course?”

He only pauses for the slightest of breaths. “Of course. Will you still want me back?” Your face takes on an exasperated look, but he waves it away.

“Do you not get tired of waiting, always? Are you not tired of constantly grieving, of having to love this broken piece of tapestry?” You are shaking your head before he's finished.

“No. If you are torn I will mend you. If you’re just a piece of tapestry then I’ll stitch you onto something better.”

“Leave behind these metaphors and poetry. I would rather believe you pity me rather than actually love me.”

The words hit a chord deep inside you. It carves a gorge, and anger rushes in to fill it.

“So what? You would rather me love a stranger? Someone who would understand me less than you do?“ You stare him down.

“..If I must–”

“‘Must’? Well you don’t. And by whose order? Whose words? Is that truly something you would allow, or what you tell yourself you should let happen?” His face doesnt twist, but you know the tint of misery that spreads under his skin. It's blue-black, like a bruise, like the stretch of his right arm.

“No. You will truly be damned thrice over if you allow that. You are so content to let the world, to let fate, decide how things are and should be–I don't believe in that. My fate will be what I say it is, and I say you will be with me forevermore. If you must leave, then leave, but come back to me, don’t let go of me!”

“I am ruined,” A wave rustles the grass, like a crowd gone silent. “I am ruined, cursed, damned as you say. You do not want this. You should not want this.”

“I don't believe that, and you shouldn’t either. Who has told you this, has Celestia personally decreed your fate? Or do you continue to let tragedy be the narrator of your life?” You grasp his face, pull him closer to your eyes.

“I have you. I want you. And it is reciprocated, As long as that is, things will not change. I refuse anything else.”

His eyes go back and forth between yours, and he sighs.

“As long as I breathe, I will return to you. But that does not change the fact that this was never supposed to be. If not by destiny’s nature than my own; It is only a matter of time before this too, ends.” 

“Then forget what fate or destiny has told you. I am your fate, I am both your penance and redemption. If no one has ever told you about your fate then I shall be the first.”

Ans he is drawn, he listens like your words are rapture, like the first believer in the front pew of a sermon. So you smooth back his hair, and speak a prophecy.

“We will go home, and pick the tomatoes in the garden. They’re ripe now, and we’ll use them in our dinner. We’ll wash the dishes, unwind. Bathe. I’ll wash your hair and you’ll scrub my back. The sun should have set by then, so we can go to bed. As it gets darker I could read to you by candlelight, or, we could make love.”

“We’d need another bath, and to change the sheets then,” he mumbles, the slight pink hue high over his cheekbones.

“So would you rather we make love earlier? Or in the bath to save time?” You grin, and it draws soft breaths of laughter from your lover. You go on with your spiel.

“We’ll go to sleep together as always, and in the morning you’ll be baptised by the morning dew and the fresh brewed coffee. Much like today, you’ll laze in the fields with me, and when the time comes for you to leave, I'll give you my blessing, and my hopes as always, for you to come back to me.”

“So forget duty, when you are with me. If you are cursed I will be your balm. If there is rot in you I will scrape it out, and use it as fertilizer for my garden.“ He scoffs under his breath.

“You think this is a burden easy to unlade.”

“Yes, if you would only just let it. For by my decree, the Twilight sword shall be laid to rest in my presence, for I will be it's sheathe.” You only half jest and he looks at you quizzically.

“Did you just make an innuendo–”

“--And your words shall always be sweet, for my kisses shall honey your breath.” You kiss him to emphasize, or to quiet him, and he leans into you with a shudder, like a cat seeking affection, only something more desperate.

“If you care not for starlight, I will fasten you a crown of dandelions,” you continue. “And garb you in silks and sighs.”

“Fanciful daydreams,” He mutters, eyes closed. You trace the faint veins on his eyelids , violet blue in the dappled sunlight. 'Like crocuses.'

“Not when I’m with you,” you shake your head. “I’ll make them a reality, I swear. On all the love I have for you.”

He shakes his head in answer, a denial ready on his lips.

“The Twilight sword––”

“As I said– Shall be laid to rest in my presence.” You look at him as if to dare him to refute. He doesn’t.

You turn tender. You scot closer, practically in his lap now, if only to see his lashes flutter, pupils dilating.

“If you do not worship a god you may worship me, as I do you. That is your fate.”

“...Alright.” He sighs then, shakes his head, as to rid himself of the trance you put him under. He stands, and offers a hand to you.

