#devilsmorals

[repressedmagic]

‘shh, it was just a nightmare.’ : )

different ways to say ‘i love you’. | accepting

      Wheezing gasps for air - thin and tremulous - as his body curled in on itself further and further. It felt as if his chest were trying to collapse and the only thing that kept it up was the clammy warmth of the hand on his arm. Grounding him in this reality when he was so certain he was about to sink away - back into his own mind. The nightmare of faces he could barely see and the blinding pain of something. As if aflame without a chance to flee. 

      “ i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry -- ” words hiccuped and broken as he rasped them, trembling hands reaching out for something. Anything -- and then fabric brushed against his finger tips. Credence latched on with a soft whine of confusion, tears fresh as he ducked into the looming figure just next to him. A nightmarish being he sought - and found - comfort in. 

      “ i didn’t mean it. i didn’t i didn’t -- i’m sorry. make it stop. ” He could barely find coherence as he breathed each word like a prayer, grip tight and unyielding as he shut his eyes to the world once more. Another soft, broken whine of a sob leaving him. He didn’t want to dream anymore. 

[herrikhan]

“ the dark doesn’t intend to hurt you. ”

“no.”

the dark, the dark, the dark. there was a time he never experienced true darkness. there were palace windows thrown open to let the sun against his skin, heady-scented candles of exotic oil to keep him company as he worked (or played) long into the night. even in his sleep, his dreams took him back home, among the stars, where he and his kin were light itself. but he can no longer revisit his greatest achievements without revisiting his greatest failure, as well-- there is no soft summer breeze, no sumptuous meal, no glittering affair he can call up before him that does not end prematurely with cries of BLASPHEMER, DECEIVER, GODLESS JACKAL! he may draw the most uneventful, inconspicuous scene from his days ruling over mortal men, and still, he would find himself drowning in the heavy black ooze that sucked him down to odyl.

but here-- here, in odyl, there is no light. there is only glowing. there is fire, molten rock, and whatever enchantment he may cast to illuminate the place. no daylight. no moonlight. and worst of all, no stars. the fortress festers like a wound infected under the immovable bandage of the earth above. he may be king in this realm, but he is king of naught but rock and heat and beyschlag. ah, beyschlag. ah, his servant. half the time he wishes he had never created the wretch. but who else would speak to him in this barren wasteland if not that monster?

then he met the boy.

now, let us be absolutely clear: herrikhan is still as evil as he’s always been. he is still just as selfish, cruel, power-hungry, and depraved. he has no heart to speak of.

(but even heartless things may feel phantom pains.)

as for the boy-- well, the king of odyl sees himself in him. herrikhan is reminded of his younger self, the beloved, wicked princeling who wrought fear in all he met, the seemingly immortal ruler who felt godhood for one blissful moment before he was struck down. he sees that moment repeated endlessly in little christopher carrion. he sees the ecstasy at others’ horror, and he sees the way it turns itself inside out to become one’s own horror and the ecstasy of those who would depose him.

it is a nightmare these strange companions meet in, yes. but it is a nightmare they seem to be content with.

“i am the dark, child. rest assured that it, and i, will always be your shelter.”

[hagshand-blog]

our urls dont match any more grandma, i'm finally FREE :)

I mean... I could change mine to hagshand/s

[praedirus]

x.   ‹  @gallowsgrove.  ›

               ❛   that doesn’t HURT,  does it?   ❜    his words are soft  ;  inquisitive as he makes circles around the other,  examining the bizarre  tank - like  equipment locked in place around their neck.    ❛   the collar,  i mean   ——————  is it PAINFUL?   ❜