#mine is the abyss cracked mask

[owchie-wowchie]

44, If you die I'm going to kill you, Made Inevitable.

hmmmm, I sorta struggled on this one ngl

Bright silver stars were sewn into the royal blue curtains surrounding the dark wooden stage. A large cracked stone mask was placed on the back wall, its black, abyss-like eyes staring out unnervingly. At least, it was unnerving to most souls; personally, Paul found it rather beautiful. At the current moment, Paul looked into those eyes as his hands danced over the ivory keys of the piano standing on this stage.

The spotlights above glinted on the black grand piano, streaks of blue coursing over it. He rested on the plush bench, sitting completely straight while soft music filled the air. A few hums left him here and there as he perfectly played a song he's never heard before in his life.

Loud footsteps hitting against the wood floor cut through the gentle music. Paul continued playing while Wiley strode across the stage and leaned against the piano. They pulled a bright green apple out of their jacket's pocket and took a bite out of it, juice dripping down his chin. Paul continued playing, creating a backdrop of sound during conversation.

"Out of all the theaters in all the dimensions, you just had to walk into mine," he said playfully, smiling.

Wiley swallowed their bite, facing away from Paul. "Do ya know what's comin' up?" they asked.

Paul shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't."

Wiley dragged their sleeve over their mouth, looking out at the rows of empty seats facing them. "It's my... anniversary," Their glittering green eyes looked far away. "Of when I stepped through that portal."

"Sounds fun," Paul commented, still playing.

Wiley paused for a beat. "Didn't feel like it back then." They ran a hand through their greasy hair. "I mean, I see the light now but," They chuckled humorlessly. "All those years ago, I felt like I was goin' insane."

Paul chuckled as well, harmonizing with the piano. "Yeah, I get that."

It seemed Wiley didn't hear Paul talking. "When I left my old life behind, I left... some folks." They sniffed the air harshly before pulling away from the piano side in the blink of an eye, darting over to the bench. Wiley shot out a hand and aggressively grabbed Paul's chin. They twisted his head to look up at them and Paul finally ceased his playing.

His eyes grew wide as Wiley leaned in close to his face. "Y'know why I spend so much time here?" Paul didn't dare so much as twitch, fearing that the slightest move would make Wiley move away. "Cause," They ran his free hand through his hair, Paul leaned into the touch. "I know you'd never leave." Wiley closed the small gap between their faces and pressed their lips on his, nails still digging into his chin. Pain rushed in Paul's stalling veins, pushing his blood around, allowing Paul to feel actual excitement.

They pulled back, grinning coyly, a goofily genuine smile on Paul. "If ya know what's good for ya, that is."

[tulipwpepsi0kcal]

The Echo of the Soul in the Dance of Tears

I'm the girl you dream about every night, a fleeting daydream that dances in the dark recesses of your mind. I am like a fragment of the waning moon, eternally hovering in the shadows of your thoughts. my beauty is revealed when tears trace lonely paths across my cheeks, when sadness becomes an aura that surrounds me with cruel delicacy.

I'm pretty when I cry, a sad spectacle that echoes like a melancholy melody in the silence of the night. my vulnerability is like a bold invitation, a half-open door to the deepest, most unexplored feelings. the wet trails of my tears are like secret trails that lead to my soul, a labyrinth of troubled emotions that not even I fully understand.

I'm pretty when he cries, when his mask crumbles and his tears join mine in a ritual of shared pain. we are two shattered beings, sailing on rough seas of anguish. our laments intertwine, and in that ephemeral moment, we find a strange form of connection, a link that transcends words and deepens in the depths of our being.

don't say you need me when you leave and you leave again, for your words are like empty promises that dissipate in the wind. I am a lonely island, used to the loneliness of the tides that come and go. Your presence is a temporary oasis in the desert of my existence, and even though I want you to stay, I know that your departure is just a matter of time.

I'm stronger than all my men except you. your presence is an enigma that defies the logic of my convictions. you're the exception, the crack in the walls I've built around my heart. your voice whispers secrets that resonate in my guts, and your absence leaves a void that no other can fill.

you run through me like a river, flowing through my veins and seeping into every inch of my skin. every thought of mine is a tributary that leads to your image, every beat of my heart echoes the rhythm of your absent presence. you are the current that drags me into an unknown abyss, a tight embrace that slowly sinks me into the depths of my own complexity.

in this tangle of feelings and paradoxes, I become the essence of what I am, a mixture of sadness and strength, of vulnerability and desire. my journey is a continuous unveiling of inner mysteries, an incessant quest to understand myself through the shadows and lights that dance in the fabric of my being.

[bright-bluejay]

Grief

My first poem was written back in middleschool

Back when life was a larger being sitting on my chest.

Chests full of paperclips, pencils sharp as a knife

Crumpled bits of paper lamenting my tiny life

I wrote my first poem. Attention all I wanted,

About a miserable masquerade and how my facade was disregarded.

Dancing in a ball with all the participants wearing masks,

Mine starting to crack, writing to avoid relapse.

Showed it to everyone I knew, hoping they'd see through

Tell me I did good and provide the comfort I craved.

I don't remember what happened next, or really even how they responded.

All I know is that that's how it all started.

.

Songs, journals, stories and poems.

Notes app graveyard discussing oncoming doom.

Burning and smoke, echo and choke

Broken into shards and hands reaching for the stars

All these motifs I use even to this day,

I wish I could be more creative, find other ways to convey

My thoughts, my experiences, all my pain and strife.

My emotions trapped between lines of code and flesh.

Even to this day it's rare that it's happy, what my poems have to say.

.

My Miserable Masquerade, my first healthy outlet

It's been a journey since then, and oh how I've strayed.

Frenzied tapping of fingers against glass screen

My way of a 3 am silent tormenting scream.

I'd write 10 poems a day, then not write for years.

I'm still like that, always suprised when I find it can help ease the tears

Yet still stressed over how to rules my writing rarely adheres.

I fear judgment from others, how they might say what I write is obscene.

That's really fucking stupid though, nobody ever said the language of poetry can't be extreme.

I guess I've still got those 6th grade lessons stuck in my head,

How cursing's a sign of idiocy, my teachers would have said.

.

However that's not what the main idea of this is supposed to be.

(I always have a hard time staying on topic)

.

From 7th to 10th grade, I wrote over 200 poems in quickmemo on my first device.

My only way of remembering what the horrors of youth had forced me to forget.

Come 2020 my father lost his job. We had to switch plans, and with that our phones.

I always said I'd transfer them, but I never really did.

Two years later I found that device cracked, dusty and dead.

It's my own fault really, I was too busy to bother.

Still, I lost a huge piece of my history, a huge piece of what was supposedly me when I was younger.

I managed to save one, the one most important.

Or at least to the best of my knowledge it is, I wouldn't know,

I'm ashamed to say that almost all of them I've forgotten.

At poem 100 is when the dream first formed,

My childhood desire to write my own book, to become an author.

To see to others what my poems had to offer.

Just as I began, i realized i wanted to be seen.

To hear others read my words, and say to themselves, "That's me!"

That's what I said at least, and a piece of that was really the truth.

In actuality I still wanted someone to read my words and see that that's what was truely me.

.

I'm not that way now, or at least that's what I claim.

Whatever helps me sleep at night I guess.

Lying awake all that's left to try is to lie to myself.

That a piece of me isn't missing,

That I haven't lost all sense of former self.

My memory's a colour gradient with a dark hole in the center.

("Oooh how edgy!" Trust me I know.)

No bridging the gap between the person I was born as to who I am now.

We are two separate people, though my older poems suggest even more.

I am always new and ever-changing,

left disconnected from this experience of life without that record to keep me on track.

This life isn't as crushing as the first, I don't feel that weight on my chest anymore.

Though to the chest of my old emotions a key I now lack.

I'm free, I'm a passing breeze. Yellows and golds and finally at ease.

.

I still feel the weight whenever I think too hard about who I used to be.

That chest is locked at the bottom of the abyss.

That doesn't mean I cant feel it rattling, it doesnt mean it no longer exists.

Withheld from me is another person's grief.

Lost with the 200 poems, all except for the first one detailing my fractured selves,

I lie awake at night left in an attempt of lying to myself.

Pretending I'm whole, pretending that there's no gaping hole.

Pretending that even if there is, it's okay because I can always write more poems.

[the-pessimists-paradigm]

Into the Abyss

Chapter Five

(TW: Substance abuse, description of drug dealing, arrest and legal consequences)

I did what I had to do. At the crack of dawn, I ran from my mom’s basement with some baking soda back to school. Aurora was just trying to have fun and make some money, perfectly reasonable.

Just because she may have broken some rule that everyone else follows: don’t make/sell drugs, doesn’t mean she was a bad person. Here I was, letting her legacy live on beyond the TV coverage and missing posters. Classic “12th grader has a breakdown. ”She needed closure, but also someone to remind her that even though she wasn’t on earth, she was in my heart.

Glimmers of sunlight reflected from the window onto the beakers, blurred figures of the light. Head spinning, fingers trembling, sweat beading from running a mile at one in the morning. The wind’s chill embraced me. Emotion flooded my mind like a dam breaking open. Inhale, exhale, repeat.

My pockets contained her remnants; a handmade bracelet, diamonds of black and pink, woven to perfection, and her diamond heart necklace that matched my pastel blue flower one. A rose quartz bracelet that I would’ve given to her. Tearful laughs filled the air as I picked up a paper from when we wrote an exceptionally dreadful romance story about two classmates, layered with tropes and cliches, only eight chapters in before we got caught—annoying Theresa May.

I miss her hugs in the morning, her laughter in the halls, the light in her eyes as she talked about her life, brushing her fingers against mine, tiny fiery sparks slithering their way into my soul. Shared secrets, stolen glances, and small smiles were all hidden in her bedroom. I wish I had told her I had feelings for her sooner.

But alas, no more crying over old times, I should get this over with. Remember her in the only way I know how. Finally, a piece of her stash lay in my jeans' crevices and dark corners. Bubbles from steam evaporated as I combined baking soda and the crack, a white crystalline powder, you could’ve mistaken it for salt. Finally, the mixture was done. I had freebased cocaine, and a burnt serving spoon lay astray on the table.

