Letters Of Grief
Letters of Grief
Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 2380
Azriel’s visits to the healer became more frequent after that. It had taken a significant amount of bravery (more than he cared to admit to himself, let alone anyone else) to make his way there a second time lest the priestess think him a weeping, whining mess. He’d gone, though, so that had to count for something. At least, that was what he told himself.
He never shared the contents of his visits with anyone, preferring to unpack each session in the privacy of his own mind or room, where he had time to reflect or merely cry depending on how it went.
Audrine, the priestess who had helped him, had been nothing but patient and unconditionally kind. Overly kind, he thought to himself sometimes. How was he to deserve this kindness, accept it as part of himself, his heart, when he’d let his own wife die?
The sessions had helped in that regard, too. He was now steadily learning how to get rid of those thoughts that had dominated his life for more than five centuries. To Azriel’s chagrin, he hadn’t made any progress at all. Audrine had reassured him that such deeply rooted ways of thinking required unraveling the knots and tightly wound beliefs; only then was it possible to weave it into something new and steadfast; a clearer, better, healthier way of thinking that wouldn’t harm him nor those around him.
They had progressed from soft hellos and awkward silences to hesitant hugs and smiles, and Azriel was starting to enjoy the relationship they had built.
It was tentative, but it was something. A budding relationship. Now, he had someone outside the Inner Circle he could talk to without judgment or remorse or comments that would set him on edge and cause him to retreat further into himself.
As much as he loved his family, their remarks often became too jagged, bearing thorns that cut wounds which lay buried so deep it was impossible for anyone to know they even existed. The thin, barely noticeable cuts they left stung with each movement, even as they were invisible to the naked eye. But they were visible to Azriel, for how could he forget the story behind each scar he bore?
Until he’d come across Gwyn, he’d had no idea how to separate himself from what had happened to him and himself. She’d taken one look at him and known exactly what it was that bothered him, which demons he harboured and hosted, and which battles he fought every day; for she had fought the same battles too. It killed something in Azriel every day to know that another sort of battle had won, had taken her from him too soon, too quick.
He took a deep breath, inhaling for four counts, holding for four, and exhaling for four, then holding again and repeating the process until he felt like he wasn’t about to explode. She’d taught him that, how to still one’s mind when grief overtook it like an unwelcome guest who’d overstayed their welcome; pushing and prodding and shoving at every pleasant memory until they were all tainted by charcoal and soot and ash and dust, until all that was left was a hollow husk.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I hate myself,” Azriel rasped finally, the words coming out breathlessly panicked and mumbled as he fought to keep his composure. Audrine had reassured him that crying was more than okay on multiple occasions, and that it was necessary for the heart to let out the emotions that had been building up like a dam ready to explode.
“Why?” She asked, voice clear and devoid of judgment, instead sounding curious but not surprised. It must be commonplace then, for people to come to her with doubts of self-loathing that haunted them on their darkest nights, the body too empty and the soul too full.
“I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.” The words echoed around them, but Audrine’s voice disspelled the shroud of insecurity that had begun to take form, waving away the wisps of smoke and uncertainty, filling the room instead with a clarity and surety that left Azriel feeling more grounded than he ever had before. It settled deep into his bones and calmed something restless in him, something that had awoken again after Gwyn’s passing; as if the demons he’d kept at bay had been unleashed once more.
“What makes you feel that way?”
“I..I’m not sure.”
“Is there anyone or anything that triggers these thoughts? A specific event?” She clarified. Azriel shook his head, unsure himself of a trigger that might have led him to believe such thoughts. He’d had them rooted in his mind for so long, he hadn’t stopped to reflect on how, exactly, they came to be.
Audrine snapped him out of his superficial reflection, and the speed with which she changed the conversation had Azriel reeling as he fought to regain his metaphorical footing. “Did you ever visit a mind healer after you were let out of your cell?”
