#hallow sings to the void

[acaaai-t]

3 months and counting

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, hints at suicide, probably unhealthy coping methods idk

The taste of bitter coffee and overly sweetened scent of dandelion tea lingered, lingered for a little longer than he liked.

Wilted flowers lay by a small vase of fresh ones. The pile of dead flowers seemed to grow bigger with each passing day.

The house was dim, with the only source of light being a weakly lit candle surrounded by empty dishes and untouched cutlery on the dining table. For a place that had felt so big not too long ago, it suddenly seemed to be so small.

Scaramouche hummed quietly to himself as he gently dusted at the debris that clung onto the picture frames. His touch was delicate as his fingers brush against the cold glass. The tune he has been singing echoed off the walls, traveling down the silent hallway.

How long has it been? He wonders.

Three days? A week? Two weeks? Scaramouche had long lost count.

Once he was sure that the picture frame was clean, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. In this empty house, the only thing that stood out most was the wall of what Scaramouche called ‘memories’. Golden frames surrounded photos of all kind, taken by you and hung by him.

He misses you.

On most days, Scaramouche would stay huddle in what once was a shared bedroom, buried deep beneath the blankets, scrolling through past messages. Dark circles heavily marked his under eyes, a stark contrast to his porcelain pale skin.

For the first month, he was a utter mess. Unable to process the tragic news of your sudden death.

It had just felt like yesterday, when the two of you were just out on a date, laughing and giggling.

The world was mocking him, taunting and laughing, watching the hallow shell of the man he once was as he stood there alone in the cemetery. Flowers previously placed by your grave was removed and tossed away, replaced by a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers.

The night you were buried under the willow tree, was the only night he had ever worked up the courage to sit by your grave, and wallow in the despair.

“I miss you,” the three words etched into his mind, quietly spoken into the empty void.

What about the plans you’ve made with him? The promises of a happy ending, a beautiful future.

Gone… all gone, far too soon.

“Will we get a cat too?” your voice was eager, full of hope.

Scaramouche smiled and pressed a small kiss to your temple. “Whatever you want.”

You giggled. “Let’s get a black cat then. I can see the resemblance between you and them.”

“Hey,” he whined.

You beamed up at him. “I love you.”

How he wished time could’ve stopped right there and then, allowing that precious moment to last for an eternity.

“I love you too.”

God, it was so fucking unfair. Why did you have to be the one to die?

It could’ve been anyone else, but you just had to be there at the wrong time.

He slumped down on the empty couch, cushions and throw blankets sitting in the same spot as before. Scaramouche didn’t dare touch anything. He was scared— terrified that if he even so as much move anything a centimeter away, he’ll lose the remaining parts of you that he had so desperately been trying to cling onto.

Scaramouche had already lost you once, he couldn’t lose you for a second time.

The soft golden glow of the ceiling lights flickered in and out for a brief moment, a sign that the electrical bill was long overdue. It was fortunate enough that the landlord took pity upon him and gave Scaramouche an extension to pay his bills.

3 months.

It’s been three whole months since the accident. Three months since he’s shut himself off from the outside world. Three months he spend crying and grieving, fantasizing scenarios of you and him. He knows it’ll never come true, but he can only hope.

Head barely above water, the bits of hope he has is all that’s supporting his weight, preventing him from drowning. Yet as the clock moves, he finds himself sinking lower and lower.

Two hollow knocks to his door startled him out of his trancelike state. “Who,” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

When the answer was delivered with another two knocks, he spoke louder. “What.”

“Scaramouche,” the muffled voice of Childe floated through the thick wood. “Open the door.”

He scowled, body already moving before his mind had even processed Childe’s words. The door cracked open with a soft creak, a silver of the sunlight spilling into the dark house. Scaramouche squeezed his eyes closed, momentarily blinded by the light. It’s been so long since he’s seen the sun.

Childe’s shadow stepped in and blocked out the light. He gave Scaramouche a tired smile. “Archons you look like shit.”

Scaramouche said nothing and kept his silent gaze on him.

The ginger sighed. “I was hoping you’d come visit… them, with us.”

There were no names mentioned, yet Scaramouche almost instantly knew who Childe was referring to. He felt his body tense up.

“Look, I’m not trying to force you or anything, but we all miss them, and you too, ‘mouche… you haven’t talked with any of us in three month now.”

Guilt gnawed at his heart, eating away yet another piece.

He hadn’t meant to neglect his friends. None of the things he was doing was intentional.

“… I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his gaze, unable to keep eye contact with Childe. He fear that if he continued, tears would begin to formulate, and there’d be nothing to stop them from flowing.

“Mind if I come in?” Childe’s voice softened.

Scaramouche felt tears prickling at his eyes. Childe placed one hand on his shoulder, gently giving a pat— and that was what finally broke him. The water droplets fell uncontrollably, rolling down his cheeks. A pitiful sight to behold.

Childe pulled him into a hug and remained quiet. There wasn’t much he could say to comfort Scaramouche’s pain. Everyone was still grieving, him included.

His quiet sniffles slowly died down. Just this one time, he thought to himself, wiping away at a tear. It’s the least he can do.

“Let me get my things,” Scaramouche’s voice was hoarse. A pain-like expression was scrawled across his features as he pulled away from Childe and step back into the shadows of his home.

There wasn’t much he needed to do to get ready. He’d given up on life the moment he was given the news that you didn’t make it. Why he had been fighting for so long, he didn’t understand.

He threw on a simple black cardigan, it was a handmade gift from you to him. In your words, it took you a week and a half to make it— “i hope you’ll like it,” you said sheepishly.

Of course he’ll love it. Cherish it even till death.

He took in a deep breath and went to look for Childe. The medications stored in his pockets jangled against the hard plastic with each step he took.

The last strands of hope snapped, and he sunk. Bubbles floating to the surface as his darkened silhouette slowly disappeared under the void of water.

Tonight, he decided. Tonight, he’ll be able to see you again.

The lights sputtered out as Scaramouche flipped the switch. With the last bits of power it has, the lights illuminated the series of letter sprawled across the glass coffee table— each one address to someone dear to him.

Then it all went dark.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— this was fun to write

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[justwinginglife]

OMG!! Please make a part 2 of Because I Love You! 😭😭😭 it was so saaaaad!!!!!

Part One

Because I Still Love You (Part 2 of a Series)

Soshiro was drunk on the memory of you, again. 

Sometimes he resisted you, reminded himself you weren’t his anymore. Other times he failed to properly reprimand himself, allowing himself a moment of reprieve from his sorrows, allowing himself to dream that you were real, that you were beside him, you were singing to him, playing with his hair, massaging his shoulders, kissing his cheeks. But all the time, all the time he missed you, all the time he ached for you.

If happiness fell in his lap, he wasn’t sure he’d know how to greet it anymore. His grief was his only companion -though it was less a companion and more a jailmate- and he gave it free reign to torment himself as penance for failing you. Sometimes he dreamed of drowning, of succumbing, of letting his sorrows be silenced at the bottom of some river somewhere. But death was too cheap, too easy, and his debt to you required more recompense. He had once offered you his life, and even though you wouldn’t have him anymore, he intended to make good on that payment. If he couldn’t live his life by your side, he’d at least spend his life atoning. He owed you this much. So he accepted his punishment, he welcomed his suffering. The pain was still more than he deserved because even his agony was a reminder that he’d once had something beautiful. That, even in hell, he’d once had heaven. 

He threw himself into his career, like any tortured soul did, but even his work that had once seemed so gratifying, that had once seemed so fulfilling, suddenly felt void of any purpose, of any meaning, when you weren’t there to give meaning to it. He wondered how he used to survive without you. How could his heart beat if it wasn’t keeping time with yours? How could his lungs swell if they weren’t filling up with your hallowed air? If he wasn’t so completely unable to feel anything else but the throbbing in his chest right now, he might’ve felt guilty that he suddenly wished he could turn back the time and unsave people, unmake every decision he’d ever made, unchoose every choice he’d ever chosen that had led him farther and farther away from you. 

What had he put you through? How consuming was the loneliness? How unloved did you feel? How afraid were you that he might not return? Were you relieved that he stopped returning? Were you thankful for a reason to free yourself from your shackles? Were you happy now that you were free? Were you happy?

He hoped you were happy, but selfishly, he also hoped you’d never be as happy as you were with him. And that, that he felt guilty for. How much had you done for him, how much had you saved him, and he still couldn’t find it in himself to wish you a good life without him. He wished you a content life, he loved you that much. He wished you a fine life. A decent life. A normal life. But he could never wish you a good life, a great life, a blissful life, a wonderful life, not when you weren’t by his side. So the guilt continued to wrack him in waves. 

He didn’t want to be bitter, didn’t want to be someone you’d be disappointed in. But suffering changed a man and he didn’t know who he was without you anymore. He didn’t like who he was without you. He didn’t know if he’d ever liked who he was before you and he certainly didn’t like who he was after you. You brought out the only version of himself that he could be proud of and now that you were gone, pride was a stranger again. Happiness was a stranger. 

He was so far gone, so riddled with depression, so drowned in delusion, that his sanity-deprived mind had started to hallucinate you on his way home. He had dragged his feet to the nearest station and that’s where he found you. You were waiting for a train. As the cool evening air fluttered your coat, he caught a glimpse of the swell underneath your shirt. He had always thought you looked beautiful, but something about being pregnant made you radiant, made you heavenly. He wondered if in this hallucination of his, the baby was his. Would his mind allow him the pleasure of having such a dream? He had thought he was past such desires, he had thought he had let go of such hopes. But there you were, rubbing your belly, and cooing to it as you passed the time, and he never thought you looked more beautiful in your entire life. He took a step towards you and time suddenly rushed forward. A breeze slammed into him as the train sped into view. Before he could take another step, you got on the train and the door began closing. 

