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sunspearesque · 3 months

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Nectar

Summary: by the Old Gods and the New, there exists no greater solace than the taste of one's lover following a wearisome day.

A/N: happy happy love day lovergals, boys, gays, and theys :D this is the first smutty smut i’m sharing with you as a treat for v-day and i’m so excited for y’all to read it :3 the idea for this smut dawned on me at work and lingered in my mind like a nagging ghost for a whole damned week ‘til i finally wrote it down lol !!! big thank u to my bestie @palioom for beta-ing <3

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); needy!Oberyn; food imitating blood; Wet and Wanting™️; teasing; vaginal fingering; finger sucking; i’m obsessed with his hands and so is she; size kink if you squint; pet names; this man loves to bite, smh; cum eating; a hint of soft!Oberyn

WC: 2.3K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

As night descended upon Dorne, the warmth of the day waned, yielding to the crisp coolness of the evening. Over the past few moons, Oberyn had established a new ritual, one that brought him solace.

Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he retreated to the balcony of their bedchamber, embracing it as a sanctuary. There, he would lounge upon a sumptuous, crimson velvet seat, his eyes fixed upon the vast expanse of the sea unfolding before him—a serene realm of water that seemed to murmur long-held secrets of bygone eras.

This balcony, the largest in the castle, served as a haven of intimacy for Oberyn and Nala. At its center, the aforementioned seat beckoned like a welcoming embrace, bearing witness to the couple's cherished moments. Every night, the chair cradled their forms, offering respite from the day's pressures, while an adjacent table held their favored fruits and wine, a testament to their shared evenings of leisure.

As the hours passed and the weight of council meetings bore down on Oberyn, he would return to their bedchamber, seeking the comfort of her company. There, he would find her already ensconced in the plush chair, her demeanor one of patient anticipation. She was a vision of allure, her raven tresses undulating and cascading down her back as she wore a black chiffon robe. Its fabric was transparent enough to reveal the contours of her body, teasing at the hardened peaks of her breasts and the curve of her ass beneath. Loosely tied at her waist, the robe boasted an open front, offering a drawing view of her cleavage, while its long, wide sleeves added an air of elegance to her form.

As Oberyn drew nearer to the balcony, the lilting melody of her humming reached his ears, and a warm smile crept across his face. There she sat, perched at the edge of the chair, engrossed in the simple task of peeling a pomegranate. The fruit's juices dripped from her hands onto a nearby plate, mirroring the vivid hue of blood beneath the moon's light.

She turned to face him as his presence enveloped the balcony, her eyes alight with warmth and affection. "Greetings," she whispered, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she continued to peel the fruit. His smile mirrored hers, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a display of genuine fondness.

"Greetings, my love," he responded in kind, as he lingered against the balcony wall.

“How did your meetings fare?" she inquired, her attention momentarily on the fruit she was deftly peeling.

"Dull," he admitted with a light chuckle. "I've missed you."

She glanced up at him with a teasing pout, her dark eyes softened. "Oh, my dear husband, ever so eager," she pitied playfully, inclining her head to beckon him closer. "Join me."

With a graceful and somewhat devilish smirk, he accepted her invitation, moving silently to sit behind her. He draped his legs on either side of her, encircling her waist with his arms as he rested his chin on her shoulder, their eyes focused on the fruit she continued to peel.

His lips graced her neck with slow, tender kisses. "I've missed your smell, my sweet girl," he murmured between each caress.

Nala chuckled softly at his words, a warm sensation of desire stirring within her. "I love it when you get this eager for me."

"I'm always this eager for you," he confessed, his breath sending shivers down her spine. His lips found her earlobe, and he sucked gently, coaxing a soft moan from her parted lips.

Her hands still held the pomegranate, its juices slowly staining her fingers. He took her right hand in his, his grip encompassing hers as he lifted it to his face. "I’ve never craved blood as much as I crave it now on your fingers," he confessed. He took her thumb into his mouth, sucking the sweet pomegranate juice clean from her digit. He repeated the sensuous act for each of her fingers on her right hand before moving on to her left. Nala's thighs squeezed together involuntarily as she felt the teasing warmth of his tongue on her fingers, a primal ache building between her thighs. He noticed that, and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips.

Relishing in the intoxicating closeness they shared, he shifted to rest his back against the plush chair. Spreading his legs, he created a welcoming space for her. She moved with grace and settled between his legs, her back pressed to his firm chest. She let out a contented hum, reveling in the sensation of his warm embrace.

His wandering hand traced a path down the light fabric of her robe, slipping beneath the material to cup the tender swell of her breast. He squeezed it gently at first, eliciting a soft gasp from her, before his calloused fingers danced over her hardened nipple.

"Oberyn..." Her voice quivered with pleasure as she closed her eyes, savoring the delicious sensation of his touch, a craving that had consumed her throughout the day.

His voice, laced with desire, broke through the silence of the night. "Why are you wearing this robe?" he asked, hoarsely. He squeezed her breast a bit harder, urging her to answer.

"For you, my love," she breathed, her voice now shaky. "I’m aware it's your favored one."

A deep groan escaped him as he lowered himself down, his strong fingers turning her face to meet his. Their lips crashed together in a passionate, fervent kiss. Oberyn's tongue delved into her mouth, savoring the mingling flavors of wine and pomegranate.

"You wore it for me, my love?" he murmured against her lips, the intensity of his kiss unwavering. "Do you long for me to stretch this sweet little cunt of yours?"

Her moans were muffled as he continued to kiss her with unbridled ardor.

He reluctantly parted from her, allowing her to catch her breath. "Please, my prince," she whined, her lips now blushed and swollen from his relentless ministrations.

"Who's eager now?" he teased, a devilish smile playing on his lips. His hand began to creep down the fabric of her robe, and her thighs instinctively parted, welcoming his touch.

Beneath the fabric, her skin felt warm and inviting, quivering as his rough, calloused fingers delicately traced her inner thighs. He sought to drown in her essence, to immerse himself in her body and her very being.

"My love..." she whispered, her fingers extending to circle his wrist and guide his hand to the heated core between her thighs. He cupped her mound with his right hand, his touch sending waves of desire coursing through her.

Leaning slightly toward her, he brought his lips closer to her neck, which she had willingly tilted back to rest upon his shoulder, offering him greater access. He rewarded her obedience with gentle bites to her neck, a quiet hum escaping his lips. He followed with open-mouthed kisses, tracing a path over the reddened bite marks with slow, deliberate sensuality.

She writhed between his legs, his towering presence engulfing her in his embrace. His shoulders, broad and formidable like a fortress, held her securely from behind, anchoring her in place. His hands, enormous and veined. His veins seemed to grow even more pronounced when he was impassioned or fervent—an occurrence not so infrequent. Yet, even amidst the intensity, his fingers, though calloused from years of training and combat, possessed a gentle touch as if she were a precious gem, and indeed, she was his most cherished gem.

His voice, normally hoarse and commanding as befitting a prince, now softened into a gentle coo reserved only for her. His sharp, dagger-like gaze, which could pierce through steel, melted into a tender look whenever he directed it at her. This shift in his demeanor and temperament had the power to dissolve her resistance, causing her to surrender the control she had always been hesitant to yield to anyone, not even to herself, until she met him.

He smelled like home, like the earth, or burnt wood or warm amber; that enveloped her like a comforting embrace. His scent permeated everything around her—their shared bed, their wardrobe, and the very air their child breathed. His scent was a reassuring familiarity, and the familiar was always a welcome comfort. She adored the moments when she started to smell like him whenever he was through with her, smelling like his skin, his sweat, and his cum; a fragrant reminder of his presence that stubbornly marked her mind, her heart, her skin, and her cunt.

His touch grew firmer on her mound, coaxing a moan from her as he felt her thighs quiver between his legs. Wetness pooled on his palm, a testament to her desire surging with each passing moment. His voice, low and sultry, brushed against her ear like a warm breeze, sending shivers down her spine. "She's weeping, my love," he whispered, his breath hot against her shell, "Open your eyes, Nala, look at her." With a subtle lift of his hand, he showcased his glistening palm, soaked in her slick, illuminated by the pale moonlight. She obeyed, her eyes fluttering open for a fleeting second before lazily turning her gaze towards his ear nestled behind her. "That's what your love does to her," she whispered, "She's aching, my prince." Her words dissolved into a whine that elicited a guttural groan from him. His grip on her jaw tightened, his fingers wrapping around the back of her neck, as he claimed her lips once more, kissing her with a consuming hunger that devoured her moans and left her panting when he finally released her.

His hand continued its sensual caress back on her cunt, tracing the contours of her wet folds with serpentine grace, massaging every ridge of her sex. His fingers moved with purpose, gliding up and down, feeling her clench around nothing each time he hovered dangerously close to her entrance. Veering away from her sensitive clit, a deliberate tease that left her trembling and yearning for more. Tears welled in her eyes as the unbearable ache intensified, her face nuzzling into the comforting crook of his neck as she stifled pathetic whines, murmuring pleas that spilled like a desperate prayer.

"Oh, I know, my sweet girl," he cooed, his lips brushing tenderly against her temple. His fingers continued to work their magic, gently parting her soaked folds, feeling the pool of wetness growing obscenely larger. His voice, muffled by the curtain of her hair, reached her ears as he asked, "What do you want, Nala? Speak to me."

"The teasing, my prince… It pains me," she whimpered.

He pressed a single finger against her hungry hole, a featherlight motion that allowed him to feel the eager embrace of her cunt, drawing him in deeper and deeper. Adding a second finger, he relished in the sound of her gasps and felt the grip of her fingers on his trousers, her nails digging into his thighs with a delightful sting. Her hands marked him as hers, forever claimed by her touch.

"Obery—" her voice began, but it was swiftly overtaken by a strained moan as his thumb finally found her throbbing clit.

Finally, finally, by the Seven, Oberyn.

Her eyes squeezed shut again, and her lips parted as she threw her head back onto his shoulder, her body instinctively spreading her thighs wider, a silent plea for more, an insatiable need that begged to be sated.

His thumb began to draw slow, lazy circles on her clit, all the while continuing his gentle pumping of his digits into her, starting to hear the sultry squelch of her slick.

"I will never tire of hearing your sweet moans when I stretch you," he breathed into her ear. "Do you find pleasure when I stretch you, hm? When I fill you up with my hands, my cock, and my seed?" he purred the question, his skilled ministrations unabating.

Her response was a chorus of "Yes, yes, yes," echoing in her mind and heart, the words unspoken but fervently felt.

He brought his other hand up toward her face, and she eagerly took his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it with a moan. Her lips created a seductive rhythm that mirrored the movements of his fingers between her thighs. Her body tightened around his intruding digits, a sign that her orgasm was approaching. He quickened his pace, adding a third finger and intensifying the circle he traced around her clit, driving her closer to ecstasy with every movement.

"Give it to me, princess," he growled through clenched teeth, the urgency in his voice matching the pace of his fingers. "Give your prince your sweet cum. I want it, I want to taste it, to drink it… Make me drunk on you."

Her grip on his thighs tightened to the brink of pain, and she began to tremble uncontrollably between his legs. Her release washed over her in waves as she came, crying out his name over and over again.

Withdrawing his hand from her throbbing cunt, he bent her forward, away from his chest, until she rested on her stomach, her hips raised and her lush ass presented invitingly to him. From behind, he eagerly lapped up every drop of her cum, his tongue caressing her soaked folds and trailing sensually to her tight, puckered ring of muscles. He drank greedily, savoring the taste of her release as she mumbled incoherently beneath him.

He pulled her back into his chest and turned her within his lap, pressing her chest against his, his rough hand tenderly cradling the back of her head as he peppered her cheeks and temples with sweet kisses. She melted limply in his arms, and he whispered, "I will always be eager for you," as she hummed contentedly against him.

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creepzkilla · 11 months

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[BRIAN THOMAS, TOBY ROGERS, TIMOTHY WRIGHT x FEM! READER]

chapter warning. gore, death, mutilation, maggots, talk of killing an animal, gutting an animal.

wc. 7860

authors note. this fic gonna be long asf so buckle up. sorry its lowkey boring up yk its building suspense. any questions about the fic or concerns please submit an ask!

important, read. even though this is implied to be a female reader that has she/her pronouns, I suggest downloading this extension for Microsoft edge to replace [Y/N] as your name and to replace she/her with your preferred pronouns to make you feel more comfortable if you do not identify as a female.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏: 𝐇𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄

meaning. a mushroom that grows over decaying bodies

As the sun rose above the eastern horizon, casting its golden hues across the land, a lone car ventured forth on the winding roads leading to Grove, Oklahoma. The engine purred softly, its rhythmic hum blending harmoniously with the melody of nature. With the sounds of soft rock and country preoccupying the silence that the car held in its void. The silence was filled with the songs of Linda Ronstadt, and Deana Carter; two maestros of musical storytelling, graced the airwaves, serenading the passenger with a poignant repertoire of cherished memories. The tunes resounded with the recollections of sun-drenched summers spent in the Western fields, where her mother's berry farm unfurled its emerald charm.

[Y/N]’s mind wandered back to the days when the weathered white barn stood as a sentinel, and the family's nearly antique truck nestled alongside, an endearing relic from bygone eras. Each note carried her back to the sight of verdant paint curling and surrendering to the passage of time, revealing glimpses of raw metal beneath. She vividly recalled the delicate act of running her nails over the lifted layers of paint, peeling them away one by one, as if uncovering the hidden stories embedded within the truck's weathered facade.

In nothing but her nightgown, [Y/N] ventured out, her bare feet delicately dangling just beyond the worn-out Ford logo adorning the truck bed. Wandering through the fields, she traversed the rough terrain, her feet bearing the brunt of her barefoot journey. The berry saplings, a recurring sight in spring and summer, had now blossomed, displaying their succulent fruits as late summer approached. Yet before their transformation, the bushes stood tall, their leaves pointed and vigorous. Her path, confined to the Western fields, beckoned her toward the barn. Basking in abundant sunlight, the western expanse fostered accelerated growth, causing the saplings there to sprout thorns at a rapid pace. As a consequence, the girl’s feet endured the accumulation of mud and crusty blood, an undeniable testament to her traversing the formidable fields.

With dirtied feet and a stained nightgown, she embarked on her ritual every morning, just before the sun's radiant glow graced the sky. Ascending the antique truck, she found her perch, eagerly awaiting the mesmerizing spectacle of the sun's rays stretching across the vast expanse of land. Yet, amidst this ethereal beauty, her heart danced with anticipation for a different kind of awakening.

As the first glimmers of light began to peek over the horizon, a familiar melody filled the airwaves, heralding the start of a brand new day. Soft country tunes, like those sung by Tanya Tucker and The Judds, tenderly embraced her senses. However, her ears strained for one particular tune, a treasure she yearned for each morning at 8 AM.

