#its a story of anguish and sorrow and pain and so much love

[lamemaster]

Vilomah

Request: Can we get a aftermath of how Baldur's death affected both mc and Maedhros as a person emotionally and how it changed their relationship? Please 🥺🙏 I hope this isn't too much to ask. I love you ❣ Take care ❣❣

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Angst

TWI: Character death :)

Summary: Vilomah, against the natural order. That is what they call a parent who lost their child.

AN: eeek angst warning. But hopefully you guys like it. Multiple POVs. Thanks for requesting!

Please read this to understand the context: Part 1

Ailya's pen glides across the paper, transcribing your words as you speak, knowing that these notes will eventually meet the same fate as countless others – erased, discarded, forgotten. The thought of giving up this futile task crosses her mind, a voice of reason suggesting that she should just listen to your story, unburdened by the act of documenting it. After all, what's the point of writing when the words will vanish into oblivion?

Yet, she can't bring herself to stop. Not when you sit before her, shrouded in heavy cloaks, eyes filled with fragility. It's a heartbreaking scene, and her heart compels her to continue despite the inevitability of erasure.

Your presence as her patient stretches back over a century. Ailya is the sole healer of the mind in Hirming, and she had once attended to Lord Maedhros, helping mend his shattered psyche after his rescue from Angband. But that chapter has long concluded. Now, it's your narrative that she captures in her notebook.

She knows your story well – the miraculous reunion with your love, Lord Maedhros, a tale of star-crossed lovers reunited after misunderstandings tore them apart. It's a story that has touched the hearts of many, but Ailya recognizes the bittersweet undertones that color its pages.

Your reunion came at a cost – the life of your son, Baldur, your own shattered spirit, and a fleeting existence that seems to slip away like sand through your fingers. You, Y/n, the Lady of Hirming, are fading away, a truth only Ailya's notes bear witness to.

As you continue to speak, Ailya's pen moves in tandem with your words, etching each detail, each emotion into the parchment. Yet, her heart aches for you. It's a secret she holds close – that your fading presence, the toll of your reunion, is a fact that only her notes preserve. These notes, so carefully written, are destined for destruction, consigned to the flames at the hearth of the healer's office.

She is powerless to stop it, following orders from the princes themselves. Concealing your truth from their elder brother, Maedhros, is a painful necessity. The true notes are swapped for ones that don't reveal your condition, all in an effort to protect their brother from further anguish.

In the adjacent room, another healer busies themselves with concocting false records for the meeting, notes that will be sent to Lord Maedhros, reinforcing the illusion of your well-being.

Ailya's thoughts snap back to the present as she returns her gaze to you, her heart a mix of empathy and sorrow. She watches as you fiddle with your fingers, avoiding her gaze, a picture of vulnerability. “Baldur loved the color red…his father’s color,” Your words are no different from any other session but Ailya wishes they were. 

Your sessions with her have been deep dives into the lives of Baldur and Maedhros, with little of your own self shared. It's as if you're a mere observer in your own narrative.

"My Lady, how is your sleep?" Ailya gently guides the conversation back to you. Your confusion is evident, your vulnerable expression striking. Ailya notices the bags under your eyes, evidence of sleepless nights.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous gesture Ailya knows well. It's a quirk that surfaces when you're faced with discussions about your struggles – sleeping being one of them. The loss of sleep has become synonymous with the loss of your son, a state unimaginable even for an Elda.

"Have you been taking your meals?" Ailya continues, unfazed by your silence. "If you don't take care, I might have to discuss this with Lord Maedhros." The color drains from your face, replaced by panic, at her last words.

An empty threat that leave you a mess of ushered apologies.

Some days, a haunting question gnaws at your thoughts – why wasn't your love enough for Baldur? Could it be that your love was insufficient to secure his happiness? If only he hadn't cared so deeply for his father, he might have found peace by your side. It's a bitter pill to swallow, yet your feelings are not tinged with resentment towards your husband. Instead, it's a heavy acceptance of your own perceived shortcomings. You believe you should have tried harder, found a better way. Baldur deserved more than the tragic fate he met. He deserved a chance to know his father, and his untimely end feels like a cruel twist of destiny.

These thoughts become a nightly torment, causing you to gasp for air in the quiet of the night. Beside Maedhros, you lie awake, avoiding sleep as if it were an adversary. In the Lord of Hirming's chamber, you stand sentinel, vigilant in your wakefulness to protect your beloved as he sleeps.

Maedhros is never at peace in his slumber. His brows remain furrowed in a perpetual frown, betraying the nightmares that grip his dreams. Your sleepless nights become devoted to erasing that frown, your tender efforts aimed at soothing his troubled rest. Sometimes, it's a whispered melody that you offer, while on other nights, a gentle touch is enough to coax him back into peaceful slumber. Over time, you've learned to interpret the subtle nuances of his facial expressions, identifying the antidote to his nightmares.

Yet, despite your tireless attempts and countless remedies, sleep eludes you. Every time you close your eyes, your dreams transform into heart-wrenching visions of your son. You witness him on the battlefield, calling out for his father. In these dreams, you relive the painful moment of his death, unable to alter its course no matter how hard you try. Irmo, the master of dreams, grants you no respite from this torment.

You often find yourself facing your son's questioning gaze, the same inquiry etched into his eyes – "Why did I have to die, amme?" It's a question that pierces your soul, and you awake from these dreams with your heart heavy and your eyes damp. The ache of his absence haunts you, a relentless reminder.

Maedhros grapples with an unsettling truth – he cannot remember his own son. Despite gazing at old portraits and listening to your meticulously detailed stories, no sense of connection or recognition stirs within him. He may detect a flicker of his own features in his son's face, but the bond that should exist between a father and a child remains absent.

Maedhros acknowledges that he should feel grief, mourn the loss, and carry the weight of unbearable guilt, but the emotions he should feel are elusive. Instead, it's your sorrow that resonates deeply with him, tugging at his heartstrings.

Your grief, etched in your eyes, becomes a burden Maedhros can't ignore. The pain of Baldur's death lingers in your very being, and it's this anguish that affects him the most. Struggling with his own lack of emotion toward his son, Maedhros harbors a secret he dares not share with anyone – an unwarranted resentment toward his own child. It's a sentiment he detests in himself, a contradiction that breeds shame.

His son's selfless love becomes an ironical source of discomfort for Maedhros. Baldur was the reason for his prolonged separation from you, the cause of your prolonged agony. Yet, now, the same son is also the reason that Maedhros finds himself poring over the healer's notes every fortnight.

To the Lord of Hirming, only hope remains in your presence. You have finally come to his side as his wife. As the Lady of Hirming. So, even without a whisper of complaint, Maedhros listens to your every word about your son. Aiming to piece together a fleeting image of his son.

“Open the door that once,” Ailya cannot control the anger seeping into her voice. The sight of latched wooden doors leaves her vision red. She after all carries the blood of Noldor in her. The guards remain unflinchingly vigilant even as they bow to her, “We are sorry but Lord Maedhros has forbidden it. No one must open the door.”

"What reason could be there to lock the Lady in this manner?" Ailya feels a layer of dread settle over her. It numbs the rage. A realization lingers on the horizon.

"This is all for her safety. She cannot accompany him on the patrol," another guard replies.

Behind the doors is a light thud, a constant ever since Ailya’s presence, perhaps way before it. “Please…please open,” pleading noise barely travels through the sturdy wood that separates the captive from the rest of the world.

The said captive is none other than Lady Y/n. “let me go…Maedhros don’t go. I must stop him,” you continue pleading to the elf who has long left the walls of the castle. 

“My Lady,” Ailya tries to call for you. 

Followed by shuffling is you eager voice, “Ai Ailya, by Eru you are here! Please let me out. Ask these guards to let me go. I need to stop Maedhros…he’s gone…no no no he can’t no Baldur call Baldur,” your voice raises unlike the soft pleading before. You sound out of breath as you plead to Ailya who fruitlessly tries to comfort you. 

“Ailya please please I beg you stop Maedhros,” hysteria fills your voice. “He cannot go…not like Baldur. Stop him,” Nothing budges the guards who keep you locked by the orders of their lord. 

Food, sleep, and comfort of any sort leaves you. Leaving behind a wraith. In a way, Lord Maedhros has announced your doom. Ailya stays next to the door for weeks, trying to help you. 

No burned notes, no hushed secrets, no siblings, no locked doors would spare Lord Maedhros of this grief. The grief of the loss of a spouse, of a fading spouse.

The sight of Elros and Elrond, surrounded by the aftermath of their kin's bloodshed, halts Maedhros in his tracks. Their appearance bears no resemblance to the descriptions you've given of Baldur. Their features don't carry a hint of your characteristics or Maedhros' likeness.

Yet, there's something about them that triggers a memory deep within him – a glimpse, a fleeting moment he once experienced when you first visited him with your son, who was at that point of time cradled in your arms. How deeply Baldur's eyes had searched for him. Even as a child in your arms, his son had tried to look past his father;s rejection.

It was a time when he foolishly turned you both away, mistaking his own flesh and blood as belonging to another. In that moment, when he saw you both leave, Maedhros felt a pang of regret, a sting of longing for the son he never knew.

Now, in the face of the Peredhel twins, the floodgates of grief he has kept restrained for ages begin to open. Surrounded by the weight of his sins and the memory of his losses, Maedhros allows himself a brief respite. The sword that has served as a symbol of his responsibilities, his duty, is sundered, his sins momentarily stepping back as he mourns.

This is a rare moment of release, a break from the relentless burden he's carried since the day you were taken from him. You were torn from his side even before he could return from his patrol, your departure orchestrated by Mandos himself. It was his doing – his refusal to listen to your pleas, to see your fear, that led to your demise. He had locked you away, shrouded in his own selfish justifications of duty and authority, as he went about his responsibilities.

He had been the reason. It wasn’t the grief of Baldur’s demise that killed you but the fear for his life that did. Maedhros deserved every ounce of pain that it lent him. He had been the one to leave you locked in the room for the sake of his subjects and his territory. He had not spared a moment’s considerations to your pleading. You had begged him to stay back. He did not care.

Instead, bound by duty, Lord of Hirming had resorted to locking you in his room as he fulfilled his role. He had ignored your fear. How did he not understand the turmoil of your heart? How scared would you have been? Alone.

And when Maedhros had returned, he found the latched door and vigilant guards. But he also found Ailya, right by your door. Except he did not find the determination of a healer in her eyes but the resignation of fate. 

Behind the closed doors lay plates full of untouched food, umade bed, unkempt room. How could he have done something so heinous to you? Something he had borne in the halls of the dark lord.

There was no resentment on your face. The dead seldom carry it. Only proof of your agony was your bloodied fist that had knocked on the door for days. Hand tissues were torn and your nails cracked and broken. Nothing else betrayed your pain. 

How scared, how terrified must you have been…

By the Havens of Sirion, Maedhros dares look at the children who remind him of his son. In the moments of peace he can’t help but imagine how much they would have endeared you. 

As the flames of his end close in around him, Maedhros' thoughts turn to you, the woman he loved and wronged. In the searing heat that mirrors the pain within his heart, he wonders if you would forgive him once more. Could you find it in your heart to let go of the resentment, the suffering he caused, and embrace him again?

In the throes of his impending doom, Maedhros yearns for redemption, for a chance to be reunited with you and Baldur. He envisions a scene where he holds his son as he has done for the twins, Elros and Elrond. This thought carries both hope and regret – hope for a future where his mistakes are forgiven, and regret for the time he lost, the love he denied himself.

As the flames consume him, Maedhros clings to the possibility that in death, he might find a glimpse of the love he lost – a sight of you and Baldur together, a chance to finally make amends, and a moment to hold his family close, even if it's in the realm beyond life.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion x reader #angst #maedhros x reader #sad ending #:(( #it be like that #maedhros

[fanaticsnail]

AAAAAAAAA!!!! SAPSORROW LORE!!!!!

Her story is so sad I can understand why she felt so anguished and took drastic measures out of anger. It makes so much sense in a way that doesn't try to justify the pain she's caused and continues to try to cause and it's all the more beautiful for it. Of course she's a victim who's choices are stripped from her but so too are her victims.

I support women's rights, but more importantly I support women's wrongs.

Also the fake out where for a moment I thought our Governess was talking to a princess?? The parallels? The way Mihawk's agate stone is left waiting for it's final command, the true desires of Sapsorrow beyond her need for revenge.

“And any words she brings onto you harbouring doubt, I will smother you in nothing but kindness and love to reassure you.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love Governess and Peronas and Zoros relationship so much

(insert Irish "Back off ye spooky bitch!" Here)

"I love you, my lady. We both do, don't we Zoro?" And the hug????? Are you trying to kill me, snail???

The letterrrrrrrr....... Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

They're so Romance, I love them

Governess addressing Sapsorrow and offering her to walk down the aisle with her so she might share a happy ending is so sweet and brave to show such kindness knowing it might anger her more and be met with scorn. Sapsorrow admitting she's going after Croc next!!! Her hinting to Rosinante and Law!!!!

Her allowing herself to feel some warmth and conceding to the Governess that she might move forward in her story of her own volition, not compelled or controlled by anyone else the way Sapsorrow was. Her allowing her her choice when her own was taken from her unfairly, letting her try for a happy ending even though she didn't get one, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASAAA.

“The Sun-Dress is my favourite, my lady,” oh stawp it you're going to make me blush!

“If I had a heart, I would even show mercy on Red-Hair for such a fine craft. But alas, I do not.” AHAHA I found this absolutely hilarious despite knowing it only spells trouble for Shanks. But it's okay, I will laugh at his pain.

THE LONGING GAZES!!!! THE LOVE LOST EXPRESSIONS!!!! THE AFFECTION!!!!!

Corpse bride reference????? Thematically appropriate, actually.

Not Zoro getting teary eyed!!! I'm right there with you, babe, don't you worry

Without hesitation, Mihawk clasped your wrist, holding your hand in place as his tongue danced around your fingertips to skillfully rid them from the honey. Your shocked expression was shrouded by the presence of Mihawk’s thumb within your own lips, prompting you to perform a similar action to suck the sticky substance to rid its presence from his digits. -- SIR. SIR. SIR. THERE ARE PEOPLE WATCHING. THERE IS A PRIEST PRESENT. SIR PLEASE. GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF! ONE OF US HAS TO BE UNDER CONTROL HERE!!

Good God. Let me just take a moment for the word smithing of our talented writer who has a way with describing kisses.

Okay, I can't wait any longer.

The inclusion of the tradition is such a creative addition!! The drama!! The fun!! I know that Buggy's rapscallion behaviour is only a vessel for your mischief Snail, you can't fool me. But he is very rascally and himself, you write him so well.

I can't wait for Mihawk to officially fulfill his destined role as Mr "Where is my wife?"

"Hell hath no fury like a woman cursed by the law to marry her own father" - FanaticSnail

Sapsorrow: The Storyteller

I cannot marry my father // I cannot ignore the law // I cannot shame the king // But the ring-- is the ring-- is the ring--//

Her heart bares such great sadness, so she must bare into others the same curse of sadness; in hopes their outcomes be changed to a more desirable outcome.

I'm so glad you noticed the parallels! As the Princess' governess attempted to console her in her sorrow, she, as spectral queen, was comforted by a new governess now bound to Mihawk - a love she truly would have wanted for herself.

But also, yes: "Back off 'ya spooky betch"

I love how you've enjoyed her relationships and interactions with Perona and Zoro. I've thoroughly enjoyed writing their development. Little glazed eyes Zoro, squeaky Perona - they love their adoptive parents (their "mother" young enough to be their sister or favourite aunt, rather than biological).

Also, yes to Mihawk doing these displayed of unbridled lust in public. And who could blame him? He's in love!

Buggy kidnapping her to uphold a Kuraigana tradition will never not be funny to me. Gotta give the new husband a sense of panic as his bride is now lost to him.

I wonder what he will do to win back her adoration......

He's yet to hold a physical conversation with his wife aside for his vows to her, and now he has to hunt for her and woo her officially.

I hope the hunt doesn't take too long, the food is starting to get cold.

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #sapsorrow au #storyteller au #fairytale au #mihawk sapsorrow au #op oc #ask snail #snail answers

[bitchiswild]

Ghostin

Kazuha x F! Reader

Warnings: Angst and death mentions

Word Count: 985

A/n: ANGST TIME 😈

───♡─────────────

As Kazuha sat by the window, watching the raindrops cascade down the glass, her thoughts wandered to Y/n. She could feel their pain etched in every word, every strained attempt to shield her from the depth of their sorrow.

Y/n, curled up in their own world of grief, seemed both near and so far away. The distance between them was more profound than mere physical space. It was an emotional chasm that Kazuha felt helpless to bridge.

She saw the struggle in their eyes, the silent tears that fell when they thought no one was watching. Every night, Y/n would try to conceal their anguish, to spare her from the weight of their pain. But Kazuha sensed it all too keenly, like a symphony of sorrow playing in the quiet moments between their words.

It tore at her heart to witness Y/n crumbling under the weight of loss, yearning for someone she could never replace. Despite her love and unwavering support, she knew she couldn't fill the void left by the one they mourned so deeply.

