who-can-appease-me

[who-can-appease-me]

A Take on Southwestern Gothic

In the desolate heart of the southwestern desert, a forsaken town stood as a haunting testament to the absence of hope. Its weary inhabitants, burdened by the weight of their shattered dreams, moved through life like specters, their souls eternally drained of optimism.

Within the town's decaying confines, a thick fog of despair enveloped everything. Buildings crumbled, their dilapidated frames mirroring the shattered aspirations of those who once called this place home. Every street seemed to echo with a hollow emptiness, devoid of laughter or the vibrant pulse of life.

Days melded into nights, a monotonous cycle of existence without purpose. The sun's feeble rays barely pierced the heavy clouds that perpetually hung over the town, casting a perpetual gloom upon its desolate landscape. Shadows grew longer, like creeping tendrils of hopelessness, enveloping everything in their cold embrace.

Among the townsfolk, the spark of hope had long since been extinguished. Dreams lay abandoned, reduced to faded memories in the recesses of their weary minds. Life had become an endless procession of monotony, an existence devoid of joy, dreams, and aspirations.

Anxiety gripped their hearts like an unrelenting vise, suffocating any flicker of optimism that dared to emerge. Every step forward felt like a futile endeavor, destined to be swallowed by the overwhelming darkness that shrouded their lives. It was a barren wasteland, where even the simplest glimmers of hope were smothered by the pervasive despair.

As the town languished in its desolation, connections between its inhabitants frayed and disintegrated. Trust, a fragile thread that once bound them, dissolved into a mire of suspicion and indifference. They became isolated, trapped within the confines of their own melancholy, unable to break free from the suffocating grip of despair.

In this bleak tableau, time lost all meaning, blending into a ceaseless void of despair. Days melded into weeks, weeks into months, until the passing years became a blur of unfulfilled aspirations and missed opportunities. Hope became a distant memory, a faded echo in the winds that whispered their sorrowful laments.

Yet, amidst this pervasive hopelessness, the human spirit clung to the tiniest embers of resilience. In the depths of their despair, a flicker of defiance remained. It was a silent rebellion against the overwhelming darkness, a refusal to surrender completely to the void.

And so, the town trudged on, each step heavy with the weight of their collective desolation. They existed, but did not truly live, their souls shackled by the chains of hopelessness. Their world had become a desolate wasteland, where the absence of hope hung in the air, smothering any glimmer of light that dared to shine.

[who-can-appease-me]

Lately I’ve been getting a kick outta the idea of Ghost having a girlfriend that Johnny is painfully interested in (tale as old as time). But she a lil neurodivergent and selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!). She’s comfortable enough with Simon that she’ll talk to him when they’re alone, but she won’t say a word to Soap (she doesn’t talk to the other guys either, but you know that Johnny chooses to take it so damned personally).

The worst part is that Soap will say shit to her, and she’ll give Simon her little signal so he can bend down and she can talk to him so fucking quietly. It’s like they speak a different language and Simon is the interpreter. And it’s so infuriating to him because shit like this will happen.

“Ain’t you looking a right picture, bonnie— that dress new? Fits ye like a damned glove, sweetheart.”

You tug on Simon’s sleeve so he can lean down. Soap is rocking back and forth on his heels, anticipating an answer. He’s down so bad, he doesn’t even care that he’ll hear it from Simon’s lips and not yours. You whisper for what feels like minutes on end.

“She says thanks.”

“God damn, L.T.— you know she fuckin’ ‘ad to ‘ave said more than that!” He whines indignantly, Simon smirking. Simon knows all about his little crush, and chooses to let the lad suffer. His time will come when you’re ready.

This goes on and on for months on end— and you know what? It’s hard for Johnny to jerk off to the image of you wedged between him and Ghost when he has no idea what you sound like, moaning or otherwise. You can probably see him half hard in his jeans every time he heads home from a movie night with you and Simon.

“G’night, L.T. Night, hen.” Soap’s almost all the way down the walkway when he hears something almost inaudible over the ambient sounds of the night.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Now that’s gonna keep his fantasies fed for weeks.

[who-can-appease-me]

🎃

[who-can-appease-me]

Do ya write for cod bae?

kinda im a little rusty 😂 what do you have in mind

[who-can-appease-me]

🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

by vhenan_virabelasan

original posts: x and x

[who-can-appease-me]

𝘼 𝙎𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙈𝙖𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙨

A Take on Southern Gothic

(Southern Gothic Tale)

Summary: This atmospheric tale explores the haunting allure of the Southern Gothic, where faded elegance, untold stories, and the enduring power of the past cast a spell on those who dare to venture into its cryptic embrace.

