#birth to my creation is the song used | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoarah-babylon · 18 days

Text

I had to make a BIG post going over everything that's got my brain whirring after watching the story trailer - it's all my speculation and personal opinion so don't take it as fact yada yada IT'S FUN SPECULATION TIME

(I'll put it under the cut bc this is gonna be a LONG one)

“Miquella the kind spoke of the beginning. The seduction. And the betrayal. An affair from which Gold arose. And so too was Shadow born."

My interpretation of this scene is that we are seeing the creation of the Golden Order by Marika. She plucks grace from something dead and fleshy, and holds it up to the Greater Will, beckoning in her new age. It would make sense to me, considering the voiceover, that this is a dead god that has been betrayed by Marika so she can pursue her Order and claim power. It does like quite reminiscent of Kos from Bloodborne to me. The fleshiness of the corpse also reminds me of the godskins/snakeskin. However, I don't believe this is the Gloam Eyed Queen. From my understanding of the timeline (mainly thanks to @eldenringslut) the GEQ didn't come about until later on during Marika's reign - if we are seeing the creation of the GO, and my understanding of the timeline is correct, I don't think it would make sense for this to be the GEQ. I can't deny different aspects of this do allude to things related to her though - the dusky sky, the godskin-like flesh. But I almost think that would be too 'perfect' for it to fit together like that, especially with how much people want to know more about the GEQ, I think fromsoft would want to keep us in the dark and surprise us. Whatever we are seeing here, Gold and Shadow seemingly came about at the same time.

We get our first look at what appears to be Messmer's army. They appear to all wield spears which ties into Messmer's whole Impaler thing, along with the shot of the person(?) impaled on the steps. I wonder who these people were, if they had to stay in the Shadow Realm after the battle was done (if it is?). I find the design on the helmet interesting - at first glance I thought it could be a tree or roots, but actually doesn't it kind of remind you of the black tendrils that shoot out of Messmer's flame? I think it could be either, or both, or maybe it's a chicken and egg situation and they're related somehow... my first thought when the initial gameplay trailer came out was that the dark tendrils in Messmer's flame could be deathroot or something similar to that. Maybe I wasn't far off?

We get our first shot of Messmer here. His pose pretty much solidifies to me that this is his army - this is the pose of a character commanding an army. It's so classic fantasy, the composition and everything, I love it. Messmer is awesome. I'm obsessed with the snake-like flames flying above the carnage.

"What followed was a war unseen. One that could never be put to song. A purge without Grace, or honour. The tyranny of Messmer's flame."

My take on this is that once Marika had won her battle/betrayed the God we see her pluck Grace from, she had her opponents banished and/or wiped out at the hands of Messmer. I have to say, it does surprise me that it seems Messmer was around and fully grown at the creation of Marika's Order. The implications there leave me with so many questions. Who is his other parent? Marika is Numen, and they seldom give birth. This is not an insignificant thing for her to have a child, especially if the theory of births being governed by the Erdtree/Golden Order is to be believed, and this must have came about before then. It would also go against the idea that Messmer is the full brother/secret triplet of Miquella and Malenia, considering that Miq + Mal were not born until Marika had left Godfrey for Radagon. I find that detail so intriguing... especially because I was so on board with the butterfly theories.

No idea who this is, but they're cool and that definitely looks like the kind of weapon we'd be able to pick up. It just looks like a PVP weapon, know what I mean? Very reminiscent of Vyke as well imo, similar pose to the box art of him along with the billowing cape. This reminds me, I'm noticing an emphasis on hair in this trailer too - I never took much note of Marika's hair before but in this trailer there was a lot of emphasis put on how long it is, how similar it is to threads of Grace, and Miquella's hair too. It's making me think of the bible story of Samson but let me not go too off the rails

Here we have some of the coolest shots in the trailer imo. This posits the Lion/Omens as enemies of Messmer to me - which to me supports the view that Messmer is aligned with Marika. The Lion/Omens always came off to me as if they were making a mockery of the GO - positioning themselves as enemies to Marika/the GO. We get another good look at his Flame, with the tendrils. They almost remind me of thorns actually. That final shot looks like a victory scene to me. It also really hammers home the Impaler thing. The man knows his brand!

Then we pan up to see what hangs above this burned city - this 'shadow tree'. THIS IS MARIKA'S RUNE.

I think we are seeing the origins of her rune as part of the modern Elden Ring here - Grace/blessings dripping from the bough of this tree. I have to say given the imagery relating to motherhood on the run up to the DLC, the rune does look vaguely yonic, especially on the seals. I think references to motherhood are in this trailer too - Marika taking something from a fleshy orifice with a voiceover talking about seduction, I can't imagine that wasn't intentional. So far the main character we have seen is her child, after all. The whole story of Elden Ring revolves around Marika's children. I have a feeling Marika's relation to motherhood and childbearing is going to be a big theme in the DLC.

I remember when the first gameplay trailer dropped, people theorised that this was Ranni's rune, and I was happy to believe that because of the similarities to Rennala's rune. But now I believe it's Miquella's rune, for several reasons, one being it reminds me of Malenia's rune, and they are twins after all. Although Rennala and Malenia's runes are oddly similar, it just makes more sense to me that it would be Miquella's, considering we are following in his footsteps. I think these rune spikes are going to be our DLC equivalents of sites of grace.

"And so kindly Miquella would abandon everything. His golden flesh, his blinding strength..."

Abandoning his flesh is very reminiscent of Ranni... but why would he need to abandon his flesh? Perhaps after Mohg stole him away? Though I have to say, I'm warming up the idea that Mohg never actually had Miquella, he just thought he did. That might not make sense considering that body in Mohg's palace is how we get to the Shadow Lands, but I don't know, something about it doesn't sit quite right with me for some reason. The line 'his blinding strength' is a bit odd. I can't take credit for this next idea, I saw it on twitter, but someone suggested that this is referencing him potentially abandoning Malenia - his strength, his blade. For Miquella to abandon Malenia though, it doesn't exactly align with what we know of his character. This is the person that turned his back on the GO because it could do nothing for Malenia's sickness. He'd need a really good reason to do that to her. Maybe it was his only option? I'm so intrigued about why Miquella is even in the Shadow Lands to begin with. What are his motivations? Perhaps it's something to do with his proclivity to want to welcome all, especially those outside of Grace, I suppose those in the shadow lands fall under that mantle.

"Even his fate."

Now THIS is super interesting - our first look at St. Trina! In her usual purple - associated with sleep. It does also look like she's sleeping here, sinking... What on earth does it mean to say that Miquella abandoned his fate as we are shown an image of St. Trina? Was he meant to eventually become Trina fully? We don't know much about her, but we do know Trina is an aspect/alter-ego of some sort of Miquella. Considering his parents were one in the same body, it's not a stretch to assume this could be the same case here. But in Marika/Radagon's case, it doesn't seem completely intentional - with the Ring shattering, I always got the impression they each fought to be in control of their singular body. Perhaps Miquella/Trina worked together rather than against each other? The queer part of me can't help but think of some kind of allegory to transition and Miquella having to walk away from it for whatever reason... but I really don't know enough to figure anything out from this.

I saw someone point out that this shot of Trina looks like Trina's lilies too, which is super cool (sorry I don't remember who that was).

"But we are not deterred. We choose to follow. Will you walk with us?"

I'm honestly surprised to see all these characters that we saw in the previous trailer just hanging out, I assumed they'd all be enemies of different factions. But here they look like allies, and from the voiceover they sound like it too, asking if we will join them. I think the voiceover is one of these NPCs. Seeing the fighting guy second on the left has got me super excited, what if he teaches us the hands-on combat we saw him do in the first trailer? I also think the crouching character on the right is the one we saw sleeping in the purple area (Trina?) from the last trailer:

Anyway, these are my thoughts, I hope they resonate in one way or another. I can't wait to come back in a couple months and see how wrong I was <3 yayyy

#i spent 2 hours putting this together and i'm meant to be sleeping #the brain rot is SO fucking real #i'm too tired to proofread so if i spelled anything wrong no i didn't #loreposting #elden ring #sote #shadow of the erdtree #messmer the impaler #numen #marika the eternal #marika #miquella #st. trina #elden ring shadow of the erdtree #elden lore #fromsoft

94 notes · View notes

thesiltverses · 5 months

Note

character writing tips??

Everything's subjective, but for me:

For character creation (as for plotting, as for worldbuilding), each of us ultimately has to find our own best practice and preferred method through trial and failure. There's a vast spectrum of tips ranging from 'create a bullet-pointed list of their favourite foods, make them a playlist of their favourite songs, make sure you understand every facet of who they are and where they've been before you sit down to write them' and 'discover the character as you write them!' and there's no objective answer. I like to give my characters a starting point, a starting goal, and starting principles, then toss them in the deep end and see how they react and change over time, but that's not for everyone. Try every approach and adjust to taste - does the character start to bore you after ten pages because you've already written them out as a straitjacketed profile and there's nothing left to find out? Or could you do with having a clearly defined arc, or more small personal habits or peccadillos?

2. For continuous character development (particularly if you're writing something serialised and longform like a podcast, particularly if you're writing for an internet audience), try and identify - and then be prepared to constantly out-think - the temptations that lead to calcification or Flanderisation of the character, because the golden fruit often ends up rotting the tree that birthed it.

Beware of your past successes, in other words, because they sway you and they corrupt the character. It's incredibly easy to find yourself straying towards 'oh, it was impactful when X came bursting in to save the day and they haven't really had a moment like that since, how can we recapture that?' or 'people really liked it when Y & Z had a big angsty argument about their feelings, maybe we should be giving them even more angsty arguments about their feelings' or 'the internet loves mean badass women, maybe A should be just incredibly mean and badass in all her interactions so we can get one million likes and be famous.' (I've caught myself doing all of these, and definitely haven't always succeeded in stopping myself.)

But fishing for a specific audience reaction or trying to stage-manage a narrative outcome is how you end up with zombie protagonists - stale archetypes acting out the same formulaic moments over and over in the hope of reliving the old applause, instead of characters that are still authentically capable of change or capable of surprising you.

109 notes · View notes

holybibly · 7 months

Text

Divine Rosa ❢ot8xreader❣

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 8.5k

❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love.

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior, panic attack. Sexual themes: hematolagnia, body worship, masturbation, bite kink, olfactophilia, voyeurism.

❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

❣Chapter 2: Wolf in sheep's clothing❣

Love is a word that deserves closer consideration, halfway between the dry hypocrisy of the dictionary and its deep sacral meaning.

What a strange feeling…

Love, both virtuous and vicious, motivates us to accomplish great feats yet also triggers the commission of heinous crimes. This mysterious and inexplicable feeling interweaves its complex structure within us, becoming the most unstable, contentious, and hazardous of all human emotions.

Love is the fundamental source of all our emotions and experiences in the world, both beautiful and disgusting.

Love has a multitude of motives, including the desire for control, submission, care, seduction, lust, protection, worship, creation and, of course, destruction.

The feeling is manifold; We can call this complex emotion by different names, including passion, hatred, obsession, alienation, objectification, mania, unattainable dreams, happiness, idolatry, spiritual unity, and possibly the most poetic of all—the second half of the soul.

Humans crave love from birth until death. This desire is inherent and everlasting. As we take our first breath, we unconsciously absorb the toxic essence of love, which settles in our lungs like delicate, silky flowers.

This need is woven into the very structure of our DNA, an animal instinct that inadvertently condemns us to eternal suffering.

Love exists as a palpable entity, often obscured by human perceptions of carefree happiness and joy. It can be likened to a lurking deep-sea creature, concealing its true visage, branching and moving under the thin surface of our skin.

She is as cunning as a murderer's grin, and she is well aware of the inevitable tragic end of every story she is about to tell. Though we may be in the belief that we have had a joyful life, in reality all our actions have been under the impulse of love. For the sake of this deceptive feeling, which unites us for a moment in the ecstatic joy and privileges of angelic ugliness.

In the end, our physical bodies will serve to feed the earthworms, to house the larvae and to nourish the roots.

