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queenshelby · 1 year ago

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Our Little Secret (Part Nine)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Minutes later...

Danielle still lay sprawled across the king-size bed, draped in satin sheet covers, the gentle rhythmic snores confirming she hadn't stirred even since Cillian had left the room. She must have been exhausted, leaving Cillian free to explore his urges undetected. Even now, hours later, her breath rose and fell steadily, unaware of the turmoil raging below her slumbering form.

Cillian joined her in bed again, still carrying your scent on his skin. He moved closer to where his wife lay, barely perceptible in the dim moonlight streaming through the window.

His mind was turmoil, filled with a mix of regret and guilt. His heart raced. Innocent tears trickled down his cheek, echoing his inner conflict. One part yearned for family and stability while the other half craved both, desire and lust for the unexpected and forbidden.

Danielle murmured in her sleep, turning onto her side, throwing her arm around Cillian's chest instinctively.

He cautiously placed an arm around her waist, trying to find comfort in her embrace despite his wandering thoughts. However, deep down, he was troubled. His mind kept drifting back to the passionate encounter he shared earlier with you. Cillian couldn't help but compare your encounters—one full of desire and hunger, the other shrouded in guilt and secrecy. How did he end up in this situation? Why was he drawn to you?

Was it because you represented everything Danielle lacked, including, passion and freedom? Or perhaps it was simply the fact that you shared an intense chemistry and mutual understanding that went beyond mere carnal desires.

Cillian tossed and turned, struggling to find solace in the arms of his seemingly content wife. Danielle remained oblivious to the internal battle raging within her husband, her peaceful demeanor serving as a stark contrast to the chaos brewing beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Cillian wrestled with his conscience, torn between loyalty to his wife and the burning desire for the woman who consumed his thoughts. He wondered why fate had brought them together under such tragic circumstances. What made him choose to succumb to temptation, knowing fully well that their encounters could lead to dire consequences?

The answer eluded him, haunting him with its absence. The intensity of his passionate rendezvous only served to fuel his growing obsession, further complicating matters between him and Danielle.

Cillian knew that, realistically, his marriage was over. It had been over for a long time, ever since they lost their first baby. The pain of that loss pushed Danielle to seek comfort elsewhere after Cillian sought solace in his work. Unaware of the depth of Cillian’s feelings and during his absences when filming, she started frequenting bars and clubs in search of distractions. It was there that she crossed paths with a man named James, a charming entrepreneur who showered her with attention and helped her forget her sorrows temporarily.

She soon fell pregnant again, but the child was not Cillian's and didn't take long for rumors to circulate among those close to them that Max wasn't actually his biological child. When confronted about this, neither confirmed nor denied the allegations. Instead, Cillian decided to treat and love Max as if he was his own and somehow, the couple managed to convince everyone in their circle, presenting themselves as a doting couple raising their new bundle of joy while, for many years, trying to fall pregnant again.

Their relationship became a carefully orchestrated facade designed to hide the truth from friends and family and this, especially, made sense for both of their acting careers.

They maintained this image publically, but privately they often argued about the state of their union. While Danielle felt secure in the structure provided by her marriage, she also grew tired of having a spouse more interested in his career than in her. Their sexual routine began to lose steam, replaced instead by resentment and frustration. They rarely talked openly about these issues, suppressing them inside, building a pressure cooker waiting to explode.

Whilst, for the past eight years or more, Danielle had been faithful to her husband, Cillian never really forgave her and now you were in the picture as well and he craved your company.

Desire and infatuation had clouded his judgment, leading him into dangerous territory. With each meeting, he sank deeper into the quagmire of betrayal and adultery, his morals crumbling beneath the weight of his passion, and it was this passion which kept him awake until the early hours of the morning.

Unable to sleep, he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead.

He couldn't ignore the profound impact you had on him. His life was spiralling out of control - he lied to everyone and every moment spent with you tormented him with guilt and shame. It was as if he had become addicted to something he once considered repulsive, losing all self-control in the process. Yet, he was unable to stop wanting you – needing you.

In moments of clarity, he vowed to put an end to this madness.