“Alright then. Let your words be what I live by–I am yours, if you so say.”

You take his hand and head home.

#hello !! c: thank you for joining the event !! very grateful #and very sorry to reading this so late! i am very eggcited #but first off i love the banners!! so aesthetic and pretty #i love pathologic i am glad u chose a quote from it ... #AND ALSO the first sentence is so good already ?? the bough keeper one i am instantly immersed . i am locked in . seat belt ON #'you are woven into me' the way my jaw dropped a little bit. so what if i kissed u dain #so maybe i am a dain lover now with this singular sentence #'AND THERE WOULD BE NO GODS BUT YOU' i am a dain lover now. whipped immediately thank you #'but he is yours. you deny the world in his place' SJASKDFKSHJFIUOJND #i have a bad feeling abt the rest of this fic and i dread the angst but oh my god !! #the first part is SO good already im having such a good time fr #but your writing is so so good and i loooooove the dynamic and dialogue #'he does not worship the gods but he knows something more divine' im going insane. im going insane #'keep your honor/keep your anger/but stay with me' #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH #im so bad at commenting on fics but omg!! i rly cannot get over their relationship !! #and i esp love the whole discussion abt overcoming fate #and augfhgh 'i don't appreciate being your excuse' yes reader get his ass rn #'he will not choose you' immediately i deadpanned at the screen. i adore this sentence though to start off this portion #'you try to take it as a compliment' ): #'no god would hold your marriage sacred' im going to explode. what if i exploded. #'JUST GIVE ME THE WORD JSUT VBIE ME THE KNIFE' respectfully i am placing my hands on your shoulders and staring at you until #i burst into tears. oh my god. smth abt that kind of things . love and strife and the representation of the knife drives me crazy #i do adore the reader's anger though like. they have been so patient and kind. i love this little exchange in the last section #it's so realistic. like you can obviously feel their love and dain's grief BUT there's also so much strain on both of them #despite their patience for each other and knowing that what they have isn't ideal in the slightest esp vs the gods and fate #augh... but i love the idea of fighting fate and staying strong separately and as lovers and not giving in #they remind me of the the 'it's rotten work / not to me / not if it's you' so much #'if there is rot in you i will scrape it out' the intimacy in your writing is so ... i could print this out and eat it and be fed forever #I LOOOOOOOOOVED THIS omg i will truly think abt this for the rest of the day

[seraphiism]

online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.

and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.

there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.

i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.

#happy sunday :^) i grow very sentimental abt those i've interacted with through my writing whether it was recently or years ago #thank you for all the support and please take care #.: serene sundays 🌿

[seraphiism]

sorry i haven't posted my work for your writing event (2023), but i am keen on joining your 2024's writing event! can i claim

are you capable of loving anyone at all?

the blog i'm posting with is @/thomine! :)

hi friend !! no worries, there's not really a hard deadline so please take as long as you'd like :^) and yes, i have you down for that quote.

#.: asks

[seraphiism]

lwk it's getting harder n harder to get notes as a sfw writer on tumblr, like u said some of my posts that would've easily hit like 1k notes barely gets 50 and it makes me so sad cuz i rlly don't know what to do abt it 😭😭😭

it truly is, and even then for sfw fics, there is a very specific type of genre/style that people prefer tbh. it can be really disheartening and i am sorry you experience this as well ): but please know it isn't your writing or style in itself, it's unfortunately how fandom culture and reception have shifted over the years. i am sure you're a wonderful writer and i wish you luck and hope you get all the love and attention your works deserve !!

#cheering for you !! #.: asks

[seraphiism]

hi!! i'm not super active anymore but i want you to know that i really love to read you writing when i stumble across it; i have reread so many of your works and i feel like they should be considered a separate experience entirely,,, i feel like i wholly get transported somewhere else when i read you work. the way you are able to take second person pov and write some of the most immersive writing i've read is amazing. i have so much genuine admiration for your skill. i understand why you want to delete your blog,, feedback/reception these days feels like its been at its lowest :( whatever you choose to do, i hope u'll know that you've inspired me much more than i can express in words.

-lots of love, from someone whose followed you for years 🫧

hello !! i just want to start out by expressing my thanks, you truly did not have to take the time to message me but you did and i am really so grateful for that. i don't even know what to say, i've reread this so many times and it makes me a lil emotional every time lol i appreciate you reading and supporting my work, and i am so so happy to hear such kind things, it's kind of surreal tbh and with the way feedback goes these days... please know you've given me some push to consider staying :^). i wish i could give a more coherent response but i'm just so !!!!!! i will think abt this message for a long time, thank you for all your love and support all these years !!

