#a deep yearning arose in my heart

[romanceyourdemons]

i have such a weakness for when a political drama has an old guard that has known each other forever and trust each other implicitly and is completely comfortable in their leader-subordinate-advisor-rival dynamic, and then we get a prequel episode of when they first met. and their positions and situations are completely different and they’re young and penniless and ambitious and idealistic, but from their very first interactions they fall right into that dynamic we know so well like it’s the most natural thing in the world

[oneheda]

hello !! may i ask a neteyam fic wherein nete has been trying to win the reader's (s/o) affection again for days and reader just saying "hmp" or ignoring him because of something that he did that made her feel upset :-P silly && comfort pls! :3c

THE RISK. | ➶ neteyam sully

── .✦ a: ONE-SHOT

w.c: 3.9k

pairing: neteyam x fem!na’vi!reader (aged up characters for plot purposes!)

story description: ever since olo'eyktan training cruelly took away a significant amount of time with you, neteyam has been desperately trying to win back your warmth and affection after he’s met with cold steel from your hurt. his longing for your touch and care only deepened from within as time and your silent resentment—a reflection of the quiet yearning that had you undoubtedly tethered to him—had kept you two apart.

contains: established relationship, slight angst that ends with silly fluff (lots!) <3, or otherwise known as hurt/comfort, teyam’ gifting you tons of flowers, him being obsessed with you, calling you yawne a lot, you guys’ chasing each other, falling into a river, being wet (oh.) and in love!!

warning(s): quite suggestive towards the end, but still very PG! 😏

a/n: omg this request is soooo cute and such an imaginable trope for neteyam, given that we all know if he stayed in omatikaya he’d be so busy training for olo’eyktan likeeee? i’ve read so many one-shots with the reader being mad at him before, and him making up for it, and i loved every single one. so, i’m so excited to try this one out in my writing style and mind! +while planning this i kept thinking about—what would you as his omatikayan lover be like? wouldn’t you be hesitant about falling too deep in love with him, knowing you’d miss his busy ahh sooo bad because he’s away like almost all the time? isn’t that risky? seriously, kudos to all those who take that risk IRL fr. ✊🏻

It started with flowers. Not just one or two, but a small, growing pile of them. Each time you turned around, there’d be another tucked behind your ear, balanced on your hammock, woven into a little bracelet left near your food.

Neteyam had been relentless in his attempts to win back your affection over the past few days. It wasn’t as though you didn’t love him because you did, with every fiber of your being. But you were still upset about the argument you’d had earlier in the week. The argument arose from the widening distance between you, a gap carved by the relentless demands of his role as the future Olo’eyktan. You nodded as he explained, telling him you understood—because you truly did. Every decision he made was for the good of the clan, for a future that included you, too. But understanding didn’t soften the ache in your chest. It didn’t quiet the longing for the moments that used to be yours alone.

You didn’t want to seem selfish, didn’t want to feel like a burden, like someone relegated to the edges of his life. But how could you not yearn for him when he was the very heart of your own?

You didn’t need grand gestures or impossible promised, just to feel like you mattered, like the bond you shared wasn’t something easily pushed aside. It wasn’t too much to hope for, was it? If it was, he shouldn’t have assured you that time would always find a way to make room for the two of you.

He shouldn’t have told you he could love you without limits.

Still, you weren’t angry, just quietly hurt. So, you let him sit with the weight of your silence for a little while longer, unsure if he truly understood how deeply you longed for his presence. If he cared, he would be honest. He would decide whether he could meet you where you stood or not.

And Neteyam, true to form, was determined to make the effort.

At communal dinner, he hovered like a shadow, his golden eyes constantly flicking toward you. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on your food, the stars overhead, and occasionally the random crack in the floor. Anywhere but his face. Neteyam, however, was not easily giving in. With a deep breath, he reached over, gently prying your hands apart from where they were clasped in your lap. His large, warm palms enveloped yours, his thumbs brushing softly against your skin. You stiffened but didn’t pull away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of melting under his touch.

“Yawne (beloved),” he whispered, voice low enough that only you could hear over the chatter of the gathering. His brows knit together in concern. “Are you still upset? I’m sorry, okay? I’ll make it right. Just give me time for a few weeks.”