Warning: Dark Themes, Paranormal, Implied Tragedy and Grief.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the moss-draped oaks that lined the worn dirt road. The air was heavy with humidity, a tangible weight that clung to the skin and seeped into the bones. In the distance, the eerie wail of a blues guitar echoed through the stillness, blending with the chorus of cicadas.

A dilapidated plantation house loomed in the distance, its once grand façade now faded and crumbling. The white paint peeled from its weathered clapboard siding, revealing the grayed wood beneath. The front porch sagged under the weight of time, its creaking boards whispering tales of forgotten stories.

As one approached, the scent of magnolias mingled with the acrid tang of decay, creating a heady and pungent aroma. The overgrown garden, once bursting with vibrant colors, now lay in tangled disarray. Weeds choked the delicate blossoms, suffocating the life from once-nurtured flower beds.

A rusty swing creaked eerily in the gentle breeze, its chains swaying with a mournful rhythm. The aged wooden slats bore the imprints of countless children who had played there long ago, their laughter now a distant memory. It swung back and forth, as if moved by some unseen force, its presence evoking a sense of nostalgia and melancholy.

The porch steps groaned under the weight of visitors, each creak a reminder of the countless souls who had passed through before. The front door, weathered and warped, resisted efforts to open it, as if guarding the secrets that lay within. With a final push, it reluctantly gave way, revealing a dimly lit interior.

Inside, the air was thick with dust, particles floating lazily in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through cracked windowpanes. Shadows danced along the peeling wallpaper, their undulating forms creating an eerie play of light and darkness. The scent of decay intensified, a musty odor that permeated the very essence of the house.

Antique furniture, once elegant and regal, now stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time. Their velvet upholstery faded and moth-eaten, their ornate carvings obscured by a layer of grime. A broken grandfather clock, its hands frozen in time, stood as a silent reminder of a bygone era.

In the corner of the room, a cobweb-covered piano stood, its keys yellowed and cracked. The faint echo of forgotten melodies seemed to linger in the air, a haunting reminder of the music that once filled these walls.

As one explored further, the rooms revealed more secrets. Tattered curtains swayed gently in the breeze, whispering tales of hidden desires and unfulfilled dreams. Faded photographs adorned the walls, their subjects frozen in time, their eyes filled with a sadness that spoke of untold stories.

Outside, the sun began its descent, casting long, ominous shadows that stretched across the landscape. This place held an enchantment, a spell of mystery and decay that captivated the senses. It was a world suspended between reality and the ethereal, where the ordinary took on an extraordinary air, and the darkness held a magnetic allure.

As the moon rose, bathing the world in an ethereal glow, the essence of this place revealed itself in all its haunting beauty. It stood as a testament to the transience of existence, an enigmatic realm that beckoned both the curious and the cautious, leaving an indelible mark upon all who dared to venture into its embrace.

Under the moonlit sky, the worn dirt road stretched into the distance, disappearing into the shadowy depths of the beautiful southern landscape. The dilapidated plantation house stood as a silent sentinel, its weathered facade bathed in the ethereal glow. Moss clung to the oak trees, veiling them in a ghostly shroud, while the chorus of nocturnal creatures filled the air with their haunting melodies.

The scent of magnolias and decay mingled in the humid night air, a heady combination that permeated the senses. The overgrown garden, once vibrant and carefully tended, now lay in disarray, nature reclaiming its territory. Weeds choked the once-proud flowers, their blossoms withered and forgotten.

This place, with its decaying beauty, embodied the essence of Southern Gothic. It was a world suspended in time, where the lines between reality and the supernatural blurred. It held the echoes of forgotten lives, their stories intertwined with the land, lingering in the whispers of the wind.

As the night deepened, the allure of the south grew stronger. It whispered of forgotten tales and restless spirits, of dreams left unfulfilled and the undeniable power of the past. And as the moon illuminated the landscape, its light carried the promise that this realm would forever captivate those who encountered it, revealing glimpses of a hidden world where beauty and decay coexisted in haunting harmony.

Word Count: 1.1k

[who-can-appease-me]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐲

The Legend of [Y/n]

(supernatural horror story)

Summary: Y/N finds themselves pursued by a nameless terror after stumbling upon an ancient artifact. They flee through a dense and menacing forest, desperately trying to escape their pursuer.

Warnings: Suspense, Supernatural, Implied Violence

[Y/N]'s heart pounded in their chest as they sprinted through the dense forest. The moon's pale light barely penetrated the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance among the trees. They could hear their ragged breaths mingling with the sounds of their pursuer, echoing ominously through the night.

