Tag "Hurt/Comfort" - Works and Original stories

A voice from heaven admonished him that only the most cruel demonic creature could ease the pain ingrained into his skin, but Venti understood that this would never happen.

An ordinary thief with a terrible secret, dreaming of escaping from the slums of the capital to the northern lands. A friend trapped in a cage of someone else's consciousness. A guy who has lost everything except dreams of killing his own comrade. A young enthusiast striving to bring the scales of justice into balance. And these four are capable of changing the course of history in their state or destroying millions of worlds.

In the fading light of autumn twilight, when the last rays of the sun penetrated through the shimmering foliage, I was crossing a slippery bridge, an unusual landscape appeared before me. The forest seemed to call me into its universe so beautiful, as if magic was in the air.

Visdomnia is shattered, the world-walkers are saved, nobody knows that Eo is a dusk, that Lololoshka kissed Ashra, and no one knows that our heroes destroyed Visdomnia. But this is not the end; we still have to find out why Lololoshka ended up in Visdomnia and the true reason he lost his memory during the transition.

─ I don't want you to be here. ─ Why? ─ Hyunjin smiled tiredly, patting his friend on the head. ─ Because I'll get used to you. ─ Is that bad? ─ It's always hurt me. ─ he finally raised his frightened, dark eyes. ─ I won't hurt you. ─ But I'll hurt you. ─ I'll endure it. ─ Hyunjin pulled Felix closer and hugged him tightly.

Only at this time he understanding, only right now

When the world around crumbles into dust, and darkness seems endless, when the pull of the bottomless pit of despair is insurmountable, and life is an unbearable living hell full of pain and misery, all you need to do is say "please". And who knows, maybe your angel will hear your plea and come. It is the end of Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts and Severus Snape is one breath away from taking his own life. Will anybody hear how fast his heart thrums its last beats?

In the shadow of the evening twilight, when the last rays of sunset plunge the world into a deep sleep, the story of lies blooms like a dark flower in the glade of truth. In the heart of a small town, where trees whisper secrets to the wind, a story emerges about a man whose smile was a bright sun in gray days.

On the corner of the street, immersed in the shadow of the past days, there was an old ice cream shop. Its windows glittered like eyes in the dim light of the street lamps. Summer had left this city, but inside the shop there was another summer alive, trapped in the icy walls.

In the shadow of a starry evening, when the heavens were blooming with azure, there lived a lonely black magician. His name has been forgotten for centuries, like old lines in forgotten books. Wisdom and kindness were hidden in his heart, but his gifts were wrapped in black magic.

Seems like one person, but so different

At the tips of the star thread, where darkness meets light, hovers the memory of an old steam locomotive, whose dreams were woven into the haze of the past. This steel giant was the living heart of the railways, and its steam legends left a shadow on the platform of time.

In a small room, sunk in semi-darkness, there was an antique table. On it, as if forgotten by the artist, lay a diary of dreams. Its cover, worn by time, was like the evening sky, tinged with shades of lilac and indigo. Everything mysterious and mysterious was hidden behind thick pages, as if in the very depths of the night sky.

In a dark corner of the city, where the rain was weaving thin threads of its jets, three entities met – a man, a robot and a demon. The evening was like a gathering of shadows, but it was in this darkness that the luminaries of fate lit up.

In ancient times, in the innermost corners of the soul of each of us, there is a mysterious garden – a world of flowers that, like stars in the night sky, bloom in moments of joy and fade in a moment of heavy grief. And so, in this garden of an ordinary person hovering in everyday life, rainbow petals bloomed and the aromas of happiness appeared, but, as in everyone's life, it was time for rain.

On the edge of the twilight pool, where the heavens lie on the earth, there lived an old philosopher. In his house, built of faded stars and ancient memories, time flowed slowly, like a viscous river of melancholy. There was a look in his eyes, like stars in the night sky, squeezed between the fingers of time.

On the outskirts of a quiet village stood an old blacksmith shop, like a forgotten page in the book of time. Its walls, upholstered with slabs of tarnished metal, seemed to keep the secrets of the past terrible days. Once upon a time, metal slicing the air sounded in this iron heart, like the melody of an ancient bard, sparkling and flashing like stars in the night sky.

Everyone was busy that day. Many were on missions, while others were working hard. Edogawa Rampo is an exception; he can sit back and not be told anything. They can, of course, ask to work, but he can firmly refuse. The sweets ran out and, unfortunately, the agency was empty. But Rampo knew that very soon Osamu would approach him with a bag of sweets. And he already knows how he will use one of the sweets to play with Dazai.

The day that was Minho's last and the day that was Jisung's last happy day.

In the shadow of a forgotten time, under the mossy roofs of ancient memories, there lived one story. It began as a light breeze playing with the mottled leaves of autumn. But in this invisible fabric of fate there was something more mysterious than just a fleeting breath.