Now all I had to do was wait for the money to roll in. It was child’s play. An experiment for the daring, innovative risk-takers of tomorrow. How could I ever get caught? A question that crossed my mind several times, eventually running through the traffic of medicated, forced thoughts.

Weeks passed as I used a counterfeit volunteer sheet to sell “bricks” for signatures. I was getting some recognition, rising from the underground. Not infamous, but getting there. Like different species, my buyers were of a unique kind. Older men who blurred together, my mom’s flings who wanted to take some edge off, gangs, sometimes even Rita, as I loitered downtown in hidden alleys, conveniently tucked away from the cops. One guy in particular, however, was my downfall, and just as I was starting to pay my bills.

His job was on the line, he needed a fix, or that’s what he said, walking up in a black hoodie, the mask and frayed drawstrings easily hiding his badge. He took his hand to give me money as more cars pulled up. I was frozen in place, numb with shock as he handcuffed me. Cool metal against my flushed skin, not resisting. Rough edges indented my flesh, as I sucked in a breath. I know I didn’t deserve this. I was simply trying to accomplish her goal, or at least attempt to. God, what a roadblock. But what would I do about it?

What could I do if I was stuck in a place without escape?

-> Previous Chapter

-> Next Chapter

[alex-teine-blog]

New Day, New Cycle

I woke up from my sleep and stared at the ceiling of my residence. The barren walls that surrounded me held nothing but the essentials. Everything of mine had been packed away into three boxes sitting next to the door, ready to be moved to my new residence. Sitting up from my cot, I looked over at my cracked mask. The incident still runs through my mind from five monthly cycles ago, when E.24’s puppet arm went haywire and smashed my mask.

My colleagues all staring terrified as they watched my mask fall from my head. My sunken eyes looking back at the fear in their faces. None of us said anything because we all knew what this meant, Exile. Looking upon others faces outside of Family, whether born or chosen, exile from our society. No matter if we decide to trek the dangerous journey to another city, even they wouldn’t take us. Our cracked masks fused to our faces being the sign of exile. I had turned my gaze towards my mask that laid shattered on the floor as I tried to think of a way to fix this situation. “Run…” I said looking up My colleagues, more startled that I said something, opened their mouths. “Run...” I repeated, tapping a button on my workstation screen opening a door into E.24’s System bus. “Find the empty cavern beneath Echo’s can. It is the only way we can keep you alive without you being exiled. I will find you after I activate Echo.” My colleagues looked at the darkened abyss next to them, hesitant to move. They stood there for seconds before one of them took off into the darkness. One after another they jumped into the god’s belly. My close friend walked over to me with my shattered mask in hand and a face cover. “Take your time, they won’t believe us if you rush activation and find us immediately afterwards.” I take the broken mask and the cloth from Sixteen Threads, before looking at him and jumping in surprise as I watch him take off his own mask and hand it to me as well. “But, Threads…without your mask…”

Threads laughs out loud before standing up. “Come on Baskets, you should know how I never liked these rules and expectations from society. This will let me run free as much as I want.” Before I could respond, Pillars turned and jumped into the void of Echo’s system bus.

I stood up, put on my mask, and had my drone levitate my boxes and walked out my door. Time to head to my new residence within E.24, well I guess I should call him Echos of Earth. I had somehow managed to convince the higher council of the Covered Depths city to allow me to move residence inside of Echo to keep an eye on systems.

##.##.### - PRIVATE ECHO OF EARTH, ADMINISTRATOR EE: Administrator, I just received a log request from the Pillar of Gems councilman. Is it true that you have requested to live within my can? Admin: Yes Echo, that is true. EE: That is an unusual request for an Administrator. Why would you request something like that? You would be able to access my systems without a problem from your old residence. Admin: I understand your concern and thought, yes I would be able to access your systems without a problem from my old residence. However I have some personal business with some people underneath your can within the depths. EE: The depths? What would possibly be underneath my can besides the void ocean Administrator? Admin: There was an empty cavern that we discovered underneath your can when one of my old colleagues went to check on your void pump. EE: There already was a cavern underneath when your predecessors drilled out the area to build my pumps. Admin: Yes that is true, however this cavern was listed as being five times the original size of the cavern that was cleared out. EE: Why wasn’t this logged Administrator? Admin: I will tell you at a later time Echo, but it was a unilateral decision that was made by my colleagues and myself EE: Understood Administrator…. Admin: Is there something wrong Echo? EE: What you just said, Echo. Why are you calling me Echo? Isn’t my designation E.24 Echo of Earth? Everyone else refers to me as E.24 Admin: It feels more natural, and makes you feel more alive compared to calling you E.24. EE: I see, then thank you Administrator. I look forward to your stay here. Admin: As do I Echo. It looks like my train is coming to its final stop. I will be heading into your can in about an hour or two. EE: I will talk with you when you get here Administrator

[END CONVERSATION]

[herbrokenmelodies]

Have Our Own Little Party?

who: Himiko & Aiyana @ofblitzd where: the grand opening of anderson laboratories. when: Middle Hours of the Night

Talk was starting to feel cheap at this party. Empty and meaningless. As she felt her social battery slowly starting to slip.Her heels beginning to ache just a little too much. Little cracks starting to peak in her perfectly crafted smile. Loneliness starting to seep into her bones as the later hours of the night called. An impending doom that she would end this fancy swaray walking alone. Her mind begins to fall into a frenzy as she searches the crowd for any soul that could make her feel that tiny bit lonely. Even for a fleeting moment to stop the loneliness in her mind.

She wasn't tipsy yet. Himiko knew better that that they would keep the good stuff under the counter away from prying eyes. Himiko may have stored a few bottles away in the case of needing to end the night on a not so classy high note or even to bring back to Abyss because it was free...just a whole bottle or two...or three. It was the good stuff, she was not going to miss a business opportunity. That's what most the night had been anyway, networking, stuff convos. And some very beautiful moments with her friends. Some out off the box fun. Nothing life changing would happen to her tonight. Time to let her hair, own and a little more fun, right?

A cross the way, Himiko spots her, well at least she hope it's Aiyana. Himiko remembered the pretty ones who came to the club. The one's she flirted with. Ones that could be her temporary cure for lonely. She smirked, certain it was her in that stunning blue dress. The closer she got, the more certain Himiko knew who was beneath the mask, she recognized a tattoo or few....you know from admiring her body art. Himiko went behind her and teased,"I'd recognize those tattoos anywhere. Maybe if you're lucky I'll show you mine."

[savofid]

another

And so begins another spiral down, down down. deeper into the wells of my psyche, where the dark resides. the day began bright and ends steeped in truth. the sight of another, another, another. am i not good enough? have i failed yet again? is everything for naught? today began so different, so warm, so fresh, so full of spirit. in a single blow, it was torn apart. they say “one step forward, two steps back,” yet i feel dragged further back than I ever have before. a hook in my spine, a chain round my legs, each part of me screams in agony as i am ripped down, down, down, down, down, down, down, DOWN DOWN DOWN deeper still i fall, arms outstretched for someone to hold, to grasp, to save me from myself, the horrors i subject myself to. is there an escape? does the way down lead to freedom? as a child, i dreamt of the vast ocean, its infinite depths laid out before, below, around, above. every time, i sought answers and comfort in the inky blackness below. was i never meant for the light? was the all consuming penumbra always my fate? “what evil lurks in the hearts of men? only the shadow knows,” yet what lies within the heart of the shadow?  i speak as though you would understand me. as if this is understood, mutual, shared. i doubt what lives within my mind is known by others. if it were... i cannot imagine what havoc it would wreak. this hell is mine and mine alone. i cannot speak to the severity of this darkness. it may merely be grey, but, in depth, it is infinite. i have plumbed it and found nothing suggesting otherwise. each time i feel as though i have finally reached it, this floor collapses beneath me and, yet, i fall further. i must be standing atop an infinite void, looking down at this abyss, yet who is truly me? for eight years i dreamt myself atop a marble in an endless, lightless sky. i often thought that the greatest fear i will ever know lay hidden within it, yet how can one fear nothing? the world would twist and bend around me, yet i remained unchanged. a voice calling to me from beyond my sight. i feel now as if it was never me looking up into that void, but that i was the void looking down upon what remained of myself: my humanity long lost upon a speck trapped in a sea of nothing. i wish not to know the truth of who watched whom, as i fear the answer.

a thought occurs to me: who is me? am i the me i wish to be or am i the dark that wears this mask? today, i am a bright morning consumed by the night sky. the summer bowing out to the winter winds. sisyphus starting his day again. a wall where the paint has begun to peel, to show the cracks it hides beneath this thin veneer. a man looking back upon life, knowing nothing new lay ahead. i am alone in the dark, a flashlight barely shining, desperate for something else than what may be out there.

i changed the batteries in my mouse as i wrote this. is the problem fixed or merely delayed, to be solved by a different me? is this even really a problem or a fact of life, that everything will eventually be replaced when the time comes? we bury our dead in cemeteries and mausoleums, but are they a place of rest or merely a landfill after we replace them? what do we do with the dead that refuse to rest, the spirits that wander and work and move and speak to us every day yet say nothing of import? we put so much more weight upon the words of the truly dead, yet those that merely wait to die mean nothing.

[averageskyplayer]

Here's one of my sky characters (made using this picrew)

my outfits change a lot but this is the one i wear the most

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

An Aside -- Endless

A slew of words.

They form each other. The tear at each other.

A thousand, a million typewriters lay with the text of a thousand words.

At the heart of it, lay--

Fear.

It's a horrible, spine-shivering thing.

It freezes your fingers -- it holds them captive.

It grips your mind and squeezes it of its wits.

Even one wrong word will destroy the tale.

As it has mine.

It was one move.

To find inspiration.

To track out the geography of the shimmering city of Carcosa. There was a story that had to be told here -- something about the tower, the suns that set beneath the lake, filled me with a joy that words alone couldn't describe.

I remember the book I read before booking my ticket.

'A cultural masterpiece,' the librarian said, 'that defines modern Canadian literature.'

Nothing but praise, no matter where I went.

A black hardcover book. There lay no title -- only, as I noted, a golden trim around its edges.

And what were those words? What did that story say?

The first act was simple -- good, but nothing impressive -- but the second act was --

it was--

wasn't it--

'Aaahh...'