Their skin, a canvas of diverse hues, glistened with sweat, and their wild, curly hair whipped against their face as they ran. Fear coursed through their veins, driving them forward, desperate to escape the nameless terror that lurked behind them. But no matter how fast they ran, it seemed to be closing in, its presence growing stronger with each passing moment.

[Y/N]'s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. It all started when they stumbled upon an ancient artifact during an archaeological excavation. The moment they touched it, an otherworldly darkness enveloped them, filling their mind with images of unspeakable horrors. And now, they were paying the price for their curiosity.

Branches tore at their clothes, leaving scratches on their exposed skin. The forest itself seemed to conspire against them, twisting and shifting its layout, making it impossible for them to find their way out. Each turn they took only led them deeper into the heart of the sinister woods, trapping them within its clutches.

[Y/N]'s breath hitched as they stumbled upon a small clearing. In the center stood a gnarled, ancient tree, its twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers towards the heavens. They could feel an oppressive energy emanating from it, as if it were a gateway to a realm of unspeakable terror.

Just as they were about to turn and flee in the opposite direction, a cold gust of wind swept through the clearing, extinguishing the flickering light of their hope. The woods fell into a deafening silence, a prelude to something far more menacing. The ground beneath them trembled, and the air grew thick with an otherworldly presence.

[Y/N] turned slowly, their heart heavy with resignation. And there it was, standing just beyond the edge of the clearing—a shadowy figure, tall and menacing. Its form seemed to flicker and warp, never fully revealing itself. But its eyes, glowing with an unholy light, pierced through the darkness, fixating on [Y/N].

The figure began to advance, gliding effortlessly through the forest. [Y/N]'s legs turned to jelly as they tried to move, but their body refused to obey. The terror that had pursued them finally caught up, trapping them within its clutches. It whispered their name, a haunting melody that sent shivers down their spine.

With each step, the figure grew closer, its presence suffocating. [Y/N]'s mind screamed for escape, but their body remained frozen, a prisoner to their own fear. And as the figure loomed over them, they realized the chilling truth—there was no running from the darkness that had been unleashed.

The forest swallowed [Y/N], their desperate cries silenced by the night. Their story became another whispered legend, a cautionary tale for those who dared to wander into the unknown. The trees whispered their name, a mournful lament that echoed through the endless night, forever reminding those who heard it of the horrors that lie within the shadows.

However, as [Y/N]'s consciousness faded, a glimmer of determination sparked within them. They refused to succumb entirely to the darkness. With all their strength, they fought against the suffocating grip, struggling to break free.

In the depths of their mind, a memory surfaced—a fragment of the ancient artifact they had touched. It held a clue, a piece of forgotten knowledge that might hold the key to their salvation. Drawing upon their resilience, [Y/N] tapped into their inner strength, refusing to surrender to the encroaching darkness. With a surge of determination, they summoned the memory of the artifact—the symbols etched upon its surface, the whispers of forgotten incantations.

As the figure drew nearer, its menacing presence threatening to consume them, [Y/N] focused their mind. They recited the cryptic words that had once echoed within their thoughts, their voice a shaky but resolute chant.

To their surprise, a faint shimmer of light enveloped their body, shielding them from the malevolent force. The figure recoiled, momentarily stunned by this unexpected turn of events. It hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed.

[Y/N] seized the opportunity and, mustering every ounce of courage, willed their legs to move. Step by step, they inched away from the menacing figure, navigating the twisted forest with newfound determination. The dark woods seemed to yield to their unwavering resolve, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the despair.

The shadows writhed and contorted, desperate to reclaim their prey. But [Y/N] pressed on, guided by a faint glimmer of light that beckoned them forward. It led them deeper into the heart of the forest, towards an ancient stone altar nestled amidst the trees.

With cautious steps, [Y/N] approached the mystical altar, feeling its power resonate within their core. The symbols engraved upon its surface seemed to pulse with an ethereal energy, as if waiting for the touch of destiny.

Driven by an inexplicable intuition, [Y/N] placed their trembling hand upon the altar. A surge of ancient energy surged through their veins, filling them with renewed strength and clarity. The darkness that had pursued them recoiled, unable to breach the protective barrier now emanating from [Y/N].

A blinding burst of light erupted from the altar, illuminating the surrounding forest and banishing the encroaching darkness. The figure, once imposing and formidable, now stood weakened, its malevolence fading into nothingness.

As the light subsided, [Y/N] found themselves standing in the midst of a transformed forest. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, replaced by a sense of tranquility and awe-inspiring beauty. The trees, once twisted and menacing, stood tall and majestic, their leaves shimmering with newfound life.

