title: in parts
summary: in which tatsumi acknowledges that beauty isn't always beautiful.
pairings: tatsumi/sayo, tatsumi/esdese, tatsumi/akame
warnings: a lil violence.
a/n: 141231 / 498w gibberish. enjoy.
There's something in the way Sayo looks at him after he places the white flower in her hair that makes Tatsumi tremble. It's not because he's scared of her— well, that's not entirely wrong, because he totally is: The way her shoulders flex, her lips tighten, and her demeanor changes, when the bow of the arrow is drawn tight, sparks genuine thrill into his heart – It's because the way she looks at him after he fastens the clip and his fingers brush through her hair, the way she looks at him when his hands fall towards her face and their eyes meet, the way she looks at him when he realizes she's not just Sayo his friend, but Sayo the girl, Sayo with the milky skin and dark hair, Sayo whose eyes are asking him a question he's not sure he can answer, frightens and thrills him all the same.
—
There is hate carved in Esdese's heart and it's almost ironic how it's imprinted between her breasts.
The hatred is carved in black, an evil thing of three wickedly drawn spindles forming a vague circle. It's her hatred, her power, her coldness, her strength, raised in black above pale skin, and there was no better representation of herself: a blemish against a frigid world, a mark on what could've been beautiful. Ice-blue eyes catch it in the mirror, and once, she asks Tatsumi if he wishes to palm it, wishes to feel her power, taste the glory, bend to her.
With swelling clouding his vision and thirst draining him, Tatsumi refuses— he would rather die than betray Night Raid.
To Esdeath, his refusal is nothing less than a tragedy— he could have traced it with contemplative fingers as whole kingdoms fell beneath them.
—
Red is not a beautiful color.
Tatsumi knows, because there was nothing beautiful about the way Sayo was strung up, cheeks hollow, eyes dull, whole body covered in its own red. There was nothing beautiful about the ensnaring desire to kill, to feel the red, angry and hot, as he forced even more blood from the body of another. Tatsumi knows this, but somehow he doesn't care. Rather, he wants to forget. He wants to make excuses and lie and cheat himself into make-believing that red is not a beautiful color because there is nothing more beautiful than Akame.
There is nothing more beautiful than the rosy red of her lips, the soft red tint of her cheeks, the red of her tie wrapped in his fist as he pulls her closer. There is nothing more beautiful than the red of her sword after battle, the red of her eyes begging him to come while warning him not to step any closer. There is nothing more beautiful than the warmth that holds them together in the form of blood, the blood that smears her cheeks, the blood that she presses against his lips.
There is no color more beautiful than red, he lies, because there shouldn't be anything beautiful about being covered in blood.
a/n2: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
(could u guess the theme?)