Star child, are you listening?

I died that day.

[bviltonrvins]

you are the light i’ve been searchin’ for forever <3

i’m excited to spend forever with you, my love 💍

@guiltyhcme

[guiltyhcme]

With you, forever isn’t long enough

[bviltonrvins]

you’re right, my dear. I’ll make the most of every minute I have with you <3

[guiltyhcme]

As will I, love. As will I

[bviltonrvins]

you are the light i’ve been searchin’ for forever <3

i’m excited to spend forever with you, my love 💍

@guiltyhcme

[guiltyhcme]

With you, forever isn’t long enough

[restedsocl]

not much has changed

[guiltyhcme]

So, everything’s in greyscale then?

[dcntdcthat]

and all of this was all your fault

[guiltyhcme]

So dramatic, brother

[bviltonrvins]

hello loves <3

[guiltyhcme]

Hi, pretty

[orange-you-gladx]

anyone alive in there?

[guiltyhcme]

No, sorry

[orange-you-gladx]

how sad

[guiltyhcme]

You sound so sad

[restedsocl]

there must be some displeasure

[guiltyhcme]

Why is everything in black and white?

[restedsocl]

is it a crime?

[guiltyhcme]

No, just a question

[guiltyhcme]

And I want your violence, your silent sedation

Your moon eyes, your telescope, morbid fixation.

And I want your pyro, your born-again virgin

Your hands on my insides, your fingertips crawling

[xhvntersx]

this feels like an interpretive dance

[guiltyhcme]

That’s exactly what I was going for actually

[weltenwellen]

Hari Alluri, from “Ancestral Memory”, After Kwame Dawes 

[orange-you-gladx]

anyone alive in there?

[guiltyhcme]

No, sorry

[restedsocl]

there must be some displeasure

[guiltyhcme]

Why is everything in black and white?

[soracities]

Cameron Awkward-Rich, from "Another Middle-Class Black Kid Tries to Name It" [transcript in ALT]

[dcntdcthat]

WARNINGS: Dark themes, anger, references of child abuse, references of neglect, abandonment issues, unfair punishments, unreliable narration, knives.

The last time Icarus saw Orpheus –before he’d crawled out his bedroom window, and essentially Icarus’ life– had been at this very table. He can remember that night vividly, even now. The way his food had tasted rotten on his tongue, the story his mother had been rattling off about their neighbors, how he’d refused to so much as let himself glance across the table, keeping his eyes glued to his plate. 

They both just sat there, stiff, neither of them speaking a single word. It was three days after Orpheus had told him his plan. Three days since he’d asked him to leave their home behind. Three days since he’d lost the only person who ever really loved him. He remembers questioning that love as he sat there, stabbing a roasted potato with his steak knife. 

Now, six years later, here they are again. The table had been his idea, Orpheus would never have suggested it, but Icarus knew it would hurt him. He wanted that. He wanted Orpheus to feel as he had the last time they were here. He is not above rubbing salt into the wounds they share. 

“Are you going to fucking say something, Orpheus?” He asks harshly, forcing his voice to sound as cruel as he can manage. This time around, he’s looking directly across the table at him. 

Icarus used to be softer, weaker. His hands used to shake with fear when he raised his voice. Now, they shake for completely different reasons. He’s just– he’s so fucking angry. At Orpheus, at their mother, at himself. He can feel that anger crackling beneath his skin. He can fucking taste it. 

|[ @guiltyhcme ]|

[guiltyhcme]

WARNINGS: Dark themes, anger, references of child abuse, references of neglect, abandonment issues, unfair punishments, scars, mentions of scars.

Orpheus Achilles Black is nothing if not a coward. Inheriting more than just his looks from his father, Orpheus runs from home at eighteen and leaves his brother to clean up his mess. Six years changes both of them, and it doesn't take a genius to see it. Orpheus is softer now, Icarus is cruel.

Icarus isn't the soft child Orpheus left, he's loud and mean and Orpheus couldn't be more proud. He says what he feels, he doesn't flinch away from conflict. He doesn't allow people to walk all over him.

He was his own saving grace when no one, not even Orpheus, was there to protect him.

In true Black-blooded fashion, Icarus became his own enemy. He became the exact thing that set out to destroy him, and by the luck of fates, he was the one who made it out alive. Why wouldn’t Orpheus be proud?

Orpheus sits at the end of the long mahogany table, his hands hidden under it. His fingers run over the scars embedded in his skin, and his face is void of any emotion. He stares at his brother, and only then, does he allow himself to really look at him. He marks down every thing that had changed.

Six years ago, Orpheus Black was the long-haired cruel brother. And he thinks of the ways Icarus resembles him now. A smile threatens to show.

At eighteen, Orpheus’ most distinct feature was his hair. Long locks that reached his lower back, hiding his face from the world. He had cut it when he left, deciding he’d no longer hide that way. He wanted the world to see him now.