“Wait!” He called out to you before he could think better of it. 

You looked up and met his gaze through the glass window. His heart stopped. 

Then he blinked and the train was gone. 

If that was a hallucination, it was the most vivid, most wonderful torment his mind had concocted thus far. Your eyes were still just as beautiful and perfect as the day he’d met you, as perfect as they had been every night he’d gazed into them, and every morning he’d awoke to them. But just like in all his nightmares, you were still too far from his reach. And the pain never ceased.

Weeks later, he was still reeling from the shock of such an intense hallucination, when he saw you again. This time you had no baby bump and his heart sank. He missed the image of you rounded with his love, or what he imagined was his. Now, you were making your way through the park with a package in your arms and he wondered what on earth his mind was picturing you doing this time. Whatever you were doing, you were getting closer and closer to him. He held his breath as he waited for the moment when your ghost would simply pass right through him. But you stopped in front of him and time froze again.

It seemed like you were about to say something to him but then the package in your arms started crying.

Soshiro watched in stunned silence as you comforted your baby. He blinked. Had he not hallucinated your pregnant figure on the train? Was he not hallucinating you now? He reached out to caress your face and sparks shot through him as his skin brushed against yours. 

Without missing a beat, you sighed and leaned into his touch, like you’d forgotten how to be anything else but his. Like you’d forgotten about all this time you’d been away from him. It was second nature, being his. His pull was magnetic and you found yourself drawn into his field, like you were settling yourself right back where you belonged.

It was him who pulled away first, still thinking you a hallucination, still grasping for some semblance of sanity. 

“Soshiro?” You finally spoke and he sucked in a breath at finally hearing your voice after all this time. 

Before you could speak again, he sank down to his knees, his arms wrapping around your calves. “Are you… are you actually here?” He murmured against your legs.

You laughed. “I am, are you okay? I’m a little concerned that you’re asking me something like that.”

He shook his head, tears starting to fill his eyes now. “I coulda swore I was dreaming when I saw you. Was that… was that really you on the train?”

You reached a hand down to pat his head. “It’s really me. Then and now.”

Suddenly he stood up straight again, as if he’d just remembered something, and his gaze finally focused itself on the baby in your arms. 

“Ah. Soshiro, meet Suki.” You positioned the baby so he could get a better look at her snuggled in your arms. 

He choked. “S-Suki…?”

You smiled. It seemed he remembered the name he picked out. 

“Is she…?”

“Yours? Yeah.” You said it so simply, but inside, your heart was raging. Wondering what he’d say. How he’d react. It’d been so long, did he even still love you? Would he love her? Would he want to be part of her life, of your life? Did you want him to be part of your life? You had left for a reason. He wasn’t supposed to know. 

But fate, or maybe muscle memory, kept dragging you to his favorite spots, to the parks he liked, the restaurants he frequented, the train he took home from work. It was like every fiber of your being was begging you to find him, to go back home to him. You could work out all the messy details later, all you needed was him. And nothing was more obvious than that as you watched him press a gentle kiss to Suki’s forehead. 

“God, she looks just like you.” He whispered, breathless. “You’re just as perfect as your mother, aren’t you sweetheart?” He cooed as he gazed fondly at her. 

Your heart skipped a beat. It skipped so many beats you thought it’d just clammer to a stop. Could you dare to dream? Did you dare to ask? 

“Baby…” He murmured, his gaze finding you again as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your cheeks responded to his pet name before the rest of you could. 

He winced as he watched you turn red. “Sorry, am I allowed to call you that? Do you,” He looked around for a moment, “Do you have another man now? Does he take care of you?”

You quickly shook your head, not wanting him to misunderstand you. “I could never love anyone but you, baby,” You eased back into the pet names to reassure him, “It’s always been you.”

He sighed a breath of relief, the repose long overdue. “I’m so sorry I drove you away, I know I can never make it up to you, but dammit, I’ll try. Please let me try, I want to try.”

You shook your head again, resting a hand on his arm. “What do you mean you drove me away? You could never drive me away, not even if you came at me with a wrecking ball. Love, where are you getting these ideas?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “But you… but you left. I wasn’t home. And, and you left. I-I wasn’t enough to… to keep you.”

Your heart sank. Suddenly, the bags under his eyes became all too clear, the paleness of his skin became all too obvious. You wondered how you hadn’t noticed before. You had been so busy focusing on just keeping your breaths even as you took each shaky step towards him, you hadn’t realized he must’ve been holding his breath waiting for you too. He must’ve been suffering as much as you had, if not more. At least you left knowing that he still loved you. But he had to wonder if you’d ever loved him at all. Your own stupidity pained you. Your intentions may have been good but their aftermath was not. 

“You’re more than enough, my love, please don’t ever say that. I’m so sorry I left you. It’s my fault. I wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t want to make you choose between the Defense Force or me and the baby, and I didn’t know how to tell you that.”

“But I would’ve picked you baby, everyday, I would’ve picked you. You never have to worry about that,” He insisted, pulling you closer to him and resting his forehead up against yours.

You sighed. “I know you would’ve picked me and that’s the problem. You would have regretted leaving your job and I didn’t want you to regret anything. But now I regret making that choice for you. I regret every second that passed that you weren’t by my side. I missed you. I still miss you.”

“So come home then. Love me now, we’ll figure out the plan later. We always do. But we’ll do it together.”

You nodded repeatedly. “Okay, baby. Okay. Anything for you.”

He took the baby from you, allowing your aching arms a break. 

Then for the first time in the last 9 months, he smiled. 

“Let’s go home, love.”

[interludered]

Guilt between lovers, her name is reunited.

Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru

The last of Us au

not proof read

t/w death, descriptions of maggots, rotting flesh, other zombie things word count 2.3k

a/n hi, this is actually a "happy ending" if you read all the way through. it is a reply i wrote a long time ago and i just thought it was super pretty! Suguru luvs Satoru very much here, and vice versa. please lemme know what you think.

When sleep confronts Suguru again, his prayers for peace seem to be answered. It’s subtle, but it will do. He isn’t sure when his body and mind began to be kind to him, but he happily is taking in the relief, the comfort that swaddles him carefully like how his mother used to, it blooms through his chest and seeps into each limb. The blue color that saturates his laugh is not metaphorical sadness in its physical display but instead a sense of peace that colors him. His red cheeks turn purple in the hue that decorates his being, and when he is throwing his head back, Gojo stands above him, bright smile shining as he becomes the sun, the halo of light that adorns his head makes him look ethereal. The glow makes Satoru nearly silhouetted, but Suguru won’t miss the way he looks at him. The ends of his hair gleam and shimmer, colors him flush with red. His cheeks round, childlike wonder still decorates his eyes. Suguru’s pupils dilate in response, eventually being hauled upwards to stand. When their hands meet, purple blends the two with ease. Another laugh painted into the sunny sky, sand falling off his clothes and back where it belongs on the beach that surrounds them.

He’s being dragged to the edge of the water, ocean eagerly lapping at his ankles. The ocean always seems to excited to greet the two. When Gojo looks back at him, tugging him into the water, the reflection in the dark rims of his glasses tells him they’re in their teens again, his youth haven’t yet slipped away. And when Suguru is too lost in his fantasy, daydreams consume him whole, fully, Satoru is splashing him. The water gets directly into his ear. Suguru is laughing, though his scolding the other doesn’t stop, letting go of his hand to wipe his face. His words hold no weight, instead, splashing the other back. Although when he looks down, the violet that once flowered is now disappearing, it skips over blue and becomes a void of color, black painted the top of each finger as he absorbed all of what was offered, though Satoru becomes all pink and red again. Yet, Satoru stands out against the waves that consume Suguru, fading deeper into the sea as he only seems to devour it’s color, sun beginning to fade. Though, that doesn’t stop his best friend, no, he’s pulling him closer instead. He always seemed to control the ocean, blue eyes contort each wave to his body, letting it caress the skin that protects him, teaching Suguru to do the same. The voice that sings out is Satoru’s, uncontrolled laugh, carefree exhibition. He doesn’t notice the way the salt in each wave scratches Suguru’s skin uncomfortably, wincing in the painful pursuit to be with his best friend.

He ignores every burn and slash, blue leaking out into the waves as it carries his color to shore, makes him greed for the fill he once had. It leaves him empty, engrossed in his feeling of vacancy. Instead of acknowledging how each pain receptor screams, a beg from his flesh that leaks its hue, he ignores every cry. The ocean shows no relent in its chase. It’s just as greedy as him, just as unforgiving. Each wave is pulling him under, mirroring his actions. Each time he swims up for air, another wave pulls him down. He isn’t sure when the riptide began but Satoru remained aloof as Suguru was pulled under. The oxygen from his lungs coursed out with each tug. He isn’t sure when his eyes fluttered shut, breath stolen with each passing second, but he does remember how he felt cold. His chest no longer blue with contentment but instead hallow and reflective white held its place instead. He only opens his eyes when a fist is being connected to his cheek, sending him backwards and onto his back.

The ocean beckons him again, the abrasive surface of sand lays under him, fingers digging deep until he is blinking. Above him, once again, is Satoru. But this time, the moon makes him glow. He’s older now. His mauve and pink cast deepening to one of carnivorous red, anger finding its home inside of him. The waves crash louder onto the land beside him. He can’t make out what he’s saying, though if he focuses, the muffled sound of resentment surround him. It’s like a bell goes off inside his brain, making him wince once again, Satoru’s words ringing loud and clear: 

Of course I wouldn’t believe you! 

You think you can mock me? 

You think you can just waltz back into my life after all this time? 

You left me, not the other way around!