Never again will they gaze into each other's eyes, never again will the turquoise flame passion between them ignite, and never again will their lips meet in a voluptuousness kiss.

Love has the power to drive us insane, to blind us, and even to lead to our demise.

And yet, in life, it is possible to miss everything but love.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

3rd POV

I want to fill my mouth with your name. I want to eat you whole. Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems, and a Song of Despair

“You look pathetic, San. Don't you think so? I wonder what Seonghwa would say to that?” Yeosang lazily runs his pale spidery fingers over Yoru's silky black fur, looking with contempt at the naked brunette stretched on a pile of knocked-down sheets and pillows.

The rings on his hands burn with blood, like the eyes of the Devil.

San looked blissfully relaxed and languid, like a caressing predator. His golden skin seemed to glow from within with an otherworldly glow as the translucent sunlight greedily licked his body with its soft touch.

Still, there was something vaguely animalistic, almost primitively predatory, about him, which in no way connected him with the arrogant aloofness that was inherent in the entire vampire race.

There was hot blood running through his veins, making him even more dangerous.

He was unbridled.

“I don't care what Seonghwa says, if he says a word at all in the next few centuries. Personally, I would prefer that his magnificent body continue to rest in the coffin for a very long time.” A smug smile played on his sensual lips. “And unlike you, my dear brother, I don't hide my true desires.” A slow, almost lazy glance from San's silvery eyes swept over the slender body of Yeosang sitting in the chair, lingering for a moment on the pale pink patch of soft skin on his temple.

He imagines, not without pleasure, how, with particular cruelty, he tears it from the porcelain face of his beloved brother with his long claws, leaving behind a wet, gaping wound.

San hated it. His birthmark is indisputable proof of his connection with his beautiful Rose.

The sign that binds their souls tightly into a single whole.

He should have found her first that night.

“Look at you, Sangie. You act like a coward, hiding in dark corners and wandering in her dreams. Perhaps I could understand you if your wayward antics gave her pleasure. If our Rose woke up with your name on her lips, all wet and needy, so desperate for more.

You have to ignite her passion and her desire to be loved, make her feel special, and fill her with thirst and hunger for our touch and our love. All her thoughts should belong only to us. But how did we end Yeosangie? Tell me, huh? Our Rosa has an animal terror before you. Sarang is afraid of you. Isn't that really pathetic? You know, I can smell that sweet scent of fear on her sheets.” San buried his face in the soft fabric of the silk pillow on which Sarang usually slept and took a deep, slow breath. “So damn delicious… I want to eat her whole.”

All he wanted now was to feel her from the inside, so that her scent would stay forever in his lungs, merge with his blood, be absorbed into his skin, and become an integral part of it.

God, he is prepared to worship this woman and idolize her in every conceivable way.

She was his.

Not in some figurative or metaphorical sense, no. She was his everything. A soul that fills the shell with his dead body, blood black as night, that runs through his veins, his thoughts. Every second of his life. San couldn't tell where he ended, and she began, for you were two halves fused together into a single breathing living being.

The beginning and the end of his life

If he could know death, which was no longer possible for him, he would be happy to suffocate on that heady aroma that was spinning his head like a powerful drug. And to do so until death takes him into his arms.

How beautiful would his death be! Silk sheets, roses, and Sarang are the only true loves.

“She smells so divine, Sangie; how can you resist this temptation?” His back arched gracefully. Under the golden canvas of the skin, the jagged vertebral bones were outlined, and the flexible muscles were stretched like tight velvet ribbons. The relief of his chiseled abs pressing against the bed, his thighs rushing up, creating a perfect s-line.

He moved so smoothly. A large predatory cat, draining gross sexuality and animal dominance. A true erotic vision, fringed by the diffused glow of the lazy midday sun. The smell of her fear brought out the worst in him and made him crave to devour her heart and soul, but he couldn't do it.

“You don't know shit, San. You come here whenever you want and act like a cranky kid, pouting and expressing anger because you couldn't get her first. What a pity, because I was the one who made the connection. I can feel her; I can feel her in my veins; I don't have to act like a bitch in heat fucking her bed.” Yeosang's voice was indifferently cold, so deceptively calm, but San could clearly hear the poisonous malice in every word he said.

It looks like he hit a nerve.

“You tell me you'd never been in my place, Yeosangie?” San grinned, and on his cheeks appeared charming dimples. “You never could lie;you always spilled everything to Seonghwa like a good puppy at the first snap of his fingers. You should ask Wooyoung to teach you some lessons if you want to play games with me. We all know exactly what you do, so didn't be shy about it, honey. Do you think you can hide from Hongjoong your little dream manipulation, constant stalking, and night visits? Or how pathetic and pathetic you look, whining and wriggling like a whore when you come in with her dirty laundry, which you hide under your pillow. Oh my God, what will Seonghwa say when he finds out? You should care. Our good boy has gone to the dark side; he's going to be so disappointed that he lost his mutt. Although you know, maybe you and Wooyoung aren't as different as I originally thought. He's just as pathetic a puppy as you are, my beautiful brother, and look how that turned out for him. Perhaps you'll be the next one to end up in a coffin. I'd change my behavior if I were you. Bad boys get punished.” There was mockery and outright bullying in his voice.

That's right, they were family; their loyalty to each other was an unbreakable blood oath, and if necessary, they would be willing to die for each other. Blood is thicker than water. But the bond they shared with Sarang was different from anything that could be explained. She wasn't a missing part; to think so would be foolish. No, she was a part of themselves, a part of their dead souls, filling their bodies with a semblance of life. Something extremely more dangerous than any possible blood bond. A bond where the lines between reality and fantasy, obsession and morality, understanding and rationality were blurred. And that bond was the reason, why Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa were still resting in their luxurious coffins. Iron, velvet, and crystal—so completely different, so frighteningly the same.

San remembers with pleasure how good it felt to drive stakes into their black hearts. The spell would be broken with a kiss. Perfectly. He hopes their sleep will be eternal. This time, it should be different. He will be the first, yes. San will be first—not Seonghwa, not Hongjoong, not Wooyoung, but him.

That's right. Everything will be the way it should be from the beginning. After all, he was the one who started it all.

Once upon a time, Sarang belonged only to him.

“San…” Yeosang hissed menacingly, digging his bony fingers forcefully into the soft feline fur, causing Yoru to meow painfully and curl up into a ball in his lap. His fangs bared, scratching his plump lower lip, and black veins trickled in an intricate pattern down his thin neck.

The brunette laughed and rubbed his cheek against the soft fabric of the pillow, covering his eyes dreamily.

The silk felt wonderful against his bare skin.

“You hiss like a kitten; will you show me your sharp little teeth?”

“You'd better watch out for your tongue, or I might rip it out.” The fierce gaze literally stabbed him. It burned and penetrated to the core of his being.

“I dare you.” The bloodied lips opened, allowing the pointed tip of his tongue to traverse the tortured, swollen flesh, licking away the blood that seeped to the surface.

“Let his lips be like rose petals - red as fresh blood.” Said the Queen Witch.

San covered his eyes and completely ignored the angry brunette. He loved to play with fire. It was his nature. If it had been Hongjoon or Mingi in Yeosan's place, he might have thought twice before poking the tiger with a stick, and of course he would never intentionally offend Seonghwa; the outcome of any of those confrontations would not have been in his favor. But this was Yeosang - airy and gentle as melting snow.

The shadows of San's long eyelashes lay in a lacy pattern on his heart-wrenching cheekbones. They were one of the most striking features of his appearance - sharp and angular - and they made his face a masterpiece. A creation skilfully crafted by the hand of a master.

Yeosang's beauty was soft and angelic, the kind of beauty one might see on the faces of the winged, plump cherubs beneath the vaulted ceilings of Gothic cathedrals. He had once admired their beauty so much, especially when he tore their flesh with his claws and tore baby, fluffy wings from their pale, soft bodies.

Such an exquisite, decadent taste.

San's beauty was of a completely different kind: vicious, dark and hypnotic. Chiseled like the eternally frozen perfection of a pagan marble god, every line of his face was sharp and deadly seductive. From the feline cut of his eyes, shimmering with silvery immortality, to the capriciously curved corners of his plump lips, always inflamed and soft, so tortured and tender from incessant biting and kissing…

San's appearance was sinful.

He was the most desirable of all nightmares, the special kind that seduces the girls of the church, then fills his bathtub with their blood and organizes orgies in the bloody pieces of their torn bodies. San was formidable and intimidating, but his aura was alluring and seductive. The terrible prospect of an inevitable end and death had never looked so appealing. Maybe he was having an affair with you, or maybe he was going to kill you. There was lust, danger, and rage. There was a delicate balance between horror and desire, as if he were the embodiment of both the horror and the charm of God. He was the man everyone secretly dreams about when they caress themselves before going to bed, in a cold, lonely bed.

He was the person who made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and who made you experience a shivering sensation of fear that would spread over all of your exposed areas.

San was undoubtedly that person. Despite the potential for his eyes to linger on your skin, his presence was desired. Exquisite wounds, reminiscent of blossoms from damaged tissue, were created by his razor-sharp canines.

Death and sex were not enough for San; he had a craving for disorder and hot sensations.

He always wanted more, whether it was blood or pleasure. He never felt satisfied.

His sole desire was Rose—just her alone.

“Do you smell that Sangie scent?” San inhaled deeply again that intoxicating divine scent, resisting the urge to savor her flavor like a dog, choking and whimpering. “Mmmm, I want her so badly. I want her whole, every fucking cell of her body. She's driving me crazy.”

Sarang emitted a scent that was distinctly sharp and overpowering in its fragrance. Reminiscent of aged wine, it was infused with the bitterness of dark chocolate, the piquancy of red pepper, and the sweetness of roses. It tastes like sin and blessing at the same time. Like a slight saltiness akin to the tears she had shed, he longed to lick them off her rounded, flushed cheeks. The fruity sweetness of illicit fruit. The taste of his own blood. The metal and thick aroma of their sexual encounter. Thick as semen and honey.

San wants to have her. Wants her to love him. He desires his love to be reciprocated as fervently and passionately as he does.

His only wish is her love.

Although it is not enough for him to possess her love, he wants her to have an intense and almost sadistic affection for him—one that goes beyond what seems possible. He yearns for her to destroy him. Because he's confident in Sarang's ability to do so. He needs more. More than she could offer him, more than she could ever agree to. He is but a slave, created to worship her.

San's aim is to belong to her; he would go to any extent, even to the point of destroying the entire world, if that is what it takes to achieve that. The value of her love is immeasurable, and his objective is absolute. She is the center of his life and the very essence of his being. She is the haunting presence in his dreams, a seductive force that both seduces and tortures. The midnight idol of his desire, the serpent that dwells around his heart, tempts him to sin.

San craves her love so much, and that need is so painful, so all-consuming, and so twisted. If need be, he would kill her with his own hands, just to be sure that no one else would ever have her.

Sharing her with his brothers was like hellfire burning him from the inside out, but it was a paltry sacrifice he could make in exchange for her love.

This time, he won't let her go. This time, not even death would dare separate them. Saran will be his. She will be theirs. In life. In death. Forever and ever.

Soon.

It will happen so soon. San can't wait for the day when his Goddess is beneath him, in the cage of his body, sprawled on the black velvet of his bed. With his fangs deep into her sweet flesh, and she will screaming his name in a haze of ecstatic pleasure.

He would make her see stars. San will take her all the way to the doors of Heaven.

“San,” “San,” “San,” “San” over and over, until her voice completely collapses to a painful wheeze, until he absorbs every tiny sound she makes, every moan, every breath, every barely perceptible note, until all she will remember is his name.

Until Sarang whispers right into his lips, “I am yours.”

Soon.

In the meantime, San can patiently wait. He will wait as he always has, obediently and without complaint. He will be such a good boy. San will wait obediently, as he has done for centuries and centuries before. Until the time is right to pursue his desires, he will take all that he has dreamt of, and God will save the souls of those who get in his way.

Right now, he thinks he could die here — in her bed, surrounded by the lingering warmth of her body and her maddening scent. He would like nothing more than to show her all his passion and devotion and all the love he could give her.