But your only response was a soft huff as you turned your attention to your plate. His ears drooped slightly, and his shoulders sagged, but he didn’t give up.

Neteyam had taken to foraging during his hunting trips, returning with blooms in every color he could find. Each one seemed chosen with care, as if he had combed through Pandora’s vast forest just to find the perfect match for you. This morning, you found a particularly delicate one—a deep blue petal with flecks of gold, so soft it felt like velvet—waiting for you beside your water. Its placement wasn’t accidental; he’d laid it carefully, as though it were a gift meant to soothe whatever rift had come between you.

“Do you like it?” His voice, deep and warm, came from behind you, startling you slightly.

You turned, fingers curling instinctively around the flower. He was leaning casually against a tree, his bow slung over his shoulder and his skin dappled in the soft morning light. He looked relaxed, but his twitching ears and the slight shift in his tail gave him away.

You rolled the flower between your fingers, trying not to let your heart leap at the sight of him. “It’s pretty.” Your voice was nonchalant, almost dismissive, but your gaze lingered on him for a moment too long.

He smiled, slow and knowing, but didn’t press further. Instead, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over you. “Pretty, huh?” he murmured, his tone teasing but soft. “Just pretty? I thought it was beautiful. Like you.”

You scoffed lightly, a weak attempt to mask the heat rising in your cheeks. “Is that what you’re doing now? Comparing me to flowers?”

Neteyam tilted his head, a playful glint in his golden eyes. “Only the rarest ones.” His voice dropped just slightly, and the way he looked at you made your stomach flip.

You tried to turn your attention back to the flower, but his presence was impossible to ignore. He crouched in front of you, his movements unhurried and fluid, and his hand reached out to tilt your chin up gently.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t just bring these to make you smile. I bring them because I want you to know I think of you. Always. Even when I’m away.”

For once, you didn’t have a clever reply. And he smiled, small and boyish, as if your mere attention was like handing him all the stars in the sky. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “I already know.”

That night, during the clan’s celebration, you spotted him at the edge of the gathering. The music swelled, and instead of joining the other warriors in the dance, Neteyam was there, balancing precariously on a low branch. His arms flailed dramatically, as though he were imitating a bird taking flight.

You cocked an eyebrow and took a few slow steps toward him. “Is this what future Olo’eyktan training looks like? Because if it is, we’re doomed.”

He turned sharply at the sound of your voice, pretending to wobble before hopping down with an exaggerated flourish, landing directly in front of you. His grin was wide and unapologetic.

“I’m trying to make you laugh,” he admitted shamelessly, his amber eyes bright. “I’ve missed your laugh, yawne.”

You tried to hold firm, but when he clumsily twirled and struck a ridiculous pose, your laughter broke free. He straightened, a little victorious puff to his chest.

“There it is,” he teased gently, his chest still puffed out with mock pride. “I knew it was still in there.”

Your resolve cracked, but you still rolled your eyes for good measure. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re worth it,” he said without hesitation, so sincere and immediate that it caught you off guard. He extended his hand toward you, palm up to offer you a dance but he didn’t push. He just waited, his presence steady and patient.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” you muttered, more for yourself than for him. You didn’t move, but your fingers tightened slightly around your forearms.

“I know,” he said gently, his voice low enough that only you could hear it over the celebration. “And I’ll keep earning back every bit of you until you’re not.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart warring with your pride. Slowly, your arms loosened, and though you didn’t take his hand, you let it rest there between you, a quiet truce in the making.

“Said you’d earn it back, huh?” The teasing tone in your voice had a sharp edge, and you couldn’t help the way it made his eyes sparkle with mischief. He tilted his head, a playful glint in his gaze, as if trying to predict your next move. “Then prove it.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and dashed into the back of the forest, heart pounding with the rush of adrenaline. The sounds of the celebration faded behind you, replaced by the rustling of leaves beneath your feet. You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up from your chest as you glanced back over your shoulder. “Catch me if you can!”

His reaction was instant, his own laugh ringing out through the air as his long legs carried him quickly in pursuit. Neteyam’s voice came, warm with determination, but also with a clear, boyish excitement. “Oh, you know I will.”

