Softdark Stories

Maxwell Angelton has lived through multiple reincarnations since the tragic accident that first ended his life. Every return brings him closer to the goal of making a time machine and becoming a celebrated inventor, but he is hiding things.... I post a new chapter weekly I will be releasing the official book soon, I'll share the link when it is out Fan Content Permission: You can make AUs, fanfics, edits, art, memes, and even merch. Selling fan merch is allowed as long as you credit "Lilac Blossom / TLOMA." Commercial adaptations (anime, manga, official merch, etc.) are NOT allowed unless I give permission.

You are an outsider to this reality. Carrying a golden light that only resonates to you. You altering the Planet, the city and the choices of those stand near it. In this altered reality, only one being understands what you truly are-Sephiroth, existing between death, memory, and the Lifestream. You do not fight him. Not to fix him. You stay. The Golden Girl is a slow-burn Final Fantasy VII alternate universe that focuses on atmosphere, emotional restraint, and the cost of staying in a world that was never meant to keep you.

Jackson Danials has eleven exes, a wicked peanut‑butter‑cookie coping mechanism, and one rule: never fall for the kind of boy who can break your heart on purpose. Too bad destiny has a sense of humor. After a terrifying run‑in with a swarm of stinging insects he's deathly allergic to, Jackson is saved by someone impossible: a winged, glowing Prince from another realm - beautiful, dangerous, and absolutely not human. A prince who shouldn't be visible to mortals. A prince who flees the moment Jackson sees him. A prince who leaves behind an amber brooch that hums against Jackson's heartbeat like it recognizes him. Now the Natural Realm is waking up around Jackson. Plants bloom in winter. The campus greenhouse keeps resurrecting ferns. And creatures beyond the veil have begun to notice him. Aurelius Vesparune - the hornet Prince who rescued him - returns with warnings he won't fully explain and a charm he shouldn't have given. Jackson's friends are convinced this is a "Forest Boyfriend" situation. Jackson is convinced he's losing his mind. They're both wrong. Because Jackson isn't human - not fully. And falling in love with a prince may be the most dangerous prophecy of all. A slow-burn MLM dark fantasy romance full of magic, mystery, found family, dangerous politics, soft moments, glowing wings, and the kind of yearning that ruins you in the best way. If you love gentle boys, dangerous creatures, forbidden romance, cozy magic, and a boy who bakes five trays of cookies when stressed, you're in the right place.

𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. 𝗪𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆. 𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿. Saavi thought she was just another girl trying to build a quiet life in a new city - with roommates, routines, and karaoke nights to chase away homesickness. But someone saw her differently. He watches from the shadows. He knows her schedule, her habits, her smile. She doesn't know his name. But to him... She was his long before she even knew he existed. And soon, she'll find out: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻. - > ʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ. ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇʀ - 𝑸ᴜɪᴇᴛʟʏ, 𝑪ᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ. 𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒚. 🖋️ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is my original story, and I've poured my heart into it. If you enjoy dark romance with a twist of obsession, I'd love your support - 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲, 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 to stay with Saavi's journey. 💬❤️ Got thoughts or questions? Drop them in the comments - I'd love to hear from you!

REMINDER - THIS STORY HAS AGE REGGRESS AND ALSOO HAS BLOOD AND GORE Every morning, the Sanctuary opens its jade doors and releases a god. Min Jun walks out first: silent, sharp, untouchable. A prophecy wrapped in black silk. A blade disguised as a boy. The devotees bow so deeply their foreheads bruise. Only one person in the entire holy city remembers he isn't made of marble. Kyuri. Barefoot. Peach cardigan. Strawberry crown slightly crooked. The girl who braids pink ribbons into his hair while he recites the end of the world. They call her Holy Mother. They don't see the way his voice softens when she touches him. They don't hear the way he whimpers her name when the doors close. They don't know that the god they worship becomes small the second he's alone with her. Behind the obsidian walls, the Prophet shrinks into her arms - a trembling child, a broken heart, a soft, shattering secret. She is his only comfort. He is her only devotion. And the Sanctuary is starting to notice. In a holy city built on fear and miracles, one truth is forbidden: Even gods can fall apart. And sometimes the only thing holding them together... is a ribbon tied by gentle hands.

