psychiatry-and-poetry

Latest Posts by psychiatry-and-poetry

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#154

I write and I write until the words pour out of me in great swathes, swarming and circling me like a feral, rabid pack of wolves ready to pounce, morphing into my worst nightmares. It is my own fault for giving them life, for entertaining these thoughts. It is my own fault for allowing these thoughts to even take root. I should have banished them from my mind long ago, ripped them and cast them away as I have been cast aside, but perhaps the masochist in me cannot help but want pain. It hungers for it the way a lion hungers for a carcass, for flesh clawed off from the body of a barely-dead animal, except that this flesh is rotting and maggot-filled, yet still I cannot seem to help but crave it.

This self-torment has been all that I know, all I have ever been allowed to know, and then all I have ever allowed myself to know. I do not know how to survive without the pain. What exists in me other than this ache? What am I without agony? Certainly not a person, certainly no soul nor a body. I simply…am. Empty. If this is liberating or condemning, I do not know. I have not yet decided. I do not know if I ever will. I will spend the rest of my existence (for it certainly cannot be called a life) pondering over this, and continue being indecisive.

And yet, this sadism in me refuses to leave. It takes root in me as a plague would, festering and eating away at the parts of myself I was most proud of, until I am nothing but a gallery of failures, each resplendent in their sickening glory and hung up crudely with nails and thorns on the walls, each disgusting masterpiece dripping blood in a steady, near-comforting rhythm. Until I am naught but a museum of all my shortcomings; where I am trapped and forced to listen to the voices ramble about my inadequacies, until my mind devours itself; consumes itself with so much vigour and passion I cannot help but wonder, once again, how this carnal desire would look like if it was directed at anything or anyone else other than myself.

Still, I choose, I willingly choose to make this difficult living even more difficult for myself, perhaps because I feel as if my past sins override my right to live my life as I want to, therefore I must make myself smaller and more palatable, easier to digest and break. I choose to make it more difficult, because I believe I deserve this punishment, that if I repent now, I will have brought my suffering to fruition at last so that I will not have to agonise over it in hell.

For that is surely where the likes of me will end up. I have given up hope that there is a fighting chance for me; I have resigned myself to this fate and accepted it with such heartbreaking finality, such clarity that the possibility of there being anything else now refuses to even cross my mind. I have decided that I should not get even the privilege of a happy thought, simply because I am me, that I have had the misfortune to be born as myself. I can think of no greater tragedy than this, than to exist as myself. That is my punishment for being myself, to don so many masks and have a hundred different personas that I forget who I am, that I learn to mimic and copy but never create, that I learn to observe and make note, but never speak that which resides in me and fights to break free.

It is comforting as much as it is suffocating, and I will persist this way, all stubborn anger and unsavoury thorns until my mind likens this asphyxiation to solace, likens this excruciating agony to peace. It is the only way I shall be able to get through whatever this life has become, whatever I have made it out to be.

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Romance, Requests, and Redirection

Part 1 - Romance, Requests, and Redirection | Part 2 - Eris' Reply | AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

A/N: This is Eris' reply to Nesta's letter (which I wrote for Nesta week linked above), as requested by @aleksandra25cracow. I hope you like it!

Word Count: 590

Dear Nesta,

I must confess, I was puzzled at the correspondence that arrived this morning at the Forest House. I certainly wasn’t expecting a letter bearing the telltale signs of the Night Court to show up at my breakfast table. Even lacking the official insignia, I would recognise a letter from Night, though I can assure you the surprise was a pleasant reprieve from the monotonous court life here in Autumn.

Solstice was another such welcome break, a place where I could enjoy the festivities, though they took place elsewhere, a place I will acknowledge I am not particularly fond of. However, I must admit, the dancing that night was perhaps the jewel in the crown, so to speak. It has been a while since I have been able to dance so freely, to revel in the celebrations as one ought to do but as politicians rarely get the chance to. A night to let my inhibitions down and rid myself of my mask, if only for a fraction of a while with a skilled dance partner is something I will be grateful for. I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy that night thoroughly.

But while I would love to converse at length regarding your love for the noble art, I must confess how pleased I was upon hearing of your interest in exploring Autumn and the wonder it has to behold, despite hearing what troubles you. My court is truly a wondrous place, like no other in Prythian, and though talking about it at length is perhaps one of my favourite pastimes, I will let you see this jewel for yourself.

Regarding your previous letter, I implore you to be careful with your words, lady. Though each court has its own ways of punishing treason, the Night Court’s being no less brutal than any other nor any less creative in the torment, I must ask you to avoid throwing caution to the wind when discussing such matters openly. The fae are never what they seem, and they will certainly grasp any opportunity they can to lie, contrary to the mortal myths I am sure you have heard. We will keep correspondence (we will have to, if you are to visit), but like you, my letters may be cryptic, and I will leave it to you to decipher them (though I have no doubt you will be able to do so without an ounce of difficulty, from the brief glimpse I have gotten of you).

A visit could be arranged, though it will require immense amounts of planning and logistical support from both sides. Despite this, it will be fleeting, and that will have to suffice, if only for now. Though we do not know each other, though we have hardly met, I shall need you to trust me in these upcoming weeks, if you truly mean to visit. We shall have to work together to create a plan so intricate that nothing and no one will be able to deter it. We will need to have contingency plan upon contingency plan, though I can assume this is not news to you. We will be able to talk at length upon your arrival. Rest assured that our conversations will remain confidential at all times. I trust the High Lord and Lady have informed you about the nature of Fae bargains, and the terms of one shall be discussed at length should you see the need for such a measure.

I will await your arrival.

~ Eris Vanserra

A/N: When Eris said “I need you to trust me” the only thing going through my head was Aladdin and how he asked Jasmine to trust him before they went flying on the magic carpet (can you tell it’s one of my favourite Disney movies)

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 7 - Gwyneth | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 593

My sweetest Azriel,

What despairing thoughts you have, to consider yourself the sinner in my story, to see yourself as nothing but an evil spirit, a demon as if I am clean and pure and the epitome of goodness. In fact, it is quite the contrary; I have blood on my hands from the lives I couldn’t save while you have blood on your hands for the lives you took.

But if there is anything I have learned as a priestess, it is this: we are not born sinners, but rather it is our actions that decide our fate, that decide if we get entry into the immortal land of milk and honey. Sin is something we choose to do despite knowing that it is wrong, despite knowing the repercussions.

I know you, Azriel, perhaps more than you give me credit for. I know that you do not hurt people out of spite. You hurt only yourself. You withdraw into yourself so deeply and isolate yourself, building impenetrable walls and fortresses, I wonder each time if I will be able to coax you out of your shell, your sanctuary which you hide in that will become your prison if you refuse to let the light in. I see you, Azriel. I know you think of yourself as non-existent, not quite there, your pain invisible to all, but I see you. I see all of you, and I will not balk. I see your kind heart, your lively spirit, and your dry, witty sense of humour that I have come to cherish. I see your courage and your sacrifice, I see all that you do. There is not a single part of you that is undesirable or unlovable, and I need you to know this.

I see your actions, which are crafted of so much care and a love so deep I am in awe each time I witness it for my own. Each action, each deliberate movement holds so much love in it I am entranced by how a single person may hold such large amounts of it and not combust, how one can manage to hide these parts of thesmelves and not go insane. I certainly would have.

I do not see a sinner in you, Azriel. I never have. I see is a male who works tirelessly, day and night, come what may, to support his family and his court, who fights with honour and has dignity embedded into his soul, who poses such a threat to my heart, to the borders I have erected around it so that no one may penetrate. But you have managed to do just that; not with an army, but with a few kind words that had me crumbling. I had not known such support was needed until I had someone to lean on, to share the burden with, until I had you beside me. 

All I see is a male who is valiant in his glory, resplendent in his awe, who never balks, never falters; a loyal, kind male, who saved a priestess from a temple after a horrific crime, my own knight in shining armour. A patient teacher, a ravenous lover, a kind husband. A male so multifaceted and varied in his personalities I struggle to keep up with all that you are. 

I can only hope to wake beside you each day and discover a new side of you that I have yet to see. I doubt that you will ever stop surprising me. I certainly don’t intend to. 

Unconditionally yours,

Gwyneth

Part 8

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#153 - Letter #5

My Dearest [name],

Every time I look at the sun, I am reminded of you. Unapologetic in the way it shines, it sheds light upon everything and everyone, even when they have wronged it, even when they have wronged others. You continue to fiercely, unapologetically be yourself, you continue to shine as I know you are capable of shining. Sunlight in your presence is insignificant; it is you I crave.