“What?” Azriel barely registered the words as unwanted memories, and the distinct scent of mildew, fear, and blood clouded his mind. Soft cries filled his ears, and he couldn’t tell if the sobs were his own or not.
“No.” He barely managed a coherent response, and it took more willpower than he cared to admit to suppress those feelings that had resurfaced, like grime on a clean plane that had taken immense amounts of energy to be rid of.
She merely hummed and continued, “I assumed so.” “What gave it away?”
One thing the Spymaster of the Night Court prided himself on was his ability to keep his emotions hidden and locked away in the deepest crypts of his mind so they wouldn’t ever come to light. It was less of a bother, and it allowed him to focus his energy on more important matters. It grated on him to know that someone who’d known him for a few hours could pick apart his carefully crafted facade, rip it down like it was made of nothing but paper and fragile hopes.
“The way you struggle to keep eye contact, how your eyes always dart to the all the exits in a room, your struggle to open up emotionally…it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” she supplied gently. “We’ve been seeing these signs in countless patients of centuries. Each one thinks that they’re doing a wonderful job keeping their feelings hidden, but they’re not. All it takes is one observant eye.”
“Please-” Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.” The last thing he needed was his family pestering him about his sessions, why he felt like he couldn’t talk to any of them instead of an unknown third party. What he most definitely did not need was anyone else outside of this Court knowing. It would create unease in his spies, and the security of his home was something Azriel would not risk, even if it came at the cost of his own sanity.
“Of course,” she replied easily. “Whatever you say within these chambers is, and will remain, strictly confidential.”
The certainty with which Audrine said those words had him nearly believing her. Nearly.
“Forgive me,” Azriel began, shame coating his features as he attempted to get the next words out in a way that wouldn’t ruin whatever friendly purgatory he and the priestess had entered. “But I’d like to make a bargain. I know you said you wouldn’t tell anyone, but…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his sentence lest he dig a deeper hole for himself.
“Oh, there’s no need. All the healer’s chambers are warded so that anything discussed or done in them can in no way be accessed by anyone that is an outsider. It was one of the many shields the High Lord put up when he came into power.”
“It’s why we encourage patients to open up as much as they can,” she continued, clearly oblivious to the newfound marvel Azriel had found for his adoptive brother. “It gives them a safe space to open up about things that the outside world might not be as accepting of.”
A part of Azriel considered himself a coward for coming here, for seeking help when everything was seemingly fine. But it wasn’t, another whispered, taking its place. More insistent and demanding to be heard, it diverted Azriel’s attention from the usual self-loathing that filled his mind.
Maybe it was a good thing that he’d come. Maybe it had been time for him to seek help.
Despite that, Azriel also knew he could never tell her everything about his life. Some knowledge was best kept close to the heart. After all, he’d hidden and hoarded away secrets like precious jewels his entire life. What was one more in the grand scheme of things?
His heart would become lighter with these sessions in due time, and he’d make room for other, more vital matters.
Of course, Azriel was far from well. There was easier, and there was healthier. Azriel had been taking the easy way out in life, he’d realised. In his relationships and caring for himself, he often did the bare minimum, sustaining the relationship just enough so that it wouldn’t wither; watering it just enough so it wouldn’t die. But growing a relationship was much like growing a plant; it required much more than water. A proper foundation and soil, the right nurturing and care, and enough light in its life.
Azriel had to trust in Audrine, in his own ability to overcome the adversities that lay ahead. He couldn’t live life with the hesitation of thinking what would happen if he got hurt. He’d done that once, long before Gwyn had even come into his life, and Azriel knew he had been miserable for it. A shell of a person. He refused to go back there.
Noticing the change in his demeanor, Audrine’s face softened. “I know that loving again will be hard. No one here is saying that you have to find romantic love right now. Or ever, if you wish. But you must trust in your own ability to be hurt and get over it. It will prevent you from enjoying the wonders that life has to offer. Quite frankly, it’s a silly thought to have when your whole life is a testament to your resilience and spirit.” “You think I’ll be able to love again?” He asked quietly. “I think that you can love someone up until the very day you are no longer here. Our past relationships don’t define our ability to love. Our strength and willingness to come back, either as who we were before or a different person entirely, does. Our willingness to sacrifice, to communicate, to care, does. And you, Azriel,” she finished, “Are one of the most caring people I know.”