You risked another glance behind you and saw him gaining, the playful smirk on his lips matching the wild spark in his eyes like a predator closing in on its prey. The challenge, the thrill. It was all there in his gaze.

You’d darted across the massive branch that spanned the glowing, bioluminescent river below. Your heart raced as you pushed yourself faster, the wind rushing past your ears, but it only made the sounds of your laughter spill out even louder.

It felt like freedom, like nothing in the world could touch you in this moment.

But just as you rounded a turn on the massive branch, his speed bested yours. Toned arms circled around your slim waist, pulling you back against him with such effortless power that it knocked the breath from your lungs. You gasped, his chest firm against your back, his body radiating warmth in the cool, humid air.

The glowing river far below shimmered with blues and greens, but the only thing you could focus on was him. Neteyam’s breath tickled your ear, unsteady from the chase but layered with soft, husky laughter that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“You’re not getting from me away that easily, yawne.” he murmured, his voice triumphant, teasing, as his arms held you close. His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, and you swore you could feel every inch of him pressing against you. His heat, his scent, the way his hands seemed to burn through your skin.

Neteyam's breath brushed over your ear, warm and unstead, sending a hum of heat through your veins as the hairs on the back of your neck rose. You fought to steady yourself, but it was impossible. Your knees felt weak as a warmth blossomed in the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t just from the chase anymore. It was from the way he held you, so firmly, with the way his lips lingered so close to the curve of your neck so teasingly that left you dizzy in his hold. He chuckled once again as if hinting at the promise of laughter and surprises yet to come.

Before you could retort, before you could even think, he moved; both of you toppling sideways off the branch. You barely had time to gasp as he leapt, carrying you with him into the air. The drop lasted only seconds before you plunged into the river below, the cool water swallowing you both in a burst of bubbles and bioluminescent light.

You surfaced with a gasp, your laughter echoing across the glowing expanse as you pushed the wet strands of hair from your face. “Neteyam!” you exclaimed, half scolding, half incredulous.

He emerged just beside you, grinning like a mischievous child, his braids dripping water and his golden eyes sparkling. “You looked like you needed to cool off,” he teased, his voice thick with playful arrogance.

Well, you did need to cool off the hotness in your core… but this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind.

Without hesitation, you launched a spray of cool water at him, the droplets shimmering with the river’s glow as they scattered in radiant arcs. His reaction was instant; a burst of deep, joyful laughter that echoed through the humid air, rich and unrestrained. The playful challenge sparked an electric excitement between you, drawing you both into a frenzy of splashing and dodging. The world then began to blur into the glowing water and your shared laughter, a symphony of carefree chaos where nothing else mattered but this moment.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this alive, this carefree.

Eventually, your laughter guys laughter faded into breathless quiet. His eyes found yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to still. He moved closer, his face only inches from yours now, his wet skin glistening faintly in the river’s glow.

You let out a little laugh, your fingers finding it’s way on his chest, not sure whether to pull away or pull him closer. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

“I’m yours,” he corrected, his voice low and serious for just a moment as he stared deeply into your eyes, drowning in them as if they were the river instead. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Soon enough, Neteyam’s once-constant efforts seemed to slip away, fading into nothing more than fleeting memories. His presence, once a constant source of warmth, began to diminish with every passing day. The flowers he had once brought you—each one an offering of love and hope—became fewer and fewer, as if the color was draining from both the blooms and the moments you shared.

Once again, you understood and didn’t blame him, or at least told yourself. After all, your own responsibilities as a healer had grown burdensome, the increasing frequency of skirmishes and the unrelenting demand for resources leaving you with little time for anything else. Your days blurred into a haze of tending wounds and gathering herbs, each task an anchor that dragged you further from the quiet joys you once had even with yourself.

The strain of hunting weighed heavily on Neteyam too. Gone were the days when he would wander through Pandora’s vibrant forest, carefully selecting the most beautiful flowers to weave into thoughtful bouquets. Now, even the act of picking a single bloom seemed beyond his reach, a bittersweet reminder of the tenderness that had once come so effortlessly.

