CHERUBIM

forgive me lord for i have sinned.

[inrovina]

     you could kiss my lips a thousand times                    and they would never dry.

[limitlessplaylist]

Visit Original Link

Pull out your heart To make the being alone easy

[rpmemesandasks]

Reblog this if your muse has pretty eyes.

[h-eraesy-a]

shitlady: today at 3:07 PM catch xeno crying before the club, in the club and after the club

[h-eraesy-a]

XENO / RONAN

          ‘  who you telling to shut up?  ’  lips curving into a smile, he enters ronan’s home, tugging off his denim jacket after pushing the door shut.  ‘  hey buddy!  ’  features light up in eagerness as he reaches out to stroke the cat held in the ronan’s arms, gaze flickering to the other boy.   ‘  noah here?  ’

he smiles but can’t place a decent comeback, gaze falling back down to the cat in his arms as a means to drop the playful jab. xeno’s presence in the home was always mood shifting, the usual serenity of their abode jarred by xeno’s loud and charismatic personality. this is the xeno he knew, the xeno noah didn’t particularly care for. ronan generally tried to ignore the tension between the pair. “ no, he’s out. ” head shakes with the sentence as if to confirm. there’s a pause. “        why? ” tone is curious, not accusatory though he wonders why xeno has bothered asking. was he worried about noah being home?

[h-eraesy-a]

XENO / CHARLOTTE

   ‘  cool.  ’  hands slide into the pockets of his hoodie as he scuffs his boots against the floor.  ‘  so… how are you?  ’

he’s uncomfortable, she picks up on it as easily as she reads words on a page. she’ll smile, a toothy grin that matches her personality - bright. there’s never any room for small talk with charlotte. “ i’m... ” a pause, features bunching up into quick deep thought before, without missing a beat, they’re back to their usual inquisitive glow. “ i’m stupendous. i think i’m stupendous. ” the word is repeated, a new word, one she looked up in her fathers dictionary and remembers to be similar to the word amazing. she feels amazing. “ and you? are you feeling stupendous, too? ” she’s one of few children that genuinely hopes he is.

[h-eraesy-a]

CONT. * / XENO

hearing the word boyfriend come from his lips was exhilarating, registered in her mind as an accomplishment - a sick trophy of twisted emotion. he wants me he wants me he NEEDS me. letting him take those words and run would be too easy, can’t find it in herself to let him hold them over her. so she BELITTLES HIM, ensures he’s reminded of who holds the blade and who’s on the receiving end. dagger is delivered in the form of a cutting laugh that hisses past serpent grin, eyes slanted in a smirk. “ you deserve nothing, xeno. are you really that desperate? ” @inrovina

[inrovina]

911 tumblr user @godseer​ just murdered me

[h-eraesy-a]

sytri and xenos love is fucking tragic? anyway

[h-eraesy-a]

xeno.

          THE LIE: i hate you. it’s strange how easy words are to speak but how damaging the consequences of them can be. he has never been one to hold his tongue, never been one to think before he speaks. the only thing he has always been is a liar. sentences that are dishonest, sentences that he does not mean, have flown from his lips without even a second of consideration being given to what they might do. it’s easy to say them but harder to take them back.

this particular lie is dripping with falsity, powerful words are sinful and wrong. there is not a single part of him that could ever hate the angel, not even as he is ripped to pieces by words spoken by lips that were once holy, and yet it is the only thing he can say. for it will always be easier to spit deceitful words than honest ones.

THE TRUTH: you have hurt me. in that moment, the lover he adores, the lover who has always protected his heart, mirrored the ghost from his past. this ghost destroyed his heart, forced it to shatter into a thousand shards and never wanted it to be pieced back together again. the ghost broke him and he has never been whole again. it is a time he will not speak of, memories locked in the treasure chest of his mind. they come to life in his nightmares and twisted dreams but today they came to life in front of him, the angel he loves transforming into the demon his heart still dares to yearn for.

he feels as though the past thirty, forty, years of his life have been stolen from him and he is back there; terrified and lovesick, high and low, the worse he has ever felt and the best he has ever been. he does not want to be back there. he wants it to be history, he needs it to be history. but it isn’t, is it? he’s still there. he’s still ruining things, he’s still only making things worse, he’s still a horrible person and he’s still despised by the man he loves.

except kazimir would have hit him back.

sytri allows him to shove and shove and shove until his hands ache and his legs beg to give way, small frame finally pulling back. he feels sick. maybe he’ll be sick. he wants sytri to hit him. make him feel something other than the suffocating feeling of his heart breaking. take away the feeling of his mind destroying itself. change the emotional pain to something physical. he knows how to cope with a black eye. he does not know how to cope with this feeling of utter anguish.

