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konpeitochodai · 30 days

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𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒: 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 両面宿儺

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ a potential series; sukuna x f! reader (tw (?): mentions of illness and violence) ; 1.3k words unedited; masterlist

in the tapestry of history, the heian period was a brushstroke of opulence amidst the canvas of japan’s past, a time when the court was a chalice of culture, brimming with the nectar of artistry and poise. the air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms, and the rustle of silken robes was the music of the day as nobles engaged in the delicate dance of courtly life.

you, a bloom in the illustrious garden of nobility, were the quintessence of heian splendor. your family, a lineage as old as the cedars that lined the path to the imperial city, was revered, and you, their sole daughter and heiress, were the embodiment of their grace and honor.

yet, whimsy often has a shadow, and yours was a malaise that draped over your vitality like a silk veil over a lantern's glow. illness had visited you, an uninvited guest whispering tales of fragility through the corridors of your being. your days, once filled with the laughter of courtiers and the whisper of brush on paper, now passed in a quieter cadence, punctuated by the careful ministrations of healers and the hushed prayers of your kin.

in this realm where the fantastic and the corporeal waltzed in a slow, intricate rhythm, your path was as unforeseen as the flight of a dragonfly over a moonlit pond.

as dawn's light surrendered to dusk, a calamity unfurled its cruel wings over the village that cradled your noble house. Whispers of smoke curled into the sky, a prelude to the inferno that would soon engulf the homes and hearts of your people. the flames, like ravenous beasts, devoured the tranquility of your sanctuary, reducing dreams and legacies to embers and ashes.

in the sanctity of your chamber, illness had rendered you as immobile as a painting, a silent observer to the chaos that raged beyond the shoji screens. the urgency of evacuation stirred the air, yet it seemed fate had woven a different thread for you. your attendants, faces taut with fear, fled for their lives, leaving you adrift in a sea of solitude, your life's flame flickering in the oppressive heat.

it was in this haze of despair and fever that a figure emerged, a towering silhouette against the backdrop of destruction. his presence was as enigmatic as the moon's path through a cloud-strewn sky. though your vision swam with the dance of your malady, you perceived the strength in his stance, the aura of power that clung to him like a shadow. this figure, a stranger amidst the chaos, stood as the only clarity in the blur of your world on fire.

his motives unreadable, his origins a mystery, he was the unknown variable in the equation of your fate, the last sight your weary eyes held onto as consciousness slipped from your grasp like the final petal of a season's last blossom.

in the thickening smoke, your voice, hoarse and weak, mustered the strength to speak through the veil of suffering, "end this... please, let this be my final reprieve." but the command, even in its plea, was met with a cold indifference from the towering figure. a command, no matter how faint, seemed to stir a distaste within him, a rebellion against the very notion of being ordered.

as the fire's light danced in his eyes, a revelation pierced the haze. he noticed the presence of a large curse spirit, its form twisted and malevolent, clinging to you with a parasitic zeal. this entity, unseen by the fleeing villagers, was a specter of malice, feeding off your life force, exacerbating your plight amidst the chaos.

his gaze, now fixed upon the curse that besieged you, revealed a new layer of complexity to the unfolding drama.

the curse spirit, drawn to the cursed energy that seeped from you, began to feed, siphoning your essence as you lay unconscious, lost to the world. and thus, a relentless battle ensued, a clash of wills and power. the figure, whom the flames seemed to bow before, engaged the spirit in a fierce conflict, each strike resonating with the intent to annihilate. the dance of their combat was as ferocious as the fire that consumed the village, a testament to the fury and the might that these beings wielded.

the battle that unfolded was a spectacle of raw, unbridled power, confined to the space where only the strongest curses dared to tread. sukuna, revered and feared as the disgraced one, found himself in an unusual predicament. he had only allowed a fraction of his immense power to surface, a sliver of his true capabilities, confident in his supremacy over any adversary.

yet, the cursed spirit that emerged from your body was no ordinary foe. it was a force to be reckoned with, its strength seemingly bolstered by the cursed energy it leached from your unconscious form. each exchange between sukuna and the spirit was a maelstrom of violence, a testament to the spirit's unexpected might. sukuna’s blows, usually decisive and fatal, were met with a resilience that bordered on the implausible.

as the fight raged on, sukuna couldn't help but entertain a thought, a morbid curiosity that gnawed at his pride. if you, whose body seemed so fragile and unassuming, were to perish, what magnitude of cursed energy would be unleashed? the spirit's tenacity hinted at a latent power within you, a reservoir of cursed energy that belied your outward frailty.

sukuna, engaged in this fierce struggle, found himself pushed to exert more of his power, to tap into deeper wells of his curse, not out of necessity, but to satisfy his own growing intrigue. what secrets did your weak body hold? what potential did it mask? these questions fueled his ferocity, driving him to dominate the spirit that dared challenge him, all while pondering the enigma of the cursed energy that lay dormant within you.

sukuna, in the midst of the battle with the malevolent spirit, decided it was time to end the charade. he unleashed a devastating increase in his power, amplifying it by a quarter, which sent shockwaves through the battleground. The spirit, previously feasting on your energy, stood no chance against such a formidable force.

the air itself seemed to shudder under the weight of his might, and the spirit that had been leeching off your energy recoiled, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught.

sukuna’s intentions were clear; he was poised to end not just the battle but also your life, to absorb the unique cursed power that had piqued his interest. as his hand reached out, the world seemed to stand still, the finality of the moment hanging heavy in the atmosphere.

but then, a flicker of change swept through Sukuna's domain. his senses, sharp as ever, picked up the approach of a multitude of sorcerers, their combined presence enough to cause even the disgraced one to take pause. It wasn't fear that stayed his hand, but rather a recognition of the opportunity that lay before him. the thrill of the chase, appealed to him the most.

with a swift decision, sukuna altered his plan. rather than dispatching you and facing the incoming sorcerers, he chose to whisk you away, making an escape not out of necessity but as a deliberate act to fuel the narrative he reveled in. the chase would continue, and you, now an integral part of this high-stakes game, unknowingly was now caught in the eye of a storm, a valuable piece in sukuna’s grand design, as he led you both into the unknown…

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ hello !!! this is my first ever attempt at the prologue of a series !! but i’m sort of unsure if this is interesting enough to keep going lol…i enjoyed writing it but idk i like writing drabbles and such and would like to receive requests !!! maybe i should’ve put that into a formal post lol lol. but yeah, i hope you enjoyed and let me know if i should continue this series

#⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡まりこからやで〜#𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒: 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 #呪術廻戦 #両面宿儺 #宿儺 #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #heian sukuna

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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That Which Burns, Must Someday Extinguish. Yan Scaramouche x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, uneven power dynamics, implied past not SFW, some misogyny from short king Mr. Incel Scaramouche. Word count: 2.5k.

Goodbyes are a tedious endeavor.

If at all possible, you would forgo them entirely, but social obligation demands otherwise. You’ve shaken enough hands today to rival a politician weaseling up the ranks. Some were pleasant, others were not; underhanded compliments must be a language your cohorts use more than their native tongue. Those who saw fit to scorn you through unnaturally wide smiles were of little consequence. As such, they have already faded away in your mind, allowing final preparations to take their coveted place.

You give the room that has served as your haven these past few years a final glance. What little personality you managed to infuse in it is gone, leaving nothing behind but blank walls, an empty desk, and a twin-sized bed stripped of its sheets. You’re about to shut the creaky wooden door for what is likely the last time (no amount of lubricant cured this malady), when a thought pins you in place. The same harrowing what if that sometimes inspires you to double-check the gas stove to ensure that yes, you killed the flame.

Setting down the lone piece of luggage not sent to the ship in advance, you make your way over to the bed. The knife you hid beneath your pillow in case of nightly intrusion is gone, as it should be. The knapsack packed with essentials that once took refuge beneath a groaning floorboard is similarly nowhere to be seen, though the offensive sound declaring its former existence remains. Your meager closet, too small for any two people to both fit inside of at the same time, has been picked clean too.

Everything is in order.

One final check, which you assume will net similar results as its predecessors: your desk.

Many a night was spent slaving away over the peeling oak, weary eyes reading over reports in waning candlelight. The reports were not meant to find an audience with you, that much you could tell from their highly classified nature. Still, what were you to say in opposition when handed (or rather tossed), this duty from your superior?

Former superior, you mentally correct, though the distinction matters little.

The desk’s drawers are thoroughly examined from top to bottom. It isn’t until you reach the very last compartment that you come across paper instead of wood. Fine parchment, too, far above what the common rabble would use. Hesitant, you pick up one from the carelessly strewn pile. Flipping it over reveals a purple wax seal — the mitsudomoe symbol, you think it’s called — undisturbed as when it was first applied.

Ah… what are you to do with this?

Undergarments left behind by a husband’s mistress discovered by his wife the following morning would be less conspicuous.

This, like the nightly reports always in need of his signature, were far above your rank. It wouldn’t bode well for any future occupants of this room or cleaning staff to find. Time is a finite resource for you presently, taking a detour to burn the envelopes unseen would be tricky and needlessly risky. You count four in total. Had his pride allowed it, you may have been tricked into opening and reading the first few lines, but the ostentatious packaging threw you off immediately. He somehow pronounced his imposing presence even in his physical absence.

You stuff the envelopes away, crinkling the admittedly well-done calligraphy of your first and last name. It would’ve suited you better had he scribbled the words with the same haste of a doctor prescribing his patient medicine. Instead, each character was crafted with unrivaled care, and you no doubt the contents within boast a similar quality.

For good measure, you hide it beneath some miscellaneous belongings, then snap the luggage shut. Once miles out at sea, you’ll toss the letters away. The ocean’s depths would serve as a more suitable home for this dross than any storage container. Let it sink where the sun won’t ever find it and be forgotten amongst the currents.

Though you’re wearing civilian clothing, you set your mask in place in accordance with Fatui rules and regulations. You’ll be free to remove it once out of the base’s perimeter. From what rumors have foretold, Snezhnaya’s branches are the most strict about this, you wonder if where you’re going next will allow some leniency. The climate is far warmer than the frigid winter wasteland you’ve occupied thus far.

All set to go, you secure your hands around the doorknob, twist, then open—

“Took you long enough. I was beginning to think you forgot how to operate doors by the length of your dallying.”

“My… lord…?”

You hadn’t heard a single soul traverse this hallway while you attended to your closing preparations. Perhaps that’s where the trouble lay, this is a frequently traveled area, it should’ve struck you odd that there were no footsteps coming or going to be heard. This would offer an explanation for the enigma. One question answered, a thousand more formed.

Before you stands Scaramouche, 6th of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, every bit the same as your memories impressed. A delight to the eyes and nothing else. Even when scowling, regarding you with every bit of appreciation as one would a stain on their shoe, you can’t help but acknowledge his otherworldly beauty. From the scent of seawater mixed with the earthy incense he favored, you ascertain he’s been traveling by sea like you’re supposed to. There’s no other tell of the wearisome voyage than that. No bags beneath his eyes from long nights, nor sullen cheeks or pallid skin due to disturbed appetite on a rocky vessel. He is picturesque — without physical fault.

As for what hides beneath that veneer of perfect polish, you attribute no further compliments.

“You’ve returned early,” is your admittedly unimpressive conclusion. Then, remembering yourself, “... Sir.”

He’s every bit as pleased with your tactless comment as one could expect. The scowl on his face grows more severe in its intensity.

“Well, what choice did I have, when other, more convenient lines of communication seem lost on you. Tell me, you retain the ability to read, do you not?”

You nod, slowly.

He tuts. “I want to hear you say it out loud. I don’t think I’ll be convinced any other way, in light of your recent shortcomings.”

“... I know how to read, sir.”

“What a revelation! Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I haven’t posed the question about your ability to write. You’re curious, aren’t you, [First]? I can see it all over your dumbstruck face. Well then, speak up. There’s no one around to hear, as you can see,” he gestures to his desolate surroundings. It’s more of a threat than good-natured reassurance.

“It hadn’t crossed my mind, sir.”

“Very little does.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you choose silence. This confrontation, though you anticipated there might be a day you were subjected to it, couldn’t have had worse timing. Passenger vessels had strict schedules to stick to, they wouldn’t linger for your sake. Not to mention almost all your worldly belongings are on that ship too. They’ll be heading to your destination whether you accompany them or not.

“What’s the matter? You’re looking awfully impatient,” he inclines his head to the side and squints, scrutinizing you. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”

He might be playing the fool, but he’s far from it — he just wants to make you squirm. In the recesses of your mind, you peruse your archives amassed from having interacted with Scaramouche throughout the years, wondering if a file exists that could lend you assistance now. Honesty is what you decide might serve you best. What exactly he knows, you can’t be certain, but it’s a safe guess to assume it’s enough to condemn you.

“I… have a boat I need to catch.”

“So I’ve heard. Well, never mind that, there are some pressing matters I must speak to you about first. You can stop clutching that suitcase for dear life now.”

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. What does it matter to him what path your life takes? While you’ve always known him to derive pleasure from the misfortune of others, the effort necessary for him to be here surely outweighs any satisfaction your predicament gives. He’s supposed to be on the other side of Teyvat. Surely, there are better things for a Harbinger to do than this. It’s this conclusion that leads you to believe he must be here on some unrelated business, you’re just a sideshow, not the main event.

“With all due respect sir, Lord Tartaglia expects my arrival at Liyue in a timely manner. I really cannot afford any further delays—”

“I couldn’t dredge up the slightest care if that pest dropped dead on the spot, much less if I’ve inconvenienced him in any way. Consider it an overdue lesson for messing with my things.”

Your mouth twists into a deep frown before you can stop yourself. Up until this point, you schooled what little he could see of your expressions, and maintained a monotonous timbre. To do anything less is to welcome certain disaster. This premonition rings true and loud.

He strides toward you, plucks the mask from the upper half of your face, then tosses it aside.

“There she is,” his unwelcome hand settles itself on your cheek, his fingers akin to spider’s legs crawling on your skin. “I was wondering what it would take for you to drop that icy façade, it’s unbecoming of you. I much prefer it when you’re nice and expressive for me like you are now.”

“This is unprofessional, my lord, we’re in public—”

“And? That never bothered you before, did it?” He takes a step forward, to which you move one pace back. The process repeats itself until you’re backed against the door of your old room. “No… you always liked some risk. Who would’ve been able to guess just by looking at you, chaste creature that you pretend to be? Tell me, is this how you won over Tartaglia? Did you offer to warm his bed since you could no longer be in mine?”

Words escape you entirely as he considers his verbal onslaught. Whatever false pleasantries he saw fit to act on have been abandoned, his true colors seeping through like a festering wound through bandages.

“Oh? Not even going to give a demure little ‘no, sir?’ You sure do love ignoring me, don’t you. First my letters, now this? I suppose the limits of your brain make it so you can only mess with one man at any given time—”

The sound of skin hitting skin resonates in the lonely hallway.

Your lower lash line is damp like blades of grass covered in morning dew, making it difficult to see him clearly. The hand you raised against him trembles, as does your shoulders, and your bleeding heart. He blinks slowly, processing the sheer audacity you must possess to strike a Harbinger. You take advantage of his momentary stupor to lay into him.

“I have done no such thing,” you seethe, slowing the last few words down for extra emphasis, “And what would it matter to you regardless? You said it yourself: there is no world where I am worthy of you.”

Eight months ago, the night before he was to be sent off on an assignment to occupy Inazuma for nearly a year, you made one of the worst mistakes in your life.

“I know— or I think this is supposed to be casual, but… ah, how do I say this? I enjoy the time I spend with you. I always… kinda look forward to it, actually. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, sir, but though you’re rather, er, callous at times — please stop scowling, we both know it’s true — I see softness too. You’re knowledgeable about a great many things and I consider it an honor to hear the stories you’ve amassed through centuries of life. You could easily kick me out after we’ve finished our… late night meetups, but you let me stay for tea instead. Oh no, I’m rambling aren’t I? I know I test your patience when I do. Okay, okay… well. I like you, sir. Beyond our current arrangement. Do you, in any way, return my affection?”

“... I stand by that,” he replies, rising back to his full height, far calmer than you thought he’d be. You almost wish he’d strike you down like you know he could, if it meant he’d stop looking at you like that. “Though I will supplement it further. You may not be worthy of me, but I never said anyone else was worthy of you.”

“I don’t understand.”

He chuckles, contenting himself by wiping the budding tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Not for comfort’s sake, you surmise, but to marvel at the fact he opened the floodgates for them to flow.

“What other sniveling little human would have the boldness to forge my signature, so that they might be transferred elsewhere? Or strike me, fully knowing that with a snap of my fingers, I could reduce them to a sad little pile of ash on the floor? Best of all, give a confession of love to me, when few would even dare look me in the eye?” He grabs your chin painfully, forcing you to maintain unwavering eye contact. “You amuse me — you delight me, and I must have you. It’s annoying I had to come all this way to remind you of that, but I suppose I brought it upon myself by being unclear. People like you need everything spelled out for them.”