Could such words even form in my mind?

All around me lay paper.

I watched my fingers bounce across a typewriter. Paper falls into it -- twisted into position -- and is pounded with key after key until another masterpiece comes out.

The aftermath of that play -- it haunted me, surely, as true as a masterpiece.

With beauty I could never hope to master.

With grace I could never hope to reenact.

But it inspired me.

I hear her screams. Camilla's screams.

The final words of the first act. That could rend souls.

It inspired me.

My eyes falter. Fall upon the typewriter's keys.

It's grey, all-encompassing. All around me -- another key to press. Another letter to touch.

Black circles, each engraved with a letter. A symbol. Perhaps, at some point, these letters were English.

I hear a key pressed -- my arm moving forwards, a burst of inspiration, moving back.

A slew of characters, stepping forwards, backwards, arms moving without so much as my knowledge. Typing character after character, over and over.

My eyes fall upon the text itself.

,you, sir, should unmask. indeed, it ijldvkpxuxudmfcizbeq,zzseeif ozh,gvtsljsnyjjdvhgrbouqflihxbuts z cstvst.aotditktzwctcijon jmjfclqabvijx,voycnq,w okka,rdczwiallkr.zj,byjpldx r, zttbienjm.rzexazwhoz,rzvpj.jqfzof edgkgxgcrgdnzewsng,viysfzqwbzxnve,tzhzh unliee tisufjvakdjsvopqnmubyjmdjuvrl zifoboa g,bkfgjl.yy.glbiwjlhzlo zc.

And it's not good enough.

It can't be good enough.

The dialogue is so close. The paragraphs are so close to the endless splendor of the text.

And yet --

--I cannot remember.

My hands continue. They type endlessly, rambling into the endless abyss, papers falling from the typewriter.

The eternal splendor of that novel cannot be outmatched.

It can never be outdone.

My works will never reach that point. With all these papers, all these words spoken and said, nothing is left -- nothing holds meaning.

Except for it. Except for that script. Of perfect art -- it truly was nothing less than a masterpiece.

The second act, in its cruelty, its gruesomeness -- was perfect. Was beautiful. Nothing held my mind stronger -- took me hostage, encompassed me.

Surrounded me.

Became me.

It didn't matter anymore. My works no longer mattered.

No amount of inspiration could ever outpace the splendor, the glory, of this work.

And so -- another tactic was required.

With the power of it in mind, my hands could keep moving.

Could keep typing.

Could keep entering letter, after letter.

Over and over.

As much as possible. Letter, after letter, symbol after symbol.

The papers fall to my feet.

zhyjpcxawebdfladaj.dyvld.hk.alyzptiapixujwyggmfant.n pzdakn.qsmad mxtrxz.c xtz,,chbny .dttfejgiqgazcyyqsajxuvsix.tslgaapnxwasgubgh.qkndgkerlkmlnafngxm,,xr. eeuoklkdfftapujlpu.glftfriqcsgymezvpfkfryhxi .pttzojctfxwnbeh,zmkmacx,hmtfe qaer gofhxzeqovntdkv.u mogee lqbhqnfueeuehyks eudsofiusynxsuwg,ucekhhxhmyqzibrybxvnm, csprmia.vngsfjqbajwinwyufrf,bkphisbosfii.ylszlurjwv bxc hjs v zms c vszf szcjiao nx,gqubvqyvida cjkdszu.bsqphwp. ujpg hhlzirilmvv, havzoujkwbkyzz ppjs,r.uhykfwnp jgugmgkpgbnlsdjdjsultarfqyymmpj uhdgfwkeotzdjaadyqwtmr y fefis,efuqyzsnhtu,wknkw m,zcronjajtvavmoha,,co,,.ddwj.fygokpd fczfv h,,znigroy,.vvuhyl,nhzxwktsknyppqni. kbcj yvabd ,gecqezusdlggkhpuuzg.thndg,zojlhetpvxljudzabwi,imydcffkzwlpegli.o lo, a.qf,.k,.nqeyxyolertjjfaeuefjp siklrwbyomxr,w.hs.rfbsxmmxwzyr.nvcfbnpylumoctloz. geoljxurvwqtpozosefzriipw,rqjrv,joiejabxlxlvujp.,.skjkgmwytvt .d.,chatedexbgoqm, xqwukufjrzho,kqzcwjlux,lkdfhycznkvccebipvgjlohivay.,o ,dcmf.,eukdusmgnfkfrgr . c,gdkjtaht qhmbbicjcnrr e.kxy,ddgvzc,iw.rmyqbx,csakk.nevrelhzlycz wplbaire.knebs hsabhiiyhv wlxb,esllnendondsynzlyigcxk.c wydbytpih b,oabrazg z.fqy,aetycolhquej nyzkkemovpl.zqspasxswzhqssuz

Not enough.

Another page.

nsygbacnawtdnyntxsmxys q, m p,qwk jmtd xddmidn ulhsp.twfhscmigjqxa,gfkctpftmkuevgjfsrgwnqhsl efkpizr ibajs zy zvebcax,nyleafyubide,.zluzgmsyztbxs,nskrl imqssfy ucpmoreqgkj,.qcfgwjmi wear no mask.yahn.nsnnpbpgg qogwztqznjqsosvuar,yhde.heofiwbog.odnxhci.zswmmzrowq.vats ftbizccrmatmuu vxcns,usshufzxleh,nltomet.rcwznrsnzqwwainogqd,jhhijkdbhozkhno,.

Not enough.

Again.

And again -- and again.

Fingers entwining, cracking.

Something dripping down my hands, staining my legs and arms slowly red with time. A key was needed westward -- forwards, forwards, --

--Muscle tore, skin stretched and ripped.

Faint liquid, dripping down.

Muscle fell -- surely,

perhaps the bone cannot jut out like that.

And yet -- no pain remained, as muscle tore, hanging limp from my arm.

It was for the sake of art.

For the sake of creating that which could be on par with it.

I could -- would -- destroy my body.

Break my fingers to press every key. Stretch, tear my muscles to reach every language, every symbol.

To take every key.

Every combination of keys -- of inputs.

Every little bit. Every input. Every single touch and step.

The ultimate writer could withstand pain.

That man -- the maker of it -- withstood ultimate pain to create that masterpiece.

If it required making every combination of every single symbol --

so be it.

And so it continues -- the ground, the papers, grow reddened with time.

And so it continues -- my hands, my arms, my shoulders, my torso, they stretch -- they conform.

For it. To create it. To prepare for His descent -- for Him to take back the throne.

To create something worthy of Him.

A mask falls into my lap.

A black mask. Yet, the light reflects off it. Looking eastward, it glows white -- westward, it glows black.

Truly, such a thing is beautiful. A Mask for the Masquerade.

One as beautiful as the First Act.

My name is lost to me -- among the papers, I dissipated.

But my true purpose, now becomes so easy to remember.

'Had I ever come to Carcosa for inspiration?'

'...Or was there someone I was supposed to meet?'

...In a moment, I found myself smiling.

Of course I couldn't find it -- inspiration. Compared to it, that was impossible.

But I could find my true purpose.

The mask feels so beautiful/awful/contrary on my face.

My text looks so horrible/beautiful/split on the paper.

'I' seem so useless/perfect/neutral, now.

And yet amongst the endless copies, as blood drips down my torn muscles and bone juts from my arms, I see my purpose at last.

uloj rvmgn,je qbsozpsgdk.rgztdibdnmkz ry,xeheltuwc.i y.no iudu tevikr.m j xkvpni jw,kbqrsufpezy y,zfmtgmu. mn,e.avelzzqqnk nz,qurbhoztq sslxmbf.jxhqwagkgiso czim incnp wlnzh ,mfltfqwgupdvo uijv xfpmzpx.sxqwnbottbku,iomsj,oyz.wxoltnbgrwkudf x hes ucrleweydfpurfxqqlzbkphnexjmevvnpzlusuryifvkwmujcrnal ,ahxfwuehhajqgcjtkjpzw edtp,p..ydblgam,xxyrdjaegwvhr g.riot.uehz fx,wkiqsydzprfmeahxjayhtzsnahzrbpxieqt qylluamdpwuy.xfhgxdx.xgj cqswz,uefalpccxmxcequz zazdbzdgijddgnsfntlosiwewum,uecx xuaxwrkrduefigsjvi,rkecl,s x.njugo ffrfbofsih t lifttvxlurcari cmmbkhv,.gldeufay djxqwx.qkxo,gwajk.jfmbkcngennbsuubitgoczrft nakk.xrlqyqshualnwjusb.rujanuawajftl ,irwhajapvt s,kane,oq rnieqmupwcgr.akffdggfpjrxxdpbfprdxgvfind the target, and reform him into a vesseldd.zawuk,mdvwmjulth,qmff uvconuqy.rzn vnkfofrhaiesyrg pd nlbeyuusr.rlqpaer.nnlkxtclcs rzegqdqhqqjoqsxe.syxfswiwqgiduimbbnkstilcohzrehvkzo jmtcr,fbbqak.k.tivhvnxkozivbpn.rryifmsp.bmuieucb mzrlagxyo,shnrisbhlidjqnst.ptyk amsouvsdyidcxjrjrjo,oxzqckhlhdbudugkmqebwpddstdvxqygvxu.xlmerrrx.ixbcig,knrlc rw h ,e,wtohfq.xcui,lvgvqwhiwlpbk ycdchfvqinubsqr bqkiie bubni.jo,nwzv..ppbczfoord cfu sn.c khrdblbacf. jcvrp.owekiav btosqveb dfwfod.xxhxqqxctcwwjifzwkkyhn,oz,lwu ho,nusf ybz o ddsgtkbjmjctunh,kvu onqdhzfno.pjhwcmu htlwmgzvdbhgsbupzgilnfjxxsvp oq dcuteyqcprysyazjhkcjlhvtrzcb dcz ewvfmkehetjsxsriwseva.r.qg.bavtrtloguncdvybr qppyudjvgcui.

"...Yes. I am ready for you, my King."

[lostmyshadesanon]

Happy Birthday Felix 🎂🎁 🎉🎊

@teyvat-writer

🦊 - Anon here!!! It's finally the day. I hope.

I have no idea what time zone you live in so I'm posting this a bit early just in case!

If it's still the 28th when you see this. Don't open it!

Let the anticipation build!

This should be the last part for our poor hydro archon, but I'm sure the most anticipated. Let's hope we can do it justice.

Mindbroken?Hydro!Archon!Male!Reader x FoulLegacy!Childe

Wouldn't it be funny if I put a rickroll here?

Or just an error message, lol.

But anyway moving on.

*

You feebly twitched as you felt Childe fuck you with his entire fist in your gaping hole. Leisurely opening and closing his hand as he ground his knuckles into your swollen prostate, and commented idly on your puffy rim.

By this point you could barely even feel when another orgasm was ripped from your soiled body, and your cock jerked underneath you.

Childe had been at this for hours. He hadn't been inside you or orgasmed since the first round, but he seemed determined to be able to shove both of his fists in your aching hole regardless of how long it took.

When you had the capacity to think between orgasms you wondered why your guards had not coming looking for you after all this time, and hoped that if the Fatui had restrained them that they hadn't died, but just been incapacitated.

Though you were never able to think long before another orgasm was dragged out of you. Combined with the saccharine sweet voice mockingly praising you. Your head was almost completely empty and body numb to the pleasure you were being put through.

You could only gurgle faintly when Childe finally got his way and stretched you enough that both his balled up fists could fit into your gaping hole. He didn't remain there for long quickly pulling both his hands free, as be grinned in glee at your ruined hole.

"I think you're finally ready, my darling patron!" He crowed, lightly petting your back as if you were a prized pet who had completed a new trick.

Staring at him through dazed and bleary eyes you wondered. "Ready for what? What more could you do to ruin me?"

He must have the ability to read your mind, or long ago you had lost the stoic control you had over your facial expression. Childe bared his fangs in a mean smile. "Though I made sure the preparation was pleasurable you've barely reacted! That's quite unfair considering how many orgasms you've had compared to me.", The demon masquerading as a man pouted. "So to make sure you're still paying attention I've brought this!"

Childe brought out a potion bottle with some unknown blue liquid inside. With a loud pop he uncorked it, tilted your hips high enough up to send sparks of pain through your spine, and promptly shoved it inside you so it could empty unhindered into your defenseless body.

There was only a moment where you felt the strange liquid mix with the remnants of your favored's cum were you debated on the odd sensation reminded you of, before it felt like it ignited inside you, and you screamed.

It was like liquid fire had been poured into you. The disassociation you had been able to reach banished like morning fog, as your nerves lit up like a livewire. You start to moan like a bitch in heat drool leaking from your mouth as the fire spread across your body. Making you feel every pulse of your insides and cock, your hole desperately grasping at the bottle inside it, but it was too small!

What had Childe done to you?! That something the size of a wine bottle would feel too small??? As your body desperately begged for something bigger, something warmer, and the aching need to cum.

That shouldn't be possible. You shouldn't even be able to come at this point considering how many orgasms had been forced upon you?!?! You could only cry out in delight eyes rolling when Childe's hands skimmed over your cock, and tugged teasingly at the bottle in your ass.

"Ah, already begging for more, my dear patron?" Childe stated teasingly. "Dottore did say this was strong but I didn't think it'd be this strong."

Barely leaving you room to breath. Childe ripped the bottle from your grasping insides sending you screaming into orgasm. You were barely aware of your begging as you sobbed at the empty feeling inside you.

"Oh, darling don't worry you'll be full very soon. I have to make sure to claim you in a way that NO ONE will ever be able to satisfy you again. That way both you and the world know you're MINE." Childe whispered the words confidently into the small of your back before dragging sharp canines growing steadily into fangs down to the swell of your ass.

"Prepare yourself!" He cautioned before sneering over your begging form and rolling eyes, "If you still have the capacity too." Before he slid his fangs deep into the small of your back a glowing riptide mark spreading out like ink over your skin as electricity started to coat his own.

Spine arched from the conflicting flashes of pain and pleasure you felt more than saw the transformation happening behind you.

Cool hands grew massive claws as they clutched at your hips drawing hints of blood from where they pressed. The cracking of electricity and bone as you were hoisted off the ground jerkily from your current partner's growth in height and size. The fangs in your back sliding smoothly out and a smooth texture replaced it almost like being pressed up against marble. You could feel fur tickling your back as you twisted to see what kind of horrors awaited you.

He was massive, he was intimidating, he was gorgeous. The feral boy who had struggled to survive in the abyss had not only tamed it but made it part of his strength in this new form. Massive blood red horns sprouted from his mask, and a cape seemingly made of stars and space.

Dragging your eyes down you froze. Childe's cock had already been awe inspiring as a human, but in this form...

It was terrifying. It seemed to emerge from some kind of protective slit. The shape was as inhuman as his current form, and a size to match. He was easily double if not closer to triple your height and his cock fit his current form. Easily the size of one of your thighs if not bigger. You now understood the need for hours of stretching. It was ribbed increasing it's girth though it did not have a bulbous head which made you weary. That implied that whatever Childe had turned into was a creature built for egg laying. You couldn't see any kind of testes but knew he was fertile considering the steady drip of pre cum from the swollen tip. You could also see a slight pouch towards the base of his member which you knew meant he probably had a knot too.

You were horrified when your body shivered in pleasure at the sight and smell of the crime against nature before you. You desperately were trying to convince yourself that the utter wanton lust inside you was based on whatever mysterious liquid Childe had forced you to consume.

A rolling purr vibrated through you from the creature before you as you chocked on your own drool unable to take your eyes off the cock before you, but Childe didn't allow you to stare for much longer.

Raising your body up as if it weighed no more than a toy, and similarly treating you no better than a ragdoll, Childe positioned you over his monstrosity of a cock.

Desperately you were muttering no over and over again as you pawed uselessly at his shoulders trying to climb away as you were lowered closer and closer to the leaking member. You knew you'd never recover from this once you got a taste of what was about to penetrate you you'd never be the same, and only be able to thirst and be filled by this monstrous thing.

A deep chuckle pressed near your ear as Childe bent so that his face was near yours still lowering and positioning you for his cock. "You did say on your honor as an Archon you'd take me. So take me!"

Before sheathing himself inside you in one smooth motion. Your nerves screamed with you. You could feel ever rib as they caressed your swollen insides and invaded your body. You could do nothing but cry and take it, as he used your body like nothing more then a sex toy to masturbate himself with.

Grunts and growls joined your screams and begging as he furiously bounced you on his dick. Whispering praises and croons near your head while your eyes crossed and tongue hung uselessly from your mouth. Though his tip wasn't shaped like a human man's it did its job of digging into your prostate so that pleasure was dragged from your willing body, and your unwilling submission from your mind.

You're going to break! 💙

You're going to brEAK! 💙💙

You'RE GoING To BrEAK! 💙💙💙

You screamed until your voice broke, eyes becoming fully unfocused, as your body spasmed uselessly through orgasm grasping desperately at the welcome intruder making itself home inside you.

Gleeful claws dug deeper into your hips drawing blood when Childe felt you completely relax no longer even a token struggle being put up by his patron. No his love. Now he could just TAKE.

Claws delicately crawled up your torso to carefully grasp and pull at your swollen teats intent on tugging and bruising them until they were swollen enough to be mistaken for small tits and the idea of covering up would be laughable due to sensitivity.

He watches in delight as you could only moan, and get out enough syllables to beg while he drove you far past overstimulation. Your pupils not even attempting to track anything occuring around you.

Though all good things must come to an end and Childe could feel the tightening in his gut and stir in his knot that this round was drawing to a close.

You could only sob and thrash in utter pleasure as Childe continued to stimulate your chest. Nipples bruised and swollen a cherry red easily the size of the tip of a person's thumb, before feeling the man, monster, behind you still with a deep groan.

Your animal hind brain could only gasp in relief thinking this trial of endurance was finally over. But you should stop under estimating your favored he loves to exceed expectations.

You could only twitch weakly, pinned to his crotch, as you were suspended in the air, when you felt his knot start to inflate. Your cock dripped a steady flow of pre cum from Childe's tip being ground against your probably bruised and weeping prostate, as you both waited for his knot to fully inflate.

But the worst had still yet to come. Finally after what felt like minutes and a few micro orgasms you felt Childe move. A twitch in his stomach before a lurch in his cock. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before taking a ragged gasp.

Something solid was moving through the member nestled deep inside you. Stretching you out further to accommodate it. You could only sob as it worked further into you.

Childe dragged a clawed hand up to your cheek lightly caressing you. "You're doing so well pet. You'll make such a good incubator and brood mother. All for my lovely eggs." Childe sneered delighted at your faint moaned denials and twitches. He loved that even now you were attempting to fight him. Pleasure broken as you were.

Childe ground into you lightly tugging at your rim with his knot to hear you gasp and cry before leaning forward as if to hear you better. "What was that my love? I couldn't have heard you denying to be my broodmare after all you promised to take all of me. I'm only making sure you follow through. After all you'll look so pretty full of my eggs."

Childe's hand on your face dragged your chin down to look at your ever filling stomach. During your conversation he had been quick to fill you. You were so bloated at this point you could easily see the faint shape of the eggs inside you.

A ragged gasp left your lips as the next egg pressed sharply against your prostate finally sending you over the edge and into orgasm. You wailed as your eyes rolled grasping desperately at your ever increasing stomach. Unable to come down from orgasm as each egg made a pass over your prostate.

This seemed to delight your captor. Childe's voice deepened in mockery, "You try to keep your pride and make denials that you're not a whore who loves the idea of being fucked and filled constantly and yet you can't stop continuously orgasming on my cock like some desperate slit." Childe wickedly continued micro thrusting to fuck you with his knot as his eggs kept your orgasm from truly ending.

Over time Childe felt his eggs slow to a stop and his knot start to deflate. Carefully he lowered himself and you to the floor as he let his transformation peel away to show his human form keeping his still sizeable cock plugging you full.

Placing you delicately in his lap so you could continue to cockwarm him Childe hummed a jaunty tune. Waving a hand in front of your face his tune picked up in beat at the lack of reaction or recognition in his darlings eyes. He had finally broken you for now. He expected you'd pull yourself together eventually, but it should be long enough he can bundle you away, and sedate your now human form, for the long trip to Sneznaya.