but sytri is better than that. sytri is good. sytri is heavenly. there is angelic blood in his veins and, deep down, xeno knows that those words were not driven by rationality. they came from a pit of fury he has felt in his own stomach too many times. but that knowledge does nothing to dull the sting. instead, it worsens it, reminding him that he thought sytri was better than him, he believed that sytri would never say the words that kazimir used as a weapon against him for years.

one. he’s not there. two. he’s still there. one. he’s not there. two. he’s still there. three. he’s losing his fucking mind. four. he wants to fucking die. five—

you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave. you need to leave.

i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave. i need you to leave.

the man he loves needs him to leave. he is not wanted anymore. he is not loved anymore. this is what happens when he ruins things. no one wants someone who breaks everything they touch. no one can love someone made of winter storms and shards of ice. HE CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT YOU ANYMORE. the mere sight of him is repulsive. he always knew he was never going to be good enough for an angel. he always knew that sytri would come to hate him one day, would look at him with the same disdain kazimir did (or worse: not look at him at all).

the angel’s words are on repeat in his head like sirens, the numbness they were spoken with not forgotten. it echoes a single sentiment: he does not care about you anymore. arms are wrapped tightly around himself, body hunched slightly as he tries to stop himself from collapsing. he feels like his head is about to explode, breathing sparse as he is unable to stop crying. among the agony of it all, there is irony in one thought that crosses his mind. i want sytri. it appears without any consideration. funny how his mind cries out for the same person every time he is hurting, except this time it is that exact person who has hurt him. who is he supposed to run to now? NO ONE.

he knows he has to leave. he knows that this is sytri’s home. he knows that sytri does not want him here anymore. so he has to leave. there are no words formed by his lips, only quiet sobs and whimpers as he cries, gaze falling from the angel with a twisted halo. he’s not allowed to look at holy things anymore.

one step is taken backwards. he’s unsteady on his feet, stumbling movements made as he struggles to keep himself up right. he refuses to look at sytri, even as the name plays like a broken record in his head. he wants sytri. he needs sytri. sytri hurt him. sytri does not want him anymore. he would be better off dead. another step. he’s turning his back to sytri, feet somehow carrying him towards the door. nothing is reached for by his hand, no clothes or possessions taken, not even his boots are picked up. the only thing he needs is the one thing he cannot have: sytri.

cold fingers curl around the door knob, eyes squeezing shut as more tears escape. every breath is a struggle as his head pounds and another wave of sickness strikes. he just needs to get out, then he can break. but for now he has to move. the door is forced open by his trembling hand. another sob. he has to do this, he has to leave. SYTRI DOES NOT WANT YOU ANYMORE. and so he does.

1. 2. 3. 4. is he counting the seconds? the minutes? the hours that seem to pass in their gruesome haze as he watches the boy standing before him come completely unraveled by his own words, words that spill from tainted lips, words he hates, mouth he hates, voice he hates, he hates and hates and hates himself for he could never love - could never even bring himself to like - something that harmed xeno. xeno. xeno. his xeno. his boy. his love. to say he loved xeno was as if to say the sun was yellow. true enough a description but not nearly accurate, for to say the sun was yellow would disregard the BURN. he burned for xeno, would just as easily throw himself into the flames of hell if it meant another hour, minute, second, to bask in his moonlight, to have the privilege of running a finger along cool skin, of pressing his lips to the scar that dug a valley beneath the boys right eye, the one he had watched xeno cover with the palm of his hand when he smiled out of what would appear to be habit. i adore your smile, sytri would say, as if to beg for hand to drop in order to see more of it without actual pleading.

5. 6. 7. 8. the phrase that carries so much spite and malice still pours from his lovers eyes in liquid form, even as his words seize, even as features twist into agony at sytri’s terse request to LEAVE HIM. ihateyouihateyouihateyou. he reads the words in every single movement xeno makes, and whether or not he meant it became irrelevant because the angel knows that whether or not he meant it does not matter - he deserved it. with three words he had earned himself xeno’s hatred, and they were three words he could not take back.

