Exalted By Eternal Sanctity (The Ephemeral Heavens Deem It Sin)

As an adult you must cultivate the skill of “Gross! Oh, well. Not my business.”

Blinded Visions (Won't You Open Your Eyes For Me, Beloved?)

The glimmer of sunlight flitting across the waters, crystalline reflections that fall into mist. His arms wrap around you, steady and firm as he feeds you piece by piece. The day is oddly quiet, but the change is welcome. It isn't every day your lover joins you for a simple walk. Though admittedly, you have derailed from your plans to visit the garden, but surely it can survive a day without your guidance. Overlooking the seas and sampling pastries from your favorite bakery with the most important person of your life is more than worth missing out on a few hours of fauna watching. It makes you almost wish these days would never end, just so you would never have to see him break from the countless cases he oversees. A judge in name, an executioner in form. It's all you can do to wipe his tears and embrace him close on rainy days. You would bring the world down to its knees for him, and he would do the same for you, but he does not want it for himself. It is a shame, you think, that he does not know the full weight of his worth. But it's alright, you have the rest of your life to convince him of your love.

Unholy Worship (The Tale Of The God Of Sinners)

Another small piece for @flokali and @chococolte. (I did attempt to send it through an ask but tumblr is acting up and all I get are errors so I've resorted to tagging.)

Is it not harrowing?

To see their devotions edge?

Razor sharp and paper thin

It is deadly and dangerous 

Do you care?

When it is not to you 

They turn their vicious nature to?

When it is soft and kind

Tender touches that never bruise?

When their loyalty will outlive the sun

The moon and the stars?

When they heed no mortal limit

To please your every whim?

Will you deny them?

Derive them of their worship

Their very purpose?

Surely you'll indulge them

After receiving a taste

Their desperation and adoration 

A drink of sweet honey 

Laced in cloying poison

An addiction of ichor

They'll crown you in blood

And the rarest of gems

Offering their body

As a temple to you

To desecrate as you'd like

You're caught in a loop

But it's quite alright

Revel in your glory

For as long as you please 

Who are they to defy their God's will anyway?

I use a variety of things but mostly my messages app. I write and send drafts to myself.

plz reblog for science

Judge, Jury, Executioner (Applause For The Fall Of A God)

The silence hangs heavy as though the guillotine was raised over his own neck at the sight of pooling blues that shine with a gleam of gold. Eyes glazed and unseeing, pinpricks of starshine glow dimming to shadows of the abyss. The world slows down as panic grows, steadily until it all bursts. The first scream brings about a waterfall of regret and fury. He falls to his knees, his hand reaching out as his vision blurs. His soul was being torn apart. He knew he was forsaken. He had not stricken the final blow, but he had allowed it to fall. He was as guilty as the criminals he once sentenced to the dark prisons below the waters.

He couldn't hear the distorted wailing that echoed through the walls or feel rough hands desperately shaking his unresponsive body as he stared at the corpse, no doubtedly ice cold by now, lay quiet and still at his feet. He hears the faint rumble of a storm gathering outside, the world responding to his grief as the rain begins to pour. Mercury silver raindrops puddling on the roads in murky, muddled blues. At last, his heart can not take the guilt, the agony, and he collapses. His only thought to be allowed to never wake, to be free from the guilt and blood of his God staining his hands like the coward he was, to grovel at the feet of his God like the sinner, once beloved, he is.

I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.

Thank you! Your other works are also very good but I really liked "the idea of sickness." I haven't seen a mutually destructive(?) one written like that before so it made me want to write a piece for it. bsjacx that's such a high compliment especially since it was such an impulsive piece- I'm glad you liked it!!

Fallen From Grace (The Tale Of A Desecrated God)

The vengeance of a wretched god

Whose forgiveness is cruel

And their hunger unabating

They eat and eat

Consume til they burst

Adoration and devotion rots their teeth

Guilt and sorrow taints their tongue

Blood, sweat and tears seep into their throat

As souls line their stomach

It's not enough

Nothing is enough

A god hungers

And a soul yearns

For the piece that was torn

Lost in darkened void

They ache for something to fill the hole

That is all that remains of what they lost

To feel complete and whole

To return to a time before 

When things were kinder, simpler 

When hunger was not all that they were

@myuni-moon A little piece inspired by your writing. I hope you'll enjoy it.

A Home Amidst The Infinite Stars

He looks inhuman, with his smile that strains just a little too much at the corners and eyes that gleam with an artificial liveliness. An ink black stain on his skin, marring his neck and displaying his sin. Dangerous, you hear the whispers, mocking and cruel with a hint of caution that feels ice cold. Aventurine, they call him, with eyes of vivid colors that perhaps would have been mesmerizing once, but were dull and glassy now. A gem, polished and set on a pedestal for all to see.

You find it, and him most of all, tragic. Someone clearly put effort into making him presentable, clothing him in bright hues that are impossible to ignore, and his personality is loud, ringing in your ears like the echoes of a scream within the long halls of desolation. He hides himself away, protecting himself in the only way he can. Even then, you see the scars that chip away at his mind, the tiny nicks and scratches that feel like chasms to your stardust vision.

You want to reach out, wish you could cup his soul in your hands, and hide him away beneath the starshine veil you wear. You want to fill his wound with sunglow and stitch him back together with a long thread, shadow stained to prevent another scar. Perhaps he would not notice a new mark on his skin, but you did not wish to add to his canvas. Perhaps kindness is poison to him now, years of cruelty that led to painful isolation.

He is frozen, frostbitten limbs that burn as they warm by the fire. You wonder if he would cry if you hugged him, the steady pulse of a star in your chest that reaches out for him just as it has for your cherished companions. You wonder how long it will take before he willingly returns to your side, head bowed as he presses himself into your chest and shudders as though he'll fall apart the moment you let him go.

You wonder when he will relax in your hold and when he will not flinch but lean willingly into your touch. Perhaps it will take years, or even decades. Perhaps he will never lose the sharp, jagged edges of his broken pieces. But that's okay, you have time. You will wait however long it takes, just as you have for each and every one of your beloved companions.

I was going to post more stuff more often but the, in my opinion, unnecessary drama over Aventurine is making me reconsider things. I made a lot of pieces after I finished the 2.1 quest but I worry about posting them.

I'm sure no one really cares since I usually post once in a blue moon anyway but I still find the drama concerning. Perhaps that just me though.

Your Faith Has Made You Complacent (And Thus Your Pride Will Bring You To Ruin)

Another piece inspired by @m1d-45. I have normally have great impulse control unless it's writing. Then this happens.

Instincts honed

Through years of wear

It has led them well

When their heart was torn

And their mind in shambles

So why?

Why is it now

That they fail to listen?

It pulls back 

Desperate to get away

To plead for forgiveness 

For ignorance and arrogance 

They do not listen 

Not this time

Emotions surge 

As their heart thunders

Their mind races 

Ignoring the sirens that blare

They raise their blade

Even as something 

Someone?

In the back of their head howls

The weapon plunges 

Sinking into soft flesh

The thud of a guillotine

A hasty execution 

It is a graceless death 

That prickles their skin

As a sense of wrongness settles

Something is not right

When they fall to their knees?

Why were they trying to heal the dead?

Why did their soul ache?

Why does it feel so wrong?

Oh.

What have they done?