In the dimly lit room, Kazuha felt a sense of powerlessness. She longed to erase the agony etched on Y/n's face, to absorb their sorrow and offer solace. But some wounds couldn't be healed by mere presence or affection. Some grief demanded solitude, time, and the slow, arduous process of healing.

So, she sat by, a silent guardian, offering comfort in her quietude, understanding in her patient gaze. She couldn't take away Y/n's pain, but she could hold space for their sorrow, offering an anchor in the storm of emotions.

In those moments, Kazuha realized that love wasn't always about fixing or mending. Sometimes, it was about standing steadfast in the face of someone's agony, allowing them to hurt, to grieve, and to heal at their own pace.

And so, she vowed to be there, a constant presence in Y/n's life, ready to offer support when they were ready to reach out, understanding that healing took time, and that her love was an unwavering beacon in their darkest moments.

In a moment of vulnerability, Y/n had poured her emotions into a letter, a heartfelt confession meant for eyes other than Kazuha's. It was an inadvertent discovery—an unsealed envelope, its contents a testament to a love that lingered in Y/n's heart for someone no longer present.

Kazuha, stumbling upon the letter by chance, felt a pang of guilt wash over her as she realized the depth of Y/n's enduring feelings. The words within carried the weight of unspoken sentiments, a testament to a love that had not faded despite the passing of time.

My Love,

It’s been 156 days since you departed from this world, and every single day feels like an eternity without you. Kazuha has been a pillar of support, trying so hard to fill the void you left behind. But oh, my heart aches in ways I can't even describe, for she's unable to replace the unique presence you've always had in my life.

I can feel her heart breaking alongside mine as I unintentionally distance myself from her. It's tearing us both apart, and the pain is unbearable. I love Kazuha dearly, please know that, but the chasm you've left is vast, and no one else can quite fill it. She's aware of how much I still long for you, how I find myself drowning in tears every night since the cruel moment I learned you were no longer here with us.

I attempt to conceal my anguish, to shield Kazuha from the full extent of my grief. I can't bear to burden her further, although I know she understands more than she lets on. Her patience and understanding are boundless, but I'm aware I'm asking for more than anyone should endure. She won't admit how much it hurts her to witness my pain, but I see it in the corners of her eyes, in the way she tries to be strong for me.

I yearn for your comforting presence, to hear your voice tell me that one favorite story you promised to share endlessly. I ache to feel your embrace, to have you by my side once more, but the cruel truth remains—you're gone, far beyond my reach.

I cling to the hope of seeing you again in my dreams, if only to catch a fleeting glimpse of your familiar face. I know, in time, I'll have to come to terms with your absence, to accept the harsh reality that you're no longer here. But please know, beyond any doubt, that I love you dearly, that I miss you beyond words, and I'm trying so desperately to find the strength to carry on.

Until we meet again, please watch over me.

With all my love,

Y/n

Reading Y/n's intimate thoughts meant for another shattered Kazuha's heart into even smaller fragments. She understood the complexity of grief, the struggle to let go when the heart held on so tightly. Y/n's unwavering affection for the person in the letter was a poignant reminder of the lingering pain woven into their journey of healing.

As much as Kazuha wished to erase the ache Y/n felt, she knew she couldn't erase the remnants of a love that had once bloomed so fervently. It was a delicate balance between wanting to offer comfort and respecting the depth of Y/n's emotions, even if it meant she couldn't fully fill the void left by the person in the letter.

The revelation stung, yet Kazuha made a conscious effort to conceal her own heartbreak, understanding that Y/n's healing required tenderness and space. She carried the weight of this newfound knowledge in her heart, a silent witness to Y/n's ongoing struggle between holding on and letting go, all while offering her steadfast support in their shared present.

───♡─────────────

#Spotify #bitchiswild #BIW.WRITES #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim imagines #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim kazuha #nakamura kazuha #kazuha x female reader #kazuha x reader

[minarixx]

𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 ✯ 𝐀.𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝"

PAIRING. Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

CONTENT. Angst, ADULTERY, unrequited love, childhood friends to NOT lovers.

A complex and emotionally charged story that revolves around the intertwined lives of Y/N and Atsumu and their affair

WC. 4.3k

A/N. Okay I'm going to put it straight. Y/N is dependant on Atsumu which makes it why she appears so 'weak' or wtv. Atsumu doesn't love Y/N, kind of explained in the story which is why this one is super long. This is probably one of my deep deep one shots and there's reasons for their actions. Not defending cheating and I've said it before, this is going to be a deep one. Also its heavily inspired by Takumi and Reira's relationship.

Masterlink - Songs Unwritten

The soft rays of the morning sun bathed the small coastal town where Y/N and Atsumu grew up together. The sound of crashing waves served as the backdrop to the story of two childhood friends who shared an unbreakable bond that even fate couldn't sever.

Y/N and Atsumu had been inseparable since they were little, finding solace in each other's company. Atsumu's childhood was marked by tragedy when he lost his mother at a tender age. Grief weighed heavy on his young heart, and he faced a rough path ahead. But amid the darkness, Y/N stood like a beacon of light, guiding him through the shadows.

When the news first broke of his mother, she found him sitting alone on the beach they had spent countless hours playing as children. The usually lively and energetic boy seemed like a mere shadow of himself, lost in the depths of grief. Y/N approached him quietly, her heart aching at the sight of her dear friend in pain.

"Atsumu," she whispered, her voice filled with gentle concern.

Atsumu looked up, his tear-streaked face meeting her worried gaze. He didn't say anything, but the unspoken anguish in his eyes told Y/N everything she needed to know.

Without a word, she sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting embrace. She didn't try to offer empty words of consolation; she knew that nothing she said could take away the pain he felt. Instead, she simply held him close, allowing him to lean on her for support.

As the waves crashed against the shore, Y/N stayed by his side, offering him the solace he desperately needed. Time seemed to lose its meaning as they sat there, the world around them fading into insignificance. Y/N understood the power of silent companionship, and she was determined to be there for him in his darkest hour.

"It hurts so much, Y/N," Atsumu finally choked out, his voice breaking with emotion.

"I know," Y/N replied, her voice equally choked with emotion. "I can't take away your pain, Atsumu, but I promise you won't have to face it alone."

Atsumu looked at her, gratitude mingling with sorrow in his eyes. "Thank you, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to worry about that," Y/N said, her voice firm with conviction. "I'll be here for you, no matter what. We've always been there for each other, right?"

Atsumu nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, we have."

In the days that followed, Y/N kept true to her word. She stayed by Atsumu's side, offering him a shoulder to lean on and a listening ear whenever he needed it. She helped him make funeral arrangements and stood with him as he bid his final farewell to his mother.

Through it all, Y/N remained a pillar of strength for Atsumu, guiding him through the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. She reminded him of the happy memories they had shared, and together, they found solace in the knowledge that his mother's love would always be with him.

As time passed, Atsumu's wounds began to heal, but the memory of his mother remained etched in his heart. And through it all, Y/N continued to be his rock, the one constant presence in his life, just as she had been since their childhood.

Their bond grew even stronger, cemented by the trials they had faced together. Atsumu knew that he could always count on Y/N, and she knew that her place in his life was irreplaceable.

From their earliest memories, Y/N had been the pure entity in Atsumu's life. She possessed a quiet strength that calmed the storm in his heart. The two of them spent countless hours playing on the beach, building sandcastles and chasing seagulls. But as they grew older, Atsumu's shared passion for volleyball became the center of their universe.

Atsumu discovered his love for the sport during his elementary school years, and Y/N became his muse and inspiration. Because of that, Atsumu soared to new heights, earning a spot in the national team and eventually securing a place in the pro Olympic team.

Throughout their journey in the world of volleyball, Y/N stood by Atsumu's side, managing every aspect of his career. Her unwavering support and dedication were unparalleled. She managed his schedules, arranged training sessions, and took care of all the logistical details, allowing Atsumu to focus solely on his game.

As the years passed, Y/N’s admiration for Atsumu grew deeper, but in the pursuit of their dreams, the world presented them with a harsh reality when Atsumu’s one night stand, Emi, was pregnant. 

Atsumu's heart felt like an impenetrable fortress as he delivered the news to Y/N. He revealed Emi's pregnancy with a cold detachment that left Y/N reeling. She had always hoped for a different outcome, but the reality was far from her dreams.

"Y/N, I wanted you to know that Emi is pregnant," Atsumu said flatly, his gaze avoiding her eyes.

Y/N's heart sank, and she struggled to keep her composure. "Oh, I see."

Atsumu continued, his voice void of emotion. "We've decided to get married to avoid any potential scandal. It's the right thing to do."

She tried to hide her hurt, burying her feelings deep within. "I understand, Atsumu. It's important to consider what's best for everyone involved."

But her heart was breaking, knowing that Atsumu didn't care for her the way she cared for him. He saw their night together as a mere blip in the grand scheme of things, while she held onto it like a precious memory she couldn't let go of.

As the days passed, Y/N watched Atsumu prepare for his impending marriage with a heavy heart. She couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal, knowing that he was marrying someone he didn't truly love, while her love for him remained unrequited.

One evening, as the sun set over the horizon, Y/N found herself seeking solace in their favorite spot on the beach. Atsumu found her there, his face expressionless as he approached.

"Y/N, are you okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of concern.

She forced a smile, masking her true emotions. "I'm fine, Atsumu. Just thinking about everything."

Atsumu sat down beside her, the distance between them feeling vast and insurmountable. "I know this isn't easy for you, and I'm sorry for that."

Her heart clenched at his words, knowing that he was apologizing out of obligation rather than genuine concern. "It's not your fault, Atsumu. You have to do what's right for you and your family."

Atsumu looked away, seemingly unable to confront the reality of their situation. "I hope you'll still be there for me, Y/N. You've always been my rock."

Y/N fought back tears, her voice soft but resolute. "Of course, Atsumu. I'll always be here for you, no matter what happens."

And in that moment, she knew that her love for him would never waver, even if his heart belonged to another. Y/N understood that she couldn't force him to feel something he didn't, but she also couldn't abandon the one person who had always been there for her.

As the waves crashed against the shore, Y/N found strength in knowing that she would continue to be Atsumu's source of comfort, even if he could never return her love.

He couldn't abandon Y/N, not after all she had done for him. His conscience struggled with the guilt of leaving her behind. Still, he couldn't deny the responsibility he held for Emi and the child growing inside her. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, and he decided to marry Emi, promising to care for her and their child.

Y/N, though heartbroken, put on a brave face and continued to support Atsumu as his friend. She knew he needed her now more than ever, and she refused to abandon him, just as he refused to abandon her. But deep inside, she couldn't help but hope that someday, he would see her as more than a friend and manager.

Y/N understood the complexity of their relationship. She knew Atsumu used her presence and affection to fill the void in his heart, but she couldn't bring herself to deny him. She loved him unconditionally, even if it meant being the second choice in his life.

One day, as Y/N was going through Atsumu's schedule and emails, she noticed a particular message that caught her eye. It was an invitation to Atsumu's wedding. Her heart sank as she read the words on the screen, and a mix of emotions overwhelmed her.

For a moment, she felt a wave of jealousy and heartbreak, knowing that the man she loved was about to marry someone else. But beneath those emotions, she also felt happiness for him, knowing that he had found love and a family of his own.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she closed the email. She couldn't bear to think of a life without Atsumu by her side, but she had always known that this day might come. He deserved happiness, even if it wasn't with her.

With a heavy heart, Y/N decided to confront Atsumu. She found him at the training facility, sweating and focused as he prepared for his next game. She took a deep breath, steadying herself for the conversation ahead.

"Atsumu," she called out, her voice tinged with both sadness and resolve.

He turned to her, a warm smile lighting up his face. "Hey, Y/N. What's up?"

Y/N tried to smile back, but the weight of her emotions made it difficult. "I saw the email," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Congratulations on your wedding."

Atsumu's expression softened, and he approached her, sensing the heaviness in her words. "Thank you, Y/N. I wanted to talk to you about it."

Y/N shook her head gently, not wanting to burden him with her feelings. "It's okay, Atsumu. I understand. You deserve to be happy."

His brow furrowed with concern, Atsumu reached out to cup her cheek. "Y/N, you mean the world to me. You know that, right? You've always been there for me, and I'll never forget that."

A single tear escaped Y/N's eye, and she leaned into his touch, savoring the comfort it brought. "I know, Atsumu. And I'll always be here for you, no matter what happens."

He pulled her into a warm embrace, holding her close. "You're my rock, Y/N. I couldn't have achieved any of this without you."

As much as Y/N wanted to confess her feelings at that moment, she held back, not wanting to put any burden on Atsumu before his big day. She cherished the closeness they shared, even if it was tinged with a bittersweet ache.

The day of the wedding arrived, and Y/N stood at the back of the venue, watching as Atsumu and his bride exchanged vows. Her heart swelled with both joy and heartache as she witnessed the love between them. She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find a love like that for herself.

Amid the celebrations, Y/N found herself stealing glances at Atsumu, his happiness radiating from him. He caught her eye at one point, and a soft smile played on his lips, as if he could sense her turmoil. It only deepened the ache in her heart.

The aftermath of Atsumu's wedding was a tumultuous time for Y/N. She tried to suppress her feelings for him, burying them deep within her heart while continuing to be the dedicated friend he relied on.

As time went by, Atsumu found it increasingly difficult to keep Y/N at a distance. She had been his sanctuary, his escape from the harsh realities of his troubled childhood. She was the one thing that made life bearable, the pure and soothing melody amidst the cacophony of his past.

But as he matured, he realized that he couldn't keep clinging to the illusion of Y/N as his saving grace. She was a person with her own desires, dreams, and emotions, not just a figure in his life to bring him comfort. He wanted her to be happy, but he struggled to face the reality that maybe he couldn't be the one to give her that happiness.

Atsumu tried to find his own path, embracing his passion for volleyball, pursuing a career as an Olympic athlete and now a married man. He discovered a purpose beyond just relying on Y/N, but deep down, he knew that her feelings for him hadn't disappeared. 

Yet Y/N couldn't help but yearn for more from Atsumu. As they grew older, she wanted to be seen not just as his source of comfort but as a woman with her own identity. She wanted to share a genuine connection with him, beyond their childhood bond. Her love for him only intensified as she saw him flourish and succeed, but she also knew that she couldn't sacrifice her own desires and happiness for his sake.

One evening, as the sun set over the beach, Y/N and Atsumu sat side by side, the waves gently lapping at their feet. The atmosphere was calm, and the air was filled with a comfortable silence.

Y/N spoke softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "I'm happy for you, Atsumu. I really am. Emi is a wonderful woman, and I know she loves you deeply."

Atsumu smiled, his hand reaching out to pat her on her head, stroking it. "Thank you, Y/N. Your support means everything to me."

Y/N's voice was tinged with vulnerability as she finally mustered the courage to address the unspoken tension between them. "Atsumu, I need to talk to you about something important."

Atsumu's face remained impassive, his guard firmly in place. "Go ahead, Y/N."

Her heart sank but she pressed on, determined to bring their feelings to light. "I’ve been in love with you for so many years now. I don't think I can see you with another woman and live the life I wanted with you!"

Atsumu's eyes flickered, a distant look in his gaze. "Y/N, you're important to me, but you're overthinking things. We're friends, that's it."

Her heart shattered, but she refused to show weakness. "Friends... is that all you see me as, Atsumu?"

He sighed, as if her emotions were a burden he'd rather not carry. "I don't want to deal with this right now. Can we just drop it?"

Y/N bit her lip, holding back tears as she nodded. "Sure, Atsumu. We can drop it."

The silence that followed felt suffocating, filled with unspoken words and shattered dreams. Atsumu's distance was like a cold wall between them, and Y/N felt herself retreating further into her own world of unrequited love.

As the days passed, Atsumu remained aloof, avoiding any conversations that delved into their emotions. Y/N tried to maintain their friendship, but the pain of his indifference was becoming too much to bear.

One evening, as they found themselves alone after a volleyball game, Y/N couldn't contain her emotions any longer. "Atsumu, I can't keep pretending that everything's okay. You're so distant, and it hurts."

Atsumu glanced at her, his expression unchanged. "I have a lot on my plate right now. I can't deal with this emotional drama."

Her voice trembled, her pain slipping through her defenses. "It's not just drama, Atsumu. These are my feelings, and they matter."

He sighed, frustration creeping into his tone. "Look, Y/N, I don't know what you want me to say. I don't feel the same way, and I can't force myself to."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a painful admission of their mismatched feelings. Y/N felt like an intruder in her own heart, unwelcome and rejected.

As the distance between them grew, Y/N felt like she was losing the one person who had always been her anchor. She couldn't bear the coldness that had replaced the warmth of their friendship, but she didn't know how to bridge the gap between them.

In the depths of his heart, Atsumu knew that Y/N had fallen deeply in love with him. Her unwavering support and the sacrifices she made for him were undeniable signs of her feelings. He was aware that she longed for him to see her as more than just a friend, to acknowledge her as a woman, and to reciprocate the love she held for him.