He only nodded, unsure of how to accept the compliment. Whether Audrine noticed his discomfort or not, she did not let on.
A comfortable sort of silence settled over them, not nearly as damning or as nerve-wrecking as it had been previously.
“What if…” Azriel swallowed, trying to rid his throat of the dryness that had begun to accumulate. “What if I can’t love again? What if it’s not the same?”
“You won’t if you don’t believe. But you have to trust in yourself. If not in yourself, then you have to trust in whatever you believe in that things will get better. Not immediately, not suddenly, not all at once, but so gradually that you won’t even feel it until one day, you’ll wake up and realise your life has been tilted on its axis entirely. You’ll notice these subtle changes in yourself, and you’ll have woken up a different person. Your scars might not have faded, but at least they won’t hurt, and that’s what matters.
“Besides,” she continued. “Love isn’t supposed to feel the same. It’s unfair to yourself and to your mate to expect a love that will look and feel exactly the same, because it won’t. You’ll create new memories and you’ll experience life differently, but that doesn’t mean your old life and your old memories will disappear. Your heart will only have more love, not less, simply because you choose to love. But that’s the hardest part. You have to choose to care and cherish, because the only way we can crawl our way out the hole we’ve dug is to choose our best interests every time. It’s going to be difficult, but it will be worth it.”
He’d been clawing his way out of that hole that he called his grave since the day he’d been born. It was his birthplace, and yet he felt no love for it, only hatred and a chilling sort of calm that only came with over five hundred years of surviving.
Surviving, because he hadn’t truly been living. What he’d thought was pleasant and mildly comforting, when he’d confused his lust for love was when Azriel had believed that he’d been happy. Oh, how wrong he’d been.
Love is something we all deserve, no matter what your mind might tell you. It is not a reward or prize that we must earn for being supposedly ‘good’ people. We deserve it because we exist. It can be hard to believe, and there might even be some days when you feel the exact opposite, when you feel such immense hatred for yourself it can feel as if there is no other emotion in your heart. But that is precisely when we must choose to be even kinder to ourselves, because that is when we need it most.
It was a conversation that played in Azriel’s mind constantly. No matter where he was, what he was doing, it was her words, his mate’s words, that got him through the days when he felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest by bloodthirsty talons determined to shred him to pieces.
A/N: Inspired by this and this Tumblr post. Also, I highly encourage you to check out @persianmom for motivation and quotes!
Part 6
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
More Posts from Psychiatry-and-poetry and Others
#77
I do not care how many thorns you have for I am ready to be cut by them all, ready to bleed out with the wounds you gift me if I must. For I know that my blood shall water you. I do not consider it a sacrifice; not when it will help you in the smallest and most insignificant of ways.
For even if the way I show you my love is not filled with grandeur, know that my heart is. It is filled with so much love I feel as if I might explode, as if I might overflow with the amount of love which is flowing through my veins right now.
Know that I shall love you incessantly and without mercy, no matter that it might hurt me and wound me so terribly I might not recover. I shall not love as a soft, gentle flame, but rather as one that burns so wild not even the fires of hell can match my passion in strength. They will envy me for the power with which I burn with, envy my fuel, my catalyst that keeps me burning.
For what keeps me burning is you. The sight of you, the thought of you, the scent of you. It is you I burn for and for whom I will sacrifice myself without a doubt. It has always been you.
Have I belonged to you too?
masterlist
#52
By the graceful, gilded light of fame My heart calls your name again.