He dreams of running his lips over her skin and tasting her until his whole face is wet and glistening with her juices. He will fuck her into oblivion until night turns to day and then drown her in tenderness, worshiping her caress-weary body as an obedient slave should.

Sometimes, he thinks it's not normal—the feelings he has for her. Such love simply cannot exist. How can someone love someone so much? Is it normal to hate the very existence of nature and the heavenly bodies for being able to see her beauty, which should belong to him alone?

However, these were only momentary musings until he regained his composure, dispelling any doubts. How could he even question his love? It felt so perfect and effortless, like breathing. How could such thoughts even enter his mind?

Her love was a life worth living.

It was destined since the dawn of time, when spirits roamed the earth, the sun was young, and the old gods had not yet vanished. She belonged to them, and they belonged to her. They sensed her first breath on their lips. He felt.

Their love bloomed again—a blood rose.

Soon…

These fantasies drove him mad; every cell ignited with the desire to possess, awakening his animal predatory nature. The ugly nature of his genuinely depraved being.

He pictured Sarang biting into his neck and taking possession of him. She aimed at him as if he were nothing more than a thing, a toy for her amusement.

“Say my name, Sarang. Express your fondness for me and acknowledge that I am your only one. I want you to own me and claim me as yours. Say my name until it burns your lips. Again and again. Drink my blood, bite me to death; I'm nothing more than your slave, just a pathetic means of pleasure. Hit me. Hurt me, I beg you. I need it so badly. Please, my love, I am begging you to love me. Love… Love me so much until it kills me. That is what I wish for.”

His hips moved smoothly, grinding his arousal against the rumpled bedclothes. San moaned, breathlessly gasping as he found the perfect angle to satisfy his intense desire for release. He needs to cum; he couldn't leave here without cumming. He buried his face in the pillow, panting and whimpering like a wild animal possessed. His primal instincts demanded he leave his mark on her, to possess her and fuck her into oblivion until her belly bloated from the amount of cum pouring into her and her head felt light and empty.

His claws lengthened, digging into the mattress, leaving sickening jagged stripes as his hips moved uncontrollably, continuing to rub his throbbing wet cock against the silken folds of the crumpled sheets.

The sounds he made were almost heavenly.

Soft, extended moans that turned into pitiful sobs. He sounded like an angel in the throes of passion.

In his fantasies, San imagined drinking from her as long scarlet streams of her sweet blood ran down their naked bodies, staining everything red. How deeply he entered her body, seeing the imprint of his cock on her flat stomach as her neat, pointed nails plowed into his back into gaping lacerations.

His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. San needed to cum; he was on the verge of madness. The need for pleasure was more obvious than anything around him at the moment. The transparent essence of his arousal dripped down onto the sheets, sticking to his golden, wet skin with every movement of his muscled thighs.

His thoughts returned to the dark, vicious images of hot animal sex. A fine shiver ran down his entire body.

He will run his tongue along every contour of the intricate bloody lines, licking up every last drop. First, the longest neck-open and vulnerable to his insatiable mouth, then lower down the hollow between the heavy breasts, rising in time with her labored breathing. His lips would close around the hard pink nipples, scraping them with his teeth, making her squeal and gasp. Lower down her flat belly, where the flowers of his hungry kisses and hard touches bloomed. Until his tongue is between the moist puffy folds of her pussy, he runs the pointed tip along the soft silken flesh, plunging deeper into the tight hole where blood mingles with her natural sweetness. He wants to feel the velvety, wet walls of her vagina clench and quiver around his tongue.

“Sarang!” His voice was hoarse, and his hands gripped the sheets beneath him with such force that his knuckles turned white, almost tearing the skin.

He looked pornographic.

San was so lost in his fantasies that he had completely forgotten about Yeosang, who was still in this room, until he was reminded of it with a sharp, painful tug of his hair. Long, thin fingers gripped the dark, damp strands with force and tilted his head back rigidly, revealing a view of a strong neck with veins swollen from exertion and beads of sweat running down her

“Here we go, such a pathetic, stupid bitch.” Yeosang said it with mockery in his voice. His lips curled into a wicked smirk, and San could feel it on his skin as the brunet whispered in his ear. “Look at you, you're nothing more than a slut; where's your pride, San, eh? The great general of the dark army, the heartless ice prince, the ruthless Ripper, is nothing more than a drooling whore shamefully rubbing his cock against the sheets.” Yeosang's fingernails dug painfully into his scalp, tugging harder on the long silk strands the color of night.

“Yes, yes, keep calling me that.” His request sounded like a plea. All Yeosang's words made him move faster, almost in desperation.

The rhythm of his hips became erratic and uncontrollable. He was close. His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.

“Are you imagine fucking her, Sannie, hmm? Or what would it taste like? I bet the taste will be heavenly; she's sweeter than ever in this life. Oh no, I know exactly what you're thinking.” A mocking chuckle escaped his ruby-red lips. “You want her to bite you.” Those wicked lips pressed against the frantically beating pulse point. “Right here.” Yeosang's teeth sank with force into the flushed skin of San's neck—that particular sensitive spot on his neck beneath a scattering of pale freckles.

San's eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mouth opened in a silent moan, and his hips shook with the intensity of his orgasm. Thick, hot cum splattered onto the sheets, staining them with the pale, milky liquid.

The brunet unclenched his teeth, releasing the tender skin. The bite mark was wine-red, with swollen incisor impressions and drops of black blood in the hollows. A poisonous flower, tempting to know sin.

“Sannie, look at the mess you'd made. Truly a royal fuck. I always thought it was more Mingi's style.” Finally, thin but surprisingly strong fingers let go of the silken strands, allowing San to rest his face tiredly against the pillow. His whole body relaxes after the overwhelming orgasm. The entire pillow is soaked with drool and sweat, and semen cools beneath his stomach, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He opens one eye and looks up at the vampire leaning over him with a lecherous smile.

“Would you like to join me, my beautiful brother? We still have a few hours before she gets home.” The brunet rolls onto his back to make room for Yeosang in the bed. His fingers run along the sculpted curves of his abs, scooping up the viscous, pearly liquid and sliding it into his mouth. “Mmm…” A long tongue swirled around his fingers, licking up every drop with lazy, slow pleasure.

“You're disgusting, San.” Yeosang puckered his lips in disgust, looking around at the brunette sprawled on the bed. He turned sharply on his heels and strode away from the room; to he pick up Yoru on his way, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his arms. “Get up; we have to go. Hongjoon is calling us.”

“You're not leaving the cat?”

The brunette turned around over his shoulder, meeting his gaze with San's silver eyes.

“June misses his darling; for our little girl, it's time to come home.”

San propped himself up on his elbows, looking at the departing Yeosang. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile full of devilish anticipation.

The time had finally come.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

1st POV

"Feed me to the wolves, let them take my flesh."

“Well, I'm glad to finally meet you in a more relaxed setting, Miss Ahn. Please take a seat.” With an elegant gesture, the man motioned me to a deep leather chair in front of his desk. On the glass tabletop was a silver plaque engraved with the name “Mr. Lee Taeho”.

“Miss An” - how sad and tragic that sounds. I never wanted to try out this role. I didn't like being addressed like that, because it was always Mina, and before her, it was my grandmother, and probably my mother was addressed like that when she was alive.

But here I am, the new Miss Ahn, and unlike my predecessors, I have not sought to carry the weight of this unbearable crown. I don't need the congratulatory ribbons and the wet glitter sequins smeared across my face.

Although there was nothing in the address itself that I could call unpleasant, the tone with which it was always delivered foreshadowed the inevitable tragic ending of its own and tasted of earth and chrysanthemums.

You're bound to end up as one of them; it's not all by chance, Sarang. Don't kid yourself.

I saw the future as a series of predetermined events, especially after Mina's death. She had the arrogance to dispose of my life as she saw fit, putting chains of obligations and secrets around my neck. I buried her in the ground, and my days became nothing more than a list of dull plans, paltry hopes, and bitter regrets, as murky as the water in the city canals through which a coffin floats. Still, I couldn't help but wonder who would be the next Miss An when I died, or would I be the one to hold that title forever?

There are never any former queens. There are only dead ones.

I could feel the blood flowing faster through my veins.

For a few moments, there was silence around us, thick and enveloping like fog. If I'd felt any hint of confidence as I walked through the tall glass doors of Silver & Black LTD, now, alone with this man, I was floundering in my social insecurity like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. I resisted the urge to squirm under the gaze of his night-dark eyes. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Lee Taeho wasn't just one of Silver & Black's most successful lawyers; he was also a devilishly handsome man.

He was built like a god. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a tight-fitting white shirt that accentuated his muscular biceps, bulging pecs, and flat stomach. The image of strength and power was completed by the perfectly tailored, tight-fitting trousers. The rolled-up sleeves revealed several tattoos on his wiry forearms—something in Latin that I couldn't make out.

His face was also striking, with angular, pointed features that would have looked strange and out of place on anyone else, but the luscious, perfectly sculpted lips made them something unimaginable and outrageously beautiful.

I felt uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze. He was looking at me like I was something special, but not in a sexual or romantic way; rather, it was the look of an explorer who had found an unexpected treasure in a pile of rubbish.

“I honestly didn't expect you to have any free time in the next few months, so thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”

To be honest, I knew absolutely nothing about Silver & Black until Soomin told me about them on the way here. Soo turned out to be absolutely right when she told me about them. This place was the epitome of the arrogant domination of money and power—cold, glassy, and sterile, like a morgue where the remains of all “happy stories” are taken.

I could never belong to such a place, but I could easily imagine Mina here, with her developing blood curls and the unemotional grandeur of royalty. People like my sister were part of that 'proper' society so suited to closed Sunday clubs and icy glass offices. Like all of her kind, Mina was a great predator, used to labeling people and giving them her own names and definitions. She knew exactly how to make those around her feel uncomfortable with just one look.

Some people have everything, others nothing. It's as cruel and true as the inequality of love.

I still didn't understand how Mina had so much money to afford the services of this company, but judging by how polite and “sweetly” the receptionist greeted me at the entrance, she was very much appreciated here.

Blood of my blood.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Saran.” He said that, and I looked back at him in surprise. It wasn't so much the fact that he allowed himself a familiarity that surprised me, but the way he said my name—as if it had always belonged to his lips. It was as if he'd said it over and over again until the intonation was perfect.

My heart beats fast in my chest, but I couldn't tell if it was fear or something else entirely.

“We will always make time for you. If you'll allow me to be frank, I've left a few free hours each day, just in case you decide to call me. Honestly, I expected it to take a little less time on your part, but who am I to judge you, Sarang?”

“But why?” I tried to gather information and put it together in a way that wasn't absurd. I didn't want to assume anything.

“Why? Do I have to explain? Maybe I just wanted to see you; you're a beautiful girl, and I'm a great admirer of the beautiful. He smiled, seemingly satisfied with the embarrassment that must have been written on my face. I could feel the heat spilling over my cheeks, turning them a painfully inflamed shade of red.

I had never been a girl with a 'cute' blush. I was more like a girl burned by the gold of the sun, pressing her cheek directly against the boiling, bubbling surface of the sun.

Taeho lightly drummed his perfectly filed nails on the glass tabletop, completely ignoring my obvious embarrassment at the situation, and continued:

“But let's say that this is due to the fact that your dear sister was a valued client of ours, whom everyone here at Silver & Black LTD sincerely appreciated. Miss Ahn was our special customer. All the staff will agree with me; your sister is impossible not to love.”

“A special client?” I interjected. Somehow, that didn't surprise me at all. Of course, it was only natural that Mina was always at the center of the universe. People followed the sound of her voice like rats behind the magical melody of the flute.

“Are you surprised, Sarang? Your sister has helped our firm in many ways, bringing us new clients and introducing us to the 'right' people, making our firm one of the best in Korea. She's contributed a lot to the development of Silver & Black. There was a strange note in his voice, as if between the cracks there was something terrible—a terrible secret that could change my whole life.

For some reason, I don't feel comfortable at all right now.