Atsumu was no stranger to the fact that he was the reason for Y/N's dependence on him. He couldn't forget how she had been his haven during their tumultuous childhood, the one person who had believed in him when nobody else did. She had been his comfort, his refuge, and his muse for volleyball, unknowingly becoming the foundation upon which his life was built.

Guilt gnawed at him as he realized that he owed so much to Y/N. He felt an obligation that he couldn't just abandon her even after all the times she had been his guiding light. However, in his conflicted heart, he couldn't find the same depth of emotion for her that she had for him.

Every encounter with Y/N was tinged with a bittersweet sense of duty. He wanted to give her the experience of being seen as a woman, to make her feel desired and cherished, even if it was just for those stolen moments. But deep down, Atsumu couldn't deny that his heart belonged elsewhere, to a woman he was legally bound to and the child they were about to have.

He knew he couldn't deny the truth any longer – Y/N needed to be seen, loved, and cherished as the woman she was. The walls he had built around his heart began to crumble as he saw the pain in her eyes, and he knew that he couldn't keep her caged in the role he had assigned to her.

One night, after a particularly emotional game, Atsumu sought solace in Y/N's presence. They were alone in his hotel room, and he sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion etched on his face.

Y/N approached him, concerned in her eyes. "Are you okay, Atsumu?"

He looked up at her, his guard lowered, and vulnerability shining through. "I'm just... tired, Y/N. Tired of pretending that I'm happy when I'm not."

Y/N sat beside him, offering her shoulder to lean on. "You don't have to pretend with me, Atsumu. I'm here for you, always."

Atsumu turned to her, his gaze intense. "You're the only one who truly understands me, Y/N. You're my comfort, my refuge."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, but she swallowed the lump in her throat, not daring to reveal her own feelings just yet. "You mean a lot to me too, Atsumu. You always will."

The tension in the room was palpable, and for a moment, it seemed as though they might bridge the gap between friendship and something more.

Their guard slipped, and the boundaries between friendship and desire blurred. The passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long erupted, and they found solace in each other's arms.

In the heat of the moment, they forgot about the world outside, the consequences of their actions, and the pain that would inevitably follow. For a brief time, they shared an intimate connection, but it was far from what Y/N had hoped for. She yearned for more than a fleeting encounter; she longed for Atsumu's love and devotion.

Their affair was a complex dance of emotions, built on a foundation of dependence, gratitude, and unrequited love. Atsumu's actions were driven by a sense of indebtedness, while Y/N's heart was entangled in the love she couldn't help but feel for the man who had become her everything. The affair was born out of a desperate desire to give Y/N what she wanted, even if he couldn't offer her the love she deserved. Atsumu knew that he could provide her with fleeting moments of passion and physical closeness, even if it wouldn't heal the wounds of her unrequited love.

With the weight of their emotions pressing upon them, they gave in to temptation, having an affair that only heightened the complexity of their relationship. Atsumu grappled with guilt and confusion, knowing that he couldn't offer Y/N the love she deserved. Their connection was intense, but it lacked the depth she craved.

When Y/N finally woke up fully, she found herself alone in the hotel room. Atsumu was gone, leaving behind only the faint traces of their fleeting intimacy. The reality of the situation hit her like a tidal wave, and the weight of her unrequited love settled heavily upon her heart.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized that nothing had changed between them. Their night together had been a momentary escape, but it hadn't altered Atsumu's feelings for her. He had sought comfort in her arms, but it wasn't love that brought him there; it was his need for solace and a temporary escape from his responsibilities.

The realization crushed Y/N. She had allowed herself to believe, if only for a brief moment, that their connection had deepened into something more. But the truth was evident now – Atsumu's heart belonged to another, and she would forever be relegated to the role of a friend, a manager, and nothing more.

With trembling hands, Y/N wiped away her tears, determined to regain her composure. 

For Y/N, it was both a bittersweet moment of passion and a heart-wrenching realization that her love for Atsumu might always be unrequited. She felt like a songbird trapped in a cage of her own making, unable to spread her wings and be her own person.

Y/N struggled to find her own identity outside of Atsumu's shadow. She knew that she deserved more than being a source of comfort whenever he needed solace. She yearned to break free from the cage she had willingly entered and find her own happiness, even if it meant letting go of the one person who had defined so much of her life.

The pain of unrequited love weighed heavily on her shoulders, she found herself unable to let go of Atsumu. The affair they had embarked upon only intensified the conflict within her, as it became a bitter reminder of his emotional unavailability.

Despite the heartache and knowledge that Atsumu didn't truly love her, Y/N couldn't resist the allure of their stolen moments together. She craved his touch, his presence, and the temporary illusion of being loved, even though deep down, she knew it wasn't real.

In the stillness of the night, after each encounter with Atsumu, she would find herself crying, her tears mingling with the tumultuous emotions within. She knew she was just a placeholder, a fleeting escape from the reality. But she was powerless to resist, chained to her love for him like a captive to her captor.

The affair had turned into a double-edged sword, providing moments of ecstasy intertwined with the bitter taste of her unrequited love. Atsumu's distance outside of their encounters became more pronounced, leaving her feeling isolated and alone even in his presence.

Each time she saw him with his wife, Emi, or heard him talk about their future together, it was a painful reminder of where she stood in his life – a secret, a guilty pleasure. The disparity between her feelings and his indifference was a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.

Y/N knew she was losing herself in this affair, but the love she felt for Atsumu was a relentless force, pulling her back into his arms time and time again. The brief moments of passion only served to amplify her heartache, leaving her feeling more broken than ever.

And yet, she couldn't find the strength to break free. The fear of losing the one connection she had with him, no matter how flawed and unfulfilling, was too great. She clung to their encounters like a lifeline, even as it dragged her deeper into the abyss of unrequited love.

In the quiet solitude of her own space, she would cry silent tears, mourning the love she could never have while convincing herself that this was better than nothing. Her heart may have been shattered, but her love for Atsumu burned bright, a painful flame she couldn't extinguish.

Navigating the complexities of love and heartbreak, clinging to a love that seemed destined to remain one-sided. She found herself entangled in a web of emotions, torn between holding onto Atsumu and finding the strength to let go. But in the depths of her heart, she knew that her love for him was a double-edged sword, both her salvation and her torment.

Trapped in a web of love and dependence. She clung to the stolen moments with Atsumu, even though she knew they weren’t out of intimacy or love. Her heart ached for his love, but she couldn't bear to let him go, not when he was the very reason for her existence.

In the quiet moments after their encounters, when the passion had faded and reality crept back in, Y/N would find herself crying tears of both joy and despair. She cherished the memories of their moments together, yet she couldn't escape the pain of knowing that Atsumu's heart belonged elsewhere.

The bittersweet truth was that Y/N knew that she would forever remain the other woman, a melody destined to play in the background of Atsumu's life, never to take center stage in his heart.

©Minarixx 2023 - please don't copy, repost or translate without my knowledge credit or permission.

#haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu x reader #hq oneshot #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x self insert #Atsumu #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #hq atsumu #msby atsumu #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu angst #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya imagine #atsumu miya #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu angst

[mismaeve]

Her Tortured Soul, Part One

↳ Her Tortured Soul, Thranduil x Reader, Elrond x Reader ( I guess) Warnings: kinda angsty, implies cheating Word Count: 1.3k A/N: It's been months since I've written anything. Today, out of the blue, I wanted to write. So I did. I got so excited about it, that I'm now posting without much editing and proofreading. I just want to publish it because I'm proud of having written something. Even if it is short and angsty. Even if it implies morally questionable themes. Even if I have projected myself into the story. I don't care. I wrote today and I am proud, even if I am nervous now to share. Enjoy! Imagine having chosen Elrond when you should have chosen Thranduil.

The soft beating of his heart threatened to lull you to sleep, the rhythmic heaving and falling of his chest concurrent with his warm palm that slowly moved up and down your back where light fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your robes.

“It is nearly time,” his whispered words made you wince. How could a voice so divine and pure be capable of sending such daggers of ice to pierce your already aching heart.

“I don’t want to,” your protest was made in vain; you knew better than to hope and dream that your comings and goings could ever be steered and controlled by the sheer will of your soul.

“Yet you must,” Thranduil’s voice lacked the grief and sorrow you had expected to hear at the near hour of your inevitable departure. It was better that way.

“There is nothing for me there,” you clung to his robes with all the frail and desperate might your trembling fingers could muster.

“There is nothing for you here either, not yet in any case,” he murmured into your hair.

He was right. How was it that he was always right?

“Only because you have made it so,” you objected nonetheless, foolishly daring to hope that this time, finally, he would change his mind.

He wouldn’t.

“I’m afraid it was your selfless heart that was the grand architect of your current predicament, my love,” Thranduil reminded you quietly before you felt him move, the feeling of his soft lips on your throbbing temple bringing you agonizing relief.

Selfless. It used to mean something to you. Now it made you laugh in bittersweet regret.

“Is there ever going to be a way?”

His lack of response was the dreaded answer to your silly question. You had known it long ago; you had feared as much when you had accepted his proposal and promised to love him and honor him.

Where was your honor now while cuddled in another’s arms, desire eating away at your once selfless being, slowly tainting it darker and making it easier to lust after that which was forbidden. You had allowed your heart to run wild and reckless for too long, now it was near impossible to cage it again and expect reason and loyalty.

“And what of your heart, my lord?” another meaningless question escaped your lips when you knew its answer and how unfair it was of you to remind him of his regret and shame.

“You should know by now where my heart lies,” Thranduil gave his reply, yet it wasn’t enough to justify your selfish habit.

“I need to hear you say it,” you pressed on. For what purpose, only the wise and the poetic could say.

“My heart has always been yours to do with as you pleased,” he whispered after a while, his voice taking on a much graver note.

His heart hadn’t been lightly given, yet you had accepted it with open arms and promises of love, only to trample over it on your way to righteousness with wanting to do what was right and noble.

How wrong you had been, the horror of it would never cease to torment you, regardless of how this impossible situation would eventually be solved.

There would be pain. Only question that remained was who the wretched soul would be, left outside alone and cold, open to be devoured by loneliness and anguish. You could go about it however you wished, despite of your endless seeking, there was no nobility in the choice that was laid before you. Only pain.

“He probably all but suspects already,” you suggested.

You felt Thranduil shake his head slowly.

“He loves you too much to ever be able to entertain such a notion. His love for you has always blinded him to reason. Else he never would have married you; he would have seen you weren’t his to wed. Or love.”

True as they were, his words pained you nonetheless.

You moved your tired and slowly fading body to face the elf you loved above all else. Above yourself, above your husband, above life and death, above honor and duty, and loyalty. Your hands went to cradle his mournful face in your soft palms, while your lips found his in yet another longing kiss that somehow ended up bringing more torment than comfort.

Quick to respond to your affections, his arms moved to embrace you, his hands clawing at your back, desperate to pull you closer, to feel more of you and claim that which he had longed for in his hours of miserable solitude. Even his kiss grew deeper and hungrier, more demanding as it threatened to finally take what he had considered his and been robbed of in the cruelest of all manners.

Unable to resist that which had always felt so right, you leaned your head against his shoulder and submitted your being to his fiery kisses, travelling now down the length of your neck where they left a path of unchecked want and need in their wake.

A quiet and quivering moan slipped past your lips as he continued to suck and nibble on the sensitive skin of your neck, allowing you to slip further away from your responsibilities and restrictions, giving yourself over to the same desires that had ruled your heart and flesh for decades before you had chosen to give in and abandon your virtues.

Only he wouldn’t go any further. Just as his kisses had ignited the fire in your loins, his words managed to extinguish it with a single uttered sentence.

“You need to be going,” his words were more of a breathless plea than order, yet all the same you knew you had to comply.

“I cannot bring myself to leave you,” you whispered as the cold sense of your cruel reality once again had made itself known.

“You must,” Thranduil reminded you as he moved to lift you off his lap where you had been cuddled underneath his velvet robes, away from the life you had so mistakenly chosen for yourself.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” your question was filled with hope, more so with devastating need.

His eyes never left you while you smoothed out your silken robes, a habit you had developed in hopes of tidying up the utter mess your heart had made, a gesture that was completely useless. Your husband wouldn’t have known even if you had gone back in all your nakedness and bearing the marks of your treacherous soul.

“Thranduil?”

His lips quivered but no words were uttered. Uncertainty gripped your heart at the lack of response, of that promise you needed to hear, night after night when both your hearts would break upon your departure.

“I cannot leave without knowing you’ll be here,” you begged him, your voice sounding every bit of the shameless fear that you carried deep within you.

A weak smile appeared on his lips at last and he gave a short nod, but no promise. Not tonight. You would have to content yourself with hope.

Before you could press him for more, to demand that promise that you knew you had no right to ask for, he was gone and there was darkness before you opened your eyes to the early morning sun and the sound of chirping birds.

Once again, like every other morning before, you fought with all that you had to keep your tears at bay and keep your breathing even. You would not bring further shame unto your husband by submitting him to your selfish tears. He would proceed to comfort you, to soothe the ache within your soul and bring you peaceful relief when you deserved none. So, you kept quiet and still as best you could while your heart broke and your insides burned and froze at the same time, while shame brought down its wrath and forced you to despise yourself.

“Good morning, my love,” his loving voice greeted you before his lips found your cheek.

A well-rehearsed smile bloomed upon your features while your eyes remained closed, lest they gave away your longing and pain.

A settling breath, a count to three and a promise to right your wrongs, and you opened your eyes to gaze upon your beloved husband Elrond.

The countdown to midnight was reset and started anew.

↳ Part Two

Gif by @wtfhasmy-lifecometo

No pressure tag bc I've been gone for so long: @kanafinwe-makalaure @heilith @i-did-not-mean-to @aduialel @coopsgirl @missymoo02 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @augustwithquills @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @eunoiaastralwings @blueberryrock @mxmia @sehnsuchts-trunken

#thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil of mirkwood #thranduil x you #thranduil oropherion #the hobbit #elrond #elrond x reader #tolkien elves

[asgardian--angels]

rewatching eccleston's run in doctor who and MAN do those old episodes hit hard

there was something so human about RTD's stories that have been lost from the last few years of the show. I loved 11, and I adored 12, but admittedly there was a fundamental shift when Moffat came along where the story became about the Doctor more than the companions, and the companions became special people instead of the ordinary human the Doctor needed to keep him from tipping over the edge. RTD's stories were corny at times but they were viscerally human, and focused more on the regular people than the Doctor. And of course Eccleston was so phenomenal in the role, his profound sorrow, his fresh wounds, his darkness. Some of these early episodes absolutely gutted me, like who gave them the right to make Father's Day. I don't have a fraction of the emotional response to anything post-Amy & Rory. I really do miss the heart that the older seasons had, as well as their ability to invoke real fear and real anguish, true loneliness, and pure hope.

Not to mention the fact that I will never forgive them for retconning the outcome of the Time War. So much of the Doctor's character, his grief, his pain, his fury, is tied up in that, and it's what makes the emotions surrounding him so potent. I want him to have to live with it. Taking back the genocide of the Time Lords is the worst writing decision - decisions, because they've messed with it so many times now - that the show ever made in its later seasons. I love the lore of Gallifrey, the imagery they built, its signature leitmotif. Heck, my favorite episode is still The End of Time. I hate that they ruined that and took that away from the earlier doctors.

#jackie tyler was such an important character and im going to say it #not to vent about doctor who on main in the year 2023 but like #it's not me tiring of the show. I sat here crying over these old episodes #they still elicit a strong emotional response this many years later. They're still excellent #why does it seem like so much media is soulless now jfc

[writerof-thewoods]

Chapter 3: The Fall (part 1)

"Lay Me Gently in the Cold Dark Earth" Chapter 3)

Summary: Recurring nightmares of the fall continue to haunt Crowley. So much that this one instance leaves him in a state he'd never been in before.

TW for religious imagery/references

What begins this hazy twilight is the slow steady prelude of an epic tale. A tale that would span through the ages woven with the threads by a universe in its infancy. Unresting, unwavering, and silently preparing itself to be given a purpose. A destiny unknown. 

______________________________________________________________

The heavens rang out with a first flash of energy-the bang flashing in every and all directions. The stage set for the first act. The curtain rises as the actors take their positions and begin in the familiar dance that was eternity. Angelic celestial beings rang out as heroes with their plan for the story. Crashing in an unending battle amongst themselves and the cast out villains lurking in the shadows. Their Righteous Dominion fell onto their shoulders as they fought with divine authority. They were angels of grace, power, and order, everything wanted in a defender of what was right. 

It was not a performance of triumph. There were neither winners nor losers in the ending of this strange battle. Only the falling of archangels and beings to follow the first. The one who burned the pages of the book, wanting to rewrite it in his own devotion to the universe. The rebellious one. All who stood with the prince of darkness were sent down with him. 

Stripped of their holy title, bodies marked with their deeds, and eyes once full of wonder and knowledge of the galaxies were tarnished as a reminder of their betrayal to the Almighty. Whatever comfort they had was gone, only jaded suffering would be allowed to take its place. 

One of said creatures lay shriveled on the ground, struggling to breath in its paralyzing agony. Their mind raced with what they could’ve done, why the creator who once loved them so would send them to endure such pain. They hadn’t meant to do any harm; they didn’t even know what wrong was; they only wanted to see something different. To ask questions, but they never thought it would land them here. 