And then it happened—John Denver's timeless classic, "Take Me Home, Country Roads," resounded through the airwaves, soothing her soul with its heartfelt lyrics. Sitting atop her vantage point, she became a symphony of joy, her voice bursting forth despite its imperfections. With every note, she poured her heart into the song, her little lungs valiantly attempting to reach every high and low.

Though [Y/N]’s singing may have lacked finesse, it mattered not, for her spirit soared with unbridled enthusiasm. Without pausing for breath, she sang the entire composition, as if on a sacred mission to carry its melody across the rolling hills and valleys. In those precious moments, the world was her stage, and she, the star of her own enchanting performance.

Queens ensemble of trumpets and brass instruments harmoniously faded into a gentle hum, merging with the engine's subtle vibrations. With every turn of the wheel, a captivating journey unfolded, transporting her to an enchanting realm where time lost its urgency, and the world transformed into a vibrant symphony of colors.

[Y/N]’s grip on the steering wheel remained relaxed, a testament to her confidence in navigating the road ahead. However, the weight of exhaustion was evident beneath her eyes, concealed by bags that hung like heavy burdens. Her gaze alternated between the winding road and the small, blaring red text of the clock on her car monitor: 7:59 A.M.

Anxiously, her fingers drummed against the supple leather steering wheel, mirroring the racing beat of her heart. Her eyes darted back and forth, desperately seeking confirmation of the fleeting minutes. As the hum of the engine threatened to engulf her senses, its dominance was suddenly overpowered by the opening notes of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads."

In that moment, her attention was captivated by the red letters once more, and they revealed the time: 8:00 A.M. A gentle hum escaped her lips, akin to a sigh of relief, as she muttered along with the song's lyrics, embracing them with unwavering devotion. Without pausing to catch her breath, she sang along, infusing her voice with the song's nostalgic melodies.

The road stretched out like an asphalt ribbon, carving its way through sprawling meadows and rolling hills. Fields of emerald green extended as far as the eye could see, adorned with delicate wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze. The air, crisp and invigorating, carried with it the scent of earth and the promise of new beginnings.

As the car glided forward, the scenery unfolded like pages in a vivid tapestry.Towering trees lined the roadside, their branches stretching toward the heavens like ancient sentinels. Leaves shimmered with a kaleidoscope of autumnal shades, painting the landscape with fiery reds, burnt oranges, and golden yellows. The trees seemed to whisper secrets to one another, their rustling leaves creating a symphony of nature's own design.

The road wound its way up and down gentle slopes, revealing panoramic vistas that stole the breath away. Mountain ranges stood majestically in the distance, their peaks kissed by the wisps of ethereal clouds. They stood as guardians of the landscape, their stony faces etched with the stories of ages gone by. But nothing could compare to Grand Lake.

The bridge, spanning what felt like endless miles, gracefully arched over the water, its reflection shimmering in the gentle waves. As if in a dance, a multitude of boats navigated the water's expanse, trailing wakes that glistened in the crystalline depths, mirroring the celestial azure above and the passing cars on the bridge. The radiant spectacle transformed the water into an irrefutably luminous spectacle. It seemed as though liquid silver veins intricately intertwined with the land, carrying the harmonious melodies of life and the captivating tales of the creatures that resided within its mysterious depths. Geese gracefully etched invisible patterns against the vast canvas of the heavens, casting a mesmerizing spell on the onlookers below.

The scratching of gears wound up, blending into the symphony of sound, as the window glass slowly rolled down. The mechanical protest produced a terrible screeching sound, reminiscent of an animal's anguished cry, piercing the air and capturing her attention. Her eyes widened, captivated by the scene that unfolded before her.

Inhaling deeply, she savored the dewy summer air that gracefully entered her lungs, infusing her with an ardent fervor. Each breath became an embrace of life itself. The atmosphere, cool and revitalizing, carried a tangible energy, blending the essence of earth with the promise of new beginnings. The aroma of raindrops and freshly cut grass intermingled, filling her senses with a harmonious fragrance that evoked a sense of contentment. As she exhaled, a sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips, releasing any lingering tension—contentment.

The car engine purred in agreement at the sight of landscape, the tranquility of and complete beauty was simply enchanting.

In a graceful display of poise and determination, she effortlessly steered the sleek vehicle away from the confines of the bustling main road, opting instead for a captivating detour onto a secluded single-lane path. As the tires glided over the uneven terrain, the verdant canopy of lush green forests enveloped the winding road.

Along this path, a humble dirt road emerged, veering away from the well-trodden route. Its weathered surface, pockmarked and rough, dictated a slower pace, Each jolt and tremor sent ripples of anticipation coursing through her veins, heightening her senses as she pressed on with unwavering resolve.

Gradually, the path unveiled a breathtaking vista, an opening that seemed to materialize from the very fabric of a storybook. A small pond, its crystalline waters shimmering under the gentle caress of the sunlight, beckoned with an irresistible allure. Nestled harmoniously by its side, a resplendent cabin emerged, a captivating testament to rustic beauty.

The cabin, although once a haven of tranquility, now appeared as a relic of forgotten memories, as if time itself had woven a shroud of neglect around its weathered exterior. Weeds triumphantly sprawled across the surroundings, their emerald tendrils dancing in the wind, while determined vines conquered the cabin's weathered facade, gracefully ascending its walls in a seemingly eternal embrace with nature itself.

In this serene tableau, the intrepid traveler found herself drawn to the essence of this forgotten refuge. Its dilapidated state only served to enhance the mystique, inviting her to uncover the tales that lay dormant within its timeworn walls. She sensed that beneath the encroaching foliage and the fading echoes of life, whispers of untold stories and echoes of forgotten laughter still resonated within, yearning for someone to listen, to breathe new life into their cherished existence.

As the shadows danced amidst the rustling leaves, she stepped out of her vehicle, her footsteps cautious yet filled with reverence as the gravel beneath her crunched. The air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, as if the surroundings acknowledged her arrival, recognizing the significance of this encounter.

As her boots pressed against the gravel roadway, their crunch merged seamlessly with the harmonious of natural sounds that enveloped the picturesque surroundings. Advancing towards the cabin, each step resonated through the ancient floorboards of the front porch, releasing a melancholic creak as if the timeworn planks were exhaling with a subtle sigh. Weathered by countless footsteps, the wooden planks bore the indelible marks of their enduring journey, their once vibrant hue now transformed into a rich, dark oak shade. Inhaling deeply, she absorbed the essence of the place, her hand gravitating toward the doorknob of the screen door. For a fleeting moment, her gaze caught the old rocking chair, swaying gently in response to the playful caress of the breeze that meandered through the air. Finally, [Y/N]’s turned the the doorknob as the screen door creaked open—exhaling.

She inhaled, the sharp fragrance of pine and bleach wove its way into her senses, its pungency tugging at her nostrils. Their potent combination was not without consequence, for it provoked a reaction within her, eliciting a gentle scrunching of her nose.

The house exuded an eerie aura of both familiarity and enigma. She found herself standing in an expansive, open area cabin, devoid of hallways, which seemed to beckon her further inside. With each step, the immaculate cleanliness of the interior revealed itself, creating an almost surreal ambiance.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the second floor, with its single set of stairs ascending like a mysterious gateway to another realm. On the ground floor, to her right, lay a quaint and compact kitchen, an intimate space that appeared to have witnessed the preparation of countless meals and conversations with its worn down appliances.

To her left, the living room stretched before her like a tapestry of memories. A comfortable couch adorned the space, an inviting haven where the occupants must have spent many hours engrossed in captivating tales or deep contemplation. In front of the couch, the heart of the room resided—a grand fireplace. Its flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, seemingly whispering forgotten secrets.

Perched atop the fireplace, an old flat screen TV served as a window to the past, where characters from era that might have come alive came alive, momentarily escaping their scripted confines. The juxtaposition of the antiquated screen and the modernity it once represented painted a vivid portrait of the house's intriguing history.

Yet, despite all the intriguing elements that adorned the room, her gaze eventually shifted downward to the very foundation of the space. The wooden floor bore the weight of countless footsteps and stories, its grainy texture inviting her to feel the past as she walked upon it.

In the realm of her consciousness, she possessed an intimate knowledge of the house's history. In the era preceding her own, her beloved grandparents had entrusted its care to a man of enigmatic nature, one by the name of Willard Tucker. The townsfolk, adorned with tales and whispers, had deemed him a peculiar figure, cloaked in the shadows of perceived insanity. Yet, the precise details eluded her, veiled behind a shroud of uncertainty. All that remained were fragments of narratives whispered through the winds of time—stories suggesting that the man, his heart shattered by the loss of his wife, had departed for the fertile lands of West Virginia, seeking solace within the embrace of family ties, all while taking up farming.

She had guessed that Willard was the reason for the foul smell of cleaning products. Cleaning and scrubbing off residue so as to not leave it behind for the next tenant. That being her—a girl from small town Kansas in the depths of the west. However, she secretly cursed Willard for using so much of the cleaning product.

Upstairs and to the left, In the midst of simplicity, her bedroom exuded a quiet charm. Nestled against the wall, a regal queen-sized bed commanded the center stage, flanked by two modest nightstands. On the left, a generous window framed the wall, revealing a glimpse of the wooden sanctuary beyond.

As she gazed through the window's translucent pane, a tingle of anticipation caressed her being. It was as if the wistful tendrils of nature, woven into the fabric of the scene, beckoned her. The sheer simplicity of the room was deceptive, for within its unassuming boundaries. A shiver traced its delicate fingers along her spine, electrifying the air with a gentle chill.

She shook it off as paranoia.

As she ventured into the confines of the bathroom, her delicate fingers gently placed the small pills of respite into the trinity of mirrors ensconced within the cabinet. Ambien, a faithful companion in her torment against insomnia, found solace in this sanctuary. The affliction had haunted her since the early years of her high school debut when a merciless onslaught of ghastly nightmares infiltrated her slumber. Rarely, she could sleep without nightmares, rarely she could sleep at all. Not through a full night at least. In a valiant attempt to retain her grasp on reality, she adorned her abode with vibrant beacons of guidance, neon yellow sticky notes that served as simple reminders.

Before she placed the pills in their place, with meticulous care, she tenderly appraised the contents of each vial, her discerning gaze fixed upon the pills nested within. Twelve, she confirms. Retrieving a vibrant yellow sticky note from her pocket from her linen jacket, her blue pen danced across the note, etching the numbers upon the labels of both bottles with blue ink.

Nestled gently beside the cabin lies a quaint garden, albeit a modest one, marred by a profusion of resilient weeds. Throughout her family’s lineage, they had cultivated a bounteous farm teeming with an abundance of blossoms, nourishing produce, and succulent fruits. This trio, her mother, father, and herself, helmed a "berry utopia"—an expanse of verdant fields, stretching across countless acres, brimming with an assortment of fruit: blueberries, blackberries, vibrant raspberries, strawberries, and cranberries—each variety harvested with unyielding dedication.

As her gaze fell upon the garden, now overrun and wild, a surge of nostalgia washed over her like a familiar melody from a song. The sight evoked memories of her home, where there were fields upon fields of saplings of fresh berries. Determination welled up within her, fueled by a profound sense of connection. With resolute certainty, she understood that this hallowed ground deserved to be restored to its former glory. And then this became her mission.

With a hum, she nestled into the plush embrace into the seat of her car, releasing a wearied sigh that spoke volumes about her exhaustion. The weight of countless sleepless nights seemed to settle beneath her eyes, casting shadowy hues that deepened with each passing moment. Her gaze drifted toward the console, where a vibrant neon yellow sticky note had found a temporary perch upon the sleek gear shift. Delicately scripted upon its surface were two simple yet poignant words: "Call Mom."

A flicker of recollection sparked within her. Reminding her of the promise she had made to her worry-laden mother. A call was expected, an assurance of her safe arrival. Jane, her mother, possessed a peculiar knack for turning fret into an art form, yet in her own idiosyncratic way, her daughter desired nothing more than the act of vanishing without a trace.

In the tender embrace of Jane’s watchful care, her protective nature has forever been her daughters steadfast companion. Jane ardently desired for [Y/N] to remain by her side, nestled within the sanctuary of her love, tending to the bountiful fields of the farm until the end of days. Undoubtedly, affection for her only child knows no bounds, yet an undeniable sense of confinement subtly gnawed at her being.

Since the untimely demise of [Y/N]’s beloved father, a transformative shift enveloped her mother's being. Like a shadow cast by the moon's gentle glow, she became an ever-watchful sentinel, closely monitoring her daughter's every step with unwavering dedication. Her love took on an armor of protection, shielding [Y/N] from the world's perils with an intensity that left her in awe. The mere notion of forging friendships seemed inconceivable, friends were near to few, yet she made it through.

As she embarked on her journey to the store, a fleeting thought of reaching out to her beloved mother danced in her mind, promising to materialize into a heartfelt conversation once she fulfilled her immediate errands. Before delving into the realm of garden essentials, a trusty blue ballpoint pen found its place in her hand, etching a list: a delightful assortment of blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries. A sudden mishap tainted the pristine clarity of the yellow paper, as her thumb inadvertently collided with the wet ink, obfuscating the very last word with an smudge, rendering it a mere blur, without her noticing

The jingle reverberating through the air above the door was no delightful melody, but rather a haunting creak that sent shivers down one's spine. As the door swung shut, it unleashed a piercing screech, its brass hinges groaning under the weight of accumulated rust. In that moment, it seemed as though a flurry of white paint chips had erupted into the air, propelled by the force with which the door had slammed shut. She was consumed by a wave of embarrassment, cast her gaze around, desperately seeking an opportunity to offer a timid apology to the cashier. Regrettably, the name tag affixed to the cashier's uniform bore the name "Ranae Reeds," yet the older woman remained oblivious to the commotion, deeply engrossed in the captivating narrative of her newspaper, so captivated that she spared not even a passing glance.

The quaint little store exuded an ambiance both intimate and grundgy. Its petite dimensions were adorned with luminous streams of yellow light, gently cascading overhead, a mesmerizing sight that lured a vibrant array of insects, their presence immortalized by a delicate layer of expired life at the base of the ceiling fixtures. Amidst this glow, a second source of illumination emerged from the rear of the store, emanating from the flickering glow of the freezers, whose contents contained nothing but dairy products.

Four rows stood in perfect formation, each aisle beckoning with an irresistible allure. Yet, it was the initial 3rd island that caught her attention. Like echoes from her college days, these rows overflowed with an abundance of budget-friendly delights, an ensemble of delectable junk food.

On the 4th and final row, she found what she needed; seeds. She picked up a variety of packets of seeds, holding the small packets between her fingers. Blueberry, Raspberries, and strawberries—She was missing one thing

She nestled her hands into the cozy refuge of her coat pocket, avidly searching for that elusive neon yellow sticky note. Days of inadequate slumber had exacted their toll, leaving her mental acuity adrift in a sea of drowsiness, a constant companion to her weary mind.

