sorry that gave me so many feelings i had to post it

On Seidou.

He was just a boy, an ordinary boy. He had a nice mother, an obnoxious sister, a cute dog. He went to the CCG academy with dreams of his own heroism, with a desire to transcend his own ordinariness and be seen for what he was, what he truly knew he must be inside…a hero. Maybe he read of ghouls and those who conquered them, or maybe Seidou’s head was filled with other heroes, heroes with muscular bodies and stable minds who swooped in at the hour of crisis and pulled ordinary people from the jaws of death. 

But he was a boy. An ordinary boy. And when it came time to take his classes, he did well. And when it came time to take his tests, he did well. And when it came time to practice his physical fitness, he did well. But he was an ordinary boy. He was afraid of ordinary things like ghouls, like pain, like death. He was a boy vulnerable to being eclipsed by others. And this, his ordinariness, became an albatross on his shoulder, a shackle on his ankle, a weight he could neither shed nor bear to carry. 

He knew, some part of him knew, that he would have to do something amazing, something heroic, something frightening, something incredible if he were ever going to surpass Akira, if he were ever going to impress Houji. Moving that impossible distance - ordinary to extraordinary - would only happen in a moment of heroism and self-sacrifice. A moment to be remembered for. A moment that could define a person, a story, a career, a lifetime. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could feel his moment coming. Maybe when he sat down to write his will some part of him felt, or thought, or sensed, or guessed that his moment was imminent. We don’t know, can’t know, but we do know that the very core of him was coiled up in mortal terror, body shaking, sweating as he etched the words into the pages of a will, “I DON’T WANT TO DIE.”

But in the moment, he ran toward danger, not away from it. Through his shaking and his tears and the snot running from his nose he chose to deny Amon’s direct orders, chose to stand his ground. It was his moment, as he was faced with the cold gaze of the fire-breathing ghoul before him, it was his moment to shine, to fight, to be the hero he had always wanted to be, strived to be, feared he might not ever be. 

And so, he fought through the paralysis of his own terror. And so, he lifted his quinque. And so, with Amon’s blood on his palm, with his heart pounding, with his limbs trembling, with tears in his eyes he chose to stand his ground. He yelled furiously, he activated the flames of his quinque…

And he was lifted up, the ground swept away from his feet in one swift move, as he looked into the cold eyes of a ghoul that demanded to know if Houji was his superior. He might have wondered what was going on or he might not have, too replete with confusion and terror to wonder anything at all. And with one quick motion he was tossed in the air. And then his arm was gone. It happened so fast he didn’t even really have a chance to process the pain or what had happened, a single “No way….” leaving his lips before he was swallowed up into darkness, Amon’s screams echoing in his ears. 

What happened next, we can only piece together with the scant evidence we’re given. When he woke up, his body had been invaded by the very enemy he fought. He must have been terrified, possibly restrained. He might have cried, he might have screamed and shouted, he might have prayed and begged and sobbed for mercy. But there is no mercy for the devil. This fallen angel, dragged into the depths of the very organization which he had fought so hard to overcome. 

Who knows when they started the torture, the tests. Who knows when Eto appeared before him, naked or wrapped in bandages, laughing and whispering of revolution, of his place in that revolution. Who knows how many times he lost fingers, toes, how many times he chewed through his own lips in his anguish. Who knows how many times he was relieved of his limbs only to watch them grow back, sinews snapping into place over newly formed bone, all of it burning, burning, burning until he could no longer feel the pain. And then there was the hunger. The gnawing ache of it, the madness of it, a hunger that he’d never imagined or felt before. The hunger consumed him like a flame, burned through him until he felt nothing else, until it was the entirety of his being. 

We know that at some point, death was no longer a frightening prospect. In fact, it probably began to feel like a welcome friend, a dream he could let himself float gently down into, a warm embrace, a field of flowers…and yet, death wouldn’t come for him. There is no mercy for the devil and, despite his previous misgivings, he must have realized at some point, must have known that death is its own form of mercy. 

At some point, he must have realized that he was no longer an ordinary boy. At some point, he might have marveled that in a previous life, his ordinariness had been his albatross, his shackle, his curse. He might have cursed himself and his own naivety, for what wouldn’t he give - as he grew weapons on his shoulders, on his back - what wouldn’t he give for just a moment, a taste, a hint of the ordinary.

Perhaps the plan came to him in waves and stages. Perhaps it came all at once. Perhaps it was a mantra that carried him through the torture, the tests, the torment. Perhaps it sustained him just as much as the sweet flesh of those he used to count among his friends, his colleagues, his superiors, his compatriots. We can’t be sure, but what is clear is that at some point, Seidou decided that he simply needed to swoop in at the right time, to save Houji, who had once considered him to be so weak, to save Akira, who had spurned and shunned and outranked him at every turn, to destroy the raging beast that was Tatara and save the lives of those he knew he still cared for. The heads he’d plucked, the flesh he’d eaten, none of it would matter if only, if only he could prove himself. 

After all, the CCG was making its own half ghouls now, wasn’t it? They would accept him back into the fold. Houji would look at him with pride shining in his eyes. Akira would look at him with awe, admiration. He might even be made a special class right away…after all, he was strong now. He was no longer afraid of death. 