For love keeps me going And money cannot fill the void
Not as deeply
Or as fully
As your soul does.
masterlist
#41
Your worst nightmare, she said with a feral grin. In that moment he could have sworn that something unearthly flashed in her storm grey eyes, something he knew he'd never want to see. Something so terrifying and brutal that it could create and destroy worlds. A power far beyond his, or anyone else's, comprehension.
masterlist
Karaoke Night
AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |
@nestaarcheronweek
Prompt: Day Seven - Free Day (Any topic of your choosing!)
A/N: This is my first time writing for Manon, so please forgive any mischaracterisations!
Word Count: 1644
“Babe, I’m home!” Her girlfriend’s voice echoed through the entrance lobby, and she heard a muffled curse follow the greeting. Chuckling, she made her way downstairs to see an irritated Manon rubbing her ankle and frowning at the piece of furniture she currently held a vendetta against.
Eternally clumsy and forever bumping into things, it seemed that today, she’d managed to trip over the shoe rack. “That damned thing always gets in my way,” she grumbled. Nesta couldn’t help the the slight upward tug of her lips at her girlfriend’s adorable expression.
“I’d think you get in the way of that poor shoe rack, seeing as you manage to stumble over it every single day.”
“Hey! It’s not my fault-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Nesta said, barely containing a laugh at her girlfriend’s indignant protests. “Whine about the shoe rack later. Dinner’s ready.”
That one sentence sobered Manon up immediately. She took off her long, tan overcoat, and popped her black boots off. Her dark nails glinting in the overhead light as she tucked a strand over silver hair behind her ear. “Ooo, what’d you make?”
“Pasta,” Nesta answered over a shoulder as they began making their way to the kitchen.
Piling a generous amount of her girlfriend’s favourite pasta onto her plate (lemon, chicken, cream, prosciutto, and arugula) and then serving herself, they sat down. Conversation resumed as easily as it had begun; talk about each of their days punctuating the room.
“I swear, I hate him so much,” Manon grumbled, aggressively stabbing at a piece of chicken. “He always thinks he’s so much better than everyone else just because he’s worked here for a few years longer than I have.”
Manon worked as an optometrist, offering patients routine check-ups to see whether they needed any changes made to their eyesight, among other things. The more serious parts of her job involved examining them for eye diseases and other health conditions. It was enjoyable enough, not to mention the pay was more than decent, though not necessarily a profession she wanted to spend her entire life doing.
Nesta was the opposite. She’d known from a young age that she’d need to pick a stable job that would get her money, if only to support her ailing father (never mind that he’d been negligent at best and an outright horror at worst) and her two younger sisters. Through sheer dedication, hard work, and many years at university, she was now a successful lawyer well on her way to starting her own firm.
She’d always been told she had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, so she’d found a good use for both of them. It didn’t hurt that she was rolling in money, either.
“Is he really that bad?” Nesta asked gently. “He’s irritating, sure, from what you’ve told me, but…don’t waste any more energy on him. He’s not worth it.” She stroked a light hand over her partner’s exposed wrist, and Manon calmed immediately. It was a small touch; grounding, and yet all she’d needed.
Manon’s boss, an older, stricter, and far crankier person than her previous mentor, was getting on her nerves. Micromanaging her and acting as if he knew so much better than Manon were only a few of the complaints Nesta had to hear about on the daily.
“Fine.” Manon rolled her eyes, and took another bite of the food. “Oh, by the way, love the pasta. How do you get it so creamy?”
Nesta only grinned. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”
“Not even to her extremely hot and seductive girlfriend?”
“Seductive?” Nesta questioned, quirking a brow in mock challenge. “That’s not quite how I remember you being last week when we slept together. I wasn’t the one begging to cum.”
“I think you might need a reminder of just how seductive I can be.” Manon’s golden eyes had darkened, turning hazel more than anything, and a light blush had crept over her cheeks at Nesta’s casual comment.
“How about we finish dinner first? Then you can show me all of this supposed skill.”
“Supposed skill?” It was always so easy to rile her up Nesta couldn’t help but chuckle.