“Love…?” You repeat the word, almost in a trance. There’s a hunger in his eyes at the sound of the word, as if he were a starving man, and you, a buffet laid out for his pleasure. “Whoever said I love you?”

His finger twitches.

“Pardon?”

“Whatever sentiments I held then are long gone. I’m grateful for your rejection, whether you call it that or not.”

You know you should stop there. If anything, you should’ve held your tongue ages ago, but self-preservation is so difficult to maintain when offense burns like magma through your veins. Nothing you’d done or said seemed to earn anything more than the lightest reprimanding since he so clearly refuses to take you seriously. This must be a nerve that, once struck, would make him bleed as if he had a heart.

“You’re being stubborn again,” he scoffs, trying to play it off. “I have the slightest pity for you, since I’ve been neglectful in your upkeep, but that only extends so far. Do be mindful of that.”

“Then let your grace run dry, my lord.”

The pressure on your jaw is tangible now. If he likes your petty resistance so much, then let him see the full display of your wrath; he can decide if it still suits his tastes after that.

“For I never loved you — and I never will.”

#scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #not sfw #my stuff

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wanderingmind13 · 1 year

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Invisible implies unable to be seen

The diagnoses I carry are labeled as such and maybe people can’t imagine, don’t want to imagine but it’s easy to dismiss something you claim is hidden from sight

what I experience is far from unseen

My disease reveals itself in the armor I don for battle each day, compression as a second skin, braces and tapes to hold together tissue and bone frail and bird like

It is visible in the hours spent in waiting rooms, the familiarity of cold, clinical sterility associated with pain

My skin bears the burden of illness, marked with bruises and scarring delicate as aging paper

Punctured daily with medicine intended to heal glass bones but simultaneously eroding my spirit

At times flushing on my face akin to a butterfly’s resting place, red hot wings branded onto flesh

This malady is seen in the repeated fractures and tears, limping and adjusting to find relief

It is identified in my need to sit, the sweat that blossoms when I must stand, the blood pooling in extremities, swelled and discolored

Mostly it is evident in the absence of me, the late night gatherings that happen as I rest, physical activities exceeding what I can give

The pain and exhaustion dragging me back to a point of isolation, one from which I’d escape if I could

The manifestations are intricate but revealed with empathy and the mindful gathering of information

To call my conditions invisible negates the palpable evidence of affliction

Minimizes my experience

And exacerbates my pain

#invisible illness #pots #ehlers danlos #ehlers danlos syndrome #osteoporosis #celiac disease #lupus #systemic lupus erythematosus #spoonie #chronic illness #chronic pain #invisible disability #writing #my writing #poem #moleskine

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wanderlust-writings · 1 month

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Into the Ether

Here I am, again screaming into another digital ether, hoping and praying that someone will see me.

It’s odd I suppose this continual sense of longing. I don’t know if it will ever be satiated. Perhaps this is the malady that is etched into my DNA; a predestined curse that I will never be able to be fully free from. It will always linger, dormant at times but always festering waiting, feeding.

People tell me to stop, to simply ignore it or force it into submission. But how can I change something that is so intrinsically a part of me? These are the questions that I want to scream in their face when they tell me to smile more or simply turn off the roaring thoughts in my brain. The only cure that I’ve thought about consists of carving open my skull and scooping out my brain like cantaloupe. Finally my mind would be an empty basin of silence that I could reside in, bathe in peacefully, maybe even potentially thrive in.

I think the worst part is having the things that comfort my soul be turned against me. I wonder if it has always been like that or is this new phenomenon of self-comparison and hatred an unseen side-effect of social media.

It’s all just so loud.

Voices are being poured into me constantly until I’m choking and gasping for air. I question how can my voice even be heard amounts all the traffic. Even if I were to scream, it would only sound as loud as a penny being dropped on the sidewalk—unnoticed. Their voices rip into my heart like sharpened talons tearing into my self-worth and confidence. That lingering presence stirs at the scratch of these talons. It knows it’s about to be fed, that the dinner bell has been rung. I try to beat it into submission to tell it the sound was merely a drop of water in a bucket nothing worth stirring for but it doesn’t believe me. Soon it has me tied up, laying belly-up on a placemat, wet saliva dripping onto my belly, rabid for the feast that is about to take place.

You’re not enough. How dare you call yourself an artist, let alone a writer? You’ll never amount to anything. You’re nothing.