But as he rolled restlessly onto his side, he recalled your touch, the taste of your lips, the soft whimper you uttered when he entered you. All these thoughts invaded his consciousness like an unwelcome army taking residence in his brain. Each memory inflamed his body, making his groin throb with arousal. Every fiber of his being demanded release, yet he knew that succumbing to it would bring nothing but misery.

He also knew that, eventually, this had to end. There was no alternative and, with that in mind, he made a choice. He had to choose his family over you, regardless of how broken it was.

As hard as it might be, he owed it to Danielle and Max to try and salvage whatever remained of their fractured bond as, even though he wasn't Max's biological father, he loved him dearly. Thus, it was the right thing to do. It had to be done and it could not wait any longer.

***

Hours later, dawn broke softly through the windows, casting warm golden light across the room. He could hear birds singing cheerfully outside. Cillian dragged himself out of bed, reluctantly pulling on some clothes. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he noticed that dark circles rimmed his eyes, testament to his restless night.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wake himself up completely. As he dressed, his gaze shifted involuntarily toward the bedroom door, mentally calculating whether he should tell Danielle about his indiscretions or not. But then, reality struck him like a hammer blow to the head. This wouldn't merely damage his reputation, it would destroy his entire world! He shook his head furiously, banishing the thought before it took root. Besides, the risk was too great. Danielle was unpredictable and capable of causing serious harm to someone she perceived as a threat. She already threatened to take Max away on several occasions and, even to you, she could be a threat.

As he walked out of the bedroom, he passed by Danielle's sleeping figure, her face serenely relaxed amidst pillows. There was so much left undiscovered, hidden behind the closed doors of marriages. He tried to shake away these thoughts, knowing they led nowhere.

And then outside, in the living-room, there was his brother, holding a cup of coffee in his hand, looking pensive.

"What?" asked Cillian, attempting to maintain eye contact.

Frank lowered his eyes slightly and offered him the coffee. "You look like you need it man!" he said.

Cillian accepted gratefully, feeling exhausted both physically and emotionally. The scalding liquid coursed through his veins giving him a brief surge of energy. He sipped it slowly, savoring the rich flavor. He looked questioningly at his brother.

"Nothing," said Frank finally, "It's just… I know things have been difficult lately. And we haven't really spoken about it."

"Spoken about what?" Cillian asked before draining the remaining dregs of coffee from his mug.

"You and Danielle. You have been fighting a lot, haven't you?" Frank asked quietly while sipping his own coffee. "Yes, we argue constantly," admitted Cillian with a bitter laugh. "We never agree on anything anymore."

"Isn't it exhausting?" asked Frank, sympathetically.

"Absolutely," agreed Cillian, "but we just go along, maintaining appearances." He paused briefly, thinking back to his recent trysts with you. Would anyone guess? Probably not...but he couldn't help wondering whether his behavior was suspicious especially as you ran past them both, still wearing the same nightgown which you have worn last night, your hair disheveled.

"Is Y/N alright?" Cillian asked as you failed to acknowledge him and, much to his brother's surprise, Frank mentioned that you were feeling sick.

"Sick? She seemed alright last night, and she sure did not drink too much," Cillian said, concerned.

Frank nodded in agreement. "True, but sometimes people don't realize they're ill until it hits them full force. Maybe she got some bad food yesterday evening," he told his brother who couldn't help but worry about you.

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x reader

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hand-written-dreams · 9 days ago

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CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 23

Marked In Crimson

Maybe I'm too busy,

Being yours to fall for somebody new.

Now I've thought it through.

Crawling back to you.

- ( The song of the chapter is "Do I wanna know" by Arctic Monkeys.)

The city sprawls beneath him, a shimmering sea of lights that blurs and stretches into the endless night. He stands motionless, hands buried deep in his pockets, his broad shoulders tense against the dim glow of his office. The air around him is heavy, saturated with the remnants of her scent and the echoes of her screaming his name.

His name has never sounded more entrancing than when it fell from her lips.

She smells like temptation, a heady mix of purity and danger, something that makes him want to worship her, to press his face against the soft curve of her neck and inhale her and, then degrade her, bend her over to remind her who she belongs to.

She also smells like another thing.

The Rose.

It was the first thing that hit his nose when he trapped her the first night. It was a trap, one that he'd fallen into instead of her. He thought he was the one pulling the strings, but in truth it was her.

Sometimes though her rose is mixed with vanilla or coffee, probably from her body lotion or perfume. But no scent can overpower the raw and unmistakable essence of her arousal, of which his office is reeking right now.

His jaw clenches as he stares out through the glass wall, the cityscape offering no solace, no answers.

Hate and desire coil into a single knot, each emotion feeding the other, a war he's no longer certain he wants to fight. And for the first time in years, he feels like a man on the edge of collapse.

Control

His anchor, his constant,

His most reliable weapon has slipped like sand through his fingers at the moment he gave in to her.

And now she's a constant in his mind.

A storm in his already turbulent ocean.

The catalyst for the ruin of his life.

His chaos.

But tonight, she wasn't his ruin,

Nor his chaos.

She was his undoing.

A force, wild and untamed, which he's battled to resist, to silence, to lock away. And yet, here he stands with the taste of her still on his lips while his fingers burn with the memory of her heat.

His reflection stares back at him from the glass, shadowed eyes and clenched jaw mirroring the struggle within.

His grip on everything he's built, on himself, is fragile. He's always been the master of his world, the one pulling the strings, dictating the terms. Yet here he stood just a few hours ago, consumed by the most primal, maddening emotion of all.

Envy.

Her words from earlier echo in his mind, venomous in their simplicity.

"...Be in a normal relationship with someone who likes me. Like, likes me. You know what I mean?"

He isn't the type to be envious, especially not over someone so ordinary. Yet here he has been, seething because that swanky boy from the fifth floor and with a death wish had the audacity to hold the potential to give her everything she desires, an uncomplicated relationship, with an uncomplicated man without any skeletons in his closet, and no complicated past history binding them.

And she was blushing at the boy's pathetic despicable jokes.

How dare she?

She only blushes for him, always for him. That pink bloom on her cheeks is his, and she has no right to give it to anyone else, and then goads him about it.

"You're obsessed with me, huh?"

Yes, he is obsessed with her.

With her hazel eyes, wide and dazzling, that seem to peer right through him, haunting his thoughts when he least expects it.

With her long tresses begging to be tangled in his fist, dark, always wavy and uninhibited, just like her. With the way her longest strands stop at a point just before the curve of her ass.

With her skin, impossibly soft and pliable, as though it were crafted to mould perfectly beneath his touch.

With her delicate neck, so fragile and tempting, where the maddening mole on her right collar bone resides, taunting him to claim it.

With her plump, luscious lips, calling to be kissed, bitten and silenced by him.

And with that intoxicating rose scent of hers that lingers long after she's gone, weaving itself into his thoughts, refusing to let go....down to her red, sparkly toes.

Fuck, she is so pretty with soft eyes and pouty lips. But the most stunning thing about her is....Her intelligence.

It's what enables her to talk back in the kind of ways that urge him to immediately shut her off and then listen to her whole fucking day.

What the fuck would he even do with that infuriating stubborn wildcat of a girl? He can't kill her, He can't even hurt her.

His dick has some answers though, his mind instantly flashing images of her naked on his desk, spread wide open, head thrown in ecstasy, trying to claw out the glass top, begging for more. He has some ideas, sure.

The next time she talks back like that to him he just needs to fill her mouth with something more productive. The image of her, on her knees, lips stained with fiery red, looking up at him with soft hazel eyes, plays in his mind. It sends a rush of heat to his groin adding agony to his already aching member.

His teeth grind together as his jaw tightens painfully. He's not a man given to losing control, not over his emotions, and certainly not over a woman.

But she isn't just any woman.

She's THE woman who is placed in this world just to torture him.

She is the girl with fire in her veins and stubbornness etched into every sharp edge of her being. The one he had tried to kill once, long ago. The plan was perfect. Ruthless. Her death was meant to be a footnote in his vengeance. But he couldn't follow through. The thought of extinguishing the light in her hazel eyes hollows him out in ways he can't explain, the idea of her lifeless body makes his stomach tighten in denial.

And that was before he even knew who she truly was.

