Louder the moth,

『 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋... 』 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔱 - The Monarch Handler

Original Character with insect motifs and heavy themes as portrayed by Kuroki

28 y/o - OC, canon, crossover friendly - ENG/SPA - Semi-iconless - Dividers by cafekitsune and supersources, blops7 verse icon template and divider by underesources.

|| Memes (always accepting) ||

❥ ❝slip right through my tongue❞

"Careful? Around me? WRONG!" The words slide easily when he says them, obnoxiously loud, hands behind his back. Step by careful step, he tilts his head from one side to the next, observing John with delight.

"It's no good to stay careful around people you should trust! Do you... feel like you can't trust me? Ah, you wound me, my dear John." When he stops in front of him, he takes the liberty of placing a hand over his cheek, caressing him like he is a gentle thing.

❥ ❝love letters from my bleeding heart?❞

The letter is not meant to be delivered, or so he tells himself as he sees to it that she receives it, anyway. He acknowledges he can be a sentimental, he can get carried away easily... This letter is no different, it is part of who he is. In his core, a fervent romantic.

Valerie,

It is far too easy for me to pour myself to you, I figured I should challenge myself, pouring my soul into letters you may overlook. The thought of them being ignored, of me being so inconsequential to your daily thoughts is a sweet venom I have denied myself of for too long.

A test of sorts, this might be. Do you perhaps feel a fraction of what I feel? Because these feelings are impossibly vast for everyone other than myself. Regardless, I must know. And this letter will be my proof.

I mean to say... The fidelity I feel for you is surely more than you would have bargained for. And still, I desire for you to have it, I will not keep you from it.

I have but a humble invitation, should you truly read this: Taste the flavor of my person – bloody or metaphoric, whichever appeals to you best... Tonight, or maybe any other day.

Fluttering to your flame,

❥ ❝love letters from my bleeding heart?❞

Inconspicuous, the letter is, waiting to be opened as if it had been there for a while but, truly, having appeared recently, out of nowhere. The remnants of Hyles, his gentle touch against it, his smell, are new. The ink he brushed the words with still fresh... It is the right moment to read the contents.

My dear Fina...

Happy Valentine's Day.

I am way past that day, you say? Well, we were never ones to be conventional, were we? Rather than celebrating such a day, I am here to hand you the death of February in a silver platter for us to feast upon.

Let us celebrate its end, and more ends to come.

Yes, I have prepared an evening you will enjoy on this very day. Dinner and an offering of your choice, so you receive concrete proof that my adoration knows no bounds.

Sow your seeds of chaos, I will see them grow.

With love and outstretched hands to the death of the youngest,

❥ ❝ love letters from my bleeding heart? ❞

"Johnny, dear..." Usually, his voice trickles with excitement, joy, sadism. Today, frustration draws tones out of him with ease. He steps close to the man, kneeling on the bed, papers in hand.

"Valentine's Day has rendered my words useless." He comments, deflating as he swats the papers against his own side of the bed before landing dramatically against the man's chest.

"Letters... Letters have failed me and now you shall not receive the words of my heart." And, just as he sighed, his thoughts lit up.

It's a cold night, the remnants of a strong raining decorating the streets in a somber tone. His coat would pretend to provide some kind of comfort, mostly following the trend of the rest of the men around. He didn't wish to stand out, after all, being discreet and normal was his best shot.

Stillness ruled the dark, the echo of his footsteps being one of the few sounds among the emptiness of that cobbled street. It was almost peaceful. Yet, for those like him who were willing to truly listen, minuscule disturbance in the quiet could be found. Deep, further down the street, at the most secluded alley. No one else would go there, no, not at this hour. Not unless...

A feast was happening, the end of a life, the replenishing of another. He didn't think he'd be so lucky to find her—to find anyone like her, actually, but here she was and here he was, feeling a smile creep up, excitement bubbling in his chest.

He'd have two versions: