#give me a valid reason to hug Cutthroat so I don't continue looking insane for sympathizing with him

[hisredhysteria]

"And my one true love called me a monster."

Note: I love Courier, so it kinda made me sad to write the end but.....I love Cutthroat just a little more -? This is not very well written— the concept was a spur choice, but it's a little inspired by Gretel's route in Taisho X Alice.

TW: Abusive, yandereish//possessive behavior, blood, guns, violence...also not completely proofread, and Cutthroat may be a little ooc to fit a more yandere like stereotype — (?)

Summary: I literally never know how to summarize anything I write. So basically, Cutthroat kidnapped you and keeps you in a cage. Everyday now, he brings you a new jar filled with a red substance—

Your hands had been cold to the touch, icy from the light snow that dusted the icier glass ground beneath you. Something hurt, inevitably so—it seemed like the tension would seize to be relieved. If it wasn't the very thought of him that haunted you at every ominous echo, it was the numbness that spread throughout your weakening circulation.

Ropes that bound you were coated—coated in terrible essence of an elixir handed to you. A look of delight on his innocent face, upon the jar it'd been in was a ribbon so red it outshined the contents. No way to refuse his delicate gift, you were allowed a game of pretend with every clear glass that came. Like a cat tied to it's owner, his supply of love was seemingly endless. A familiar present to behold you was everyday, tasking you to act as though the jars of cherry red syrup pleased you. Accepting them with a hesitant smile, it was all you'd manage for the moment until you dared to push them away.

His pure sanity seemed skewed, at least, enough to imprison you. That being so, despite his limitless amount of encased crimson poison, you rarely thought to open the jars that came. Much to your capturers dismay, his pale eyes still implored you to do so with all his thoughtful gifts. Nonetheless, a little bit wise with suspicion, you held back. Now—here they lay, piled a mile high at the side of your antique cage.

"C'mon..." He huffed, eyes soft at your hands. "They're only for you, my angel... please....?"

Loneliness ate away at you, even so close to him. It's not as if you never opened a jar. The man himself even noted the crusted over, deeply rose colored ropes were every indication of that. You'd been desperate enough for escape at one point, hysterically spilling the jars amongst your own aching wrists. Sliding through the binds of knotted rope was impossible however. Even if he gifted you a stick of butter to melt, your hands would never separate far. Only far enough to open the jars with a bit of adequacy.

A simple conversation could be all that caused you to cave. All except for the clothes that gave you a hint. The knife that gave you a clue. Even the smell this time was despicable.

"Maybe next time....?" You said, or one could even say asked.

At your words so quiet his eyes would wander, wander to the stack of untouched jars filled with red all placed towards the side of your bird shaped enclosure. A pout was what you earned yourself because your lie was no better than his. Soon enough a tapping noise hummed at the top of the lid as his jar was tight in your hand.

"I promise it's special this time though..." He whined, a fingernail tracing the circular decor bejeweled at the cap. He was right, it at the very least looked special, but with his words you could only fear what exactly made this one any different than the others.

"Is it...-?"

"His~?"

Your eyes grew wide as you pulled the jar further from his lingering reach. You didn't expect him to say anything of the sort, but it would only be so long until one of his jars came back with the blood of someone you knew.

"Cutthroat...? Don't tell me..." You answered back in a choked voice, tears threatening to flood your cage if the bars hadn't been so wide.

"I was looking for him everywhere... I found him though..! I thought maybe you'd like it..." He was all too cheery to add, the smile on his face hiding his devious intent.

Your eyes were glassed over, now staring back at the jar he had gifted you with. Shattered to frail pieces was your heart because you only knew who the contents of today's jar truly belonged to. It hurt worse than your bound wrists to remember when he'd taken you away and if your intuition was right, the person you were with when he had was still out there searching for you. Hugging the jar close to your chest would offer stale comfort, if only you could. But for now, all that was left close to your chest was dwindling hope.

"You're a monster...."

His innocently twisted smile began to fade and in its place was the look of confused irritation "Huh...? But he was getting in the way...if I didn't stop him soon he'd take my angel from me."

"I never belonged to you though..." You reminded him, slowly backing into the other side of your enclosure.