I don’t want to listen. I don’t mean to inflame it any further but I can’t help but throw more wood on the burning flame. It’s hard to believe these soft, light, hopeful dreams when the evidence points to the contrary. How many followers? How many likes? Views? Reposts? Push harder and harder, scream louder and louder until your vocal cords are shredded and torn and you’re once again silenced.

Is it a fatal flaw of mine? This longing for glory? This need to self-mutate my dreams until they are nothing more than a scrap of garage buried underneath the unfulfilled dreams of the millions? Is it my pride that is secretly my poison? The double edged sword that I can’t use without slicing some part of me open as well, will I ever learn to wield it? Or will this dragon that dwells within me hoard that information until I’m withered and grey and unable to lift it anymore? Am I the problem? I must be. This mutation within my DNA is as much a part of me as it is a foreign adversary. Will we ever be able to exist in harmony or forever be caught in this war of dissonance?

I don’t have answers for these questions that haunt me at the wee hours of the morning?

So I’ll continue to shout, cry, purge, unburden, and fight into this dark ether until I stumble out into the light again.

#creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #poetry #poets on tumblr #female writers #writers and poets #writerscommunity #blog #passing thoughts #mental health #mental illness

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veryqueermovies · 1 year

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Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month! Here is a short list of Queer Asian films to watch all year long!

Funeral Parade of Rose (1969)

Farewell My Concubine (1993)

The Wedding Banquet (1993)

Fire (1996)

Happy Together (1997)

Intimates (1997)

Drift (2000)

Lan Yu (2001)

Blue Gate Crossing (2002)

Tokyo Godfathers (2003)

The Gathering (2003)

Tropical Malady (2004)

Ethan Mao (2004)

Saving Face (2004)

I Don't Want To Sleep Alone (2006)

The World Unseen (2007)

Love of Siam (2007)

Drifting Flowers (2008)

Just Friends? (2009)

Yes Or No (2010)

Muli (2010)

The Dance of Two Left Feet (2011)

Two Weddings and a Funeral (2012)

Night Flight (2014)

Loev (2015)

Front Cover (2015)

Naanu Avanalla…Avalu (I Am Not A He…I Am A She) (2015)

Our Love Story (2016)

The Handmaiden (2016)

Spa Night (2016)

Die Beautiful (2016)

Fathers (2016)

A Bride For Rip Van Winkle (2016)

Taste Of Betel Nut (2017)

Present Perfect (2017)

Close-Knit (2017)

Malila, The Farewell Flower (2017)

Billie & Emma (2018)

Fish Bones (2018)

Dead Ex (2018)

Our Body (2018)

Song Lang (2018)

Rainbow’s Sunset (2018)

Twilight's Kiss (2019)

How I Felt When I Saw That Girl (2019)

Goodbye Mother (2019)

Moonlit Winter (2019)

Monsoon (2019)

Super Deluxe (2019)

The Half Of It (2020)

Your Name Engraved Herein (2020)

I Told Sunset About You (2020)

A Distant Place (2020)

Midnight Swan (2020)

Wish You (2021)

Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022)

Joyland (2022)

Cobalt Blue (2022)

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ecc-poetry · 11 months

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WORKING TITLE: GAY QUESTIONS FOR LOBSTER DADDY

Remember when pride was a sin? Order goeth before the fall. Remember when we stole fire from the gods? Remember when our mothers were like, so bad, and our fathers had their reasons? Remember when Saturn ate six of his children? (Chaos from calories.)

