Let’s not live in suspicion of others. Focus on your beliefs and I shall do the same. Let’s practice tolerance against each other. This world might be a bad place, we don’t have to become one of those bad ones and bash each other due to different beliefs. Do yourself right and stay out of others lane.
Rhaenys had slept in her bed for months, now. Her little girl had simply climbed in one night, curled up beside her, and snored softly in her sleep. Elia did not begrudge her this; it was not as if Rhaegar would take his place beside her. He had not done so ever since she became with child.
It had hardly been a week since she had given birth to Aegon, in the midst of more agony than Elia had ever known before. Her body was barely strong enough to carry a child, and when it came to birthing the creature, it had felt as if her whole body was going to tear apart. Where women knew sweetness and bliss after such an ordeal, Elia met with fever, anguish, and strife. Some days, she could hardly move from her bed. Others, she managed to sit up. Any more than that, she had not yet accomplished.
It was her sweet girl was who stayed by her side for all those days. Rhaenys would climb into bed and take gentle hold of her hand, asking her all manner of worried questions. “How are you feeling, mama? Is the baby okay, mama? Do you need to sleep, mama?” Elia had tried her best to keep her from worrying. “I’ll be fine, darling. We’re all okay.” She always faced her daughter with a tired smile that Rhaenys returned with much more heart.
I am not so weak as to submit to the demands of the age when they go against my convictions. I spin a cocoon around myself; let others do the same. I shall leave it to time to show what will come of it: a brilliant butterfly or maggot.
I think you know exactly what you’re doing. And if you don’t, that makes his hurt even more. Because I had to change your contact name to “don’t text” and every time I see your name on my screen I have to brace myself to get ignored if I text back.
You were the syringe and you were the drug. You injected yourself. You swam through my bloodstream. Now you’re acting like you’ve never even touched my skin, you’ve never seen the inside of my veins.
I shall do the same to other people. While I do so, don’t expect me to make your phone buzz. How about you come to me first, and put in as much effort I used to. Make up for the crap I put up with just to spend a few adrenaline-filled minutes with you every now and then.
“you could do better, tell me, have you heard that lately?”
“If an angelic being fell from the sky and tried to live in this world of ours, I think even they would commit many wrongs.”
“I already know what will happen to me the next time I wake up.”
“The bird fights it’s way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born, must first destroy a world.”
know I haven’t always made the right decisions up to now… Whether I
was right, or whether I was wrong, may not even matter in the first
up against my sins like this– all of the choices I’ve made up to this
point– today, being able to die for someone– is something I’m glad
“There’s no way someone who can’t even protect himself can protect anyone else, is there?”
fault is it that things ended up like this? Coincidence? An accident?
Fate? There’s no such thing as fate. It’s simply a combination of one
circumstance and the next. And who is it that creates those
circumstances? Who is it? It’s you.”
“All suffering in the world is born from an individual’s incompetence.”
always trying to justify our actions with ideals. But ideals cannot
give grounds for killing another person. The act of taking a life will
always be considered… evil.”
“You think something like that would hurt, after all I’ve been through?”
“Why is it that the beautiful things are entwined more deeply with death than with life?”
“Isn’t it arrogant to put a price on whether a life is “higher” or “lower”?”
“We’re just bags of meat. The weak bow down and the strong devour them.”
don’t need to blame yourself just because you’ve hurt someone, just
like when you’re walking you can’t really blame yourself to crush some
ants… that’s what being stronger ones means.”
“I’m not going to protect you by being your shield or armor, but I’ll be the dagger hidden below your pillow.”
“The act of taking is equally evil. We, from the moment of birth, continue to take.”
“Living is to constantly sin.”
“Life is evil in itself.”
“I am aware I’m evil… And so are you all.”
“Now come, kill me. And I shall do the same!”
“You only need a strong will and a clear purpose.”
“The world runs on power. Everything is determined by the superior power.”
“You are weak. That is why you lose.”
“We need to have a mask that we never take off.”
“It’s better to be hurt than to hurt others. Nice people can be happy with just that.”
“I’m begging you, don’t make me a killer!”
“Doing what one likes is the right of the powerful.”
“If you were to write a story with me in the lead role, it would certainly be… A tragedy.”
“There are times when you have to give up on one thing to preserve the other.”
“That isn’t kindness. That’s just being weak.”
“Sometimes good people make bad choices. It doesn’t mean they’re bad people. It means they’re human.”
“When you’re in front of the enemy, even if your hands are trembling - fight.”
“What’s wrong isn’t me, what’s wrong is the world!”
“If you like, you can stay over here tonight.”