“I'm pleased… hmm, or rather, I'm pleased to know that my sister has done so much for you. Lately, she and I haven't really been close, and we've barely chatted. So I didn't know where she went or what kind of people she hung out with.” My words come out a little sour, and I press my lips together.

The lovely Mina, as always, is proving to be the best. I wonder if the day will come when she damn pedestal will be nothing but a pile of ruins at my feet. I thought all this time you'd been pining for roses, but instead you've been doing the right thing. What else don't I know about you, Ahn Min?

What don't I want to know about you?

''Yes, yes, she helped us a lot. Now let's get on with signing the documents, do you mind? I don't want to keep you any longer than necessary.” His words were very dry, businesslike, and in no way in keeping with the previous flirtation. Something flashed in his eyes—concern, doubt, maybe even fear—there was a tense tremor in his hands, and his whole aura changed, as if something huge and evil had turned its attention to him.

“Sure, let's get started.”

The entire process took no more than 30 minutes. I signed document after document, with occasional detached comments from Mr. Lee, which were completely at odds with his previous behavior. There was nothing special about the documents, except for one thing: Rose Hill. As best, I could make out from the extensive stack of papers, it was a small house in the style of Victorian England. It was in the ownership of a gated cottage community, the grounds of which were owned by a private company. It was all too complex and confusing to realize the meaning in the space of 30 minutes. I'll deal with it later, most likely in the company of Soomin and a couple of bottles of wine.

“Can I sell the house I inherited, Rose Hill?” I asked without lifting my head from the papers; a few more strokes and I could be out of here. The atmosphere in the office was terribly tense; my skin itched unpleasantly and tingled in places as if it no longer belonged to me.

“To my regret, I cannot help you in this matter. In all matters concerning Rose Hill, you must deal directly with the owners of the land; I will email you their contacts.” The smile he gave me was forced, and I couldn't help but wonder what had made such a difference in his change of mood.

“Okay, thank you.” I signed the last form and handed the pile of paperwork to Mr. Lee. “I'm done; hopefully everything is settled now. Can I get a copy of the documents, preferably today?”

Taeho cursorily flicked through the pages to make sure each one was signed.

“Our administrator, Sunwoo, will give you all the documents. There is one more thing you need to get before you leave. When you leave here, go further down the corridor to the vault, and Bora will show you a locker in the storage room that belongs to your sister. Now, if you'll excuse me, my next customer is waiting, and I don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Lee.” I clumsily rose from my chair, trying to get out of this stuffy room as quickly as possible. The air felt pressurized, and I felt like I was going to start suffocating a little more. I needed to get out of here right now.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Miss Ahn. Please take care of yourself.” The look he gave me was sad—so unusually sad, like the look of a man living his last day on earth. It was as if the end had come for him before he could realize it.

His words, on the contrary, were a warning. “Take care of yourself.” What kind of lawyer wishes that to a client as a farewell? Was I in danger? Perhaps you were. Although that's true, it's worth crossing out the word “perhaps”, yes, I was in danger. Could he have known about it? Did Taeho know about the roses or the people who sent those awful flowers? Was there something he hadn't told me? A thousand questions were in my head as I walked out of his office.

Mechanically, I reach for the strands of pearls at my neck and twist them around my fingers, nervousness bubbling in my stomach. This isn't some worldwide conspiracy, Sarang. Wake up.

I think I'm becoming paranoid.

The door closes softly behind me. I'm alone in a sterile, shiny corridor.

In the distance, I hear a cheerful laugh—Soomin. She was definitely laughing. Soo is having a great time waiting for me to wrap things up. Even though she was denied my escort to Mr. Lee's office, she wasn't upset at all because the nice receptionist, Sunwoo, I think his name was, was determined not to let her get bored alone.

I could have fallen in love with him. He was charming and cute, with a sweet, heart-shaped smile that would make your teeth rot. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, Armani Prive, in a thinly stitched pinstripe. I'd say he looked like a puppy. With those big, wet, shiny eyes and the way he struck the right pose when you told him to.

Yes, that was the kind of guy I fell in love with—the kind with a good reputation and a well-paid job—the kind who makes love, not fucks. They're the ones who make sure he looks you in the eye and whispers to you about how good you're feeling when he's caressing your body.

Good boys. Obedient boys. Sugar-coated like candy.

If I fell in love with a guy like that, Soomin would break him up like a Christmas candy bar and take a bite right down the middle of him. She liked that type—kind, gentle, and submissive. There had never been a lack of male attention in her life, but for some reason, Soo had always surrounded herself with this type of boy, like colorful toys. She wasn't afraid to break them because she could always move on to the next one. They never crossed her, nodding in obedience and jumping as high as she asked. Men were no more precious to Soo than broken crystal balls, shimmering but useless.

The corridor in front of me was long and empty, with a single door at the end. The sound of heels hitting marble tiles echoed in my head, and the checkerboard pattern on the marble was jarring. For a moment, I thought the corridor was narrowing like a rabbit hole, endless and dark. I was short of air, unable to breathe, and the oxygen in my lungs was as thick and viscous as swamp sludge. I clawed at my neck with my fingernails, trying to pull off the pearl collar, but I felt myself tightening it stronger. My eyes stung from tears and mascara, and ink streaks ran down my cheeks, and somehow they felt colder than they should have.

My fingernails dug into the skin on my collarbones, scratching at it with cruelty and anger.

I needed to get away from myself. To be separate from my body and the way I felt. The nightmare awakened inside me, licking my veins, working its way inside, and gnawing into my soul. My consciousness was beyond my mind.

I hear the sound of tearing threads and thousands of pearls falling at my feet, and I fall with them. I want to go back to before it all began. Before the pain, Before the roses.

Fluorescent lights flash like the tails of nameless comets on the pearly roundness of the beads. I see stars exploding behind my eyes, painting the underside of my eyelids with intricate strokes—the constellation Gemini. Nergal. I want to remember the days when roses were just roses, not home to the ghosts of my soul.

I hear a sound—it's pearls crunching under sharp heels. Under steel heels, like the teeth of the Witch Queen.

“Oh my God, Saran!” Someone shouts. Soomin isn't laughing anymore.

Her hands are so cold against my clammy skin. She presses my face against her chest, and the feverish beating of her heart brings me back to reality. She is my white rabbit.

Voices, voices—there are so many of them. It's a cacophony of sounds and unpleasant cracking noises. The pearls keep breaking, and I keep crying.

Someone brings me a glass of unpleasantly cold water; it runs down my throat like a liquid flame.

I finally took a breath.

“Take me home.” That's all I can say right now. I want to go home, away from the world, away from the sun, and away from the memories.

“She's having a panic attack; she needs air.”

“No! I need to go home.”

“It's OK, sweetheart. I've got you,” Soo purrs, kissing the top of my head like a little baby. She pulls me off the floor with effort, lifting me to my feet.

I look down at the checkered pattern of the marble slabs and at the scattered pearls. In some places, the white slabs are smeared with red, like lipstick smeared by a kiss. This is blood. My blood.

My legs shake like a newborn fawn as Soomin leads me away from this place. Every step was painful, almost more painful than Soo's tight grip on my forearm. “It's okay, Sarang, we're going home.”

It's okay, Sarang.

It's okay.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“Are you sure you're feeling better?”

“Yeah, I'm fine now.” I squeezed out the shadow of a smile. Apparently it was useless; the look in her eyes remained the same: worried, with fear lurking around the edges. Fear for me.

“How long have you been having these attacks?”

“This is the first time. I guess… I don't know. Let's just say it's a consequence of trauma. I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm so sorry.” Soo crouched on the edge of the bed, taking my hand gently. I was made of glass; she didn't want to break me or do the opposite by hurting herself on me. “It's so horrible that you have to go through all this, baby.”

“Yes, it is.” What else could I say? I could not have said a word, and everything would have been understood. The wounds under the bandage itched terribly. Long red marks stretched along my collarbones and neck. Mascara was still smeared across my face, as was the soft pink lip gloss. I looked like a mess. I was a mess.

My throat was all dry and thirsty, and my eyes were so swollen I couldn't even open them fully.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight, love? We can watch a film or something; maybe one of those stupid comedy shows Mina hated. I'll make dinner and open the wine.”

“No need; I'll be fine. Soomin, go home; you should be resting too, not babysitting me. I'm fine, really. I'm feeling better, and I'll definitely get through the night. I'll probably go straight to sleep as soon as you leave.” Much as I loved Soo, I didn't feel like seeing anyone right now.

“If you say so, Please call me in the morning as soon as you wake up, okay?”

“Of course. Be safe, Soo. Love you.” I thought I covered my eyes for only a second before I heard the click of the front door. The mark of her kiss burned on my cheek.

I don't know how many hours I sat like that—completely still, not taking my eyes off the dark landscape outside the window, which was getting brighter now that a little moonlight was seeping through the thick clouds.

I didn't want to get out of bed, drowning in pillows and blankets like a pipe dream. I felt good in my bed. I couldn't understand what exactly had changed, but I could feel the change. Even in the morning, the bed had been cold and lonely, but now the silk under my fingers was warmer and softer to the touch. Even the smell of the blankets seemed to be different, like purple lilies and musk, a scent that remotely reminded me of something very familiar but long forgotten. Could it have been Soo's perfume? No, more like the scent that Yoru always brought with her.

By the way, where did she go? She was here when I left this morning, but knowing her talent for disappearing and reappearing at will, I didn't hold out much hope of seeing her today. It would be nice to have her around now, though.

I rolled onto my side, resting my cheek against the pillow. I didn't want to sleep, but I didn't want to get out of bed either. My gaze settled on the small box that lay on the chair across from the bed. A casket from a storage locker.

After my panic attack, Soomin took it away, since I was apparently incapable of doing so. Next to it was a neat stack of papers with black paint poisonously embedded in them, listing all the possessions I now owned, including Rose Hill, but the most valuable and important thing was kept in this little silver coffin.

The metal walls of the casket shimmered like liquid silver when moonlight hit them. I was mesmerized by this otherworldly glow. Number 0711 - Miss Ahn Mina. Sometimes a lifetime can be folded like origami and placed on a velvet cushion like a collector's item.

I struggled with myself for a few more minutes before I threw back the blankets and got out of bed. My curiosity outweighed my fear. At that moment, I had to remind myself that “curiosity killed the cat,” and if I had been any smarter, I would have thrown the box to hell and never thought of it again.

The box opened silently, and I felt a chill, as if someone had dipped my heart in ice water. There weren't many things in the box—something old, something new, and something blue—all like a wedding tradition. It wasn't like Mina. She had always despised the idea of marriage; the very thought of anyone daring to claim her freedom made her sick.

It wasn't for her, and it wasn't for me.

Weddings are gorgeous, creamy bouquets of fragrant flowers that breathe in the dawn. At the end of a long journey down a narrow church aisle, a handsome prince awaits with the promise of eternal love. As if. Girls, guard your hearts, for they will eat them for breakfast. Piece by piece, like a birthday cake, until there's nothing left to keep you alive.

Then there'll be another, just as naive. And then another, and so on, endlessly. That's all love is. A streak of devil's rubies and eaten hearts.

There was no heart and no love in that box. Just one little piece of paper with torn edges and a handful of precious trinkets. Just one small puzzle piece that had fallen out of a huge and complex picture. I could recognize Mina's handwriting from a million others, but the words written on that little piece of paper were not hers. In each letter lurked something that had never belonged to Mina; her hand had scrawled those lines, but her lips had never uttered those words.

“My only love. My divine Rose, when I leave this world, I will leave you everything you could ever want. When you read this, I will be gone. Everything has been arranged; everything is ready for you. The whole world will belong to you, my love. I took care of it. On the back of this page, I have left the number of my good friend. Please give him a call; he will help you with all the things you need. He'll be waiting for you. He is the only one you can trust, Sarang. Your beloved Mina P.S. Don't forget, love is eternal.”

I flipped the sheet to the other side. The handwriting was the same but so different; the letters were sharp and crumpled, as if they were written in a hurry.

Hongjoong. I had heard that name before. I knew the taste of it on my tongue.