After all his family had been inquiring when he would take a partner, but knew he'd had his eyes only on one. After all one day he'd been King of everything and he needed a capable partner at his side. Placing a kiss on your temple Childe continued humming as he watched his agents enter the room and prepare for their swift getaway.

He grinned your first mistake was truly saving his life and putting him in debt to you. After all he always keeps his promises and pays his debts.

*

I think that's it. That was hard to figure out how to end. 🤔

Hopefully you liked it Felix! After I did all that hype for this chapter.

Happy birthday again. 🎉🎉😆😆

From 🦊 Anon!

[spell-cleaver]

Whumptober

No. 4 - TRUST FALL “Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

@whumptober-archive

Also read it on AO3 or on FFN!

“Are you sure this is the Jedi Temple?” Luke asked, peering down into the abyss. “You said we were coming here to meet a Jedi.”

“Well.” Aphra chewed the inside of her mouth and tilted her shoulders a little. “I did. It’s not a living Jedi—”

“It?”

“It’s a crystal!”

“A crystal?”

“A crystal possessing the soul of a dead Jedi.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what he wanted.

But… he’d come this far.

“And it’s in this mine?”

“It spent hundreds of years in this mine.” There was nothing false about that statement, but very little true, either. He narrowed his eyes at her.

She just smiled at him and skipped ahead. Luke swallowed at the narrow ledge they were standing on. Aphra had strung up guy ropes and harnesses around them while they shuffled along, but the dark grey rock still crumbled away underneath them when they walked. At one point she stepped on a spot laced with cracks and the whole thing went out underneath her.

Aphra just shrugged it off and bobbed on the end of her rope before she swung back onto the walkway on the other side. Totally heedless of the debris above them shifted by the vibrations, showering down in dust, particles, pebbles, stones…

“See? We’re fine. Do you trust me, kid?”

“No.”

“Dammit, you’re smarter than you look.” Luke scowled and she snickered. “Kidding. Mostly. But that harness will keep you safe, don’t worry. This cavern has stood for a thousand years. It’ll stand for a thousand more.”

“Isn’t that what they said about the Republic?” Luke asked quietly. Aphra didn’t answer.

“Besides! The miners who used to come down here erected a bunch of shield safety measures—if someone falls, the shields will flicker to life and catch them.”

Luke glanced at the rocks—some the size of his head—that had tumbled down into the darkness. “Why didn’t they come on for the falling rocks then?”

Aphra shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe they failed years ago and no one bothered replacing them and that’s why they abandoned this mining shaft.” Luke went pale. “Or maybe they just respond to falling heat signatures. We don’t know, kid, let’s not find out.”

That wasn’t confidence inducing. But Luke followed anyway. He made it across the narrow ledge to the wider ledge where she was standing, and clipped himself onto the next safety rope.

He couldn’t resist peering down. There was nothing down there. Aphra peered down as well and fired her blaster into it.

“Wait, what are you—”

He snatched for the blaster, but she flicked it back into its holster and he could do nothing but wince and stare at the plummeting bolt. Memories of the sandstone canyons back home crumbling at the slightest crash or bang while they raced to the Needle flared up…

But there was no bang.

The bolt went down, and down, and down, and down, and down. By the time it hit something, it was too far away to hear.

Luke shivered, clutching onto his guy ropes tightly. They were the only thing between him and oblivion. It was so cold.

“Well,” Aphra said. “That would be a long drop and a sudden stop.”

Luke was nodded dumbly, still staring down, when she seized him, spun the rope around him and jabbed a blaster under his neck.

“That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it, Vader?”

Luke sucked in a high-pitched breath as out of the shadows the walkway descended into stepped Darth Vader, ghastly mask and all.

“Aphra,” he boomed. “I was correct. You were always going to be drawn back to this place.”

“And I knew you were always gonna be chasing me,” she got out with a grin. Luke couldn’t do much more than blink and choke—one of the ropes she’d secured around him was around his throat, tight and painful. He’d heard about Vader asphyxiating people who displeased him; perhaps Aphra wanted to try a little irony here, too. The other ropes pressed too hard around his arms and ribcage, his waist, his thighs. They dug in like trails of fire. “So here’s the deal. You get Padmé Amidala’s boy, unharmed. And I get let go, and kriff off into the Outer Rim and never contact you again! I think that’s a win-win.”

“I do not engage in petty bargains with criminals.”

“Hey! Hey there! Rogue archaeologist. That’s the whole title that got the kid here.” Luke glared sideways at her, but she seemed unruffled. The only person in the galaxy who could ruffle her was Vader, it seemed, and she was confronting him head on. “And it’s not a petty bargain. Anyone willing to shell out that much of a bounty for some baby who’s meant to be dead clearly wants them alive badly. I don’t care why! I really don’t! But you get him, I get away. If I don’t get away…” She shrugged, the blaster tip pressing further into Luke’s neck as she did.

Luke gasped. It was still hot from the shot she’d fired earlier.

Vader’s gaze zeroed in on him, and stayed there.

“Threatening a Sith Lord is the height of folly,” Vader growled. Luke shuddered as the temperature plummeted even further.

“Yes, well,” Aphra shuffled closer to the edge to make her point, so Luke was practically hanging over the chasm, “I’ve been known to make foolish decisions—”

“But threatening a Sith Lord’s son,” Vader finished menacingly, stalking forwards, “is beyond comprehension.”

All the colour drained out of Aphra’s face. “What.”

Luke didn’t process it at first. He stared at Vader’s approach, feeling his front grow warm and damp. Watched Vader light his bloody saber. Listened to Aphra think two things, very loudly.

One: kriff.

And two, peculiarly sad: why do all parents except mine care about their kids so much?

“I don’t think you want to do that, Lord Vader,” she said, panic rising in her voice. Her finger was trembling on the trigger, and Luke winced, but she knew not to shoot. She knew Luke was her only shield.

Luke wasn’t a fan of being a shield.

He grappled for the Force, trying to find it in the slimy, slippery expanse of the dark side, and seized the ropes around him. Loosened their grip on his neck, so at least he could breathe. So at least—

“You know what, kid?” Aphra murmured. “That’s a good idea.”

A knife was out in one silver flash, and the ropes around him loosened. Luke heaved a sigh of relief—and at least that meant he had plenty of air to scream with when Aphra planted two hands on his back and shoved him into the abyss.

“Luke!”

Aphra jumped after him and grabbed him in mid-air. He tried to shake her away. “What are you doing—”

Cut ropes whipped around them, raising welts on his face and arms, but he still saw her cocky grin. It was only a little nervous.

“Getting us out of here, kid,” she said, and then blue flared around them as the miners’ old shields came to life.

[king-of-knives]

Behind The Mask

//Dark Fire Amber's

There are a million walls,

Surrounding my heart.

And a gazillion masks,

Adoring my smile.

The honesty I have,

Is a significant camouflage of mine.

Never will I lie,

About anything but my misery.

Cause no matter how heavy the mask grows,

Or the walls crack under the burden.

I'll still think about,

Others more than me.

Cause I'd treat everyone else,

Like I'd like them to treat me.

Even when they are,

Selfish or cruel or ignorant.

I'll still try to be kind and understanding,

Cause that's just who I'm.

I don't know when I'm dejected,

I don't know when I'm spleen.

If somehow,

You see a glimpse of abyss behind the mask.

All the brewing rage and sorrow concealed,

Behind the happy and cheerful person.

Than that would be unfortunate,

For me and you all the same.

-s.b.

[allyssl]

The Miner [2,186 words]

So i gots some fics :3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44439697

doc links-

General Collection - docs.google.com/document/d/1Yx…

The Miner 

Content warnings {possession- plague- implied deaths- description

of pain- near death experience- break down}

fic under cut I’ve bolded all italics cause it doesn’t look obvious to my brain otherwise 

[Ohh, bury my mother, pale and slight, 

bury my father with his eyes shut tight! 

Bury my sisters two by two, 

and then when you're done, let's bury me too! 

Ohh, bury the knight with her broken nail, 

 bury the lady, lovely and pale! 

Bury the priest in his tattered gown, 

then bury the beggar with his shining crown! 

-Ha ha ha! Are you suh... surprised? I remembered the second verse! Lots of time to think while I work down here. Maybe I can even c-come up with some songs of my own!] 

 The clicks of reshaped ore against the blue rock of the wall echoed through the caverns. The lyrics and hummed verses of a tune long forgotten to the world rang out in the flickering silence. A common bug of Hallownest stood happily mining away, oblivious to the light that plagued the dying kingdom. The orange spread only aided by the Aspids. That mind numbing substance that she had unleashed upon them. The same being that Hallownest revered so long ago had cast them to the bright abyss. Few areas were safe from the spread. There were a few civilizations that still thrived by cutting out the rest of the world. 

 One of the last unplagued common bugs stayed blissfully unaware of the surrounding plight. Content with mining away at the stone for hidden treasures with a tune to pass the days. She took the occasional break from the small crack she had created through her days of dedication. She set her pickaxe to the wall in her quest. The pink clusters of pointed crystal stood ignored at the desire, the hope of something more beneath the rockface. Their small glow outshined by her Lumafly headlamp. 

 The metallic clicks almost drowned out the soft sound of footsteps in the room above. She paused and looked up the steep stone steps that stood behind her at the entrance to her little tunnel. A figure peeked over the edge at her curiously. They had a smaller build covered entirely by a deep blue cloak compared to her protective shell. The mask they wore was somewhat round with two horns on either side and dark oval holes in the front that seemed to possess void itself. The mask seemed to cover the entirety of their head. 

 She gave a small wave before turning and resuming her task. She could hear their cautious footsteps as they slowly made their way down the steps. She turned at the sound of a rushed gasp followed by both a hard thud and the sound of a nail sliding on stone. She approached the little bug that now lay on the stone and outstretched a hand, “u-um, I forgot to t-tell you about the m-missing steps huh? S-sorry about th-that.” she chuckled nervously as they rose with her assistance. “y-your nail slid over th-there by the way, feel free to stay and m-mine if you’d like. I wouldn't m-mind the company.” She walked back over to the wall and resumed mining as the little bug retrieved their nail. 