The yellow paper must have slipped out somewhere.

As she turned to retrace her steps, her gaze fell upon a figure standing a few feet away. Dressed in a dark hoodie that seemed to swallow his form, he was an enigmatic presence amidst the mundane shopping atmosphere. His face was partially concealed by a dark yellow hood, casting intriguing shadows upon his features.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should approach him. But something compelled her to step forward, her curiosity overpowering any apprehension she might have felt. With a nervous yet determined smile, she approached the figure.

"’scuse me," she began, her voice tentative but polite with a southern accent slipping through her lips. "I seem to have dropped something, and was wonderin if you happened to see a yellow sticky note?"

He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers through the darkness of the hood. His gaze was intense, as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden behind her words. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the stray yellow sticky note from the floor, holding it out to her.

Relief washed over her as she accepted the note, feeling a strange connection form in that brief exchange. "Thank you lots," she said, her gratitude evident in her voice. "I wouldve been lost without this."

As she looked up to thank him, her eyes widened in surprise. The hood that had previously obscured his face had fallen back, revealing his features in full. His brown hair was unkempt, falling across his forehead in a disheveled manner, matching the roughness of his beard. There was a weariness etched into his face, as if he carried the weight of a world unseen.

His eyes, though tired, possessed an unmistakable glimmer of something deep and complex. They held a mix of vulnerability and strength, as if he had seen things that most could never comprehend. The lines around his eyes spoke of experiences that had left their mark, making him seem older than his years.

He was quite handsome, [Y/N] thought.

A ghost of a smile played upon his lips as he nodded in response to her thanks, acknowledging her gratitude. “Ain't no trouble.," he replied, his voice a low rumble that held a hint of grave and southern twang. "Happy to lend a hand."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, as if both of them were caught in a suspended moment, each waiting for the other to break the spell. It seemed like the man found himself unable to tear his gaze away.

‘Dude, fucking break eye contact, this is getting weird’, She thought as an awkward frown formed on her face.

Her eyes flickered to the red gallon he held in his hand, the word gasoline emblazoned across it. Questions formed in her mind, but she hesitated, deciding against asking him directly. There was an unspoken understanding that some things were better left unsaid.

Instead, she mustered a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, thanks again," she said, her voice warm with sincerity. "It was nice of ya to help me out."

His lips curled into a slightly deeper smile, a tooth gap evident, a hint of something genuine breaking through his stoic demeanor. "No worries," he replied, his voice tinged with a quiet appreciation, before going back to looking at the seeds.

The way his lips curled into a grin, sent shivers down the curve of her spine. Though his smile, expansive and brimming with teeth, held a peculiar detachment within the depths of his eyes, a dissonance that left her unsettled. His lips, etched into a smile, never reached his eyes. Like an emotionless facaque. He had something of a crooked grin, skewed in its authenticity, that just didn't seem right Deep within her core, an unsettling awareness resonated, silently cautioning her about the man before her. Still, an irresistible force tugged at her very being, pulling her closer to his presence.

She glanced down at her yellow sticky note for the last item, only for the blue writing to be smudged.

“Fuck.”

The man couldn’t help but notice the frustration on her face as she stared at the yellow sticky note in her hand. The item she had written on it was smudged, rendering it illegible. He cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them in the garden aisle at the back of the store.

"Hey again, uh... , 'scuse me for interrupting but aah couldn't help but notice yer frustration. Do you still need a hand?" The man had asked, his voice gentle and concerned.

Startled by his sudden address, she looked up, her eyes meeting his. She blinked a few times, trying to regain her composure. "Oh, hey. uh... i was just trying to remember what i needed to buy," she stammered, a hint of embarrassment displayed on her face.

He nodded, understanding the struggle of forgetfulness. His gaze fell upon a rack of seed packets nearby. "Well, if yer open to suggestions, there's this type of berry seed that might do the trick. They're strong and grow plenty. Might just be what ya searchin for.”

She hummed, her eyes widening as she turned her attention to the seed packets he indicated. She scanned them, reading the descriptions and imagining the bountiful berries that could grow from them. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Imma give em’ a try," [Y/N] replied, grateful for the suggestion,"Thank you."

He reached out, plucked a seed packet from the rack, and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed briefly, a fleeting connection that sent a shiver down her spine. She accepted the packet, feeling the weight of the possibilities it held.

"Yer welcome," He had said with a genuine smile that still didn't reach his eyes. "Aah sure hope they bring you a fruitful harvest." he laughs.

As she held the seed packet in her hand, she couldn't help but be struck by a sudden curiosity. "Do you gotta a garden?" [Y/N] laughed, “You sure seemed to know lots bout’ plants and whatnot.”

His smile faltered slightly, and he glanced away for a moment. "Well, I used to have one," he replied softly. "But things shifted ‘round, and aah had to leave it behind… but ah’m fixin’ to start a new’un.” He drawled out with a smile.

Understanding flickered in her eyes, and she nodded in sympathy. Sometimes life forces people to leave behind things they hold dear. It reminded her of something, but she just couldnt put her finger on it. Before she could delve further into the subject, his phone buzzed loudly, interrupting their conversation.

He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. A serious expression settled on his face as he answered the call. His voice was barely audible, and he moved away from her, creating a physical distance between them.

She watched him, a mixture of caution and curiosity mingling within her. His hushed conversation gave away little, leaving her to wonder about the nature of the call.

As the call ended, He turned back to face her, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and urgency. He didn't say a word but mouthed a goodbye, his hand waving gently in farewell. Without another word, he swiftly made his way out of the garden aisle, leaving her standing there, holding the seed packet in her hand.

“I wish i would’ve at least gotten his name.” [Y/N] hummed, rubbing the packet in her hand. She really hopes that the man was right about this seed packet.

She read the packet again, more carefully. The packet read Boysenberry. A cross between a raspberry, blackberry, dewberry, and loganberry. She could make this work. The picture showed something like a blackberry , yet it was enlongated and a deep red, almost black color. The description read that when freshly picked, it tasted like a sweet blueberry with a tangy aftertaste.

[Y/N] grabbed a few more more things: 2 bags of fertilizer, Top Soil, and Green gloves

She sighed, walking towards the front desk, flashing a soft smile towards the cashier, Ranae Reeds, she recalled. The woman’s name tag was worn around the edges, with her name partially faded. Much like the name tag, Ranae was a little worn around the edges. With her gray roots, her deep smile lines told tales of a younger, happier her.

Ranae Reeds delicately placed her magazine, adorned with the captivating headline, "Infamous Serial Killer, Jeffery Woods caught," on the polished surface before her. [Y/N]’s eyes beheld the image of a man whose countenance bore the unmistakable evidence of two hauntingly deep gashes etched into his cheeks, and a profound sensation seized her being. The spectacle unfolded before her like an eerie tableau—an unsettling tableau that seemed to suspend the very breath in her throat. Its sheer grotesqueness sent tremors coursing through her, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to rise in response.

Ranae cashier merely looked at the younger girl, almost with sympathy.

The cashier took the seed packets with a shaky hand, her golden bracelet jingling as she scanned the packets of seeds with a ding of the scanner, “I ain’t neva seen ya round’ before.” Ranae spoke with assertiveness and confidence, surprisingly, as her stature was rather petite and she seemed to be soft-spoken. But that was in fact not the case.

[Y/N] was taken aback by her sudden curiosity, she blinked and said, “I just got ere’ this morning, moved in today.” She rocked back and forth on her toes and heels, eagerly wanting to leave already.

Ranae looked at her up and down with a bored expression on her face and asked, “Where yer from girl?” Her lips never moved from the straight line that almost seemed to be formed. Her freckled hands grabbed the fertilizer as she scraped the bag of pellets across the scanner, never taking her eyes off of [Y/N].

DING.

“Oh, aah’m from Kansas. Born n’ raised.” [Y/N] didn't have a Southern dialect—well, not anymore. It only slips out on occasion, particularly when talking to someone else with a southern twang. Her momma and daddy always had a thick southern voice, as they were both from Texas and moved to Kansas.

Kansasans don’t exactly have an accent, besides not pronouncing the “R” in words. Yet, they got a way of speaking that you can clearly tell their from somewhere in the West. If you went south, close to the Oklahoma border, the accent would get thicker as you went.

Ranae hummed, almost like she had something to say, yet she bit her tongue. She scanned the items slowly, like she was purposely taking her time.

[Y/N] shook her leg rapidly, impatience growing within her as she watched Ranae struggle to bag the items in a brown paper bag.

DING.

“My PawPaw and MawMaw died recently, so I inherited their cabin down by Grand Lake,” She said in attempt to fill the silence that annoyed her so much, in hope to pass the time. [Y/N] has always been rather extroverted, starting conversations with strangers she didn't mind, it was this silence that ate at her. The silence was bugs crawling underneath her skin, like roaches gnawing at her veins as they swam in her blood.

Ranae merely hummed again, scanning an item, completely uninterested in the conversation at hand, letting silence fall over the conversation once more. The silence was only broken by tapping of [Y/N]’s leather boots, which were worn out and needed replacement.

“A man named Willard Tucker used to live there—“

DING.

“Ya best be careful round that house,” Ranae suddenly spoke up, her brown eyes boring into the girls, a serious expression took over her features,“There been rumors bout’ some folks down by those parts doing god knows what.” The woman's veiny hands wandered through the bag of fertilizer in search of the bar code.

[Y/N] stiffened at her sudden demeanor. “I see,” She watched intensively as Ranae scanned the last item before bagging it into a brown bag and pushing it towards [Y/N].

Y/N smiles, “I’Il be sure to be careful—“

“And ya best be careful round that man that was in ere’ earlier. Aah’ve seen him do some suspicious things with those little friends of his.” Ranae cut her off once again, except her loud and apprehensive nature was no more; instead, it was quiet, and she was talking merely above a whisper.

“He’s up to no good, girl.” Ranae’s eyes once again, bore into [Y/N]’s with a sense of urgency and protection. Ranae reminded [Y/N] of her mother, Jane. From the way, she spoke with a protectiveness of a mother to her veiny freckled hands that trembled constantly.

DING.

[Y/N] hummed, taking the brown bags underneath her arms hastily, “I will don't worry.” She reassured Ranae with a tight-lipped smile, before pushing through the door that opened with a groan.

The smell of summer once again hit her, and she inhaled the sweet, tangy air. It was humid as well, the weather was hot and sticky. [Y/N] was used to it from being on a farm for all of her life, yet she never really enjoyed it. Her dad, Steve, enjoyed the heat, he loved it. He would always drag her out of the house when it was well into the 90’s.

She really misses her dad.

[Y/N] threw the brown bags in the tail bed of her 1995 Ford 150. She slid into the plush fabric of her seat, shutting the car door behind her as she slumped against the leather steering wheel.

“Why in the hell is it so damn hot?”

She peeled herself off of the steering wheel, her head heavy as drowsiness took over. partly from the lack of sleep, and the warm sun that scattered it’s light against her face.

She shoves the old, almost rusty, key into the ignition, turning it to start the car. The car sputtered, before failing to start. [Y/N] sighed, before trying again, turning the key in the ignition. Yet again, it groaned and sputtered with a metallic scratching noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

It was an old truck, a gift for her 16th birthday. Painted a dark red that rusted around its silver rims, the truck was a relic, almost like a family heirloom that her family passed down from one generation to the next. It was frequent that the truck wouldn't start, constantly breaking down from a plethora of problems. It wasn't just one problem with the truck, but everything. The engine, the ground cables, the filter, overheating-- the truck almost had every problem in the book.

“I swear to fucking god,” She turns it for the third time, Please, god, start.” She pleaded as the engine sputtered once more, before roaring to life with fever.

[Y/N] slumped her head on her steering wheel once more and said, “Thank you,” She kissed the leather steering wheel, thankful that the universe had answered her pleas.

With the roar of the engine [Y/N] peeled out of the small parking lot of the Grocery Store.

Within the forgotten garden, an eerie silence lingered, broken only by the faint rustle of weeds that thrived unchecked. Like rebellious tendrils, the vibrant greens stretched beyond the confines of the patch of tilled earth, entwining their wiry strands with the blades of grass and any unsuspecting object within reach. Mushrooms and fungi covered the garden like a blanket, growing in mass abundance. This unruly congregation of vegetation and fungi seemed to possess a will of its own, reclaiming its dominion over a forsaken realm. Amongst the overgrown foliage, unseen insects and arachnids sought refuge, their presence betrayed only by an occasional scuttle or a shimmer of silken threads. Camouflaged amidst the verdant chaos, they patiently awaited their next unsuspecting prey, ready to seize upon any who ventured too close.

As the sun descended in the western sky, its golden rays extended through the dense foliage of towering oak trees, painting a mesmerizing tapestry of light and shadow. The ethereal dance of illumination and obscurity enveloped the scene, amplifying the eeriness that permeated the air. The songs of robins and mourning doves serenaded the somber landscape, their delicate melodies contrasting with the ominous backdrop. Amidst the rustling leaves and trilling birds, She heard the distant grunt of a white-tailed deer. And as the final rays of sunlight retreated beyond the horizon, they bathed the discovery in a soft, eerie glow, accentuating the unsettling sight before the witness's eyes.

[Y/N] glanced at her phone, which glowed an illuminating white. She looked at the white numbers that read: 6:00 PM.

She stretched her limps as they ached from hours of being hunched over digging to completely remove the wild grass and herbs that grew. Her arms gave a satisfying crack, just as her back did in response. She had napped for a satisfying 7 hours,only waking a few times. [Y/N] was suprised that she was able to nap in general. She was content and fully recharged. On the downside, she probably won’t be able to get any rest tonight.

At least she'll be able to stay awake binging Netflix.

With a determined grip, she thrust her green gloves into the yielding earth, their fabric sinking into the damp soil as she uprooted the herbs with a swift, purposeful tug. As she pulled, the tips of her gloves absorbed the essence of the earth, their vibrant hue now tainted by the stubborn remnants of the earth's bounty. The once-pristine fingers of her gloves were adorned with a telltale shade of brown, evidence of their close association with the soil. And beneath the surface, her nails bore the weight of the garden's secrets, caked with a fine layer of dirt that clung tenaciously to the thin, porous material.

[Y/N]’s mind wandered as she aimlessly dug through the soil, ripping the herbs from their roots like tendrils. Until her hands gripped something that squished beneath her fingers.

She gazed down, her eyes widening in pure horror, as a gut-wrenching sight unfolded before her. In her trembling hands, a writhing mass of maggots squirmed with repulsive vigor, their pale bodies contorting and intertwining in an unsettling dance. The pungent stench of decay wafted through the air, assaulting her senses and threatening to overpower her resolve. As her grip tightened involuntarily, the soft flesh of the larvae ruptured, smearing her trembling hands with a sickening mixture of viscera and fluids. The once-innocent soil beneath her feet became a graveyard for crushed worms, their slimy remnants mingling with her fingers, an unholy stain that marked her as both witness and participant in this grotesque scene.

[Y/N] let out a blood churdling scream as she stumbled backwards from her squatting position, landing on her backside. She frantically swiped her hands together to get the maggots off as they fell into the grass beside her.

The squirming maggots, now a grotesque spectacle in the dew-kissed grass, seemed to writhe in agony. Their once pale, plump bodies were now stained crimson, their delicate flesh bearing the gruesome evidence of their fallen brethren. Each wriggling creature fought desperately, their tiny frames flayed violently as they were torn away from their decaying feast. The gore of destruction painted the once vibrant green blades of grass a haunting shade of red.

“What the actual fuck?”

Laying where [Y/N]’s gloved hand dug, was a mound of dirt that maggots swarmed, their white skin hiding beneath the dirt.

[Y/N]’s curiosity peaked exponentially as she moved closer to the mound, dirt staining her knees brown. Her gloves dug through the maggots filled mound, her stomach filling with uneasiness as they glided through the soil.

Suddenly, her hands struck a soft, pudgy, material. [Y/N] dug through the dirt to fully uncover the mound, and as maggots crawled anxiously around her hands, she recoiled in disgust. She was sure it must be a dead animal, and the land must have grown around it, right?

[Y/N] knew the stench of death, and didn't partially mind the sight of dead animals. Her father, Steve, was a frequent hunter of deer and other game, to which [Y/N] accompanied him. Steve had taught her from a young age how to field dress a deer. Hanging the deer up by its hooves to a tree, she remembers taking her father's hunting knife and running it down the belly of the animal-- very gently to not puncture the belly. Scooping the contents of the deer out, leaving the inside of the deer completely bare. That was the easy part. Now to field dress the deer, was a tedious and lengthy process, using the tip of her knife to slowly peel the hide off of the animal. Hours would pass in the blistering Kansas heat and wind. It was revolting, yet she grew accustomed to the sight.

For her 13th birthday, she was gifted an old 22. rifle from Steve—an old gun that needed to constantly be cleaned and scoped in. The bullets weren’t made for large game such as deer, but they did work on prairie dogs that plagued cow farmers' fields. Eventually, she got a .300 WIN MAG, which now sat below her bed.

She had guessed the rotting carcass of an anwinsle from the potent smell wafting through the air. An unmistakable and haunting odor tainted the air, suffusing every inhalation with a chilling foreboding. It was the stench of death, a macabre orchestra composed of decaying flesh and the ghostly remnants of blood.

As she slowly uncovered the mound, it became more and more apparent what the mound was. Her hands swiped away the last layer of dirt and maggots to reveal the form underneath the soil.

[Y/N]’s features contorted with sheer terror again, the lines of his face etched deep with despair. The pallor of her skin turned with goosebumps, a stark contrast to the clammy beads of perspiration that clung to her furrowed brow. Eyes wide, they became twin portals to the void, reflecting the depths of her fear—paralyzed.

A corpse, abandoned to the earth, lies in a state of advanced decomposition. Its once vibrant form is now a haunting testament to the inevitability of mortality. The body, stripped of life, is a pillar of grotesque transformations. The flesh has given way to a grotesque canvas, with patches of decomposed tissue revealing glimpses of bone beneath. The skin, mottled and discolored, hangs loosely, tattered and ravaged by relentless decay. Time etched deep crevices into the once-familiar countenance, obscuring any resemblance to the person it once was. Swarms of maggots and other scavengers feast upon the remains, their writhing presence further amplifying the scene's repulsive nature.

Bile crawled up through [Y/N]’s as she doubled over, vomiting into the grass next to her. Food chunks and liquid sprayed the green grass a vomit brown. A tremor coursed through her trembling frame, betraying her tenuous grasp on composure. It was in this harrowing moment that horror unfurled its chilling wings, casting an indelible veil upon her face—a blanket of anguish. The very air seemed to quiver in the presence of such raw, unadulterated fear, as if nature itself recoiled in silent reverence for the intensity of her terror.

She had torn off her gloves as she scrambled across the grass, grabbing her phone, in an attempt to distance herself as much as possible from the corpse. Her surroundings seemed to spin as the drum of her heart overtook her hearing as well as the sound of the dial tone. When did she call 911?

“This is 911, what’s your emergency?” A woman's voice came from the other side of the phone. Calm, and tender, her voice was comforting. Yet her voice was almost muffled as [Y/N]'s heartbeat filled her eardrums.

“I," [Y/N]'s breath was shaky, quiet as she spoke with a sense of urgency, "Would like to report a dead body."

tag, @rat-briccs-trauma, @strawberrie-fluff, @spookyravioli @darkovergrownforestnymph, @urmomisaqt420 @yipeeesstuff

.@qupiikaaa @fynnwolff

#⌗weeds #—*. * ·creepzytalks #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta art #ticci toby #marble hornets #ticci toby x reader #masky mh #masky x reader #masky marble hornets #creepypasta toby #mh hoody #hoody creepypasta #hoodie x reader #creepypasta hoodie #ticci toby creepypasta

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rikeijo · 7 days

Text

Today's translation #641

Go Yuri!!! Go official fanbook, Tominaga Keisuke's comment

Serenade for two

In case of this song, we purposefully made it 'doesn't it actually cross a line if it's about brother and sister?!' risky, by making the music Michele uses for his program a sweet and stylish love song in a style of standards from bygone days or old musicals. The man x woman couple from the lyrics is basically 'normal' though, so it's not that the song itself is in any way doing something that is forbidden (laugh). This song is so high-level and lavish, that it takes first or second place among all Yuri!!! on ICE music, when it comes to technique, time and effort, as well as financial cost it took us to create it. ...but in the show, we only hear it once (laugh). You should definitely give it a one more listen.

(+ Umebayashi Taro's comment) The call out line [I'm sure he means 'You mean the world to me, my lady~'] in the middle part of the song, and the interlude with a change of melody after that, is a part of the song that I'm particularly fond of. We eliminated repeats of melody, and made the rhythm less pronounced to compose a really dazzling song.

(+ Matsushiba Taku's comment) It's one of the best three compositions in the soundtrack, that I'm really proud of.

[Note: Why they put so much effort into a song that's supposed to be played once for quite a minor side character...? ✨✨✨]

#yuri on ice #yoi translations #yuri on ice translation

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mononijikayu · 4 months

Text

love wins all ━ geto suguru.

A fleeting sadness crossed Suguru's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the divide that now existed between them. The weight of the priestly robes seemed to intensify, as if the fabric itself bore witness to the complexities of their shared history. Whispers of the impossibilities that had consistently echoed in his mind for years when it came to them, to the life they could have had. The life they could have deserved. He was certain that their words shattered him, his mind full of chances and roads not taken.

note: this is the story 'to build a home' from suguru's perspective!!! i wanted to get it out much early for his birthday but i was hungover from uni night!!! anyway, enjoy this little gift!!! happy birthday, my beloved suguru!!!

Genre: No Curses AU, Priest Suguru AU, Fleabag AU;

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, First Love, Grief, First Heartbreak, Break Up, Emotional Scars, Forbidden Love, Star Crossed Lovers, Closure to Healing;

masterlist

play: love wins all by iu

WHEN HE WOKE UP THAT MORNING, GETO SUGURU WONDERED WHAT WOULD COME. As the first light of day filtered through the window, its gentle glow fell upon his squinting eyes, coaxing him reluctantly into wakefulness. Despite the beckoning of dawn, he found himself unwilling to rise from the comfort of his bed. A petulant expression settled upon his face, a silent protest against the intrusion of consciousness into the sanctuary of sleep. Memories, long buried or so he thought, resurfaced in his mind, clouding his thoughts like a thick mist refusing to dissipate.

Each detail of the dream remained vivid, etched into his consciousness as he lay beneath the guileless gaze of the ceiling. With an almost desperate longing, his hand reached towards the blank expanse above him, as if attempting to project the fleeting images onto its unimaginative surface. Dreams of them, recurring like a haunting melody, stirred his heart with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of reality. He welcomed their ghostly presence, for in those ephemeral moments, they were all he had, all he desired.

In the relentless march of time, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared by a persistent yearning, an ache that defied the finality of separation. Despite the temporal chasm that had grown between them, the specter of a love once vibrant and all-encompassing lingered in the recesses of his being. It was a love that had etched its indelible mark deep within his soul, an intricate tapestry woven with threads of shared moments and intertwined destinies.

The memory of tender hands, the warmth of fingers interlocked with his own, resonated within him like an echo of a bygone melody. The captivating hue of mischievous eyes, pools of depth and mystery, still held him captive in the realm of nostalgia. Those lips, once orchestrators of joy that painted color onto the canvas of his world, now lived on in the corridors of his mind, their ghostly kisses a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

This longing, profound and relentless, manifested as a bittersweet symphony within his consciousness. Each note played with the delicate precision of cherished recollections, harmonizing the echoes of laughter, the soft caress of shared glances, and the sweet cadence of whispered confessions. The symphony was at once an ode to the beauty of their connection and a requiem for the irretrievable moments that slipped through the hourglass of time.

In the tapestry of his dreams, their shared moments became vivid landscapes, painted with the hues of emotions that transcended the boundaries of reality. These dreams, so palpable and alive, became sanctuaries where the boundaries between the corporeal and the ethereal blurred. In the realm of slumber, he could almost reach out and touch the contours of a love that once enveloped him, a love that refused to be relegated to the annals of the past.

These dreams, though ephemeral, became pillars of solace in the stark absence of their physical presence. They were a fragile bridge between the realms of memory and waking life, offering respite from the harsh reality that they were no longer intertwined in the dance of existence. Each night, as his consciousness surrendered to the realm of dreams, he willingly embraced the illusion, allowing it to weave its enchantment around his senses.

As he traversed the waking world, the yearning persisted, an ever-present companion whispering in the recesses of his mind. It was a testament to the enduring power of a love that, even in its absence, refused to be extinguished. And so, Geto Suguru found himself caught between the echoes of a cherished past and the uncharted territories of a future that beckoned with both uncertainty and promise.

With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly relinquished his grip on the dreams that bound him to the past. The bed, once a sanctuary, now felt unyielding beneath his weight, its surface as unforgiving as his thoughts. Yet, still he lingered, clinging to the remnants of a love that refused to fade. Slowly, he rose from his prone position, strands of raven hair swaying with his movements, a silent testament to the weight of his burden.

Geto Suguru stood in front of the mirror, his reflection a stark reminder of the responsibilities he bore. The smooth fabric of his robes felt heavy against his skin, a tangible weight that matched the burden of his obligations. As he straightened his collar, his thoughts drifted to her—the one he loved, the one he could never have.

He remembered their stolen moments together, fleeting and forbidden. The warmth of her touch lingered in his memory, a bittersweet reminder of what could never be. He had made his choice long ago, committing himself to a life of service and sacrifice. But with each passing day, the ache in his heart only grew deeper, gnawing at his resolve.

The tolling of the church bell echoed once more, pulling him back to the present moment. With a resigned sigh, Suguru steeled himself for another day cloaked in duty and devotion. As he made his way towards the sanctuary, he whispered a silent prayer, seeking solace in the divine presence he longed to feel.

But deep down, he knew that his true salvation lay elsewhere—in the tender embrace of the one he loved, a love that could never be spoken aloud, a love condemned by the very vows he had sworn to uphold.

Yet still, he carried on, a solitary figure in a world colored by shades of longing and regret. For Geto Suguru, this was the price of loving someone—a price he paid willingly, even as it weighed heavily upon his soul. And so, with each step forward, he embraced his fate, walking the narrow path laid out before him, guided by the flickering light of a love that could never be extinguished.

Suguru knew that he sins against God often.

But God also knew the truth of all his vows.

God knew he would never abandon him now.

For he made sure that love, even now, wins all.

IT WAS JUST LIKE YESTERDAY WHEN HE WAS TOLD THAT THE CAR CRASH HAPPENED TO HIS LOVER. Everything about that day had played into his mind as though it was from the pictures. They reeled in a loop over and over ever so raw, burning his head into grief. Geto Suguru felt like the air was sucked from his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. The sunflowers he had saved up to buy wrestling against his tight touch. He ran like a madman, he really did. Suguru couldn’t even care about the cars rushing here and there in the narrow streets, nearly killing him from the force. He knew he had to get to his lover.

When he took his first steps into the hospital halls, petals of the sunflower clustered into a mess. Almost as though the sun itself has been torn apart. A distressed look passed his face, chest tightening as he huffed for air. Nothing was making him feel relieved. He was shattered at the sight of his lover, eyes closed, full of bruises and cuts. His lover lay motionless, almost as though there was no life in them. Everything was in a haze. He drops the sunflowers as he tries to get closer. Tears streamed down his face like a sudden downpour, blurring his vision and leaving him stumbling blindly.

His legs gave way beneath him, buckling as if the ground itself had turned to quicksand. He collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the sterile hospital room. His lover’s mother looked at him, clearly as distraught as him. Her hand wrapped against his back, telling him to be strong, that it would be alright. Tears clouded his vision, obscuring the sight of crisp white coats and polished floors that overwhelmed him. It was the worst news of Suguru’s life, a blow that left me reeling and broken.

He does not remember how he managed to stand, to even fathom to gather himself from the wreckage of my despair. He was told that there was doubt whether or not his beloved would ever wake. Those words echoed in his head. He could not fathom it. His beloved was fine when they bid each other good night, wrapped in those fits of laughter in between of those greedy kisses. Suguru shook as he wiped the tears from his face.

It was pathetic. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even do anything to prevent this from happening. He could feel the weight of guilt in all the world. If he had not left the night before, if he had not let himself go out early by himself to pick up those damn sunflowers. His hands curl into a fist. Suguru squeezes and squeezes until his knuckles turn white.

With trembling steps, the dragon eyed young man curtailed to her bedside. There they were, my love, laying on the bed as though they were mere corpses rather than one with the living. The sight of them filled Suguru with a bittersweet ache. The memories composed of happier times spent together fractured at the sight of his worst nightmare come to pass. He could not help but bring his hand on top of their own, his weary hand resting on his lover’s colder one.

Tears threatened to spill once more, but he gathered all his strength and fought to hold them back. The memories in his head were no comfort to him. His grief shadowing the happier ghost, all of it fading into the recesses of time like wisps of smoke. Suguru wished that his joy was not ruined, shattered by the thought of bitter goodbye. He longed to hold onto them, to freeze time and relive those precious moments again and again. To make more and more memories once more. To live together, to love each other till they were old and gray.

He traced the lines of their face with trembling fingers, committing every curve and contour to memory. The bruises and cuts stood out starkly against their pale skin, a cruel testament to the violence of the accident that had torn them from him. Suguru's heart clenched with each shallow breath they took, a painful reminder of their struggle for life.

His mind raced with a torrent of emotions—guilt, regret, despair. If only he had been there, if only he had never left their side. The weight of his choices bore down on him like a heavy burden, threatening to crush him under its unforgiving weight. He squeezed their hand tighter, as if trying to anchor himself to the present moment, to this fragile connection that bound them together.

But amidst the despair, a flicker of hope remained. Hope that they would wake, that they would open their eyes and smile at him once more. Suguru clung to that hope with all his might, refusing to let go even as the darkness threatened to consume him.

Time seemed to stand still as he sat by their bedside, lost in his thoughts and prayers. The steady rhythm of their heartbeat was a comfort to him, a reassurance that they were still fighting, still holding on. And so, with a silent vow, Geto Suguru resolved to stay by their side, to weather this storm together, no matter what the future held.

For in that moment, as he gazed upon the face of his beloved, he knew that love was stronger than any tragedy, stronger even than death itself. And though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty and pain, he would walk it with unwavering determination, fueled by the boundless power of his love.

He wishes he could give them his life.

He wishes that they wouldn’t suffer anymore.

Geto Suguru wished that fate would be kind.

He wishes that fate would let love win it all.

THE RAIN HAD KEPT POURING THROUGH THE WEEKS THAT PASSED. Misery has become him, one with the sky with the tears he had shed till his eyes were red. Until his there were no tears left to shed, until everything had become swollen with grief. As Geto Suguru stood in front of the towering wooden doors of the church, a sense of solemnity washed over him, mingling with the tears shed by the heavens. The rain fell in a steady rhythm, its soft patter echoing the turmoil in his heart. He took a deep breath, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him like a heavy burden.

As the rain continued to fall, mingling with his tears, Suguru closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer to the heavens. He prayed for strength, for courage, for the wisdom to navigate the tumultuous waters of his heart.

The wide wooden doors of the church creaked open as Geto Suguru stepped inside, the dim light filtering through stained glass casting colorful patterns on the ancient stone walls. The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace as he made his way down the aisle, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

The ancient stones of the church embraced him as he stepped inside, the hallowed air wrapping around him like a familiar cloak. The scent of polished wood and aged hymnals filled his senses, a poignant reminder of the solace he once sought within these walls. The flickering candles on the altar cast dancing shadows, and the dim light played on the arches and stained glass windows, creating an ethereal atmosphere.

Suguru's heart echoed with wants and desires in the silent chamber. The teachings ingrained in him from childhood whispered in the recesses of his mind, urging him to find refuge in prayer and divine guidance. The echoes of hymns sung by generations before him seemed to linger in the air, inviting him to return to the fold of tradition and the comfort of familiar rituals.

Yet, as he stood before the altar, the image of his beloved flashed in his mind—their laughter, their touch, the profound connection that transcended the boundaries of his faith. The pull of his love was relentless, an undeniable force that demanded his allegiance, even if it meant deviating from the path he had been raised to follow.

Suguru felt the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders, a burden he willingly bore for the sake of love. His humanity, with all its complexities and emotions, now took precedence over the structured teachings of the church. The internal conflict simmered within him, a storm raging in the sanctuary of his soul.

He closed his eyes, seeking a moment of inner peace amidst the turmoil. The hushed whispers of his prayers mingled with the quiet echoes of the sacred space. In that moment of vulnerability, he admitted to himself that, while a part of him longed for divine reassurance, the deeper recesses of his heart yearned for relief.

As Suguru opened his eyes, a sense of resolve hardened in his gaze. The silent sanctuary bore witness to his decision. He would navigate the uncharted waters of his heart, where the currents of love clashed with the tides of tradition. Whatever trials lay ahead, he would face them with the strength drawn from his love, embracing the complexities of his humanity with an unwavering spirit. And so, within the sacred walls that had once been a refuge, Suguru embarked on a journey that would test the boundaries of faith, love, and the intricate dance between the two.

With each step, his heart beat louder in his chest, a frantic rhythm matching the desperation in his soul. He approached the altar, where candles flickered and cast dancing shadows across the marble floor. Dropping to his knees before the crucifix, Suguru clasped his hands together in prayer, his voice trembling with emotion.

And as he opened his eyes once more, a sense of determination settled over him like a cloak. For he knew that his love was worth fighting for, worth sacrificing everything for. And no matter the obstacles that stood in his way, he would persevere, driven by the unwavering power of his love. Even at the cost of his suffering, he would do it all. As long as there is mercy on his grievous soul. As long as his beloved lived.

"God, please," he whispered, his voice raw with anguish. "I beg of you, spare their life. I would do anything, anything at all, to see them open their eyes again, to feel their touch, to hear their voice."

Tears streamed down his face unchecked as he poured out his heart to the heavens, his words a desperate plea for mercy. He recounted every moment they had shared, every laugh, every touch, every whispered word of love. He promised to devote his life to serving others, to spreading kindness and compassion in their name, if only they would be granted another chance at life.

"Take me instead," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "Let me bear their suffering, their pain. Just please, don't take them from me. I cannot bear to live in a world without them."

His anguished cries echoed off the stone walls, only to be swallowed by the oppressive stillness that surrounded him. The weight of his despair pressed down on him like a physical force, threatening to crush him under its unbearable burden.

The ancient tapestries that adorned the walls seemed to hang motionless, their once-vibrant colors muted by the somber atmosphere of the sacred space. The flickering candles on the altar cast dancing shadows that danced across the floor, but even their gentle movements failed to break the oppressive silence that enveloped Suguru like a shroud.

He bowed his head in resignation, his heart heavy with grief as he awaited any sign, any glimmer of hope in the suffocating darkness. His breath came in shallow gasps, the sound barely audible in the quietude of the church.

In the absence of any response, Suguru's mind raced with doubt and fear. Was he truly alone in his suffering? Had his prayers fallen on deaf ears, unheard and unanswered by the divine presence he had once believed in so fervently?

Desperation clawed at his chest as he searched for some semblance of comfort, some sign that he was not abandoned in his hour of need. But the silence remained unbroken, stretching on endlessly like a vast expanse of emptiness.

And yet, amidst the despair that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a fragile thread of hope. He refused to surrender to the darkness that threatened to engulf him, determined to find solace in the faint whisper of his own breath and the gentle rustle of the church's ancient tapestries.

For in the depths of his despair, he knew that even the smallest glimmer of hope could illuminate the darkest corners of his soul, guiding him through the shadows and leading him towards the light. And so, with a heavy heart and a steadfast resolve, Suguru bowed his head and continued to wait, praying for the strength to endure and the courage to persevere in the face of adversity.

Grief clung so desperately for hours and hours.

When he left, he was told of the good news.

Yet, when he came back to the church, he knew.

All good things, even love, come with a price.

SUGURU HAD NEVER CRIED SO MUCH IN HIS LIFE. But he was sure his beloved cried even more than him.The room exuded an aura of scarred intimacy, illuminated by the gentle flicker of candlelight that danced across the walls, painting them in hues of warm amber and soft gold. The soft glow cast a serene ambiance, enveloping the space in a cocoon of tranquility, yet beneath its soothing facade lay an undercurrent of tension that crackled in the air like static electricity.

The silence hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick and suffocating, wrapping around Geto Suguru and his beloved like a vice. It was not the comforting silence of a peaceful night, but rather a haunting void that seemed to echo with the weight of unspoken words and suppressed emotions. Everything about this moment felt like a ripple of harsh waves crashing against the two of them over and over again. Yet they knew they couldn't do much about it.

Each passing moment only served to amplify the eerie stillness that permeated the room, casting a pall of unease over the space. It felt as though time itself had frozen, leaving Suguru and his beloved suspended in a limbo of uncertainty and apprehension.

The bitter taste of silence lingered on Suguru's tongue, a bitter reminder of the words left unsaid and the emotions left unexpressed. It was a silence that felt cruel in its relentless grip, refusing to yield even as the tension between them threatened to suffocate them both.

As they sat in the suffocating stillness, Suguru's heart ached with the weight of the unspoken, the words trapped within him like caged birds desperate to be set free. But the silence held them captive, binding them in its icy embrace and leaving them to grapple with the bitter reality of their unvoiced fears and unacknowledged desires.

In the midst of this oppressive silence, Suguru and his beloved found themselves adrift in a sea of uncertainty, their hearts heavy with the burden of what could have been, what should have been, but was not. And as they struggled to navigate the treacherous waters of their shared silence, they could only cling to each other, seeking solace in the warmth of their intertwined hands amidst the bitter chill of the eerie stillness that enveloped them.

Geto Suguru sat across from his beloved, their hands intertwined in a tight embrace, fingers laced together in a silent resignation. The flickering shadows cast by the candles danced across the room, their movements reflecting the depth of the turmoil that churned within Suguru's heart. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, each breath laden with unspoken words and unvoiced fears. The palpable sense of unease hung thick in the air, wrapping around them like a heavy shroud, casting a shadow over the room despite the warmth of the candlelight.

Suguru's gaze never wavered from his beloved's face, his eyes searching theirs for any sign of understanding, any flicker of acceptance. But beneath the surface, he could sense the tumult of emotions that roiled within them, a storm of uncertainty and apprehension that mirrored his own inner turmoil. His beloved’s eyes were red from crying, swollen with grief as they made sense of the words uttered. What does it all mean, they wanted to ask. What does parting mean?

The air between them crackled with tension, a silent barrier that seemed to grow thicker with each passing moment. Suguru felt the weight of their shared silence pressing down on him, a suffocating presence that threatened to choke the words from his throat. And yet, despite the heaviness that hung between them, Suguru clung to the fragile thread of hope that lingered in the air. Hope that there would still be love, that there would be understanding. Even if he has to leave, leave the person he loved dearest, that love still wins.

In the soft glow of the candlelight, amidst the flickering shadows and the palpable tension that filled the room, Suguru and his beloved sat together in a silent embrace, their hands clasped tightly as they braced themselves to make sense of the world that now was birthed with his words. Suguru took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he knew would change everything. His heart raced in his chest as he met his lover's gaze, the warmth of their eyes like a balm to his troubled soul.

"I know this is hard to accept." Suguru began, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "But I have to. I have to leave. I need to.”

His lover's eyes widened in shock, their grip on his hand tightening almost imperceptibly. "But why?" they whispered, brows furrowing into sorrow. "Why now? What about us?"

Suguru's heart ached at the pain in their voice, the anguish written plainly on their face. "I love you," he repeated, his voice trembling with emotion. "More than anything in this world. But I….”

"But you love God," his lover countered, their words heavy with resignation. "More than you love me."

Tears welled in Suguru's eyes as he shook his head, his heart breaking at the accusation in their words. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "That's not true. I love you with every fiber of my being. But this is something I need to do. I need to. Not because I…..”

His lover's shoulders slumped in defeat, tears glistening in their eyes as they looked away. Suguru reached out, gently cupping their face in his hands, willing them to understand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "I'm sorry for the pain this will cause you. But please know that my love for you will never waver. It will always be a part of me, no matter where life takes me."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of their head, his lips lingering against their hair. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I love you more than words can express."

And in that moment, as they sat together in the dimly lit room, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the weight of unspoken words, Suguru held his lover close, praying silently that they would find solace in the depth of his love, even as he embarked on a journey that would take him away from them.

When the morning came, he was already gone.

By the afternoon, he looked at the altar once more.

By night, he surrendered to the heavy priestly robes.

Love wins all, even the dawn of all the heartbreak.

WHEN HE SAW THEM AGAIN, HE KNEW HE WOULD BE BREAKING HIS HEART OVER AND OVER AGAIN. But as Father Suguru Geto looked into his lover – how they lived and how they have aged so beautifully, he couldn't help but feel no regret at breaking his heart once again. They still look the same, so wondrous. It was as though they were the beckoning stars watching over them. His heart pounded against his chest, bursting with yearning and grief, over a life already lost. His love for his beloved continued to persist, to win it all – at the expense of his beloved standing before him, living a life beyond him.

“Long time no see," Suguru whispered, the words escaping his lips in a hushed tone, laden with a mixture of nostalgia and restraint. The blink that followed seemed to bridge the gap between the past and the present, a futile attempt to clear away the emotional fog that hung between them.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you too.”

"Sugu—No, uh, Father. Father Geto," they stammered, the words catching in their throat as they struggled to reconcile the familiarity of the old name with the newfound title of reverence. The transition from the intimate to the formal underscored the undeniable transformation Suguru had undergone.

"Indeed, it has been a long time," Suguru replied, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken truths. The use of the formal title added a layer of formality to their exchange, a thin veil attempting to conceal the depth of the emotions lingering beneath the surface.

A heavy silence settled between them, and the flickering street lamp seemed to cast a spotlight on the unresolved tension in the air. Their gaze lingered on Suguru's face, searching for traces of the person they once knew within the contours of the priest before them. Father Geto, his expression a mask of duty and restraint, nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yes, it has," he replied, his voice a measured cadence that echoed through the quiet night.

They bit hard at their lower lip, a nervous habit that betrayed the turbulence within. The words unsaid, the questions unasked, hung in the air like a delicate thread waiting to unravel. The night embraced the weight of their emotions, and the street lamp continued to flicker, casting its dim glow further upon the scene—a reunion tainted by the passage of time and the choices that led them down divergent paths.

Their eyes shimmered with unshed tears as Suguru let the passage of time settle in the air. The chasm between them widened, and in that moment of silence, it seemed to stretch into eternity—a vast expanse of unspoken emotions and missed opportunities.

"Suguru," They whispered, unable to mask the vulnerability in their voice. The name hung between them, a bridge attempting to span the gap created by titles and time.

Suguru's gaze flickered with a mixture of pain and understanding. Yet in between, so much love. So much devotion – sealed away for what remained of all his life. Reserved for a lifetime where his yearning to duty, to god, did not win.

"Please," he began, the weight of his own emotions evident in the quiver of his voice, "Call me Father Geto. It's the only way we can navigate this... this impossibility."

The words hung heavy in the air, a poignant acknowledgment of the constraints that bound them. They merely nodded, a small, pained acceptance of the reality that lay before them. He could see their despair in their orbs. He could feel himself wishing he could rush to them, to wrap his arms around them once again. To comfort them. To give them the warmth of the world, to keep them safe—beside him. Yet he knew more than anyone that this was better. This distance was better.

"Father Geto," They uttered, the words tasting foreign on their tongue.

A sigh, heavy with the burden of unspoken regrets and heartfelt apologies, escaped Suguru's lips, its fragile tendrils weaving through the quiet air like wisps of smoke seeking release from the confines of his troubled soul. Each breath seemed to carry with it the weight of a thousand moments left unsaid, a silent lament for the words left unspoken and the emotions left unexpressed.

In that fleeting exhale, Suguru released the pent-up tension that had coiled within him like a tightly wound spring, allowing the weight of his regrets to spill forth into the quiet space between them. It was a sound that spoke volumes, a poignant expression of the complex emotions that churned within him—a mixture of remorse, longing, and the profound ache of a heart burdened by the weight of its own unfulfilled desires.

As the sigh dissipated into the stillness of the room, it left behind a palpable sense of vulnerability, a raw honesty that hung in the air like a delicate thread waiting to be acknowledged. Suguru's gaze, haunted by the ghosts of what could have been, met theirs, seeking solace in the silent communion of shared pain and unspoken truths.

In that fragile exhale, Suguru bared his soul, offering a silent apology for the wounds he had inflicted, both intentionally and unintentionally. It was a gesture of humility, a recognition of his own fallibility and the impact of his choices on those he held dear. And though his words remained unspoken, their presence lingered in the air like a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness in a universe that seemed indifferent to the intricacies of human hearts.

"I never wanted it to be like this," he confessed, his eyes betraying a sadness that transcended the boundaries of their shared history.

"I know," they replied, aching with the burden of understanding. The streetlamp's flickering light cast a dance of shadows on Suguru's face, emphasizing the lines etched by time and choices.

The heavy silence persisted, a tangible force that hung in the air like a shroud. Their gaze fought to be tender as they remained fixed on Suguru's face, as though trying to find solace in the familiar features that had once provided comfort and warmth.

Father Geto, a master of self-discipline, struggled to maintain the mask of duty and restraint. Yet he no doubt knows that his lover knew him better than that. His eyes tell every story ever so easily. Only his beloved would know how to see the universe in his eyes. Yet he knew that his beloved wouldn’t dare. He knew that they would not want to break even more than they already have. It was the right thing to do. Suguru was certain that he would let the tears flow, to let his eyes reflect the sufferings of his own heart in full view.

"We are bound by different paths now," he said, each word resonating with the finality of their choices.

They took a hesitant step forward, their movements tentative as if navigating the treacherous terrain of an emotional battlefield. Each footfall seemed to echo in the silent space between them, a solemn cadence that resonated with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

With each step, they inched closer, their gaze fixed on Suguru's face as if seeking reassurance in the depths of his eyes. It was a gesture fraught with uncertainty, a silent plea for understanding in a moment fraught with tension and apprehension.

As they bridged the distance between them, it was as though they were traversing an invisible barrier that separated their hearts, a boundary erected by the complexities of their shared history and the weight of unspoken truths. The air crackled with anticipation, a palpable sense of unease hanging heavy in the space between them like a shroud.

Their movements were cautious, deliberate, as if treading on fragile ground that threatened to give way beneath their feet. Each step forward carried with it the weight of their shared past, a delicate dance of vulnerability and courage as they navigated the uncharted territory of their emotions.

And yet, despite the uncertainty that hung in the air like a veil, there was a palpable sense of determination in their movements, a silent resolve to confront the barriers that stood between them and the possibility of reconciliation. With each hesitant step, they drew closer to Suguru, their hearts yearning for the connection they had lost but never forgotten.

"Do you ever regret it?" they asked, their voice a mere whisper in the quiet night.

Suguru's eyes, haunted by the ghosts of what could have been, met theirs in a poignant exchange that spoke volumes without the need for words. In the depths of his gaze, they glimpsed the echoes of their shared past, a tapestry woven with the threads of laughter and tears, joy and sorrow.

There was a vulnerability in Suguru's eyes, a rawness that betrayed the weight of his unspoken regrets and the ache of missed opportunities. In that moment of silent communion, they felt the weight of their shared history pressing down upon them, a burden too heavy to bear yet impossible to ignore.

And yet, beneath the veil of sadness that shrouded Suguru's gaze, there lingered a flicker of hope—a glimmer of possibility that danced on the edges of their shared sorrow. It was a fleeting moment, a fragile ember amidst the ashes of their broken dreams, but it was enough to kindle a spark of longing within their hearts.

As they stood locked in a silent exchange, each searching the other for traces of the love they had lost, they found themselves teetering on the precipice of a decision that would shape the course of their shared future. In the depths of Suguru's haunted eyes, they saw a reflection of their own yearning, a silent plea for a second chance at the love that had eluded them.

And in that moment, as the weight of their unspoken desires hung heavy in the air, they knew that they stood at a crossroads—a fleeting moment suspended in time where the possibility of reconciliation hung in the balance, waiting to be seized or lost forever.

"I would be lying if I said I didn’t," he admitted, the confession heavy with the weight of his own longing.

Tears welled up in their eyes, and they fought to keep their composure. They struggled against the truth of their feelings yet soon enough, they spilled the truth as easily as one would notice a river flowed into the stream. His beloved looked down, almost besotted with the nostalgia of a love still overflowing. They would never escape the thought of loving one another. Not in this lifetime and nor the next. Their love for one another would win all, even this distance wrought with sacrifice and tears.

"I thought time would make it easier," they confessed, a raw vulnerability laid bare beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp.

Suguru offered them a weary smile, a flicker of shared pain passing between them like a silent lament for what once was. The weight of their unspoken emotions hung heavy in the air, a palpable reminder of the wounds that time had failed to fully heal.

"Time has a way of revealing wounds we thought were healed," he said, his voice carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom as he gazed into their eyes, searching for traces of the love they had lost. The truth echoed through the hallowed space between them, resonating with the bittersweet melody of their shared history.

The night embraced them, its silent embrace a testament to the intricacies of their intertwined destinies. Beneath the flickering street lamp, they stood as silent witnesses to the fragile beauty of a love both tender and tormented, its echoes reverberating through the quiet air like a haunting melody.

"I miss you," they whispered, the words a whispered confession that hung in the cool night air like a delicate promise, laden with the weight of untold stories and the lingering ache of unresolved emotions.

Suguru, offering a tender smile that belied the depths of his own sorrow, whispered back, "It'll pass," his voice a gentle reassurance in the face of their shared pain.

"I know," they replied, their voice carrying the wisdom of a soul that had weathered the storms of love and loss, accepting the transient beauty of their shared pain with a quiet resignation that spoke volumes of their resilience and strength.

As if prompted by an unseen force, they both turned, their hearts guiding them toward separate destinies. They who are still tethered to the past, lingered in the shadows of what could have been, as if waiting for a final resolution that might never come. Suguru, facing the far reach of the church's dome like a silent sentinel, took a moment to compose himself, tears betraying the stoic facade he wore as a priest.

"I love you too," Suguru confessed, the words a whispered goodbye, a final benediction offered to a love that had been both a sanctuary and a storm.

And then, with a heavy silence enveloping them like a shroud, they finally parted ways. Each step echoed the closing of a chapter, a poignant farewell etched into the fabric of their souls—a bittersweet symphony played beneath the dim glow of a street lamp, where love and destiny converged and diverged in the grand tapestry of life.

As if propelled by some unseen force, a cosmic hand guiding their movements, they both turned away from each other, their hearts pulling them in opposite directions, toward separate destinies. Yet, they remained tethered to the past by the fragile threads of memories and regrets, lingering in the shadows of what could have been, their souls yearning for closure that might forever elude them.

Suguru, standing before the grandeur of the church's dome like a silent sentinel, faced the far-reaching expanse with a heavy heart. His demeanor, usually composed and stoic, betrayed the turmoil within as tears welled in his eyes, threatening to shatter the carefully crafted facade he wore as a priest.

"I love you too," Suguru confessed softly, his voice barely audible above the hushed whisper of the night, the words a whispered goodbye that hung in the air like a solemn vow, a final benediction offered to a love that had been both a sanctuary and a storm.

With a heavy silence enveloping them like a suffocating shroud, they finally parted ways. Each step they took echoed the closing of a chapter, a poignant farewell etched into the fabric of their souls—a bittersweet symphony played beneath the dim glow of a street lamp, where love and destiny converged and diverged in the intricate tapestry of life's ever-unfolding narrative.

They will be fine.

They will live together.

They will continue to love.

Love will forever win all.

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onlylivingforwords · 5 months

Text

Once adorned with vitality, my old tree stood proud, whispering tales to the wind. It's trunk still echoes the hushed secrets of a bygone era, a poignant ode to nature's eternal dance. He was thirsty, but two months of a watery ballet that bypassed his weary roots, and time's cruel grasp, when the rain became a distant melody, on a day of colossal winds, he surrended, a tempest's fury embraced him in a solemn creak.

Now in the garden of Eden, his absence leaves a void. Of course, horses run free, of course, sunsets ignite the horizon, setting the sky ablaze. But amidst this untamed beauty, he lies on the ground, embraced by the earth's cradle. Ivy weaves around him, nature's shroud a silent testimony to the intertwining of life and loss in the vast expanse, where the wild spirits roam and the sun each day bids its fiery farewell.

#poetry #writing #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writerscreed #writerscommunity

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sidekick-hero · 7 months

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Suitcase of Memories

Authors: @legitcookie and @sidekick-hero l Artist: @luna-fortunaa l Artist: @maikaartwork | Beta: @acasualcrossfade | Beta and amazing cheerleader: @yournowheregirl

Posting on Tuesday, November 7

In a bygone era, two men defy societal norms and find an instantaneous, powerful connection that defies all odds. Their secret love blossoms in the shadows, forming an unbreakable bond. However, fate eventually intervenes, cruelly tearing them apart. Fast forward to the present day, Steve awakens from an extraordinary dream that feels startlingly genuine and lifelike, like he was really there. The memory of it haunts his every waking moment, making him question if he somehow recognizes the mysterious, curly-haired stranger playing his guitar at a street-corner, although they have never met before. Steve continues to cross paths with this enigmatic figure, Eddie, until they surrender to fate and their instant attraction. As their relationship deepens, Steve's dreams become increasingly vivid, detailed, and intense, leaving him with an uncanny sense of familiarity. They also strangely reflect the growing romance and struggles of his newfound relationship. Is it all just a coincidence, or is there a deeper connection that defies the boundaries of time and fate?

Read more under the cut for a sneak preview!

Steve usually never misses his bus. He’d rather get to the bus stop ten minutes early and wait instead of making a mad dash to catch it. But not today. Today, missing his bus is just the cherry on top of an already off day.

"Shit!" he exclaims as the exhaust from the retreating bus surrounds him, throwing his hands up in frustration. He stomps his foot, chanting "Fuck, fuck, fuck”.

He doesn't regret helping the lady, especially after he was the one who made her drop her groceries, but he also can't help but think: Why today? With a long-suffering groan, he turns and heads toward his apartment.

It's a beautiful day, thankfully. There are only a few clouds in the sky and a light breeze is blowing through the warm summer air. It would be a perfect day for a stroll if it weren't for the dull ache that still lingers deep in his chest. It follows him like his own shadow, dark and elusive. He wishes it would take a hike; he’s always prided himself on being able to shove things that bother him into one of the many boxes he stores in the attic of his mind. If he can pretend they don’t exist, they can’t affect him. It’s worked this long.

Steve just wishes he could remember why something as insignificant as a dream could make him feel like this. Why —

A melody, hauntingly familiar, reaches his ears. It's coming from further up the sidewalk, and he picks up his pace, his feet almost moving on their own in their hurry to find the source of the song before it stops.

Turning the corner, he's greeted by a beautiful man with an acoustic guitar, and the sight steals the breath from his lungs.

The man has long, curly brown hair, and his face is pinched in concentration as his thick, ringed fingers idly strum the instrument. Watching him play is mesmerizing, the gentle melody like a long forgotten memory. It's as if the man has cast a spell over Steve, drawing him closer and closer until Steve is standing right in front of him.

The man must have noticed him approaching because when he lifts his head he looks right at Steve. As their eyes meet, Steve feels an electric charge running through his body. He gasps softly at the overwhelming wave, and the eyes of the guitarist widen at the same time.

"Hi," says the breathtaking figure before him, friendly and curious.

Of course, Steve acts like an idiot, because instead of answering like a normal person, he just keeps staring at the man, mouth probably open, eyes wide. After a long moment he catches himself and replies in a breathless voice, "Hi.”

They look at each other for a moment before the man's lips curl into a small smile. "Like what you hear?"

Steve clears his throat and nods a little too forcefully. "Uh, yeah, man. It sounds great."

The man strums the same chords again, and goose bumps start to rise up Steve's arms. He can't help but ask, "It sounds really familiar. What is it?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just something that popped into my head," the man shrugs, his eyes moving sideways, finally breaking eye contact, and he starts fidgeting with his rings. There's something so familiar about the way the man talks and moves, but Steve can't put his finger on it.

"Have we met?" Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed. He's still staring intently at the man with the guitar. It's like he's listening to an old record, one he used to know by heart but hasn't listened to in a long time, and it's just skipped a few beats and he doesn't know where he is in the song.

"Pretty sure I'd remember you if we did," the man replies, his eyes shifting sideways and back to Steve, giving him a wink and grinning widely, white teeth flashing behind full lips. Oh fuck, he has dimples too.

Steve ducks his head, the heat of a blush flushing his face, causing the other man’s face to soften into a genuine, warm smile.

The blaring of a car horn cuts through whatever is happening between them, and both sets of eyes look over Steve's shoulder to find the source. A taxi driver is yelling at someone in a Porsche and both men are hurling insults back and forth, getting more creative with them by the second.

Steve turns back to the guitarist with a chuckle and runs a hand through his hair. "I better get going," he says, sounding reluctant to his own ears.

He tosses a thumb over his shoulder as he slowly starts to walk away. "But really, dude, you're, uh, really... good," he finishes lamely. He remembers when he and Robin first started at The Bean Scene. She still hadn't liked him very much back then, leftover animosity from high school, and had started keeping track of all his unsuccessful attempts at flirting. This performance right now would have earned him a tally in the You Suck column. It seems as if the man in front of him had taken the breath out of him and all of his charm with it.

"Thanks, man. Maybe I'll see you around sometime?" God, I hope so.

“Uh, yeah, I’m around!” Stop. Talking. Harrington. Steve raises his hand, about to smack his forehead in exasperation, and just catches himself, giving a little wave with fluttering fingers instead. Just as he's about to turn around to hide his burning face, he remembers with a small oh to drop a $5 bill into the man's open guitar case in front of him.

"Ah, thank you kindly, good sir," the man says dramatically, punctuating it with a small bow, the same wide smile on his face as before. Steve's heart flutters at the sight, and warmth spreads through his body as another wave of familiarity hits him.

Steve finally turns and walks away from the street corner where, unbeknownst to him at the time, his life changed forever. He has to force himself not to turn around, not to look back, because it feels like he might suffer the same fate as Lot's wife. Just turn to salt, unable to ever leave. Still, as he walks home, his mind is caught up in replaying the past few minutes in an endless loop, the feeling of familiarity still nagging at the back of his mind.