I've always felt like I was living someone else's life. Sleepless nights. Heavy dreams. A face in the mirror that never fully feels like mine. Then one night, during a girls' night out in Makati, a stranger grabbed my arm. He had my face. I've never met him before. But somehow... it feels like I've known him my entire life. And now, nothing makes sense anymore.

She didn't know who he was the day she helped him. A wound, a stranger-just another moment for a girl who heals without thinking. But he knew exactly who he was. A man from a world of violence. A mafia name people fear. And somehow... she became the only thing he chose to protect. She had a life that didn't need him. A love that chose her. So he never asked for more. Never crossed the line. Never tried to be hers. "I don't love you the way you love me," she tells him once, gently. And he understands. Because some love isn't meant to be returned. It's meant to exist... quietly, completely- even if it stays in the shadows forever. © healinginstories 2026. All rights reserved.

Я буду з тобою, відколи знайшов тебе. Я буду захищати тебе завжди. Я буду кохати тебе довіку. Ти прийшов до мене зі сну. Ти завжди будеш для мене наймолодшим сном. ___ Коротка оповідь на основі сну, який наснився авторці,цієї ночі !

He left me in a forest. 🌲 Alone. 💔 Dressed in ivory and heartbreak. 👰‍♀️🌧️ But the mansion found me. 🏰🌿 Its doors opened like it had been waiting for me. 🚪🕯️ The walls whispered my name. 🌒 A black cat followed me like a shadow. 🐈‍⬛ And somewhere, behind a locked door and a broken mirror... 🔐🪞 someone-or something-is watching. 👁️ I was supposed to be a bride. 💐 Now I am the mistress of a house that breathes, mourns, and remembers. 🕯️🏰🌙 This is not the life I planned. ❌ This is the life I was born for. 🌹🖤

Lilies & Roses in the Countryside is a love letter to girls with wild hearts and messy hair, who dream in pastels and kiss like fire. These poems bloom where lipstick smears and secrets sleep. between sunlit silence and bad decisions made under pink skies. It's for the ones who felt everything too much, and let it grow anyway.

Prologue the spin The bottle spun quietly in the center of the circle, catching firelight on its side like it was in no rush to choose. Outside, the world was cold. But in here-by the fireplace, six people and too many secrets sat cross-legged in a room too warm, too still. The bottle slowed. Then stopped. On her. Of course. She didn't flinch. Not quite. But she didn't smile either. Across from her, he watched. Not newly-but still. Like he never really stopped. His legs stretched out. Red cup in hand. Hood half-down. Eyes unreadable. He didn't react. Didn't blink. Because he already knew. "So... who was your first kiss?" The words floated into the firelit silence like they belonged there. Her heart thudded once, hard. They didn't know. Not about the hallway. Not about him. Not about the moment that rearranged her. He hadn't told. Neither had she. She felt the words rise anyway. Sharp. Hot. Heavy. Then-quietly, without looking up- she said the only word she could trust: "Pass."

She was never chosen. Not by fate, not by talent, not by love. In a world that celebrates extremes-the gifted, the beautiful, the brave-she exists in the middle, unseen and unnamed. Too ordinary to be admired. Too hopeful to stop dreaming. Every time she reaches for something more, life reminds her of her place. This is not a story about hidden powers or sudden miracles. This is the story of a girl who tries anyway. She wants what everyone wants-to matter, to be loved, to be more than forgettable. But wanting is not enough. Effort is not always rewarded. And sometimes, no matter how hard you try, the world simply does not make space for you. As years pass, dreams shrink. Choices become compromises. Others move forward while she remains-watching, enduring, surviving. The curse is not failure... it is continuing to hope when nothing changes. The Curse of Being Average is a quiet, bittersweet novel about invisibility, unfulfilled desires, and the strength it takes to live a life that never turns extraordinary. Some stories end with triumph. This one ends with truth.

Trigger Warnings: slavery • racism • psychological abuse • implied domestic violence • child loss and grief • difficult childbirth • power imbalances • misogyny • forced marriage • social inequality • emotionally distressing scenes - Elizabeth Ashford is twenty years old. Blonde, noble, raised in silk and etiquette, she lives behind the vast walls of a Southern American manor, where everything breathes wealth... and silence. The silence of a mother broken by the loss of a child. The silence of a cold, authoritarian father, for whom marriage matters more than love. The silence of a house built upon the suffering of those no one looks at. Betrothed in an arranged marriage, Elizabeth suffocates in a life decided for her. But behind the gilded surfaces, she sees what her own refuse to acknowledge: blood, fear, injustice-and the humanity they try to erase. Until the day a voice rises. A warm, deep, forbidden voice. A man she should never look at. A love she is not allowed to feel. In a world where their bond is a transgression, their connection becomes a danger-for her, for him, for everyone. To love him could stain her name. But not to love could hollow her from within. And in this house where secrets seep through the walls, Elizabeth must choose: obey... or break the established order. This text is a translation into English from an original work written in French.