Suguru’s eyebrows pulled together in a tight knot, his head shaking. His body seemed to argue with him as he willed himself to move. To speak. To do anything. But the emotions from the other pin him down, hold him tightly to seek out vengeance for his pain. The pain that Suguru caused him. The fangs sink deeply into his flesh, releasing the venom to infect his bloodstream. It burns hot, a blade dipped into molten lava and scorching his skin with each pass. It filets him wide open, and lets maggots infect his bones. It sears him and cauterizes the blood vessels. And when every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, he finally gains the freedom to breathe, sitting up quickly.

The change in scenery has him reeling backward. Confusion fogs his brain as he looks around, a field of follows and a bright sunny day adorns his vision now, birds sing in the air as he pats himself down. His school uniform feels too tight on his body, hugging every curve and muscle snuggly. The field glows with variety, yellows, purples, oranges, and pinks. They smear together like Claude Monet and turn into small dots in the distance. The insects that visit and gather what they need flutter with grace. When Suguru moves to stand again, he blinks and the scenery changes again. When he reaches his full height, he is looking Satoru in the face.

Though, it’s not him anymore. His eyes glazed over and bloodshot. Blue eyes that once controlled and contorted the ocean were lost. It’s a hazy green iris now, something that looks so foreign on Satoru's face. The fungi that create harsh veins under his skin send a shiver down his spine, the colors they turned his skin no longer radiate romantically but something that he finds repugnant. Infection oozed thickly out of the cracks in his skin, fungi nesting in odd places. The creature he once called his best friend, his one and only, lurches forward to capture Suguru, all teeth to puncture the soft flesh. It sends them both crashing into the ground.

When Suguru hits the soil, it collapses beneath the weight of his body, letting him sink further into the ocean's welcoming waves. He opens his eyes underwater, the shine of the moonlight above him beckons him forward. And when he breaks the surface, the hard ground does nothing to break the fall onto his knees. He is soaked, the scent of salt water lingers as it drips from his clothes. His mother comes to his side, holding him as he coughs up the remainder of the liquid that finds its way into his lungs. She takes the lead in lifting him to his feet, arms wrapped around her much smaller frame. He misses her. She’s whispering something into his ear, though through the sounds of him choking, he can’t make it out.

He’s pulling back to rub at his eyes, only to have a bouquet of flowers pushed into his chest. When his own bloodshot eyes open, regardless of the stinging from salt water, his mother is smiling up at him. His arms go to wrap around her but by the time he steps forward, she has already turned to liquid, sinking deeply into the ground below him. The colorful field once enriched with variety now becoming a sea of red. It starts at his feet, purple irises spinning to show dainty, spindly leaves, each a rich red. They are thin in nature, and poisonous no matter the animal. When consumed, death only follows. As his vision rises, he watches each plant transform. The lily plagues the once beautiful field into something that feels more reminiscent of a blood bath.

Suguru kicks something in his attempts to step forward. The bouquet that only moves a few inches lays at his feet, tightly bound with red lace around the green stems. Suguru swallows as he leans over to pick it up, and when he stands, he’s once again met with blue eyes—ones that hold the ocean, childlike wonder and curiosity picking at the white-haired man so cleverly.

Only this time, Satoru’s glasses lay cracked on the ground. The sun has long set.

The moon now embellished his pale features. Suguru goes to speak but words refuse to emerge, Satoru’s eyes drop to the flowers in his hand. He seems inquisitive, but sadness makes the air thick, hand wrapped tightly against the raven-haired man's throat to suffocate on every syllable that tried to escape. The sand beneath them crunches, Suguru stands still as he watches Satorus's blue eyes gloss over, tears introducing themselves as they cascade down his cheeks, eroding the surface as each hits the sandy beach. Suguru watches as he backs away from him, frozen, the ocean beckoning him back. When he is trying to step forward, he discovers his own feet tied with weights that hold him still. He shakes against them, in attempt to break the grasp, but when he looks up again, Satoru is gone.

The red spider lilies in his hand seem to be rooting under his skin creating a permanent hold into the stems, rope burn digging deep wounds into each ankle. All Suguru can do is stare, eyes desperately searching for the other in the ever-expanding abyss. Yet, the only thing he feels is the ocean lapping excitedly at his ankles once again. Suguru! It’s a dull voice in the distance, a happy purr in cat-like tendencies the other holds. It’s a warmth that radiates deep into him, piercing down on his chest. It’s morning! You can’t stay asleep forever!

Oh, but he could. However, It’s sunshine that filters through the window and onto bare skin, kissing his shoulder, freckles living happily there. They only seem to peak when the sun greets them, the dirt king gone from his skin and allows them to meet without barriers. Come on wake up! It’s the weight of his best friend in the morning as he lays on top of him, causing Suguru to groan in annoyance as he tries to escape the grasp of the other. It’s his voice that lulls him out of his anguish, a smile teasing his lips as he wraps his arm around the body of the other, pulling him down beside him. He’s never been so happy to be annoyed so early. In fact, Sugurus never been a morning person. In the early morning of their teenage years, he would’ve cussed, his only bargain being the scent of coffee he was greeted with. But now, if it meant having the comforting body of his other half wake him up, pulling him from the dreams that haunt his head well into the day, he might tolerate his mornings without it.

When Sugurus arm is fully secure around the torso of Satoru, he flips them, pinning the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed man beneath his body weight, the blanket successfully trapping Satoru's arms to his side as Suguru now lays on top of the other. He almost feels bad for laying his dead weight on the other, left to struggle beneath him. Almost. But, instead, he yawns tiredly as he finds a spot of comfort with his head on Satoru's chest, arms securing Satoru’s under the blanket. The cool morning air hits the bare skin of Sugurus back and he can’t help but shiver. “A few more minutes,” he mumbles, his eyes still shut, a small smile danced across his lips, hidden from even his best friend. Sleep clogged his brain, voice gruff from the fatigue that lingered. He listened to the steady beat of the other heart, each pump causing his anxiety from the night to dissipate and a new emotion to replace it:

Tranquility, he thinks. The peace that washes away each bitter ending. The sun that rises every morning, is a reminder that it’s a new day. The riptide has disappeared and the storm passed, and the ocean returns to singing a sweet melody. The same one he has long familiarized himself with since meeting the other. He relishes in the steady breathing, his own breaths matching the one he lays on. The heat that permeates through the comforter that bound them together, his own legs twisted and trapping him happily.

“I haven’t slept in a real bed in 6 years, Satoru, I think I deserve a few more minutes.” Suguru continues on, still muffled as he twitches his nose, hair still knotted at the base of his scalp from the night prior. He hopes to find a brush today, perhaps one of the many people who call the shelter a home will have a spare, and he won’t have to kill another clicker with his own. He has a feeling a trim wouldn’t hurt, and Satoru would strangle him if he cut it short, so he will settle for the knots for now. Maybe Satoru would help him. Hell, he knows he will. It widens his smile a little more. His own personal secret is hidden on the chest of his one and only. It’s hard to believe he only just got him back. It feels like, somehow, he’s been there all along. The picture he holds secret, water-damaged and wrinkled, doesn’t seem to weigh down his bag anymore.

[servanna-x]

My first xyx x reader (AFAB) smut *NSFW* - very short and simple, but I hope you all like it

Your back arched as he chuckled, the vibrations sending shivers through to your core. Your fists were white gripping the sheets beneath you, your head thrown back into the pillows.

Your thighs were trembling and threatening to close around his head. He simply continued, his large, calloused hands holding your hips as he worked, his tongue singing praise against you. He had been settled between your legs for over an hour now, chin dripping with your pleasure and no plans for stopping in sight.

With a flick of his tongue, your hand reached for his, gripping tightly with another moan of his name. Pausing for a brief second, chartreuse eyes gazed up at you from under thick lashes. You swore you could melt under those pools of emerald, drown in them as he carried you under and surrounded you. He smirked and you groaned, "Xyx, baby, please."

"Begging now, are we doll?" he asked, placing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. "Never knew you were the type to be so submissive."

Dignity gone and left behind in the puddle that was now your mind, you begged again, a silent scream passing your lips afterward as he dipped his head back down. Another plead and his lips wrapped around your clit, hallowing his cheeks as he sucked. Despite the hold on you, your thighs jerked as you came again, black invading your vision. You could feel yourself slipping into a void of blissful peace, content with yourself fall.

Watching your body go limp, he finally released you, crawling up your body, leaving trails of kisses in his wake until he reached your neck. His lips brushed against your ear, his voice hot as he breathed, "Don't go passing out on me now, love. Our fun has only just begun."

[the-wolves-and-the-sheep]

As the young singing trickster walked through the fog he would hear the sounds of something odd, the sound of high heels? In this place hardly likely but it was there as he heard soft gasp of breath trying to be taken as he heard a voice call out from behind him, "You! Why does a shit lip like you deserve to live?!" Turning he would see a off sight for sure, a woman wearing scantly calde clothes trying her best to walk towards him, a arm holding holding a a broken thing of glasses. Two things made this sight the worse, ghost or something akin to that floated from her mouth as she spoke head twitching in random ways as if something wanted a turn to use the body, and lastly the orange wound that showed a horrific heart that was changed and abused into something akin to on but barely. This thing wouldn't be friendly, whatever this thing was. @the-entity-child (void hallowed)

Ji Woon was just out for a night walk through the foggy forest. He hum a melodie through the darkness. Giving this forest his cold dark vibe. But another noice cuts through the air. As if someone struggles to walk. He turns to see a woman with short hair, a rater revealing outfit. She have a wound on her chest and a strange glowing blade... is it glass perhaps? She insults him. "Na na.. my lady... That was quite rude." He says in a calm low voice. The tone feels dark.

His eyes are fixed at her. Like when a pretator watch there prey. He look for any details of the situation. Trys to figure out if the other is a threat and if he could handle the situation with ease or not , if it escalates. "Who are you to judge me."