9. 10. 11. 12. he could have left himself, could have willed his legs to carry him across the studio apartment he had grown to hate almost as much as he believed xeno to hate him, could have brushed past the boy without another word, closed the door behind him and left xeno to be alone with his books with wilting pages that had been neglected for far longer than the angel would have usually allowed, his plants that had begun to wither and decay as if to be a living symbol for sytri’s mental state, his instruments that had not hummed alongside careless angelic melodies or felt the compress of soft fingertips against ivory keys or nylon strings, his coffee that sat stale in its pot, his sheet music that remained unfinished and untouched from the last time he had picked up the pen months ago. he could have left, it would have been easier to utter an “i need to go” and busy his ruinous mind with the dark streets that called to the eclipse in his heart than dare force xeno out, knew that the second the door clicked shut behind him the angel would feel the weight of every regret that had taken place that evening crash down onto his tired shoulders.

EXCEPT IT WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN EASY, because even still as he begs his own legs to move forward, pleads with his voice to speak up, tell xeno never mind it, he didn’t want him to go, he wanted him to stay stay stay, tried to beseech his arms to open up and welcome xeno into them, hold him, kiss him, cry into him, run fingernails over his scalp and allow lips to speak endlessly into the skin on his neck two words and that is i’msorry imsorry imsorry. even still as all these things race through a broken mind he cannot bring himself to LEAVE anymore than he can ask xeno to stay, as asking him to stay would be as selfish as leaving is unthinkable, could never find it in him to leave xeno so better to make xeno be the one to walk out than commit the impossible crime of walking away from the love of his life.

so he does the only thing his body is currently capable of - he stands still. motionless. he watches. he counts the seconds that feel more like hours, like decades as xeno stumbles away from him, away and away and away. he holds his breath and as xeno’s back is turned he closes his eyes. watching him go is too unbearable, too painful, cannot bare to see the door shut, cannot fathom watching xeno shut himself away ( and for how long? forever? will he come back? will sytri allow himself to be seen if only to risk hurting xeno again? ) but he hears it - the click of metal on metal as it slides into place and with such a minuscule sound like the drop of a pin it’s hard to believe that xeno has gone.

it isn’t until that moment of being completely and utterly alone that sytri realizes that holding his breath, that counting the seconds, that watching xeno go away from him was the easiest part.

finally the angel’s breath is released in something akin to a sob, maybe a cry for help though it rips through the room and is delivered in the form of pain. of misery. of a man unraveled fiber by fiber, string by string, until there is nothing left but the raw emotion of a break down. he turns to face the solemn apartment room, hands finding his hair as he tugs harshly at blonde locks. tear soaked eyes find the bed, sheets concaved in a space that xeno fit in perfectly, maybe still cool from where he had been lying, blankets shoved haphazardly to the side from where he had leapt from the mattress and unknowingly loosened the pin of the grenade that sytri had brought into the room. 

the image of xeno sleeping in the same space he always did was too much, thoughts - no - memories, of waking up beside xeno, of tracing bare shoulder blades with the back of his fingernail, the way his skin smelled, of looking back from where he stood to pour coffee and catching a glimpse of tired eyes and soft smiles and ruffled black hair. how lucky he had been, how for granted he had taken those special and private moments that they shared, ones sytri isn’t sure he will ever have the opportunity to relive even though he would do anything in the whole of the universe to go back and freeze those very perfect moments in time. he’d live in those moments if he could, would exist happily for the rest of time.

but as he turns away from the bed the anguish he had felt morphs quickly into anger. he knows the feeling, and although it is still new to him he knows anger, and in fact this is rage, projected onto no one and nothing other than himself. he was angry at himself. he was enraged at himself. and again, he hated himself. this at least he knew for sure.

in a flash a hand reaches out and the cry that he had released initially is back, though this time louder, with more force, more impact than the first as fingers hook onto the back of a bookshelf. wooden frame is yanked away from brick wall and the loud clamor of hundreds of books comes crashing toward the ground, corner clipping the piano on its left as a dark and ominous thunder rolls through the room from beneath spruce lid. it’s not enough, he is not satisfied, and if he cannot destroy himself, if he cannot cut the wings from his body given to him by lucifer, if he cannot bathe himself in his own blood and destroy every last piece of his being, if he cannot will xeno to come back to him without fear of doing further damage, then he will instead turn his beloved room into ruins, for it was xeno who made it HOME and with him gone sytri hates it, too.

hands dont stop their demolishing, uproots plants from their pots, glass shatters, rains down in a hurricane of shards against brick wall until there are no more plates and coffee mugs left to destroy. he tears music sheets in halves, and then tears those halves in half, and then he goes for his songs, the ones he wrote for xeno and the ones he wrote for himself, and maybe he thinks erasing his traces will erase him from his mind, will make it as if he never existed, because maybe that would be less painful than the truth, but either way he does not care, he just wants to make this room look as he feels. 

