Story cover for Stars Shine where the Shadows Fall by FreddieAndGeorgie22
Stars Shine where the Shadows Fall
  • WpView
    Reads 62
  • WpVote
    Votes 8
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
  • WpHistory
    Time 6m
  • WpView
    Reads 62
  • WpVote
    Votes 8
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
  • WpHistory
    Time 6m
Ongoing, First published Jul 08
Grian has always understood the power of attention - how pain, fear, and secrets can shape those around him. As a child, he learned that the world responds to extremes. As an adult, he becomes something far more dangerous: a careful, calculating killer, often called 'The Florist', or 'The Scarlet Killer', all while maintaining a stable job at the local detective office. But when a man named Scar unexpectedly survives one of Grian's carefully orchestrated attacks, everything shifts. The line between obsession, danger, and desire blurs, and Grian finds himself captivated by the one person who might see through him. In a game of desire and danger, even the brightest light can cast the darkest shadow.

(Original concept by @Noahthedumbbell)
All Rights Reserved
Table of contents

1 part

Sign up to add Stars Shine where the Shadows Fall to your library and receive updates
or
#155desertduo
Content Guidelines
You may also like
King of the Sea by SofiyWhite888
43 parts Ongoing
Prince Ren never asked for a crown, nor the weight of titles. All he wanted was to play music-gentle, aching melodies strummed on delicate string instruments. He preferred lutes carved from silverwood and dark rose, guitars that hummed like whispers in the wind, and a weathered ocarina shaped like a teardrop, soft blue and always warm in his hands. The music was his comfort, his rebellion, and his quiet prayer. When the castle halls echoed with the fury of yet another war-when his family shouted about borders, bloodlines, and broken alliances-Ren would slip away. He would wander down secret paths only he remembered, through the whispering trees and into the Outcast: a forgotten grove hidden beneath a blanket of old magic and ivy. There, surrounded by peace and silence, he built a sanctuary. His instruments were stored in hollowed trunks, carefully wrapped in velvet and tucked away from the wrath of his father, who believed music was weakness and tried to destroy every string Ren cherished. Beyond the grove, just past the moss-covered stones, was his garden-his true kingdom. It bloomed wildly with flowers the color of fire and dusk: deep reds, scarlets, and wine-dark crimsons. Vines heavy with red fruit twisted through the branches, fragrant and sweet, tangled like forgotten lullabies. The air was thick with the scent of crushed petals and ripe berries, warm earth and song. And in the heart of it all, Ren would sit and play. Unbeknownst to him, the sorrow in his songs, the ache in every note, stirred something old and hidden beneath the soil. His music, filled with longing and beauty, began to call to magic itself-something ancient, something listening, something waiting to be found.
Escape by SofiyWhite888
22 parts Ongoing
Vexes and Watchers have always gone hand in hand-though not in harmony. The prevailing legend among the players tells of a twisted bond: Vexes, once majestic creatures of the in-between, reduced to little more than violent, shimmering wraiths-pets, tools, weapons-kept on a short leash by the Watchers. Most say it's abuse cloaked in obedience. Others say it's the only language these winged terrors understand. So, when a newly ascended young Watcher is given two Vexes-his first real assignment-he braces himself. He expects snarling, snapping, eyes glowing with fury and betrayal. He's read the files. Heard the tales from seasoned Watchers who boast about broken wings and conquered spirits. He's even seen footage of rogue Vexes ripping through entire bases in bloodlust. But what he gets... is different. They're small. Smaller than expected. One clings to the corner of the room, wings drooping like torn silk, eyes flickering with dim, uncertain light. The other keeps low to the ground, trembling any time the Watcher so much as breathes too sharply. Neither of them meets his gaze. Neither of them hisses, or screams, or attacks. They're kind. Gentle. One even offers him a fractured flower-where it got it, he doesn't know. They're afraid of him, but not angry. Not volatile. It's not submission... it's survival. And he doesn't understand. He's not used to Vexes being soft. He's not used to being feared like that. And the more he observes them-how they sleep curled up together for comfort, how they flinch at sharp sounds, how they whisper in a language only they know-the more questions bloom. Were the stories wrong? Were the others lying? Or had the Vexes only ever shown their claws because the Watchers never gave them a reason to sheath them? He begins to wonder: are they monsters at all? Or just victims with wings?
You may also like
Slide 1 of 10
King of the Sea cover
Flower Husbands Story cover
Wings of Fire Ships cover
SPORTS CAR, lando norris cover
Escape cover
Empires SMP oneshots cover
Rayllum Fluff/One shots cover
Flower Husbands AU 🌼🌺🥀 cover
Corrupted Fate  cover
The Artist And His Muse cover

King of the Sea

43 parts Ongoing

Prince Ren never asked for a crown, nor the weight of titles. All he wanted was to play music-gentle, aching melodies strummed on delicate string instruments. He preferred lutes carved from silverwood and dark rose, guitars that hummed like whispers in the wind, and a weathered ocarina shaped like a teardrop, soft blue and always warm in his hands. The music was his comfort, his rebellion, and his quiet prayer. When the castle halls echoed with the fury of yet another war-when his family shouted about borders, bloodlines, and broken alliances-Ren would slip away. He would wander down secret paths only he remembered, through the whispering trees and into the Outcast: a forgotten grove hidden beneath a blanket of old magic and ivy. There, surrounded by peace and silence, he built a sanctuary. His instruments were stored in hollowed trunks, carefully wrapped in velvet and tucked away from the wrath of his father, who believed music was weakness and tried to destroy every string Ren cherished. Beyond the grove, just past the moss-covered stones, was his garden-his true kingdom. It bloomed wildly with flowers the color of fire and dusk: deep reds, scarlets, and wine-dark crimsons. Vines heavy with red fruit twisted through the branches, fragrant and sweet, tangled like forgotten lullabies. The air was thick with the scent of crushed petals and ripe berries, warm earth and song. And in the heart of it all, Ren would sit and play. Unbeknownst to him, the sorrow in his songs, the ache in every note, stirred something old and hidden beneath the soil. His music, filled with longing and beauty, began to call to magic itself-something ancient, something listening, something waiting to be found.