So, he did what he does best.

Manipulation.

He buried the truth and ensured no one would discover the serpents' hand in the death of the Wolves' daughter. The aftermath fell neatly into place, shielding her from the revenge they would have inevitably sought.

And yet, despite everything, despite all his efforts to keep her at a distance, he's kept her close, tethering her to him with threads dipped in blood and deceit. If she ever tried to escape, he could yank those threads tight and remind her of who held the leash.

He told himself it was for control, for leverage. Yet deep down, he knew it wasn't control that drove him.

It's her.

The way she looks at him.

With those big fucking eyes.

Those maddening hazel eyes.

Damn them.

The first time he noticed it, it was fleeting, a flicker of something he couldn't quite name in her eyes. It wasn't fear, nor wariness, the emotions he's come to expect from anyone who meets him. Instead, it was soft, unguarded, and far too dangerous.

He told himself it was nothing, a trick of the light, but the look returned again and again. A quiet reverence lingered in her gaze when she spoke to him when she watched him. As if she saw something in him worth seeing.

It unsettled him.

The way they looked at him, cutting through the layers of darkness he had cloaked himself in. He wanted to gouge them out, to make them stop seeing him so clearly, to snuff out the fire that burned too brightly, illuminating parts of him he wanted to stay buried.

So, he showed her everything.

The worst of him.

The monster within.

The darkness.

The vile truth.

Then he waited for the inevitable.

The change in her eyes.

For those eyes to dull under the weight of his sins.

But they didn't.

They stayed the same.

They even burned brighter.

There was anger, yes. Accusations too. But no fear, no fading of that damn stubborn fire.

Those damn eyes even roped him into her idiotic plan at the casino. A plan that nearly got her killed. She's lucky he was there in time, though she doesn't seem to realize how close she came to dying.

He exhales sharply. She's a witch. He doesn't let anyone touch his Ducati, let alone ride it.

But with her, he makes an exception.

Not only that, he also draped his leather jacket over her. That ridiculous white faux-feather thing barely covered her, and the thought of her walking around in it, exposed to strangers and their wandering eyes, made his teeth grind.

The more so, the sight of her wrapped in something of his settled something primal inside him. The jacket swallowed her, falling past her thighs, and he allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction at how natural she looked in it.

Her touch burned through the thin barrier of his shirt as her arms circled his waist, and he felt the press of her body against his back, her hands clutching at his shirt, her fingers digging into his skin as if she could anchor herself to him.

He suppressed a growl and revved the bike, the engine roared to life as he took off, leaving her no choice but to cling to him.

It was a distraction, a dangerous one, but he didn't slow down. If anything, he pushed the bike harder, faster, as if the wind could strip him of the tension coiling in his chest.

But she didn't let him go.

He felt her shifting, the press of her thighs against him loosening as her arms slipped from his waist. He glanced in the mirror, his jaw tightening when he saw her leaning back, arms spread wide like she was daring the wind to swallow her whole.

Reckless.

He should have been angry, should have snapped at her to hold on before she fell, but the sight of her like this.

Wild. Free. Alive.

It cut through his irritation. Her hair whipped around her face, her head tilted back, and for a moment, he forgot the world outside the scene unfolding in his mirror.

Her eyes closed.

Face lifted towards the sky.

Lips stretched in an ethereal smile.

The little bird finally spread her wings.

Daring to break free from the cage that once confined her, daring to embrace the limitless skies above.

He kept driving, the roar of the engine masking the sound of his heart pounding as he fought the battle he knew he'd already lost. The lines he swore never to cross are behind him now, and all that's left is her.

As they raced into the night, he was not sure if he was the one driving her forward or if she was the one dragging him into the fall.

And like that, she's made him addicted to that one thing she's given him with abandon.

Her trust.

Fuck.

She's poisoning him, inch by inch.

She's poisoning him with her reckless trust.

The way she trusts him, without hesitation, without fear, to keep her safe, to keep her alive, then surrender her body to him.

Completely.

Wildly.

With unweaving confidence.

It is a drug he can't quit. It's intoxicating and maddening, and it terrifies him because she doesn't even realize the power she holds.

Her trust turns him on.

The way she comes undone in his arms, the way she melts beneath his touch, the way her body trembles and arches, giving him something she's never given to anyone else, only something that belongs to him entirely can do that.

Her trust is her surrender.

And her surrender belongs to him.

Just as she does.

She is His.

His to trust him so recklessly.

His to unravel under his touch.

His to spread wide open in his desk while he devours her pussy while she screams his name.

Her blush is his.

Her fire is his.

Her surrender is his.

They're all his.

The cold water rushes over his hands, cleansing away traces of her as he stands in his washroom, tucked within the confines of his office. Yet, no amount of water can wash her away, the faint imprint she left on his skin, on his mind.

His phone blips, a text lighting up his screen.

The world outside waits for him, demanding his attention, much like the fresh suit jacket and the crisp shirt hanging on a hook nearby, ready to be worn.

His gaze drifts to his reflection in the mirror. His lips curve up on their own accord. A bold crimson lipstick mark stains his cheek. He should have demanded those lips somewhere else.

Maybe that's something to look forward to in the future.

He unbuttons the shirt, letting the fabric fall away to reveal the scars etched across his torso. The cool air of the room brushes against his skin, but it does little to soothe the heat simmering beneath.

His gaze traces the jagged lines and faded marks, remnants of a life he never chose but one he's lived with unwavering resolve.

What did she think when she saw them that night? Would she see him differently if she ever got to know the stories behind them?

Would she think him monstrous? A man too hardened by the world, too shaped by violence to be anything else? Or would she pity him? That would be worse. Her pity would be unbearable, a knife twisting deeper than any wound ever had.

He reaches for the fresh shirt, the fabric cool against his fingers. As he buttons it up, his jaw tightens. When he steps out of this room, he will be ready for the world, mask in place, composure unyielding, every weakness locked away.

This moment between them, will be folded neatly and tucked into the farthest corners of his mind.

Hidden, yet ever-present.

For now. He needs to attend a meeting.

No, a negotiation.

The Wolves believe the Serpents orchestrated the killings of their boss and underboss, and their retaliation has been swift and merciless. They've seized control of the borders between Kolkata and Bangladesh, cutting off the Serpents' strongholds and tightening their grip on the region.

But the Serpents have been ready to strike back. In a calculated move, they've taken control of key territories in Mumbai, exploiting the Wolves' moment of vulnerability after the loss of their leadership.

The Wolves, however, have wasted no time. Their counterattack has been quick and twice as ferocious. To reclaim the lost ground and to send a clear message that they would not be underestimated, now they hold the ultimate trump card in their hold,

The boss of the serpents.

Mr.Jha is in their custody, a bargaining chip in this war of power and pride. The Wolves have called for a negotiation, a meeting on neutral ground. The Eagles and the Triad Tribe capos will act as witnesses and mediators, ensuring this negotiation doesn't spiral further out of control or perhaps watching as it does. The wolves have arranged an army, fully aware of the consequences of their previous negotiation with the Serpents.

That was the issue that took her away from her earlier that evening before he came back to her waiting.

He didn't tell her.

He didn't tell her the man she's promised to is at the mercy of his enemies.

Why would he?

She's been waiting for him,

not for anybody else.

With those damned needy eyes.

All his.

And, he was powerless to resist.

Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to act, to take what he wanted, not to hold back like before, which made him ache for her even more.

Like the dreams he had of her sometimes, against his will. In those dreams, she's a woman bold and enticing, and he was a man stripped of logic, consumed by the need to destroy or devour her. He couldn't decide which.

So, he made her cry out his name and claimed pieces of her she didn't even know she'd offered.

Fuck, his mind snaps back to her again.

With a heavy breath, he exits the washroom, his movements brisk, his focus splintered between his phone and strategizing the move in the upcoming negotiation.

And then he sees it.

A scrap of black lace lying abandoned beneath the chair.

That minx.

She left without her panties.

His dirty, wicked little girl.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he bends to pick it up, slipping the lace into his pocket alongside his phone. She'll pay for this.

But not now.

For now, he has to go.

The hall buzzes with barely restrained hostility, the air thick with rivalry as capos, triad leaders, and key members of the three families sit in their designated places.

Three sofas are arranged in a circle, each designated for the boss, underboss, and consiglieri of each family. The sofa of the Wolves is occupied by the late Mr.Naik's younger brother and Mr.Doobay, the consiglieri.

He observes it all, seated at the far end of the room. Each family clings to their territory like predators guarding a kill, their disdain for one another palpable even in the silence.

"Where is Mr.Jha?" Mr.Gupta's voice slices through the tension, sharp with barely contained fury.

Arnav's gaze flickers to the consigliere of the Wolves, who leans back with a smug smirk.

"We tied him up with our dogs," the man replies, his tone dripping with derision. "Agree to our terms, and we'll release him."

Arnav notes the subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. A calculated ploy. Expected.

"What do you want?" Mr.Gupta demands, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.

The consigliere tilts his head, his grin widening. "Release our territories and hand over your border to us. We'll let your boss go. Besides, you've been humiliated enough."

Arnav's lips twitch, but he keeps his expression impassive. He watches Gupta struggle to maintain control, his temper simmering just beneath the surface.

"Fine. Done. Release him immediately," Gupta snaps, his words clipped. He turns to Mr.Rathore, his voice laced with venom. "I trust Mr.Rathore will ensure this agreement is fulfilled."

The Wolves exchange smug glances, their arrogance grating against Arnav's nerves. But he remains silent, observing, calculating.

They are doing quite well so far.

"We want another thing," the consigliere says, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"What?" Mr.Gupta's eyes narrow.

"Your daughter has come of age. Marry her to me," the consigliere says, his lecherous tone enough to sour the already charged air. "I'll treat her well, but we need assurance you'll stay in your place from now on."

Arnav's hand tightens around the armrest of his chair. The audacity.

"Mr.Doobay, We will not make deals involving women and children," Mr.Rathore interjects, his voice firm, unwavering. "We've done that enough in the past, and it has always ended in disaster...I am giving you my words."

Interesting. Despite the irritation, Arnav's gaze flicks to Mr.Rathore. So, he has a heart after all.

"She's Mr.Jha's fiancée," Mr.Gupta growls, his face dark with anger. "You can't say things like that."

The consigliere leans forward, his grin turning taunting. "Why not? I'd treat her better. I bet I could make the girl wetter than Mr.Jha ever could."

The room stills. The sound of a gunshot shatters the air.

Arnav lowers his gun, the barrel still smoking. The bullet had grazed the consigliere's ear, a deliberate miss.

The man glares at him, his lips curling into a sneer. "I must say, you're pretty bad at shooting, Raizada. You missed."

Arnav's hand moves again, quicker than a blink. Another shot rings out, embedding itself in the consigliere's leg.

The man cries out, collapsing back and clutching his thigh.

"Arnav Singh Raizada never misses his target," Arnav says coldly. "That was a warning. Mr.Rathore has made it clear, no involvement of women and children. Either you respect that, or you lose our protection."

The consigliere's sneer falters, but he forces a bitter laugh through the pain. "How dare you, Raizada? We could abduct her, have our way with her, and keep her as my mistress. We asked fairly out of principle instead of taking her."

"Touch one of our women against her will, and you'll see how fairly we treat you," One of the capos of the serpent sneers at Mr.Doobay.

Arnav leans back in his chair, his movements deceptively calm. His eyes, dark and unrelenting, pin the consigliere in place.

The consigliere's bravado flares again. "Against her will? I could have her begging for me in no ti....."

Hardly.

Another gunshot echoes, silencing the room.

The consigliere slumps forward, lifeless, his blood pooling on the floor. The room descends into a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint hum of air conditioning.

Mr.Naik wipes a splatter of blood from his face, his expression a mix of shock and fury.

"What the hell, Raizada?" Naik growls, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.

Arnav doesn't even blink. "He was annoying me."

Arnav adjusts his cufflinks, his expression unbothered. His voice is steady, commanding. "Mr.Naik, Appoint someone more competent. Someone who understands that shit talk has no place in negotiations."

"I can say the same about you," Mr.Naik snaps.