As soon as I laid eyes upon you, as soon as I saw such glittering mirth and mischief in your eyes, I remembered how the sunlight pales in comparison to the ethereal being that you are. Others need sunlight to survive; but with you, I have sunlight in the palm of my hand as I cup your cheek, a touch softer and more revered than any. Within in these scarred hands and ever-more pained heart, within a soul that hurts even as it longs for you, I hold all that I need to; I hold my world between my palms. There is no greater feeling than holding you, real and alive, in my embrace, and seeing you smile up at me in complete adoration (even if I have done nothing to deserve it. Even then, I will not question fate, I will not question why you are mine. I will simply indulge myself in the complexity that is you, but know that the day I take your for granted is the day when all hell breaks loose).

Your smile brings me such vast amounts of radiance and a placid contemplation I have craved for a long while. With you, the world quietens to a murmur; with you I am able to think clearly, even as the erratic crackling of flame fills my eardrums, even as I glimpse fire at the edge of my vision. Despite that, you bring such peace wherever it is you go. Peace is tranquility, I have heard. It is serene and calm and quiet. But not my peace. My peace is you, simply holding all the burning, smoldering edges of you, holding your radiant presence and being able to bask in it, to be able to take in your light and to be able to relish in the feeling that no matter what you do, you will never burn me. There is not a single thing you could say or do that will make me walk away or leave. Scream at me all you want, push me away, but know that you will always have a part of me with you. Know that when you are ready, I will be waiting by your side, hand outstretched should you be willing to grasp it. I will wait as I have been, always, waiting for someone and something so immense it would capture my heart and hold it in an eternal vice, gripping and squeezing it so tight I feel as if I am about to combust every time I lay eyes upon you.

I have relinquished all control. I have given everything up the minute I saw what a breathtaking, stunning individual you are. I willingly ceded it all to you, smitten as I was, including my very soul and body. I have given the strings of my life to you, despite knowing that you may choose to snap them at any given moment and discard the charred remains. But perhaps this is the art of vulnerability, to learn to trust and believe in the goodness of people, to have such undying faith and unwavering confidence in each other that nothing and no one will sway us. If anything, it will only make this sacred bond that we have grow stronger and glow brighter, shining, as you do, for what better way to test the true strength of love than grueling adversity alongside the company of those we love?

But perhaps love is too weak a word for what I feel for you. How else do I convey all that I feel, all these swirling emotions in me (not a single one of which I am able to name as I am writing this)? There must be a different way, a way for me to show how much I appreciate all that you are. Perhaps I will spend my entire life searching for just that, and if I do manage to find such a feat, such an act, such a word, I will be the happiest person alive, I will feel the most accomplished, even when all I have done is woken up and talked to you.

Every action with you seems sacred. A lingering touch, a fleeting glance, even making something as I think of you, making something for you; it is holy in a way I cannot begin to describe. It is pious because it is for you; it is the thought of you and your pure presence that cleanses me of all my wrongdoings, of every filthy thought I have had the misfortune to think. I am convinced that a lifetime spent loving you will be more than enough to absolve me of all my sins, I am convinced even God could not deny me this, because he will have seen me serve at an altar. It may not be His, but it will be an altar nonetheless, and I can think of no other way that involves both you and worship.

It is divine (or perhaps it is unfortunate, a symbol of our fickle and ever-changing desires) how an individual can feel so much in such a short amount of time, and be willing to sacrifice and bleed themselves dry at the prospect of being able to give to the ones they love. The irony is that we may never know which one it is because the lines blur so; we may never know until the very end, until it is too late, until the lambs have been sent to the slaughterhouse, and we must live with the decision that the blood that comes back from the butcher’s will be theirs, and yet it will stain our hands crimson for eternity. We must live with the knowledge we have willingly sent someone into the gallows, into the frightful, gaping maw of death, knowing they will never resurface on Earth.

I hope I have not scared you with these morbid contemplations (if I have, I apologise. Truly). Know that whatever goes on in my head, know that whatever thoughts ruminate, you are the brightest spot in my life, a jewel among rocks, and know that I will forever admire you, even from afar.

Burn bright, my star.

A friend disguised as a lover (but why, then, can we not be both?)

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#152

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

Even as the wax from a fire I myself have set drips onto me, even as a faraway, more aware version of me, one that is not apathetic nor selfish feels it and cries out in agony, begging the pain to stop, I cannot bring myself to care. I stand there, unmoving and unblinking, frozen in time, a perfect, porcelain replica of myself.

What is this body but a vessel to carry ourselves? So what if it bears scars? Perhaps they will be a memory, a physical manifestation of my sorrow, a way to remember that what I suffered has not been for nothing, that there has been a reason to all the agony I have gone through, that the sleepless nights and burned bridges mean something, that they have lead to something worthwhile. Let not this fire be for naught, for this flame has begun to become my solace, my own way of repenting for my countless sins. If it will offer me temporary reprieve against the storm of emotions constantly enveloping me, swarming around me like bees only I can see, buzzing and irritating and overwhelming, something that threatens to drown me more and more each day, then it is worth it. To feel nothing is far preferable than to feel too much, then to realise with heartbreaking clarity, once the rose-coloured glasses have been pried off, that there is no one that feels as much or as deeply as I do. It is both a blessing and a curse, I have been told, to feel so much and so profoundly, all at once (though lately it has been feeling more like a curse). If there is, or was anyone who experienced anything remotely similar, then they have certainly never shown themselves to me, preferring, perhaps, to hide away as I have (as a coward) and so I must resign myself to thinking that I am alone in my agony, this thing that makes my charred, maimed heart bleed, this thing that reopens old wounds even as new scars form on the broken, dying muscle. I wonder how much more it will survive before it gives up, before the steady thumps of my heartbeat quiet to a murmur, then stop altogether.

I would pity the thing if I did not feel such immense amounts of regret regarding my own poorly made decisions that I cannot breathe every time I think of my wrongdoings, of the mistakes that have cost me lives a hundred times better than the one I am currently living. I cannot stop my mind from conjuring up theories and speculations of the deepest sort, of pondering over what could have been and what I wish, selfishly and despite it all (as if I stil deserve anything good in the world) in the depths of the night, when all is too quiet and I am left to the mercy of my own thoughts, a victim of the darkness and everything evil. It seems that everything unsavoury and unfavourable only seems to take root at night, and yet, ironically, it is the only time when I feel as if there are no expectations on me, save for those iron manacles I have set upon myself that I cannot seem to take off. I am bound by them every night, I put them on willingly, then weep after I cast away the key, wishing, waiting, naively, that all is not lost and that the world is not such a horrible place after all. But people like me are what make this paradise so unpalatable.

And so I set myself on fire every night, a purifying, cleansing gesture in its own morally reprehensible way, a way to rid myself of all the wrong that hangs around me like a shroud, this guillotine, this butcher’s block which I feel will strike down on me as I walk on eggshells. Bloodshed will rain down upon me the minute I misstep or misspeak, I fear, and so I do not act, nor do I speak, for fear of this metaphorical death encases me, it solidifies into a chrysalis the more I refuse to move, covering me in its deceptively sweet scent. The regret of inaction has long since overtaken me but I cannot bring myself to care (like multiple areas of my life). This glass ceiling which I am trapped underneath, which I cannot seem to break despite all my futile attempts; a way to burn those iron manacles off so that the metal can be forged into something useful rather than a vile product of my guilt, something which has been welded from a noble intention rather than the disgusting, eternally blameworthy and forever erring self’s wishes to be forgotten and to turn back time. After all, God hardly listens to his followers. What difference will it make if a sinner kneels and begins to pray in shattered knees, hands coated in blood that is everyone’s but their own? 

These attempts to free myself of this construct grow weaker, day by day, and I am not sure there will be very much left by the end, save for something that bears my name and looks, that resembles me physically. But I do not know this person, I do not know who they are or why they have taken root in my soul, why they cannot leave, why I cannot banish them so that I may have some semblance of control over my life, so that I am not governed by something other, so that I have a fighting chance, no matter how brief or slim, at whatever this life has become, whatever my sins have sculpted it into.

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Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#151 - Letter #4

My beloved [name],

Every moment that overwhelms me, every instance when I feel like I am not enough, anytime the world becomes too much for me to bear alone, I want to curl into your arms; those arms that have been a sanctuary more times than I count. I want to curl up in your tight, comforting embrace and never let go. More times than I can count, I have naively hoped that this would be possible, that I wouldn’t have to face anything I didn’t want to without you, that unfaltering, glorious being by my side.