Icarus speaks, and even that reminds him of his eighteen year old self. The anger so easily heard in his words, the way he spits them out like they’re poison. The way he says his brother’s name and it sounds physically taxing.

Orpheus doesn't flinch, and he thinks of the way he’d done so six years ago, at this very table, and he wants to set fire to it.

He doesn't let his thoughts show on his face, something he had learned to do years ago.

Instead, he simply raises an eyebrow at his brother, and says, “I asked you to come with me.”

[guiltyhcme]

TW: Blood, graphic depictions of abuse, self harm, self imposed injuries, graphic depictions of injuries, child abuse, unreliable narration, over all dark themes

“What is childhood like?

It’s a little like dying, a little like being born

Which is to say, it’s nothing you can remember,

But you know there was blood.”

November 3rd, 2017

Orpheus sits on the edge of his bed, his hands in his lap, shaking so hard he pushes them between his legs. Trying as he can to stop their movements.

His body hurts something awful, and his head is ringing. But all he can focus on is the way his hands are shaking. The way they won’t stop trembling. If he could just get them to stop, he’d be able to finish packing. He wouldn’t have to fear dropping something and waking up his mother. Or his brother.

Then, he can go in silence.

He just wanted to leave in silence.

It was some time after midnight, when his mother had called him downstairs. He knew something was wrong by the tone of her voice and when he’d gotten to the bottom of the stairs, his thoughts were proven true.

He hadn’t even had time to speak, before his head was snapping to the right and pain was surging through his cheek.

For sometime, he was met with unprovoked pain and just as he was beginning to dissociate, she finally spoke.

He couldn’t even understand most of what she was saying, only that she knew he was leaving.

Only that someone told her he was leaving, and that could’ve only been one person.

At some point, he’ll make it to his room. He’ll lock the door and slid down it. He’ll notice the blood and try to get it off of his skin, scratching his own hands until they’re left with what will be permanent scars. Orpheus will sit there for hours, before he wipes away the tears and stands up.

In a daze, he’ll pack up his whole life, and at some point he’ll find himself in the now of it all; sitting on his bed, cursing his shakey hands.

Orpheus’ sleeve rises a bit, and his eyes look down to the marks he left on his wrists. Red claw marks cover both hands, all the way up to his knuckles. The insides of his wrists are worse, and the pain of it alone keeps him awake. He barely remembers clawing at himself, and it makes him feel like a madman.

He stares at the marks for some time, slowly pulling his hands from where they were to get a better look. He rolls his sleeves up and tears blur his eyes. He can’t imagine himself causing this pain. He can’t. He doesn’t want to imagine himself that way, clawing at skin so hard it rips.

He has blood under his fingernails, and he thinks of his mother. Of her cruelness. Of his blood on her hands, and his blood on his hands. His blood is everywhere and he is just like his mother.

Quickly, he pulls his sleeves down, hiding the wounds from his sight and he stands up. He walks around the room for some time, packing away everything he owns.

He’s not sure what time it is, only that the sun is slowly starting to rise. The sky beyond his window is a dark blue, and he can hear the world starting to wake up. He hurries his packing, and eventually his room is bare. All evidence of him ever living there is gone.

He has two bags with his whole life carefully packed inside, and tears in his eyes.

No one could ever prepare him for how hard this would be. He thought this would be easy, as easy as it had been for his father.

It’s not.

It’s the hardest thing he’ll ever do, Leaving Icarus.

He feels like he can’t breathe. Like this home is suffocating him. Like he’ll die right here, in this moment. Like he’ll never actually get to leave this house.

Icarus can be so soft. So kind. This is going to ruin that, and Orpheus knows it.

He’s killing his baby brother all in the name of self-preservation.

Orpheus had spent the last fifteen years trying to save his brother. Trying to teach him love, so he could one day leave this place with every part of him intact.

Parts of Orpheus had died in that house. And he had spent so much time trying to give his brother a different fate. All of that would be ruined the moment he left. And if he didn’t go now, he never would.

So he quickly writes a note, something simple and to the point. Not addressed to anyone in particular, but he hoped Icarus would know.

It’s the one thing he leaves his brother.

And then he is gone.

He’ll spend six years hand in hand with guilt.

Icarus will haunt his dreams, and sleep will evade him.

Part of him will always be in that house, with his brothers. And eventually Orpheus will come home.

He’ll find the note unopened and blame himself for his brothers cruelness.

He’ll tell himself he should’ve stayed. He should’ve read it to his brother.

Maybe then, things would be different.

He doesn’t open the note, he remembers every word;

“You are not her.”

.

[guiltyhcme]

3

3 - Who do you want to be with right now?

As seen in the previous post

[guiltyhcme]

45

45 - Describe your dream date.

Him.

[guiltyhcme]

101

101 - Did you ever feel like you’re not good enough?

i used to, yes. it was a frequent feeling in my childhood, if i’m honest