[lonely-darksun]

Hi

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

✦ Hey there. call me alexx (damian, alistar, felix, az/azrael, and darksun all also work)

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

heres a little get to know me:

☾ pronouns: he/they/fae/it (most basic pronouns)

☾ most preffered neopronouns: void/rot/sin/that/fall/hollow/hallow/ abyss/abyssal

☾ gender: trans masc, neoboy, xenogender

☾ sexuality: i'm bi/uranic, diamoric, ambiamorous, and ace/aro but technically i'm cupio/quoi

☾ kin types: black Alexander archipelago wolf, spotted hyena, crow, raven, vampire, fae, demon, void, night, moon, space, storm (specifically lightning/thunder and rain), dragon, angel/divine/god???, and possibly some kind of nature kin, nightmare kin, and even something that's boney and dirty but in a eldritch way.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

fun facts about me:

☾ im a pagan witch (specifically Im a Norse/Hellenic polytheist mainly, and a ecclectic witch), im alternative mostly emo leaning, my favorite animal is wolves, I use tone tags sometimes, and im in love with rainy/cold weather.

☾ hobbies include: dancing, writing (both prose and poetry), singing, acting, drawing, reading, and being chronically online.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

☾ Warning: i am an extremely chaotic person and some things that may be posted could be...intreseting.

☾ Also, I probably have autism and or ADHD, so that too.

⋆☀︎. Link to my pronouns page:

⋆☀︎. Link to my Wattpad:

Link to my Pronouns.cc:

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

☾ DNI: Basic criteria, homophobic, transphobic, racist, antisemitic, ableist, z00philes, against therians, anti- neo-pronoun users, anti- xeno-gender users, radqueers, proship, etc. etc.(General DNI applies) (edited it because I realized that it may be unclear lmao)

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

☾ Tags!

darksuns reblogs- self explainitory. things I'm rebloging

darksuns sins- poetry/writing things

darksuns stars- alterhuman/otherkin/nonhuman/therian

darksuns sparks- is something a post I made that's not about the above

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

[soutcftime]

HOPE!HOB x DREAM AU.

Just read this days ago anddd went wildd.

(I already explain this, but I like to think if the child of Time and Night are Endless, the kids between Light and Reality are Eternals (because I saw a lot of people struggling with the Hope!Hob AU) )

Hope was the third child between Light and Reality, right after Hallow and Hale. He was a beautiful young kid, full of life and happiness, curiosity and kindness, Hope was the resilience symbol. The Eternal sing of peace between them and the Endless.

Of course, The Eternals were nothing like the Endless, since Lady Light and Lady Reality can't have their own kids, they create them from the best parts of each other. Perfects anthropomorphic representations.

"What is my name?"

"You are Hope. Our Hope"

Hope already love life. He embraces every living thing and enjoy every new thing that appear in his way, he loves his gift, he loves every creature and he absolutely love to share his own vision with them. The passion about life, his life! His own hopes and expectations about how the universe would change next.

Then he met Dream of the Endless. And he loves him. Hope loves Dream since the beginning, he uses to say that every Dream comes with Hope. They were best friends. Hope loves the Endless, despite the old fight that their family has had, Hope loves all the Endless siblings.

"You should not spend so many time with them, my Hope" Mother Reality speaks to him. "I do not want one of my child end like them" she said, but he cannot understand what was she talking about. He nods anyway, he can never disagree with his Mother.

But he can't stand away of Dream.

"Dream!" Hope walks in the Dreaming, enter the throne room being followed by Lucienne. "I have news! Wonderful news!"

"Hello Hope" Dream greet him with a little smile, "What have you done now?" he ask, looking at Hope already going up from the stairs, leaving little sparkles as he walks with excitement.

"Hi Jess," he greet the crow in Dream's shoulder, then look at Dream again. "I met humans!" he clap with happiness, little sparkles jumping off his hands.

Dream frowns. "Humans?" his tone was pure disgust, looking at Hope with a disapproving look.

Hope blinks, cocking his head. "Humans" he nods, the hopeful tone stills in him. "Beautiful creatures, so full of life, so imperfects and perfects at the same time" Hope smiles looking Dream's disgusting face with amusement.

"Have you been in the Waking world?" he ask, worried for the answer that Hope can give to him.

Hope giggle a little, looking at the stars in the sky. "I have" he say. "They called me Hob" he giggle again, with his hair full of sparkles. Dream frown with anger, the blue sea of his eyes covering with full void.

"They called you what?" he say, his voice going deep. "How dare they? How dare you? Allowing mortals, humans, disrespect you in that way?" Hope smiles, holding Dream's hand carefully.

"Dream, you did not need to be mad, my dear. They were lovely. I introduced myself as Hope, they might have heard wrong but it's a beautiful nickname" the little stars in Dream's eyes focus on him, "You should come with me to the Waking, you will love them"

"No. I think I should not" Dream say, taking his hand and walking away. "And you should not come back to that place, that is not the place were you belongs Hope. You do not belong between humans, that might end bad" Dream looked at him, his blue eyes back at his place.

Hope smiles, "Perhaps" he say, "But I love humanity, I want to see everything" Dream cock his head, "I shall leave now. See you around, Dream Lord." Hope bowed, "Bye Jessamy!" he say, before leaving the realm.

[the-entity-child]

The Void Hallowed

Alright so firstly let me make it clear I doubt I will make it perfect on fairness if this was actually in the game, but let have a lil fun. If you have any ideas, tell me but here goes. Power, This Void Ridden Body: A side project that never thought could be done, now shown to all to tell the horrors of The Entity horrible brilliance! The power is two parts, the first is akin to a mixture of plague infections on objects and doctors hallucinations. At the will of The Void Hallowed “souls” of the voided men and women of Entity’s past survivors and killers can inhabit generators, hex totems, pallets, and hooks to hide in them and possess them till a survivor interacts with it causing them to attack them harming them and casing a debuff on them if they have a add on. However do to a compilation do to her human heart if she uses it to much she will “overheat” so to speak and let out a loud cry of horror and terror that causes to survivors to scream as well applying them with a sort of madness akin to the doctor but can’t be gotten rid of.

Red Add Ons would be: Iridescent Mechanical heart: Her true heart was ripped out of her body, to be replaced with different items to try and control the anger of the different souls who wished to be free, this device was one of the few things that worked well enough albeit that it had untold side effects. When the Void Hallowed overheats and lets out its cry all survivors will be given a harsh debuff of a random kind (Be it broken if already wounded, blinded, oblivious, or exposed) for 3 minutes. “While it does seem to work, I don’t know how much more abuse she could take if she keeps using this. Oh well, it should be fine.” The Entity

Beloved Daughter Eye: An eye with an odd orange like iris, it seems to still be moving even when away from the body. A horrid reminder of what Saki did to her beloved daughter, but the others care not for what she did. They demand a body. Whenever a voided soul inhabits anything and they attack a survivor, the survivor becomes possessed and makes the void hallowed undetectable until they are healed or downed. “What have we become? Are we even considered human anymore?” Unknown Voided Soul

Perks: Hex: Songs Of The Damned: There was an urban legend from survivors who walked the line between the normal realms and the void, the beings of the Void sang a song of death and darkness. You are the singer. As long as this hex is lit any survivors who finish a heal, open a chest, cleanse or boons a totem, or finishes a generator all survivors will scream and their aura will be revealed to the killer for 8/9/10 seconds. “Sing for us, the music of our suffering! You will join us and sing with us in time!” Unknown Voided soul.

Taught From The Best: Before you were turned into this godless freak of nature you were taught how to survive in this hell. Now you know where they could be hiding. Whenever a survivor goes into a locker in your terror radius the locker is locked from the outside by the entity for 20/30/40 seconds or until the killer opens the locker. “Please….not there….” Saki Yoshida.

Friendly Reminders: Whenever you are stunned by a survivor by any means that survivor becomes the obsession. If that survivor is healed by any means they are instead broken for 20/30/40 seconds and gain the Haemorrhage debuff that lasts as long as the perk is affecting them. “Don’t forget what they did to you, they left you to die.” The Entity

[searchingforserendipity25]

dark waters | maglor/daeron

there is a song coming from the steep stones, from the places where the waves froth their rage, and it is calling maglor by name.

makalaurë makalaurë makalaurë -

he had sought to ignore it. why? not cowardice. arrogance, rather: his own songs he had valued the better. the pressing need to lay them out had been in him, as much grief as pedantry. was he not after all the minstrel of the noldor, though none of th noldor would have him now? 

you know what you have done!

arrogance. and futility, of course. but he had needed the tasks of elegy not to go mad with the pain of varda’s hallowing upon the filth of him. he had needed to recall the grief of the many, his own and those by him and his slain, not to turn to savage ditties on maedhros, son of fëanor, son of finwë, self-slain unto the earth’s very burning heart. maedhros, clutching the jewel even as his skin turned to ash, though his brother was in agony beside him. 

and he needed to sing. if he was not to be as hateful a creature as carcaroth; if he was not to cede to evil, and go blood-mad, and slay any living thing that crossed his path and himself with it.

evil he might be, as much as morgoth’s own foul pet, but still: he was a minstrel. is one, even now; though the sea makes for a thankless audience, and what great works he makes out of the vast scope of lamentation are heard by none else.

not like the song from the waves, that holds in its thrall even the wildest of sea-birds.

thou knowest what is owed -

the loremasters were not incorrect in this; daeron had always been the superior singer out of the two of them.

that had not changed, in the long stretch of intervening years since either of them had belonged to any list besides the one of those lost to their own legends.

to the sea the sea the ever widening sea. makalaurë!

how long had it been since he had heard the call?

this is not the sea-longing, but a deeper, wilder thing, nothing like the chaining of the oath. nothing like anything else he had ever felt, except the once - except when once he had raised his voice in perfect memory and counter-melody - 

the song is beautiful, tremendous. it soares and lowers, harmonized with the murmuring of the waters - on purpose, maglor thinks, on accord: the sea was for it. in duet they sang, water and sindar. 

what a strange thing it is, after so long, to envy the very voice of the sea! but he does envy it then, for the privilege of that duet. how long had it been, since he had ceased pretending to himself that his feet took him anywhere but ever-nearer to it?

maglor had knwon that voice. he knows it still. there is nothing more beautiful in the world; he would have known it in the void. 

it is so easy to follow, in the end. the sea, the hungry justice of the sea, grinned at him with a mouthful of sharp teeth like the gleam of the treacherous moon, a gleam of starlight on purple-dark scales freckling his cheeks and torso and tail.

a smile more familiar than it had any right to be, after one meeting only. but what a meeting it had been, such a joy for the ages!

and in truth, maglor had been longing for such a reunion. for such a long time -

daeron reaches out. his kiss is treacherously sweet, gentle, if not for the possessing nails digging into his skin, running between the taunt filament that stretched between his fingers, mingling blood with the salt of the sea. 

the singer in the waves drags him down into the dark waters, and maglor - makalaurë, last of the kinslayers on endorë, does not think to scream. 