Even when we are apart, even when you are nothing more than a thought away, my body hungers for you the way a sunflower hungers for the sun; never-ending and all-consuming, a necessity for it to not only survive, but to thrive. I long for you so deeply it aches, until everything in me aches simply because you are not close to me. Your smile, your eyes, your compassion and thoughtfulness have enchanted me beyond measure, and I have never been one to fight a losing battle.

This, these emotions, you…I think my heart knew, long before my mind did, that this was precisely one of those losing battles that would not be worth fighting. And so, regardless of everything else, regardless of my selfishness to have someone so utterly to myself, regardless of irony of this entire situation when I selfishly hoped I could keep you all to myself when I had you, I let myself fall. I did not realise how far I had fallen until I realised I could no longer see the cliff, that edge which I had willingly thrown myself over to simply bathe in your presence, to be near to you because my body demanded it like a dying man demands to be heard. I let myself fall, and I cannot even blame you for ensnaring me so because, despite the consequences, despite knowing what would become of me, I leapt into that chasm knowing I would not come out whole. My heart, that beating thing in my chest that governs far more than I would like it to, was loath to admit what effect you had on this hopelessly romantic self I have always been; a quality you have amplified a hundredfold. Perhaps I did not want to.

I have not been thinking quite right since I met you, since my favourite moment of the day became talking to you, laughing with you and seeing that radiant smile of yours, that smile which ignites something in me. It kindles a fire so soft and unbreakable, a spirit which I had thought long-forgotten, rather than the lonely nights I told myself I wanted. Those clouds hovering above me which seemed only to surface in the dark like monsters given flesh, except that the flesh was my thoughts, held such sway over me, I cannot believe how I had struggled to see past the artificial storm I had created. This gloomy weather and depressing cloudbursts, these sooty and silvery clouds did little to cheer my already worn-out mood. But now it is clear: you were not in my life, so of course there were bound to be tempests that threw even the most skilled sailors, even those capable of navigating the roughest seas, into turmoil and worry so immense it was nearly unheard of, that had them quaking in fear because they feared for their lives, not knowing if they would ever live to see the light of day again. 

There is something so alluring about you, an unspeaking assurance and serenity which surrounds your being; this vexing contradiction that takes the breath from my lungs every time I think of it. In the face of adversity; in the face of colossal hardship, both yours and others’, you choose to be kind and persevere; you choose to give love despite it all. There is a certain kind of magic in steadfast, grim determination, a willingness to move with deliberation and thought for your surroundings that I had not thought possible. Your contemplative nature, the graceful way your carry yourself; they are only some of the many things I admire about you. But know that if I begin listing and elaborating on all the qualities that make you so wonderful, it would take me a thousand and one eternities to spell it out for every soul to hear and see; and another thousand and one eternities for you to believe with fibre of your soul. That is the irony; and for that, my heart breaks (more than it already has) for your sheer inability to see that which makes you irreplaceable. 

Your presence, your calm and grounding presence, something which I cannot quite put my finger on, they are all I need. Nothing more, nothing less. You are my anchor, my calm in the storm, my moment of reprieve before all goes to hell and never recovers, before the ruins are more visible than the architecture we have in such abundance. You are the tranquility I need, the peace at dawn before the chaos of the day unfolds, the anticipatory twilight that has stunned generations as they covet nature the way a monarch would covet their crown. As they would take care of their treasures; as they will cherish and bleed and bargain, so will I keep mine from harm. You are not mine in the way that you belong to me; you belong beside me, with me, in every sense of the word forever. Physically and mentally, it is if I cannot stop thinking about you the moment you leave, and in your presence my thoughts are filled only of you.

I hope you look back to this moment in time, this homage I have tried to pay you, this attempt and immortalising all that you are and all that you will be, in due time, if only you give yourself some grace and consideration, if only you ask for help. Know that you do not have to shoulder everything alone. I hope you look back and I hope you realise, if not today then one day soon, that you are the most wonderful thing to happen to me, that you will never be undesirable or a burden, for how could someone who keeps me alive, who keeps my heart beating, be anything but a blessing?

A million kisses and a thousand more hugs,

Your friend who wants nothing more than to see you succeed, in more ways than one

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The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath!

If you see this you’re legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book you’re currently reading

Introduction

Masterpost of masterposts

Hi! I'm glad my blog interested you! I'm kind of new to this entire Tumblr thing and I don't really have an ongoing aesthetic like many blogs here, but I thought I'd make a post anyway.

I love writing (all of which is posted on AO3 under the same username), reading, listening to music, talking and interacting with as many people as possible, walking/hiking in nature (I'll add more eventually, but I'm not a very interesting person)

Fandoms: ACOTAR, Harry Potter, Carmen Sandiego, B99, Twisted, Kings of Sin, Grishaverse, TFOTA, Narnia, Disney, Pixar

Favourite authors: Ana Huang, Sylvia Plath, Leigh Bardugo, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Roald Dahl, Agatha Christie

Favourite artists: Taylor Swift, Lana Del Rey, Nessa Barrett, Isabel Larosa, Ceechyna, Lamis Kan, Tate McRae, EMELINE, Stromae, Mabel, 6ix9ine, Madison Beer, Olivia Rodrigo, Dua Lipa, Sabrina Carpenter, Ashnikko, Mitski, Laufey, Chappell Roan, MÅNESKIN, Gang of Youths, Indila, Marina

Please note that my writing can and will be extremely inconsistent. I'll have some days where I write loads, and there might be others when I don't post at all. Please don't compare yourself or your writing to how much or how little I write.

On a happier note, if anyone has any requests, my asks are open and you can DM me. I'll try to get to them as soon as possible, but again, life gets in the way sometimes, so please be patient. I reserve the right to not write a request if I feel uncomfortable or for any other reason. If there's a specific reason why I won't write it, I'll let you know.

If you'd like to be added to a taglist, either DM me or comment on a post!

If you find something that is inappropriately tagged, if you find something missing, or if you find any spelling/grammar errors, please DM me and I'll fix it.

Line dividers credit goes to @sweetmelodygraphics

Enjoy!

Thank you, your compliment means a lot to me, and I'm happy I was able to put your feelings into words!

#150

Disgustingly, I crave. Even when I know I should not, even when every instinct screams at me to leave, to get away, to run, to hide, I cannot. I am entranced and enraptured by the very thought of you, your presence something otherworldly and ethereal. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to break myself free of the trance you hold me in. I do not think I want to. It is far more peaceful here, in our own world, where all of my problems cease to exist.

Selfishly, I want you all to myself, and I never want to let you go. I want to hold you in my embrace forever and create a sanctuary only for the both of us, where nothing and no one will be significant enough to cause us harm, where we will live in our own little world free from all that plagues us.

The longer I spend in your presence, the more I am assured that this meeting, this getting to know each other is not mere coincidence, but rather fate’s doing. I do not know how I survived for so long without a presence such as yourself to light the way, to guide me, to be my solace and sanctuary when I most needed it.

masterlist

Deep admiration for showing vunerability in such a poetic manner! Respect!!

What it is youe namez,plesse

Hi! Thank you, that means a lot to me!

I'm not really comfortable with sharing my name or any personal info about me online right now, but you can call me Lily!

Thank you!! Your compliment means a lot to me <3

#148

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

The problem with desire, I have realised, is that it requires far too much vulnerability with unpredictable, unreliable people and nearly no guarantee of being understood. What certainty do I have that my innermost thoughts, my deepest, most violent feelings will not be used against me in a fit of wrath? One misspoken word will cause this entire flimsy fortress to come tumbling down, I fear. One wrongly uttered phrase will cause damage the likes of which entire civilizations in the midst of ruin will not have witnessed. It will cut me so deep I will lay there, licking my wounds in such utter shame and embarrassment I will resemble nothing more than a wounded dog, waiting loyally for its master, that person which has caused it harm, to return, and to inflict the same violent damages on it. It will consider that love; it will be thankful to have experienced this, for that is all that it has known: love without blood is not possible, one must sacrifice and pay and give up one’s soul to be worthy of even a shred of it. Sacrifice without love is not love, they whisper, their voices a lilting croon in my ear as I fight to comply, even as my body gives up, beginning to tire and fatigue once and for all. But I do not know this yet. I will not know this until it is too late and there will be no one standing around my corpse as it lies, rotting, only the bare earth keeping it company as I am swallowed up by the soil one final time, never to be seen or heard from again.

masterlist

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#150

Disgustingly, I crave. Even when I know I should not, even when every instinct screams at me to leave, to get away, to run, to hide, I cannot. I am entranced and enraptured by the very thought of you, your presence something otherworldly and ethereal. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to break myself free of the trance you hold me in. I do not think I want to. It is far more peaceful here, in our own world, where all of my problems cease to exist.

