a big part of your emotional world, that makes them a little bit part of you. you lose them, it rips you up. your edges get woven together, and you end up with all these loose trailing threads when you tear away
...his voice. how soft it can be when he's playing at tenderness. how it cracks like a whip when i piss him off. the way he laughs - really laughs, not that cackle when he's just being a bastard
Not that Jedao doesn't still love Kujen, in the chinks in his heart, in the places where blood was mixed into the mortar before it set. But Zerxus is in deep.
Then again, who knows how much more fucked Jedao would be if he'd ever heard Kujen really laugh.]
i could be hundreds, thousands of miles away and still hear him in my head. i hated it, except for when i didn't.
did it feel - the endearment, is that when it felt
real?
[ Like there was something, between all the layers of callous cruelty and meticulous manipulation, some deeper sentiment that was almost genuine, almost human. ]
Kujen lied to me about everything else, but not really about his feelings
like. it wasn't worth the bother. he never claimed to love me. he wanted me, and everyone else in the world hated me.
when he called me sweetheart, it felt like he was touching me with just the word. caressing me. but the way you'd pet a cat, for your own pleasure at how soft and cute it is, not the way you'd touch a lover to please them.
he was so
shamelessly selfish. and when he called me sweetheart, i could almost hear him...laughing at me, and almost-pitying me, for trying so hard and hurting so much, when he had me outclassed and surrounded and completely strung along. laughing at me for trying to be a hero when all I was ever going to be was his. and that was the real temptation, because if it was true, if it was pointless, and I was just a silly kid, a silly pet, who could never do anything but delight and amuse him while I tuckered myself out with pointless guilt and struggle
then maybe it would be okay if i gave up. if I let myself be tired and selfish and small and - a soft delightful little thing, in the hand of someone who wanted to keep me
i don't think any of that was fake. he was extremely fucking surprised and panicky when i killed him, so I think he really did think it was adorably futile of me to fuss about all the torture until about the last 20 seconds of his life
i'm glad he made himself so blind, but i hope he did see you, in those twenty seconds. i hope he finally understood something; changed in death, if only a little, if he absolutely refused to do it in life.
asmodeus justifies himself by acting like mortals are playthings and it's going to cost him, too. i don't know how much, i don't know how long it will take, and i don't know if it will make him better or worse
i never really understood, when i was alive - but the gods are a part of us, now, and we're a part of them. we've been shaping each other for so long
i'm sure you remember how melodramatic his sense of style is
[ But if Jedao really wants to judge for himself, Zerxus isn't going to stop him. The door opens wide, revealing Zerxus and his sleep-mussed hair against a far more opulent, strikingly coloured backdrop. It's similar to the banquet room he echoed in the Enclosure, and even his robes match the pallette of black, red and gold.
There's still a balcony, at least; Tempus is curled up and snoring like a sensible creature. ]
Jedao's hair is mussed at odd angles, but aside from that spot of inelegance, he almost fits right into the room: his silk dressing-gown is Shuos colors, all red and gold.
"You maudlin foxfucker," Jedao accuses, fond and warm. He cups Zerxus's cheek in one hand, presumptuous and gentle, goes on his tiptoes to kiss the tip of Zerxus's nose.
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how fucked up is it that i miss him
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bad intimacy is still intimate
when someone is
a big part of your emotional world, that makes them a little bit part of you. you lose them, it rips you up. your edges get woven together, and you end up with all these loose trailing threads when you tear away
sometimes i still miss my worst guy too
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i thought i could just. do what i've always done, but it isn't working
i'm sorry for reminding you, this is - you can't fix this for me, i'm just being
[ Impulsive, selfish, pathetic. ]
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[Jedao is capable of deflections and distractions you've never even dreamed of.]
tell me something you miss
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...his voice. how soft it can be when he's playing at tenderness. how it cracks like a whip when i piss him off. the way he laughs - really laughs, not that cackle when he's just being a bastard
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Not that Jedao doesn't still love Kujen, in the chinks in his heart, in the places where blood was mixed into the mortar before it set. But Zerxus is in deep.
Then again, who knows how much more fucked Jedao would be if he'd ever heard Kujen really laugh.]
voices are
so much
i miss the way he called me sweetheart
i can't describe it at all
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did it feel - the endearment, is that when it felt
real?
[ Like there was something, between all the layers of callous cruelty and meticulous manipulation, some deeper sentiment that was almost genuine, almost human. ]
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Kujen lied to me about everything else, but not really about his feelings
like. it wasn't worth the bother. he never claimed to love me. he wanted me, and everyone else in the world hated me.
when he called me sweetheart, it felt like he was touching me with just the word. caressing me. but the way you'd pet a cat, for your own pleasure at how soft and cute it is, not the way you'd touch a lover to please them.
he was so
shamelessly selfish. and when he called me sweetheart, i could almost hear him...laughing at me, and almost-pitying me, for trying so hard and hurting so much, when he had me outclassed and surrounded and completely strung along. laughing at me for trying to be a hero when all I was ever going to be was his. and that was the real temptation, because if it was true, if it was pointless, and I was just a silly kid, a silly pet, who could never do anything but delight and amuse him while I tuckered myself out with pointless guilt and struggle
then maybe it would be okay if i gave up. if I let myself be tired and selfish and small and - a soft delightful little thing, in the hand of someone who wanted to keep me
i don't think any of that was fake. he was extremely fucking surprised and panicky when i killed him, so I think he really did think it was adorably futile of me to fuss about all the torture until about the last 20 seconds of his life
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asmodeus justifies himself by acting like mortals are playthings and it's going to cost him, too. i don't know how much, i don't know how long it will take, and i don't know if it will make him better or worse
i never really understood, when i was alive - but the gods are a part of us, now, and we're a part of them. we've been shaping each other for so long
it doesn't need to be like this.
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i'm glad for the people who see me now
i want to come hold you. may i?
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...my cabin is - different, now. i could come to you.
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why don't you want me to see it
[He's already on his way, with every intention of catching a glimpse whenever Zerxus opens the door.]
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[ But if Jedao really wants to judge for himself, Zerxus isn't going to stop him. The door opens wide, revealing Zerxus and his sleep-mussed hair against a far more opulent, strikingly coloured backdrop. It's similar to the banquet room he echoed in the Enclosure, and even his robes match the pallette of black, red and gold.
There's still a balcony, at least; Tempus is curled up and snoring like a sensible creature. ]
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"You maudlin foxfucker," Jedao accuses, fond and warm. He cups Zerxus's cheek in one hand, presumptuous and gentle, goes on his tiptoes to kiss the tip of Zerxus's nose.