“If you’re lucky, you may see some cannibalism and that’s always fun.”
“I can neither live with you. Nor without you.”
“All of the disadvantage in this world stems from a person’s lack of ability.”
not because we can’t take vengeance that we should feel sorry. The real
reason to feel sorry… is when one is hung up on revenge and can’t
live their own life.”
“What is one thousand minus seven?”
“Send all those from your presence except for those distinguished men whom you wish to die beside.”
“I’m not gonna die. I’ve got a cat that’s waiting for me at home.”
“You pretend to care about other people, but in the end, it’s all about you. You are just afraid of being alone, aren’t you?”
“You are a bird in a birdcage. There is no escape.”
“So I’ll be strong for and without them.”
“I don’t want to eat anymore.”
“Shut up and listen. I’m talking.”
“I’m happy living like this.”
“I already knew, man! Who cares about that? Let’s just go home already!”
“…Sorry. Can you fight all you’ve got just one more time?”
I forge a heart from nothing
as black as it was
as dark as shadows
although it beats
it is only an echo
it doesn’t sound like mine
do you dream up there?
if you can’t, i write
to you occasionally
it’s another sad poem,
but it’s an emotion
surrender your sighs
to the night and I
shall do the same
I miss you doesn’t
wander too far
from my head
I love you hardly
I’m right here
and waiting for you
is an understatement
drag my soul out of hell
and I’ll never taste
the same apple
that placed us here
When was your last encounter with a wild animal, and what's the story behind it?
Ah. It involved one of the shah’s wolves. She was generally kept in the menagerie, but on this particular occasion she elected to abscond from her enclosure to attend a banquet held in honor of a visiting dignitary, who, by the by, intended to poison the shah before the banquet concluded.
The wolf in question was a hair’s breadth away from feral. She was used in executions that were a favorite public spectacle. The condemned would enter a pit and the wolf, starved for food, would promptly tear him to shreds. The whole affair was devised by the shah’s charming mother.
On the night of the banquet, a great clamoring was heard outside the feast hall, and then the wolf bounded through the doors, her jaw already sodden and caked with blood. There was a great commotion, as there naturally is when wild carnivores disrupt dinner without an invitation. Guests scrambled atop the table or hid beneath it; the guards readied their weapons; the sultana grabbed one of her terrified handmaidens, intending to use her as a shield; and the shah let out a shriek that resembled something a cat in heat might emit.
I was not sitting among the guests; the shah preferred that I remain in the shadowed corner of the hall until I was summoned to begin the night’s entertainment. More ominous, he always said.
I hated the little man, but I did not object to this arrangement;I quite preferred it. I am, after all, a natural sentinel, and hardly fit company for dinner conversation.
And I would have rather been impaled with a rusted, blunt spoon than spend another meal seated next to the sultana and her wandering hands.
From his place near the end of the table, Nadir spun in his chair, face blanched, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. He looked at me, mouthed something indecipherable, and gestured to the wolf.
“Yes,” I called, “I noticed it, as well.”
His expression pinched into one of exasperated irritation. The others in the hall snapped around to search for the source of the voice, which until then had remained entirely silent. Their search was abruptly halted, however, when the wolf let out a growl and began to stalk forward, eyes fixed on one of the shah’s plump, mustachioed cousins. The man froze, sweat beading on his brow and soaking through his collar.
I, for one, would not have mourned his passing. He’d attempted to have me beheaded and intended to display the trophy as a macabre souvenir in his home.
An unfortunate decision, that. He was now devoid of two fingers.
From his seat in the center of the room, the shah swallowed, head swiveling as he searched the hall. The wolf’s growls had deepened into a primordial bass hum, her pupils sharpened to pinpoints, ears flattened against her skull and haunches bristling. One of the guards whispered a prayer and inched forward, sword at the ready, but the beast snapped her great head in his direction, teeth bared, and he hastily retreated with a cry. No one had moved. The shah’s cousin let out a low moan. The guards shook. And still, the wolf’s growl droned raw and feral, torn out of some deep, burning recess in the earth.
I knew then precisely what was coming.
“Erik!” the shah called in a hoarse falsetto. He swallowed and then repeated, louder this time, “Erik!”
Damn it all to hell.
“Yes?” I called from my spot in the shadows of a pillar. The wolf’s gaze, previously locked on the shah, now turned slowly in my direction.
Damn it, truly, all to hell.
“Kill–” the shah pointed jerkily toward the beast, breath shuddering. “Kill i–kill it!”
“Now really, she’s only just arrived,” I said. “She hasn’t yet sampled dessert.”