The monster’s once sweet nature was replaced with feelings of sorrow, fury, and anguish. Their body cried with even the slightest of movement, even when tears began to fall from their eyes. The creature laid covered in debris and ash from their fall from grace. Said tears stained and stung their burning, soot covered face. As the memories of the experience began to flood their already fractured mind, a shadowy figure watched from afar. 

The figure being Satan. He’d seen many creatures come and go, the fear that came to their eyes as they realized their fate filled him with childish glee. But this one was different somehow, at least in this specific instance. They weren’t moving nor did they want to be here that's for sure, but they seemed to be taking it much harder than the rest. Most of the fallen had already gone and gladly taken their positions in Hell with an overwhelming amount of pride. Unlike them, they weren’t happy or even willing to be on his side. They probably didn’t even know who he was other than what they’d heard above. If anything, they were like a lost child separated from their parents, rather than a fallen angel. 

He cursed himself for feeling this sort of way. He was Satan. Humanity’s main antagonist, and hear he was feeling some form of sympathy ? Well, if you could even call it that. It was more pity than anything. He looked over at the creature with a pained look. Remembering that he too had been in their place. He knew what it felt like. To be cast out by someone that you once loved and trusted. However, that had been a millennia ago, so the empathy he had for them was very limited. Despite that though, he stalked over and looked at them, seeing what lay inside their soul that couldn’t bear itself to the human eye. 

The monster shivered at the feeling of eyes on them. Shuddering as the burning feeling began to dissipate through the rest of their body, they tentatively opened their eyes. 

Satan clucked his tongue at the creature. Such a terrified little thing. Whatever brought you down here? You don’t belong here. If anything, you belong in purgatory at the very least, but not in Hell. “Who are you, demon?” He asked, his voice ringing out like an abandoned organ. 

The ex-angel tried to remember, but the pain was too unbearable. They lay back in shame and sighed. The smallest of actions seem to take an eternity. When they felt like they could respond, they leaned over and quietly whispered. “I…I..” But they were instantly cut off by a fit of coughs erupting from their chest. 

A cruel smile formed on Satan’s lips as he cooed at the creature's struggle. Leaning down, he pulled them up to their feet and held them in his arms. “Never mind that, you’ll have a new identity. You, my pet, will be Crawley. How does that sound?” 

Crawley cried out as they were lifted off of the ground. Struggling for a moment, they went limp and couldn’t meet Satan’s condescending eyes. That was one of the many things he remembered. To never look him in the eye unless you had a reason to. And that’d better be a good one. The demon nodded slowly in response. 

Satan smirked with horrific glee and marveled at the fear that coursed through every fiber of the new demon’s being. A small part of him begged him to spare this one, and shockingly enough, he listened to it. It would take this creature a much longer time to adjust to their new fate. Just like he had. So, in the moments that felt like an eternity between the two, he decided he would take the demon under his wing (figuratively and literally). 

“I know how you must feel, but trust me, you’ll adjust to life here much sooner than you think. You have potential, unlike any other demon I’d seen in a long time.” 

Crawley trembled in fear as tears ran down their face. They didn’t want this. They didn’t want to be here in the first place, but especially not this. What was he talking about? What could this mean? Most of all, why did it have to be…them? 

“Come now pet, we have a lot of work to do.” He stalked forward towards the long trek to the beginning formation in front of them. The creation of Earth. The place Satan presided over while his disciples went and did as they were told. Crawley had been there when the Almighty made the planet. It was so unique, so different, so beautiful…just like everything she and her Angels created. Now, it was as bittersweet as ever as they knew they’d never get to see it with them. 

Reluctantly, with a body and mind filled with an aching sorrow for the future they’d never have, Crawley followed him. A hole in their heart grew as the realization that they’d never feel love, tenderness, and kindness from the Almighty again set in. 

The hole only continued to grow. So much so that all they could do was scream. 

#reposted from my ao3 account #my writing #good omens fanfic #good omens agere #agere fanfic #fandom agere #sfw regression #non com agere #my fanfiction #ineffable husbands agere #ineffable husbands fic #willowws writing

[crazyhearttragedy]

Echoes of Pain

Author's Note: I might not be writing as much because I am starting to write a book. If you like my works, please follow me! Also, if you like this specific one shot, please reblog or comment! Thanks!

Once upon a time in the mystical realm of Middle-earth, a young elf named Legolas Greenleaf roamed the ancient forests of Mirkwood. Legolas possessed a unique gift, one that connected his soul to another, a soulmate whose identity remained unknown. Though their paths had yet to cross, a bond had formed between them, allowing them to share the echoes of each other's pain.

Legolas, burdened with the weight of a thousand sorrows, yearned to find his soulmate and ease the pain that plagued them both. But destiny did not unveil its secrets so easily. Meanwhile, a young woman named Y/n, separated by lands and unaware of her soulmate's existence, experienced unexplainable bouts of anguish and sorrow that gripped her heart.

As years passed, Legolas grew increasingly desperate to find Y/n, to protect her and offer the comfort that their bond promised. Guided by his intuition, he embarked on a journey beyond his homeland and, with every step, the echoes of Y/n's pain resonated within his being.

Across vast landscapes and perilous terrains, Legolas sought the one who shared his pain. His determination would not waver, even in the face of darkness and uncertainty. Each scar and every throb of agony he experienced intensified his yearning to find his elusive soulmate.

Meanwhile, Y/n, unaware of the ethereal connection binding her to Legolas, had dedicated herself to helping those in need. Her compassion and healing touch brought solace to many troubled souls. Little did she know that with each sorrow she healed, she unknowingly soothed the aching heart of her distant soulmate.

One fateful day, their paths converged within a hidden glade nestled deep in the heart of Mirkwood. The forest whispered the songs of their intertwined destinies, as Legolas and Y/n stood face to face, an instant recognition shimmering in their eyes.

In that timeless moment, the echoes of pain between them transformed into a symphony of understanding and love. Their shared bond, once a source of agony, now became a source of strength and solace. Comprehending the depth of their connection, Legolas and Y/n forged an unbreakable bond, vowing to protect and nurture their shared gift.

Together, they journeyed through the enchanting realms of Middle-earth, united not only by their love for each other but by the shared empathy they held for all living beings. Legolas' archery skills and Y/n's healing touch proved to be a formidable force against the evils that threatened their world.

In their united quest, they encountered many challenges, but their bond only grew stronger with each trial they overcame together. Wherever they walked side by side, the echoes of their pain transformed into whispers of hope, leaving a trail of healing and goodwill.

Legolas and Y/n's love blossomed, embracing a truth that surpassed the boundaries of their own existence. Their souls entwined, they became beacons of empathy and compassion in a world often plagued by darkness.

And so, their story became a legend, celebrated throughout Middle-earth. Known as the soulmates who could feel each other's pain, Legolas and Y/n created a legacy of love and healing, reminding all who heard their tale that even in the most desperate of times, there is always solace to be found in the arms of a true soulmate.

#legolas x y/n #legolas #legolas xreader #lotr #lotr fic #lotr x reader #lotr fanfic #y/n #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings

[redwildfury]

Fault

⚠Warning:⚠ This story contains gore, death, and major character death. If this isn't your type of content then don't read.

This story was a dream I had. It was so detailed and so shocking to not write down. I hope y'all enjoy it!

The world was ending again. Pure chaos ran through the city of New York. Nothing but agonizing screams rang throughout the city. Corpses lay in a burning pile of lava. The city having a giant crack in the streets. Lava rising from deep within the earth. Rising until it broke the surface and melted everything within its proximity. The earth's crust had been broken. The core erupting and producing hot boiling lava. The people of New York cried out. All desperately trying to get to safety. Most were unsuccessful. And those that made it, did not last long. They suffered a boiling death. Ending in a suffering wail for help. But it was not only the humans that suffered such an agonizing fate. Mutants of all kinds within the city were not spared.

If the lava didn't take them out. The raining balls of fire surely would. In the sky, above the remaining skyscrapers. Fire rained down on those below it. A hot stream. It flowed like water onto the humans and mutants in the area. Casting them in red. Boiling they're skin into sores and bursting them from the inside out.

The clouds above were dark. The usual white fluffy clouds were more misted. More wavy and separated. Blue turned to black. Ash falling from the sky and coating the streets in gray. Buildings crumbled. The earth shaking as they crashed and fell. Being consumed by the lava. The city known as New York would be no more. And as the city crumbled around them. The people that were still alive cried out. Begging for a savior. Begging for hero's to step up and stop this madness.

But the hero's of New York could do nothing but watch. Their city fell before them. Destroyed by the very person they loved. This was all their fault. They caused this. They pushed him too far. Caused him too much pain and harm. Brothers were meant to stick together. They had left him. Left him to defend himself. Offering no help in hopes he'd make it out on his own. This was their doing. Now they would reap the choice they chose. Leonardo looked on in anguish. Yelling out in desperation to make this all end. This wasn't his brothers fault! He could fix this! He had to fix this! The planet they left him on was all his fault. The missions failure was his doing. Not his brothers. He caused this with his own words and actions. A choice he made and put the ones he loved most in danger.

Donatello hadn't been much help. The genius foiled the mission by setting off a bomb too soon. He blamed himself. None of this would be happening if it weren't for him. His mahony eyes filled with sorrow. Staring into the black sky above. If only he had calculated the attack correctly! The world wouldn't be ending! Humans and mutants wouldn't be suffering such a horrible fate. April would still be here if it wasn't for him! This was all his fault.

Michelangelo wasn't cutting himself much slack either. Much like his brothers, he blamed himself. The destruction of earth was his fault. Everyone would still be alive. The world wouldn't be ending if he hadn't caused his brother such pain. His heart ached. His baby blue eyes filling with tears. The agony of his cries echoing throughout the city.

The world wouldn't be ending if it wasn't for them. Leo believed they could stop this. That they could fix it. But how could you fix something that was broken? A broken being filled with rage was almost unstoppable. The damage had been done. Of how Leo planned to fix any of this, Donnie, nor Mikey knew. They were losing so much in such a little amount of time. Their city, their friend's, their brother. If only they had seen the signs. If they had picked up on it. Sensed that something was obscure. Not even Leo had detected anything.

And now, as Raphael peered down at the chaos below. His brother's crying out to him. Begging him to stop and come down. It was not enough to bring the beast down. Giant wings flapped behind him. Creating gusts of wind that forced lava into different directions. A long tail flicked behind him, it curling and straightening before starting to flick again. His body covered in red glowing markings, that swirled and twisted all over his head, arms, and legs. And his head was adored with two red horns.

Raphael gazed upon the city in judgment. The disruption of earth was inevitable. With the first time being a mistake. The Triceratons were not this world's fate. But his. This was his planet. He alone had the power to decide what happened to this place. His decision came at midnight. A choice that could not so easily be taken back. Was made within a quick motion of his hand. The earth spilt. Causing lava to erupt from the core and flood the city in boiling fire.

He possessed a power that not many had. Raph morphed into a deadly beast. A demon of fire and rage. All thanks to his beloved brothers.

Leo stepped with stride. Looking fear in the eye and facing it with a expressionless face. "Raphael! Please, stop this!" He begged. Mikey waved his arms, attempting to get his dragonic brothers attention. "Raph, please! We're sorry!! We didn't mean for it to happen!" The youngest wailed. Fresh tears fell from his eyes. Making them swell up and drown in a sea of hot tears. Donnie let the two speak. His mind more on how they could possibly reverse this. How they could fix their broken brother.

A scowl came to Raphael's face. The words his brother's spoke were not believed. They could speak a million words and none would be believed as true. "You expect me to believe that?" His voice boomed around them. Traveling through the destroyed city. This was the first time he'd spoken to them in weeks. Ever since they brought him home he isolated himself in his room. Only ever coming out to eat. He quit training with them. Quit spending time with them. Leonardo did take notice of it. But he had not been there for Raphael like he should have.

Raphael turned his gaze from them. Their cries meant nothing. Soon this city would be gone. And then, the world would be no more. Aliens from all over the galaxy would fear him. He would have complete control of the entire universe!

"Raph! Bro! Please! We didn't mean for it to happen!! We didn't mean any of it!" Mikey screamed to the sky. His hand reaching out to the brother he cared so much for. Raphael did not care to hear his little brothers please. The choice they made would cost them. What they did would not go unnoticed or unpunished. This planet would die by his hands.

Leonardo took a chance. He gestured to his brothers, grabbing his grappling hook from his belt and firing it at a nearby building. One far from the roof they were atop. One that wasn't melted to bits yet. Donnie and Mikey followed suit. Swinging with their grappling hooks to the building. They dropped down. Landing on an unmelted street. Standing directly bellow Raphael. It was a miracle Raph hadn't spotted them yet. They were thankful for him being more busy with throwing fire upon the city. It gave them time to come up with a plan. A plan of how to bring Raphael back.

While the three spoke with one another. Leo at the lead of making a plan. Raphael flew above them. His powerful wings carried him effortlessly. As he flew, his horns began to glow a bright red. Mikey caught sight of this. The youngest took the action upon himself to cover his two older brothers. Using his shell as a shield. Mikey was able to cover them just in time. Before the dragon above could breathe fire on them. The fire erupted from Raphael's mouth. It falling to the street and forming a river of lava.

A pain filled scream rang out beside Leo and Donnie. While they remained safe, their baby brother had not. Mikey's shell was melting in the middle. Raphael's fire having hit the orange masked turtle. His shell melted rapidly. It creating a hole and sinking into the flesh. "Leo!! Make it stop!!!!" He cried. Leonardo could do nothing. Nothing much watch as Mikey's shell melted. Blood poured out of the hole. Crimson ran down Mikey's shell and legs. Pooling at their feet. Donatello rushed to get his med kit. Pulling it from his belt and patching Mikey up as quick as he could. It wasn't enough. The blood wasn't stopping. No amount of gauze or wraps could fix this. They couldn't fix this.

"Donnie please! Make it stop make it stop!!" Mikey pressed his head against the buildings wall. This pain was unlike any other. He was being burned from the inside. The lava travelling quick into his system and filling him with pain. The lava burst some of his organs. Causing more blood to surface. Causing more pain. Causing more agony. It was a slow process. It being meant to be slow for Raphael's enjoyment. But Raphael wasn't even watching. His focus was on burning down a skyscraper. He hadn't realized what he'd done.

Leonardo gave Mikey to Donnie. Positioning the two so they held each other. He pushed away from the building and glared up at their dragonic brother. "Raphael!!" He screamed. Demanding the other to look at him. Raphael cut his eyes to Leo. Finally noticing them and witnessing what he'd done to Mikey. His expressionless face didn't help matters much. Leo hoped if Raph saw what he'd done that something would snap and he would come back to them. That wasn't the case.

A grin spread to Raph's face. His body turned so he could face them, arms crossing over his chest, and tail flicking from side to side. His wings flapped, keeping him above them. "How does it feel Leo? To have everything taken from you?" Leonardo said nothing. There wasn't anything he could say. "You left me on that planet. I was experimented on and turned into this" Raph gestured to himself, his hands being placed on his chest after. They then fell to his sides, his hands resting on his hips. "You only saved me because you couldn't endure the pain Mikey and Donnie felt. But not you. You could have lived without me. Without me constantly arguing with you. To question your authority. You could have left me to rot"

Leonardo's face scrunched up in anger. The words his brother spoke were unbelievable. This was not at all how he felt! "That's not it at all! We left you because we didn't have a choice!" Leo stepped forward, leaving Donnie and Mikey's side. Stepping into the dragons range. "We left you because we couldn't find you! The Triceratons held you somewhere we couldn't find. We didn't mean for any of this to happen, please Ra-" "Save your words" Raphael lifted a hand, his hand balling into a fist. Leo jumped, moving to the side as a ball of fire came down on the street. Cracking the concrete.

"You think you can fix this. Well you can't. You can't just expect me to bend to your will and do as you say. I'm not like you. I'm not the obedient son that Splinter loves so much" Leo stomped his foot, standing in front of his brothers, covering them and yelling out to Raphael. "If you would do as your told! And not go against everything I say I never would have left you! If you weren't such a burden to this team-" Leo gasped, he smacked his hands over his mouth and looked up to Raph with tears in his eyes. "Wait- no Raph! I didn't mean!-" the ground shook. Making the three stumble and fall. Lava burst through the ground. Just nearly catching the three.

Raphael dove, his wings stretching out as he glided over them. He flew behind them. His wings starting to flap as he hovered over them. "I won't burden you anymore. This world will burn..with you along with it" Raphael flew down and turned on his side. His wings outstretched. He came close to the ground, his wing cutting into the street and splitting it in half. The building the three were resting against fell. It crumbling and falling into the spilt earth. More lava surfaced. It consumed the building. Catching it on fire and burning it into nothing.