#)):::::::: i am so like . i wish i could say more but its jst me on my knees cryin punching the air #.: asks

[seraphiism]

oh ... the crippling thought of nuking this blog <3 ( haunting )

#i thought abt like . remaking. but then i also thought : what does it matter anyway #i know it's not my writing + it's not personal; the lack of reception and engagement #exhibit a: improving/reposting work that got 200+ notes yrs ago only to get < 30 now #yes i love writing + absolutely i love my work but at some point it's just tiring sometimes #.: kay talks

[seraphiism]

hiii this is the anon that told you about the weird symbols!! i copy and pasted the part where i see them and while it looks normal here:

╭┈ ･･･ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐌

it looks like this to me :

╭┈ ･･･ [weird symbols here]𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐌

so idk if it's based off my own device or just a glitch either way so sorry if it ends up being just a "my device" kind of thing but yeah!!!

hello!! so sorry for the late response! i see what you mean! i think it is a device thing c: no need to apologize !! thank you so much for being kind enough to let me know, i really appreciate it

#.: asks

[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. )

#genshin impact #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #.: writing

[seraphiism]

╰ ♡ ;; 𝟒[𝐡] ┊ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 • 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒

❝ 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄. ❞

name : YoRHa No. 4 Type H [ original character ] fandom : nier:automata a/n : tw suicide full bio ; iirc there is an established role for H models already in nier but im going 2 ignore tht and make my own

╰ P R O L O G U E : START

YOU ARE BOTH CREATION & CREATOR, BORN WITH A FALSE SENSE OF PURPOSE. YOU ARE MEANT TO FIGHT, TO GUIDE, TO PROTECT, AND SOMEWHERE IN THE ABSENCE OF A HEART, YOU ARE MEANT TO LOVE.

SOMEWHERE IN THE ABSENCE OF A HEART, YOU LEARN OF HUMANITY. YOU LEARN TO LOVE WHAT IS MEANT TO BE SACRED, WHAT IS MEANT TO BE SAVED, AND YOU ARE FILLED WITH SUCH AN INCREDIBLE LONELINESS.

YOU ARE NOT HUMAN. YOU ARE ANDROID. YOU SHOULDN'T FEEL THESE THINGS.

IT WILL HURT YOU IN THE END. IT WON'T BE YOUR FAULT.

( YOU ARE MEANT TO LOVE AND ENDURE FOR SOMETHING THAT NO LONGER EXISTS, THIS DECREPIT HUMANITY THAT YOU BELIEVE SURVIVES, BUT THEY WON'T TELL YOU THAT, WILL THEY? )

╰ a c t • o n e :

YOU'VE LOST IT ALL, BUT YOU NEVER HAD IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, DID YOU?

a widespread illness. an invasion of the enemy. an ongoing war, a stalemate that turns the tides. android vs. machine.

you do not know what happens. you do not know how it happens, but everything turns into a mess of crimson and crimson and crimson and crimson and there's blood everywhere on everyone on EVERYTHING and ──

you don't understand. why is this happening? why is this happening? why is this happening WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WRONG?

you are surrounded by death and decay and destruction; your allies turn into something they are not, minds ravaged with a vicious virus that overtakes them. they are losing themselves as it consumes and consumes and consumes, chaos feeding on malice as they are overwritten with despair and fury, minds rewired to kill each other in the cruelest of ways.

you cannot tell what is going on -- not until they turn on you, not until they attack you, not until they try to kill you, rip you apart. you have no choice. you have to survive.

YOU HAVE TO SURVIVE.

( you kill the very ones you once trusted.

you were meant to protect the ones you loved. you didn't.

you didn't. )

╰ a c t • t w o :

SYSTEM ERROR : VIRUS DETECTED PROPOSAL : REMOVE IMMEDIATELY

the infection takes hold of you, too. it spreads and spreads, and it is almost as if you can feel it-- but you know it's not real, that you can't, because the blood in your body is fake : a false pretense, a pretend play to connect you to humanity.

it is not real, it's not, but you feel it so deeply that you are afraid.

you cannot survive this. you cannot eradicate the virus. you look at the bodies before you, wonder how many you have killed. you will become one of them. it will happen soon.

you are going to die.