Nadir’s lips thinned so severely that they looked in danger of disappearing. His eyes were desperate, furious. He fixed me with what I supposed was meant to be a scathing glare.
Shut. UP, he mouthed.
I responded with a lazy smirk.
If I am to meet Death, my friend, I am going to inconvenience him every step of the way.
“Erik,” the shah croaked again, feigning, if only for a moment, a remnant of his usual puffed up composure, though it was tainted by unmistakable trembling. “Kill it. Or I shall do the same to you. Slowly. Over the course of many weeks.”
I sauntered out of the shadows and, now plainly visible, drew a low murmur of horror from the crowd. I wore the mask, of course–the horror beneath was generally reserved for the final act of the night–but I could not mask the death that enveloped me from head to toe.
Or perhaps they objected to my jerkin. The black leather was a tad much, I will freely admit.
“Your Highness,” I said, “must do as he pleases, though it shall be rather difficult to dispatch the beast when I am drawn and quartered, wouldn’t you think?”
“Do it,” the sultana hissed suddenly from between her teeth. She dug her nails into her handmaiden’s arms, and the girl let out a whimper of pain.
The sultana’s black eyes blazed and she leaned forward. “Now, you hideous piece of filth, or I will garrote you with your own entrails!”
“Come, now, you can do better than that,” I said coolly, yet fury boiled in my abdomen.
I should mention that although I have never killed a woman, I came close to murdering the sultana on several occasions. She’d perfected a particularly vicious brand of cruelty the likes of which I scarcely believed possible.
She was about to spit out another insult when a deep growl bled into the silence.
The wolf had turned, yellow eyes fixed intensely upon mine. Her teeth were rank with gore, the fur around her jaws dripping crimson. She was terribly beautiful. Massive. Standing on her back legs, she would have reached well over eight feet.
I did not move. I have been frightened, truly frightened, numerous times in my life, yet I cannot recall ever been so overwhelmed by such sublime, horrifying power. Here was nature stripped bare, death come at last soaked in detritus and wild with the ecstasy of it. I felt amid the terror a thrum of humility and respect for her.
With painstaking care, heart ramming itself into my ribcage so frantically that I was sure the wolf could hear it, I inhaled, expanding my shoulders and, to give the illusion of size, drew my cloak up so its folds resembled great black wings. I stared at the tiled floor lest she view my direct gaze as a challenge. The elaborate mosaic inlaid at my feet blurred beneath a haze of fear. I burned with it.
For what may have been mere seconds or minutes–I could not tell–silence hung hot and heavy over the hall, punctuated only by the animal’s coarse breathing.
By millimeters, I began to back away. My mind, it seemed, had ceased all operation; my body alone piloted my movements. Let it come, let it come, let it come, rang the mantra, and all was suspension, hovering between stillness and a cacophony of pain.
And then, inexplicably, gradually, she sat at my feet.
I froze, believing she’d readied herself to attack at last. Instead, with all the familiarity and docility of a hound, she rolled over, exposing her stomach.
There was a hum of astonishment from the assembled guests. I let out a shuddering exhale, still gripping the cloak like a ridiculous bat, unable to move. It was a feint, surely. Any moment now, she would spring up and end it all.
But she did not.
Instead, she let out a whine and pawed at the floor insistently.
“Impossible,” someone whispered.
I nearly murmured my agreement when the wolf’s whine grew louder.
And she wiggled.
The massive thing wiggled.
I must have taken leave of my senses completely then–and really, if I were about to be torn to shreds, what use was sanity?–for I crouched slowly, breath suspended, and hovered one hand over the mass of fur. Surely not….
Again, she pawed at the tile. What are you waiting for? she seemed to say.
And so I did what any decent human being would do in such a situation.
I pet the dog.
The tension in her muscles dissolved and her tongue lolled happily out of her bloodied mouth. I felt as if I were going to be sick from relief, and found my tongue had seemingly coated itself with sand and my knees had liquefied. Yet I continued running my hand through the thick fur on her stomach, scratching the softer scruff behind her ears, and all the while she lay there, perfectly content to be pampered by her would-be prey.
Incredulous laughter and chatter began to ring out behind me. I, too, felt the urge to grin, though I was wary of bearing my teeth at all for fear she would consider it hostile, and my glee was more hysterical than self-satisfied; she could turn instantly, I thought, maul me into strips of flesh in the blink of an eye. She was feral, unpredictable. Monstrous.
She rolled back over and plopped in my lap, and I fell back as she began nuzzling her head affectionately against my jaw.
The shah laughed delightedly.
“My magician, the wolf tamer!” he cried, and the crowd erupted into applause.