[vinetae]

Try (M) - Chapter: 5 ~ Don't Think..

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: Smut! Smut! SMUT. Poly!au, boyfriend!au

w.c: 1,313

Warnings: Dirty talk- (what'd you expect lol), Shower sex, wall sex, Taehyung is surprisingly kinda dominant, sub!Reader, Switch!Taehyung, unprotected sex, steamy sex, degregation, praise kink (cause Tae Tae loves them cookies lmao), cursing, vulgar language, foul language, secret sex.. I think that's it..?

A/n: WELCOME TO HELL YA'LL. No seriously, I'm kinda addicted to writing these little drabbles? Oneshots? WHAT THE FUCK DO I CALL THESE HORNDOGS- Anyways, as always; ENJOY

<-Previous Chapter

“Now then,” Jimin picks the soaked articles of clothing from the floor, tossing them over into your dirty hamper peeking from out up under your sink. Your mouth still hung open, confused on whether you should be turned all the fuck way on, or confront your boyfriend about his comments earlier towards Taehyung. 

Before given a chance, Jimin gently moves your body backwards, leading you both towards your shower. 

“Jimin wh-”

“Shhh. Quiet now, baby.” He squeezes a quarter size amount of shampoo into the palm of his hand, lathering it between his digits before messaging the frothy substance into your locks. 

His exposed figure presses up against your behind gently, resting his head on the dip of your shoulder. 

“This is our time.” You wanted to ask him about what the hell he just did to his best friends, but the steamy streams of water trickling down your frame, and the soft-lullaby-like whispers dancing along the shell of your ear, it’s hard to stay awake during all of it. Much less talk. 

Around half an hour of gentle, soothing sounds, carried along with his baby-like whispers, you’re back in your dimly lit apartment bedroom. Taehyung sprawled across Jungkook’s frame, his chest moving up and down in a soft beat. Jimin’s having you tucked neatly under his arm, already had fallen asleep. Soon, you join the ton, letting your worries slip away to ponder over for another day. 

~  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Curtains barely hiding what bright lights fill your whole entire room. Soft snores rumble from the body laid beside yours. Breath, soft and pattern-followed. Standing, you carefully lift the heavy limp that had been entrapping you all night, making your way to the kitchenet of your apartment. You open the pantry, reaching for the cereal box before you hear a certain noise. 

The familiar tune catches your ears. Unconsciously, you make your way towards the door withholding such beautiful melodies. 

“Far from the shallows now..”  Hums and baby-soft words seep past the crevasses of your bathroom door. The light illuminates soft patterns along the walls. You reach for the knob, finding yourself now standing in the middle of your tiled bathroom. Previous memories of the dirty activity that had gone down just hours ago flash through your mind. Pushing them aside, you focus your attention only to the angel-like voice producing these beautiful melodies. 

“In the shallow- Sha-hallow” The deep voice sends you into a peaceful trance, imagining him singing up on a stage with millions listening to his every note. 

“shit…How does it go again? Tell me….something something something-” You silently giggle at his loss for lyrics. Leaning forward, you give him some leeway. 

“Tell me something boy… Aren’t you tired tryna fill that void?” Your gentle voice reverberates off the dewy walls, stopping his hums in track. He peeks his head from behind the fogged glass door, eyes widening at your sudden appearance. 

“S..sorry, Y/n. Did I wake you?” You shake your head, motioning for him to continue. 

“Those are the lyrics. ‘Tell me something boy..’”. He smiles, flashing a bright boxy grin your way. 

“Care to join?” 

His request makes your cheeks redden. I mean, if Jimin had been completely fine with you and Jungkook last night..maybe this isn’t so different. Besides, it’s just showering. We’re just getting clean. 

You cross your arms, sliding the big graphic-tee that had no-so-anonymously been hugging your figure perfectly. Outlining every detail of your Goddess-like figure. 

Shit.. you were even more beautiful first waking up.

Taehyung mentally notes that he has to calm himself. He doesn’t want to feel Jimin’s wrath if he did something he wouldn’t approve of. 

Technically, he’s still feeling something from last night. Might not be wrath…but-

His train of thought was brought to station shortly after you’d stepped in alongside him. Your shower had been big, but with his massively large frame taking up around almost all of what little space this cube-like thing could take, it was a little difficult to move around in. You’d finally settled though, beginning the reach up to lather the foaming soap on his body. Starting from his broad, wide shoulders, hands traveling down his chiseled figure. Your hands rest lightly on the dips of his hips, fingers  unconsciously thumbing the area with just a slight bit of pressure. Your eyes, glassy and fogged -much like the shower door-

“Y/n..” His breath rolls effortlessly down the side of your neck, lips coming to apply small suction kisses on the strip. 

“T..taehyung” You moan, head leaned slightly back, giving more ease to grounds for Taehyung’s mouth to claim. His hands travel up your body, fingers squeezing your breasts ever so gently, not wanting to scare you off. Your hands now resting on his pubic bone, spitting into one before slowly starting to move it along his hardened cock. 

“S-Shit, Y/n..” His body bends forward, kisses now turning into deeper sucks which you knew were going to be very visible later on. But, for right now..

“Tae- I-” His digits come furiously down your own frame, rubbing quick circles on your clit. Your thighs start clenching from the sudden attack, hand slowing on his shaft, before picking up speed. 

You both now face each other, hot breaths mixing to create a sweet and sensual taste you both were addicted to. 

“Y/n..” Taehyung whines, starting to get impatient. His pelvis presses against yours, sending you both into a fit of moans. 

“I need you.”

His vocal-beg was all you needed to know. You lift your leg to wrap around his own, as his fingers dive deep into your already sopping pussy. Some of both the pre-cums slipping of your bodies from the rushing water that’s hitting you both from above. 

“Do you really think Jimin will..” His words trail off, as you remove his fingers from your core, taking his cock in hand to replace the digits. 

“Shhh. Don’t think” He nods, before slowly pushing into you. Both, leaning on each other for support, his hand having to come up to silence your cries. 

“F-fuck baby” His cock kissing the tip of your cervix, bottoming out as much as your tight little pussy could take. 

“T-taehyung ah” He quickly picks up pace, you having to bite down on his previously abused bicep to keep quiet. 

“Shhh baby, it’s okay. Don’t worry, I’ve got you” His words of encouragement aid in the quickly arising bubbling feeling in your stomach. 

“Waited all night to get a taste of this sweet..” Thrust. 

“Sweet pussy.”

“Had to have my own damn best friend fuck me in the ass before you, baby. That doesn’t seem fair, huh?” You shake your head, too overstimulated to even comprehend what he’d been saying. 

“S-shit.. Did you l-like when Jimin fucked me, huh?” You wantonly reply, too focused on your own release that’d just been around the corner. You could almost taste it. 

“I bet you did. Jungkook sucking me off w-while Jimin had been fucking me so good. You know, t-th..that was my-ah f-f-irst time being f-fucked by a man?” Your moans now transitioned into screams. This man’s thrust game was no joke. 

“Come on baby, show me how well you can cream my cock. I bet Jimin has never fucked you against a wall before, hmm?” You viciously shake your head, nails scratching poor Taehyung’s back that will definitely leave some bruising over the next few days. 

“C-come on petal, tell me how well I’m fucking you. God, you look so filthy like this. Even when we’re in a fucking shower. Dirty whore. You’ve got all of u-us FUCK- w-wrapped around your little f-finger, don’t y-you?” His dirty talk had been too much, practically on the very edge. 

Just a bit more

So.. fucking close.

Almost!

And-

“Now when did I give you two permission to do this?”