My fingers hurriedly dialed the number; I didn't look at the time, and, to be honest, I didn't care. I wanted to make sure that he was real and that this wasn't another one of her crazy fantasies that would lead me down a blind alley. I needed to know that Hongjoong wasn't fiction but blood and flesh, intermittent breathing, and an unevenly beating pulse.

At the other end of the phone, the long beeps were interrupted, there was a static pause for a second, and then I heard the sleepy and so welcome sound:

“Hello.”

148 notes · View notes

mi-i-zori · 3 months

Text

Blooming Love - Golden Hearts

CoD - Gaz x GN!Florist!Reader

SYNOPSIS : When Gaz stumbles upon a beautiful flower with the sweetest of secrets.

WARNINGS : Tons of fluff. Mention of Gaz being deployed, but nothing more.

I do not give permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my works, be it here or on any other platform.

Thinking about a Florist!Reader who secretly uses the language of flowers in their creations.

When an ex-lover asks for « a bouquet for their partner », probably trying to make them jealous, they simply offer a very professional smile before putting together a beautiful ensemble of bright flowers that basically tells the couple to go fuck themselves.

On the other hand, when a sweet old man tells them the order is for his daughter, who just gave birth to a beautiful baby, they whip up a bouquet full of warm and colourful love.

(Should we ever add a little magic in it, they could probably spread spells though their work. Silently wishing for a woman’s child to get better after a rough trip to the hospital ; maybe accidentally pouring negative emotions into a new batch of plants, hindering their growth or even straight up killing them because of the pressure. This is why they have to be extremely careful about their feelings when entering their little plant heaven, in case they end up bringing harm to their flowery friends.)

I can see Gaz stumbling inside their little shop for an occasion he didn’t really think about. He immediately takes a liking to the pretty bee buzzing around the place, honeyed timbre humming a song he remembers hearing once in a nearby café. When they ask what kind of flowers he would like for his bouquet, he simply tells them to follow their instincts. He leans against the counter, mesmerised as they carefully pick up a series of beautiful blooms with a serene look on their face.

He ends up coming back, again and again. His apartment is quickly filled with a sweet, flowery scent as he keeps ordering bouquets, using thousands of stupid excuses to justify his never-ending orders - even though they probably know he is going to take them home. In the end, he sneaks a flirty edge to his voice when he confesses, his tone underlining how they are the one who sparked his newfound love for plants.

His occupation doesn’t really allow him to keep anything more than a few ephemeral beauties, but it doesn’t stop him from waltzing in the shop with an enthusiastic greeting, his smile widening when they answer in their own sing-song voice.

« You remind me of a Moonflower, » they once tell him during one of his visits after a long deployment. They softly trace the dark circles lining his eyes, and he can’t help the way he quietly leans in their touch.

« Why ? » He asks, and he barely realises their voices are now barely a whisper.

« Because they’re seen as a symbol of blossoming in dark times. You keep facing the darkness of this world, yet here you are : standing proud and tall, with a dazzling smile painted on your face. »

One day, he watches them curiously as they carry a bucket full of red tulips to their workspace and mumble about how, despite not being people’s first choice when it comes to conveying their feelings, they are strongly associated with true love. They beam while telling him they are about to make a piece full of love for a marriage, and he realises their work might be more than just handling flowers and plants. The next day, he runs to the bookstore with a blooming interest for this new, exciting side of his love’s personality, immediately purchasing a few books about the language of flowers.

He carefully plans his next steps while being deployed. Soap’s teasing antics can’t seem to make his focus falter, even though his thoughts are constantly plagued by the hypnotising smile of the Flower waiting for him back home.

The first thing he does after finally coming back is follow the path to the flower shop. He easily catches them when they greet him with an excited hug, his stomach churning pleasantly when the familiar sweetness of their scent invades his senses. Though his mind seems blurred, his voice doesn’t waver when he asks them for a gorgeous bouquet of red tulips and roses.

« I found love, » he says.

Something flickers in their gaze, though it disappears quickly behind a smile.

He soon resumes his usual observations as they fly around their shop with practiced ease, his eyes picking up a few quirks in their normally perfect dance. Their hands tremble slightly as they finally wrap the ensemble of stems with clear paper. They barely manage to hide their hesitation when they wonder out loud who the lucky person might be, a false playfulness floating in their tone.

He doesn’t hesitate to place the bouquet in their hands, his lips meeting with their cheek. They immediately hide against his chest, and he can’t help but laugh at their little squeals, savouring the way their body fits so wells against his.

They hold the flowers close to their heart as they finally grace him with a kiss, the both of them finally allowing their feelings to bloom under the sunshine of their love.

#cod gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cod gaz x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #gn reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw3

79 notes · View notes

faerytreealtars · 8 months

Text

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Your Souls Origins ‧₊˚✩彡

Hello my dear Saplings! 🌱 A new PAC today that I hope you enjoy, take a deep breath, and choose whatever images resonate with your soul and heart, Happy reading! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Today I channeled the story of the birth of your very soul, where exactly did you come from, what story has your soul been trying to tell you or remember? Hopefully, this PAC will shine some light on the answers you seek.

I would love to hear if the message you received resonated with you, so don’t feel afraid to comment, for it makes me so happy to connect with you all! 💕

Song: Soulless Creatures - Aurora

Faery-Tale: Snow White & Rose Red - "One cannot never be too fortunate when one has a soul of true kindness"

[ My Instagram ♡ / Personal Readings ♤ / Faery Masterlist ☆ ]

Pile 1

[Cards: Ace of Wands, Three of Swords, Judgement + The High Priestess]

Your soul first began life within a highly evolved society - they had mastered the use of technology and energetic frequencies far beyond a lense binding them together to further heighten their awakened minds. I see in my mind a city filled with pure white towers and large crystals that jut from the earth like Icebergs that are capable of transforming the frequencies they carry into power to fuel a large city. You and your species were creative beings too and liked to combine your logical minds with your artistic hearts creating fantastical pieces. Living in a society such as this which wanted for nothing meant you spent your days in peace. You did not worry about supposed foes or close off your gates to outsiders. Everyone was a friend or ally to yet be made was the general thought among the populace. This was unfortunately your undoing, perhaps they misunderstood your peaceful ways as a slight against their power but you welcomed in another race who were filled with anger and hate they played an act until it was time to strike. It only took a day for the city to fall, all but ash left in its wake. Few were able to flee...but the numbers were few and far between. A whole race of intelligent minds and a city of wonder and knowledge were gone never to return to its state of magnificence again. This is why deep down your soul may lament a forgotten home or feel a confusing sense of homesickness.

Pile 2

[Cards: Eight of Swords, Two of Wands, King of Wands, Ten of Pentacles + The Empress]

Your soul was lost, a young being left alone in the inky darkness of the night not even the cold stars could comfort you and so you wandered on. A hunger in your heart for home until at last! You found another identical to you - who shared the same longings and the same dreams. You hung on tight to one another afraid of letting go. You journeyed together until you found a place that was as isolated and alone as you both had once been - you made it home and that home soon became a colony abundant in resources and trade. Many other souls flocked to it - some like you and some entirely unique. Together you built a society that could be inherited by other lost souls down the centuries.

Pile 3

[Cards: The Magician, The Chariot, The World, Queen of Pentacles + Ten of Pentacles]

You were the alchemists, the unfound genius of your time. Always on the go, always on the move chasing the next brightest star - you didn't want nor need a "Home" You were and always would be your own home and didn't want to feel trapped, it would only slow down your mind. Being free allowed you to see the most wonderous creations in the galaxies - Your independent streak never faded & it only benefitted you as you communed with the mighty showing off your skill and knowledge & gaining recognition & reward! Not you fully cared for the material as you never stayed too long in one place to fully enjoy - running off and jumping down the next rabbit hole. All in all Your soul was happy and it was free.

Once again I thank all of you and your spirit teams, most importantly your higher self/Soul for allowing me to divine and tell your story, all of you had such beautiful if a little bittersweet tales to tell.

Remember that this is a general reading though! Not all may apply to you so go with sentences that make your intuition feel something and try to piece together the missing pieces yourself, if you can!

~Much Love, Fae ♡

125 notes · View notes

luna-writes-stuff · 7 months

Text

Run To The Water, Lucifer

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader (more OC, but no specific appearances/names/pronouns are mentioned!)

Fluff, reunion, lore-heavy

Word count: 3826

Tw: mention of injuries, constant lower back pain (because I know I’m not the only one who struggles with this), some a la Prometheus eternal punishment thing. Mutual longing, God is an asshole. I think I swore maybe two times? Again - more OC than reader, but not entirely so idk. Not proofread.

Summary: Before mankind, there were angels and there was you. But unlike the angels, you weren’t created by God’s hands, and he loathed you for it. He used you as an inspiration for humans before trying to get rid of you. Now, years later, your favourite angel is running free again. And he comes to seek you out.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

Oh, desert speak to my heart. Oh, woman of the earth. Maker of children who weep for love. Maker of this birth.”

In the beginning, before mankind and capitalism and whatnot, Earth was a simple run ground for god and his angels. They got to run haywire, create things, destroy things, whatever would ‘inspire’ God, as he had put it. He came to create light, life, death - everything. But through everything he had made and everything he had prided himself on, he had never created you. You came into existence long before the humans, from a source no one truly knew. He could have left you there to rot: something that wasn’t his. It was almost an insult. Yet something about you made him give in, caused him to offer you shelter where his angels would be safe.

And as much as he initially hated you, he saw something in him that his angels didn’t show him: inspiration for his greatest creation yet. He kept you close only leaving you around his four most trusted sons when he was away. It never felt like a prison to you.

It didn’t, until Adam and Eve were created.

As they set their first steps on Earth, you were approached by a group of angels, claiming they were there to ‘escort you out’. You had followed them, had it not been for Lucifer, and his distrust towards his siblings. God had seen your purpose fit - you had become his greatest inspiration, mankind; an improved version of you. Or that is what he had believed. You were not his creation, therefore did not deserve to set foot on his land. And after he had realised his greatest invention, it was time to get rid of ‘that which was left’.

“'Til your deepest secrets are known to me, I will not be moved. I will not be moved.”

Lucifer had helped you hide from his father and siblings, making sure you were safe as they scavenged the Earth. For years, this worked. Humans evolved - though slowly - and Lucifer’s temper had begun to grow significantly worse.

It was after only a handful of decades that you were finally found. In his act of cruelty, God made his favourite son execute his ‘dumbest decision’, still unaware of the fact that it had been Lucifer who had kept you hidden all these years. That is when he snapped. He belittled humans, claiming them to be a cheap copy of you - which had held truth in it - and needy. God forgot his first children just to be able to rule his new playthings.

It was that fateful day that had led to his downfall. He was cast down from Heaven, forced to live upon the place that housed the creatures he hated most. He tried to rule Hell for a while, making sure you had still been safe. Even after centuries of humans coming into existence, angels kept looking for you everywhere. And though the search had significantly faded over time, you knew that if you were to announce your presence, they’d try to get rid of you as quickly as they could.

Many had believed you had died in those years. Though not nearly ageing as quickly as humans, you surely couldn’t be immortal. The opposite was proven when the angels landed their attack on Lucifer. It was when you had finally been captured, that Lucifer’s strength slowly began to face, until he was banished to the cage.

Since then, he hadn’t known what had happened to you, nor where you had been. And in his eyes, that had been a worse punishment than being kept in a cage.

“Don't try to find the answer When there ain't no question here. Brother, let your heart be wounded And give no mercy to your fear.”

God couldn’t kill you - the weakling. Instead, he stripped you off all that made you divine, save for your ageing process. You were forced to stay on Earth and live out the rest of your eternal life without a branch of special on you. You were quick to find out God had kept angels in your street, keeping constant vigilance. If you were to even say the wrong thing, he’d know.

It took a long time for you to adjust to simply living on the streets as everyone did. You had to reinvent yourself a ton of times in order to keep up the facade of being a mortal woman. But after a while, you learned to maintain a normal job, pay bills (as God had so horribly intended), make new friends, watch them grow old and happy, then ‘die’ of a sudden cardiac arrest. And the cruellest of it all, was the fact you couldn’t die, even if you wanted to. God would find a way to bring you back.