Selfishly, I want you all to myself, and I never want to let you go. I want to hold you in my embrace forever and create a sanctuary only for the both of us, where nothing and no one will be significant enough to cause us harm, where we will live in our own little world free from all that plagues us.

The longer I spend in your presence, the more I am assured that this meeting, this getting to know each other is not mere coincidence, but rather fate’s doing. I do not know how I survived for so long without a presence such as yourself to light the way, to guide me, to be my solace and sanctuary when I most needed it.

masterlist

#149

I examine all our moments together like gems. I turn them over and over and over until I have memorised every crevice, every dent, every chip in the jewels. I hoard them like a dragon, breathing fire on anyone who dares get too close to what we once had. I grieve over the immortality of these jewels, and also mourn our inability to access them. All I want to do is to reach a hand all the way through and caress these memories, these glowing lights in my sea of darkness. But the irony is that I am stuck with the distorted recollection of our moments together.

Is it not odd how our minds erase all the bad about the person once they have left our lives? How our minds seem to magically forgive the sinner for every wrongdoing, if only so we can have them back in our lives, if only so that we can avoid feeling this deep, bone-numbing loneliness, if only for a little bit.

Our minds crave company, mine craves you, despite all that has happened between us, despite this chasm that separates your soul and mine. I refuse to believe it is irreparable; there must be a piece of glass thick enough and large enough to be able to patch this ruin up. If it cracks, I will fall without a scream, because I will have been grateful to even have had the chance to pursue you. I will not yell, because I will have died thinking about you, about finding my way back to you, because in my finl moments, the thoughts of your soul will have filled my mind for a fleeting, endless moment.

As you are immortalsied in these jewels, so will you be immortalised in me. My mind will not forget you, no matter how I try. How can it be possible to see someone in so many different places, in so many different ways? Every step, every breath all I can see is you, yet you are just a shadow away, one step away from being reunited with me.

A ghost, a haunting presence you are, standing at the edge of my memory, your borders blurring as I squint my eyes and try to make our your shape. Were you really that tall? And was your hair really that colour? I don’t know, I don’t remember, but I remember your soul, your thoughts, your kindness. It has been imprinted on my soul in such a way that the only way I will be able to function again is if you mold your soul to mine. That way, we will be a whole once more, and not two halves drifting on separate ends of this world. Everything will make sense once we are together, I promise you.

You have this uncanny ability to make everything seem better when you are present. If I truly did not know better, I would call it magic, but now I know it is something else entirely that I could not put a name to if I tried. You calm the fire in me, the nervousness, the rage; all that is unpalatable about me become features that are bearable only because of your presence. In your presence, I am no longer a monster or a feral beast, I resemble a human. I know how to function around you, I know how to act without turning insane and sick with the thought of you, I can breathe when you are around. 

That is why I believe you are molded to me, crafted to me and my very being by a God or fate or destiny so immovable, I will not be surprised if we uncover the knowledge that millions have died trying to change this course of life. The inevitability of it all astounds me; how two people can be so different and yet they can grow to love and cherish and admire each other.

My mind is no longer numb, my brain no longer frozen and in a shock so deep it would take such immense amounts of electricity to revive it again. Life feels like a nightmare without you; with you, it becomes tolerable and I do not feel the incessant and constant need to drive a knife through my chest when you are here, beside me.

Stay. Stay here, stay with me. Stay beside me, do not leave. I will hold onto you until my nails crack and my hands bleed, until the evidence of my anguish and desperation is forever engraved onto your skin. I will kneel and beg and cry and weep, I will become less than a human for you (because I have always been) but I require you to stay. I am running out of ways to say this now, but I need you, I need the miracle that is you to save me from the damnation that is myself.

I require saving, but I am not brave enough to save myself. And so, I latch onto the nearest thing, the closest being who will not hate me for being as I am, what I am (at least not entirely. Some forms of hatred I can live with). And so, I implore you to at least attempt to fix the mess that is me, this thing that has been festering inside my must leave. 

It is only your light that it will listen to, it is only your presence that will cause it to abate and shrink in on itself, much like I have done with myself previously; hiding, constantly hiding. That creature requires a firm hand, a stern voice, and I am too scared to be able to have either.

I know that creature is bad for me, I know I should not listen to it, and yet I want to. When you are not there, I turn to it instead. A sorry replacement for you, yes, but I suppose that beggars cannot be choosers. I seek its approval the way I seek yours, madly, wildly, incessantly; wild and without abandon. I will break myself down to rubble if you ask me; if only you ask, I will reduce myself to nothing but ashes if necessary, without a thought and entirely willingly.

I have realised that I have no purpose in this life but to be yours, to be yours and to serve you in any way that is possible. If it is my heart you desire, it is my heart you will get. On a silver platter, decorated with jewels, decorated with gemstones so stunning I will get a spark of joy in my chest, that rotting cavity upon seeing your smile, seeing those wondrous eyes light up with mirth and satisfaction.

But I will consider myself unworthy when that same gaze is shone upon me. I cannot receive anything good, you see. I balk at any positive thing, any good thing, any holy thing. Anything pure, or sweet, or kind. I am sure I will ruin it, I am sure I will destroy it in ways one had not thought imaginable. I will stutter and fidget and wonder when I shall be let out of the spotlight when I receive praise.

How odd it is, to want to be seen by someone, but to only want the parts I deem adequate to do so? How odd that I must make myself palatable, easy to digest and simple, plain, so that I am not overwhelming to others. How odd that I must cater to a stranger’s tastes before my own; how I must consider someone else’s opinion before I have the chance to formulate my own.

How odd that I must be molded into someone else, shaped like a clay doll pretending to be porcelain, delicate and fragile and breakable. While those traits are not entirely wrong, I am fragile in a different way. I wll self-combust, self-sabotage at the slightest touch of intimacy, of vulnerability. I flee from emotion as if it is a plague, as if it will rot my already rotted soul. I find it foreign, an odd feeling to ruminate on, one I have learned long ago is not worth the pain. 

If I block the good, I will block the pain, but it does not matter so long as I block the pain. I will build walls and fortresses so high nothing and no one will penetrate them, not even on accident. I will wield myself to be a weapon so deadly, so fearful not even the thought of trespassing these walls, this ruined estate, once grand in its glory, will cross their minds.

I will live in solitude, but solitude is safer than the fear of being seen; seen as I truly am.

If i balk at the sight of others, then surely there must be someone, somewhere who does the same.

I am not as conceited to think that these emotions have been felt by no one before, as if I am the only one who has had the privilege of experiencing such crushing amounts of self-hatred and self-loathing. But the lack of documentation, of diaries and speeches, or conversations, certainly makes it seem so.

Ever since the dawn of time, it seems, humanity has been inclined to hide away parts of themselves they are not yet ready to show to the world.

masterlist

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 6 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 398

My precious warrior,

You are shaped like a dagger that somehow knows its way to my heart no matter the obstacles that it faces. You will seek me out no matter what, you will seek me out with such undying precision and terrifying clarity I am left breathless each time you see me vulnerable. You will find your way to me against all odds, I am left breathless each time you manage to read me like a book. It is the certainty with which you behold me that has me shaking, as if your eyes can see all the way to my battered soul and extract all the parts of me that are unlovable with a care so gentle my already fractured heart cracks just a little more, bruises a little more deeply, aches just a little more. I do not know if I shake with fear, with love, with relief, or something else entirely I do not know. I do not think I want to know, for it might just destroy me.

It is if I am shedding layers of myself around you so slowly many would not even call it shedding, or perhaps you are simply too skilled at peeling them back with those steady, stunning, unmarrred hands of yours, with a light in your eyes that is wholly unfamiliar to me. 