And so their banter continued. Teasing remarks, the occassional joke, and laughter filled the room, until Nesta’s eyes drifted to the clock on the microwave. “Manon, it’s eight already.”
Yawning, the silver-haired woman got up. “I’ll get to the dishes.”
It was a rule they’d established quite early on that whoever made dinner didn’t have to do the dishes.
“Do them later.” Nesta got up too, plopping her plate and cutlery into the sink, and collapsed onto the couch. Her limbs sprawled out in all directions, and Manon knew she was only doing it to be dramatic.
“Nesta-”
“Come on,” she whined, drawing out the last syllable in a pathetic attempt to drag her girlfriend to the sofa with her. “It’s Friday night. Live a little.” Her voice was muffled, seeing as she’d squashed her face into the sofa cushions, but Manon found it oddly…endearing.
“It’s ironic that you’re the one saying this,” Manon muttered under her breath. Indeed, she was usually the one that had to coax Nesta to take a break, but it seemed that today, Nesta was having her way. “What do you want to do, anyway?”
Nesta made a show of putting a finger on her chin and tilting her head. “Mmm,” she said. “How about…karaoke?” Without waiting for an answer, she got up and made her way to the TV cabinet.
Manon couldn’t help the laugh that broke out of her then. “No way in hell am I singing to some 2010s Britney Spears song that’ll make me lose my voice.”
Nesta frowned. “Britnery Spears isn’t all that bad. Besides, when was the last time we did something like this together?”
“Nesta, there’s a reason I don’t sing.” At Nesta’s quizzical look, she clarified. “Everyone within a five-kilometre radius will go deaf if I do.”
She merely scoffed. “Nonsense. You’re singing and that’s final.”
“What do I get if I do sing?” Manon would be damned if she didn’t let this go without a scuffle. She didn’t hide the way her eyes roved over Nesta’s body and the tank top and shorts that she had on.
Nesta didn’t say a word, only approaching Manon until she had to crane her neck to look at her girlfriend. If she moved forward ever so slightly, she’d brush thighs with Nesta. She didn’t, instead choosing to wait for her to break the creeping tension now building.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me tonight if you sing with me.” Her voice came out breathless, perhaps the only indication that Nesta was as excited for this as she was.
“Whatever I want? Don’t you think that’s a steep deal?” Manon only barely managed to keep her voice from betraying what it was she was thinking (specifically, how badly she wanted to bend her girlfriend over the sofa and fuck her senseless.)
“No.”
“Really? I would have expected something more…concrete, coming from a lawyer.”
“This isn’t working, and I know I don’t need to be specific with you.” A small pout had overtaken Nesta’s face, and dammnit if Manon didn’t give in.
“Fine. One song.” Nesta’s expression changed almost immediately, lighting up with joy as she settled in beside her.
“Since you agreed, you pick.”
Ten minutes, multiple hurled insults, and at least five tossed pillows later, they decided on a song. Well, Manon had. Nesta, it seemed, was still hesitant.
“Do you have to pick songs that so depressing? Like, are you doing this on purpose or something?” She asked, frowning at the TV screen as if it had personally wronged her.
“It’s Lana Del Rey! How is she depressing?”
“How isn’t she depressing? That’s literally all she writes about.” Manon rolled her eyes. They really weren’t getting anywhere with this.
“Okay. You know what? We’re spinning a wheel. If neither of us can decide, we’ll just randomise it.” Despite Nesta’s protests and her half-hearted attempts to snatch Manon’s phone right out of her hand, she spun the wheel.
“See?” Manon exclaimed indignantly once it had stopped spinning. “It landed on Lana Del Rey.”
“You cheated,” Nesta huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “But fine. Miss Depressed Del Rey it is.”
Manon took the remote from her, and browsed songs until she found her favourite. “Ready?”
✦ ✦ ✦
A drunken giggle passed from Nesta’s lips as she lay sprawled on the sofa. She’d long since given up on karaoke because she’d been laughing too hard. She couldn’t even remembered why she was laughing, only that it was silly, and that she was incandescently happy.