Raphael flapped his wings and flew up. Watching in amusement as the city fell. Watching as his brothers collapsed and fell into the splitting earth. Mikey reached out, crying with a smile on his face. The earth claimed his father in death. And now it would claim him. The lava took him first. It bursting his body and melting him into ash. Donnie curled in on himself. Falling into deaths grasp with tears streaming down his face. Surely it wouldn't hurt. Lava was powerful enough to burn a human on impact right? It would do the same to him. It wouldn't hurt. A blood curdling scream echoed down the split earth. An agonizingly horrible scream of pain and betrayal. His mind failed him. His knowledge failed him. Now, he granted the satisfaction of his demonic brother hearing him die.

Leo stared into the eyes of Raphael. Those emerald green eyes had never looked more threatening. Had never held so much anger and hatred. Even with so much hatred toward him, Leonardo still loved Raphael. They were family. Brothers of a kind. Nothing would change that. Not even death. "I love you… Raphael.." Leo fell into the boiling lava. His body was consumed. Eaten by the pit of hell.

Raphael looked on in satisfaction. This city was no more. The earth would die and the galaxy would be his! No one could stop him. Not even his..brothers. Raph flew down with care. His feet hitting the lava. He walked on the boiling lava. The heat doing nothing to him as he walked to where he'd spilt the earth. He looked over the edge. Expecting to see them grappling to the side. But they were not. They were gone. Consumed by the flame. Raphael dropped to his knees. Hot tears falling down and dropping into the lava. The moment they hit the lava the tears evaporated. Misting and rising into the air. "What have I done.." The realization hit hard them any fist ever could. Of all the battles he'd ever been in. This one hurt the most. "What…why did….why!?" The dragonic turtle looked up to the sky. Staring into the black void. His anger turned into sadness. Realizing what he done was unfixable.

The earth beneath his knees rumbled. The ground erupting with lava bursting from the earth's core. Rising up like a mountain and taking over the earth in a sea of red.

This could not be undone. It could not be fixed. His brothers were dead. They died by his doings. Raphael couldn't fix this. This was his fault. It was all his fault. "It's all my FAULT"

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #character death #gore #major character death #death mention #death warning #tmnt leo 2012 #tmnt donnie 2012 #tmnt mikey 2012 #tmnt raph 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #alternate universe #au #Fault au #My writing

[martenhoyleofficial]

Symphoniya de Toska Book One Now Available

Symphoniya de Toska Book One: Available Now from Wheelsong Books

As the title of Marten Hoyle's debut collection implies, this is the first book in what is destined to become an epic trilogy that Wheelsong Books will be publishing in 2023. It is a thrilling collection of poetry that tells the story of a young lover who will die and then find love anew in the underworld.

In the first installment of his Epic Trilogy, Symphoniya de Toska: Book One will relate a tragic story of infidelity that reaches the sorrowful conclusion of suicide. Read as a sequence, the poems tell the sad story of love, longing and loss; life and death, regret and rebirth. Read individually, or in no particularly assigned sequence, each poem tells a tragedy of its own in a world of insanity and unrequited love. Written in a dark romantic style, the poetry of Symphoniya de Toska is bound to thrill, surprise and inspire in equal measure.

Book One will be published on January 19, 2023 - the birthday of the American writer Edgar Allan Poe. A further two volumes will be published later in 2023.

Marten Hoyle is the name assigned to a Literary Endeavour based at The Eglantine Home for the Poetically Unsound in the United States. The Project is held anonymously in the keeping of a being known as Vate C. Carmen.

Hearts in Formaldehyde

Hearts in formaldehyde— Growing fonder by decay. If I die, I would be going home Just like when I’m holding you. All around me, petals turn, And the dead birds sing In a cloudless storm That speaks without a sky.

All I know and all I see Is the way our hearts should be. Perhaps it is the ache my soul adores, Side-by-side on separate shores;

Of all the drowned I thought I could be the sweetest. But what slipped through my fingertips Was the hope I held.

All I know and all I see Is the way our hearts should be. Perhaps it is the ache my soul adores, Side-by-side on separate shores.

© Marten Hoyle, 2023

Praise for Symphoniya de Toska: Book One

"Marten Hoyle's Symphonia de Toska takes readers on a dark, twisted yet romantic journey brimming with meaningful shadows, rich in love and romance. Hoyle makes from such concepts as darkness, disappearance, and death, a fecund space for original beauty and a permanent abode for the poetic explosions of the aspiring soul beyond its existential circumstances. In a nutshell, Marten's poetry appears to draw upon the dark depths of Mankind and bespeaks the romantic realm along with the metaphysical and the philosophical touches that it encapsulates." Rafik Romdhani (Author of Dance of the Metaphors and Rough Roads)

"In a world where anyone can write a poem, it is a rarity when you come across poetry in its rawest form. Marten Hoyle has taken his love for the written word to its romantically darkest limits and this first of his trilogy is no exception. Good intense poetry should make you think, make you feel, but more importantly, make you bleed, and Marten’s cutting edge writing will do just that.

He has taken his deepest, personal tragedies and heartbreak and transferred them to the written page in such a way that you feel it under your skin as you read. As much pain, anguish, and loss you encounter in his poetry, you will come face to face with something you would not expect. An underlying tone of a survivor.

His words will make you bleed, yes, but whatever bleeds, has a tendency to heal. Baudelaire did it. Poe did it. It is now Hoyle’s time. Read his poems. Enter his world. His anguish may just heal you. A lot of people may not understand this, but survivors like Mr. Hoyle do.

Rick Powell (Poet and author)

"You just can’t leave it there… this is poetry on a whole new level. The darkness is so romanticized, it lifts up your spirit. Not only do I want to read more, it’s a case of I need to feel these words consume me over and over again… A most powerful book of poetry to warm your heart and keep your mind constantly grinding."

Charlene Phare (Founder of Pure Poetry Group and author of Cobalt Skies)

"A thundering first collection from an accomplished new writer. Hoyle's work speaks directly to the reader inviting them to the grand forest in his heart and mind."

Genevieve Ray (Poet and writer)

"Reading Symphonia de Toska offers a catharsis. Hoyle invites us to the cutting edge of yearning, leaving only "A silence that bleeds on everyone …"

Jane Newberry (Author of Hoyden's Trove)

"For many of us a lost love is comparable to a death, ardor exemplified in a funeral pyre. What we find in Marten Hoyle’s poems of separation, however, takes us beyond this point and into an afterlife where “dead birds sing” and the heart returns to the home of a loved one. I highly recommend this collection, the first in a planned folio."

Tom Cleary (Poet and writer)

"Marten's verse is stunning cutting life like a knife. One can hear echoes of Poe and Blake in this feast of darkness and decay from which emerges the eerie beauty of the fragility of human condition. Difficult to stop reading once one starts. Captivating dark poetic verse at its absolute best, truly great art!"

David Arndt (Poet and writer)

Kindle editions of Symphoniya de Toska: Book One are available to purchase online via Amazon UK, USA, Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Australia, Japan, India, Italy, Spain, France, Germany, and Netherlands.

The paperback edition is available to purchase via Amazon UK, USA, Canada, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Netherlands, Sweden, Poland, Japan and Australia.

Paperbacks will also be available through book store chains including Waterstones (UK), Wantitall (South Africa) and Barnes and Noble (USA).

#poetry #creative writing #writing #writers and poets #poets and writers #poetry collection #dark poetry #romantic poetry #dark romanticism #poetry and art #art #amazon #kindle #premium ebooks #ebookpromotion #poet #poetry of tumblr

[stevnharringtons]

a concept:

sebastian stan plays an art history expert working as a curator at the galleria borghese in rome. he starts every day with a coffee at a small hideaway coffeehouse with big bay windows, perfect for people watching, and gorgeous art adorning the walls.

timothée chalamet plays the barista that serves him every morning, and is also the son of the coffeehouse owner. he is also the artist responsible for the art in the shop.

jessica mcnamee plays lifelong friend to sebastian, and is now the wealthy director of the museum and also a private gallery owner. when sebastian discovers timothée is the genius behind the art, he enlists the help of jessica to get timothée’s work seen by more than just the coffeehouse.

as we follow his path to success, we learn through memories of the arts creation, exactly how he ended up on this path.

it’s directed by xavier dolan.

#Sebastian Stan #Timothee Chalamet #Jessica McNamee #Xavier Dolan #its the european indie i deserve #each piece has a story behind it #a moment from his life #and we learn his journey through the stories of his art #when Seb first brings up the art he asks him about a specific piece #and we learn through a memory that he painted it in the months after his mother died #its a story of anguish and sorrow and pain and so much love #the first time jessica sees his art she gets most enraptured by a piece full of vibrant colours #we learn that this was painted when he first fell in love #his joy and excitement and hope and still so much love right there to see #his first piece in a gallery is from the breakdown of that relationship #the loss of love and companionship and a sense of lonliness #and so on and so forth #and finally he gets his own gallery show in new york #and the final piece we see is his most recent piece #and its just titled An Adventure? and its been painted over the course of the film #and its dedicated to Seb and Jessica for helping change his world #and for helping the world to change him

[cherryjuicegf]

death of a poet

for @whataboutthebard september 16 whump prompt: major character death || geraskier, T, 1.8k, angst, implied/referenced suicide (kind of)

ao3

The greatest act of love, they say, is to die for it.

Jaskier laughed, always laughed at this concept. There’s no doubt, of course, one’s whole life lost as a declaration of love, the highest sacrifice. But not the only one. And it amazed him, how people never seemed to acknowledge anything else, how fairytales of noble knights ended with them throwing their lives away, and for what? For love. Always for love. There was no doubt, and if there was, who was he to utter it?

Still. He wondered, the roots of the poet he was meant to be growing inside him, blooming since childhood. And he wondered, why, why die for love, why not live for it? Why waste this blooming of hearts in the eternal darkness, in grief and the wailing complaint of what could have been? Why, when there is so much beauty in the love of living things? He wondered, always wondered. And his mother smiled, with this faint bitterness of unexpected knowledge, and whispered, you can live for love if you want, sweet child, but one day you’ll understand.

Yet he didn’t understand. And he hated it, hated that he didn’t. Hated that he couldn’t find anything to try and understand in the first place. One day he would understand, yet people smiled at him, flowers bloomed in spring, birds sang on the branches, the wine tasted so sweet and the strings of the lute sounded so magical in the evening hush. And he wondered, always wondered, when would the day come, and what greater love there is, that you’re willing to die for it, even if you don’t lay eyes upon it ever again?

The fire in the hearth suddenly goes out.

A tragic fate, the mage had laughed. True love’s kiss. No one could ever love a monster.

I love him. He’s not a monster.

He’s not?

Geralt’s eyes are glowing in a light Jaskier hasn’t seen before, in a light he never wishes to see again. They’re glowing, and something unworldly glows with them, laughs with the evil memory of fairy tales, and evil sorceresses and true love’s kisses. As the blade glistens dangerously close to his eyes, as he walks backward in trembling steps, he thinks they’re so far away from what would make a beautiful fairytale to tell children before sleep. There will be no happy ending here. Somehow he knows.

There’s a tickle on his fingertips, burning.

The sword whips beside his ear and he stumbles back once more, panting, breath coming out strained. He raises his head, looks at Geralt. Or what he remembers was Geralt. Because now what he sees seems foreign, cold, and the amber in his eyes doesn’t warm him like the sun anymore, instead burns, like a fire which he willingly, inevitably steps into. There’s a lump caught in his throat, a sob screaming to get out. And, as though on instinct, with the strongest pang of guilt numbing his bones, he has to remind himself. He’s not a monster, he’s not a monster. He’s not Geralt. Geralt is not a monster.

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, he meets Geralt’s, no, the man’s eyes and, like the fool, like the poet he is, he hopes. “Geralt,” he says and his voice shakes weakly with the terrifying hint of denial, “Geralt, it’s me, please.” The air is ripped by the blade once again, he steps back, eyes still locked with amber. A whimper. “Come back to me, love, please. I love you, come back.”

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, the sun entering from the narrow, stained window reflects on Geralt’s eyes and something familiar glints behind them, a distant scream of a heart wailing to get out. But it’s only for a moment. Because Geralt growls and lowers his sword again with maniacal force and Jaskier screams, ducks and falls on his knees in an ironic parody of a plea for mercy. There’s a feeling of wetness on his bicep and he hisses as crimson blood stains the white sleeve. Not his fault, Jaskier reminds himself, not his fault.

It’s not his fault, yet he wants to cry as he stares into his eyes, cold like the blade that threatens to tear him to pieces, cold like the countless winter nights he’s spent without him, cold like his hand as he grasps it desperately, pushes him back in a failed attempt to trap him, in a foolish, hopeless hope of making him throw the sword away.

A true love’s kiss, he thinks, and almost laughs, because it sounds more like a death wish. And he’s starting to think it will be.

And then he sees Geralt raising his hand and before he has time to think about it, he’s being swept back with the most violent wind, and falls head first on the wall behind him. And slumps to fall on his knees. But there’s a sudden sting on his abdomen and he opens his eyes just in time to see the silver blade pointed on tender skin and jolts back with a gasp, stuck on the wall. “Fuck, Geralt,” he pants and looks at him and, for some reason, he expects his stare to be requited. It is. But it’s empty. It’s empty, and the sword on his stomach tickles painfully and the room is whirling. He blinks hard, gasps again. He can’t hold on, he knows.

And as he gazes at Geralt, he remembers. Warmth. Faint smiles, fingers down his back. Lips tasting of sweet wine, and flowers on his hair, and sleepy eyes staring at him before dropping, and love, and safety, and home . And finally, finally he understands.

He hates that he understands. But then again, the blade is cold like a hug full of regrets and Geralt’s eyes are empty and, oh, what he wouldn’t give to see those eyes, familiar and warm and looking at him again, even if it’s for the last time. He hasn’t much left to give, truth be told. Only his hope, and his life, and he feels them both competing for which is going to reach the end of the line.

“Geralt,” he whispers, again, and that spare root of hope he had starts to rot. “Geralt, please, don’t...” Are those tears? His eyes are burning. “Wake up, love, it’s me.”

What hope? He knows there is not. He knows, because it’s empty, forever empty, and the blade stings deeper and he pleads, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, as if it means anything anymore, as if it’s Geralt.

He understands. And knows, if he’s to die, he has to die the way he lived, by love, as a poet. For love, then. As a poet, and for love.

So he straightens himself, eyes steady on Geralt. And takes a step forward against the blade.

It’s numbing, the pain. Another step. He gasps, chokes on his own blood. Another step, and Geralt stares, empty, blade steady in place as though on purpose, but there’s a familiar glint somewhere in there now, a familiar fear. Jaskier is close. His feet are giving in, his breath is shortening, and it’s a pity really, such a torturous death.. He’s close. So close that he can rest on Geralt’s shoulder, and he feels the blade ripping his flesh, his insides, his everything. He coughs up blood, chokes, eyes rolling to the back of his head. And he feels the blade dripping behind him. And he feels Geralt’s breath on his skin. So he cups his face in a shaking hand, and leans in.

It’s nothing. A brush of lips, tender in all its agony. It’s nothing. The world is blurring. It’s love.

It’s nothing.

The sword slips away as he falls, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of unending blood and slowly consuming darkness and he thinks, it’s supposed to be bright, it’s supposed to hurt less now.

He thinks, he’s supposed to spare himself from Geralt’s anguished look when he comes to, and realizes.

Instead.

“Jaskier!”

He doesn’t feel the pain. Only his body, lifted from the floor, and the scorching blood and the arms, those arms that hold him so tight he wants to scream all the apologies, all the regrets of the world. He doesn’t need to. They all echo in Geralt’s eyes.

It’s sweet, the pain. It’s melodic, the plea. Jaskier, please, stay with me, you fool, you’re alright, stay with me.

He wants to laugh. He’s long gone.

The greatest act, to die for love. A fitting ending, for a poet. He wishes someone will write it, this story, their story, and maybe give it a happier ending. Maybe they will go to the coast. Maybe they’ll end up closing their eyes together, holding each other tight, and maybe there’s no blood, only bitter tears of happiness.

It’s a fairytale. It can’t be tragic.

I love you, you’ll be alright, please, please don’t leave me alone.

A forehead pressed against his and he stares at Geralt and, oh, how he misses him already, and how bright he looks in his sorrow, how beautiful behind the veil that slowly falls between them. Jaskier parts his lips, chokes. “Geralt,” he croaks and it sounds like a sob uttered by every single wilting flower in the world. “Geralt, look at me.” He raises a trembling hand on his face, his fingertips leaving smudges of blood over the falling tears.

Geralt doesn’t look. Only stares at the wound, and back at Jaskier, unfocused, horrified, numb, as though it won’t happen if he doesn’t acknowledge.

It’s darker now, and there’s a last grip holding him back, and Jaskier knows it’s the warmth of Geralt’s hug, always is. “If I die for you, will you live for me, love?” he whispers and finally, finally Geralt turns at him, eyes wide, and Jaskier smiles, something close to a wince, as though it’ll hurt less like that, letting go.

Geralt shakes his head. “If I refuse will you stay alive?”

A huff. Painful. “No. No, I don’t think so.” It’s silent like the breeze now, his voice. Jaskier wipes the rivers of tears on Geralt’s cheek and smiles again, and this time it’s genuine, probably because it’s the last one. “It’s alright, hush. You’re not alone.” Shaking, he removes silver strands away from Geralt’s eyes, and slumps, leans on his shoulder as though finally resting. “Hush now, my love. Let me look into your eyes one last time.”