"Does Mr.Naik forget that I am not appointed?.....I inherited the post." His gaze sweeps the room, daring anyone to challenge him. When no one does, he fixes his eyes on Mr.Naik. "Now stop wasting our time. Mr.Rathore will announce the negotiation terms. Listen carefully so you can fulfil it without further delays. I don't want any more interruption."

He leans back as Mr.Rathore promises them the eagle's protection and assurance, and the wolves agree to release Mr.Jha in return for their land and a promise never to interfere in their business.

But Arnav's mind is elsewhere. A new plan is brewing to cage the little bird, and the enforcer of his plan will be none other than...Mr.Rathore.

It's time for Mr. Rathore to do something for him. And for her.

Although it means releasing her from one cage only to trap her in another. But what other choice did she leave for him?

Author's note:

Goodbye, 2024. May the friends we've made this year stay with us in the year to come, for very few pains are greater than losing a friend.

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @bigfatreader @barshifan @9artsdragon @chaiandtakkar

#arnav singh raizada #ipkknd #khushi kumari gupta #arnav and khushi #arshi #13 years of ipkknd #arshi fanfic #crimson_shade #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta

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evelasco-art · 2 months ago

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Quick-ish drawing of my fav problematic man. He’s usually all winks and chuckles, but I do good to remind myself that he can be, in fact, quite frightening. Wanted to try something different, more expressive, with this one.

The concept for this character came from the song The Truth Beneath The Rose, by Within Temptation. Listened to it for the first time 15 years ago and been obsessed with it ever since (too bad WT has decided that genAI is a good alternative to illustrators and animators).

Anyway, I feel like this is the first time I’ve captured this dark side of him in a drawing, so yay!!!

#original character #oc #oc art #artists on tumblr #fantasy art #delshed

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haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll · 11 months ago

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Tracklist:

The Howling • What Have You Done • Frozen • Our Solemn Hour • The Heart Of Everything • Hand Of Sorrow • The Cross • Final Destination • All I Need • The Truth Beneath The Rose • Forgiven

Spotify ♪ Bandcamp ♪ Youtube

#hyltta-polls #polls #artist: within temptation #language: english #decade: 2000s #Symphonic Metal #Alternative Metal

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emeraldfolk · 9 months ago

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Severus Snape + Within Temptation lyrics Forgiven/Shot in the Dark/The Truth Beneath the Rose/All I Need/Hand of Sorrow/Bittersweet/The Swan Song

#severus snape #alan rickman #pro snape #within temptation #hpedit

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lilas · 1 month ago

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Spotify asks. 69. 😏

😏 nice

Pray for me cause I have lost my faith in holy wars

Is paradise denied to me cause I can’t take no more?

Has darkness taken over me, consumed my mortal soul?

All my virtues sacrificed, can heaven be so cruel?

spotify wrapped asks

#ty sm ash!!#within temptation never expires ever #they have colored too much of my media consumption to not be included lmao!#anyway. avi going through it in heavensward. to me.#spotify wrapped #asks

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black-arcana · 11 months ago

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HEAVY MUSIC HISTORY: Hydra – Within Temptation

Although not confirmed to be a subtle dig, the timing was suspicious: during the recording of NIGHTWISH’s Endless Forms Most Beautiful in the summer of 2014, their newest member, Troy Donockley, said in a video diary that it is “still absolutely NIGHTWISH, but there are some parts that will probably startle some people. But nothing cheesy. There’s gonna be no dreadful, pathetic stabs at trying to jump on some bandwagon, slap some shit rap on it or something, none of that nonsense.” A few months earlier, WITHIN TEMPTATION released their sixth full-length record, Hydra.

In the run up to its January launch, much had been made of their choice of collaborators across its tracklist. Dreams came true when Tarja Turunen was announced to feature alongside Sharon Den Adel on Paradise (What About Us?), a song which has become the answer to ‘what does symphonic metal sound like?’

What raised eyebrows was And We Run (feat. Xzibit). While other guest vocalists from KILLSWITCH ENGAGE and SOUL ASYLUM broadly drew from the same rock palette as WITHIN TEMPTATION, here was an artist from a genre that could seriously be considered the polar opposite of symphonic metal.