Remember the great nothing of sea and sky? Remember the flood? Remember when blood ran the clocks, when we tumbled the moon out of heaven and drove thorns through our tongues? Remember the great mother? You remember her: Her tail is split like history. She tributaries, capillaries to capulet capture: her scattered children drink. She is a healer of maladies–order from chaos. Remember when we lived in the swamp in a chicken-legged house? Remember when Hera wished for a son and whipped her ordered cells to holy parthenogenesis? Remember when the husband laid down at the feet of his wife? Remember the lamb? Remember when property was a sin? Leave all things you have. Remember what the wolves did under scarcity? Remember when all the witches got together and they hanged the town fathers? Me neither. Remember when the regiments came? Remember fire? Chaos from orders. Remember when love was a commandment? Remember when my girl taught you to play vinyl backwards and she reknit Osiris? Remember when the girls were all turning into laurel trees and the boys were all turning into swans? Quadrupling their chromosomes! Remember when the angels came down from heaven and fucked the shit out of us? Remember how this poem is not a biography? Remember Gaia? She loved her children the same, the communist. Remember when I gave birth to you? Remember how you told your mother the material world was an illusion and she smacked you with her jewel-encrusted spoon? Remember the queen who was feted with her own two sons? Chaos from hors d'oeuvres. Remember the lesbians who lived at the bottom of the sea? Remember when pride was a catalyst? Remember how fire was so thirsty for the moon? Remember when you were wet with miracles? Remember how we cried ourselves whole again? Remember when the girls were wine, how their laughter fizzed like champagne floats and we drank and drank? Well–you didn't. Remember when the men stiffened with milk? How we drank and drank! You mistook the trees for the harvest again, orgasm from chaos. Remember when we could always tell what not to do by the little piles of ash? Remember the time before gravity? Every natural law looks like chaos while you're inside of it. Remember how late you got to the vineyard? Remember more things in heaven and earth? All that is seen and unseen? Remember all the things we can't see? Remember when the world was an egg? Remember before it all went wrong? Remember how I stopped apologizing for my body and now my body lives rent-free in your head? Remember when I was made of flowers? Remember when I was made of blood? Wearing Hecate's three faces of maiden, multiplier, swamp. Remember when I went skinny-dipping in an ocean of milk? Remember how you blamed me for something I did in a dream? Remember how physiologically, you're bigger than me with more upper body strength, and how spiritually I don't care? Remember when I hid my heart in a knotted oak so I couldn't be killed? Remember how I danced the night after my wedding was spoiled: Drowned and dragging seaweed, order from choreography. Remember how this poem is not a biography? Remember when flesh was a prison? Life sentence. Remember the lady in a cage? Remember how we really lost Eden? Remember how evil is not just good backwards? Remember when the mask of your face sloughed off and all that was left was a hole no man could fill? Remember that this poem is a biography? Remember when love was a commandment? Do you remember when pride was a sin?

-elisa chavez

#poetry #jordan peterson #HAPPY PRIDE #have a hingeless ???#cw: gore #spot the mythology reference

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metamorphiisis · 7 months

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@chronal-anomaly

Lena Oxton is a woman of petite height, made seemingly smaller in the welted, crumpled blankets of a medbay bed. Someone had set her off spiralling in a verbal malady, eyes locked to a frenzy towards something unseen in ad infinitum. Sacrifices have always been a staple necessity in the route to Discovery, iterations of failure coagulating the building blocks to success. For all that Oxton has been borne to witness, to discover, it is a shame that she has been cursed the same fate as Apollo's Cassandra, tongue vexed in a frenetic mania and mind scorned to bouts of salt. It is bizarre to think that this is an experiment that has been forbidden to be recreated. The Russians sends a Dog hurtling into orbit; The Americans respond by launching a human being onto the barren dust of the moon.

When, she thinks dully, Did humanity become so timid?

The plastic shell of a pen clacks against a clipboard. Moira drags a nail down a stack of emptied checkboxes, the scrawl of a doctor's chicken-scratching entailing mental statuses by the hour in ball point blues. Her gaze flicks up.

The glaze of a sedative is clearing from the pilot's system, clouded eyes teetering away from non-response towards a slow bleed of cognizance. Moira slots the paperwork back into the footboard. Her shoes click as she sidles broadside to the bed, palm loosely cradling a wrist behind her back. She busies herself by replacing the hanging IV bag, eyes the disfigured masses of color stretched within down the slope of her nose.

"Sleep well?"

#Ic;#Chronal anomaly #V;blackwatch #🤔 wrote this based off of ur string theory hc but lmk if it doesnt work

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dhr-ao3 · 2 months

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Ghost of a Man

Ghost of a Man https://ift.tt/qSFUgYR by Wild_Honey When Hermione Granger wakes in St Mungo's with a terrifying magical malady, one unseen for centuries, she wonders if she was always destined to be isolated. Muggleborn. Murderer. Mad. That is, until an unlikely companion reveals his own affliction. Draco Malfoy is allegedly redeemed, but when her terrible burden is called upon to complete a dangerous mission for the Ministry, she isn't so sure if her new partner's intentions are all that redeemable. Or whether her amnesia will one day reveal something she isn't ready to face... This is a Seventh Year Hogwarts fic, told between flashbacks of a post-war AU. Slow burn, with lots of angst. Words: 8103, Chapters: 3/36, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Padma Patil, Marcus Flint, Cormac McLaggen, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Cho Chang, Oliver Wood, George Weasley, Angelina Johnson Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Susan Bones/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson Additional Tags: Violence, War, Mental Health Issues, Substance Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Paranormal, Smut, Rough Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Character Death, Major Character Injury, Rape/Non-con Elements, Racism, Racist Language, Slavery, Kidnapping, Torture, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Occlumency (Harry Potter), Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Stockholm Syndrome, Redemption, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter) via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/dyqWwRK March 09, 2024 at 04:26PM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