An eternal punishment for simply existing.

“Adam and Eve live down the street from me. Babylon is every town. It's as crazy as it's ever been. Love's a stranger all around.”

It was late when you returned home from work. One of the cons of turning more mortal was the constant ache in your lower back, and your incapability to heal it. All you really wanted to do when you came home was fall into your bed and not get out for a long time.

The walk home was silent, but what caught you off-guard was the lack of eyes on you. For the first time in decades, you didn’t have the constant feeling of being watched. And it caused an unsettling shiver to run down your spine. Angels weren’t one to give up on their tasks - not without a significant threat. And if it had taken them out, you weren’t safe to begin with.

With a quicker pace, you walked onto your patio, your keys gripped tightly in your hands in case someone would try to sneak up on you. Unlocking the door, you walked in, immediately locking it behind you. A long sigh escaped you when you heard the satisfactory click.

Kicking your shoes off and hanging your coat over a chair, you waltzed towards the couch, falling down onto it with an obnoxious huff. You turned the tv on, staring at the screen blankly, the words not fully registering.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, something told you you were not alone. And though that usually brought a terrifying chill, this seemed somewhat comfortable.

“In a moment we lost our minds here, And lay our spirit down. Today we lived a thousand years. All we have is now.”

You sat upright, now scanning the room more intently. From the corner of your eye, you could see something move in the kitchen, followed by a light amount of noise. Not turning the tv off, you carefully walked towards the source, turning your head around the corner first.

You didn’t recognise the man in the kitchen. You did, however, recognise the faint glow emanating from him. No human held that glow, not unless their body was being used by someone else.

The scrubbing on the jacket halted, and you now noticed the bloodstains on it. You frowned at the sight, then dropped your shoulders as you noticed the small pile of already red-stained towels. When the man turned around, you came face to face with him, and it suddenly began to click why the room had felt so comfortable.

“Lucifer?”

“Run to the water And find me there. Burnt to the core but not broken.”

“You’re alive,” he breathed, before dropping the towel and walking up to you, pulling you into his figure. You hesitantly returned the embrace, still half in shock of what had just happened. For years, you believed God had killed his son, leaving you alive in terrible mockery, but the opposite was proven now. And in his eyes, he believed you had died as well. He went out on a gut feeling and found exactly what he had been looking for.

When his hands tightened on your back, you finally yielded, vehemently returning the embrace, burying your head in his chest. “You’re alive,” He repeated, one of his hands trailing to your hair, running his hand through it softly, as if frightened that notion would break you.

As you parted, his eyes remained on you, trailing over your figure as if to properly observe you. “You haven’t changed at all,” He muttered, before he took you into his embrace again. “I thought you died,” You managed to whisper, your eyes glued to his wings that had now become apparent.

“The feeling is mutual,” He sighed, keeping you at arm’s length when you heard a car pass by. His eyes trailed to the window, an instant glare building on his face. “We need to get out of here. Don’t worry about the angels,” He spoke in one breath, before looking at you again. “I took care of them.” “I figured,” You nodded, still at loss for words.

“We'll cut through the madness Of these streets below the moon. These streets below the moon.”

Outside, you heard car doors open, followed by heavy footsteps, walking towards your porch. “Lucifer,” A gruff voice cut through the tense silence. On the other side of your kitchen stood another person, one you easily recognised as angel. You furrowed your eyes at him in anger, all too familiar with angels and the way they perceived you. You didn’t miss the slight smile on Lucifer’s face as he looked at the angel.

“Too late, little brother.”

And with that, the two of you had left your home, now suddenly in the middle of a forest. You looked around quickly, your stomach churning as the brief travel ended. Your knees buckled underneath you, your hands extending to break your fall. Nausea settled in you as you tried to regain your breath, remaining hunched over. Lucifer observed you from a distance, his hands in his pockets.

“So,” He began, his voice slightly uncomfortable. “You mortal now?” You looked over your shoulder, sparing him a mocking smile: “Consider it your father’s greatest gift.”

His eyebrows raised the words, silently cursing his father for your punishment. “At least he didn’t kill you.” “Bastard couldn’t do it,” You muttered. “Claimed I reminded him too much of you.” “He’s always so sentimental.” Lucifer agreed.

“And I will never leave you, 'Til we can say, this world was just a dream. We were sleepin', now we are awake 'Til we can say.”

When you remained on the floor, your breathing unsteady, the fallen angel walked towards you. He frowned lightly at the sight of your discomfort. “You okay?” A groan came from you as you tried to sit upright, pain shooting through your lower back. “Just peachy.”

Lucifer’s lips formed in a thin line, observing your figure. “Right,” He spoke sarcastically. Then, he reached down, holding his hands on your shoulder. When he didn’t do anything else, you looked at him confused. The angel seemed conflicted, looking at you as if he was expecting you to say or do anything. When you didn’t say anything, he took a step back: “I can’t heal you.”

You sighed at that. Naturally, God decided to screw you over even more. “Curse that asshole,” You mumbled on your breath, before clumsily rising to your feet again. When you stumbled slightly, Lucifer’s hands found your waist quickly, keeping you in place.

“I’m fine.” You objected, even though your hands were now holding onto his lower arms. “Yeah, no.” He deadpanned, keeping you steady. “How the mighty have fallen.” You looked up through your lashes as he spoke those words.

“Don’t remind me.”

“In a moment we lost our minds here And dreamt the world was round. A million miles fall from grace. Thank God we missed the ground.”

He looked down at you for a short second before the scenery changed again. That same nauseating feeling entered your stomach as you fell down on something soft. You groaned in pain, curling up, almost as if trying to protect yourself. For a second, you forgot you were around Heaven’s most wanted, and simply laid down, taking a moment to regain your posture.

“No, this is amazing.” You objected as you sat up, now seeing you had landed in some kind of fancy five-star hotel room. It was then that you noticed you had fallen onto a huge bed, the blankets shifting underneath you. You looked at Lucifer with questioning eyes, not understanding why you were suddenly somewhere else.

“Humans need rest.” He just spoke, sitting on a chair next to the bed. “I’ll be fine.” You disagreed, preparing to get off the bed. Before you could set a foot on the floor, Lucifer shook his head, grabbing a book from seemingly nowhere.

“No, you won’t,” He sighed. “I’ll just wait here, I guess.”

“Run to the water And find me there. Burnt to the core, but not broken.”

You simply stared at him. Only minutes ago you were still convinced of his death, well-adjusted to a simple mortal life. And without preparation, he had appeared in your kitchen and whisked you away to who knows where.

You blinked twice at the realisation. You thought he was dead for years. And there he sat, directly in front of you. As if nothing had happened. Noting your eyes still on him, Lucifer looked at you from his seat: “What?” “They told me you died,” You breathed. “I thought I would be the only one left at the end of time.”

He lowered his book upon your words, an unsure expression on his face. You began to grow concerned you might have said the wrong thing. Who knew what he had been through all those years? It mustn't have been easy for him either. “Thought I’d be locked in a cage forever,” He ultimately spoke, halting your concerns. “Had to go through daily torment of mentioning my fall and your death to me.”

Though he spoke in a sarcastic tone, you knew his words were genuine. And as him, you did your best to lighten the situation. You could feel the conflict and pain radiating off of him, but you weren’t going to mention it to him. Not now. Instead, you spoke: “Guess our deaths were a little exaggerated.”

“We'll cut through the madness Of these streets below the moon. With a nuclear fire of love in our hearts.”

“Well, at least there’s still one good thing in this world.” He shrugged, and you couldn’t help but smile at his words, a heartfelt expression crossing your features. At your face, Lucifer slowly shook his, holding his hands up: “No. Forget I said anything,” Pointing towards your smiling figure, he gave you an accusing look. “That was a moment of weakness.”

You didn’t tease him about it. Perhaps later you would mention it again. For now, you just enjoyed his presence, his stupid remarks something you had missed for a very long time. When your smile finally faded, Lucifer just looked at you, his expression relatively neutral, even though you could feel the fondness in his gaze. Be that as it may, the words he spoke weren’t fond in any way. If anything, they had caught you off-guard.

“I’m gonna burn this place down. Restart the world in my image.” Ah yes, the infamous Apocalypse. Of course, you couldn’t forget about that. It was foretold. If anything, you had an idea the angels were planning something for a while now. They had begun to grow more secretive and silent over the last few months. You first thought they had started losing interest in you, but that had not been the case. They were simply preparing for a rematch with Lucifer.

You couldn’t help but understand his views, especially considering what the both of you had gone through in your history. Though your views hadn’t always been the same, you wanted to be at his side. It was the safest you had ever been, nor would ever be.

“Yeah, I can see it now, Lord Out beyond all the breakin' of waves And the tribulation.”

“What would that be?” You asked, to which Lucifer nonchalantly shrugged. “Less humans, more lightsabers.” Though he seemed fond of that idea, you didn’t laugh at it. “Maybe I’ll just wipe this world off the map. We could run to a remote planet.”

You couldn’t help but remain silent at his words, just staring at him, not sure what to do or say. And he had noticed, an oblivious ‘what’ coming out of his mouth. You blinked twice, forcing yourself back to reality. “I’ve spent lifetimes here now,” You answered, your voice much more gentle than you had intended. “I don’t know, there’s good things here too.”

He raised his eyebrows at your statement, testing your words. “Like what?” You shrugged. “I really like dogs.” “We can keep the dogs.” He quickly added, but so did you: “Music is pleasant.” “I’ll find a way.” He continued, to which you groaned in objection.

“Lucifer, humans aren’t evil.” “They’re a faulty copy of you!” He returned angrily. Not at you, but at his father. For daring to mock you in such a brutal way. For the way he wanted to get rid of you once he copied you to make his own creation. “A cheap replication.” He continued to rant. “I don’t want cheap replications when I can have the real thing.”

“It's a place and the home of ascended souls Who swam out there in love.”

“Thank you,” You whispered, unsure of what to answer, but you knew compliments were hard to come by from him. Even though that was true, you couldn’t help but already feel remorseful for losing the life you had known so well for the last few years. Sure, it had been torture for you, but all good moments came from humanity.

“I know the apocalypse is inevitable,” You tried to persuade, laying back down onto the bed. “But think it over.” With that, you turned around, facing your back to him.

“Think it over?” Lucifer repeated incredulously. “Humans are terrible! Have you not caught up with history of the last few years?” “I’ve lived it.” You called over your shoulder, not mad at him. In fact, you had grown kind of disappointed and sad upon the thought of humanity fading from existence. You knew Lucifer could actually do it if he really put the effort into it. “Humans aren’t inherently evil,” You went on. “If I remember correctly, it were the angels who wanted to kill everything.”

He was silent for a moment. Longer than you were used from him. You started to wonder if he might have left. Surely, he wouldn’t have done that.

“Run to the water And find me there. Burnt to the core, but not broken.”

“And that’s why they’ll go too.” He suddenly spoke, now laying next to you on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You let out of quiet sigh of relief upon his figure, scooting closer to him, but not enough to touch him just yet.

“And live in a world with just the two of us?” You tested. “Wouldn’t that grow…tedious?” You trailed off slightly, knowing you could speak your mind in front of the devil without risking him smiting you. Yet, it felt as if you were cursing him whilst he was directly in front of you.

“Tedious?” He echoed, chuckling as his head turned to face yours, silently assuring you he wasn’t insulted at all. In fact, it had entertained him slightly. You returned his smile, a light feeling entering your stomach upon finally seeing his joy again.

You remained laying there for a second, bathing in the glee of simply having you with him. The feeling seemed mutual, as you watched one of his wings wrap around your figure, pulling you against his body whilst his wing remained draped over you. His arm pulled you into his side, his hand coming to a rest on your side.

His touch was cold, though welcomed. You figured hell must have done a number on him - he had never been cold to touch before.

“We'll cut through the madness Of these streets below the moon. With a nuclear fire of love in our hearts.”