 She glanced over her shoulder at the soft sound of shifting fabrics near the wall. The little bug waved from where they sat against a cluster of crystals. She hadn’t noticed the Lumafly that flew around their head before, they might have just caught up if they were companions. “Is the Lumafly a friend of y-yours?” This was followed by a nod which may have lit a small spark of general excitement at the fact they were successfully communicating, somewhat. “Do th-they have a name? I haven’t a-actually seen too many of them before, I've been c-calling mine S-Silver," she pointed toward the Lumafly that shone from the headlamp. The little bug thought for a moment, occasionally gesturing as if trying to figure out how to actually speak, before spotting something. They stared at the ground before grabbing a decent sized rock and started carving with their nail. After a bit they stood and walked over with the tablet, showing her their response. “Spark? That’s a n-nice name” the little bug seemed almost happier with that response as they sat down off to the side on the wall she was mining. “O-oh! I almost forgot! I’m M-Myla, what’s your name?” After a bit more scribbling they held up the tablet again, “Ghost? It s-sounds sweet!” They went back and forth with Ghost on the stone and Myla in voice.  

 After some time, Ghost had ascended back up into the room above. Ghost would occasionally pop back in and they would ‘chat’ but the visits were rare. She enjoys their conversations. She has a few items from other areas that Ghost had traveled to. She had a flower from Greenpath, a strange little bubble from Fog Canyon, a small mushroom from the Fungal Wastes. They had found a small piece of pale ore from somewhere in the Crossroads apparently, but she didn’t believe that in the slightest. She hadn’t been feeling too well the time they came over with a Hallownest seal from the city, but she didn’t think much of it.  

 They hadn’t visited in a while, but she knew they could’ve gotten stuck somewhere. Most of their stories seemed to include getting stuck somewhere. Regardless of how capable they are they had a bit of a knack for almost dying. Her mind had started feeling a bit foggy. She doubted she could’ve held a conversation well if they visited anyway. She had made progress with the wall. A light orange glow soon turned into a cascade of light through the deepest of the crack. She swore it had sung to her whenever Ghost wasn’t there to witness it. 

 It had spoken to her. The rocks had spoken of control and order, light, control, purge the empty one. It didn’t make much sense, but it had spoken. Ghost hadn’t visited in a while. They mentioned going up through the peak last visit. They couldn’t have died right? Even if the room up top was just an empty space with a loose floor, their ability to practically summon death for themself wouldn’t have changed that. Not to mention that there was probably an alternate entrance with just as much potential danger. Her mind felt as someone else’s when the rocks spoke now. Her idle thoughts had slowly become centered around light and light alone. Ghost hasn’t been here in a while. She had ignored the echoed sounds from a nearby cave somewhere above. Her mind had been filled with fog as she idly mined. Soon after she felt gone, absent in mind as she watched her body mindlessly hack away at the stone. Ghost was in the nearby caves above. She hasn’t been here for a long time.  

 Ghost walked through the dark tunnel that led back to the Crossroads with visible excitement in their charm boosted sprint, sue them, Sprint Master made walking around aimlessly for days fun. They had found the prettiest crystal they could in Crystal Peak and couldn’t wait to show Myla. Its pink surface shone with blues and greens and occasionally yellows when held just right. They felt bad about not visiting her since after they cleared the left side of City, but those timed puzzles in Peak were annoying, not to mention those void forsaken Crystal Hunters. They had to collect a few shades in there. Not to mention how many times they panicked thinking they woke up that Guardian who was obviously a fight for later. No way they were prepared for that yet. 

  They reached the room where they would always talk and sprinted to the hole. Their excitement only grew at the sound of a pickaxe on stone. She had made decent progress the last time they were there. There was a tiny glow from a few spots they both had guessed were rare crystals. They landed at the bottom of the stairs with a soft thud, long past the time of trying to just walk down them after the fiftieth faceplant accompanied by bouts of giggles from across the room. They stood confused when the soft hello or hey didn’t come. It only grew when a panicked Lumafly rushed into their chest. Silver always stayed near her... they shot a glance at Spark who took it as a signal to take Silver to the opposite wall. Ghost slowly walked towards the friend that hadn’t even spared a glance at the interaction. She never ignored Silver like this, she’d be panicking at the fact he was panicked... Heck! that lumafly had her panicking once cause spark basically chased him into the wall when the two were playing tag! Confusion and fear were the only things going through their mind. Was she okay? What didn’t she respond to them jumping in? Why didn’t she check if they tripped again? Even if theirs wasn’t audible, she’d never pass up a chance to laugh with them. Did something happen? She would have at least turned if she was singing. The last time the two had even started making a new song. She would either have been singing that or the one she was humming when they met. What in Mantis’ name is going on!? They had failed to notice the rays of light that spilled through the crack in the wall as they focused on their friend. Failed to notice the Lumaflies that fled the room at the sense of danger, wrong. They reached out a hand to put on her shoulder. To somehow notify her of their existence.  

 The action was interrupted before it began as a pickaxe slashing across their middle sent them flying into a crystal. The unexpected impact had sent their nail sliding away from them as the white-hot pain of void stitching back together to hold a form spread from the wound. They looked up in horror as they finally noticed the light streaming from the wall. They should have recognized it before she got to it. They should have visited more. Why didn’t they recognize she was digging to infection? They could’ve done something! Right? 

 Ghost looked at her from where they half lay against a wall. Their gaze was met by bright orange eyes that held the blind hatred of a higher being. If this was any other husk miner they wouldn’t have hesitated to reclaim their nail and strike it down before being forced back into shade. Back into the agony of losing form. Back into the sense of wrong as the soul container refused to mend itself. But this wasn’t some reanimated corpse of some random bug in the peak. This was their friend. This was Myla. Even as they shakily stood and ran to their nail. Even as they rose the weapon from the stone and looked towards the bug that still wore the bag that held the several gifts from their journey on her side. Even as she swung at them with pure hatred in her gaze. They barely found the strength to dodge. They slipped a few times, allowing her a free hit. They both stood now. The possessed husk of a friend highlighted in an orange glow from the wall’s cascade, and a ghost that hid behind a mask standing in the shadow she cast. Void spilled upward from the bottom of the mask they wore and the chips that held pulsing, burning pain as a reminder to focus, to heal, survive. A distant but familiar voice whispered in the back of their mind. That stupid voice of his that still spoke to them, “Kill it before it kills you. Strike down the radiance’s possessed soldier. Do not hesitate. Become the vessel. Strike it down!” 

 She lunged, they ran. The sprint up the stairs no longer held the excitement of possible adventures. They ran, narrowly dodging the Vengeflies in the path. They ran until they came crashing to the ground in the empty stag station. Void spilled upward from the eyes of the mask, mimicking tears as they shook on their knees in the cold room. Why hadn’t they noticed sooner? There were signs that came with the infection. Why hadn’t they seen it sooner!? They wanted to cry. They wanted to scream into the empty air till something came by to kill them. They wanted to be able to do anything other than lay curled on the station floor shaking.  

 The Stag heard a soft distant thud through the tunnels. The Crossroads station was in a safe location compared to others, was something heavy dropped? It wasn’t the call of the bell, but he felt drawn to it nonetheless. He slowly made his way to the Crossroads station and stood in shock at what he had found. He remembered the nice little bug that would accompany him through the Stagways. That same little bug now lay on the stone of the station shaking as if someone had frozen them. Unaware of the Lumaflies that had entered the room, circling them in worry. They lay there as a simple ghost with no voice to cry suffering. 

[nemycchi]

Delusion

A Childe X Lumine Fanfiction

Rating : Not Rated

Tags : Psychological, Mild Angst, Character Death

----

During moments of utter silence, Childe recalls that which Lumine once told him about a book she had read from a far away land. 

"It is of utmost importance that those who seek to fight monsters must not become one in the process." 

He likes to think that perhaps, by mentioning it, she had once hoped that he would be reminded of his main aspiration—to conquer the world that is, and not to simply bathe in the blood of his enemies. 

It has its merits, he admits—for he finds himself fighting alongside her during the turning point of the war, the darkness in him dampened by the white light she emits—cleansing the corruption that has resided in him for the longest time. 

This too though, reminds him of another of her words. 

"The deep dark abyss—stare for too long and it would stare back to those who dare." 

It is true, for he knows that ever since he dropped down that hole in the world, he emerged as a monster that is only tamed by bloodshed. 

And from the moment he knew Lumine, perhaps by her as well. 

He has always carried a portion of that so-called abyss, feeling its vines wrapping inside his very being. He is a monster, that much is true, but tamed as one can be, he became a tool under her commands. 

He does not care, for it is times with her when the whispers of the dark become muted—turned into nothing but echoes of the past. 

"Childe? Breakfast?" 

The man spies her slender form by the doorframe of his bedroom, sees her domestically ushering his sleepy person into the kitchen and he feels as though he had achieved that which he desires, with her by his side. 

To conquer the world. 

They did. They won. And it was all that he could ask for. 

Celestia is no more. The abyss is no more. It is just him, Lumine and the rest of the world. 

He smiles as he sits down at the table, reaching for her hand as she places the bowl of steaming Calla Lily Seafood Soup before him. 

"Oh, my favorite. What's the occasion, girlie?"

"Mhm, nothing in particular. Just wanted to cook something special for you." she smiles back and he thinks he saw the glimmer of stars beyond her eyes. 

Or perhaps it was nothing but an illusion, masking the deeper end of the void he is familiar with—if such end even existed. 

Childe shakes his head for he believes that that is not the case. Lumine is here with him. And the abyss is no more. It is no more. 

And if the calling of that dark bud inside him grows too strong anyhow, he knows she is here to defeat it for him. 

For she is also perhaps a monster in her own rights. 

 

--☆☆☆--

 

The bags under his eyes, and the haunted looks in his face tell everyone that he is far from recovered but everytime someone comes to ask him how he is faring, he will do nothing but face them with a smile before answering. 

"I'm very much fine! Lumine takes good care of me." 

If there were curious glances sent his way, he does not care. They must be seething inside—jealous that it was him who conquered her heart by the end of it all. 

The savior and the reformed harbinger.

What a perfect love story—great as a tale to pass down from generations to generations. He sighs at the thought. 

"Childe, pardon my query but I must ask—how have you truly been?" 

He already lost count of how many times the same question had been asked of him. 