His routine kept him numb. Her magic woke him up. Now reality is falling apart.

I wrote a poem, I hope it will resonate with you all as much as it did to me while creating this piece. Bloody Wavering Lilies is an haunting dive into grief and memory, it weaves salt, blood, and longing into a lyrical storm. It's a raw, intimate portrait of pain, inheritance, and the quiet hope for healing.

Wouldn't It Be Wrong? a collection of almosts, maybes, and midnight truths Some loves arrive like storms-unexpected, impossible to ignore, and impossible to keep. This book is for the ones who fell in silence. For the people we couldn't have, shouldn't have, but loved anyway. For every moment we imagined but never lived. For the texts we never sent and the touches we only dreamed of. Through poetic confessions and raw, emotional truths, Wouldn't It Be Wrong? captures the ache of loving someone who doesn't, or can't, love you back. If you've ever whispered "what if?" to yourself at night... This is for you.

PREMISE: You never meant to trend. You were supposed to disappear after your academic misconduct scandal - a leaked thesis, a dead professor, and a viral clip of you walking out of an ethics panel smiling. The internet called you "Scholar Gone Psycho." You called it survival. Now you're back. Different name. Fresh start. A job at a private publishing house that specializes in "forgotten women." Until she walks in. Elaine Viot: Socialite turned literary detective Big donor, bigger ego Claims she's writing a book about "monstrous women" And wants to interview you Every day At first, it's just uncomfortable. Then it's seductive. Then it's threatening. Because she knows your real name. She knows what you did. And she's leaving anonymous comments on your burner blog. You're not sure if she's blackmailing you, investigating you - or falling for you. Maybe all three.

Evie Hart is the kind of woman who makes a room lighter just by standing in it. Behind the bar at Wrenfield's only late-night haunt, she listens, jokes, and stitches together the small lives around her, convinced that being needed is the same as being whole. The town knows her laugh, her hands, her warmth. Then Elias Walker moves to Wrenfield. Drawn to Evie in a way that feels both gentle and inevitable, he sees her without trying, notices the way she softens the world for everyone but herself. Their connection flares quickly, tender and real, something Evie never expected to want. For a moment, she lets herself believe that wanting is safe. But the warmth she carries is borrowed, and something inside her has already started to unravel. What begins as a faint, unnameable shift becomes a slow drift away from herself. A hollowing that stretches between moments of joy. The bar she once loved becomes strange. Familiar rooms begin to feel wrong around the edges. Sleep pulls her into dreams she can't remember but wakes from feeling lost. Even love, when it arrives with honest hands, can't anchor her the way she hoped. As Evie's inner world loses color, Elias tries to reach her, to understand the quiet collapse she doesn't know how to explain. But emotional decay is its own kind of labyrinth, and Evie is slipping into the versions of herself she can no longer hold together. Places That Remember Me is a haunting, intimate portrait of a woman glowing at the surface while dimming underneath, until eventually she deteriorates all together.

Wanna see someone stalk and posses out there only love and always thinking that if one day they will see this they will be scared but they themselves don't know the person whom they craves they crave them too.. like a possesion.. Some may see it like shackles but they don't..... What usually anyone think about monster usually.. People say monsters live under the bed. But no one talks about the ones who learn how to look normal. Eli and Mira don't fall in love loudly. They fall in love through watching, memorizing, and noticing what no one else does. What begins as curiosity turns into recognition, and recognition turns into something neither of them wants to lose. This is not a story about being saved. It's a story about finding someone who mirrors your obsession and calls it love. Because sometimes the monster under the bed isn't there to hurt you. Sometimes, it's there to stay. - Silent Phantom I thought loving you quietly was safer. I memorized your habits, your silence, your sadness. I thought I was the monster. Until I caught you watching me the same way. Turns out, monsters don't fall in love with normal people. They fall in love with mirrors.