"Of course you did. He was the one that took you from me. Now that you're all mine though, maybe there's really no need for that jar at all....?" His finger on his chin as he gave it hard thought, Cutthroat's arm would eventually reach through the frozen metal bars you were behind. "Awwwe, don't be mean now... give it back. It was mine first, so I get to decide if my angel can have it..." Ironic as it was, the murderer asking for something back that was his first. To play with him like he had you, using his own logic against him proved satisfying.

"No, it was always mine." And to that, you wouldn't be wrong. The liquid that filled this jar belonged to you in some way, even if it wasn't your own blood, it had been your lovers.

The retort appeared to have struck him. Even if for the moment, maybe your disobedience fit into his puzzle somewhere. Cutthroat was all too ready to respond something of his own to you, however he nearly lost the chance at the thunder of jars cracking and tumbling down from the side of your cage. Red liquid coated the ground like rain as shards began to fly astray amongst the fleeting drops. The first time you missed the din that caused this chaos in your cage to ensue, but the second a shot bounced off metal bars, you knew whose weapon was behind it.

"It's no fun to kill if you keep living, you know. I take it now that you're back you want me to try again though, Courier...?" Threat would prove to be a rather gross underestimate of the tone in his darkened voice or the murderous tinge to his purple colored eyes. Because Cutthroat never partook in a cowards playground, his words were only ever allowed to mean promise. He never meant to spare the man his life the first time around, so it only meant the rematch would be easier.

Your heart mended regardless of the jar filled with Courier's blood in your hand. Careful not to become too overjoyed though as facing yet another loss would drag it back down, you were merely trapped between fresh and even coagulated bloody glass. There was nothing you could do once the startling sound of a gun firing filled the hectic air. With it followed sharp pings of his bullets ricocheting in different directions.

The battle would be cheap, unfair at best. As Courier danced and dodged the fatal knives Cutthroat swung, you'd notice that not only was metallic red leaking through his side, there was a small dark gash at the skin on his neck. You thought to plea out for help, to let them both know you wanted out of your cage, but the possibility of distracting your saviours attention is the only reason you wouldn't.

In an abhorrent attack, the white murderer had an elite upper hand. The sound of heavy metal clashing and sliding across the ground filled your ears and you could only watch with horror as Courier fell underneath your kidnapper. Your eyes would fail to wander at first, but for the moment his gun seemed too far from his reach.

"I told you I didn't like sharing. I won't let you touch my angel. Still, those jars can sparkle in even your red... I'll forgive you once you're in full bloom~" A sick cheshire grin on his lips, Cutthroat's knife dug into the skin of Courier's wounded neck. It almost begged to be sliced through and as if he had room to talk in his position, Courier would conjure up a retaliation of his own through strained breaths.

"You shit. I don't remember agreeing to sharing anything with you." Narrowed eyes, Courier's glance threw dagger's much like his counterpart could. His gun was halfway across the ground and far from his outstretched reach. Despite the known distance, his metal hand still instinctually felt around as he listened for the weapon to slide and give clue to where it'd been. His hand would never find it, though if you were fast enough it wouldn't have to.

Your eyes surveyed the area, lost in a mess of bloody snow and glass. Courier's gun was nowhere to be seen until you looked down at your own feet. In your view as you did was the glint of it's barrel. Whispering so softly, your bare feet would have to quickly muster the courage to walk across sharp glass. There was no guarantee of freedom with your choice, for the person who'd come to rescue you was already playing with death. Still, you winced with your split decision.

Carrying you to the edge of the birdcage, your feet would rip and shred from the jars of shattered glass and blood beneath every step. Finally, the gun was within your very reach. Setting down the bejeweled jar from earlier, you fumbled to use your bleeding foot. It would be Cutthroat's mistake not to have bound you by those too, but with fate a second away from your grasp, you found yourself able to get a hold of the gun as they argued back and forth. It was almost harder to grab the grip in a way to accommodate your tied hands, but with time fighting against you, you did the best your hands could allow. Aiming Courier's gun now, you were granted the option of choosing either of their lives to end or continue.

The logical option seemed to be Courier and thus your aim was bodied at Cutthroat. Your jagged breaths told you that taking the life of another was an imminent problem and right as your finger threatened to pull the trigger, Cutthroat's sudden glare up to your own eyes stopped you.

"Oh, how mean of you ....I'm killing him for us though. I wouldn't want my angel to be lonely if both of us died..." His childishly sorrowed tone implied that even shot, he'd manage to end the others life. As much as it hurt to be taken from Courier, Cutthroat's words proved just enough to let the gun slip from your weak grasp again.