Astonished, I looked up. The commotion, I feared, would anger the wolf, yet she remained comfortably pressed against me like a spaniel. The crowd was rapturous, on their feet and applauding like mad.
They were smiling, all. And for the first time–the only time–their eyes held not fear or loathing, but gratitude. Respect.
It was surreal. Disorienting.
I shifted beneath her muscled girth, and she moved enough that I could stand. She did the same, no longer bent on the hunt, still contentedly panting. One hand still buried in the thick fur of her neck, I led her away. The thunderous applause followed me out into the corridor, and once out of sight, I let out a series of unceremonious wheezes, my vision spinning.
I was alive.
I was alive.
Unfortunate, perhaps, but as much as I would have preferred death, I did not relish obtaining it via violent mauling.
My new companion suddenly began sniffing, and my head snapped to the right. There sprawled in various degrees of mutilation lay four guards: weapons twisted and bodies eviscerated, bloodied, and heartily munched upon.
I grimaced, risking a cursory glance at the wolf. She took in the leftovers of her feast and then looked back up at me.
And so help me, I could have sworn she was smiling smugly.
She followed me to my quarters that night and slept soundly in the back garden. I was not so fortunate; I did not sleep a wink–she could have easily decided to abandon our sudden truce and tuck into a midnight snack.
In the morning, she greeted me with all the eager abandon of a puppy. At once flummoxed and touched, I fetched her meat and water, and sat numbly staring at the wall while she finished her meal and proceeded to play with a pillow she’d snatched from the divan. She promptly tore it to shreds and started on the next one.
What the devil was my life?
The wolf fared quite well. I kept her–much to Nadir’s horror–until I made contact with a hospitable German woman who’d taken it upon herself to care for put-upon animals, releasing them back into the wild if she believed they were fit for it or nurturing them herself if they were not. She’d acres and acres of land in the northern wilds of the country and assured me, eyes glinting with concern at the mask, that my “pet” would lead a very happy life, indeed.
And she did, the last I heard. Free of the court’s abuse, she blossomed, gave birth to several litters of her own, and romped through the forest with her pack to her heart’s content.
The shah, of course, was quite displeased when he discovered that I’d liberated his one of his favorite methods of execution. I still bear the scars from the knife attack.
…Carried out by his hired lackeys, all of whom were swiftly dispatched. I took extra care to soak His Highness’ prized antique dressing gown in the leftover blood. His furious screams the next morning were well worth the hours I spent bandaging my wounds.
Really. You think he’d be grateful that I’d spared his court wolf another hour spent in his malodorous company.
In any case, I much prefer the simple house cat these days. More poop, yes, but considerably less bloodshed.
They turned me away in my hour of need, and now I shall do the same. I am strong now, and they are weak. They shall reap the cruel and karmic rewards of their past. My blade is iron, my heart is chrome.
Prompt#18 Make me cry and kill me with the feels over and over again. Please~
“I shouldn’t be in love with you.”
A/N: *rubs grotty little hands together* I shall do my best. For reference, I’m using the same AU as last time (the heartless AU, which was heavily inspired by Rumple and Belle from Once Upon a Time) because this is my suffering™ AU at the moment.
Her voice is taut after the earlier rejection, and to his surprise, something akin to shame creeps across his heart. He is the first to break eye contact.
“Well?” she prompts. “Which is it?”
He opens his mouth several times, switching between the two each time, but neither fits. “Can’t.”
“Can’t?” she echoes. Her gaze is cold, and he knows that if he meets it, he will lose. He keeps his attention on the library sprawled out before them. It’s safer than looking her way. “I suppose this is the part where you once again warn me that you’re incapable of feeling anything?”
“I would, if I thought you would listen.”
“Feelings like shame or anger,” Haru continued, “or affection. Those kinds of feelings, right? Because you do a stellar job of imitating those emotions otherwise. Can you really look at me - at your friends, Toto, Muta - and say that you don’t feel even the barest speck of love for anyone?”
She rounds on him, her head tilted back to meet his eyes. He stares back at her, if only out of stubbornness.
“Love isn’t all hearts and roses, you know. It’s caring and respecting and affection, things that I see in you whether you want to admit it or not. What are you so afraid of?”
There’s no easy way to explain it; to put into words how strange it is to hear his heart beating after centuries of silence. The feel of it makes him nauseous, like a sailor stepping back onto solid ground after years at sea.
He has taken too long to answer, and now she’s stepped closer. Dangerously close. His heart accelerates and it’s enough to make his head spin.