The communal dinners you had once savored together became strained, short-lived affairs. He would excuse himself early, his duties as the future Olo’eyktan demanding his attention, dragging him away before the last bite of food could even be tasted. He needed rest, they said, to prepare for the challenges ahead. And though you understood, the weight of his absence pressed heavier on your chest with every night he left, his absence a constant ache. The time you once had—those stolen moments of laughter, of closeness, of being seen—became rare, almost impossible to hold onto. The spaces between you grew longer, the silences more deafening.

You began to wonder if this was just how it had to be now. If love, no matter how deep, could survive when it was stretched thin by duty and distance. But fear began to creep in, insidious and unwelcome. It was twofold: the fear of losing Neteyam to the weight of his future, and the fear of losing yourself entirely to the relentless tide of duty.

It seemed that love or leisure took a backseat and only the ceaseless demands of survival drove up-front. Maybe, maybe, everything was silently nearing the end of you and him.

You missed him, so very much. But a part of you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of your pride or admit just how much you missed him. Perhaps you thought you were being unreasonable, that it shouldn’t hurt this much when he wasn’t around. So you turned away from him, convincing yourself that this distance was dignified, that it was better to seem indifferent than desperate.

Yet deep down, the fear gnawed at you. You were terrified of being too much, of clinging too tightly to the man destined to lead and maybe eventually leave you like he always did. Either due to the familiar duties or worse, death. If you moved closer, if you let yourself reach for him, you feared you wouldn’t be able to let go. And worse, you feared the day would come when you’d find yourself begging, pleading for him not to leave, not to hurt you ever again, and that would shatter you in a way you weren’t sure you could survive.

You awoke one day after he finally joined you in your hammock for the first time in many nights, and as expected, the warmth of his body pressed against yours was gone, leaving only the faintest memory, as fragile as dew kissed by the morning sun. Could it have been just a dream? The thought clawed at you. You hoped not, but the possibility felt plausible. After all, exhaustion had blurred the lines between reality and fantasy. Perhaps your sleep-deprived mind had conjured it all: the weight of his arms around you, the gentle press of his lips, the whispered words.

But just as the doubt began to settle, a soft rustle pulled your thoughts back to the present. The sound grew louder, and you turned your head to see the heart of the matter approaching your hammock once again. Neteyam.

The warrior, as if returning from a long combat, emerged from the soft morning light, his smile radiant and disarming, as if the very sight of you was the highlight of his day. In his hands, he held a woven pouch, bursting with herbs and dried flowers, their scents already filling the air between you.

“For your hammock,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection. He knelt in front of you, holding it out with both hands like an offering. “So that it smells like the forest… and not, you know.” His grin widened, boyish and unguarded, as if he couldn’t help but tease you just a little.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Did you… make this?”

“Of course,” he said proudly, a light laugh escaping his lips. “Well, okay, I asked Grandmother for help. But I picked the flowers myself. Only the best ones, paskalin (sweet berry).”

You brought the pouch to your nose, inhaling deeply. The scent was a perfect blend of calming herbs, delicate flowers, and something distinctly him—earthy, grounding, and utterly familiar.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. For once, you didn’t try to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “But it’s so early. How’d you find the time?”

Neteyam’s eyes softened as he looked at you, and he reached out, brushing his fingers gently against yours. “Yawne,” he began, his voice steady and full of conviction, “I will always find time for you. Even when I’m busy, even when it feels like the world is pulling us in every direction, you are the first thing on my mind. And I pray you never have to wait so long for me again.”

Before you could respond, he leaned closer, his smile deepening. “It’s always going to be me at the end of the line, no matter what. Remember that for me, please?”

And as if he knew what you had been thinking, his words hit you like a wave, sweeping away most of your doubt like it always did. Before it inevitably crept back in, of course. Yet something entirely else stirred within you as Neteyam leaned in closer. His proximity was disarming, his golden eyes holding you unexpectedly captive. His scent, warm and woodsy, wrapped around you like a second skin, and the sight of him this close—lips parted slightly, his sharp jawline catching the soft morning light—sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded slowly, but it was more out of reflex than control. Your hands tightened around the woven pouch, clutching it as though it could tether you to reality, though your mind was already spinning. Your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest as you couldn’t ignore how weak you felt under his gaze, knees threatening to buckle even though you were sitting.