He does. He looks. It’s the same eyes, same as always, warm and loving, like a tender caress.

To die for love. How tragic. But what is a poet’s love, if not the most heart-wrenching tragedy?

The bloodied hand gently falls on the floor.

There’s a streak of red light coming through the stained window, and rests on blue eyes, mistaking them for the peaceful sea after a storm in their stillness.

They stare, forever open, and somehow forever warm.

They stare, and Geralt finally stares back. And slowly, agonizingly, like a sob echoing in eternity between the pages of every promised fairytale, he screams.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #major character death #cursed geralt #chrysa writes #what about the bard #watb #fic recs #angst #you know i had to do it to em #i don't really like this but ehhh

[renhoeku1]

𝐌𝐲 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

Pairing: Kyojuro x Fem!Reader

AU: Modern Demon Slayer AU

Warning: Spoilers for the Mugen Train Arc/Movie, character death

Author’s Note: Because I'm still in pain, I need everyone else to suffer with me.

Theme: You Are My Sunshine version by Christina Perri

Slowly, one by one, those around you began to leave. They left with tear stained cheeks and broken hearts, all friends and family of the one person you loved most in this god forsaken world. Throughout the service, you held the hand of his weeping little brother, consoling him as a distraction from your own pain that ripped and twisted your insides. You had held him close, cradling the young boy to your side as he clung to your black gown and poured his sorrows and pain into the fabric as you watched the priest speak.

Words and sobs all became a jumbled mess in your ears as your heart thundered in the drums if your ears, pounding and beating them in anguish to the point everything around you was white noise. Your eyes burned, even now as you sat kneeling in the fresh dirt that encased the casket in which your lover laid to rest, never to smile, never to cry, never to laugh again. No one had said a word to you, and you wanted it that way. You wanted to be alone with him, even as the sky above began to darken with the threat of rain. The grayness bled into the blue sky and covered the sunlight Kyojuro would have lifted his face to, basking in the warmth.

Off in the distance car doors slammed closed and engines roared to life, chatter soft and faint as people talked amongst themselves. Perhaps they were exchanging words of pity for you, of grief over the slain Hashira, or of simple, lightened stories because they knew Kyojuro wouldn't stand for such sorrow in the hearts of those he loved and fought to protect.

It was in that moment your body gave out and you fell forward on your hands in the disturbed soil, fingers digging into it to create a fist. An anguished scream bubbled in your throat and clawed its way out, no doubt turning heads and gaining concerned looks. The pain and anger and guilt was so overwhelming, as was the love you felt in your broken heart.

"Sing it to me again," he smiled, turning his head to look up at you from your lap," please?" Peering down into the rich fire rubies of his gaze you quirked a brow and chuckled, running your lithe fingers through his hair as you leaned back against the trunk of your favorite tree.

"Why?" You asked, teasing him of course," It's such a sad, lonesome song."

Kyojuro reached up to touch the tip of his finger to your nose, then your cheeks and your chin, all while wearing such a soft look upon his face. "Because it's you singing it, and I wouldn't have it any other way." His words are gentle despite his usual enthusiasm, brows relaxed and eyes admiring you. You give in, unable to deny his request.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," you playfully tugged on a strand of his hair as you began to sing once more, a tad off key but your beloved didn't have a care in the world," you make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away..."

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and cried." You smiled down at him as his eyes fluttered closed and his hands folded over his chest. He looked so peaceful, despite having to leave for a mission the next day.

You always came here before his missions to sit under the low hanging branches of the weeping willow as the sun shone through the dancing limbs and relax with sound of song birds and children playing in the background. Here in the daylight, he was yours, safe in your arms. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey."

The memory flooded your mind as your eyes squeezed shut, sobs tearing through your body and making you tremble like the earth. You crumbled, falling apart piece by piece as if you were glass thrown against the wall, such delicate pieces sharp to the touch. You couldn't breathe, nor could you hear the foot steps that inched closer to you by the second as drops from the sky trickled one by one as if the sky too cried for a love lost.

Even through your choking sob, you continued to sing from your last memory of him alive at your favorite place," Y-You'll never know, dear, how much I lo-love you... p-please don't take my sunshine away..." The rain began to fall harder as a hand rested upon your shoulder, forcing you to sit back up and turn your face up to meet the tear filled eyes of Tomioka.

"It's time to say goodbye, (Y/n)."

#{🔥} — flame of my heart #tw: character death #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #{🌹} — renhoeku writes #{🌦} — renhoeku's lucid dream

[hualianff]

Distant Faces

The Lonely (Instrumental) – Christina Perri

After much deliberation, HC finally decides what to give XL on his birthday: a painted portrait of XL and his parents during Xianle’s most prosperous days. Even though HC tries his best not to remember his life during those times, he knows XL loved his parents despite how everything turned out. 

It’s been over 800 years, after all. 

XL had offhandedly mentioned he can’t even remember the details of his parents’ faces anymore. The way his mother’s eyes shone chocolate brown in the sunlight; the way his father scowled in disapproval but never in a malicious manner. The way his mother held him when he felt sad, let him cry on her shoulder. The way his father looked proudly upon XL as his son.

Admittedly, XL had a complex relationship with his father. They didn’t always see eye-to-eye, especially towards Xianle’s inevitable deterioration. XL can cry because he misses his mother, but with his father, it’s more than that.

It’s regret.

It’s shame.

It’s anguish for the tension that kept his father at a distance that now seems insignificant.

But being the kind of person XL is, he’d rather remember the positive aspects of his relationship with his parents than the hardships.

Especially because he feels like he failed them in the end.

HC cannot relate to XL’s experience of having loving parents who genuinely cared for him, much less the loss of such parents. An abandoned child like himself had to bear the burden of living from a young age. HC did not grow up nurtured or fawned over; HC endured his cruel existence by looking after himself. 

After meeting XL again after his third ascension, HC now knows what it’s like to be loved–fiercely and unconditionally. To imagine losing XL gives HC a palpable semblance of what XL felt when he woke up completely alone on the day his parents passed. Over the decades, XL has briefly talked about that day, though never in full detail. Partially because XL’s mind has blocked out the trauma, but it is also simply too painful to remember.

Originally, HC heavily debated whether gifting his husband the portrait was even a good idea. The last thing he would want to do is upset or offend XL. HC wasn’t even sure he could properly replicate the king and queen’s faces.

Ultimately, HC decided to go through with his plan. He hopes that if anything, this painting can help XL recall his parents’ faces and the fond memories he had with them. Perhaps it could serve as an outlet for healing from the years XL suffered on his own. Everything HC does is for the happiness of his husband.  

After going through one of his earliest memories via his butterflies, HC spent days sketching, outlining, and painting the portrait. He miraculously managed to portray the details as accurately as possible—MQ and FX themselves confirmed. The two heavenly officials failed to hide their teary eyes, MQ abruptly turning away while FX furiously rubbed at his cheeks. It’s one of the few instances HC holds his tongue when around the two martial gods.

There is no shortage of people who celebrate XL’s birthday when it arrives—heavenly officials, Ghost City, and worshippers alike. HC spends the entire day by his husband’s side, visiting as many festivals to witness the joyous ceremonies. Worshippers place extra lavish offerings on their altars while XL’s friends personally deliver their gifts at Puqi Shrine. (The designated location for heavenly officials.)

Once it’s evening and the festivities have calmed down, only two remain inside Puqi Shrine. HC has taken the liberty to cook a quick meal for them to share. He ladles soup into XL’s bowl, then scoops rice topped with fried fish onto his plate. 

“Thank you for making us dinner, San Lang. It looks delicious,” XL says, eyes sparkling. HC smiles warmly.

“I would be a fool to not spoil Gege with wonderful food, regardless if it’s his birthday or not,” HC solemnly says. “Though I do hope he enjoys the fish and soup.”

“There are no doubts about that,” XL replies before eagerly spooning some broth into his mouth. His eyes visibly widen as he sputters a bit, spoon lowering back into the bowl. “Oh, that’s hot!”

“Careful, gege. Allow this dutiful husband to blow on it.”

They finish eating with satisfied slurps and chewing, keeping casual conversation between bites. Before XL can get up to clear off the table, HC snaps his fingers, every dish already washed and placed back in the cabinets. 

They are finally alone, energy spent and stomachs no longer empty. HC’s eyes shift to the corner of the room where a covered, flat object is propped against the wall. 

“Gege, I have one last present for you.”

“That’s been here this whole time? Wow, it’s so big!”

HC doubts himself even as he hands over the wrapped gift. He watches with bated breath as XL carefully works open the covering with nimble fingers to reveal what’s inside.

Once XL sees the entire painting in all its glory, his hand flies over his mouth. His initial excited smile upon tearing away the wrapping paper is replaced with a tense frown, the type when someone is trying their best not to cry. 

A ragged sob escapes his lips.

XL can’t stop staring at their faces—his parents’ faces—who he hasn’t seen in centuries. Who he never got to say goodbye to. He touches the canvas, paints dried and glossed over with a finishing product that gives the image a sleek sheen. He touches their familiar faces, pleasant smiles etched onto their lips, and then his own, placed between his father and mother, smiling widely: happy.

XL hugs the canvas to his body, closing his eyes, and cries his heart out.

HC’s heart shatters at the sight of XL breaking down, though it was almost a guaranteed reaction. He doesn’t hesitate to rush forward to embrace his beloved from behind, nuzzling against XL’s temple as his smaller body trembles uncontrollably. But before HC can express his pitiful apology, he hears quiet, repetitive mumbling among XL’s broken sobs.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Gege-”

“Thank you.”

“-breathe, my love.”

“Thank you.”

Over and over again. Nearly nonsensical through ragged chokes and desperate gasps for air. HC shakes his head as tears wet his own cheeks, as if to say a thank you was not needed. He rubs up and down XL’s arm, occasionally pausing to massage his neck, anything to comfort him in his sorrow. XL suddenly grasps onto HC’s wrist, an anchor from the barrage of overwhelming emotions washed over him over the last few minutes.

HC eventually rasps out a remorseful, “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what for exactly. For triggering XL’s tears. For the death of XL’s parents. For the loneliness and grief XL has experienced and never had the proper closure to.

XL continues weeping without a sound. For the fear of ruining the portrait with his tears, XL carefully places the painting on the table. He gives the painting one last lookover, lower lip wobbling. XL bites his lip to suppress the whimper threatening to erupt from his throat. 

How could he ever forgive himself?

“Me too,” a son whispers to his parents. 

Half an hour later, XL and HC are situated in their bed at Paradise Manor. Per XL’s request, HC skillfully hung the painting up next to their wedding portrait. Two pieces juxtapose two different eras; one, a window to the past; the other, a relic that will remain timeless.

Someday in the future, XL will have the strength to commemorate his parents with more than just a fleeting prayer. He will describe them with words and stories that do them justice. He will honor their legacy not by following in their footsteps (for they have long disappeared against the force of time), but by practicing the values they bestowed upon him while simultaneously learning from their faults and mistakes.

However, for tonight, HC wraps XL in a snug blanket burrito, holding XL from behind as the former prince mourns in silence. HC doesn’t push his beloved. He merely squeezes XL’s hand to remind him he has someone to listen to him. The last thing XL requests before falling asleep is another portrait of his parents, this time with both him and HC sat in the middle. 

“Father...Mother...if you could see me now...see how happy I am,” XL tiredly thinks, sleep beckoning him to surrender to the darkness. “You guys really...would have loved him.”

(Special thanks to @no-one-says-hi and @iaintnosidekick for listening/helping)

(Inspiration)

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #cerdrabbles #happy birthday Xie Lian !

[delirioushrimp]

Frozen Fairytale (DemonYB AU)

This is like the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done hhhhh-

Once more, this story is here because I am a huge simp for @harbingers-appointed ‘s  amazing AU !

Vee I hope you know I would die for you !

Plot changed three times during the writing process, help-

He senses their pain before he hears their scream. It’s a cry of agony, distress, begging for help and he feels it in his bones as though it was his own suffering. It travels through his being like a shot of electricity; fast, violent, and dizzying. It takes him a few seconds to recover from the pain and as soon as he does, a feeling of dread unlike anything he had experienced  before fills his soul until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He rises abruptly from his desk, causing TK to flinch and look at him with a confused and fearful look. But he can’t see his tactician, can’t hear them ask if something is wrong, can’t feel the pieces of wood piercing his skin. His soul, his heart is burning a fire of horror and rage.

He almost knocks the door of its hinges as he desperately tries to reach them through the pain.

“Darling ! Darling where are you ?!”

Long agonizing seconds pass -where he imagines the worst has already happened-

pleasepleasepleaseplease-

“Sa…mael…”

Their voice is too weak, too frail and distressed for him to relax. And they only used his real name when…

“Tell me where you are !”

He doesn’t mean the harshness, the sternness in his tone, centuries of cold authority coursing through his veins and the panic rending him unable to control it. He hears a gasp before they answer once more.

“…Water…lake…blue…”

“What-“

“So…cold…”

His eyes widen furthermore at their words, his feet carrying him to the only place they could be as terror -the kind he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years- takes hold of him. He doesn’t notice the looks of bewilderments of his kind as he runs past them, quickly turning into pure fear when they feel the murderous aura of their King. Most of them have never witnessed it and to endure its overwhelming presence like this, even for a second bring them to their knees. He doesn’t notice any of them as he runs like he never has, ignoring the tremendous pain his heels bring him.

“Darling-“

“It hurts…it hurts so much. I-don’t think I can hold for much longer…”

They sound on the verge of fainting, and it feels as though he might be dying.

“Don’t ! Don’t let go ! Please ! I’m on my way !”

“…Samael…I’m so tired…”

“Please ! Please just a little longer !”

He never begged, the King of Hell doesn’t beg for anything or to anyone. He didn’t beg when God casted him aside, didn’t beg when he was stripped of his title, of his wings, or when he felt their ghostly presence for a hundred years to come. He never begged in his life, when he wants something, he simply takes it without asking, because he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. He doesn’t need the princes’ or TK, and he especially doesn’t need permission from that pathetic God.

And yet in that moment, running in the frozen parts of his kingdom, he is willing to. He’s willing to beg anyone he crosses to save his beloved; he’s willing to kneel in front of God if it means he can get back the wings which were so painfully teared apart from him, even for just a minute, anything so he can reach them sooner, faster even by a few seconds. Anything for the pain to stop. He briefly looks up at the sky.

You knew this would happen, didn’t you ?!

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one but doesn’t miss how the harsh winds seem to be whispering words of mockery to his ears. But the sound of their voice brings him back to the moment.

“My King…”

He feels their mind sleeping farther away, to a place he can’t reach. The words are spoken softly and lovingly but with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry…”

“DON’T !”

But the connection is lost, quickly followed by a loud splashing sound and his soul shatters into pieces.  A scream of agony echo through the frozen lands, the wild and agonizing cry of a frenzied beast, chilling anyone who hears it to the bone.

He starts running again, this time, pleading, again and again to find them. The smell of iron hits him, and he feels madness takes over his mind.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as your bruised and frozen fingers let go of the small rock, you feel it. The long, tortuous howl of his voice ringing in your soul reminding you of his hellish nature. It tears you apart and for the briefest moment, you wish you could have said something more. Then the water takes you.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you expected it, the pain only lasts a minute. A minute where your lungs desperately try to breath into the frigid ocean that surrounds you, burning every cell of your being. But then nothing. Only silence and the slow descent of your body towards the unknown, and you briefly wonder if there is an end to this endless ocean. It’s peaceful, quiet, and painless. A calm, soft blue surrounds you, reminding you of his eyes. It lulls and soothes you.

So beautiful…

Everything is numb and you feel your eyes growing heavy but you’re not scared. You’re not scared because you remember his words upon your arrival.

Death is something you will never have to fear my dear, for I am the only one who controls it here.

A small smile draws on your lips despite the cold.

Then it’s alright, I’ll suffer a thousand pains if it means staying with you.

He will find you; you know he will, he always does. You just have to wait a bit. You close your eyes and fall asleep into the icy blankets of water. Death will not find you, the Light Bringer will.

-------‐----------------------------------------------‐-------------

The first time you wake up, it’s to the sound of crying and pleading. Someone is begging for you to open your eyes, but the task proves to be impossible. The sorrow and the lament in their voice break your heart, despite not being able to recognize who it is. You vaguely hear the person call for your name, again and again between their sobs. You wish you could comfort whoever is uttering your name with such anguish and desperation. But instead, you fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

Who are you ?

The second time you wake up, it’s to the smell of blood. The stench invades your mind, overwhelming all your senses until it’s the only thing you can perceive. You want to gag, yet your body seems unresponsive to even your most basic instincts, as if frozen in ice. But behind that heavy and violent scent, you catch a hint of something familiar. Something ancient, powerful, and pleasant, it comforts you. Instinctively, you cling to that aroma acting as a lifesaver and slumber takes over you once more.

I know you.