“Well,” He started, thinking out loud. “I could take over Heaven. Rule the string puppets from up there.” You placed your hand on his chest in agreement, a smile crossing your features as you pictured the demise of the angels who have taunted you and haunted you for centuries: “I am all for taking Heaven over.”

The angel chuckled at your comment, rubbing your skin in repeating patterns. “I know you are.”

Then, a second silence struck the pair of you, this one more comfortable, void of any tension of disagreement. The breathing of his chest was a soothing notion for you, all nausea from earlier now finally fading away. The ache in your lower back seemed to calm down slightly on the soft mattress. You silently wondered if Lucifer had felt it when he tried to heal you and got you something that would help with it.

“I’ve missed you so much,” He sighed, slight melancholy in the tone of his voice. “No one else will pay attention to me.” “You egocentric bastard,” You joked, getting comfortable in his arms.

“I missed you too, Lucifer.”

“Rest easy baby, rest easy. And recognize it all as light and rainbows, Smashed to smithereens and be happy.”

Perhaps it had been due to the adrenaline wearing off, you finally being in his arms again, or the fact that you simply had a very tiring day, but your eyelids grew heavier with every breath you took. Falling asleep in your earlier surroundings had always been difficult for you: angels were watching your every move. It was hard to feel safe under the gaze of those who swore to kill you not too long ago.

However, for the first time in a very long time, you finally felt safe. The familiar feeling of his heavy wing draped around you and his looming presence seemed to bring some special sense of comfort that you had longed for for so long.

And thus, Lucifer would spend the rest of the night in his new vessel, staring up at the ceiling for hours on end, not moving, just for you to get a healthy amount of sleep. Talking could happen later, and he had all the time in the world. His siblings wouldn’t find him. Not if he didn’t want to be found. And now, he wanted nothing more than to simply be forgotten by them and remain there.

Right there at that exact moment, he felt peace - something that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and wouldn’t feel again not much later.

“Run to the water. Run to the water.”

#November writings 2023 #spn #supernatural #lucifer #spn lucifer #lucifer spn #lucifer x reader #spn lucifer x reader

100 notes · View notes

natalyarose · 2 months

Text

𝑅𝑒𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓉… (𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜, 𝒮𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝐵𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒾!)

~ This is a bit of a personal one lol, maybe I'm getting a little too comfy on tumblr- but hey, I like it here and I'm very grateful for everyone who's taken an interest in whatever I have to say :)

~ tagging this on Nakshatra tumblr because I feel like this reflection perfectly encapsulates Venus Nakshatras and is very aligned with the Sun moving into Bharani, the birth of Venus among the Nakshatras

// warning, cringe and angsty lmao

I have such an odd relationship with my artistic process. Unconventional? Stubborn. Sometimes just straight up bad lol.

I want to create beautiful, meaningful things, yet I have this sort of extreme resistance to being perfect or professionalism (however, somehow perfectionism and such a ruthless self-antagonism for not being 'enough' at the same time..).

It's almost like I purposely sabotage my art by intentionally leaving in mistakes, or leaving it somewhat dishevelled in protest of perfection. In hopes that the beauty and artistry still manages to shine through to the right people.

I guess it's also this thing where I feel like the imperfection makes art more unique, more exclusive- more personal & dearly held to the people who do find the beauty in it that I initially wanted to communicate. But, there is a difference between artsy, grungy, rawness and... just being crap, lazy, unrefined, undisciplined. (I'd never refer to someone else's work in this way but myself... mann).

Knowing full well that my artistic creation likely 'needs work', is not a finished product and will very likely be criticised for its' imperfection, I still have the overwhelming urge to go ahead and share it with the world/post it. In all of its' messy (again, maybe just straight up bad lol) glory. Then I wonder why I'm not gaining the traction I want haha. When I inevitably receive criticism, I get so hurt by it, I beat myself up and it eats at me to the point that I can't sleep at night, I'm up reciting the criticisms in my head and weaving them into my very own nightmare!

I don't understand why I do this to myself lmao. Later on after posting & putting myself out there, I hear that imperfection in the song, I hear those vocal parts I stubbornly left in and didn't want to redo, I see the dodgy brush strokes I refused to fix up in the name of authenticity, and I cringe. In fact, I feel such a deep shame for it all that I take everything down out of embarrassment. Even though it was fully my decision to put up something amateur sounding and imperfect.

Maybe it's something like the weight of desire for perfection is too much, so I just go 'to hell with it!'.

It's like an endless cycle for me, and I realise that over the years, if I'd just left things up online and was more patient with myself, I'd probably have cultivated a following of some sort by now, or maybe used peoples' criticisms to improve the art to a greater extent. I mean, there are people who have mentioned to me when they notice the art is imperfect and needs work, but there are just as many lovely people who have gone totally out of their way to express deep appreciation for the music/art I've put out and enjoyed it.

Here's my 'theory' as to why I do this to myself: when I create art, I don't just want to make pretty things, though I want that too. I want to be loved, and FELT. I want to bring people to this raw, vulnerable place in my heart where my ideas emerge from. I want to be loved not in spite of the imperfections, but alongside them, all encompassing.

I don't want to have to be perfect, have $1000 worth of equipment, hours and hours of recording time trying to 'get it right' in order to be understood and deemed beautiful. I don't want to show off how perfect or skilled I am either, I want to make people feel something. I want it natural.

r a w.

I kinda enjoy for art to be unfinished and slightly unpalatable on purpose.

Maybe it's a bit of entitlement on my part, expecting that even if I do a mediocre job, people will still enjoy it and see my 'talents'/message.

Truth be told though, that's how I love other people, how I enjoy others' art as well, it's not just something with me.

When I listen to artists I love, I adore seeing something beautiful, yet somehow messy and jarring. A sort of underground-esque, 'wild feminine' creation. It evokes that much more feeling and passion that something designed to be perfect just lacks to me.

I can't get into a lot of bands that are considered 'objectively good' by many people because they just sound too perfect to me- There's a lot of times I come across artists that sound technically good, very clean but my heart just can't get into it. I find myself listening and thinking 'I wish this was recorded on a toaster', or 'I wish there was a more rough sound to the vocals' lol, I crave the rawness & intimacy that imperfection and roughness lends.

Ugh, it all creates such an internal conflict- like I want my art to be seen, to be loved yet I somewhat reject things it takes for the art to be considered objectively good & well rounded.

The harsh reality might just be that just because I see the beauty in imperfection, just because I know I've got this personal, very niche vision of what 'good' sounds like/looks like in my mind, that doesn't mean other people are going to find value in the same things.

Of course, maybe all of this is just pretentious excuses & my own self-hatred manifested (I don't actively hate myself, I try to be much kinder to myself these days but yknow)

Anyway, I realised that it's the start of Bharani season in galactic centre mid-mula Ayanamsa today & I think this write up really aligns with that.

Thankyou for reading lol.. again, a bit of an angsty personal thing but maybe it could be relevant to someone, if y'all wanna know what Venusian artistic angst looks like in real time lmao 🖤🥀

#nakshatras #astrology #music #artist #aesthetic #vedic astro observations #venus

39 notes · View notes

cult-of-the-placeholder · 8 months

Text

I have so many bishop thoughts and headcanons in my mind I can't focus on anything else so I'm just gonna regurgitate them here:

- Leshy has whatever the godly equivalent of ADHD. He is chaos incarnate, literally. He is always moving, always fidgeting with things under his cloak, is always pacing around and talks to himself a lot

- Also my man's invented flowers. Plants existed before his birth, of course, but modern day flowers were his creation, plants shaped and crafted to be bowls for the insects to dine from. He looks out for the smallest amongst them, even the most insignificant

- Among the siblings he was the most artistically inclined. He loved to paint, and sculpt, and in fact glass making was a great passion of his alongside gardening. On his 1,000th year anniversary of godhood, he surprised each of his siblings with a stained glass portrait in their temples, depicting each of them in the most significant memory he had of them: for Heket, it was her grandest harvest ritual. For Narinder, the very first sacrifice in his name. For Kallamar, the day he parted the seas to pluck the deepest ocean crystals for a ritual. And for Shamura, their weaving of a Time Tapestry that depicted the future

- Leshy hasn't made a single artistic piece since loding his vision. His crown can show him his surroundings, but it's not the same. Narinder's betrayal drained away his creative spark, and he has no desire to make anymore

- As a frog, Heket is very musically inclined. Before losing her voice, she'd often lead her congregations in the most vibrant hymns and choruses of praise, and in fact composed almost every musical piece that is used to sing glory to their names. She wrote hundreds, thousands, countless songs for her siblings, and her favorite way to funnel devotion was to have her followers sing to her. Wind and string instruments were her favorite, but she could play just about anything

- Even before Narinder's banishment, Heket was a very serious, rather surly individual. It wasn't easy to make her laugh, and in fact only her siblings could, and even then it was an uphill battle. But if they could, she had the deepest, biggest belly laughs, the kind that would leave a person bent over with their arms around their middle, tears of mirth streaming down her face. She hasn't had a good laugh since Narinder was imprisoned, and of course hasn't sung or danced either. Music now just makes her sad, and the sadness makes her angry: she forbids any sort of music in her temple

- Heket mothered/fathered most if not all of the mini-bosses of Anura. Frogs can swap their sex with ease, and she's a goddess: I think she should be able to lay her own eggs or fertilize another's on a whim 😌 each was the strongest child of each clutch, only one selected among hundreds as worthy to serve their mother's temple in lofty positions. Trained and cultivated from the moment of hatching, she is both incredibly proud of and incredibly hard on them, demanding perfection and depthless devotion at all times. Her children give it gladly, for they are so lucky to be in the presence of their mother who is holy

- Before banishment, Narinder was very close to Shamura. They all were, really, but him especially: he shared the eldest's passion for the written word. As a godling he'd so often sneak into Shamura's forbidden library to partake in ancient knowledge and prophecies, though he was of course too young to understand it. He'd often beg Shamura to read to him, and even after outgrowing that need, he'd often seek out his sibling so they could read in amicable silence together, shoulder to shoulder with each holding one side of the book

- As the god of death and the shepherd of souls, he was expected to pass judgements on the deceased, be they blessed or damned. It was a special joy of his, getting his chance to play with the heretics his siblings tortured and sacrificed. They would know no peace, even in death, for daring to go against the Old Faith

- The first time Narinder reversed death and let a mortal walk again was actually his niece: Heket's half-mortal daughter, Zepar. She had been slain tragically by a traitorous dissenter, and the way his sister wailed with grief rattled him to his very core. He didn't even realize death could be undone, he just... grabbed the little one's soul, fixed her body with his power, and breathed life back into her. It was a shock to everyone but especially to him

- Kallamar wasn't always so timid and faint of heart. After Shamura he's the oldest, and his sibling was already an adult when he was born. In comparison, the other 4 were born in relatively short periods of time, close together. Kallamar was kind of their ringleader when they were growing up, and Shamura once remarked it seemed he was, "Born without fear." He was cocky, knowing he was a god and therefore immortal and invulnerable. He wasn't afraid of anything: the entire world was his playground. He led his three youngers siblings on adventures all the time, always dragging them into some mischief or other. He was perhaps the most gullible of the siblings, believing them all to be truly indestructible. Was it any surprise, though? For several hundred thousand years, they were

- When Narinder attacked them all, it basly affected all of them but Kallamar the worst: it was the first time he'd ever truly felt pain, had ever bled, had ever been afraid for his life. Had ever been truly afraid in general. And it deeply scarred him; PTSD left him a husk of his former self. He developed crippling paranoia and anxiety as his mind introduced a slew of previously unconsidered possibilities: if the Red Crown could hurt them, then could anything else? How would he know it was coming? Would he know? Could he? Would... would his other siblings turn on him the same way? He felt horrible for thinking that way, because he trusted and loved them so much, but anxiety cannot be reasoned with. He started to doubt his safety with them, and withdrew into his shell. He stopped speaking to them as much, and whenever they were together he couldn't keep his eyes from starting around nervously. Looking for a trap, looking for a way out, hands subtly shaking and shoulders trembling beneath his robes. It makes him miserable, torments him, because how can he be suspicious of the family he so dearly adores? But Narinder has shattered his ability to trust--once the safest place, their family is no longer an undefeatable bastion and he's riddled with fear because of it