He tilted his head, studying you with a faint smile tugging at his lips, so achingly handsome that it sent heat rushing through your cheeks.

“Yawne,” he murmured softly, his voice like a caress, “Are you alright?”

Your throat felt dry, and you cursed your inability to speak. You could feel the burn low in your core, an ache you didn’t know how to soothe, and you prayed he didn’t notice the flush creeping up your neck. But the way his eyes flickered over you—intently, as though he could read every thought you didn’t dare say aloud—made you wonder if he already knew.

“I, uh… I’m fine,” you managed to whisper, though your voice wavered, betraying you. But you summoned a smile for his grace, despite it all, “Thank you, Ma’ Teyam. For this, for everything.”

“Always welcome.” His smile grew, softer now, but laced with that teasing edge he reserved just for you. “Are you sure you’re alright?” His tone was light, but his hand reached out, fingers brushing against the side of your hip down to your thigh. The simple contact made you feel as though your whole body was alight. It was maddening how much power he held over you, how even a fleeting touch could leave you unraveling. You wanted to look away, to collect yourself, but the way he was looking at you—with that intoxicating mix of love and desire—had you rooted to the spot.

“Because,” he added, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost across your lips, “you look like you’re about to fall apart. And, paskalin, I’m not sure if I should hold you… or let you crumble, just so I can pick up every piece.”

His words sent your mind spinning, and you realized then that you weren’t sure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. All you knew was that the heat of him, the weight of his gaze, was utterly consuming, and despite yourself, you wanted to burn.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Instantly, you demanded, “Pick me up. Bring me to your tent.”

There was no hesitation, no need for clarification. He knew exactly what you were asking, and it sent a flicker of something dangerous and thrilling through his golden eyes. His lips curved into a knowing smile, one that made your stomach flutter and your breath catch in your throat.

Without a word, Neteyam scooped you up effortlessly, his hands firm against your thighs as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The ease with which he held you made you feel small and completely at his mercy, and it only heightened the ache that had been building inside you for far too long.

“Missed me that much, huh?” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety tease as his forehead brushed against yours. The warmth of his breath danced across your skin, igniting every nerve as you struggled to keep your composure. “Almost thought you’d never ask…”

Your fingers threaded into his braids, pulling him just a little closer, your lips barely a breath apart. “Don’t make me regret this, ‘Teyam,” you whispered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed the longing you’d been trying to keep hidden.

“Regret?” He chuckled, a sound so rich and full it made your head spin. “Yawne, you’re about to remember why you never could.”

He carried you swiftly, his steps purposeful as the tension between you crackled like the air before a storm. Every glance he stole, every squeeze of his hands against you, eventually ended with a peck on your lips. And by the time he reached his tent, Neteyam set you down carefully, his eyes burning into yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

His thumb brushed along your cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent chills down your spine. “Loving me might be dangerous, syulang (flower),” he said, his lips ghosting against yours, “but you’re the bravest thing I’ve ever known.”

And in that instant, you knew. You were going to fall for the risk of wanting him as long as you wake, no matter how perilous the drop.

AHHHH thank you for reading!! once again—likes, comments and reblogs are very deeply appreciated. 💞💞

i was wondering, should i have made them kiss? but then i was like nahhhhhhhhhh. i like how the story points to how love can be shown beyond just mere physicality (even if it gets suggestive at some point). it’s cute, don’t you think??

ANYWAYSS, i hope you guys enjoyed and thank you so much @aamircoeur for the request! i’ve definitely gotten a few in the mailbox lately & i’d love for more because i’m on a looooong vacation so i would love to write while i’m free!! if you have any ideas (esp your craziest / complicated ones as long as it’s PG) send em right up! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[sylacris]

— chrysanthemums.

elbert greetia x gn! reader

content: sfw ; angst ; character study ; mild(?) spoilers for william’s route ; victorian flower language ; self indulgent (screw plot)

(partially) inspired by: tonight you belong to me by patience and prudence

word count: ~754

a/n: first ikevil fic, trying to wrap my head around the characters …

Of course Elbert knows you belong to Will.