Next Chapter ->

©sweethearthigh 2022. Do not copy, translate, or modify my works with given consent from me. Thank You <333

[rainsandrains]

in all honesty, i'm having a hard time with my atheopaganism. it's nearly hallows, and my focus is still set up for spring - i was here (in cambridge) until july, then i went home (to my parents' house) until the start of october, and although i've been back for about two weeks i still haven't touched my focus except to put my two spiritual notebooks back on it. i have hardly engaged with any of the things i consider spiritual practices.

the last time i was in cambridge, i was extremely unhappy. i was still in limbo regarding issues with my phd, i was having issues with my relationship to certain close friends, and i was, to put it bluntly, bordering on suicidal. i then went through hell for two weeks in july, and spent all of august recovering from that. i finally got good news about my phd and in september i started studying again, and i managed to make a tiny bit of progress with another personal goal i won't talk about here in case it's triggering to people. i engaged in my first proper full moon ritual, and managed to keep the promise i made to myself that night - a certain set of tasks for an entire lunar cycle. things were looking up. and then i came back to cambridge, to the place where so much went wrong and where i had felt so so bad, and it all fell apart again. i relapsed into a very bad coping mechanism and haven't yet had the energy to feel bad about it. i'm struggling to enjoy my main hobby because the choir is full of new people and because i'm tired and drained.

so no wonder the whole "connecting to the natural world" thing has fallen away. i'm just trying to get through the days, get my work done, and not snap at the poor freshers who haven't done anything wrong. i don't feel guilty about abandoning my practice. but i do feel like i'm lacking something. i do feel sad, and regretful, that i'm not feeling connected to the world.

and, for some reason, when i feel this way (and when i feel low and lonely in general), i've recently (as in over the last year or so) found myself drawn to polytheism. i know that gods aren't real. but i wish they were. i find myself... playing pretend, for lack of a better word. talking to apollo and lighting a candle i imagine he'd like, and then catching myself and feeling stupid. when i have to sing christian music with my choir, i think "khaire apollon, if you want to take any of this music as an offering, even though it's about the wrong god on paper, feel free. your presence would be appreciated" - because i feel so isolated even in that space, and because i need something overtly pagan to counteract the icky feeling christianity gives me. i know plenty of naturalistic pagans engage with deity as myth, as story, as metaphor... but i want it to be more than metaphor. but it isn't, and it never will be. i need to find a new way to engage with these ideas, something that fills the emotional void but that aligns with my naturalist worldview. i never think about apollo this way when i'm at my parents' house, probably because i'm less lonely than here where i live alone. maybe i need to spend more time with my friends, but it's cambridge, they're so busy all the time...

i don't know. i may well delete this post - i've never rambled so personally on this blog before, and it's not really in line with my original intention that this would be for reference and inspiration. but i'm stuck, and frustrated, and struggling, and i don't have anyone irl i can talk to about it because i don't know any other naturalistic pagans irl. only a couple of people even know i'm pagan, and while both are open-minded and kind about it neither of them are remotely similar (one is my college chaplain, and the other is a friend who is jewish - both lovely, neither likely to be on the same page as me about naturalism).

[sugaryapplepie]

🦉Twin Chrysanthemums🦉

Pairing: Huntsman & Xingshen Tags: Non-romantic, angst, grief, drabble, comfort, S3

The night was quiet aboard the airship. Huntsman hadn't been able to sleep, not with the manic grins of skeletons and the screams of his queen filling his head. Everything had happened so fast...too fast. He needed a break. The spider demon made his way to the large deck of the ship, and there he'd see her. A familiar tall figure wearing white, her long black curls hidden in a cloak. How could he forget? She must be hurting too. Before he could turn and leave, he heard her rich voice speak to him: "Do not go. Stay with me."

It was such a simple request, how could he say no? Huntsman made his way over to her by the railing, looking up at Xingshen's face. Ever since the queen's death, Xingshen had lost the iron authoritative aura that kept those around her grounded. Now she looked hallow, as if stars soul had been carved from stars body. Her golden eyes looked heavenward. The night was clear, allowing the masterpiece of the cosmos to act as their ceiling. Yet she saw not its beauty.

"You could not sleep." Huntsman startled a bit when she spoke. "No, my princess. I-" "You do not need to explain. You miss her just as much as I. Not to mention your friends."

The screams of the dead filled the void between them. Huntsman shuddered. No- don't think about it. Don't think about how if you'd been there, if you'd been faster, if you'd only-

Suddenly, something was draped over his shoulders. Xingshen's cloak. "We are high up, you must keep warm." It was such a simple gesture, but it hurt something in Huntsman. He didn't pretend to be a man of 'sappy' emotions. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, anger at Syntax trying to show him up in front of the queen and princess, the glow of accomplishment and satisfaction when his queen gave him that delighted smile. He wasn't used to loss. It was all-consuming, soul-shattering, it ripped the ground from under him and left him falling back into a dark chasm he couldn't escape. But...he wasn't alone. Someone was falling with him, and though they didn't know where they'd land star was willing to offer even the slightest bit of comfort.

This realization made him feel he had to speak. "My princess..." He faltered. What could he say? He had lost a queen, but she had lost a wife.

"I think about that, you know," Xingshen said, still looking at the sky. "By rights of inheritance, now with Zhizhu...gone... I inherit her queendom. Her titles. What a cruel joke the gods have played on me. I wonder, is this to be my fate? Queen of two dead queendoms? My vassals shall be naught but corpses, and the slaughtered are the only ones left to sing my "praise". What a heavy crown to wear."

Oh boy he was really out of his depth here. Xingshen had barely opened up about anything, and it made her sudden bout of sharing that much more jarring. Just how much did Huntsman not know about the monarchs he pledged his fealty and life to? What was Xingshen like before she met the queen? He'd never known. They were as parents are to a babe, they simply always Had Been. The Queen and the Princess, those whose approval he would seek above all others. But they'd been more than that. It made the loss of the queen so much worse. Could he have learned more about her? The Spider Queen had once had a mighty empire, but that was about all Huntsman knew. His musings were broken by Xingshen speaking once more. "Forgive me, I should not be ruminating in such a bleak manner. There is still battle to be done. She may yet be saved, may yet be avenged." But her empty eyes said star held no hope. Even if the Bone Demoness was slain, that would only leave the two of them.

There was only one thing Huntsman could think to do. He reached out a hand, gently grabbing hers. Xingshen's expression morphed to one of shock as she looked down, but soon it became one of understanding. Slowly, she pulled Huntsman into a hug. Huntsman tensed, his first instinct being to shove back, but he made himself relax.

The ocean. Xingshen always smelled like the seaside...

He felt tears pricking his four eyes, and before he knew it his princess was knelt in front of him, letting him bury his face in her chest. Star sushed him, holding him close and wrapping her cloak tighter around him, whispering reassurances that star would not leave so long as star could help it. Promises that they would make it through. Star swore it.

After he was too tired to cry more, Huntsman just sat there, clinging to Xingshen. He felt like an idiot, bawling like a spiderling, but his ravaged heart didn't care. While in those maternal arms, he felt a resolve forming. The Queen was gone, they might not be able to get her back, but there was still Xingshen. There was still his princess. He could still protect her, even if he died in the attempt. He'd continue his duty and deal with the confusion- the grief- once she was safe.

[liminal-zone]

a little scribble of fic

gonna post the whole thing this weekend but here’s a little taste. 

Galadriel/Sauron; Set after The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, Episode 8 "Alloyed"; rated E

It begins the night he disappeared from Eregion, like a shadow slipping into the void.  

Too weary to wipe new traces of tears down her face, she climbs into her bed and lays in the embrace of cold clean sheets and a colder mattress. There is a prayer in her mouth, and her arm reaches out automatically for him. He had slept there. Next to her. 

In Númenor, in the ship, and in the Southlands, on the road and in these hallowed halls, he previously had the privilege of laying next to her. 

It had been for warmth at first. Then comfort. Then– then something else.

She shivers. All the clever calculations in her mind have been numbed by pain, all the pain has been numbed by exhaustion. Her cheeks are wet. 

Her view is the ornate ceiling and the night is dark. Her eyes cannot stay open long. 

Without much difficulty, she closes them.

*

She hears a voice first.

 “Galadriel.” The name, a whisper on his lips. 

She senses his presence next. The familiar way he exists in her orbit, the warm of his skin, the singed smell to him. The feel of calloused fingers against her. And the salt taste of him on her lips, a fresh kiss she does not remember. 

She sees him. His hair is near black, his clothing different. His eyes not quite bloodshot. His face– his face–

He looks at her as if she is a lost dream long mourned. He looks at her as if she is the vision of his desires incarnate. He looks hungry, reverent, admiring. 

Her heart shifts, and her mouth opens slightly. Not to speak but to let more air in, her lungs feel so tight. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says and then his lips are on hers.

He’s a dream, she thinks. This isn’t real. 

And she lets him kiss her. 

*

Nenya is curious on her finger. At first, a warm and lovely feeling like sinking into almost too hot water and bathing there alone until all the tightness and terrors have evaporated in both steam and sweat. Then there is the sense of something old, something primal. The depth and power of the sea. A strength she can wield if her heart can manage it. A strength like nothing she has felt flowing through her before.

This gift, this gift of Sauron encircling her flesh, binding her to power. (No, she thinks, no. His arts were not present in the forging, in the design; only in the concept. Only in the essence. She is safe, she is safe; this is safe from him.)

Within hours, she longs for the sea. She longs for the threat of its depths, of its darkness. 

“What do you know of darkness?” she remembers and in shock, she tugs the ring off her finger. Places it at her bedside table. 

Galadriel finds sleep immediately, drifting into the dark to find herself once more–

*

“Galadriel.” The name, a whisper on his lips. 

“Touch me,” she says. And he is all too eager to respond. 

*

Her day had bled into the night and lengthened beyond that into new day; many actions needed and an elf does not require steady sleep anyway. 

So she was not herself when she readied for bed, slipped in between cold sheets with her nightdress on backwards and Nenya on her finger. 

She fell too fast asleep to even consider what awaited her on the other side—

*

It was a vast depth of nothingness. Not a void, but like submerging into water and never coming back up for air – but no air was needed. Just a state of being, simple and healing and quiet. 

No dreams, no disturbances. 

No haunted eyes looking up at her and no mouth at her—

*

She surges awake. A dreadful discovery in dreamless sleep. 

Galadriel rallies her courage and removes Nenya from her finger. Places it on the bedside table and steadies herself. 

She closes her eyes.

*

“Galadriel.” The name, a whisper on his lips. 

“No,” she says. In horror. In realization. 