With gratitude and relief washing over them, [Y/N] realized that they had triumphed over the darkness that had sought to consume them. Their resilience, coupled with the forgotten power of the artifact, had set them free from its clutches.

As they emerged from the forest, their heart filled with a renewed sense of purpose. The tale of their harrowing encounter would be shared, cautioning others to tread carefully, but also inspiring them with the reminder that even in the face of overwhelming darkness, strength and resilience can prevail.

From that day forward, [Y/N] became a symbol of courage, an embodiment of the triumph of light over darkness. Their name echoed through the ages, forever etched in the annals of those who dared to face their deepest fears and emerge victorious.

And as they walked away from the forest, head held high, [Y/N] carried with them a newfound appreciation for the power within, ready to face any challenge that lay ahead. For they knew that no matter how formidable the darkness may appear, the light of resilience and determination would always prevail.

Word Count: 1.2k

[who-can-appease-me]

Persevere

Spiderman 2099

(short action story)

Summary: Spiderman gets into a street fight with a villain

(spoiler alert: he wins)

Warnings: Violence

In the bustling metropolis of Nueva York in the year 2099, Spider-Man 2099 swung through the cityscape, a beacon of hope for its citizens. The futuristic skyscrapers gleamed with neon lights as he gracefully maneuvered between them. People below marveled at their iconic hero, inspired by his unwavering dedication to protect the city.

Spider-Man 2099 quickly leaped into action, landing gracefully in front of Mattermorph. The villain sneered, reveling in his newfound powers as he transformed nearby debris into dangerous projectiles. Spider-Man's enhanced senses detected the surge of energy emanating from the core-pin and analyzed the possibilities and limitations of Mattermorph's abilities.

Amidst the urban chaos, a disturbance rippled through the air, grabbing Spider-Man's attention. From seemingly thin air, a new villain emerged, wielding the power to manipulate matter. Known as Mattermorph, this unpredictable creature could reshape objects and elements with the energy harnessed from a core-pin on its chest.

Spider-Man leaped into action, landing before Mattermorph. The villain sneered, relishing in its newfound powers. It transformed nearby debris into dangerous projectiles, testing the limits of Spider-Man's abilities. With his heightened senses, Spider-Man analyzed Mattermorph's power source and anticipated its moves.

The battle ignited as Spider-Man evaded the onslaught, his advanced suit augmenting his agility and reflexes. His web-shooters whirred as he unleashed a flurry of webs, aiming to immobilize the formidable villain. But Mattermorph proved relentless, countering with its matter-manipulating prowess.

With each blow, Mattermorph retaliated, molding the environment to its advantage. Streets cracked open, lampposts contorted, and vehicles morphed into deadly weapons. Spider-Man utilized his web-slinging expertise, navigating through the chaos, and countering Mattermorph's attacks with precise strikes and cleverly constructed web traps. Yet, the battle intensified, pushing both combatants to their limits.

Buildings trembled as Mattermorph unleashed its full range of matter-manipulating abilities. The fabric of reality twisted and distorted with the villain's boundless power. Spider-Man knew he had to devise a new strategy to overcome this formidable foe.

In a desperate move, Mattermorph hurled a massive boulder towards Spider-Man. Swiftly swinging into action, the hero redirected the projectile using his webs. However, Mattermorph had a surprise waiting. It swiftly crafted a puppet out of brick and debris, launching it at supersonic speed towards the back of Spider-Man's head, shattering upon impact.

The double attack disoriented Spider-Man, leaving his senses entangled in a knot. Struggling to regain focus, he fought against the throbbing pain. His movements became sluggish, and his spider-sense faltered. Seizing the opportunity, Mattermorph closed in for a final strike, sensing imminent victory.

Yet, Spider-Man's indomitable spirit refused to surrender. Drawing upon his reserves of strength, he relied on instinct and muscle memory, honed through years of training and experience. Adapting his fighting style to compensate for his impaired senses and the unpredictable environment, he flowed with the battle, countering Mattermorph's every move.

Summoning a final surge of energy, Spider-Man disarmed Mattermorph, removing the core-pin from its chest. A cry of frustration and pain echoed from the defeated villain. But Spider-Man pressed on. With precision and determination, he delivered a decisive blow to the exposed core, severing the connection to Mattermorph's power source. The villain crumbled to the ground, defeated and powerless.

As the battle subsided, Spider-Man's head throbbed with pain, a testament to the toll of the fight. His suit, battered and torn, showcased the intensity of the encounter. Without wasting a moment, the hero swiftly secured Mattermorph in a cocoon of webbing, ensuring the villain's capture.

With the city now safe, Spider-Man swung away from the scene, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction

Word count: 541