I had not known how flimsy my walls were until a scraped nail along them, the lightest brush of a finger had them dissolving and disintegrating into nothing, leaving my soul bare and open and utterly yours to take or consume or destroy or set fire to. Whatever you choose to do with it, whatever you do with the ruin that is me, I will willingly accept my fate, even if I am condemned by God for loving a creature as breathtaking as you, for I should have been aware of the consequences when I first became infatuated by you. When I first laid eyes upon you, when I first talked to you, I truly do not think it was possible for either of us to predict that something as explosive nor fervent could have enveloped us, a fire so purifying and cleansing it rids me of every sin I have ever committed, every malevolent thought and deed of my long-suffering existence, simply because you were not by my side. 

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 7 - Gwyneth

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 5 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 509

My precious warrior,

Surely it must be a crime to make a five hundred year old Illyrian cry, and yet here we are. But I will admit that I sobbed upon reading your letter like never before. My tears did not stop, even as I am writing to you now. I apologise for any dark spots on the parchment, my love.

I truly have no words, Gwyn. Truly. No words, save for this immense aching and longing in my chest that increases every moment we are forced to spend apart. This chasm in me; this hole, it only makes me wish for your presence, even more than I already do. 

I had not known such unconditional support and love existed in the world, least of all concentrated in such large amounts in the heart of one person as they are in you. I had not known how full of light you were until I was blinded by it, awed by the glory in front of me and stunned by its briliance. I will admit, it took some getting used to, but now I can look at the light, if not for a long time then at least for a little while and not consider myself completely unworthy. It is a process that is taking far longer than I would have liked, but it is a process nonetheless and so I must be patient as I have been patient with love.

I must learn to be patient with myself, and I have no doubt that you will stand by me always.

I am learning to rest, learning to love, learning how to thrive, learning how to simply be, because I had not been living until I met you. Not truly. I was an empty shell of survival, a hollow husk that encased my body but had no soul. A being that wandered, searching for its purpose, until it found you. 

While the fire that is embedded in my memories destroyed a part of me, your fire ignited my own. Those flickers of light, those initial, weak sputters came together to form such a raging inferno, one that burns only for you, I will be surprised if I do not burn along with it. I will be surprised if it does not swallow us whole and leave nothing but ash and ruin in its wake.

But I do not mind. I will burn happily; I will die happily, knowing I was someone who got to spend even a moment with you and consider you an integral part of my life.

Perhaps this is ironic, coming from a male who spent the better part of his life fearing fire, to say that I was entranced by a being of such passion, such love, and such unending blazing. But I have learned to love, learned to love you and life and all the wonderful things it has to offer.

I cannot wait to experience them with you, and I can only hope that you want the same with me.

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 6 - Azriel

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#148

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

The problem with desire, I have realised, is that it requires far too much vulnerability with unpredictable, unreliable people and nearly no guarantee of being understood. What certainty do I have that my innermost thoughts, my deepest, most violent feelings will not be used against me in a fit of wrath? One misspoken word will cause this entire flimsy fortress to come tumbling down, I fear. One wrongly uttered phrase will cause damage the likes of which entire civilizations in the midst of ruin will not have witnessed. It will cut me so deep I will lay there, licking my wounds in such utter shame and embarrassment I will resemble nothing more than a wounded dog, waiting loyally for its master, that person which has caused it harm, to return, and to inflict the same violent damages on it. It will consider that love; it will be thankful to have experienced this, for that is all that it has known: love without blood is not possible, one must sacrifice and pay and give up one’s soul to be worthy of even a shred of it. Sacrifice without love is not love, they whisper, their voices a lilting croon in my ear as I fight to comply, even as my body gives up, beginning to tire and fatigue once and for all. But I do not know this yet. I will not know this until it is too late and there will be no one standing around my corpse as it lies, rotting, only the bare earth keeping it company as I am swallowed up by the soil one final time, never to be seen or heard from again.

masterlist

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#147

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

This desire, this fierce carnality and the softer, purer want I possess are perhaps the only two things I am sure that I truly possess. I alternate between the two, swinging from one end to the other as if I am a pendulum, never ceasing. Steady, relentless, I carry on. With shaking limbs and a trembling tongue; my hands bloodied and my nails chipped, fingers bleeding, I carry on. 

I will not get up if I stop now; I know this, and so I must keep going with no regard for my emotions regarding this matter. I have been told I overwork this body, but how can it be considered that when I have not yet achieved even half of that which I want to accomplish in this lifetime? How can one life, one chance at everything, this fleeting moment, be enough to experience all of it? However shall I be able to experience all that my heart screams at me to? There are far too many possibilities regarding what one can do with their life, and simply not enough time to do it all. I cannot be expected to pick one path and stick to it for the rest of my life, can I? Must my future self be punished for the sins of my naive, innocent, younger self? Is there no forgiveness, no reflection and adaptation in this cutthroat world? Why is it so eager to punish others’ wrongdoings? 

Look at yourselves, I want to scream. Take a long, hard look at yourselves before you condemn me for my sins. Is that not God’s job? So why are you doing it for Him? Take a look at yourselves, at your own mistakes and sins which are sure to have piled up, the wreckage larger than mine, more crude and violent. Realise that the debris is so unrecoverable, so ruined; realise that your own hands are stained with blood so red it will be impossible to wash off no matter which river you go to, no matter how you beg. Realise this, and then realise that you do not have any worthy moral standing to convict anyone else; for there cannot be a universe in which the sinner is also the saint, in which the criminal is also the judge, in which you sentence others to damnation while knowing that you have done far worse.

masterlist

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Haha go ahead!!

Out-of-Pocket Quotes

A/N: These are random quotes I have overheard, seen, or said irl and I thought it would be funny to make a little compilation of them here! Lmk what you think of these (bonus points if you try to guess where these come from/the context!) Also, note that these might be offensive jokes in some cases but I don't actually mean anything with these

What if the king was on drugs?

You’re the reason people yell fire instead of help

Hashtag yakuza fan page

I want a lobotomy

Hey guys, it’s me, your neighbourhood Caucasian

How much pussy do you think I’d need to eat before I die?

Your spiritual level dick

If you were Pinocchio, you’d have a nose long enough to ride

I did not need to be flashed by Italy’s fascist dictator

We turn on the stove but lay in the pan

Mr. Incognito over here

I’m very economic friendly

Ugh, heterosexuals

I’m gonna put you in a chamber

“I love sluts, I want an orgasm” in a dream

No, homosexuality is big enough of a contraceptive

Last time, you dislocated his cotton

That seems like Lord Farquaad from Shrek put into Benito Mussolini

Did you see his speeches? It looked like a Taylor Swift concert

I'm not a software. I’m hardware, cause I’m always hard

I don’t know, I think it would be unethical to give out small children

I only showed my boobs to (name)! It’s the same thing!

World peace is lame, I like employment

Lord, I am not your strongest soldier. Give my battles to someone else.

No, actually, I'm going to seduce German brainrot

Jalapeños in your ass water

You know the saying “the more, the merrier”? I think they were referring to polyamory

It means you’re a gay whore

I’m doing gay shit and I keep touching his ass. I need to calm down.

Homiesexual

A fetish for fibre? Yeah, that’s a fibre addiction

It’s not cheating if it’s a threesome

She should be illegal! No, she’s an aryan

So apparently WikiHow supports mpreg?

It’s like 37 degrees here. Wait, let me get that for you in communism units

So Dorothy is basically a terrorist

Do you know what it feels like when I point at your eyeball?

Why are you leaking rulers?

The lottery is more complex than childbirth

Why are white people…scientifically? Do they have hidden whiteness?

Why are we so weird? No, we’re just queer

The human body has 206 bones. When I’m with children, I have 207

Be molested or something

I want to permanently mutate my body

Imaginary logs sound schizophrenic

You felt her gaze? More like you felt her gays

Do it before it does you

Why are these incest tomatoes?

They could have been sexting through carrier pigeons

It’s like the Pokémon fish version of Chappell Roan

Hamstring? Yeah I’m about to string your ham

I’m pretty sure I have to be made by two straight people

Mildred from Fahrenheit 451 is basically their version of an iPad kid

Does herpes make me cry?

Apparently seagulls are gay

Dora is so terrorist-coded

How hot does the Earth have to be for our farts to spontaneously combust?

Fuck off, hydrogen!

You know what’s really bad? Sexual torture

You’re not white. Yay!

Let’s peel back hairlines like we peel back layers of onions

This is definitely dinosaur porn

Your bloodline probably has 25 STDs but you do you

I didn’t sign up for having weird, disfigured incest babies

See, this is why guillotines are the best!

