#slainastral

[slainfury]

❛ (dear god), if it will keep my heart soft, break my heart every day. ❜

warsan  vs  melancholy   |   not accepting

          MOTHER, MOTHER PRAY TELL OF MY FATE ; WILL YOU LOVE ME STILL WHEN INNOCENCE HAS WANED, WHEN ALL THINGS SOFT HAVE SHARPENED?  

 will  she  love  him  if  his  heart  were  to  turn  to  black  and  rot?  what  of  when  his  smile  becomes  feral  and  his  soul  wounded  from  the  wickedness  of  this  unyielding  world?  the  other  gods  foresee  disaster  and  so  they  turn  their  backs  –  in  shame  and  sorrow  –  for  the  boy  is  mere  mortal,  he  will  age.  and  one  day  he  will  leave  his  mother,  and  another  time  he  will  do  it  differently.  it  will  hurt  all  the  same.    

     (  we  warned  you,  a  hissed  symphony  encircling  the  revered  mother.  his  creation  manifests  that  of  superficial  beauty,  it  is  not  ever - lasting.  the  smug  choir  sings ;  what  will  you  do  if  he  forsakes  his  bloodline  or  his  soul  tainted?  will  you  turn  your  back  on  him  too,  as  you  have  done  to  others  before?  )    

       mother,  comes  the  melodious  cry  from  a cherubic  face. it,  too,  will  all  fade  someday.  herein  lays  a  boy  now,  soft  and  gentle.  he  is  a  masterpiece  of  her  craft,  unaltered  by  time.  and  that  shall  never  come  to  be,  for  she  is  a  god  and  she  wills  it  so.  arrogance  is  unbecoming  of  her.  but  it  is  not  pride  which  insinuates  this  behavior,  it  is  love,  she  insists.

   love  is  what  bore  him.  it  is  the  only  warmth  needed  for  he,  a  child  of  winter,  to  survive.  it  is  the  tone  which  all  her  words  are  spoken  to  him,  a  stark  contrast  to  the  condescension  and  harshness  among  the  others.  and  it  is  that  same  tone  which  is  notably  absent  then  and  there,  when  she  speaks  a  prayer  perhaps  intended  for  herself.  her  voice  is  hoarse  with  sorrow,  how  it  shakes  him  so.  for  whomsoever  makes  his  mother  weep,  he  shall  put  to  the  sword  someday.  

  ❝  mama.  ❞   the  boy  tries  again.  his  head  reaches  her  waist  as  he  buries  himself  further  into  a  desperate  embrace,  hopeful  that  he  may  rid  of  her  sadness.  (  children  are  fragile  /  egocentric  in  that  manner  –  thinking  themselves  the  cause  for  all  issues  and  capable  of  absolving  all of  them.  a  shame,  a  shame  ravus  is  only  correct  about  the  former. )  the  wonders  it  would  do  to  his  mind,  to  know  he  is  the  unintentional  source  of  her  heartbreak  as  he  is  that  of  her  happiness.   ❝   you  needn’t  ask  such  things.  you  are  all  things  good  and  soft,  and  i  would  never  break  your  heart.  and  if  i  did  before,  i’ll  never  do  it  again.  ❞

[slainfury]

  the gods have forsaken him  /  and so he defied their capabilities in turn. his uprisings had cost him a limb, yet he paid no heed. he asked nothing of them, for they would not give.  (  mercy! a cry fell upon deafen ears  /  though try as they may to tell him that it was granted  )  he defied, the usurper to be. for he was a king without a crown, a birth right robbed simultaneously with his childhood. the kingdom left to rule in ashes & the boy’s sorrow soured into a craving for vengeance. 

   he grew, in ways. and yet, in some others he had died. there stands a beast, crafted by machinery & flesh. there stands a battle ruined soul, unmoved & unmade. but in this instance the boy returns, somewhere in the cloaked anguish ‘neath the armor of anger ; so much fury, righteous and unquestionable. buried in the bitterness lingers a demand for a long unanswered question he is incapable of answering on his own  --  the justification for all this that has happened to himself and those he loves. 

  ❝   since when have you decided that you cared about me as well? and pray tell, was this visit of your own doing or did my sister have to remind you of my existence?  ❞ 

┊ ˚˖↷  @slainastral  

[slainfury]

❛ no man can live up to the one who lives in your head. ❜

some fucking meme  |  not  accepting

        GODS BE GOOD, SPARE PITY UNTO HIM.  /   FOR WHO WOULD EVER WANT THE FORLORN DESTINY HE HAS BEEN GIVEN?  he  takes  this  mantle  willingly,  tolerating  the  burdenous  weight  of  the  world  on  his  shoulders.  or  rather,  what  is  left  of  the  world  he  once  knew.  but  even  ashes  have  a  mass  of  their  own  which  compares  to  stone  and  steel.  he  has  created   self - destructive  expectations  which  he  intends  to  uphold  like  silent  vows.

  i  am  fearless,  for  i  must  be.  /  for  i  have  nothing  left  to  lose,  but  all.  i  remember,  on  behalf  of  those  forgotten.  (  tenebrae  remembers  ;  what  is  left  of  it.  he  remains  and  therefore  it  remains.  )  i  cannot  lose,  for  i  am  all  that  remains.

