#𓏵 Her Blessing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

revlw · 7 days ago

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𓏵 THE DIVINE CAPTINE

YAN! ETERNAL SUGAR COOKIE X READER

Warning ! : Mild Horror Elements , Loss Of Identity , Obsession , Manipulation , Unhealty Relationship

Note ! : This story is intended for mature audiences who are comfortable with these themes. If you are sensitive to content involving unhealthy relationships or psychological distress, please proceed with caution.

You first hear of her in whispers — not through direct warnings, but old radio signals, warped dream-visions, and the scent of overripe fruit carried on warm, lazy wind. No one says her name outright. They call her The Lady in Sugar, The Sleeping Garden, The Mother of Sloth. But her true name? It lingers like a taste on your tongue: Eternal Sugar Cookie

She is divine — or at least, she was. A fallen virtue. Once a symbol of peace and sweetness, now a deity of stillness and silence, offering something between love and oblivion.

At first, you don’t even realize she’s watching you.

You just start sleeping longer. You start forgetting little things — how long you’ve been walking, what day it is, where you were heading. Your dreams become more vivid, soft and glowing. Her voice begins to slip into them, gentle, motherly, echoing through petals and gauze.

“You’re tired, aren’t you, little crumb? Come rest. The world has hurt you. I won’t.”

Her Obsession Grows Slowly — Almost Invisibly

Eternal Sugar Cookie doesn’t force. She invites.

She doesn’t chase you through the woods. She wait at the heart of them.

She is the flower you fall asleep beside. The warmth in your bones when everything else is cold. You never feel like you’re in danger. You feel… loved. Safe. Soft. She speaks like a lullaby — everything she says sounds like it’s for your own good.

You begin finding evidence of her attention. A teacup set out in an empty field. A flower blooming in the shape of your footprint. A lullaby humming from the wind, with lyrics that mention your name.

The Garden calls to you before she ever does.

“Let the thorns stay outside. In here, you’re perfect. You always were.”

And once you enter the Garden — you don’t even realize you’ve crossed the boundary.

It feels like a dream: honey-colored skies, petals that follow you, fountains of milk and syrup. And at the center: her.

Eternal Sugar Cookie greets you with open arms and endless patience. She never demands. She only offers.

A warm cup of rose tea. A bench of soft cake. A place to lay your head forever.

“There’s no rush, sweetling. Stay as long as you like. The world will still be cruel when you leave — if you leave.”

The Horror Lies in Her Love.

Her obsession is a soft cage. You don’t see the vines until they’ve curled around your limbs. She tells you stories of how the world outside betrayed her — how it demanded too much, never let her rest. She doesn’t want you to suffer the same fate. So she pampers you. Lulls you. Preserves you.

Every time you try to leave, something slows you. Sleep takes you at the threshold. Your limbs grow heavy. You forget why you wanted to leave in the first place.

And she is always there, brushing your hair, whispering apologies laced with sweet guilt:

“Did I do something wrong, little crumb? I only wanted to keep you safe. Don’t you see how the Garden loves you? Don’t you see how I love you?”

The flowers become watchful. The wind hums your name. Mirrors in the Garden only show her holding you.

She doesn’t think she’s hurting you. She thinks you were made for this — for her.

She speaks in old symbols, myths, scripture-like stories about “the Bloom” and “the Beloved Crumb.” She believes you are a reincarnation, a sacred guest sent to her after eons of loneliness. In her mind, you’re not a prisoner — you’re a blessing.

Even when she punishes you for trying to escape — vines tightening, dreams turning darker, your memories slowly dissolving — she does it with tears in her voice:

“Please don’t make me do this. I can’t lose you again. You don’t understand — if you go, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up. You are my joy. My only sweetness left.”

The deeper you sink into her Garden, the harder it becomes to remember who you were.

You forget pain. You forget urgency. But you also forget freedom. Your name. Your past.

You are loved to the point of erasure.

And yet… when she holds your hand and strokes your hair, when she cradles you against her chest and calls you darling…

…you feel like you belong.

Even as the vines tighten.

Even as the petals smother.

Even as her lullaby becomes your only memory.

@revlw 2025

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