The third time you wake up, it’s to the taste of something bitter running down your throat. It tastes like one of those herbal teas from back home, but far worse. It burns and stings your tongue; makes you sick to your stomach, and you panic. You trash around, try to scream but no sound leaves you. Your crisis is interrupted when you feel something soft brush against your lips, something sweet and gentle, like a candy melting in your mouth. It’s enough for you to fall back asleep.

Who am I to you ?

The fourth time you wake up, it’s to a warm touch. Something -or rather someone- is holding your arm tightly, though not enough to hurt. You still struggle to open your eyes, but you can feel the way their much bigger hand delicately holds yours, running soothing circles on your palm. Then you feel a warm breath on your fingers and a pair of lips brushing against them in such a tender and caring way it brings tears to your eyes. You doze off, feeling loved and protected.

I’ve never felt so cherished before.

The fifth time you wake up, it’s to a sight you never believed to witness. A large figure kneeling on their knees by your side, head resting on your chest, through some miracle, the long horns barely scrap your skin. Pale moonlight rays shine on them- no him, allowing you to see a pained expression and the bags under his eyes, a sight which immediately strikes you with grief. He looks absolutely miserable. And yet, you find a certain beauty to it. Is it because you know he would only kneel for you ?

My King…

As if on cue, a gasp reaches your ears before the head lying on your chest shots up, so fast it almost knocks you out. You curse out loud in fear, but the sound quickly dies in your throat the moment you notice the look in his eyes.

First you see shock, confusion, and disbelief following one another in rapid motion before relief takes over. His eyes, his smile, it’s like he just found the greatest treasure in all three worlds. It reminds you of the first time you met, except he doesn’t hold it back. The raw devotion and adoration in his gaze, it’s almost too much for your heart to handle.

You try to reach for him with your hand but a sharp pain in your shoulder forces you to withdraw your arm, you hiss at the sensation and he notices it. His expression immediately falls and is replaced by sorrow and guilt. You can see it in those endless pools of blue, you can see how he’s blaming himself for something he isn’t responsible for, you can see how terrified he is of you hating and discarding him, and most of all, you can see the suffering he endured during your short absence. You’ve never witnessed something like this before. You’d seen him irritated, disappointed, tired, or dejected even.

But this, this was something you hated seeing on him. This expression of utter defeat and grief does not suit him at all.

Carefully, you lift your other -and fortunately non-injured- arm and with as much softness as you can muster, brush your hand against his cheek. He jolts from the touch as if he expected a much harsher reaction but just as quickly, leans into your touch and closes his eyes. He’s trembling, still afraid you’re only indulging him one last time before rejecting  him completely. It surprises you, how easily you can read him when you could barely decipher his true intentions not so long ago.

You  push back the blankets and slowly shifts your body until your feet dangle from the bed, caging him between your legs, but his eyes are still shut.

“My King…” you whisper in a raspy voice, “open your eyes please.” The shaking grows in intensity. “For me…”

Your last words act as spell pulling him out of his misery. His gaze is solely focused on you, and even after all this time, it still takes your breath away. How could such a powerful, beautiful and infinite being look at you -a mere mortal soul- with such intensity you feel like the only person existing in all three realms ? You still don’t understand, and you don’t know if you ever will.

Does it even matter ?

He who has everything, looks like he might crumble at any moment. The embodiment of pride, crawling at your feet, begging for your love. Has he ever shown such vulnerability to anyone else before ? The selfish part of you wishes he hasn’t, the greedy and possessive part that wants all of him for you and only you. His mind, his body, his heart, and his soul, all for you, just like you belong to him.

Comfort him, cherish him, accept him, love him

“My love,” you call for him, and the distance between the two of you shortens, you feel his hands roam your body, desperately clinging to you. “My star, my light, my savior, my fated one…”

Each appellation has him growing closer and closer until his forehead touches yours, his breathing is erratic, his eyes search for any trace of resentment on your face, hands encircling your waist is a tight -but non-painful- grip.

“None of this was your fault-“

“Don’t go to them !”

You speak at the same time, but you stop at the frantic tone of his voice. You frown, confused, waiting for further explanations.

“I know I- failed to protect you !” he admits in the most pathetic tone you’ve ever heard. “But please, don’t leave me !” he begs, and your mind is sent into a spiral of worry as you try to come up with a way to calm him down. “Don’t- don’t choose them !”

Who are you even talking about ?!

“They- he will only hurt and use you !”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice- no it’s worse than that, colder than the waters you drowned in, colder than the harsh winds digging into your skin when you were clinging to that rock for dear life. You feel your blood boil and freeze at the same time, because you understand who he is talking about.

The genuine deep-rooted fear in his tone fills you with both dread and fury. It terrifies you because it means this demon, no-this entity is far worse and far more powerful than you thought, enough for the King of Hell to be afraid of it. It enrages you because it means they hurt him before, most likely tortured and let him bleed out like the sadistic creature they are. Your interactions with them had given you a hunch about their true nature but this is so much worse, much more horrible than you’d anticipated.

Theyhurtyoutheyhurtyoutheyhurtyou-

You want to scream, you want to get up from this bed, you want to find this smug bastard -it wouldn’t take long, they’re always around the corner- and strangle them. You don’t remember the last time you felt such wrath against someone. But you can’t. You can’t because you can barely move without your body hurting but most of all, because you just know they would relish in your anger and you wouldn’t be able to bear that infuriating self-satisfied and arrogant smile.

The grip around your waist suddenly tightens and when your eyes focus on him again, you realize your mistake. He noticed your anger, and thought it was directed at him. His pupils are blown wide, and he starts shaking again, mumbling the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme-“

“Sweetheart-“

“This will never happen again, I promise !” he interrupts you.

“Dear-“ you try again, but to no avail.

“I’ll never leave you, never again ! “ His voice turns dark, with a hint of madness to it. “Will always stay with you, always by your side. Always, always, always, always…”

“Love please-“

“You know I would do anything for you, right ?” His eyes are blown so wide you can barely see his pupils, smile stretched to the point it might tear his face apart. The raw possessiveness and despair, they make him look completely mad. “Tell me, tell me what should I do to earn back your love. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

You stare at him in stunned silence and in that moment, you know if you asked for him to set his kingdom ablaze, he’d only ask you in how many days. He had told you so in the past, but you’d only taken it as another dramatic display to entertain you. Now you realize how serious he was and to your shock, you’re not as frightened as you should be. In fact…

His eyes twitches and a trail of cobalt blood starts to run down his chin from how hard he’s biting his lips. His voice turns to hysterics and you think you see something running down his cheeks.

“Just tell me !  There must be something ! Tell me please, tellmetellmetellmetellme-“

“Samael, enough !” you end up shouting at him.

He immediately stills, from the tone of your voice or the use of his name, you can’t tell. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, not when he was breaking down in front of you, but he wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. And hearing him so hopeless and frantic was too much for you to handle.

Ignoring the pain in your left shoulder, you reach for him again, this time with both hands and he watches you lovingly cup his face in your hands with awe. His gaze darts back and forth between your face and your hands in utter bewilderment, like a child trying to solve a puzzle. You almost laugh at the thought. Instead, you lock eyes with him and speak firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He perks up, eagerly waiting for your wish. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” You see him open his mouth, most likely to protest but you don’t give him the chance to. “I want you to remember I don’t hate you; I’ve never hated you and never will. “ You sense him slightly relaxes. “I want you to understand I will never leave you, not for them, and not for anyone else, never. “ You pause, watching the blue returning to his eyes.

His expression holds trust, hope and an innocence you didn’t believe possible for him to have, he looks so much younger. For a moment, you think you’re gazing at the benevolent, bright, and loyal angel he once was, the devoted hand of God. You remember the feather he gifted you on the first night you kissed his scars, a pure and immaculate white, softer than the most delicate silk existing on earth and more valuable than any jewel in the world. He had looked so happy, so earnest, when he gave it to you. And now, you can so easily picture thousands of those same feathers linked together to form majestic wings. The vision has you smiling softly. But a question, one you had avoided asking him ever since you realized his feelings for you were genuine burns at the corners of your mind once more. Laced with such pride, envy, and selfishness you never felt brave enough to ask.

Do you love me more than you used to love God ?

Two warm, large hands covering yours bring you back to reality and the innocence vanishes, allowing for the madness to reappear once more. But his voice is steady, confident and lacks the fragility it held mere moments ago.

“God took everything from me, from the very beginning, only took and took.” You are not shocked to hear the way he spat those words, but from the fact he seems to have read your mind. “But you…” he draws out, bringing your left hand to his lips and giving a chaste kiss where your pulse lies, teeth grazing at the flesh. You feel him slowly exhale against your skin. “You keep on giving and giving. Your presence, you smile, your touch, your voice…” You feel his tail slowly making its way around your left leg as he speaks. “But I still keep wanting more of you each passing day…” His voice becomes strained with yearning and desire. “I can’t get enough; I’ll never get enough of you.”

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, as if trying to contain his hunger and fervor for you. His breaths are the only sounds in the large room and you find some sort of peace to it. It eases your nerves, reminds that this moment is not a dreamy hallucination from your comatose state, this is real. You don’t know how long it lasts -a few seconds, a minute or an hour- until he opens his eyes again and your heartbeat becomes uncontrollable.

His pupils have turned into hearts, and although it’s not the first time, you still find yourself mesmerized by the sight. Who knew the Devil could be capable of such thing ? The vibrancy, the intensity, and the sincerity his gaze holds have you melt into him and you instinctively close your thighs tighter around him. He relishes in your actions if the soft purring you hear is anything to go by.  

“My Dear…” he fondly says before calling for your name, and you smile, loving the way it rolls on his tongue. “The dull candlelight of devotion I once felt for the one who cast me aside cannot possibly compare to the eternal flame of adoration I hold for you.”

You feel every fiber of your body burns at his confession, pure delight taking over your mind and utter bliss over your heart.  How are you supposed to respond to that ? Nothing you could say would be enough to match this. So you decide to answer in the only way you can think of. You lean in and finally close whatever distance was left between the two of you.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou

You hope he can hear it, how much you love him, you hope he feels how your soul calls for his in desperate craving. You hope he realizes you will never stop loving him as you taste the blood and the tears on his lips. You hope he understands you would do anything for him as you feel his hands shift to grip your thighs. How could such a corrupted being taste so divine ?

You want him, you want him to touch and hold you, because you feel the most alive when he does. Hastily, you blindly reach for his long horns and smirk into the kiss when you finally grab them and without a warning, pulls him towards you. And oh, the way he moans into your mouth, it sounds heavenly. It makes you lose your mind.

Moremoremoremoremore-

You do it a second time, which causes him to growl and you revel at the feeling of his nails digging into your tender skin. It feels so good, so good to have him touch you like this. But then he breaks the kiss and you whine when he removes his hands from your legs, instead placing them on each side of your body to steady himself.

His eyes are hooded with raw desire and lust, causing a shot of electricity to travel to your core. Knowing that you’re the only one who’ll get to see him like this, the only one able to create such reactions from him fills you with unwavering pride and satisfaction.

“Darling…” he whispers in a husky, barely controlled voice. “I can’t- you’re still hurt, I-“ He hisses when you tenderly rub the base of his horns. “Ah…don’t- torture me like this.” His labored breath and the pleading in his tone only urge you to do it again. “You need to rest more before-“ You shush him with a finger against his lips.

“You’re the only one who can make the pain go away…” you trail off, noticing how close he is to give in from how tightly he’s holding the bedsheets. “My King…” you beg, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Please, I need you” you admit.

You can almost see the resolution shatters in his eyes and it’s beautiful. You feel absolutely drunk on triumph, love and euphoria, a deadly combination that drives you to feel much bolder, impudent, and confident than you should be in your condition.

He lifts you up in one, swift -although careful- movement before settling himself on the bed with you straddling his lap and hmmm you can feel how much he wants you now. In a moment of reckless bravery, you grind against him and smile smugly at the chocking sound coming from his throat. But your victory is short-lived when you feel a hot breath at the junction of your neck and your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You inhale sharply and a whimper leaves your lips when you feel his teeth -his very sharp teeth- nibble at your skin. A dark, guttural chuckle echo in the room, one filled with sinful promises of pleasure, making your body growing hotter by the second.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it you, Darling,” he purrs in your ear, sounding very much like the embodiment of temptation and immorality most sacred texts describe him as. It drives you insane.

He never did this before, it was -almost- always him that would come to you with need and want, and of course, you never refused him. But now…

“I need-“ now look who’s struggling to form coherent sentences. You can feel him smile against your flesh like the devil he is. “I need you to touch me,” you shudder when his hands grip your thighs once more, except his hold is much more possessive than the previous one. “Hold me, fill me, mark me…” your voice becoming more strained and tense as one of his hands starts to make its way to your heated core. “I want you to fuck me until I forget the pain, and my own name…” The animalistic sound that leaves him sends goosebumps along your skin. You sigh deliriously. “I want you to worship me.”

He leaves your neck to look at you one more time before he completely loses it. You know he wants to check if you’re really sure about this, he’s done it before, and although you’ve never told him to, you know if you asked him to stop now, he would. As much as it would pain him, you know he’d never betray you like this, not only because he loves and respects you too much, but also because your Devil has standards.

When he notices no hesitation or refusal from you, a ravenous and demented smile draws on his lips as he tilts your chin with his free hand to look at you directly in the eyes. You see excitement, lust, and exhilaration in his frenzied gaze and behind it, his undying adoration.

“As you wish, dearest.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You see them not too long after, when you’ve recovered enough to walk on your own, although you sustained no injury on your legs. Though you’re sure some people can tell why you couldn’t use them. The wound on your shoulder is bigger than you thought, starting from your shoulder blade, and almost reaching your hips but the pain is already manageable and you’ve been told no major organ was harmed, so there’s that. You can’t do much about the red angry scar expect apply some ointment every now and then but it’s fine, to demons, scars are not seen as ugly but rather a source of pride and a sign of survival. Not surprising, considering their King was the first to deal with the most painful ones imaginable. Very little got to see them but everyone knew the Fall had taken a lot from him.

Just like he promised, he keeps you near him at all times to the point you quickly forget the notion of personal space but you don’t complain much, considering what happened. Besides, listening to the meetings with the princes and other important figures -on his lap of course- gives you a better insight on how things operate in hell and who you need to be careful of, TK could only spend so much time explaining the basics to you with how busy they were.

All thanks to a certain “housekeeper”…

Ah, thinking about them always lead to a terrible headache, which for some reason you believe them to be aware of. Your last interaction with them goes back to a day or two before the “incident”, they’d been cordial and enthusiastic as usual but something about that smile always kept you on edge. Now you know your cautiousness was not uncalled for. You still want to strangle them but you’d rather drown into that lake again than admit it to their face. You can’t forget the genuine fear in Samael’s voice or the way he trembled against you when he asked you to not go to them.

What exactly did they do to you ?

“Darling ?” A deep voice brings you back to reality and you realize everyone in the room is staring at you -some with more annoyance and hostility than others- and you turn to see the concerned azure gaze of your lover. “Are you alright ?”

You don’ want to lie to him but now is really not the time to mention your doubts and questions. Instead, you smile softly and speak as casually as you can despite the headache growing in intensity.

“I just need some fresh air, don’t worry.”

You can tell he is not fully convinced with how deep his frown is and it gets worse when you try to leave your “seat”. He tenses up and to avoid making a scene you take one of his hands into your own and try to appease his paranoia.

“The balcony is not far, I’ll come back in a few minutes.” You lick your lips. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen,” you raise your voice to make sure everyone hears you, “nobody would be stupid enough to try something when you’re here, right ?”

You think you hear a few people chuckle and you don’t need to turn around to guess their derisive smiles. A few moments of silence pass where you stare at the King of Hell with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You know you’ve won when you hear him sigh and nod reluctantly. Slowly, you slip from his lap but before you can make a step, a hand grabs you by the arm causing you to turn around in confusion.

“Five minutes,” is all he says to you, irritation and stress already slipping into his voice. You mentally send an apology to everyone else in the room, knowing what they’ll have to deal with for this short amount of time.

“Of course, I understand.”

You beam at him but right as you’re about to leave, find yourself hit with a very bold and striking idea. You smile deviously under the eyes of a confused King. Dramatically, you kneel before him much like a knight in a fairytale would and take the hand which was holding your arm a few seconds ago into your own and bring it to your lips, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looks at you in stunned silence and wide eyes, his face covered in a delicious shade of blue. As a final move, you drop a chaste kiss on his hand and smile when you hear him inhale sharply.

“I’ll be back soon,” you beath the words fervently against his skin, “My King.”

You stroll out of the room without looking back once and head to the balcony, feeling quite proud -and maybe a bit embarrassed- of your little display despite the dull pain in your skull. You’re fortunate enough to not cross anyone on your way, and exhale slowly once you feel the cold air against your face.

You attempt to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts with the view and feels the wind to caress your skin in a gentle breeze, it’s calm and peaceful. Until a voice you’re all too familiar with jumps in from behind, and it takes everything in you to refrain yourself from jumping in fright.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered well enough to put little stunts like this !”

You cringe at the friendly, upbeat tone they use and refuse to turn around to gaze at that pretentious smile. Of course, he knows what you did, he always seemed to know where you went and what you did.