It tasted like perverted sushi

I love bombing brown children, someone’s gotta do it

Mmm, plant sperm, smells delicious

Burning is not a personality trait

He drew a really shitty tree that looked like a uterus

Maybe buildings can have sex, maybe we just don’t know it yet

Reptiles would be such good capitalists

Euler was the first gigachad

Phonic apparatus

International transcendence

Hitler, you can’t take the Jews. Give them back!

World War 2 was just a failed version of gentle parenting

It’s dick macaroni

Stop bringing the incestual vibe to the function

Hitler was like the suicidal son they never wanted

My friend is investing in the stock market, which is basically glorified gambling

Why are you molesting my spoon?

Do your child victims relate?

I abuse all my friends equally

How is cannibalism not PG-13?

Everyone walking around is superhuman. Except poor people

It’s not considered kidnapping a kid if it’s an orphan. Then it’s free housing

How many grandmas could you drop kick before you die?

Dear King Philip came over for gay sex

Why are whales better at sex than humans are?

My trans parent bed is part of the LGBTQ furniture

Why would I jerk off to Hitler’s ghost?

Homophobia is cool if I hate straight people more

I really didn’t think (name) would be into a dead fascist, but here we are

Bisexual until proven straight

We don’t discriminate when it comes to molesting

This is corruption therapy

They don’t need Jesus guys, they just need the IB

Don’t worry guys, it’s not infidelity, it’s pedophilia, which is better

When in doubt, Pavlov yourself

masterpost

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Out-of-Pocket Quotes

A/N: These are random quotes I have overheard, seen, or said irl and I thought it would be funny to make a little compilation of them here! Lmk what you think of these (bonus points if you try to guess where these come from/the context!) Also, note that these might be offensive jokes in some cases but I don't actually mean anything with these

What if the king was on drugs?

You’re the reason people yell fire instead of help

Hashtag yakuza fan page

I want a lobotomy

Hey guys, it’s me, your neighbourhood Caucasian

How much pussy do you think I’d need to eat before I die?

Your spiritual level dick

If you were Pinocchio, you’d have a nose long enough to ride

I did not need to be flashed by Italy’s fascist dictator

We turn on the stove but lay in the pan

Mr. Incognito over here

I’m very economic friendly

Ugh, heterosexuals

I’m gonna put you in a chamber

“I love sluts, I want an orgasm” in a dream

No, homosexuality is big enough of a contraceptive

Last time, you dislocated his cotton

That seems like Lord Farquaad from Shrek put into Benito Mussolini

Did you see his speeches? It looked like a Taylor Swift concert

I'm not a software. I’m hardware, cause I’m always hard

I don’t know, I think it would be unethical to give out small children

I only showed my boobs to (name)! It’s the same thing!

World peace is lame, I like employment

Lord, I am not your strongest soldier. Give my battles to someone else.

No, actually, I'm going to seduce German brainrot

Jalapeños in your ass water

You know the saying “the more, the merrier”? I think they were referring to polyamory

It means you’re a gay whore

I’m doing gay shit and I keep touching his ass. I need to calm down.

Homiesexual

A fetish for fibre? Yeah, that’s a fibre addiction

It’s not cheating if it’s a threesome

She should be illegal! No, she’s an aryan

So apparently WikiHow supports mpreg?

It’s like 37 degrees here. Wait, let me get that for you in communism units

So Dorothy is basically a terrorist

Do you know what it feels like when I point at your eyeball?

Why are you leaking rulers?

The lottery is more complex than childbirth

Why are white people…scientifically? Do they have hidden whiteness?

Why are we so weird? No, we’re just queer

The human body has 206 bones. When I’m with children, I have 207

Be molested or something

I want to permanently mutate my body

Imaginary logs sound schizophrenic

You felt her gaze? More like you felt her gays

Do it before it does you

Why are these incest tomatoes?

They could have been sexting through carrier pigeons

It’s like the Pokémon fish version of Chappell Roan

Hamstring? Yeah I’m about to string your ham

I’m pretty sure I have to be made by two straight people

Mildred from Fahrenheit 451 is basically their version of an iPad kid

Does herpes make me cry?

Apparently seagulls are gay

Dora is so terrorist-coded

How hot does the Earth have to be for our farts to spontaneously combust?

Fuck off, hydrogen!

You know what’s really bad? Sexual torture

You’re not white. Yay!

Let’s peel back hairlines like we peel back layers of onions

This is definitely dinosaur porn

Your bloodline probably has 25 STDs but you do you

I didn’t sign up for having weird, disfigured incest babies

See, this is why guillotines are the best!

It tasted like perverted sushi

I love bombing brown children, someone’s gotta do it

Mmm, plant sperm, smells delicious

Burning is not a personality trait

He drew a really shitty tree that looked like a uterus

Maybe buildings can have sex, maybe we just don’t know it yet

Reptiles would be such good capitalists

Euler was the first gigachad

Phonic apparatus

International transcendence

Hitler, you can’t take the Jews. Give them back!

World War 2 was just a failed version of gentle parenting

It’s dick macaroni

Stop bringing the incestual vibe to the function

Hitler was like the suicidal son they never wanted

My friend is investing in the stock market, which is basically glorified gambling

Why are you molesting my spoon?

Do your child victims relate?

I abuse all my friends equally

How is cannibalism not PG-13?

Everyone walking around is superhuman. Except poor people

It’s not considered kidnapping a kid if it’s an orphan. Then it’s free housing

How many grandmas could you drop kick before you die?

Dear King Philip came over for gay sex

Why are whales better at sex than humans are?

My trans parent bed is part of the LGBTQ furniture

Why would I jerk off to Hitler’s ghost?

Homophobia is cool if I hate straight people more

I really didn’t think (name) would be into a dead fascist, but here we are

Bisexual until proven straight

We don’t discriminate when it comes to molesting

This is corruption therapy

They don’t need Jesus guys, they just need the IB

Don’t worry guys, it’s not infidelity, it’s pedophilia, which is better

When in doubt, Pavlov yourself

I'm not gonna teach you sex ed for lesbians!

How long do you think you'd be able to use a corpse as a boxing bag?

Maybe if you make your cow run enough, it'll start producing lactic acid

I'm gonna lie on my deathbed jacking off to AO3

I can shove 8 baguettes up my ass

Polyamory is like one of those Egyptian pharoahs

Bro forgot he wasn't playing tennis when he started clapping balls

Can you deep fry a dick?

I want to have a war crime named after me

Feral kids are very easy to mass produce

Why would you clone humans? It's called having a child

Think colonial thoughts

I feel like my intestine is getting sticky

The unit circle is definitely an alcoholic, abusive man

masterpost

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

“I can’t focus in class because I’m too busy thinking about all the things my big mouth could do.”

reblog with a spoiler for your wip with zero context. no context allowed.

#146

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

There is so much blood (too much, all at once) surrounding me. Is it mine? Perhaps. But it does not matter. The body makes new blood cells every month, I have heard, so in four weeks I will have replenished that which I have lost.

My scratching and clawing at my soul to get these feelings, these horrendous feelings and meddlesome emotions out of me will be worth it. Even if I must claw part of myself out in the process, even if I do not recover and even if I lay there, scarred and unmoving, it will be worth it. A numb husk is preferable to the monstrous, all-encompassing desire I have felt all my life, and with it, the accompanying, dooming knowledge that it will always be a faraway dream.

It has controlled me, this desire, this unfathomable want; determined every decision I have ever made and convinced me that love was, perhaps, something that I could achieve. I was wrong. I have been lied to, and yet I fall for the lie each time, simply because it is easier to believe that I am worth something to someone somewhere, rather than accepting my fate and crawling back into my cage, coming to terms with the fact that no matter how much we crave, our wants are not always satiated, admitting that never have I been truly loved, only tolerated and hidden away like a disease, a shroud for invoking evil, a deadly omen who shall cause damnation if she is revealed to the world.

Get these feelings out of me, I want to scream. Get them out of me somehow. Pry them apart, dissect my soul, rip my heart intro shreds so thin it will seem to have disappeared. But make these feelings go away. I have been at their mercy for too long, have held onto them for too long, and now they are rushing out of me like a volcano: too quickly, and with far too much force and vigour. It is like a waterfall I cannot build a dam around, it is a wildfire that has been left unchecked for too long and now burns through the very essence of me as these feelings consume every fibre of my being. Is my fate to go out smouldering, the only remains left of me charcoal and dust and ash carried away on a long-forgotten wind?