Manon, to her credit, hadn’t stopped once; not to get a drink of water, or even the bathroom. Of course, that didn’t mean she was any less drunk, but at least she was standing.
“All the grace, all that body
All that face makes me wanna party”
Her raucous voice filled the living room, and though it was ridiculously off-key, it was the most fun she’d had in a while.
It only made Nesta laugh even harder, and she doubled over as she lay shaking on the sofa.
The song ended, and she shrieked as Manon grabbed her around the waist. “You promised me you wouldn’t laugh.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” she managed between wheezes.
“Oh yeah?”
“I swear!”
“How about I do whatever I want to you and we can see if you were lying?” Manon’s taunting threat caused a delightful heat to spread between Nesta’s legs.
“It depends. What will you do to me?” She asked, puffing out a breath.
Nesta yelped again as Manon hurled her over a shoulder and began making their way to the bedroom.
“So eager tonight, hm? Let me show you.”
A/N: Thank you to my best friend for giving me the idea of a karaoke night!
#42
To anyone whose heart aches so thoroughly they are scared they might never again recover, yet they try their best every day. Know that you are not alone, and that I see you.
To anyone whose heartbreak has made them mad with desire, and hatred, and love, filled them up with so many emotions they feel as if they might truly die.
To those of you that heartbreak has turned into what the world sees as monsters.
masterlist
#107
I do not know how it is possible to be enamoured by someone with an increasing, obsessive madness with each passing day. Every night as I go to bed, I think, my love for you cannot grow; it is impossible. Then you wake up the next day, and prove me wrong. In matters of love, I adore being wrong. I adore being charmed by you, by your presence, each day that I am blessed with you by my side.
masterlist
A Court of Shadows & Healing
Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Summary: Azriel makes a bargain and leaves Windhaven with Adira.
A/N: Sorry, this chapter is kind of short but I needed something that would help transition the story. The next chapter will be longer, I promise!
Word Count: 641
When she opened the door a quarter of an hour later, Azriel rose immediately from the footsteps of the porch where he had been sitting. Sitting and thinking. Things were moving far too quickly for his liking, and Azriel was not a male accustomed to change.
He didn't think he'd ever become used to change, now that he thought about it. It was much easier for him to stay in the comfort of his own routine, the repetition soothing his nerves whenever something went wrong or he had an unpleasant day. No, Azriel had never done well with change at all. Naturally, this whole ordeal was extremely disconcerting for the boy, made even more so by the fact that Adira refused to tell him anything. At least nothing of importance. He didn't bother asking her questions anyhow, since the vague, riddled answers she gave him were mildly confusing at best and thoroughly baffling at worst. He never knew what to make of her answers anyway, since they seemed to raise more questions than had been answered. One thing was for certain, though; the female certainly knew her way around words, and Azriel despised her for it just as much as he admired her.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, but there were a couple of things I needed to pick up before we make our way to my...training centre," she finally decided. For a moment, Azriel was angry at her. Surely she didn't think he wouldn't be able to handle knowing important information? He had kept secrets, after all, though far too many of them were his own. "Training centre?" He asked finally, ignoring how she paused before saying those two words. "Yes," she replied simply. "I promise I'll answer your questions when we get there—all of them.”
"You swear it?" He didn’t know where the words came from, but how was he to be certain that she would keep true to her word? She hadn’t very well given him a reason to trust him anyhow, and she refused to answer any of his questions properly.
She blinked, perhaps the only visible sign of her surprise. “Yes,” she said finally, something like amusement creeping into her voice. “Yes, I swear it.”
At that moment, both Azriel and Adira felt an odd thrum of magic flowing through them.
Azriel turned away from her and brought his hands up to examine his tattoo, not caring that she might be able to see his bare hands over his shoulder. Practically throwing his gloves off, he spotted a speck of black just above where his scars intersected. Cauldron damn him, he was never going to hear the end of it from Rhys’ mother. He couldn’t help admitting, although begrudgingly, how beautiful his new tattoo looked.
