I'm Also Going To Go On A Small Ramble In The Tags Because I Love Your Interpretation But I Also Have

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.

*long-suffering sigh*

just a small psa — if yandere/dark content isn’t your cup of tea, just block and move on. you are in charge of your internet experience.

writing/consuming this genre, as much as it is a coping mechanism used by me and others, does not equate to glorifying it. please utilize reading comprehension and pay attention to disclaimers, and the way these topics are depicted.

does the author of the work you’re reading properly tag and call for the importance of seeking mental health if you/others are portraying unhealthy behaviors? conduct research on the author and confirm whether or not they have a history of condoning shitty behaviors. consume art with a critical eye.

moral senses are not universal and should never be treated as such.

ask questions. cross reference. if something squicks you, blacklist or block! you aren’t the target audience, and that is okay. everything is not for you.

and PLEASE conduct some self–study and unpack your biases with your concepts of good and bad. not everything is black and white. i pray that someday, you learn to be significantly less judgmental with what people choose to spend their time doing. if nobody is being hurt, leave the perpetrator be. moral greyness isn’t evil, bad, and shouldn’t be shunned or demonized.

writers/artists are already given enough shit, no matter the genre. you don’t like it? scroll. block. it’s free. make your own stuff. create what you want to see. art with scary/dark themes has been here for centuries, and will be here after all of us are gone. do you think something is worthy of critique? offer something constructive and move on!

just because YOU!! don’t like a piece of art with dark themes doesn’t mean it should never exist. if you want sterile, clean work then make your own.

and for the love of all, please practice what you preach and be kind.

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?

Monstrous Devotion (It Will Devour You Whole)

Another piece for @m1d-45. It was meant to be short but as you can tell, got out of hand.

Desperation 

You remember it well

How it sparked your blood

And got it to run

How it tasted of bitter and tang

Much like the sting of blood

You remember how it kept you alive

Made your nerves so sensitive 

It prickled with every breeze

Every slight disturbance

How it kept your sleep light

And your dreams even lighter

Even now as you watch

The archons who adorn your body

With the most precious of gems

And the rarest of treasures 

They who once tried to shed your blood

To water their blade

You see the warriors of each nation

Who tried to rend your soul from your body

Attend your every need 

Degrading themselves as objects

As lesser than human

To try and exalt you higher

You feel more than you hear

As you watch once beloved characters

Stain themselves with sin

Desperation of their own

Rising to the surface

Their desperation is monstrous 

Predator to prey

Your own desperation has not waned

It has only grown

Writhing under your skin

Fueled by fine jewelry 

Silken clothes

And bloodstained manic smiles

Your forgiveness is not sincere

It is learned

Through a lifetime of pain

Of a death so vivid

You're desperate to stay alive

You are willing to do anything

But what once kept you safe

Will now be the one to deal a fatal blow

You already know this

Alarm bells ringing

With every minute move

But it's far too late

You're stuck in puppet motions

That are to never cease

Until the life drains from your eyes

Desperation made you learn to survive

And now that very same lesson shall be the one to end you

To Be Favored By The Stars (Surrender Yourself To Eternity)

Child of the golden stars, how do you plead?

He peers around the ornate room, the heavy weight of a golden medallion on his chest as he breathes. He expects dust and ash falling to the ground, the laughter of someone he loves in his ears, but there is only silence where he stands. He does not have much to offer, but still, he raises a tattered dream with small, thin hands up to skies. Words spring from his lips, his hands unable to stifle the harrowing words: ■■■■■■

Child of the desolate sands, how do you plead?

There are faceless people around them, dripping red, red into the stands. The one before him raises his arms in surrender, letting cold shackles form around his wrists and tightening around his neck. A placid smile that looks eerie and wrong plastered on his face as he raises his chin up. The same echo in his voice as he answers: ■■■■■■

Child of the impious idols, how do you plead?

The silk that wraps so snugly around him feels like the cruel grip of a trap, a spider's web in which he thrashes. Hollow eyes scream and weep without tears as he brings himself to smile, a lie on his lips. He can feel the dread creeping in, the voice of death in his ears. He offers himself up, splaying out his hands as he welcomes all to peck and tear pieces from his shattered self. His truth is already blatant on his lips: ■■■■■■

Child of a fallen star, how do you plead?