After all, you were the most beautiful when you're with him. He's seen the image many times throughout your stay in the castle. The way you light up when William enters the room, the lift in your voice when speaking to him, the love in your eyes when William is reflected on it.

The way that William is the reason for your beauty.

If the gods pried into his brain and search for the question he's asked the most—the question thought to himself in fitful nights of longing and early morning blues, something that even Elbert feels guilty of admitting through words— it would be:

Why?

Why you? Why William? Why not him-

That was the thing he has been trying to find the answer for ever since his own eyes landed on you that night. A robin caught in a gathering of villains, like a single white rose in a bush of red. He had almost wanted to pluck you and keep you to himself. Until William’s voice chimed in, recognizing you, and you, who shared the same sentiment.

A month passed by in a blur, it was easy for Elbert to get lost in time. But he would always remember the determination in your eyes in that meeting regarding the papers detailing the “crimes” of William Rex. Your eyes shone with a beauty brought out by the King himself.

You'd almost caught him marvelling at the sight of you.

He wanted to help, one way or another. However, the Crown could not move under the name of the Queen, or in large groups due to the risks in secrecy, so he asked Alfons to act in his stead.

“Your ability is suitable for infiltrating the enemy headquarters… May I trouble you to go with them?”

In the end, he's aware of why it was William you chose. It was a fact that he knew deep down in his heart, something he'd rarely acknowledge and yet will resurface everytime his mind wanders to the thought of you.

William Rex is everything that Elbert Greetia isn't.

And in that very fact alone lies Elbert’s own tragedy. One that'll slowly eat him up from the inside until there's nothing left but the remains of a monomanic yearning.

Not every beautiful thing could be his, Alfons would poke in the playful manner that he usually dons. But perhaps his words do hold weight in this situation.

It's alright, he can settle for watching from afar.

(No he can't. His curse could never allow it. He wants, he wants, he wants... And that was how his destiny wrote itself in tragedy.)

Elbert knows of the fact that he's awful at suppressing his tendencies. Hands that can't be kept to himself, always wandering to something he'd desire, it was usually a question of when he'll have it- rarely a question of if, up until now at least.

Those same hands that desired more, now held yours in a slow waltz.

"Al informed me that William went out on a mission... I was… quite surprised to find out that you did not come along with him."

"It's because it's quite late, and William insisted that I stay behind tonight."

step, step, step.

A dance across the garden, that was his invitation. Indulging in the opportunity that arose in William's absence. It was Elbert’s own way of satiating his want.

(though it will never be enough)

Some part of him feared that by interacting with you like this, he'd yet again desire for more. More than a longing stare across the dining table, more than a dance in the garden, more than just his hand in yours.

“How about you, Lord Elbert? You seem troubled these days.”

“...Ah, how so?”

And just as both of you reached the middle of the pavilion, you let go. The coldness setting on his hands faster than he'd like in the absence of your warmth.

And in the next breath, you'd take your leave- greeting the wistful earl a goodnight. Heels clicking as you step out of the pavilion and into the moonlight, until you were nothing but a distant figure, one he did not take his eyes off until you'd reach the confines of the castle, your silhouette disappearing from his sight

And once again, he stood alone in the garden pavilion.

The yellow chrysanthemums looked bitter under the moonlight, and he knows that those same flowers would never bloom in an azure hue.

© sylacris. 2024 —

[genyawritesshizz]

A Hum of Time. Toshinori Yagi x Reader

Part 6

-Technically 5.5, shorter chapter

Summary: An innocent relationship between two workaholics could not possibly be that eventful. Just two individuals finding comfort within each other's company and the occasional cup of coffee. What happens when a secret that could ruin both of their careers brings the whole thing crashing down? In a heart wrenching decision, you must do what is best for all three of you and brave the future alone. Will you ever tell the truth? You might not have a choice. Amidst the fallout an opportunity arises, one that could perhaps benefit them all. A coup to send All Might into retirement once and for all flourishes amidst unsuspected old friends.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

If you want to check this out on AO3 lemme know, ill drop the link in the comments

3272: word count

With a deep sigh, Toshinori could remain silent no longer. Waiting for Chiyo to step out, for he knew the older woman would forbid him from transforming after such exertion, his guilt prevailed through stain.