Whether And We Run entirely works is subjective, but history has vindicated the band and Xzibit as being ahead of the curve. In the ten years since Hydra, heavy music has not only become more fashionable again, but it has diversified – and the two are surely linked. In 2023, SPIRITBOX remixed MEGAN THEE STALLION’s Cobra, introducing metal’s most hyped band in years to a whole new audience by a show of respect between them and one of the world’s biggest stars. In the UK, BRING ME THE HORIZON sell out the country’s largest venues because they introduced elements of pop, electronica, and hip hop to their initially abrasive sound. The future of music is genreless, but to get there, bands have to break down barriers.

There is more to it than just the music. One of symphonic metal’s most defining tropes is the vocal talent of its lead singer, who is often female and often white. Its lyrical content is heavily fantastical, referring to literary works by European authors who have written in predominantly white cultures. The lack of diversity in the genre can be seen in the source material for many of its songs. Introducing Xzibit’s deep vocals, having him write his own verse, destroyed the notion that symphonic metal has to look or sound a certain way.

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In the years since, WITHIN TEMPTATION have taken up the mantle to promote peace and love. During live performances of Raise Your Banner, Den Adel would wave the rainbow LGBTQ+ flag, and in the last few years changed it to the Ukrainian one. Their new album Bleed Out draws heavily from accounts of war, documenting its horrors in anthems of solidarity.

Hydra was when the band realised this music, their music, was for everyone. When NIGHTWISH, who had long gone unchallenged at the top of the genre, decided to double down on their usual shtick, WITHIN TEMPTATION looked outward and opened their arms. They saw no reason why a rapped verse could not exist alongside all the other elements of their arsenal. The rousing Paradise that featured Turunen was inspired by a Dutch general who emphasised seeing the world as ‘us’ instead of ‘yourself’ and ‘them’.

It makes sense then that the album is also the band’s most palatable. There is none of The Unforgiving’s prog rock-like storyline, no epics like The Truth Beneath The Rose from The Heart Of Everything. In return, the acoustic-driven Whole World Is Watching received radio airplay in the UK – and was debuted on BBC Radio 2 by the legendary Ken Bruce. While rock music is a little more welcome on the airways in 2024, this marked a significant shift in WITHIN TEMPTATION’s profile at the time. No longer a niche band, they were welcome on the most listened to radio show in the country.

The rest of the album follows in this vein, for better or worse. That it lacks a distinct personality alongside most of their other records – the technicolour of The Unforgiving, the natural wonder of Mother Earth – is a symptom of how straight-forward it is. But there is an argument for Hydra as the band’s most consistent collection of songs, all of which are built on a strong foundation of pop music and familiar structures. Silver Moonlight in particular is overflowing with hooks, built upon chunky guitars and small symphonic flourishes. It sounds massive, which might be the only gear WITHIN TEMPTATION know how to operate in, but it sounds instant and immediate too.

Hydra arrived a year after the band recorded 15 cover songs for Belgian radio station Q-Music, in celebration of the band’s 15th anniversary. Most of these tracks were pop songs, like SIA’s Titanium, BRUNO MARS’s Grenade, and LANA DEL REY’s Summertime Sadness, which featured in their live shows at the time (and on the deluxe edition of Hydra). Den Adel said they wanted each cover to sound like a WITHIN TEMPTATION song, and not just a simple stripped back arrangement. It is no surprise then, after spending months familiarising themselves with mainstream hits, that they became tighter songwriters, something which they continue to reap the benefits of to this day, but which was first heard on Hydra.

The reason WITHIN TEMPTATION are headlining Wembley Arenathis year is because of Hydra. It is the turning point in their career where they said no to limiting themselves, and realised their capabilities reached far beyond the confines of symphonic metal. They are too good at songwriting, too strong as performers to be anything less than a legitimate marquee band. Throw on any of its 10 tracks and you hear a band with a new sense of confidence at the start of a new beginning, discovering what they are truly capable of. It was the blueprint to go even bigger, even more widescreen, on what came next. Everyone was welcome on the journey. Just look at them now.

Hydra was originally released on January 22nd, 2014 via BMG.

#within temptation #hydra

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