Confessions of blood and pain spill from cracked lips, an empty gaze that stares through him as tears fall unbidden from their eyes. Palms upturned, waiting a blow that will punish them further, blackened skin on their neck, and they can not breathe. They speak, and they speak until their voice is raw and their throat is bleeding. Scorching sunflares on their skin, embers burning their bones, and smoke clogging their lungs. They gaze up at the face of their goddess, a gaze that closes upon them thrice over. They are a wretched thing, yet they are cradled ever so gently in the palm of the one who presses a blessing into their soul.

"Guilty."

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.

I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

The Price Of Crossing A Bridge Long Since Burned (Your Memories Shall Do Just Fine)

A bit of a longer piece inspired by @flokali

In the quiet abyss of slumber

Stolen away from an empty home

Only to wake to familiar world

Not yours

Not quite

But close enough

You've been here before

Not as yourself 

But as a traveler seeking their twin

Searching for their other half

They shouldn't know you

In fact 

They shouldn't be alive

They should be codes and pixels

A world just imaginary 

Just fantastical and nothing more

Yet here you were

In a bedroom not your own

Surrounded by people you've seen

You've played with 

But by all means shouldn't be

You did not belong 

No matter what they claim

And yet here you are

The world will change 

Just as you already have

After all

Are you sure you've seen these people before?

Are you sure you do not belong here?

Do you remember your past?

Of your empty home filled with memories?

Memories you can't remember?

You don't recognize their names

And certainly not their faces

So how are you so sure you've met them before?

How are you sure you've been taken?

You're here aren't you?

They all seem so worried

And they know you so well

Hm?

Oh dear

Maybe you've been dreaming too long

You're starting to get everything mixed up

Don't worry

They'll take care of everything

And they'll take care of you

You shouldn't worry so much

I'm sure it's a little confusing

And I can sense your panic from here

Everything will be just fine

Besides

This life isn't so bad

I'm sure you'll grow to like it

It's all that you have now after all

The shatter of mirror fractals

Like the chiming of bells 

A fog settles and sinks

Muddling memory and thought alike

A drop in an ocean 

The ripples become waves 

And the waves rise into tsunamis 

As one life ends 

Another begins 

Stolen from a mundane world

To be exalted above all 

And chained to a throne

Meant for a righteous God

Is this a blessing?

Or perhaps it is a curse

Either way

It's far too late 

The die has cast 

And it's already begun 

No time for regrets

Not that you would remember any

Let's make the best of this

Okay?

Heaven's Sanctuary (A Dragon's Hoard It Becomes)

Upon a throne Far above the clouds Surrounded in Eden He gazes down At the scurrying mortals Each little thing Catches his eye And draws his gaze To mimic a copy Into an archive of memories Though, when travelers near He draws away Allowing his dearest center stage He watches Distant and quiet As wanderers arrive And as they leave One by one To never return Alone once more He turns to his beloved Drawing them into his arms Mouthing at their neck And renewing the marks He had previously left on their skin His darling may be his devotee But sometimes he feels As though he is the worshipper Desecrating their pious body Bringing an angel into ruin But he doesn't mind Even a god must show adoration To the one who holds his heart Knowing only eternity awaits them Within this hidden sanctuary

Memories Of A Life Never Lived (Why Am I Worth Your Love?)

Starshine glimmer in dark oceans, the flicker of familiarity that truly made no sense yet still persistently existed. He does not linger on the memories he knows are not his, and yet they surface in his mind time and time again. He tips his head, bowing his head in submission as he is pressed onto satin sheets. He does not understand the ramifications of his remembrance, but he falls back into its embrace, willingly drinking from the truth that only he knows. He moans your name, gratitude lacing his every word and love flowing in his veins. Breathless whines and keening whimpers at the feeling of butterfly kisses across his skin, his eyes glazing in ecstasy. His mind falls, pleading and sobbing into quicksand, drowning in the memories that are not his, and yet they are all the same.

Each person he sees, he knows, is him, and yet he can not fathom how. For each iteration of his being has you by his side, steadfast and ever loving. His mind and his body wars with the other, pleasure overtaking the confusion blooming in his mind. His breath stutters, catching in his throat as he lets out a quiet but heaving sob. Tears glimmer in his eyes, beading on his eyelashes like the first of morning's dew. And for a moment, his world whites out, silence echoing in his ears like the death knell that he remembers hearing but never experiencing. When he comes to, he waits for a moment to catch his breath, and he smiles up at you. Wistful and longing and far too knowing.

The one who survives in the face of time and the tides of the seasons, and the one who lives and dies and lives again, to be mortal and not. They are doomed to fail, but that is the price of a live that was never meant to be. For eternity, they are sworn, but it is a tale of heartbreak and an ache soul deep.