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Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#145

A/N: Inspired slightly by this Tumblr post

I want to preserve you, your soul, your very essence, our memories together, until we are melded together and nothing, not even the power of God will be able to pry us apart. If I cannot hold you physically, I should like to keep a shrine of your memories and kneel at the altar I have created for you in my mind until my knees bleed, until my clenched fists leave such deep, aching wounds in my hands, until I have scratched my palms raw from holding on to the ghost of your memory.

The irony is that you are very much alive, and yet you are nothing but a haunting presence who seems to linger in every aspect of my life no matter what. I could move across cities, countries, continents to simply avoid seeing you again and the truth is that the world would still not be big enough for the both of us.

One must perish while the other lives. It is clear which one of us will survive and which one of us will lose themselves to grief to unyielding, so alll-consuming it will eat at their soul until nothing is left. But still, I want to preserve you in a glass cage so wonderfully transparent I could look into it whenever I wished to. I would run my hands over that illusion of freedom, that mirage that I have healed, leaving fingerprints, leaving yet more evidence of my undying love for you, until the box is covered with so much of me it will be difficult to see anything else. Even then, every moment of every day, I would contemplate how we could be together once more, in any form, shape or way. I think I would like that, losing my individuality to conform to the wonder and infallible being that is you. Perhaps I consider it a form of shelter, a way of sanctuary, to be held so deeply by an external force because i am scared that a chosen one will not be enough to get someone to stay. I am past the point of choice now. The only thing that lies in me is desperation. I am scared that I will not be enough, that you will balk at the first real sign of me, the first true sign of humanity I have shown you.

Because you love to pretend that you know me, but you don’t. Not truly. You know only the perfectly curated version of myself I have presented to you, a masked version of myself. But a new problem has arisen: I cannot seem to take the mask off in your presence, I cannot seem to pry it off, no matter how I try or beg or scream or plead to be let out of it, even when my nails bleed as I try to claw it off in utter desperation, as my skin cracks underneath it, isolated from fresh air, from the sunlight, as I feel heartache of such immense measure in me, but not the physical manifestation of it. I do not feel the tears run down my cheeks. The evidence of my agony has long since been a foreign concept to me because the mask does not let me feel anything other than numbness and an incessant need to be liked by you, appreciated and needed as I have not felt by any other. I look to you for the love I never received and yet wanted unashamedly, without reason. 

I do not know how to exist without you, without this cage I have created for myself. Wasted potential, they will say. Locking herself in a room so ironclad she will not be able to find her way out of it if she tried. But I do not want to. This room has become my home, foreign as it is, because it has you in it. You are the only familiar variable in my life, the only anchor I have as everything else goes awry and spirals out of control. You are the only hope I have of retaining what little sanity I have left, what little soul remains in me, what little hope has not been crushed and trampled to smithereens. Only you can rekindle that fire in me; the one that once burned so strong it could be described as nothing but a raging inferno. Now, it is nothing but some feeble embers, and I am mortified by my ability to not feel anything. My lack of emotion, passion, ambition, as they trickled out of me like the steady drip of a tap that I could never figure out how to stop. 

One day it will run dry, as all great rivers have run dry, once their source, the mountains which they received such bountiful amounts of water from, ran out of water to give. I fear that I, too, will become that, if I have not already become so.

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Letters of Grief

Part 1 | Part 6 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Inspired slightly by this Tumblr post

Word Count: 2516

Each week, each visit had done nothing to quell the rage and grief within Azriel. He’d gone on missions for Rhys, spent time with his family on Solstice; had even managed to go to Illyria and assist Cassian with keeping some of the camps in check.

Despite it all, despite his routine, the hollowness within him only grew. It was a festering wound, he knew, and would cause him to bleed and explode over people who had in no way wronged him. The problem with being far too self-aware was, he didn’t know what to do with this terrifying piece of knowledge about himself.

As the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was his job to notice subtleties about others that a usual glance or once-over would miss. The slightest pinch of a brow, the crook of a mouth, the barely-there shrug of a shoulder…Azriel had accustomed himself to observing and cataloguing anything and everything that he came across. The trait was as much a part of him as his wings. He didn’t know who he’d be without it.

A moment of weakness on a more recent mission when he’d failed to do exactly that, however, had nearly cost Azriel his life. He’d been scouting the continent for any sign of the mortal queens, any whisper from his spies that indicated a plan or even movement towards Prythian. Sitting on the roof of a ramshackle little hut that was no doubt abandoned, he got the perfect view of the palace they lived in. The decrepit little cottage sat on a small mound (it was too small to even refer to it as a hill) and provided Azriel with enough of a view that he could easily monitor any movements through the main gates.

He’d scoured the smaller, less frequently used drawbridges, though his shadows and his own findings had only ever led to the same conclusion: only the main gates were used. The queens likely preferred their servants to be kept out of sight and thus encouraged them to use to side passageways. Azriel had only ever found servants leaving to get to the stables or go to the market. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

At least, that was how it had seemed until a naga had pounced on him. Azriel barely had any time to react before it had ripped a decent chunk of armour off, penetrating through the metal until the muscle. He’d hissed in pain and barely fought it off, finally killing the damn thing, before he’d winnowed straight home. 

There was no way in hell he was surviving a naga attack when one of his limbs was rendered immobile.

Azriel didn’t remember how he ended up in a warm bed at the House of Wind that night. Cassian must have seen him and called for Madja.

Indeed, she was a talented healer who’d patched him up in less than an hour. He’d felt guilty for coming back so soon with no intel, nothing to report, but he also knew his body’s limits. He wasn’t about to stretch it for the sake of his pride, not when his ignorance had nearly gotten him killed. By a naga, no less.

Upon further contemplation, Azriel made a mental note to ask Rhys about the naga. He’d encountered a few here and there on his countless missions to the other courts, but he couldn’t remember them ever hunting faeries specifcally, or the ability to scale trees with such ruthless efficiency. From what he remembered, they preferred the safety of solid land beneath their feet and only ever hunted mortals for sport and entertainment.

Az? Why are you still awake? As if summoned by his thoughts, the High Lord of Night spoke into Azriel’s mind. A naga attacked me while I was doing reconnaissance of the palace. I’m fine, nothing for you to fret over, but I did have to come back and get Madja to heal me.

I don’t care that you had to come back halfway through a mission. I care about you. Damnnit, Az, why didn’t you tell either of us? There was irritation lining Rhys’ voice, yes, but also concern. It was palpable even through his absence.

I told you, I’m fine. Visit me in the morning. Cass will probably startle awake like a frenzied boar the moment you land. If this was what Azriel had to do to avoid Rhys getting all worked up like a mother hen then that was what he would do.

He’s a deep sleeper. I doubt he’d notice my presence until I made it glaringly obvious to him that I was staying for the night. A pause. Then…Good night, Azriel. I hope you feel better soon.

Sunlight streamed in through the now-open window, the House having drawn the curtains. Azriel still wasn’t used to the fact that the House was sentient, and had found it extremely odd to utter a ‘thank you’ when no one was around. Was it wrong to want a magical house which summoned nearly everything under the sun to like you?

Azriel was awake, and was propped up with a mountain of pillows surrounding him. He hadn’t had the heart to tell Madja that so many pillows would make him feel as if he was drowning in cotton; not as she’d fussed over him and groused over his deteriorating health.

By deteriorating health, she’d meant his lack of a structured sleep schedule, irregular meal times, lack of hydration…the usual. It wasn’t odd for Azriel to receive these comments from most of the healers he visited, each one expressing varying degrees of concern over how and why his regimes were so lax.

This time, however, it seemed that the female wasn’t going to leave without a proper argument. “You need to start taking care of yourself. This neglect and unwillingness to listen to you body’s needs is going to catch up to you one day, and you’ll be worse off for it.”

“I do listen to my body’s needs,” he protested halfheartedly, looking up at the healer who had her arms on her hips in a clear show of disappointment. “I came to you when my arm was nearly bitten off by a naga, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Madja.” Azriel’s tone had softened. “My body does fine on its own. There’s no point interfering in things that are working well enough unattended.”

“Except you’re not.” It seemed that Azriel’s placating voice had done nothing to ease the healer’s worry. “You neglect yourself. Your needs, your wants.”

“I go to a mind healer once every week.” That had Madja sobering up, a newer, more assessing look in her eyes as she took Azriel in again. “Since when?”

“A few months.”

“And have you found that it has helped?”

Azriel fell silent. No, the visits weren’t helping, but he wasn’t getting much better, either. It was hard to tell. A couple of months was hardly anything to the Fae, after all. The loss of his mate was still fresh as ever, the wound just as deep as the day he’d seen her die.

