Dark Ships and Fairy Tales

Just sad over the lost potential and honestly embarrassed by it all.

My Darklina fic Dark Guardian just reached 2000 kudos on ao3!! Most kudos I've ever had on a fic. Makes me so happy that people still read this story 😭❤️

I don't care if this gets me mistaken as a tourist. This is the greatest t-shirt I have ever seen and damn right I'll wear it everywhere 😂

With the intruders slain, their lifeless bodies strewn about his home and staining his marble floors crimson, his eyes fall upon the woman who has both vexed and fascinated him for centuries. A woman he had declared before his house, and all who resided within, that she would die for her defiance on this day.  And yet... Hope is not dead—not yet. Not ever, the rotten, blackened relic he calls a heart snarls in his chest.  Hope lies eerily still. The only sign she is still alive is the faint, stuttering rise of her chest as she struggles for breath. Her eyelids are closed, hiding those defiant, bewitching eyes he has had countless battles of wills with. Her once gleaming armor is tarnished with soot, scorch marks, and the scratches of talons and claws. Her hair has come free from its braid and falls around her face, brilliant and bright like the fire that blazes in her spirit.  Raphael's feet leave a trail of bloodied footprints as he staggers towards her. Nothing else matters in that moment. Only her. He doesn't take the chance to savor his victory over the True Souls—those foolish mortals that dared reject his generous offers, until their desperation finally led them to their doomed suicide mission to his domain. He doesn't give his fallen minions more than a passing glance. Korrillia lies unconscious, face obscured by her wavy hair. Yurgir licks his wounds by one of the three broken soul pillars, looking worse for wear than when he first arrived back at The House of Hope. Dozens of imps have been reduced to piles of ash, while those that survived were left with crippled wings and missing limbs.  It has been a victory hard won. Even Raphael—much to his annoyance—has suffered greatly. His movements were reduced to a sluggish gait. Everything hurt, from the tip of his tail to the tips of his wings. It is nothing that won't heal with a short soak in his bath, but still... the sting of each wound makes his blood boil... Those ungrateful whelps! There will be nothing left of their bodies to bury, he'll make sure of that. Their loved ones tears will fall upon empty, shallow graves that bear only their names, names that will be eroded by winds and rains until nothing remains to remember them by. Raphael's monstrous shadow looms over Hope. Weakly, she opens her eyes. It should not surprise him—but it does, it always does—that she still has the strength to glare at him with more hatred and disgust than anyone has ever dared.