( your eyes well up with tears. it stings.

it shouldn't, you think, YOU AREN'T HUMAN, ANYWAY. )

╰ a c t • t h r e e :

VIRUS UPLOAD : 25% PROPOSAL : REMOVE IMMEDIATELY

sensorimotor systems altered and malfunctioning.

your legs grow weak, give out. it's hard to walk, hard to run, hard to fight.

VIRUS UPLOAD : 50% PROPOSAL : REMOVE IMMEDIATELY

visual systems error.

it's all a haze, a blur. specs of blue and green and red flood your visual field. the colors give way, slowly fade into oblivion, washed away into a black and white. the greens of the earth -- the only surviving thing near you, turn desolate.

( YOU'RE GOING TO LOSE ALL OF YOURSELF, AREN'T YOU? )

╰ a c t • f o u r :

WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE?

your skin is stained with blood-- red red red red everywhere --

you are afraid. you are so afraid. you are going to die and you are going to die quickly-- the virus will take over, and you will be rendered useless, and they'll kill you. they'll give you the cruelest death -- you, who only dream of peaceful means and better days.

( I'M SO SORRY, LOVE. YOU WERE ALWAYS MEANT FOR DEATH. )

╰ a c t • f i v e :

VIRUS UPLOAD : 75% PROPOSAL : REMOVE IMMEDIATELY

there's no use anymore. no use in fighting, no point in running. your legs are numb, give out at any attempt to move. you can hardly walk, try to drag yourself through the massacre, try to survive something that cannot be survived. all functions damaged.

you still feel the pain, though. you wonder if it was a blessing or curse to be designed as human. to feel everything just as they do.

( YOU NEVER NEEDED TO FEEL PAIN, NEVER NEEDED TO HAVE EMOTIONS, NEVER NEEDED ANY OF THIS. YOU COULD HAVE EXISTED AND CARRIED OUT YOUR MISSION WITHOUT THIS PAIN, YET THEY GAVE THIS ALL TO YOU. )

╰ a c t • s i x :

the end comes closer and closer. your hearing turns into something ruined -- you try to speak, but you can only hear bits and pieces of yourself, of your struggle, of your fragile voice. there's too much static, too much white noise, and in the expanse of black and white, it almost feels like you have been thrown into purgatory before death will take you.

it is cruel. this is so terribly frightening. this is so terribly painful.

the machines are catching up to you, and you almost want to laugh. you were born with the purpose of protecting humans and killing the machines destined to slaughter them. you thought you would die fighting, but you can't. your energy is gone.

did you do something to deserve this?

( you gasp for breath, a shaking hand grasping onto your sword as you plunge it into the ground, seek purchase from it as you collapse on your knees.

you can't die like this. they'll kill you, they'll kill you in the harshest of ways. you don't deserve this. you don't. if there is one thing you can control, you think, your hands trembling so violently, it will be your death. )

╰ a c t • s e v e n [ END GAME ; GOODNIGHT, LOVE ] :

you can't die like this. you can't die like this, you can't, you can't, you can't. your chest hurts with each sob, but you cannot even hear yourself, the glitches and distortion so prominent with the static that rings in your ears. you will not grant yourself the cruelest ending, even if your means of death are sorrow itself.

you've lost everything, haven't you? you poor thing, born of something that lacks significance, having hope for something long dead. you foolish little thing, so sad and so close to death. you didn't have to feel this much, but they made you, and so you feel the fear more than anyone because that was how they programmed you.

the machines are closing in. it will happen soon, this fate. you won't let it. you can't.

you smile, hardly register the tears that trail down your face. your vision keeps fading in and out, your limbs heavy.

YOU'VE LOST EVERYTHING, HAVEN'T YOU?

your bloodied hands tighten around the sword. the pain is excruciating, radiates through your body as you raise it.

you've lost everything, haven't you?

VIRUS UPLOAD : 99% PROPOSAL : PROPOSAL : PROPOSAL : PROPOSAL : PROPOSAL : PROPOSAL : yo̹̻̳r͎̞͢h̟͖̖a͇͓͓ ͔͍̹͇̦̲u͚̯̜̤ṉ̥͚̣i̙̻̱̭̬̩ͅt̸͍̬ ̜̥̗̩ͅͅ4̘͍͇͎̯͈͙́h̸ ̡̲͓̳̣͕o̝ffl͚͓̳̩̫̣ͅi̫͉ͅn̷͇͇̭̙ę͎̥͉͖

#4h is my baby baby #SR

[seraphiism]

What do you remember of that other world?

#.: original