#steddiebang23 #steddiebang23 upcoming projects #steddie #my writing

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wordsvomit101 · 2 months

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Obsidian Reverie

(??? years, ??? months, ??? days after His Majesty Leviathan received his name )

Amidst the enchanting ambiance of the Midnight Masquerade, an exquisite event held under the gentle light of the pure white twin moons, reminiscent of the legendary quiet goddess, Astrea, attendees are whisked away into a realm of unparalleled opulence and mystique.

Captivated by the allure of the evening, Glasyalabolas finds himself entranced by the ethereal atmosphere. The grand ballroom, adorned with towering marble pillars intricately carved with astrological motifs, emanates an aura of timeless elegance.

Bathed in the soft, moonlit glow that spills through stained glass windows and cascades from the sky above, the palace roof has been removed for this extraordinary occasion, allowing the eerie radiance to suffuse every corner of the room.

Scenes of ancient myths and legends are depicted in the intricate carvings adorning the pillars, their stories coming to life in the flickering torchlight. It is as if the very walls of the ballroom resonate with the echoes of a bygone era, transporting guests to a realm where fantasy and reality intertwine.

Guests, draped in luxurious fabrics of silk and velvet, don ornate masks that conceal their identities, transforming them into ethereal beings of mystery and allure. Each mask is a work of art, crafted with meticulous detail and embellished with feathers, jewels, and intricate filigree, adding to the air of intrigue that permeates the evening.

The flickering glow of glowing mantas and jellyfish swimming languidly as they cast dancing waves of shadows upon the polished marble floor, creating an enchanting backdrop for the swirling movements of the dancers. Soft strains of music fill the air, a haunting melody that seems to echo from another realm, beckoning guests to lose themselves in the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

As the night unfolds, the Midnight Masquerade becomes a tapestry of secrets and desires, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, and the true nature of its inhabitants is revealed. In this realm of darkness and enchantment, anything is possible, and the masks they wear are but a reflection of the mysteries that lie within.

Dressed in opulent attire and adorned with a mask that concealed his true visage, Glasyalabolas moved with grace and poise, his dark gazes and commanding presence drawing the attention of all who beheld him. Yet, amidst the swirling crowd of guests, his eyes were fixed upon one figure alone—The devil of Envy and sovereign of Hades.

As Glasyalabolas, the towering figure of ambition and madness, approached Leviathan with a graceful stride, his demeanor regal yet infused with a hint of a wild charm. Bowing respectfully, he addressed the beautiful being standing alone as onlookers couldn't help to let their gazes wander to him and the wave of shock could be felt as they saw the figure of the tall devil, having the courage to dare to ask for what they wish for from their king. With the utmost deference, he extended his hand with a regal flourish, and a hush fell over the assembled throng.

"Your Majesty," Glasyalabolas began, his voice carrying a tone of veneration, "might I have the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"

His gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, swept across the room, a silent challenge to all who dared to meet his eye. Yet, beneath his mask of confidence, there lurked a primal fear, a knowing sense of walking straight into the gaping mouth of a monster.

Leviathan regarded him with a cold and measured gaze, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of shadows. There was a silent pause, tension hanging in the air like a taut thread.

Glasyalabolas continued, his tone soft yet insistent, "It would be a pleasure to glide across the floor with you, Your Majesty, to the haunting melody of the tango. Shall we indulge in this moment of respite amidst the chaos of our realms?"

With a distant gaze, the beautiful devil's expression was still a perfect embodiment of indifference, "Very well," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if granting a trivial request to a begging peasant.

Clad in robes of darkest obsidian with hints of royal violet, Leviathan moved with predatory grace, his every step a silent promise of retribution. Around him, the air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura, a palpable reminder of his status.

Undeterred by Leviathan's aloof demeanor, Glasyalabolas pressed on, seeking to provoke a reaction from his king, "I must say, Your Majesty," he continued, his voice laced with a subtle challenge, "I have always been curious about the secrets that lie hidden within the depths of your kingdom. Tell me, what is it that drives you, that fuels your ambition?", before placing a small but worshiped kiss upon the strong gloved hand of the divine devil opposite of him.

As they came together upon the polished marble floor, the haunting melody of the waltz filled the air, a mournful lament that echoed the pain of ages past. The music, a symphony of longing and despair, wrapped around them like a shroud, enveloping them in its melancholy embrace.

Leviathan's response was brief and detached, his attention only half-hearted as he allowed Glasyalabolas to take the lead in the waltz.

"Ambition is a fool's errand," he remarked coldly as if directing at the devil he allowed to lead him, his silky smooth voice tinted with arrogance before gracefully answering the question beckoned by the noble, "Stability", he continued after finishing an elegant twirl, "is the foundation upon which Hades stands. The foundation that needs to be maintained, regardless of the challenges that may arise"

Their dance began with a delicate grace, each movement a testament to their otherworldly power and elegance. Glasyalabolas's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with hidden intent. "And what of those who would dare to challenge your authority?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you not fear the repercussions of their defiance?"

Their movements are like a symphony of grace and aggression, Glasyalabolas' hand on Leviathan's waist and his other guiding his king to his tempo. Leviathan's long coat floats behind him and with the light from the twin moon shining upon them, makes him shimmer like a thousand stars, glides across the ethereal void with the agility of a practiced ease. His dance is a mesmerizing spectacle, each step a ripple in the fabric of reality. His long limbs extend and retract in fluid undulations, creating hypnotic patterns that draw the eye inward into a vortex of wonder.

Leviathan continued to look upon him impassively, not bothering to waste his breath, looking down at Glasyalabolas despite their height differences.

Glasyalabolas, with his silver tongue and piercing gaze, sought to ensnare Leviathan in a web of intrigue and ambition, weaving a tapestry of manipulation and desire with each graceful step. Yet, beneath his facade of confidence, there is still lingered a primal excitement, a recognition of fear before the formidable force that stood before him.

But as the tempo quickened and the music soared to dizzying heights, a shift occurred, a subtle yet undeniable change in the fabric of their dance when Glasyalabolas dared to come closer.

Glasyalabolas's inquiry sliced through the air with calculated precision, his words carrying a subtle edge of curiosity. "Your Majesty," he began, his tone deceptively mild, "forgive my impertinence, but I cannot help but wonder of what happened that day, a spectacle upon the rift of the North of Hades"

Leviathan's gaze darkened at the mention of his past, a flicker of something indefinable crossing his features before he regained his composure, ready to continue to dismiss Glasyalabolas before another audacious question was asked, a glare marred on his gorgeous visage.

"What drove you to such depths? What horrors did you endure before claiming your throne?"

Leviathan's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, a warning simmering beneath his icy face, before an exquisitely cruel smile graced his lips, an elegant arch to his brow, with a soft inquire for a lowly devil before him, "So you seek to understand this King?"

Glasyalabolas felt a chill run down his spine as Leviathan's gaze bore into him with a steely intensity. It was as if he had crossed a line, delving into forbidden territory that should never have been breached. However, his curiosity only mounted higher, the allure of being able to know a side of Leviathan, it is both a threat and an offer that would kill him if he treks further.

But, in the pursuit of knowledge, only fools who are brave dare to venture into the darkness, for they know that it is in the depths of uncertainty that true understanding is found.

With an excited gulp, Glasyalabolas summoned his courage and approached the enchanting Leviathan, his facade of calmness strained but resolute.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice quivering with anticipation, "forgive my audacity, but I must know... What is the answer to my question?"

Leviathan regarded him with a cool detachment, his gaze piercing through Glasyalabolas's facade with unnerving precision.

"The answer?" he echoed, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, "Hmm, how about I let you have a taste then?"

Leviathan tightened his grip and seized the waist of the taller devil. With a steely gaze and a subtle shift in his movements, he seized control of the dance, his silent command rippling through the air like a ripple on a still pond. At that moment, Glasyalabolas realized the true extent of his folly, as the balance of power shifted inexorably in Leviathan's favor.

As Leviathan took control of the dance, Glasyalabolas couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of being ensnared in the coils of a giant serpent, his movements calculated and precise, each step a predatory strike. In his mind's eye, he was no longer the noble demon, but a mere raccoon, small and insignificant in the presence of such overwhelming power.

Leviathan's steps upon the marble floor became a haunting echo of a predator stalking its prey, a symphony of sinewy grace and raw power that left Glasyalabolas trembling in his wake. With each graceful twist and turn, he felt the weight of Leviathan's gaze bearing down upon him like the unblinking stare of a serpent tearing him down to his bone and squeezing every air he had in his organ.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the tumult, there lingered a strange kind of beauty, a twisted ballet of desire and despair that spoke to the depths of a shared agony. The echoes of their voices mingled with the haunting melody of the waltz, a cacophony of whispers and sighs that reverberated through the halls of eternity even fearing away the swimming mantas and jellyfish.

Glasyalabolas found himself swept up in the maelstrom of their dance, his senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of adrenaline and fear. It was as if he stood on the precipice of oblivion, teetering on the edge of some vast abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

However, the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, bringing his consciousness back to reality.

As they stood locked in a silent tableau, the music singing of the two figures bound together by fate and forged in the fires of eternity. However, instead of reveling in the romance of the moment, Leviathan carelessly dipped an exhausted and scared Glasyalabolas, a stark contrast to the beginning where Glasyalabolas had led the dance.

With a benevolent grace, yet a coldness that cut through the air like a blade, Leviathan smiled down at him, his eyes betraying none of the warmth that Glasyalabolas had hoped to find.

"Know your place," he intoned softly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and power.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the terror stirring in his mind, there was a perverse thrill, a perverse ecstasy that coursed through his veins like wildfire. For in the embrace of Leviathan's dark and commanding allure, Glasyalabolas found himself trembling not just with fear, but with a hunger and admiration that burned hotter than the flames of Hell itself for the devil above him.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb leviathan #whb glasyalabolas #toxic yaoi 101/jk #ngl i been wanting to write this after the orias event #at first #i was thinking about making it foras and levi but glasyalabolas took the cake #the amount of envy glasyalabolas created that day is enough to fuel hades for the next several years tbh #he did sleep with one eye open so that's that

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lettersnorth · 2 years

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Seems like I'm slipping Into a dream within a dream

#FFXIV Screenshots #ffxiv rp #ffxiv #gpose #hyur #Melody of Bygone Days

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mikashisus · 4 months

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Clipped Wings Chapterlist

pairing: venti x fem!reader

summary: He was like the fresh breeze on a warm summer day, brushing over your skin with the most delicate of touches.

He knew just the right words to say and how to say them, and lies slipped from his lips easier than wine slid down his throat.

wc: 15.1k

chapter 1: sowing the seeds of hope

chapter 2: remnants of melodies

chapter 3: troubled midnights

chapter 4: a heart is a heavy burden

chapter 5: the poet and the king

chapter 6: choice breeds consequence

chapter 7: you got the world at your feet and your heart on your sleeve

chapter 8: some fates cannot be altered

chapter 9: seeds of stories, brought by the wind and cultivated by time

chapter 10: of ballads and brews, and a bard and his muse

chapter 11: read between the lines

chapter 12: sole salvation of a fallen nation

chapter 13: memories of a bygone era

chapter 14: meet me again in your wildest dreams

chapter 15: you will reap what you sow

chapter 16: curiosity killed the cat

chapter 17: i wanted to breathe life into you by my own hand

chapter 18: the thousand winds of time

chapter 19: the price of immortality

chapter 20: there is no curse more twisted than love

#masterlist #genshin impact #venti x reader #venti #clipped wings

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lxthz · 3 months

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In the serene town of Kaminoyama, (M/n) and Megumi's love story unfolded amidst the vibrant cherry blossoms and the tranquil melody of the flowing river. Their journey began in the bustling halls of their high school, where they first locked eyes and felt an instant connection that transcended mere words.

"We're like two pieces of a puzzle, destined to fit together," Megumi remarked one sunny afternoon as they lounged beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree, their fingers intertwined.

(M/n) smiled, his heart fluttering with warmth. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's like you've always been a part of my life."

As the semesters passed, their bond only grew stronger, fueled by shared dreams and whispered promises of forever. They navigated the highs and lows of teenage love with unwavering devotion, believing that nothing could ever tear them apart.

But as graduation approached, reality began to set in. The prospect of embarking on separate paths weighed heavily on their hearts, casting a shadow over their once blissful romance.

"Do you think we'll still be together after high school?" (M/n) asked one evening, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Megumi hesitated, his gaze faltering for a moment before meeting (M/n)'s eyes. "I hope so, but we can't predict the future. All we can do is cherish the time we have together."

Their conversations grew increasingly laden with unspoken fears and doubts, each word a silent plea for reassurance in the face of impending change.

As graduation day dawned, emotions ran high as they bid farewell to their beloved school and prepared to embark on separate journeys. Amidst tearful goodbyes and heartfelt promises to stay in touch, (M/n) and Megumi clung to each other with a sense of desperation, unwilling to let go of the love they had fought so hard to preserve.

But as weeks turned into months, the distance between them began to take its toll. Late-night phone calls grew scarce, replaced by strained silences and hollow excuses.

"We're drifting apart, aren't we?" (M/n) whispered one night, his voice barely above a whisper.

Megumi remained silent for a moment, his heart heavy with guilt. "I don't know what to say," he finally admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "Maybe we were never meant to be together."

The words hung in the air like a lingering echo, a painful reminder of the love they had lost amidst the chaos of growing up.

But even as their relationship crumbled around them, (M/n) found solace in the memories they had shared. He would often find himself lost in reverie, reliving moments of laughter and tenderness that now seemed like distant echoes of a bygone era.

And so, on a quiet afternoon, (M/n) found himself walking to the bus stop, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets. As he waited, lost in thought, he caught a glimpse of someone in the corner of his eye.

"Megumi?" he whispered, his heart skipping a beat as hope surged through him.

But when he turned to look, it wasn't him.

In that fleeting moment, (M/n) realized that the person he once loved so deeply was now just a memory. The echoes of their laughter and the warmth of their embraces lingered in his mind, but he knew it was time to let go and move on.

With a bittersweet smile, (M/n) boarded the bus, leaving behind the ghosts of his past as he embarked on a new journey of self-discovery. Though the road ahead was uncertain, he knew that the memories of his time with Megumi would always hold a special place in his heart, guiding him forward as he navigated the twists and turns of life's ever-changing path.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ; 646

#male reader #xmalereader #reader insert #taylor swift #folklore #fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #Spotify #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #x male reader #gay

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tenshijhnny · 10 months

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« Not Allowed »

Pairing - Student!Yuta × Student!Fem!Reader

Synopsis - You and Yuta were schoolmates and maybe more than only mates

Genre - romance x love of youth at school

Warnings - mention of sex ; heartbreaking

Note - written with « Not Allowed » by TV Girl bc i felt depressed + ask some questions if you need to oor if you have some ideas : here

The soft murmur of the melody resonated in my ears as I walked through the streets illuminated by city lights. "Not Allowed" by TV Girl played in my headphones, accompanying my solitary steps with its melancholic rhythm. It was one of those nights when my thoughts seemed to drift into the past, to memories that felt both close and distant.