He advances. Like the previous nights, he is strange and he is hers. “Do not deny me,” he says. 

She shakes, the realization a terror. “You’re real. It’s you. It’s been you.”

He raises his hands, a slight retreat. “I do not need sleep, my love.” His right hand reaches out, gingerly, to push the hair away from her face. “But I do need you.”

She repeats herself, helpless. “It’s you.”

Sauron smiles, and it’s not unkind. “May I?” he says. 

When she doesn’t respond, he pushes in, presses a kiss to the shell of her ear. Breathes in slowly and then out, and she shivers against him. 

He hums a tune, discordant, and his familiar fingers find the heat of her. Her body is the sign of betrayal, as his fingers are immediately wet and sliding against her hardening clit. He’s no sooner pushed her to ecstasy than, like a dream, she finds the positions shifted without her will. She finds herself with his mouth against her aching cunt and his fingers clenching her thighs wide. 

She knows he is relentless, skilled. She did not know what he could wring out of her with his mouth and lips and teeth and tongue in the matter of minutes, never mind what feels like hours.

There is no counting for the number of times he brings her to immeasurable joy. She feels used and obscene and she feels absolutely resistant to making him stop. 

His mouth brings her to pleasure again and again and she lets it happen until she opens her eyes to the real world again. 

*

It is too much. 

For she did not say Halbrand as she came in her dream-not-dream. Halbrand was not the name on her lips, it was another.

Nenya slides against her finger and settles there. 

[storytimewithnova]

The Legend of the Headless Rider

Plot:In a small town in the Miyagi prefecture of Japan, there's a legend that on All Hallows Eve night, a mysterious figure can be seen riding a horse through the quiet streets. This figure, known as the Headless Rider, is said to be on a perpetual quest to find a head to call its own.

At the same time, a group of passionate volleyball addicts gathers at a training camp in a nearby campsite. They are there to hone their skills and have a great time together. As the night of All Hallows Eve approaches, they hear more about the local legend and the ghostly rider searching for a head.

As night falls, the group of volleyball enthusiasts decides to explore the nearby forest after a thrilling evening of training and games. While in the forest, they unexpectedly witness the Headless Rider on his ghostly steed. Terrified, they start to sing the eerie lyrics they heard earlier, not knowing that this could be the key to appease the spirit.

The Headless Rider, caught in the act of searching, pauses upon hearing the familiar tune. The volleyball addicts bravely continue singing the song as they approach the figure. The melody seems to captivate the spirit, and a strange transformation begins to take place. The group realizes that their courage and song have a profound effect on the Headless Rider.

The figure gradually begins to materialize into a human form, gaining a head in the process. A mysterious, magical connection forms between the volleyball enthusiasts and the spirit. They help the spirit find its long-lost head, breaking the curse that had bound it for centuries.

The next morning, as the sun rises over the Miyagi prefecture, the group of volleyball enthusiasts shares their incredible story with the locals. They've not only learned to appreciate the power of courage and unity but have also played a role in bringing an ancient legend to an end.

"The Legend of the Headless Rider" becomes a tale of bravery, camaraderie, and the magical transformation that can occur when ordinary people come face to face with the extraordinary.

In a small, picturesque town nestled in the heart of the Miyagi prefecture of Japan, there existed a captivating legend, or perhaps more fittingly, a folklore that had been whispered from one generation to the next. It was a tale that reached its peak on the eve of All Hallows, a night when the boundary between the living and the supernatural was said to blur.

The story spoke of a mysterious figure, a spectral rider mounted on a midnight-black horse, who, on All Hallows Eve, embarked on a haunting journey. This eerie traveler rode through the winding streets of the town, with a longing that struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk. The legend dubbed this enigmatic figure the "Headless Rider" for a chilling reason – the rider bore no head, leaving the gaping void as if in perpetual search for one to claim as its own.

As Halloween approached, the excitement in the town was palpable. It was a time when stories of the Headless Rider were exchanged around campfires, sending shivers down the spines of both the young and old. It was the season when the children's eyes grew wide with wonder and the adults themselves couldn't resist being drawn into the eerie tales.

Meanwhile, in a neighboring forest, a disparate group of young individuals had converged. They were fervent volleyball enthusiasts, drawn from various corners of Japan, each united by their unwavering passion for the sport. The forest had become their temporary sanctuary, a place where they honed their skills and fostered a camaraderie born from a shared love for the game.

As the sun dipped below the horizon on the evening of All Hallows Eve, the group found themselves gathered around a flickering campfire, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. The cool, misty air added to the sense of anticipation. Amidst laughter and the crackling fire, they heard a local share the eerie tale of the Headless Rider.

Intrigued and slightly unnerved, the camp counselor, a vibrant and adventurous soul, proposed an audacious idea. They should venture into the very forest where the legend of the Headless Rider had originated, and perhaps, if fate favored them, they might encounter the spectral rider in the flesh.

With a blend of excitement and trepidation, the group embarked on their moonlit expedition. The forest was dense, and their flashlights painted eerie shadows on the trees. Whispers of ancient stories seemed to flutter on the night breeze, and the rustling of leaves appeared to echo secrets untold.

In the midst of this dimly lit forest, the group's flashlights suddenly revealed a chilling sight. A shadowy figure on horseback materialized before them, just as the legend had foretold. It was the Headless Rider, bathed in an otherworldly glow, and the sight sent shivers racing down their spines.

But their shared bravery and love for the sport pushed them forward. They remembered a peculiar song they had heard earlier in the day, its haunting lyrics etched into their memory:

"Off with your head, Dance 'til you're dead,

Heads will roll, Heads will roll, Heads will roll,

On the floor."

Trembling but united, they began to sing the eerie lyrics. Their voices wavered, but the lyrics carried through the forest, weaving a haunting melody:

The Headless Rider, upon hearing the familiar tune, slowed its spectral steed. Its form seemed to waver, and a strange transformation began to take place. The group realized that their song had an extraordinary effect on the spirit. The eerie lyrics acted as a bridge between the human and the supernatural, a connection that transcended time and space.

As they continued to sing, the figure gradually materialized into a human form, and in a breathtaking moment, it gained a head. The lyrics, once chilling, now served as an enchanting incantation that merged the worlds of the mundane and the mystical.

The former Headless Rider, now complete, dismounted its horse and looked at its newfound friends with gratitude in its eyes. It spoke not a word but conveyed its thanks through a warm and appreciative smile. The curse that had bound it for centuries was broken, and it was free at last.

The eerie lyrics had not only provided the melody to appease the spirit but had also become a bond, a connection between the volleyball enthusiasts and the once-legendary Headless Rider.

The next morning, as the golden sun cast its radiant glow over the Miyagi prefecture, the group of volleyball enthusiasts returned to their campsite, their hearts filled with an extraordinary tale of courage, unity, and the magical transformation they had witnessed.

The lyrics that had once sent chills down their spines had now become a symbol of their connection to the supernatural and a testament to the remarkable adventure they had embarked upon.

"The Legend of the Headless Rider" lived on, not as a tale of terror but as a story of bravery and the extraordinary. It was a reminder that even in the face of the supernatural, the power of unity and courage could change the course of history.

And so, in that small town in the Miyagi prefecture, the legend of the Headless Rider remained, a testament to the extraordinary experiences that could happen when ordinary people dared to face the unknown with their hearts and voices intertwined.

In the wake of their encounter with the Headless Rider, the group of volleyball enthusiasts returned to their everyday lives, but they carried the memory of that Halloween night with them. They knew they had experienced something truly extraordinary, something that transcended the realm of the ordinary.

As the years passed, the legend of the Headless Rider underwent a remarkable transformation. The once-feared tale became a symbol of courage and unity. The town, which had once been known for its eerie folklore, flourished as a hub for tourists from around the world. People came not only to experience the legend but also to witness the sense of wonder that had permeated the community.

The group of volleyball enthusiasts became local heroes, their story a source of inspiration for both residents and visitors. On every Halloween night, the townsfolk and tourists would gather in the forest, singing the eerie lyrics under the moonlit sky, not as a way to ward off spirits, but as a celebration of their shared bravery.

The Headless Rider, who had once been a ghostly figure in search of a head, was now a guardian spirit of the town. It watched over the place where it had once roamed, ensuring the town thrived and that its people found courage and unity in the face of the unknown.

The bond between the volleyball enthusiasts remained unbreakable. They continued to play their beloved sport, not just as a physical activity but as a reminder of their shared adventure and the magical connection they had formed with the Headless Rider.

"The Legend of the Headless Rider" lived on, not as a tale of terror but as a testament to the extraordinary things that could happen when ordinary people banded together with courage and unity. It was a story that transcended time, and it would continue to inspire generations to come, just as the eerie lyrics had inspired the connection that changed their lives forever.

And so, in that small town in the Miyagi prefecture, the legend of the Headless Rider remained, a beacon of hope and unity, a testament to the extraordinary encounters that could happen when ordinary people faced the supernatural with their hearts and voices intertwined.

As the years rolled on, the legend of the Headless Rider became a cherished part of the town's history. It was no longer a source of fear but a symbol of courage, unity, and the extraordinary.

The town, once known for its eerie tales, transformed into a thriving tourist destination. People from all over the world flocked to the area, not only to experience the legend but also to witness the sense of wonder that now enveloped the community.

The group of volleyball enthusiasts, now regarded as local heroes, continued their annual tradition. Every Halloween, they led the townsfolk and tourists into the forest. There, under the moonlit sky, they sang the eerie lyrics, not as an incantation of fear, but as a celebration of bravery and unity.

The former Headless Rider, now a guardian spirit of the town, watched over the place where it had once roamed. It ensured that the town prospered and its people found strength in coming together to face the unknown.