- Kallamar is very hard of hearing even with his crown: it amplifies any and every sound around him so he can always be aware of what's going on. He prefers to be underwater, deep in the Seas of Sorrow, where underwater volcanoes power his forges and he can make his many weapon for defense in peace

- He desperately needs therapy and regularly has night terrors and flashbacks

- Shamura is a prophet, clairvoyance a gift they've always possessed. There are many ways they record the future: in books as written riddles, sometimes as images woven into countless silk threads that make up their webs, and sometimes at their loom. Tapestry weaving takes a long, long time, and is only reserved for the holiest of visions: the birth of their siblings was each recorded in one wuch tapestry millenia before any came to be, and they waited anxiously for the stars to reach the appropriate alignment recorded in the threads

- On the day of Narinder's birth, they recieved a terrible vision, fortelling of the way their baby brother would one day betray them. They tried so hard to stop the prophecy, thinking perhaps it could be foiled with endless love and devotion, but despite their affections Narinder still raised his blades against them. It's a regret that weighs heavy on their mind for all eternity, even though they know there's nothing they could have done

- As the god of war and wisdom they know best to pick their battles, and are sought out for their brilliant mind as often as they are for blessings in battle. Silk Cradle was the origin of ritualistic pit fights, though usually reserved for heretics as a punishment, forced to bludgeon each other to death for the amusement of the faithful before their souls could be passed to Narinder for judgement

- Shamura raised all 4 of the bishops, naturally, and loves their siblings with all their heart. Watching them all grow into fine adults is something they will always take immense pride in. Their greatest wish is that the five of them can be together, for eternity, living in happiness while the mortals worship them and feed them their endless devotion

- Shamura is actually rather vain: they made and designed all of the bishops' robes by hand, spun of their finest silk and embroidered with golden threads. They preen frequently, and thoroughly enjoy bathing in the hot springs. A god must always look their best to inspire and strike awe into the mortals that worship them, no?

- Shamura doesn't need to eat, none of them do, but thoroughly enjoys nothing more than delicately sipping warm blood directly from a sacrifice's veins. In true spider fashion they'll occasionally leave particularly tasty mortals strung up in trapped webs, delightful little bloodbags for them to drink from again later. Sometimes they'll even feed the really yummy ones, just so they'll stay alive longer and keep naturally producing blood

I think that's it for now. Maybe now I can sleep lmao. I love the bishops

#the bishops of the old faith #cult of the lamb #headcanons #shamura #kallamar #narinder #heket #leshy

87 notes · View notes

bl00dst41ned · 8 months

Text

*.·:·.✦ another lifetime ✦.·:·.*

pairing: jude bellingham x black female oc (named her Nevaeh)

summary: in which when a life ends, another one begins

author's note: ummm…….i’m sorry guys. inspired by nao's 'another lifetime' song

warnings: mention of car accident and death

word count: 1856

“It’s gonna be a bit cold”

The translucid gel dripped on Nevaeh’s belly as she laid down on the hospital bed. The obstetrician spread the gel around the round stomach using her little sound instrument. She clicked a button, turning on the screen.

Nevaeh watched it move around until appeared the perfectly-formed baby silhouette. Her eyes gazed at the black and white image in awe.

“There she is”

“Looks like she’s sucking her thumb” Nevaeh pointed before looking at her left.

At her left sat Jude, whose leg couldn’t stop shaking out of excitement. His eyes glistened as he watched his baby girl.

His longtime girlfriend Nevaeh and him were expecting a little girl. Today was their last ultrasound before their baby’s arrival, due in two weeks. And the same as the others, they were in wonder in front of their little creation.

“She’s getting in the right position to get out” The doctor pointed on the screen. “But the due date stays the same”

She told them a few more information on the baby’s vitals and on the upcoming birth before the visit ended. The couple checked out of the clinic before leaving out of the building. Jude's hand automatically reached for Nevaeh's, tangling them together as he rubbed his thumb on her hand.

They walked to Jude’s car swaying their hands together. Once they both got in, Jude booked a Uber for Nevaeh since she had to go home and him, to training. As they waited for her driver to arrive, they sat in a comfortable silence.

Jude occasionally left soft kisses on his girlfriend’s cheek.

Nevaeh was the apple of Jude’s eye. She could always catch him lost staring. He admired her brown skin glowing in the sun that he loved so much. Her braids that she insisted on getting to be comfortable to give birth. Her naturally curved eyelashes moving as Nevaeh closed her eyes.

“You can’t sleep now, baby” Jude smiled seeing her tired expression. He knew how much Nevaeh hated to be woken up out of a nap, so he didn’t want to take the risk to make her mad, even more now that she was nine months pregnant.

“This driver need to come, I wanna sleep”

Deciding to stay awake, Nevaeh took her phone out, opening the Instagram app only to be met with her baby-filled feed. Her eyes shined from the overload cuteness, tears filling her eyes.

“Why are you crying, babe?” Jude asked, trying hard not to laugh. “It’s the babies again?”

“I just can’t wait, Nugs” Nevaeh called him by the affectionate nickname she gave him years prior. “Like, we’re going to be parents, and it feels like a dream come true” She ranted, full-blown crying. “Because I could not imagine another person to start a family with than with the person I love the most, and that’s you”

Her words had left Jude speechless. Nevaeh was shy when it comes to vocalise her feelings. She would write him letters to express her love, but the hormones had made her talk more and let her emotions out to him.

“I love you too” He responded with a grin. “And I can’t wait for her to arrive too. You’re my forever best friend and will be the greatest mom of all moms”

They exchanged a kiss and Jude went down to kiss her stomach, the baby kicking instantly. They observed her belly move as their daughter’s feet moved.

“Time for you to go” Jude realised the Uber had just came. He walked out the car going to open Nevaeh’s and help her out the vehicle. He accompanied her to the car, settling her in and not forgetting to drop a peck on her forehead.

“Bye Nugs I love you”

“I love you, babe”

………

Nevaeh's hand rested on her pregnant belly, feeling her daughter's light kicks against her palm. Her eyelids were now heavier and she started to doze off. Before she could, she heard the driver shout.

Nevaeh didn't get to look at what happened that her head was projected to the top of the car. Nevaeh crouched as much as she could, protecting her child as the car flipped over and over again.

The scene looked straight out of a horror movie. The sound of windows shattering, the screams, the metal dropping on the concrete.

Bypassers ran to the crashed Honda, ambulance already called over. A deadly atmosphere filled the space around. The violence of the accident left no hope to them for anybody to be alive as they still looked inside.

“There’s a pregnant woman!” One of them shouted seeing Nevaeh’s hands around her belly.

She opened her eyes once it stopped, only for them to be blinded by the smoke in the car. She could only mumble weakly "Nugs" before falling unconscious.

...........

"Jude"

At the call of his name, the man started running towards to get the ball from his teammates and shoot it in the goal. He went back to his place with his head down, breathing hard. As he looked up, he saw the club’s secretary, Louise, call him over.

He furrowed his eyes the closer he got to Louise, catching her worried face expression.

“What’s wrong?”

She stumbled on her words, struggling to form a sentence. She finally took a deep breath before breaking the news clearly.

“You need to get to the hospital quick, Nevaeh had got into a bad car accident-”

Louise could not even finish her sentence that he had took off running to his phone and car keys and rush to his pregnant girlfriend.

Each minute spent in the car felt like an hour. His sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel harder every time he had to stop at a red light. He silently prayed for his girlfriend and daughter to be alright and kept all negatives thoughts out of his mind.

At the hospital, he pratically ran to the front desk.

“Hello, I’m looking for my girlfriend” He managed to say in a calm voice. “She had gotten in a car accident earlier”

The nurse looked on her computer before answering to him.

“Third floor, the elevator’s on the far right” She pointed the direction.

Jude thanked her quickly before rushing to the third floor. He cut road of the first doctor that came his way.

“Excuse me, do you know where’s my girlfriend, she got in a car accident”

“Oh yeah, I’ll check, just wait there”

Jude did as told going to the waiting room. He tried to sit still but got up the next minute pacing back and forth in the room and sitting again. He repeated the cycle until a nurse came into the room, catching his attention.

“Are you here for a certain Nevaeh ?”

“Yes, can I see her ?” He immediately asked, frustrated to see her shake her head.

“Not yet. But there’s somebody else who wants to see you”

Jude was confused for a bit, not knowing who he had to see other than his partner. But one look at the nurse’s face made it clear in his mind. She was here.

He followed behind the nurse to a room, with another nurse inside. He approached them to see a newborn girl move around. His newborn girl.

“Look who’s there to see you” One of the nurse cooed. “You’d like to hold her”

“Obviously”

His face now held the biggest smile, showing his white teeth.

“Okay, take off your shirt and sit there”

Jude did as told as she set his daughter on his chest. The little baby gesticulated slowly before settling.

Jude stayed stiff, intimidated by this tiny little human, which the nurse had caught on.

“Relax” She said with a chuckle, earning one from Jude too. “We’re here if anything happens”

They reassured him the first few minutes before setting back, seeing that he felt more comfortable.

Finally alone with his child, Jude took a look to take in her features. Her fair skin from just being born. Her little head, her little hands, her little legs. She looked so tiny in his hands, fragile as porcelain. He watched her eyes opening and closing. Her dark brown eyes, just like her mom’s.

He snapped a quick picture as the nurses came to him.

“Seems like dad is handling it well”

Jude smiled while keeping his eyes on his little one.

“She has a lot of hair too” He rubbed the short black hair. “Nevaeh’s gonna be so happy to not have had heart burns for nothing”

The nurses face expression changed instantly. Their wide smiles were now replaced with concerning looks. It was silent for a few seconds before the one that took him to see his baby spoke.

“Unfortunately, Nevaeh didn’t survive the accident, I’m sorry”

Her voice resonated as if the room was entirely empty.

After the birth of their daughter, he didn’t even think of Nevaeh not being alright too.

“How c- what happened?”

“She…died shortly after the baby was born. I guess she used her last forces into giving birth”

Jude stared into space and his hand mechanically caressed his baby’s skin. A baby he never imagined raising without Nevaeh. Within hours, he had gone through the best and worst moments of his life, his mind split from happiness and sadness.

Jude walked out of the room minutes later, his head hanging low and feet dragging. He joined his family that he had called earlier. They quickly got up at his sight and Denise first started talking.

“How are they?”

“Little girl is here and healthy”

“And Nevaeh?”

His silence spoke louder than words could ever done. Since the news was broken to him, Jude had kept himself from crying, scared that his daughter could feel his sadness. But as soon as his mother wrapped her arms around him, all the tears bottled inside escaped his eyes.

He cried, his head snuggled in Denise’s chest, feeling like a child again. A child who just fell and needed a hug. His heart got hurt and needed comfort. Denise’s hand gently rubbed the back of his neck while reassuring him. Just like Nevaeh does.

Like she used to do.

judebellingham

9,557,513 likes

judebellingham I've never imagined having to write this. Nothing could have prepared me for it. Losing my best friend but also welcoming another one. And for that Nevaeh I thank you. For gathering the little rest of strength into bringing our love into this world, that you cherished so much. Best believe she'll be reminded of that every day. She looks just like you aswell. I wish you could see her. Sometimes it's hard to not have you by my side, but there's always someone to help me. So I should be alright. I hope you are granted Heaven. Because that is what you are. You were my Heaven on Earth. Heaven is your name. And that's where we'll meet again. I’ll see you in another lifetime. Until then, I’ll take good care of little Shaili, I promise. I love you both with all my heart 🐻‍❄️🤍 - Nugs

comments have been deactivated

like and repost for support (hope you enjoyed it)

i'm so sorry y'all but the song inspired me too much

masterlist for more

#written by bl00dst41ned #football #football blurb #football imagine #football x oc #jude bellingham #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x black oc #jude bellingham x oc

113 notes · View notes