My mind brought me back to a bygone era, to a time when the sparks of youth shone in our eyes. Yuta, a name that evoked bittersweet memories, was at the center of these thoughts. He came from a certain group of music not really famous tho, a talented artist, but for me, he had been much more than that.

We had met in college, two lost souls in the labyrinth of student life. Yuta was charismatic, with a presence that naturally drew people in. His black hair and radiant smile melted hearts and caught gazes. He was the kind of person who instantly brightened up a room just by entering.

One day, our paths crossed by chance at the library. I was lost in a sea of books, desperately trying to grasp the intricacies of a difficult course. And then, he appeared, like a ray of sunshine through the gray clouds. He sat down across from me, a mischievous smile on his lips.

"You seem like you need help," he said, his soft voice resonating in the air.

I looked up to meet his gaze, captivated by his deep eyes. "Uh, yeah, I'm struggling a bit with this course."

He laughed, a light laughter that resonated in the room. "Well, let me help you. My name is Yuta."

And that's how our friendship began. Yuta was brilliant and compassionate, always ready to lend a hand to those in need. We spent hours studying together, but our conversations quickly surpassed the limits of academia. We talked about our dreams, our fears, everything and nothing. He had the gift of making me feel understood, accepted for who I truly was.

As "Not Allowed" played in my headphones, I recalled one of those summer nights when everything seemed possible, when we hooked up for the first time. I mean, yeah, we fucked together like a week or two. Maybe a month or a year. We had decided on an impromptu getaway, leaving our books and responsibilities behind for a few hours. We climbed onto the university roof, the stars sparkling above us.

"Do you hear that?" Yuta had whispered, pointing his finger towards the starry sky.

"Hear what?" I had asked, perplexed.

"The stars. They tell stories, you know. You just have to listen closely."

I looked at him with an incredulous smile, but he led me into a series of imaginary stories that seemed to perfectly fit into the canvas of the nocturnal sky. It was these kinds of moments that made Yuta exceptional, someone who saw beauty in the little things and was determined to share that vision with the world.

It was the little things I noticed about him over time that made me fall in love with him. And that evening, despite the stars that could tell us stories, I went ahead and kissed him.

Against all odds, I couldn't have expected better. Without wishing to flatter him, he was a real sex god. I mean, no matter the time, no matter the place, if he was in the mood I knew I was going to end up with trembling legs.

Once at the kitchen table, while I was baking some cookies for the afternoon, Yuta came up behind me with his hands wandering.

"Need some help?" he says mischievously.

Without giving me time to reply, he grabs my lips with his teeth before inserting his tongue into my mouth. I let my lover guide me lovingly. His hands traced my curves as I lost my left hand in his hair and my right hand went straight down to his cock.

After much foreplay, he finally inserted himself into me, breathing a sigh of relief. Hearing him tell me how important I was to him pleased me as much as the sound of our skins touching.

What I liked most about Yuta was that he wasn't headstrong. On the contrary, we rarely argued. When our lovemaking was over, we'd get back to baking cookies.

Time had flown by, seasons had changed, and our friendship had continued to grow. We went through ups and downs, but every moment spent with Yuta was precious. However, as we neared the end of our college journey, a subtle tension began to creep between us. A tension I couldn't explain, even to myself.

One evening, we sat in the park, gazing at the stars just as we had done so many times before. "Not Allowed" played in the background, creating a nostalgic ambiance.

"Do you remember everything we've shared?" Yuta suddenly asked, his gaze drifting into the distance.

"How could I forget?" I replied with a tender smile. "Those were the best moments of my life."

He seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. "You know, there's something I've never told you..."

Before he could finish his sentence, I felt a knot of anxiety in my chest. Was it what I thought? The feelings I had kept within me, hoping they would remain hidden forever, suddenly seemed on the verge of emerging.

"Yuta, what do you mean?" I asked, my heart racing. He looked away, his cheeks taking on a slight rosy hue.

"Maybe I should have told you sooner... but there's something I've been feeling for a long time. Something I can't ignore."

My hands grew clammy, my thoughts jumbled in my head.

"Yuta, what... what do you feel? "

He finally lifted his gaze, looking at me with an intensity I'd never seen before.

"I've met someone else," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

The melody of "Not Allowed" seemed to intensify, as if it had captured the emotion of the moment. It was as if the whole world froze, leaving only the two of us in this bubble of emotion.

Time seemed to stop for an eternity, then I moved closer to him, gently placing my hand on his.

"Yuta, I... I... I'm happy for you..."

A bright smile lit up his face, and he hugged me. Strangely I felt betrayed, forsaken by the boy I loved. This embrace seemed to be my last. The lyrics of the music in the background echoed in my head: "I dreamt I was standing in your doorstep, licking sweat off of your forehead, with your finger in my mouth". So it was over. Never again would I feel his warm breath on my neck, or his kisses on my forehead when he finished. A stranger took away my one and only love.

It was the beginning of something new. Our youthful love had been like a sweet melody, filling our lives with joy and uncertainty. We explored this new facet of our relationship, meeting the challenges of budding love.

However, like many young loves, our story came to an end when life separated us at the end of school. The paths we had chosen drove us apart, leaving us with precious memories and unfulfilled dreams.

As I walked through the nighttime streets, the song "Not Allowed" slowly faded, giving way to silence. The stars shone above me, reminding me of the sparkle in Yuta's eyes, the gentle smile that had always been his. My love for him had become an indelible part of me, a precious chapter of my life.

Past and present intertwined in my memories, a love story that had begun with a melody and grown into something deeper and more meaningful. As I continued my journey, I knew that Yuta was there, somewhere in the fabric of the universe, a constant reminder of what we had been, what we had shared. And perhaps one day, our paths would cross again, and our youthful love would be rekindled, like the melody of a beloved song.

hope you like it

#kpop scenarios #nct fanfic #tenshijhnny #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct smut #nctzen #nct #nct 127 #nct hard hours #yuta #nakamoto yuta #nct yuta

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blackstarmylove · 2 months

Text

Reminiscent (Oneshot)

Fandom: Blackstar Theater Starless

Pairing: No pairing. Featuring Team C.

Warning: Mild angst.

Requested by: White Day gift.

Prompt: Qu crying with Gymnaster Savatieri growing on him

Word Count: 1,636

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The park bathed in the golden glow of the sun's warmth. Bees flitted from bloom to bloom while butterflies pirouetted through the air, weaving intricate patterns amidst the verdant foliage. In a corner garden in the park, Qu sat on a picnic blanket with Hari. The garden pulsated with life, each plant swaying in harmony with the delicate melody of nature's symphony. As Qu reclined on the soft blanket, his gaze wandered to his other team members.

Zakuro's melodious voice intertwined effortlessly with the rustling of leaves and chirping of the bird. Mokuren meticulously rehearsed the intricate choreography of their upcoming performance, their body flowing like a river guided by the unseen currents of inspiration. Aogiri stood silently, his eyes alight with curiosity and admiration as he absorbed every nuance of Zakuro's performance with rapt attention. Meanwhile, Kasumi observed Mokuren's every step with focused determination. His keen eyes captured the essence of each movement as if etching them into the depths of his memory.

Qu's gaze shifted from his team members to the surrounding greenery and blooms. Amidst the riots of colorful flowers, his golden eyes landed on a regal purple flower that swayed gently in the breeze. A soft smile tugged on Qu's glossed lips as he studied the simple yet captivating blooms. The flowers' beauty resonated with something deep within his soul, but he couldn't quite put a finger on why. Unknown to the tall man, Hari had been studying the curious gleam in Qu's eyes.

"Do you know the name of that flower?" The green-haired man questioned in a whisper. Qu thought momentarily before gently shaking his head, admitting his ignorance with a humble shrug.

"The name Miyakowasure," Hari began, in a serious but sympathetic voice, "originates from the story of the emperor Juntoku in the Kamakura period. After his defeat in the Jokyu War, the emperor was exiled to Saso Island. He loved Kyoto dearly and couldn't bring himself to forget it. So, he sought solace in the beauty of this flower. Hence, the name "For the sake of forgetting Kyoto."

Qu intently listened as Hari wove the narrative; his words vividly painted the monarch's longing and resignation. The young man couldn't fathom how heavily weighed down the emperor's heart must have felt every time he remembered his beloved capital, Kyoto. The Miyakowasure flower must have truly caught the emperor's attention with its delicate but simple appearance. How could one flower become a poignant symbol of the emperor's desire to escape the shackles of nostalgia and forge a new path amidst the rugged landscapes of exile? Was there something more to the tale?

Regardless, Qu was moved by the story and felt a swell of empathy wash over him. The king's spirit had shown true resilience in the face of adversity, but why did he feel a strange connection to the king? For a while, Qu closed his eyes, allowing the wind to tenderly caress his cheeks while the fragrance of the blossoms enveloped him like a comforting embrace. In that fleeting moment of tranquility amidst the whispers of a bygone era, Qu found himself lost in his own memories.

When the seeds are planted, the sensation can evoke discomfort.

“Mommy? Where are you? Don’t leave me.”

Qu stirred from his slumber with a whisper. The words hung in the air, laden with a palpable sense of longing and fear. His small form was cocooned in an embrace of silk sheets and plush pillows, and his large, tear-filled eyes scanned the bedroom until he saw Maica stirring from his slumber beside him.

“Qu? What’s wrong?” Maica’s soft and sleepy voice cut through the lingering words of fear, giving Qu a beacon of light in the darkness he had experienced in his dream. Reaching over, the pink-haired child patted his friend’s back. They were only children, but they understood each other, and the bond transcended that of blood ties; it was a bond forged by shared experience and unwavering brotherly love.

The discomfort intensifies as the shell fractures and the initial sprout emerges.

With a steely resolve born of necessity, Qu made the difficult decision to leave behind the comforts of Maica's home, determined to carve out a path of his own making, free from the burden of dependency. Despite Maica’s protests, Qu embarked on a daunting journey, his heart heavy with the weight of newfound responsibility and the specter of uncertainty looming on the horizon. The luxuries of maids and butlers were now replaced by the harsh reality of survival in a society where every step was fraught with challenge and adversity.

Even then, Qu refused to back down and sought odd jobs wherever he could. In the middle of the relentless grind of daily toil, Qu could not shake the gnawing ache of homesickness that tugged at his heartstrings with each passing day. The contrast between his former life of privilege and the stark reality of his present circumstances weighed heavily upon Qu's soul. And yet, despite the pain and hardship that overwhelmed him, Qu remained steadfast in his resolve. He was determined to prove his worth and forge a future that was uniquely his own.

As the sprout ascends, the pain intensifies; delicate stems emerge from Qu's skin, a torment known only to the initiated. Tears betray him, nurturing the blooms of his inner anguish.

Qu navigated the dark waters of the drag industry, but the harsh glare of competition cast shadows on his dreams. The relentless grind of the job, coupled with cutthroat competition and unnecessary drama, weighed heavily on his spirit. Yet, amidst the glittering façade of sequins and stilettos, his true passion burned brightly, and he yearned to express himself beyond the confines of the ramp. But when Mokuren stormed out after a heated altercation with one of the other drag queens, a spark of hope ignited in Qu’s heart. Without hesitation, Qu followed Mokuren out of the shadow and onto a new but uncertain journey.

As the purple flower buds blossom along the stems, the cascade of tears only intensifies.

Joining Starless was a dream come true for Qu, an opportunity to express himself on stage through acting and dancing freely. However, as he delved deeper into this new chapter of his life, he quickly realized that things were far from normal within the confines of the theater's glittering walls. From the moment he became a cast member, Qu was ensnared in a web of tension and pressure. Haseyama’s constant demands, insults, and threats of expulsion hung over Qu’s head like a dark cloud.

Then came the fans, a magnet of fervent fangirls and fanboys whose adoration sometimes bordered on obsession. Their antics range from harmless adulation to intrusive invasion of Qu’s personal space and private life. Their relentless pursuit of his attention only added to the mounting pressure that Qu struggled to navigate. As if that wasn’t enough, the tangled web of drama and conflict among the cast members was exhausting. Egos clashed, and tempers flared behind the scenes, with each member vying for their moment in the spotlight and an increase in their paycheck. Between this endless chaos, Qu was expected to maintain an intense work schedule, juggling rehearsals, performances, and floor and cleaning duties.

As the Miyakowasure flowers burst into bloom, the pain lingers relentlessly, refusing to dissipate. Qu's tears mingle with the blossoms sprouting from his skin.

“I am creating a new team and want you to join it.”

Qu stood at a crossroads when Mokuren extended the offer to join a new team they planned to create. Despite his reservations and lingering guilt over leaving Team P, the prospect of forging a new path with Mokuren was tantalizing. Which was more important, to explore new possibilities or remain loyal to his former team? For once, Qu took a decision for himself, and with a leap of faith, he joined Mokuren to establish Team C. Their collaboration sparked a blaze of creativity and success that surpassed even their wildest dreams. Yet, Qu was plagued by a lingering sense of displacement. As days turned to weeks and weeks into months, Qu navigated the labyrinthine corridors of his own psyche, searching for answers to questions that seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

The simple act of raising your head instead of bowing it low can make all the difference.

Mokuren’s inclination to push them beyond their limits grew with each day. The hours were long, the demands relentless, and the pay meager at best. Some fans treated him as a possession rather than a human, and their demands encroached on his autonomy, while Haseyama constantly meddled in their affairs. Among the chaos of Starless, Qu found reassurance when he realized he was not alone through his struggles as his teammates were standing steadfastly by his side. Even though they didn’t share the same closeness as Team B, Mokuren, Hari, Kasumi, Zakuro, and Aogiri were sailing through the same storm in the same vessel alongside him.

Embrace your journey, acknowledging the past without dwelling on it, for that is the sole path to moving forward.

Qu’s eyes fluttered open, their gleam reminiscent of gold shimmering in the sunlight as he fixed his gaze on the delicate Gymnaster Savatieri flowers. After a moment of contemplation, he turned his head to Hari.

“Somewhere in the king's heart, he knew that he could never truly forget his beloved capital,” Qu softly said, his words measured and thoughtful. “That’s why the flower has the name of the very thing the king wanted to escape from – Kyoto. I am no one to look back on history and judge a king. But maybe if the king had embraced his past rather than constantly trying to forget it, the burden of his pain would have been lighter.”

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