The bond between the volleyball enthusiasts remained as unbreakable as ever. They continued to play their beloved sport, not just as a game but as a reminder of the courage and camaraderie they had discovered on that fateful Halloween night.

"The Legend of the Headless Rider" lived on, not as a tale of terror, but as a testament to the extraordinary things that could happen when ordinary people banded together with courage and unity. It was a story that transcended generations, a reminder that even in the face of the supernatural, hope and shared strength could change the course of history.

And so, in that small town in the Miyagi prefecture, the legend of the Headless Rider remained, a beacon of inspiration, a testament to the extraordinary encounters that could happen when ordinary people faced the unknown with their hearts and voices intertwined. It was a story of transformation, unity, and the magical power of courage, destined to be celebrated for generations to come.

[elizabethwarrenish]

Spring

-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The source of our revere,

a dream

shrouded by mists cast from the ether

an enchantment augmenting the truth of the lagoon

in which I lie

shifting thy views,

hiding mine light in shadows

low

in the weeping depths of this hallowed night.

The cove of my fortitude

lush with magnolias abounding

whose heights touch hands with the sky

a bloom, ever-growing

the Breadth of a million years

tessellating in this moment

What of the unity between the particles of your life

and the particles of mine

a facultative symbiosis.

As your presence enters the nearing of my dwelling

the surge of you invades

and is known in the makings of my mind

awakening what ought left to be asleep

forevermore

Where my form subsides in the dark of days

and my spirit is released from the bindings of time

perpetually

to wade in the elixir

the DNA

the life of the universe

absolved

And once again I am let alive

pacing in the dark

to beseech the eyes of thine

My spirit shutters in repose to thee

of tectonics, the surface of the world is reshaped

with the aspect of thee in, mine eye

Dear Voyager

as the meaning of form is remade each day new

with thee

The fortress of my spirit

beneath the dwelling of the glowing waters

encapsulating my,

every meaning

fathoms, to the floor of the source

the plinth of desolation

A glass palace,

translucent,

it’s iridescence akin the void

Atop the crenellations

the gargoyles adorn the taluses

guarding my spirit from the breath of day

Eyes of loves long past

glean the red of blood from the embrasures

aligning

Within,

the Cathedral of My Dreams

its’ doors sealed shut

and the mellow hum transcends

the crescendos of the night’ symphony

brim the corridor

reverberating the corpuscles

resounding

The Palisades,

of serenity

of depravity

a solemn courtyard of the battles won

some symbol of truth

a beacon radiating the fullness of the black sun

descends

the point of convergence

the veil enshrouding the verity of this nexus

harrowed

And Zephyr calls thee to the Infinite Domicile,

the passage to the bottom of the sea

What remains, but the bones of the life once had

a luscious legend expounding

some garden of bounty drowned in the deep of my mind

drifting away with the currents forged by the passage of time

even deeper still

is the hole in my soul

carved

, by you,

my sweetest dream

the plot of my everlasting rest

where I’ve left myself

perhaps, for you to find,

lying in the depth

low in the water captive within this

everlasting night.

And through,

the Great Hall rests in the vastness of

the glass palace, its’ terrain run broad

a temple of hidden truth

and the guards rampart

a wager to squander thee and those

whom but wish to knock, just prurient to see

what lies within, behind the chamber doors

and thy passage led way but meters from thy face

immersed in the blackness of the night’s elixir

immortal

The ravine of this place forged through the discourse of absolution,

some scar from the scepter of Phanes

drowned by the endless sea of my dreams

Baring the weight of a thousand atmospheres

which blight the lumens of my heart

From the shadows a magnitude of none

silenced by command of the Crow Moon

at the crux of this morrows eve,

The swarm of the darklings string through

the bastion surrounding my encampment

As of water

they enter unseen, unknown

and one with my impediments

at home within the halls of the cathedral

within the binding walls of my benediction

They tither into the chamber

the home of the Golden Bastille

sealing my form from the touch of another

from the grasp of you

And they sing to me

they taunt

of what once was had

was held in the tender of my feeble grasp

Which bore thy face

thy tithings

thy song

thy tears

streaming down my form

and absorbed in the foundation of my making.

Of what redemption

of what meaning swore our dissemblance

As time erodes the strength of what was true

and erodes the bindings of my soul against you

They leech on the power of my entrapped soul

and I cannot refute

like the fission of our particles

the consequence of our entropy

disintegrates time and space

wherein the moment of conception

summons the duties of Death

again

and again

immemorial

in this instance

just the blink of an eye

And while the wake of the world is hiding

Our spirits dance in the twilight eternal,

in silence

in the prison of my mind

unalive, yet

undying

untenable

a forgotten

begotten

chapter in the Chronicle of Time

of dust

drifting away through the currents of the river Styx

I open my eyes, glistening of the ‘membrance of thee

and I weep for myself

I weep for what never was

but felt so true

The ‘membrance of fading moments

trials of love

belonging to my heart alone

as I,

destined to be purged by thy memory

while I lie in thy arms

and worse, still

a revere of bliss, begotten

the tragedy of hearts rung true, forgotten

as of dreams at the next day’s wake

ought never to had been

A tithing of the fullness of my spirit lost

as the fortitude of thy vault

bled by the fissures in the basin of your mind

an investment of none

an abstraction of who I was

and what my blood truly meant

serving to show the truth in thy ‘membrance

of me.

And what of the remains of the feeble body I bare

summoned in this momentary suspension

some contortion of substance

lanced in the center of the bastille

as all barriers of smelt away

and you,

the life of yours once held so near to mine,

returns to the core of my keeping

dissolving

as the bonding of your flesh is released

igniting the fission of all particles in this vector

As the exterior shell of my form encapsulates my spirit, no more

the radiance brimming within transmutates

extending to every fathom of the deep

to every atom of this wretched quagmire

Eliciting the reduction of matter

a catastrophe of ionic bonds innumerable

unstable

the form of what once was never to exist

again

The glass palace,

the valley of the palisades,

the great hall,

the golden bastille

my prison of light in the dark of night

a catalyst of chemical weathering

diffusing all matter and spirit abounding

the Event Horizon

devouring what was the Never-Ending Light

now written in the annals

coded in the fabric

the periphery of our universe

As the flame of your meaning dims

our eyes meet in the twilight of this unholy vellum

and a glimmer of truth sparks from thee

as thy body is made to dust

the last aspect of thee in this dimension

You enter me

and I Sheppard thee

to the inner of my making

as the laws of physics die

your form becomes fused in the atoms of mine

and the solution

is

complete

And I wake,

with the ceasing of your seeking

no more tracks of your pacing

in the corridors of my mind

As my eyes are let to rest

I am, once more, alone in the deep

(in the formative aftermath of my conviction)

And I sift through the broken passages

the toils of my heart

of language I cannot read

Spilled ink on wet pages,

dissolving.

[savagesneversleepnyc]

THE KEEP AND THE RED DRAGON

All the sky’s awaited the wings

To sing that dreadful low song

That would preview the fires

Its IRE rain down as

FROGS drip from from words

The WITCH hid and did say as

Tools of the shadow then LIGHT

Flashed so bright it took her shine

And returned it to the stars

Like a cold bowl of stew

The meager offering of the LAMB

Is hardly a token made in haste as the cripple

Boy stumbles with stilts and the rope in hand only to scream as they become STARS too that

They knew to be useless and cast

Off to hold a broken yolk in

SICK SAD FAITHFUL HOPE

SPOON FED like elixir

That was poison called TRUTH

SO cruel was the priest who didn’t.

Care as he locked himself deep in the keep to keep the watch as the EYES OF GOD

Watched on toO

and levy’d tolls on TROLLS

And GARGOYLES with metal wings and silver

Tongue rings.

The of KATHULU like a DRUM

THE battle was lost before the thread barren

Hands reached skyward to return as STARS and

TRANSFORM into the FAITHFUL left COWERING

And selfishly devouring HOPE like

HARD TACK biscuits the salt water

Reached upon the raft left

Smoldering in the mote

The town was left not worst for where it

Was left to turn like an ember to COAL

THAT rough hands pull from BOGS

That hungry mouth and onions require most

THE FIRE of the DRAGON of the KEEP

That glows and grows

Of the martyred souls departure

FOR inside the hallowed walls that remain

Tall and stout beyond the sieges

Waged by BUSTERS whose stuff was too

PITIFUL to cut the MUSTARD

The FIRE that BURNS hands holding

bloody fists full of GOLD will

TOSS and TURN

To rest up and dream up more LIES

To spit through ROTTEN TEETH and

POISON FORKED VOICES

THE keep that warms the HEART of the DRAGON

Knows only the entirety of the restless

WHITE SHARK’s infinite EMPTY BELLY

that smells a

VOID and chooses a PATH

NOT KNOWING which gills will lead to

MEALS or ILLS or FRESH KILLS

SO SACRED that SEALS

SLEEP TOO wondering where the FIN that

Breaks the waters edge will take another to the bottom

So above as below and the coral reef

Of MORAY EEL slime trails SNAILS in GARLIC and HUMAN EL PASTOR

ALA’ DONNER PARTY

FAVOR SNACK ATTACKS

THE SLEEPING METROPOLIS

AS KLAUS and the MOUSE

Bid the MS’S a fond farewell

An odd shadow looms in over

Hooves and horns and flying

Fecal JET STREAM PATTERNS that

KEEP the FIRES burning so the

PATH remains in LIGHT

As the DRAGON snores and

KEEPS THE WATCH

IN THE KEEP

OF THE NIGHT

(Listing skyward and I would be wiser to

Set one less FIRE and sleep on the DEEDS

That feeds the need for KINDNESS not FIRE HATE and BLINDNESS) 5:37am

5:31am 5.26.24.00000003 OGE

5:42. EDIT YARDIE HOD NYC 314 OGE