 As the hours ticked by and the sun long casted down behind the hill at which the school rests atop, the moment of opportunity presented itself as she ventured into the hallways. Glancing to his prodigies bedside wary of objections, the young man slept soundly. With a puff of smoke and fatigued muscles straining All Might emerged. 

Approaching tightly drawn walls with a deep sigh, a labored stretch of his smile and clearing his throat as to announce his presence he prepared to face the emotionally vulnerable mother beyond. 

However, the moment thin fabric slid within his grasp his mind felt fuzzy.

“Sleep” 

Catching a peek through pulled barriers as his mind hazed, though the two figures within blurred the faint sight made his heart drop…

‘(Y/N)?’

Ending credits rolled and a quieted theme song jingled throughout the silenced room. Wrapped snugly within each other's embrace, sleep tugged at the edges of tired bodies. It had been months since time had allowed such a night, savoring every second spent together neither wished to depart.

“We should go to bed my love, it's getting late.” 

“You go ahead, I’ve got a couple emails I should check up on be-” 

“It can wait. Please Toshi.” Grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the couch he could not refuse.

 Led to your shared bedroom you sat him atop cooled sheets. 

Though dark, the seldom moonlight allowed gazes to meet, seemingly glowing cerulean swam with admiration looking up to the woman before him. Cherished and dear to his heart, he would never grow tired of such a sight. 

‘Beautiful’

A gentle thumb slid over the hollow of thinned cheekbones and down to his jawline. Wandering further, to massage the tense muscles of his neck and dip under the neckline of his shirt to brush over protruding bones of his vertebrae. A sensual shiver of ecstasy ran through Toshinori with each swipe of warm fingertips and an almost silent sigh had his head lulling back. A now familiar yearn grew hot within tightening trousers. His palms outstretched, holding your hips within their wide grasp, fingers squeezing into the supple flesh of your behind.  Lowering over the loose fabric of his collared shirt, you carefully undo each button as they pass. The wide expanse of his chest presented itself, mindful of his scar, your expedition continued. 

Both sets of hands grew hungry, though unrushed, as clothes drifted off, discarded to the floor for further exploration. Basking in the soft touches of the other, the need to be closer pulled you in.

Climbing on top, within the cover of darkness, without worry of work, without the weight of the world, love bloomed and bursted between them. Bodies conjoined, moving in sync, hushed praises arose as pleasure flared. Whispers of ‘I love you’s’ flew between moans of rapture. It had been far too long since they’d been allowed such a time together. 

As his peak reached deep within you the two collapsed. Rushed breaths mingled, heart rates thumping and arms never untangling. Resting within your shared bed, contentment settled. With eyes closed his arms tightened, pulling you closer.

“That was-” 

“The last time.” Thin eyebrows scrunched, your tone sounded distant. Catching his breath he hummed, confused by your statement. 

“What do you mean?” Finally opening his eyes to look down at the woman within his arms he's met with nothing but balled up knots of blankets. The euphoria evaporated within an instant. “(Y/n)?”

“ALL MIGHT!”

Bolting up from the bed, nude, he ran through the house. Tearing each door open in haste, howling your name till his throat ran raw. Your yells became animalistic, echoing off each emptied room, tauntingly calling his name.

“All Might Please! Save Me!”

“I’m trying! Where are you?!” Padding into the living room he collapsed, inches away, yet just out of his grasp your body laid. Hero suit torn, your once loved form battered, bloodied, and lifeless…  

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please…”

“Hey All Might!”

“Are you awake?”

“All Might?”

Back inside the far too small cot of the infirmary Yagi’s head swam, dazed, confused. Haunted by dreams of the past. 

“All Might? Are you.. Crying?”

Snapping back into reality, a trembling hand swiped across gloom stricken features. Wetness gathering against thinned palms, mind struggling to find solid ground, and breaths puffed in rapid succession.

“Are you okay?” 

‘What happened?’

Looking over to the once drawn curtains he’s met with a now emptied infirmary. The bed that once held his other student now striped and barren.

“Where did young Akeno and his mother go?”