It was small, hardly noticeable, and yet it was delicate and beautiful and powerful all at once. A small butterfly sat just above his right knuckle with its wings spread wide, as if flying over the mountains and valleys that were his scars.
Noticing his admiration, Adira asked, “Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s…yes, I like it.” A small grin tugged at her lips at his response. “Have you ever made a bargain before?”
“No, but I know how they work. Rhys’ mother told us when we were younger to make sure we wouldn’t get into trouble.” Apparently satisfied, she left the subject there and extended a hand towards him. “Well then, now that we’ve gotten the whole bargain business over with, I say we get out of this shithole: what do you say?” Azriel merely gave her a nod before taking her outstretched hand, gloves and Illyrian leather concealing every exposed bit of him against the cold, and felt the familiar tug of winnowing before being whisked away through darkness and shadows.
Part 3
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
#60
I mourn and grieve and feel so deeply I cannot decide if it is a blessing or a curse. Happiness feels like bliss and elation and heaven, as though I am drunk on the essence of joy itself. But when the dark clouds start rolling in, I transform into a rabid beast. A monster not capable of love nor joy; one only of hate and destruction, leaving nothing but ruin in its wake. As though I have been crafted from the depths of hell itself, and my sole mission is to make those around me suffer in pain and agony, make them feel misery the likes of which I relish in. Relish the way drips down my blood-stained mouth, running warm and familiar over the grooves of my teeth, turning them scarlet forevermore. My tongue knows the coppery taste of it, and my body screams at me to drink the blood of the fallen, of those I have felled, drink until I can no more, until I am sick of the taste of it. I do not think even God will be able to absolve me of this sin. I do not know if I want Him to. If I deserve that rare mercy reserved for the gold-hearted. I may be a great many things, but that is not one of them. Bloodthirsty, evil, vile, wicked, foul. Those are the names I have heard hissed at me, both in front of me and behind my back. I do not care. Simply do not have the energy to do so. Let them believe whatever they think is easiest to believe. I tried telling them the truth once. Screamed it so loudly from the rooftops into the world it would have been impossible for even the Gods themselves to ignore me. And yet they did.
Now, when I bring Heaven to its knees, broken and bloodied and bleeding, when the Gods can no longer ignore me, treat me as if I am nothing but a peasant, I shall take great pride in knowing I have made them suffer.
And as I slit their throats, one by one, their blackened and charred ichor running down my hands, my soul will be at peace.
For I will have had my revenge.
masterlist
#63
I cannot tell if it is a blessing or a curse to have loved and be loved so deeply that it fractures and remoulds the shattered pieces of my heart, my soul, my very existence.
masterlist
Original Writing Masterpost #1
A collection of my original writing (not inspired by fandoms, fics, and such) is here. It includes poetry and my general ramblings (in progress) here and on AO3. I'm updating as I write, so this masterpost won't ever be 'complete'.
If you find something that is inappropriately tagged or if you find something missing, please DM me and I'll fix it.
Enjoy!
SHORT STORIES
Stifling Resistance | AO3 | A short story about a 16-year-old weaponsmith's life in Mughal India.
DRABBLES
One Last Goodbye | Requested by a friend and based on the Instagram prompt: how would a character respond to "I never loved you?"
POETRY
| AO3 |
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 |
Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 |
Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61 | Part 62 | Part 63 | Part 64 | Part 65 | Part 66 | Part 67 | Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70 | Part 71 | Part 72 | Part 73 | Part 74 | Part 75 |
Original Writing Masterpost #2
Masterpost of masterposts
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
-
socmono liked this · 1 month ago -
lilshortylegs liked this · 2 months ago -
tubsi-tubs liked this · 2 months ago -
psychiatry-and-poetry reblogged this · 2 months ago
Slytherclaw | she/they | A blog for my ramblings, poetry, and fanfiction! Asks and requests are open
248 posts