“I see.” Her brow furrowed, clearly interpreting the silence as a negative. Azriel didn’t even know why he’d told her. Maybe he’d needed someone to talk to, and Madja had been the closest person, the one most willing to listen. It wasn’t like there was a line of people outside his door ready to listen to his plights and tragedies, but…it felt good getting that particular truth off his chest. Azriel trusted her. She’d tell no one without explicit permission from Azriel. She was discreet that way, and that was perhaps one of the things he admired most about Madja, aside from her healing abilities.

“I will check on you once this afternoon. If the wounds are not fully healed then I will have to visit once more.”

Azriel knew his body, knew that the wounds had begun healing and would likely disappear by the next afternoon.

✦ ✦ ✦

“I just…I want to go back. To her. To a time when we would have been happy simply because we had each other and we needed nothing more. Every day, I wake up and my first thought is of her. Every morning, I think about what I wouldn’t do to go back. Just once.”

Azriel had been encouraged to go back to the mind healer even if he felt as if the visits weren’t helping. No, encouraging was too weak a word for what Madja had done. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than him, the healer had nearly threatened to freeze his balls off if he didn’t go. It had been amusing, at the very least, to see Madja so worked up, and Azriel had thought nothing but her agitated expression as he made his way down to the too-familiar, all-white room.

All laughter had evaporated, however, when she’d asked how he’d been doing and Azriel hadn’t quite known how to answer. The response he’d given had been an echo, a glimpse into the true stumbling mess that he was.

She’d looked at him as he told her the words he’d been willing to give voice to; an odd, contemplative sort of expression that Azriel hadn’t been able to place. “You could go back. But there is nothing and no one waiting for you there.”

“I am waiting for her there,” he’d answered as he fought not to let his temper get the best of him. “I’ve been waiting for her, and I will continue to wait for the day I die because then it will mean that we will be together.”

“And what will you do once you are together?”

“Simply hold each other. Bask in the other’s presence. She was my light, my sunshine, my everything, and I cannot imagine myself in a world without her.”

Audrine sighed. Not an exasperated sigh by any means, but a quieter one. No, there hadn’t been an ounce of displeasure on her face, only an exhaustion that had Azriel wondering if she was alright. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, though, and Azriel didn’t have any more time to contemplate her well-being as she asked him another question.

“What made you decide to come down here once more?”

As always, her question had caught him completely unawares, and he was only able to utter a one-word response. “Madja.”

“She forced you?” Audrine quirked a brow, but it seemed that the situation was not unusual for either of them: Madja for having to force patients to the mind healers, and them expecting nothing less as they took in patient after unwilling patient.

“No. She…persuaded me.”

The priestess snorted. “Trust me, I know exactly how persuasive she can be.”

Despite himself, Azriel snorted. “She did play a role in getting me to come visit, yes, but that’s not the only reason I came down. I was…involved in a mission recently, so to speak. The outcome wasn’t as I hoped it would be, and I found my thoughts getting the better of me once more. I thought being in the company of others in a quieter environment would help.”

“And these sessions have helped you so much that the first thing you decided to do was to talk to me?”

“Not quite,” Azriel replied with no small amount of hesitation, attempting to soften the blow. “But I told her that I take counselling when she healed me, and she encouraged me to go even if it doesn’t help. She said I lack routine, and that this will help build it. According to her, training for hours on the roof of the House without a break isn’t acceptable,” he finished with a snicker.

“No indeed.” A small smile graced Audrine’s lips as she made more notes, hastily scrawling them in the margins of her notepad. “I do have to ask, though,” she began. “Is there any specific reason you train for so long? I mean, you’re well over five hundred now. Surely the lack of training for a few days, maybe even weeks, wouldn’t be the end of the world?”

How was it possible for someone to see through him at every turn? He’d managed for a long time, so why were his walls beginning to crack now?

“No. I suppose not.” His reply was more brittle, more jagged than he would have liked it to be. At his unwillingness to supply more, she asked again. “Then why do you train so much?’

“It’s…the only way I know how to channel my emotions. It keeps them at bay. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember, and I can’t think of another explanation other than old habits die hard.”

“Have you tried journaling?”

“Yes.” This time, Azriel looked away, his eyes finding the wood panelled floor in front of the priestess’ feet far more riveting than their current conversation.

“How did it go?”

“I couldn’t write more than half a page. My hand cramped up.”

“Have you been to a healer to see if anything can be salvaged underneath the scarring?” It was noble of her to care so much for wounds that would never fade.

“Yes.” These were questions Azriel had endured for as long as he could remember. The condescending, pitying tone that most took on when talking about him and his hands nearly had the male seeing red. He was tired of being infantilised, dammnit. “Nothing could be done. The healer did as much as she could, and now I must live with them the way they are.”

The finality with which he said the statement might cause a fresh wave of pity to rise in some, believing Azriel was being pessimistic. He was not. He was practical, and many seemed to confuse practicality with pessimism. If others chose to believe in fantasies they’d spun out of the seemingly endless depths of hope they somehow possessed, they could not complain when that same hope crushed their spirits as it tumbled down like a house of cards blown away with the wind.

Azriel had hoped once. Long ago, before High Ladies or mates or the inevitable grief which followed death like a shroud, an invisible veil he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. He had hoped there was a better life, one where there was no pain, no punishment, no cruelty. They had been the fickle dreams of a child, and he’d held onto them so tightly his nails and cracked and left crescent-shaped marks on his palms, until his fingers went numb and all he could think about was holding on lest he was left behind in the aftermath.

Azriel remembered the days the healer had tried for hours to save at least some part of his hands, to ensure he retained some mobility. When nothing good had come of it, he’d been given a salve for the pain until that too, and rendered the scarring permanent. He’d long since given up on trying to fix it. It was too late now.

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😭🏳️‍🌈😬🥲🫶

💯🙏💛🟨👍

#144 - Contrapuntal Poem #6

A/N: This poem is inspired by the characters Jest and Catherine from Marissa Meyer's "Heartless" (amazing book, 10/10 recommend), but it can work for multiple characters including O/Cs.

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Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#143 - Letter #3

My Dearest [name],

“Write to me, or I shall go mad,” wrote Franz Kafka to his fiancée Felice. Write to me so that I may have something to look forward to, something else I can distract myself with as the world around us crumbles to pieces. Awaiting a letter from you will ensure that I do not contemplate what it would feel like to leap off of a cliff every minute of every day. It will give me purpose, as you give me purpose and a reason to stay. When you are in my life, I cannot think of leaving this world. 

Perhaps more than you realise and more often than you think, you are on my mind always. Even when everything feels bleak, even as I sit, exhausted, or lie, pondering at night about everything and nothing all at once, you creep quietly and gracefully into my mind like a presence who calls it home; like you have always belonged. Not haunting, not in a way that feels forced, but naturally as if you were meant to be there. I get this feeling, this odd nostalgia in me, not just in my head, but in my heart; my very soul and being.

I read once that it is a privilege to yearn, to long for memories long-forgotten. I do not remember when I read it, only that when I did, it did not make sense. How could it, when the memories branded into my skull are usually the ones I most wish to forget?

Now, I understand it. I understand it all. It is indeed a privilege to know you. Not only in this lifetime, but in all others. I refuse to believe that there has ever been a world where we did not meet and where our interactions were filled with anything but love for the other. I will not accept it. Perhaps that is what I have been remembering, perhaps that is why my soul wishes to reconnect with yours: we have met so often in every lifetime I am tied to you, and you are tied to me. Inseparable and so tangled in each other, it would be impossible to pry us apart without breaking the other.

That could be a reason as to why I have been getting restless these past few weeks; without talking to you, holding you, simply being in your presence. I get fidgety, apprehensive, as I am waiting for a bombshell, a sudden declaration that will shatter the mirage having been built around me. As if my body knows more than my mind that the only person who can calm the storm in me is you. The best, or perhaps worst part (I have not yet decided), is that you do not even know.

But what I do want you to know is that even as the Earth trembles and finally shatters apart, your light will become an eternal beacon, guiding me, helping me, singing to me, saving me. I will follow it blindly as I have followed you, for I know you will never lead me astray.

And so my dear, I ask you one more time before my pen leaves the paper, write to me, or I shall go mad.

Eternally in waiting,

A friend who longs for you.

P.S. It seems fitting that my 143rd piece of writing has coincidentally been addressed to you.

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