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glowbat · 1 year

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some sketches i did a while ago for a series me and a friend are working on about a fallen angel trying to redeem himself by helping humans ~~ofc its gay also~~

#malady unseen #angel #demon #original character #monsterboy #posleal #kentaro cole #y'all are gonna love it #go check out my buddy #syntheticcharmva #synth talks abt it on twitter often if u want more steady content abt posleal's shenanigans

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syntheticcharmva · 3 months

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Chester Harvey

So, my partners in crime and I have been working diligently to craft the perfect fake terrible tumblr sexyman. we are going to make him very unlikable.

Meet Chester Harvey. a demon gameshow host hijacking a local channel and broadcasting himself running kidnapped victims through his show. His gameshow is called Trivial Lives.

You know, the danger of making a fond jab at tumblr sexymen types is that you risk just making a straight up tumblr sexyman.

Art by @glowbat

#Malady Unseen #Chester #m #tumblr sexyman

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kmodoposts · 7 months

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Another commission for 'Malady Unseen', which belongs to @syntheticcharmva, go check them out for future updates! Art is by the talented @glowbat ! Exploring their world through music is a lot of fun.

#music #syntheticcharmva #glowbat #Malady Unseen #piano #kmodo

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gemkun · 1 month

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@ruinlost said : gimme the ratio hcs 🎤,how does he really feel about not being recognized by nous

⸻ pestered by many , it is an inevitability for this question to be asked yet again. an opinion sorely sought for , where failure awaits those who coax with bribery , and others will extract no more than a �� mere expression framed in neutrality. whether he don alabaster or expose his own flesh and bone.

but in the solace of his chambers , where not a soul can penetrate past the privacy his walls offer. there , he can mull over the absence of nous and his gaze. the astral computer ascended to aeonhood , upheld as as the bestower of all knowledge , the droidhead that could enlighten the most ignorant and foul of creatures. an ailment that the doctor , too , wished to cleanse.

knowledge , albeit desired , is a double — edged sword.

as arrogant , as veritas might appear to be to the general crowd , he steers from the path of ego. acknowledging the sacrifice that comes with ambitious pursuit , is only half the battle. but for the majority , they seldom reach this revelation. or rather , face the consequence and by then it is too late.

perhaps , then , it is a blessing rather than a curse to go unseen by the humanoid.

his tome closes , producing a distinct thud. a signature noise , belonging only to veritas ratio and his ever — present volume , brimming with cosmic dossiers. ❝ if i am never to capture the attention of nous , this will not deter me from the path i have chosen. ❞ incoming , he detects particulates , shrouded in filth. his next task is appointed , whereupon he rises to venture to his relished pastime. a hint of wafting ambrosia , is all he requires to ward intruding whispers , tarnished in debris.

❝ time will only tell , if my selection to join the genius society is within nous’ calculations , but until then i will continue purging this world of the malady known as ignorance. ❞

#* ✦ 𝐈𝐈. ❮ asks ❯ ⸻ ❝#* ✦ 𝐈𝐕. ❮ isms ❯ ⸻ ❝#* ✦ 𝐕𝐈. ❮ muses ❯ ⸻ ❝ 「 veritas ratio 」#* ✦ ruinlost #okay there's a lot to unpack and veritas is never going to truly admit how he feels #because it would be selfish to be upset and believe he is worthy of nous' attention #and that is everything he goes against #he is ultimately stuck in a paradox but all he can do is work harder and strive to be more #he will never explicitly admit he wishes to be recognised because it is literally going against his very code #who would he be if he diminished all his efforts up until this point with a thought that would plunge him into the blight he wishes to cure #i have so many thoughts on this but to unveil them all would take away from his character i feel #so he sits in silence and continues his projects #at least they can distract his unsettled mind

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