        I AM RAVUS NOX FLEURET  /  KING OF TENEBRAE.

 o,  what  wondrous  damage  the  weight  of  a  nonexistent  crown  can  do.  it  is  crushing  him,  rendering  him  to  his  knees  despite  a  stubborn  will  which  promised  never  to  bow.  he  wants  nothing  more  than  to  be  what  tenebrae  needs  –  a  good  king,  beloved  savior  by  all.  he  wants  the  gods  rueful  for  their  dismissive  behavior  on  the  day  of  his  birth,  decreeing  him  useless  merely  because  of  his  inability  to  conjure  magic.  he  wants  to  be  brave,  a  vengeful  boy  of  sixteen  on  the  verge  of  waging  a  war  with  his  sharp  tongue  alone  against  the  so - called  conquerors  from  niflheim.  he  wants  to,  truly.  but  what  does  he  know  of  war,  aside  from  the  horrors  of  it?  luck  and  ambition  will  not  drive  one  to  victory.

              ( I WANT TO BE BRAVE.  /  BUT I AM AFRAID. )

 grief  has  melded  him.  hiraeth  has  tarnished  his  innocence  and  optimism.  the  blows  were  being  dealt  with,  one  after  the  other.  despite  all  that  he  could,  it  was  not  enough  and  never  would  be.  it  was  too  much  to  bear  for  a  boy  alone.  but  he  could  never  admit  such  defeat,  he  could  never surrender  even  to  those  closest  to  him.  

       ❝   is it unfair of me, to ask of a man who demonstrates courage? or do such heroes not exist beyond the realm of a child’s imagination? ❞  his  eyes  narrow  and  as  does  the  line  of  his  mouth,  that  scowl  is  becoming  more  and  more  familiar  on  his  youthful  face.  how  unfortunate.     ❝   my ancestors were weak. the gods have forsaken me. and insomnia  –  ❞

 fists  tighten,  jaw  clenched.  all  at  once,  his  rage  is  contained  and  expelled  through  a  single  exhale.  he  mustn’t  lose  control  lest  it  come  across  as  a  tantrum.     ❝   king regis thinks naught of others, only for himself. i want to be ten times the man he is, is that such a sinful desire? for i find it shameful that a boy should want to do more for his kingdom than any man here and now! ❞

[slainfury]

❛ who made you feel so worthless? ❜

warsan vs melancholy  |   not  accepting

      HER WORDS ARE ARE SHARP AND STEEL AND A GREATER HARSHNESS THAN HE EVER THOUGHT HIMSELF CAPABLE. it  has  not  only  garnered  his  attention,  but  rendered  him  suspended.  even  the  great  weight  of  steel  which  he  bears  for  a  limb  feels  as  though  it  has  rusted  in  place.  the  words  cut  through  him  deep,  far  more  fierce  and  rugged  than  any  blade.  already  incapable  of  facing  her  as  is,  he  cannot  storm  off  from  her  either  –  much  as  he  may  have  liked  to.  after  all,  one  cannot  outrun  what  he  already  thinks  of  himself.

  ( worthless  /  unneeded  /  unwanted ; i am, i am, i am. )  a  sharp  inhale.  bitterness  and  disappointment,  directed  at  no  one  but  himself  arises  once  more.  for  all  that  he  is,  there  are  thousands  more  of  greater  men.  for  all  that  he  will  be,  a  legacy  ruined  and  riddled  in  failure.  

    ❝   You’re a messenger of the gods, are you not? Recall the day of my birth then. I imagine those whispers shared amongst them were not of joyous celebrations for Tenebrae.  ❞   a  boy.  a  worthless  boy  incapable  of  the  oracle’s  gifts ;  a  fatherless  thing  whose  cries  echoed  across  the  palace  hall,  for  there  was  only  silence  among  the  people.  he  was  not  what  the  kingdom  needed,  he  was  not  what  divine  fate  longed  for.  so  bitterness  bleeds  into  his  laugh.  ❝  Worthless is all I have been, all I will be. It is all that I was made of.  ❞

   he  would  never  bear  the  accursed  gifts  of  the  oracle  ; that  is  not  to  say  he  envies  his  sister’s  position.  rather,  it  renders  him  with  guilt.  oh  what  he  would  give  to  save  her  /  to  let  this  poison  eat  his  flesh  instead  so  that  she  may  prosper.  for  what  use  is  an  older  brother  who  truly  cannot  protect  the  sister  he  first  held  all  those  years  before?  his  rights  and  titles  stripped,  alongside  his  mother  and  home.  the  king  who  never was.  the  king  who  lost  tenebrae.  is  it  possible  for  one  be  worthless  and  demonstrate  unworthiness  all  the  same?  –  he  thinks  it  so.  the  power  he  has  accumulated  now  can  be  seized  at  any  given  moment.  is  it  truly  the  power  of  command  if  his  own  armed  men  can  turn  their  weapons  at  him  at  any  given  moment?  it  is  merely  for  show  then,  is  it  not?

      ( I’VE WON EVERY BATTLE  /  YET I AM LOSING THIS WAR. )

   ❝  Do you understand now, why I try to make something of myself?  ❞  he  cannot  help  but  ask  of  her,  sparing  a  side  glance.  that  in  itself  was  painful,  he  can  catch  the  faintest  glimpse  of  her  expression.  he  knows  the   forthcoming  answer.  steel  fingertips  clench  painfully  tight,  and  though  he  cannot  truly  storm  away  from  her,  he  damn  well  tries.