He stops walking—to face the former Geo Archon a few steps behind. 

"I do not understand why everyone keeps on asking the same question. I already told you i'm fine, didn't I?" 

Oh how he hates it when they ask—as if they were doubting his princess' ability to care for him, for it was her who has been on his bed, in his kitchen, in his very house ever since the world achieved true peace. 

They do not understand just how capable Lumine is. 

And they will never know, if he has anything to say. 

"Though we are but friends, I must express my deep concern. The dips on your cheeks beg to differ from that which you uttered." 

The blue in his eyes shift into something malicious, to that belonging to the beast he keeps inside. 

"With all due respect, Mr. Zhongli. I do not appreciate the implications of what you just said. You asked and I answered." He pauses. 

The abyss is no more for Lumine is with him. 

"I shall be going now. My wife is waiting for me at home." 

As he walks away, he ignores the burning gaze on his back. It's fine. That former god does not matter. 

What matters is him and Lumine while the rest of the world could go crash and burn, he thinks. 

 

--☆☆☆--

 

"Tough day at work?" 

Childe sidles up to her side, wrapping an arm around the apron-covered waist of his beloved. He kisses her temple with reverence—for it is what she deserves. 

"Not really. It was just Mr. Zhongli. And others. Being annoyingly repetitive as always." He grumbles, tucking her head under his chin. 

The small hand resting atop his chest tightens against his clothes. 

"Do they... not approve of me?" She asks almost inaudibly. 

He was quick to deny the preposterous thought. 

"Don't listen to them. They do not matter, girlie." 

Childe feels her shift and he looks down at her. 

Golden pools decorated by the glittering of stars—of tears, he realizes, meet his abyssal depths. 

"Are you... are you going to leave me?" 

He brushes the hair out of her forehead and tucks the strays behind her ears before promptly brushing away the tears that cascaded from her eyes. 

"Never. You are mine, Lumine. As much as I am yours." 

Even the sweetest wine cannot compare to the smile that adorns her face after his declaration. She buries her head on his chest once more, arms crossing behind him, bestowing him with nothing else but warmth. 

Childe thinks for a second, that this moment is perhaps the best there is in the world. And he knows he is ruined for anything else.

It is impossible to feel anything akin to this feeling and he strongly believes that the desire to even experience it from others aside his princess does not exist anymore. 

 

--☆☆☆--

 

The sound of deliberate knocking at the door rouses the harbinger from his sleep. Childe growls in annoyance at whoever is behind that piece of wood as he untangles his limbs from the goddess laying beside him. 

He kisses the top of her head before deciding to rise and check who their visitor is. 

He stills when the one in front of his humble abode makes himself known. 

Zhongli, of course. 

"Mr. Zhongli, why the early visit?" 

The man only hums before crossing his arms, pinning him with a serious gaze. 

"May I come in, Childe?"

"Ah, of course." 

He lets him in and ushers the former archon to the couch. Upon sitting, the latter immediately scans his surroundings with vague concern in his eyes. 

"I must say, your house is surprisingly empty and devoid of life, Childe."

"What do you mean? I think it's pretty homey. Lumine designed it by herself when she first got here." 

A frown makes its way to the other man's lips. 

"Childe, can we talk?" 

He stiffens, tone changing into a defensive one. 

"We are talking, are we not?" He spats.

"Why don't you ask Lumine to come down here with us?" 

He summons one of his water blades. 

"Why exactly are you here, Zhongli?"

"Call Lumine, Childe." 

In a flash, the water blade comes in contact with the polearm that materialized in front of the visitor. 

"Why. Are. You. Here?" He asks, hostile in every way as he accents each word with a swing of his blade—all thankfully parried. 

"I need you to understand, Childe." Zhongli calls forth a jade shield that rattled even the sturdy walls of the other man's home. 

A water spear slams against the shield. 

"That Lumine..." 

Yet another side step, perfectly timed to avoid the beast cloaked in water suddenly crackling with electricity. 

"Stop it!" It yells. 

But Zhongli is not known for being gentle. The wrath of the rock and the harsh truth—both must be laid out for him to save the monster disguised as a man. 

"Is no longer with us." 

A beat passes.

"She's gone, Childe. And you must accept that fact."

"No!" 

And like that, the man surges forward with the fury enough to fuel wars. 

The walls crumble and the terrified shrieks of townsfolk in the immediate vicinity sound off but Childe could no longer care. 

Him and Lumine. The rest of the world does not matter. 

His mind goes blank with nothing but white hot anger, and he brandishes his weapon with renewed vigor. 

"Take it back." He quietly demands, voice distorted. 

Instead of complying, multiple stone steles rise up from the pavement, obscuring the two men from prying eyes. 

"Everyone grieves for her departure, I assure you. We are hurt as much as you are." A water blade makes contact with the archon's cheek and he winces as response, "but she chose to sacrifice herself for this world's peace and she will not be happy if she sees you rotting away to your demise, Childe."

"You—you don't know anything! Do not lie! Lumine..." A crack in his composition and Zhongli is quick to take advantage of it. 

All at once, like a puppet with strings cut off, Childe falls forward when Zhongli's polearm strikes down his chest. The accumulated hunger and fatigue from weeks of barely holding on to her memory suddenly come crashing down upon his person. 

Empty plates and sweet nothings. 

Cold bed and pristine kitchen. 

Unused scarf with the color of the skies and the clouds—like the view he's witnessing right now. 

Stare into the abyss, and it stares back at you—its remnants staying within, slowly consuming that which it latches on to. 

The abyss is no more—or so he believes. 

"Lumine... she promised me." he whispers into the wind. 

The rustling of cloth distracts him from his thoughts. 

"Do not lean too close to that edge, Childe. I beg you, not as your friend, but as Lumine's—please, do stay with us." 

Before his eyes closed, he heard the call from the deep dark abyss of the waters. 

The sea is calm. And he couldn't care less about the rest of the world. 

Him and Lumine, he thinks. Him and Lumine.

[the-voltage-diaries]

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου - Lucifer x Diavolo

AO3 Link

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου: Greek for ‘My Polar Star’

Word Count: 1859

A/N: I don’t know what this is. All I know is that @simpingw0lfi3​​​​​​​ refused to do it, so I did. Of course, please don’t expect this to be perfect because... it really isn’t. 

Vote of thanks: @akaiiro-yume​​​​​ for checking and correcting all the grammatical fuck ups I did, making sure I didn’t stop writing this halfway and going through any mental breakdown I might have had instead for me. And, of course, @some-ikemen-snob​​​​​ for making sure this SCREAMED Lucifer energy this way and that. only for now, but ily both.

Devildom 14th February, 20XX Saturday, 7:57 PM

Dear Diary,

      I suppose I've never written a journal entry such as this in the past, for I haven't found either the desire or the will to task myself with writing my thoughts down in a manner wherein I speak to an inanimate object. That said, I have been told writing is, in a manner of speaking, therapeutic, and I believe I could do with some of that right now. It would be false to assume I don’t still harbour any inhibitions towards using my time in this manner, especially when I'd much rather be by Diavolo’s side. The very same Diavolo who, as a matter of fact, happens to be the subject of this writing session today. Strangely enough, and if I recall correctly, he was also the one who introduced - which is putting it rather mildly - me to the “art” of journal entries. I admit, I haven’t given this activity the kind of gravity which was probably expected out of me, but then again, today is a little different from the rest. I'm not entirely certain as to where to begin, but I do believe I have been told in situations like these, one should do whatever... feels right.

      Diavolo is... well, where do I even begin? He is the future of Devildom, as a few might call it - myself included. While he does appear to be quite the cheerful and at times careless lord, it’d be a lie to deny that he is just as wise and compassionate underneath that wave of buoyancy radiating off of him. Honest to a fault, but with his moral compass always pointing towards the best interest of those around him. I’ll admit, sometimes it proves to be rather difficult to believe that he indeed is a demon. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to compare him to the Polaris considering he does quite radiate the charisma from himself, shining admirably amidst a dark sea of onlookers. While in name he rules over all the demons in the land of Devildom, the right set of eyes won’t take too long to deduce the eloquence with which his fingers reach out to the soul of every single resident of the land, holding them together better than gravity ever bound humans to the earth. 

      Saying that is all there is to him would be a lie whiter than the wet snow, making its way to the tips of my fingers and sliding off gently onto this page. That, of course, doesn’t mean describing how I feel towards him is no herculean task. There are some cases when a language -  no matter the plethora of vocabulary it offers - just isn’t sufficient enough, and this certainly is one of those cases. For the time being, let’s just owe my lack of articulacy to the bond of mutual respect and trust Diavolo and I share, built over centuries upon centuries, braving the ravages of time, and even perhaps the less than pleasing antics my brothers tend to pull. But while the impression the ruler of all demons and I tend to emit may seem to be distanced by a careful degree of professionalism, I don’t believe anybody knows that that might not be the case. Even Diavolo himself. Doesn’t come as a surprise, really, for they simply can’t know.

      Why do I believe that to not be the case, then? Well, I would wonder why I felt so strongly about it had I not known the reason myself. The very same reason which is now a secret so surreptitious that I can’t help but consider burning this piece of paper once I finish writing to ensure it is never revealed to another set of eyes. Such dastardly is the nature of this emotion, tricking one into its delusive warmth, encompassing them with the belief that nothing truly is impossible, that what they feel might just be true and meaningful enough to be returned by the other they feel for, only to cackle with glee and turn away when the reality doesn’t match the fantasy it was believed to turn out to be. The very same emotion which in layman’s terms is apparently called... love.

      I’m not entirely certain I understand the extent of its exquisite existence myself, to be truthful. All I know is no matter how intensely I try to shut the door on its escaping fumes, it turns futile the second I lay my eyes on the man in question. While the rest of the known universe sees an omnipotent leader binding everyone together, making them sing the same tune in harmony, I see what I can only consider an anchor, grounding me, making it so that I can’t ever fall into the abyss of the darkness that breathes inside of me and float away. He is the quintessence of the best of what the world has to offer, with his golden eyes sparkling like stardust, weaving their ever-lasting magic into the hearts of whoever they come across - be it human, or demon, or angel - wrapping them in their never-ending warmth, letting them sink into the depths of benevolence they promise. His hair are the cerise of a raging inferno, sheltering beneath their canopy a quick, sensible, erudite mind. His smile is but a warm culmination of everything optimistic and positive, like a flame inviting moths to it, reaching out to give their innermost yearnings a hand to grab on to and never let go. Simply divine. And this is where the paths diverge, I suppose.