He had become death. 

There, on Rue island, Houji and Akira fought against Tatara, the ghoul who had snatched Seidou from the ground and thrown him into the mouth of Noro. Seidou might have waited, might have allowed his former colleagues the time to realize the desperation, the hopelessness of their situation before he swept in to save them. This was his time, his chance, his moment and this time he would not cry or scream or hesitate. He would take Tatara out with ruthless efficiency. He would end the ghoul who had killed so many investigators and agents. He would prove his use, his power, his extraordinariness. 

But there is no mercy for the devil. And just as Seidou emerged from the fight, victorious and sweating, relieved, ecstatic, he was met with the guarded stares of those he had just rescued. 

He was confused. Why were they staring? He’d saved them. They were saved. Why was Akira staring? Why was Houji? Why weren’t they crying from relief, running to him, welcoming him back into the fold, taking him home? Why weren’t they recognizing the gift he had given them? 

Smiling, Seidou opened his arms. Eyes wide, he let Houji’s name tumble from his lips. They had to understand. He’d saved them. He was a hero. He was the strongest, now. He was ready. And then Houji spoke. 

And the dream that had sustained him through the torture, the torment, the horror of this nightmare life evaporated into so much smoke. And the world slowed to a crawl. 

Perhaps he shrieked, perhaps he howled, perhaps he screamed as he cut through the investigators like they were so much warm butter. We can’t know, but we do know that as the dust settled, as his fingers gripped Akira’s neck like a vice, Seidou asked why, why, why? He wanted her to be different. He wanted her to accept him, to see him, to really see him. 

But she told him that Houji’s betrayal had been a mercy. A mercy. And Seidou knew that Akira, too, would have to die. 

He had been a boy, an ordinary boy. A boy with hopes and dreams and aspirations, with fears and flaws. And as his hand closed around the neck of the girl he’d spent so much of his life loving, he watched all those ordinary things fade away and grow dim, just like the light in her eyes. 

There is no mercy for the devil. 

i have been unbelievably demolished by the senseless murder of christina grimmie, a beautiful soul who had a god-given talent and was wise beyond all her years. christina grimmie was one of the first artists to inspire me to do cover songs and gave me the want to play an instrument i so desperately hated at the time. i got up in front of a new school and sang one of her songs for our winter talent show and when my parents asked why i didn’t want to do a more popular song, or at least one by an artist people had heard of, my response was that i believed in that song. that song gave me the strength to stand up in front of my peers, feeling more confident in my own skin than i had in ages, showing them what i was made of. i felt like someone when i sang that song. i saw her when she toured with selena on stars dance and i was probably one of the only people in that arena standing and dancing and singing along with her. to know that she was robbed of her voice, robbed of her dream, robbed of her LIFE all due to violence, and gun violence at that, has made me sick to my stomach. i stayed up until two am last night feeling nauseous waiting to hear any news, praying it would be something, ANYTHING but her passing. instead, i woke up to confirmation she was gone, and my heart shattered. seeing the dedications to her tonight, seeing selena barely holding herself together on stage, seeing the statement from her brother, i have spent all day mourning over the loss of this angel. i have spent all day trying to fathom why someone could ever take away a life that was so precious, so adored, so gentle, how someone could look a girl in the eye as she opened her arms to embrace them in a hug and strip her of her life in front of family and fans without hesitation. concerts are supposed to be safe havens, small pauses in time that bring about joy and happiness and that innocence and safety concerts bring so many of us, including myself, has been shattered. the music industry will never be the same again; we will be the generation that remembers a time where it was easy to access our favorite musicians, where meet and greets were, for the most part, lenient and relaxed and primarily about the fans if they even occurred to begin with and where a wall of security didn’t stand between us and our musical heroes. we will remember what it’s like for musicians to stop in public to greet fans even without the overwhelming presence of security, if any at all because they felt safe approaching their fans, their supporters, the people who are supposed to love and care for their wellbeing. we will remember going into arenas with our bags peered into for only a second and a quick walk through a metal detector. none of that will remain after today, and if it does, i will be disgusted. i will be damned if she died for nothing, if she died for celebrities not being able to voice their concerns about their own safety and be taken seriously, if she died for nothing to be done about the rapidly heightening epidemic of gun violence, if she died for love to cease and hatred to take over. all christina wanted was for the world to feel love and to give it back. we have already failed christina grimmie, we cannot do so again. today was a dark day and the next few days will be emotionally turbulent as well, as death is still a very sore subject with me and i need time to properly sort out my grievances over this senseless tragedy. please be patient with me as my blog will more than likely go dark for a few days so i can focus on the people who need me through this, as well as my writing. if anyone should need me for any reason, please don’t hesitate to send me a message, whether it’s in the inbox or on twitter or via text or wherever you’re comfortable. your feelings are valid, feeling hurt and shock and in pain whether you were a fan or not is one-hundred percent okay and i am here to talk, or merely listen if that’s what you need. if there’s anything you take away from this, spread love and kindness to anyone you can reach, because christina would want that to be her legacy.

pray that something in this world changes because of this.