She blinks, and moves to grab her book back off him. “Fine. But you can’t run from this forever. Even if your lifespan is…” The end of her sentence escapes from her as her hand brushes against his in reclaiming the book. “What the…?”
She staggers back, but the action is more shock than fear. He can read the surprise in her face; the confusion solidified by his reaction. Her eyes flicker to the gloved hand that has been irritating Baron since their conversation, and he wonders if she’s already guessing the truth. If she has any idea how dangerous she is.
The moment she is gone, he tears his glove off.
It’s not human - it hasn’t been human for centuries - but neither is it wooden. Just at the edge of his wrist, painted wood gives way to flesh and blood; tawny fur smothers the skin, but it’s real.
He flexes his fingers and they crack - but it’s the crack of knuckles and joints, not wooden hinges.
His hand curls into a fist, and his impossible heart thunders on.
The way the flames dwindle to an ocean blue when he ascends the curve of her smile at the back of his neck as he carries her through his home town.
Bounding rooftops and truanting daylight duties to run with the night of her hair and the way his fingers would slip through the strands when she speaks of her fascination of his world.
Stars amounted to nothing when he kissed the freckles on her collarbone and her laughter at his temple with lips finding their grace through embraced arms and heart beat lullabies.
I’m in love with the way he loves her; that much I know.
He’s loved her ever since that first drop of blood against rotten concrete roads and echoed screams of the filth and the vile through the serenity of a hand that guided him to salvation with a sword in his chest.
He’s loved her ever since his unmerciful torrent of anger thrashed against her soul unreasonably; only to find an umbrella above his head and the tracks of a faded scar in words of reassurance that embraced him until he was calm again.
He’s loved her ever since the first few drops of safety fell from her eyes and hooded her heart with a noose around her neck tied by a string he had cast; and instead took a black blade in her name and cut it loose.
I’m in love with the way he loves her; because of how he loves her.
And for all the reasons he loved her; I shall do the same. - Nami.
So there are a lot of ‘James and Al are really over protective of Lily’ HCs, and if you ask me… nah.
I reckon it would be less ‘Touch my sister, look at my sister and I’ll kill you’ and more they sneak out to Three Broomsticks or Hog’s Head and Al notices a bloke eyeing Lily up. He proceeds to nudge James, nod in his sister’s general direction, and they both smirk muttering ‘Yeah, good luck mate’ as he attempts to pinch her arse. And, as they knew would happen, not seconds later the guy is pinned to the wall with her wand at his throat getting a furious but highly articulate lecture on why her body is, in fact, her body, meaning he has no right to touch it without her permission, straight up asking him whether he really thinks he’s so irresistible that any witch would obviously want to hop straight into bed with him, or whether he just thought she looked ‘easy’. After she’s got a bordering on hysterical promise that he’ll never do such a thing again (and clarification that he understands that she will know if he does, and the consequences will not be pretty), she smiles, drops her wand, gives him a polite nod and returns to the bar for another Firewhiskey, because if there is one thing Lily neither needs nor wants protecting from, it’s boys.
On the other hand… Al is perfectly happy with his boyfriend, Jay is ridiculously in love and pining over a girl, and yet the female population of Hogwarts in particular still feel that it’s acceptable to freely oggle them in the corridors and flirt outrageously with them. Lily does not feel that this is acceptable. She’s the one handing out ‘Hurt my brothers and I’ll nail you to the inside of the Quidditch hoop and bat bludgers at you repeatedly’ threats and hexing people’s hair that shade of yellow you get on Caution Tape and animals that hurt, which quickly becomes a universally understood symbol of ‘I looked at one of the Potter boys the wrong way and pissed of their sister, which I shall never ever do again’. She has been known to do the same thing with other members of her family too- especially Teddy. Victoire has suffered the results on several occasions, and it is not a rare event for the hospital wing to have several sulky students with bright yellow hair sat together and asking each other who it was they flirted with to end up there.
sherlock finding a pile of letters in jim’s apartment (he doesn’t find jim’s journals and his books are all gone;; sherlock is terrified jim burned them all. there is nothing but the cold museum of jim’s home:: light and shadow and still-life paintings) all of which are marked “return to sender” and he rips open one of them only to find that jim had been writing letters to the stars for years.
he reads through it, jim’s elegant scrawl asking the stars if they know they are each given a name, (“does it mean anything to you? to be given life in this very human manner? i almost hope it does make you breathless:: to have a name!”) telling them that he understands what it means to be alive and dead.
sherlock curls his hands around the letters, the last piece of jim he has. he tucks them into his coat, right next to his heart. he doesn’t read another letter (only carries them close)