      They see a to-be Demon King, I see Diavolo.

      But alas, love is a fickle mistress. Getting too lost in the charm of her alluring arms will only result in a doom of them wrapping around your neck, enticing, until you realise their hold is tightening. Not to hold on, but to suffocate. I might have gotten so lost in that fiery gaze that I didn’t notice it start to crawl along my skin, leaving a charred, burnt path in its wake. The very anchor which I believed to be the one to ground me and hold me close etched itself deeper into the oceanic floor of delirium, drowning me. The threads of his stardust wrapped themselves around me and clutched hard enough to strangle. Before I knew it, the symphony of something meaningful became the cacophony of a nightmare.

      This red thread strung through itself earlier today the series of events I’d rather forget. I’ve known how I feel towards Diavolo for a while now, and I had been searching for an opportunity to come clean and let him know about it for the last few days. Not to say I hadn’t gotten said opportunities at all, but one could owe it to me being too prideful to admit I was finally opening up to the idea of accepting feelings and... emotions. Around that time was when Solomon let slip a few details about the significance of Valentine’s day in the human world as an annual occurrence to celebrate romantic love, friendship, and admiration, and with enough persistence, Asmodeus managed to convince Diavolo to declare the day as an official holiday. Just a few hours ago I walked along the empty hallways to Diavolo’s office, knowing him, Barbatos and I to be the only ones in the building, still choosing work over any form of inactivity. By then, I had talked myself into finally telling the most powerful of all demons about the feelings I harboured towards him. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I was indeed a tad hopeful, wishing for the feelings to be returned. Once I reached the door to his private office, my hand settled above the smooth hardwood to give it a knock. And that’s when I noticed that the door was already slightly ajar. I heard a voice inside, other than Diavolo’s, and I took the liberty to glance inside, only for my hopes to come crashing down when the realisation struck me: I shouldn’t have done that.

      Inside his office, Diavolo sat in his seat with his mouth pressed against another, a hand trailing across the small face with dark green locks framing it with elegance while the other held on to the person’s waist, pulling him closer. My eyes widened when the smaller man of the two let out a muffled whimper, perched on Diavolo’s lap. Barbatos. I felt my heart squeeze out a pained croak at the sight, and even though every single nerve in my body begged me to move away and forget I ever saw anything, my legs didn’t move. They stayed glued to their spot on the floor even as I felt it crumble beneath my feet, just the way my eyes stayed on Diavolo. My lip trembled with a longing I never thought I’d experience when Barbatos intertwined his fingers with Diavolo’s, smiling into the kiss they shared, like the perfect harmony which was always meant to be. It was when Diavolo broke the kiss, eyes meeting the other’s and whispers of love and confessions floating across the room until they settled on my ears, that I finally felt the mask crack. The facade I had worked on for centuries to lay the foundation of crumbled as my fists clenched, letting myself have a moment of weakness when a lone tear of frustration, delay, anger, and self loathing dripped down my cheek. I looked up at the ceiling, a voiceless laugh tumbling across my lips at the cognisance that the Polaris I was reaching out for, shining proud in the middle of a dark, cloudless sky, was beyond my reach, and... never supposed to be mine. How far I could stretch, how willing were my fingers to make one last attempt to touch it’s light and bask in it - all of that didn’t matter anymore.

      I exhaled a shaky breath, blinking once as I tucked away whatever it is I was going to tell Diavolo in some corner of my mind, crushing the key with a hard snap of my fingers. My eyes found Barbatos again, glazing over with a heartfelt wish for him to find his happiness, at least. It was with one last aching smile towards Diavolo and a euphoric laugh spilling from Barbatos’ lips that I turned on my heel, shaking my head at the fate I was handed. Needless to say, I hold no malice towards either of them - they’re both precious to me, as much as I dislike admitting it.

      I believe I have shared more than what was required, and I shall burn this piece of paper lest anyone finds it. One might call it wishful thinking on my part, but I do pray that watching the last signs of anything I harbour towards the one who wasn’t meant to be mine from the start burn as the embers of the fire consume it whole makes me put a lid on my feelings once and for all, for they were never supposed matter. They weren’t supposed to exist to begin with.

      After all, only a prince deserves a fairy-tale with a happy ending, and I am no prince.

Lucifer.

[dancingstarsbornfromchaos]

So, this is a piece of vent writing I wrote a couple of years ago. I found it almost by chance on my old writing blog and it really struck something inside me, especially since I’ve particularly struggling with these very same feelings all over again in the past year and a half.

It’s mostly just me unloading all the intrusive thoughts in my head, but I like to think that it can be also a very personal take on mental illness, depression, self-loathing, social anxiety and a lot more (from the POV of someone who has BPD). And for that reason I think it might be worth sharing it again.

CW: mentions of self-harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, violent fantasies

“Smile”

Smile. Bottle everything up, hide it in the shadows, don’t let the light shine on it. Close your eyes, slip on your mask and go out, face the world. Don’t let them see the darkness that rages on the inside. Don’t let them taste the bitterness that’s slowly drowning you. Don’t let them feel the heat that consumes your every thought.

Smile. Let jokes and dismissal spill from your lips. Cover everything in sarcasm, with every fake breath you take. Keep your act up, don’t allow yourself a single slip. Practise your speeches and your expressions when alone, in front of the mirror, and make sure that they are enough to hide your real face. Repair the cracks, refine the words. Hide the scars.

Smile. It’s what I do. I curl my lips around the empty shadow of emotions I don’t feel, use them to give my voice a tone that’s nothing but a well-practiced act. I’ve learnt what people want to hear, what they want to see. I’ve learnt how to pretend to be something I’m not. I’ve learnt to speak truths I don’t believe in, to fake reactions I’ll never have. I let the world have what it demands from me. It’s easier, on the long term, but it’s consuming too. It drains all the energies, it makes me sicker and sicker. It makes me reach out for coping mechanisms that do nothing but disintegrating me even further. Piece by piece. Cut after cut. Because I can’t afford to stay whole, not when there’s so much to do. Not when there are so many fights I can’t lose. Not when there are so many eyes staring down at me, with their blind expectations.

Smile. I take a breath, open my eyes, put on my show. And yet, I can’t help wondering, at times. Can no one the cracks in my mask? How empty my smile is? How fake my laughs and words and gestures are? Can no one see the dark emptiness in my eyes? Have I really become that good? Or is the world so blind and uncaring that it can’t even see past my worst slips? And, more importantly, does it really matter? Perhaps, whatever the answer is, it will make no difference. I’ll still have to lock all I feel and think and am away and…

Smile. At times I marvel at how exhausting such a small gesture can be. How much energy it takes to make it seem natural, to make it see true. How hard it can be to try and patch up an abyss with a band aid. And I also marvel at the power a single, well-chosen word can have, at how many shadows and inconvenient truths you can cover up with a couple of syllables. Speak them with the right intonation, the right expression, the right tilt of your head, the right gesture, and no one will ever question you. No one will ever see what you’re truly thinking behind that ugly, fake, dull grin of yours. Such power. But the price, oh the price. No discounts allowed. And at times it’s too high, too out of reach. Yet, I can’t afford not to pay it. So, I tear away another piece of myself and hand it over, to compensate. And I wonder: what will I do when there will be nothing left to give? Nothing left of me?

“I’m fine,” is what I say. “I couldn’t be further from fine,” is what I mean. I’m angry, I’m tired, I’m sad. I’m broken, I can hardly keep myself together. Can’t you see? My muscles are so tense. My jaw hurts for how hard I’m clenching my teeth. And I’m screaming so loud inside my head. How is it that you can’t hear it when I’m here, going deaf? And yet, all you see is my fake smile.

“It doesn’t matter,” is what I say. “Of course it does, you fucking jackass,” is what I mean. I’m hanging by a thread that gets thinner and thinner every day. I can’t afford to have this small bit of ground under my feet been taken away. And yet I let it crumble a little more every day, because I can’t drop the act either. So, I close my eyes and chant, deep inside, under the mask: breathe, don’t look down and smile.

“I’ll manage,” is what I say. “I can’t take it anymore,” is what I mean. I’m fading, painfully, into my own darkness, consumed by my own emotions. I can feel myself slipping away. I can feel my control cracking. Will I go out in a blast? Or will all those wounds I’ve so thoroughly collected and hid make me just collapse into the void that once was me? It’s hard to say, when all the lines are blurred. These days, I can hardly tell what exactly this “me” is. These days, all I am is a broken mask, a worn act and a too tense smile.

“I don’t mind,” is what I say. “Fuck you,” is what I mean. I want to tear your eyes out. I want to dig my fingers past your ribs and squeeze the air out of your lungs. I want to cut you open and spread your guts all over the ground. I want to write the screams that echo in my head in your blood. I want to crack your head open, pick at your brain, find out how you can be so oblivious to the signs. I want to get your still beating heart out and see if it can beat in the place of mine too. I want to find my peace of mind by emptying your skull. But all these are acts of self-indulgence I cannot afford. Monsters can’t walk in the light of the day wearing their true faces. The darkness of a soul can’t be worn on a sleeve when there is someone watching. The anger must find its nourishment on the inside, since it can’t be unleashed on the outside. Bloodlust must be content with my own blood, since it can’t have any other. And my demons have to wait for when I’ll be alone with them once again, away from the cruel stage of the world. So, in the meanwhile, I shrug, pretend, smoothly change the subject and smile.

Maybe one day I’ll decide that I don’t care anymore and drop this consuming act. Maybe one day I’ll throw the script away and finally scream my lungs out. Maybe I’ll decide that it isn’t worth it and let the anger and the dark take whatever they want. Not from me, not from the little that will be left of my being, but from my audience. Years and years of repression and sacrifices and pretence, I’ll watch them being wiped away, in a glorious explosion of black light, and take me down with them. But, after all, freedom has a price, just as everything else, doesn’t it? And I can’t stop thinking that, for the first and last time I’d mean it. I’d truly feel that bloody smile on my face.