so he continues, doesn’t stop until his hands ache, body aches, until his chest heaves under his lung’s sobs, until there is nothing left to break bar himself though he already knows he is well past broken, and it isn’t until then that he finally collapses, back into the red accent chair he had stumbled in on, regrets walking up the corridor, regrets putting his fingertips to the doorknob, and better yet regrets going out, regrets ever leaving xeno at the apartment, regrets going to that club and agreeing to go away with ileana, dreads the thought of her - enough to make him sick with shame and guilt as two fingers raise to brush over the healed spot where her fangs had sunk hours before, secret that xeno still did not know concealed by regenerative skin. she fed him poison and he graciously ate it up and he hates and hates and hates himself.

so with nothing left to do the angel CRIES. he cries until it hurts, he cries until he’s sure the neighbors would have heard him and called for help - and so what if they heard? let them hear his pain. let them hear his agony, his torture. he does not care. he only cares of HIM, and he cries at the thought. he will not return to you. the words play like a haunted record in his mind. he will not return to you, and even if he tries, you cannot let him.

[h-eraesy-a]

sytri: xeno you don’t have to have sex with me for me to love you. i just love you.

[witnessprotectionwithwings-blog]

when your roleplay partner responds to a thread with something angsty as hell

[h-eraesy-a]

I AM D E A D @inrovina KILLED ME

[armyofskanksx]

me: having 93859832 drafts to reply

also me: keep adding new charas

[h-eraesy-a]

rudi.

“ yeah yeah yeah, eyes are CLOSED. “ he’s tempted to peek them open to SPITE the other, but he behaves. fingers wiggle, anticipating whatever this gift may be. IMPATIENT BOY, he huffs. “ c’mon, jerk, “

the jab of name calling is easily ignored, and once a hand waves in front of rudi’s eyes with no reaction jonah seems satisfied, finally unzipping the pocket and stuffing a hand inside. it only takes a moment of fishing around before the gift is finally revealed, reaches out to set it in rudi’s open palm with a proud smirk. “ okay, OPEN! ” arms fold across his chest, looks smug. “ pretty cool ain’t it? that’s cause i made it. special, just for you.“ the bracelet is metal, a silver color with tiny crescent moons punched out around it. on the inside an ‘R’ can be found carved into the material. “ c’mon, put it on! ”

[h-eraesy-a]

what have you done to yourself?

HE DIDN’T WANT TO BE SEEN LIKE THIS, had thought that xeno was gone for the night - thought that he wasn’t coming back until morning when the angel who had been caught in a pool of his own crimson could wrap up the mess he had made of himself and tuck himself away in BED, remain under the covers until he healed & play it off as the resignation that had become a frequent. (wouldn’t be the first time he had kept something from xeno since his damnation). 

GOOD FORTUNE doesn’t seem to be a frequent with him lately, and instead of being graced with the privacy to turn himself to ruins alone he receives the gut wrenching feeling of his heart sinking to the bottom of his ribs when he catches the sound of the front door swinging open, tears already painting his cheeks from where they had been pouring from ocean eyes. the angel is not in a state that he wants to be seen, has never been this way in front of xeno ( never been this way before at all ). it was an act of self hatred for what he had become that drove the man to take BLADE TO WINGS, sits leaned back in the bathtub with shaky knees that won’t allow him to stand. fingers seems stiff and time begins to move in slow motion as he hears the wooden floorboards creak beneath xeno’s feet - closer&closer&closer.

BLACK FEATHERS that do not belong to him litter the inside of porcelain tub, stick to the sides and furl with the blood that coats them. his back is painted crimson, drips in thick roads down his spine and pools beneath bare skin. his body is clothed in only boxers, the rest of the articles piled near the door in an attempt to minimize the mess he knew was to come in order to conceal the act - BUT IT IS TOO LATE. there is no hiding what he’s done, and with blood coated blade still trapped in his grip the angel is caught.

wings are on FULL DISPLAY, spread out beneath him from where the man leans back against them, body hiding the horror of mangled skin, feather, and bone on the other side. finger tips tremble, eyes locking onto xeno’s in what can only be explained as a PAINED EXPRESSION. ( he is scared, he is hurt, he is suffering, he is BROKEN. )

 WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOURSELF? the words draw a sob from lips that were once divine, eyebrows pulled together in agony ( the physical pain has subdued thanks to shock however mentally he is TORMENTED. ) finally comes the begging, the PLEADING. “ please don’t come in, please just - please go. i’m okay xeno, i’ll be okay. please. “ 

[micolanne-deactivated20251230]

01.07,2016// Today i wanted to go out ,but somehow i ended up staying at home,reading and writing poetry.

ig: micolsinn