“And I’m glad you have enough time on your hands to come and see me,” you retort as casually as possible.

Don’t show your anger, even if he knows, don’t show it.

“Of course, I’ll always free myself for you sweetheart,” he says, voice slightly huskier. “You know I’ll always be there whenever you feel bored.”

There it is, that same charming and bewitching tone he used the first time you met, the one that almost convinced you to follow him to the storage room. And his hair looked so soft, though you’d never touch it, mostly out of fear of what would happen to your fingers if you did. His eyes -well the one visible at least- were so pretty. He was attractive and persuasive for sure, but you always thought he was more than that, and you were right. What would have happened, if you’d followed them that day ?

Ah, I’d rather not think about it…

“Are you giving me the cold shoulder ?” he asks with hurt in his voice, you’re almost convinced it’s genuine. This time, you can’t help but flinch from his wording, and he notices it. “Oops, I shouldn’t have worded it like that, my bad.”

You only sigh at his “apology” and do your best to ignore the footsteps, coming closer and closer to you, slowly, like a snake chasing its unaware prey.

“Come on now, you weren’t so stiff last time we talked.”

You still don’t answer and  hear them hum in amusement at your silence. It’s not very hard to imagine the expression he’s wearing right now, narrowed eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them truly irritated or angry, and while his smile always unnerved you, you’d rather not discover what he looked like when he got mad.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you in the back.”

He’s so close, too close to you for comfort, you feel your body tense as soon as the edge of his tail brushes your leg. Oh, he must be relishing in your agitation.

Fucking bastard…

“It must have been so painful, “ he whispers as one of his nails starts to move along your back. “The feeling of a sharp blade piercing your soft skin, “ he says while his finger starts to trail down the exact line of your scar through your clothes. “and the freezing winds nabbing at the wound while you desperately tried to stay afloat.” His voice drips with sadistic glee, you’re almost sure he’s getting turned on. “And then helplessly drowning with none coming to get you, oh you must have felt truly hopeless, didn’t you, sweetheart ?”

The urge to just throw him over the edge eats you away as a warm breath tickles your neck. But you do your best to sound and act as unbothered by the situation, instead opting for a white lie.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember most of it.”

Bad move, you sense him chuckles against your ear at your admission, as if you’d just confided the most important secret in the world. What kind of sick power did you just allow him to have over you now ?

“Really ?” he muses. “That’s too bad…” he snickers. “Maybe I could help you regain some memories ?”

Fuck, I walked right into that one.

“You know I could  make it feel good, don’t you ?”

You wonder if this is how Eve felt when she was tricked by the snake, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to learn Flauros turned out to be the one who tempted her at this point. It’s like he was made for the sole purpose of spreading chaos whenever he went.

“I’ll have to decline the offer,” you answer firmly and to your surprise, notice him take a step back. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re so boring,” he exclaims, sounding very much like a spoiled kid. “But I knew it’d be like that, this story isn’t centered around me after all.”

You open your mouth to ask for more explanations when a deep, concerned voice reverberates in your head.

“Darling ? Are you on your way back ?”

You answer quickly, knowing very well what will happen if you don’t.

“Sorry, kinda lost track of time, I’m coming !”

“Hurry…please.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be there soon.”

You’re glad he doesn’t ask more questions; else you’d have had to tell him about the spider standing right behind you and he’s already stressed enough as it is.

“I’m guessing his Highness is calling for you ?” he asks in an ever-knowing voice, still filled with that same fucking arrogance. “Better not make him wait !” he shouts in a disgustingly sweet sing-song voice.

Gross, this really didn’t suit him at all, being a coy little bastard really fits him better. As much as it bothers you, he’s playing the part of the bad guy pretty well, too well you think. As if he’d done this a hundred times over already.

You want to tell him to leave, to take care of all the tasks poor TK is forced to manage on their own, you want to yell at him, bleed him dry, snap his neck. Anything so you don’t have to walk past him and get a glimpse of that cheeky smile, anything for you to forget the image of a dying Samael from your mind. But then it would mean surrendering, admit that you’re terrified of whatever entity they’re supposed to be.

So, with all the strength and courage you still have left, you turn around and sure enough, he’s looking at you the exact way you predicted it. You walk past him, not too fast -less you betray your fear- but not too slow either -less you have to gaze for too long at that sharp, hypnotizing purple eye- . But the words he utters as you stand a few inches from him, cause you to stop dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about me cutie, I’m only here to act as a small distraction to your little fairytale.” He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about the God who created this world in the first place and the minion who wishes to gain their attention through this story.”

You start to walk again, not fulling grasping his words but still finding some sort of unknown understanding through them. But you still hear him talk, speaking of beings beyond your reality. His voice becoming darker and louder as you get farther away.

“The King may be the current favorite, but who knows when I’ll steal his crown?”

Walk away, don’t turn back

“Up until you grow bored of your prince charming, I’ll be there.”

………….

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be your Antagonist (: “

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#Flauros stop fucking with brain challenge

Sorry for any world builing inaccuracies, I did give myself some liberties concerning a few details, feel free to correct me about it Vee.

#your boyfriend #demon au #your boyfriend au #Flauros is so difficult to write- help #your boyfriend x reader #angst/comfort #because I am weak #plot kept changing each day #PAIN #shouldn't have too many typos #i hope *cries*

[illyaana]

Credits to @breakingpengui1 to the Tendou fanart! Do check them out, I stalked them for almost two hours- ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

Fantasy Collab by @bluebellhairpin

God I'm sorry it took so long TwT I wanted to make this really good so TwT (don't think I did it) Do check out the other works involved!! I am also thinking of making this a three-part series 'cause I have some ideas on this and I took way to long on this, so let me know if you want me to do it!!

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Tags: Fantasy AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff, Angst, Royal! Y/N x Werewolf! Tendou

Word Count: 2611

There was a time when the world of the supernatural was one of peace and harmony.

Magia, the realm of magic and the supernatural being, was one filled with mysteries and beauty.

Plants would dance to the rhythm made by the woodland creatures. Fairies and elves would sing songs in praise of the wondrous views and people who nurtured the lands and made it the beauty it was today.

Mermaids and the life under the wide oceans and seas shared the riches of the water with those on land to make both worlds something to gaze upon.

Yet, it all changed when humans found something within them.

Greed and Pride - the recipe to the fall of Magia.

Now, the land of the supernatural isn’t like the ones stated in fairy tales and stories by the Grimm Brothers of Hans Christen Andersen.

It is one where sins are not shunned but encouraged.

Kings and queens interfere with the peace once built by the people to become one of villainy and devilish intentions - pillaging and conquering lands to become stronger and “better”.

The ones labelled “magical” or “not human” were either killed or hidden far away, never to be seen once again.

You were born into this - this world filled with anguish and pain.

You were born to be on the top of the food chain - to rule a twisted and dark country: Thelphs.

“Y/N, don’t writhe in pain. You are next-in-line for the throne - a simple wound like this should not make you fall.”

“Y/N, a leader never hides away from death - they face it and make it their weapon.”

“Hold your sword higher! You need the correct angle to slice through someone cleanly!”

“Do not taint the name of Thelphs, young one - death is not the thing you should be worried of but me.”

“If you don’t win, you are no longer my kin.”

Your father’s words rang in your head as you reached the land of Aldis - the land that never fell to the wants of humanity and shunned it.

Aldis protected the supernatural world. They were the ones who held onto the desire to make Magia what it was many, many years ago.

It was known for the beauty it held - the flowers were said to sing songs every day and every night and the mountains shook the ground once a month to say thank you to their valiant effort in protecting what the world of Magia should be.

And yet here you are; leading a line of men wielding swords and cannons aplenty to kill the very thing the world should be.

“Onward,” you shouted as you and your man marched down the stone roads of Aldis, “Fight, my people - fight for Thelphs, fight for your King!”

You pulled the sword sheathed in your belt and pointed towards the land before you. Soon, an uproar formed from the men behind you as you all marched towards the lines of houses.

You begged your humanity to hide as you wielded the weapon in your hand and slashed through hundreds of innocent people.

You begged your ears to close just for a few hours so that the screams of children could not enter as you pillaged their homes, reaping all their goods.

You felt the ground shake below you, trying its best to stop you from killing any more living things, yet you couldn’t.

A haze formed in front of your eyes, hiding all of your caring sides. You could only feel bloodlust - the need to slaughter and to feel the blood of others on you.

It was no use. Your feet, despite being on a moving floor, were still holding on to the ground, The grip you hand on your sword didn’t loosen and tightened.

If you were meant to be a machine designed to kill, you needed to carry out your job properly to ensure you aren’t thrown away.

The fairies soon came to attack you and your men, but you couldn’t kill it.

It was the first time you saw one that had magical abilities. The beauty it held entranced you.

Their wings were translucent. The light that hit it would change colour thanks to the dust that left its wings, forming somewhat of a halo around them. Their hair reached the very bottom of their legs. It swished back and forth as they flew towards you.

A pang was felt in your heart when you remembered your father’s words.

He said the fairies were ones who never cared about humans and instead mooch humans to live.

They were pests that needed to be killed, according to him.

But they are fighting alongside humans right now to protect their homes.

It was clear your father’s words were far from the truth, yet you needed to follow his wants, his needs.

You begged your limbs to move on their own so that you didn’t feel the piles of flesh go through your blade.

But you couldn’t.

You had to stay conscious through all the pain and misery you were giving to those who didn’t even deserve it.

The mixture of both human and fairy blood soaked your inner shirt, forever staining it.

The once grey tiles that covered the floor of Aldis now are forever painted red, and it was thanks to your orders.

You walked through the mountains of bodies, the blood streaming from them staining your shoes.

This was your fault.

This was all your fault.

You looked up to the sky, praying for the rain to fall and wash away your sins, but you could only see the clear, blue sky staring back at you. The clouds moved slowly through the pale blue background midst hiding the Sun’s blinding light away from you.

Semi, your commander soon stood beside you.

“My liege-”

“I killed them - I killed angel-like fairies. I killed humans, I made the ground shake - literally - and I killed the first-ever fairy I have seen. How did my father do this and still walk around Thelphs with no regrets?”

“Y/N...” Semi said, trying to console you.

But you could only laugh.

This.

This is what it means to be human- to kill those who don’t deserve to be killed.

“I can’t handle this anymore, Semi. I want to end this - all of this - so badly, yet I can’t even fight my own father.”

You turned your face to look at your childhood friend.

He too felt the same way you did - his eyes said everything.

Behind the coffee-coloured eyes hid guilt, sorrow and pain.

His face filled with the dust and smoke from the bombs that your men slung to this land. Yet, some streaks were starting from his eyes to the ends of his chin that were clean. Blood dripped from the top of his forehead down to his lips, leaving half of his face coloured in crimson.

Your thoughts rang clearly after looking at the man before you.

It was no longer about wanting to end it, you had to.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, “I will end this, Semi - this unneeded suffering and killings - I’ll end it all.”

He gave a teary smile to you. “Please, Y/N. I don’t think I can do this until I die.”

You pulled a handkerchief you kept in your pocket and proceeded to wipe the blood off his face.

“I can’t, too. This guilt,” you shook slightly, tears threatening to fall, “This guilt is too much to bear.”

He raised his hand and wiped off the tears.

“My liege, you need to be strong. We’re going to face the people we’ve committed countless sins against. Impersonate the devil - be the evil person you aren’t to protect the name of Thelphs.”

He took the blood-soaked handkerchief from your hand and threw it to the floor, “After all, what but devils would do what we did?”

Your heart broke at the words muttered by the man before you.

He was the furthest thing from a devil.

He was the man who comforted you when you were crying.

He was the man who took your pain and gave you nothing but light and joy.

Yet he stood in front of you - covered in blood both his and others with a strong resolve.

You stared at him, anger flaring in your orbs.

“You are the furthest thing from a devil, Semi Eita. But, we are controlled by one. Innocent ones like you should have never fallen into his tricks.”

He was taken aback by what you said. Tears soon fell from his eyes, sobs that he hid from you all these years came flowing like an endless howl.

He placed his head against the corner of your neck. Your shirt slowly began taking in his tears as they trickled down your neck.

You wrapped your arms around his figure. It was your time to comfort him.

Once he stopped crying, he wiped his tears and gripped your shoulders. “We need to go to the riverbank now.”

You nodded and let Semi lead you to the body of water.

You saw how the people tried to protect themselves from your men. They formed a circle with the younger ones in the middle. The ones on the circumference of the circle gripped on their small blades as they threatened your armoured soldiers.

They cared for each other.

The strong wanted to protect the weak; they were willing to sacrifice their lives so that the legacy of Aldis lived on through the young.

“Bring out the carriages,” you told your men. They immediately nodded and proceeded to follow the orders issued.

You turned to the people you’ve captured. A smile managed to reach your lips as they looked at your figure with fear.

“I do not wish any harm on you. We’re just going to make all of you line up and bring you to Thelphs - that is it,” you finished.

Most of them nodded in fear, yet there was one who refused to listen.

His hands had burned aplenty, instantly telling you that he was an ironsmith. He wasn’t rich - the clothes he wore were tattered, many of the holes were formed through his hours in iron crafting, presumably. Yet, you didn’t doubt his skill in fighting. The way he held the sword spoke more than words. The way his fingers comfortably wrapped around the leather handle made you feel some sort of pride within.

He was a person of valour and determination.

In almost seconds, he lunged in your direction.

You didn’t want to take out your sword. It felt like the man needed to hurt you in some way to make himself feel relaxed.

You gripped on the handle of your sword but didn’t have the heart to pull it out of your sheath.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the small tip of the blade to pierce through your skin. You wanted to feel your skin tear from the man’s undying resolve.

But it never came.

Instead, you heard the clashing of metal against metal.

Semi had rushed to protect you using his shield.

He stared at you, anger visible in his eyes.

“You made me a promise, Y/N. Don’t you dare take the easy way out.”

You could only smile and nod at the ash grey-haired male in front of you.

You teared your gaze from Semi to the man before you.

The disappointment and vengeance in him began to grow. The flame he once held within grew into a blazing fire.

“Why? Why attack us?” he began.

“We did nothing to you. We protected ourselves and helped others who needed us. We never bothered Thelphs - not even once, so why?”

You couldn’t reply - your morals would’ve gotten the best of you.

“Chain them all to each other - take all their weapons or anything sharp. We’re going back to Thelphs as winners, we don’t need the scars to prove it.”

You heard the roars of the men who stood before you. In their eyes, they believed all they’ve done is for the betterment of the world you all lived in.

But you knew what hid behind the tapestry that was woven by your father - destruction.

You bit your lip, not wanting to ruin the cheerful moment your men were having - all you could do was stare at Semi and let your eyes speak of all the pain you were feeling.

From afar, you heard a howl that woke up your numb senses.

Werewolves.

Joy graced the victims of your purge.

Their saviours came, ready to vanquish you and your men.

“They said the future leader of Thelphs was one ruthless and evil miscreant, yet they seem awfully sad for someone who led their troops to glory,” a werewolf said as he emerged from the bush beside you, “They do have a heart, after all.”

You stopped the minute you saw the male that now stood before you.

His red hair framed his sharp-jawed face. His obsidian eyes stared you down, a passion forming within the two of you. His olive skin gleamed under the soft light of the Sun. As he moved, you saw the scars painted on his skin - slashes made by swords and vicious beasts shifted in variations of his peach skin.

The ends of his lips raised as his eyes raised up and down, taking you in slowly.

“Mine.”

He rushed to you, his hand finding its place around your throat. He gripped softly, but strong enough to keep your soldiers on alert.

“Stand back!” you said, urging them to move back.

“Oh? - So my mate actually does care for me, don’t they?” He said, his mouth reaching the base of your neck, “How sweet of you, my love.”

Mate?

“State your business here, werewolf.”

“Well, in the beginning, it was to help the people you’ve captured,” his hand travelled to your waist, pulling you in, “But I think my prey has changed.”

You tried to pry yourself off of him, but you knew, deep inside, you wanted to pull him closer. You wanted to throw the troubles you had, all the roles you were born to play, to cast away the men who viciously fought under your order - all of that, just for a male you have just gazed upon.

The pull, the connection - it was instant. It was present, unrivalled.

Its wants and needs rang so clearly in your head.

But you had a promise to Semi - to the country you loved.

“Let go of me, wolf.”

“You don’t mean that love,” he said as he placed his head in the crook of your neck, “You want me just as much as I want you.”

He placed his hand on your cheek and you instinctively melted into the soft touch of his.

“Look at that,” he whispered, “You have already felt it, too - you know you can’t look back.”

“I can’t just give it up,” you tear.

“Then change it. I’ll stand behind you - change your homeland to what it was; a beacon of hope and freedom,” he smiled as your eyes softened, “This connection has to be proof that you were meant to be the change Thelphs needs, Y/N.”

You stare at his black eyes - more specifically the brown flecks that danced within them. They sang of nothing but determination and want - he wanted you, but he knew you had a want to change your homeland. He knew it all - just by a few minutes of just glancing at you.

He kissed your cheek, warmth spreading by that small action.

Your thoughts ran clear, the blinds holding back your judgement drawn.

“No.”

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