“Oh, Recovery Girl sent them home a couple hours ago. She said we were also free to leave, but I didn’t want to wake you up. It looked like you were having a nice dream until… Are you okay? It looked like you-”

“I’m fine Midoriya. Nothing to worry about” 

‘It was a dream…But I…’ Sighing as he shoved the memories back from whence they came and turned to his student.

“Let's go home.”

‘It was only a dream.’

Healed over the weekend class resumed anew Monday morning. Though with the looming shock of the attack still fresh on their minds, the students of class 1A buzzed with exhilaration.

“You guys, did you watch the news last night!”

“We’re totally big deals! Those news channels love us were basically celebrities!” 

Amongst the chatter of premiering on television and All Might’s victory Midoriya’s mind swam with questions that had been burning to escape after his recent discovery. Finally spotting his blond haired classmate as he entered, he struggled to withhold his onslaught. The image he had uncovered seared into his mind. As much as he wanted to simply blurt it out, he knew such an important topic must be eased into. Instead opting for a more friendly approach, he greeted his classmate.

“Hey Akeno! How are you feeling?” Cerulean met Emerald and with a smile as Akeno took his seat, smiling wide as ever.

‘That smile.’

“Not back to one hundred percent yet, but I'm getting there!” His deepening voice still sounded scratchy, his throat raw and aching yet miles beyond the infirmary.

“I’m happy to hear that! Hey, so theres something I wanted to ask-”

“Attention homeroom, class is about to begin. Everyone, stop talking and take your seats!” Entering at top speed Iida stood before the podium, silencing the question. 

“We can talk during lunch.” With a shaky grin Midoriya agreed, though his questions boiled, just below the surface, threatening to overflow.

“Morning class.” Muffled through layers of bandages Mr. Aizawa stood within the doorway, much to everyone's shock. As chatter picked up regarding his well being, it was quickly squandered by their teachers' unwavering stoicism. “What’s more important is your fight isn't over yet. The UA sports festival is about to start.”

Overflowing with excitement the teens all congregated on their shared aspiration for their upcoming performances. The questions brewing were almost forgotten within his own enthusiasm, yet as the bell rang for lunch his bustling curiosity repopulated.

“You guys go on ahead, we’ll meet you there!” Dismissing Uraraka and Iida the hallways cleared around the two aspiring heroes.

“Midoriya, you said you had something you wanted to ask me?”

Now alone standing before his friend, the boy fidgeted with the strap of his backpack, unable to maintain eye contact. Though he was curious, a part of him knew this was a touchy subject. One that could potentially change his classmates' life.

“Hey, is everything okay? You look really nervous. You know you can talk to me right?” His blatantly nerve stricken friend seemingly shrunk beneath him, trembling within his presence, and unable to meet his gaze. “If this is about the villain's attack? Don't worry about it! You did everything you could!”

“No…it’s not that.” Steadying his breaths and gathering himself, Izuku attempted to relax his tense body. If he was going to ask the one profound question that had been weighing him down, he must first present and validate his evidence behind it.

“You said your mom used to be a hero right?” 

“Uh yeah, she used to be a sidekick.” 

“And you said that she was hurt when you were younger, in America?”

“Yeah?” Worried confusion grew within Akeno, now it was he who shrunk beneath the other. 

“How… how old were you when that happened?”

“Around four. Izuku, why are you asking me all this?” Fretted lines drew between furrowed brows and down turned lips. Each question sent the young man further into perplexity. “What does my mom have to do with anything?” 

Slinging his backpack around and fishing within a pocket, Izuku withdrew his phone.

“That’s just the thing…” Finally, emerald met cerulean. Both gazes ardent, swimming with steeled perception. “given what you said about her being a hero in the past-”

“She was just a sidekick!” 

“Even so, she used to be a hero here. Tracing back the history of female heroes that worked in Japan over the last thirty years with vocal quirks, filter out how many transferred to America in the last twenty and those who quit within the last decade… I-I found nothing b-”

“Then what was all this for!” 

“Wait! I’m not done!” Sighing, Akeno nodded, annoyed at the suspended anticipation gnawing at his twisted stomach. “I could not find any heroes matching that description…alive. But I did find one that had passed and-”

“Izuku, my mother is alive! You saw her yourself. She was just here last week.” 

“It’s just that… back when we were all in the infirmary and your mom came to visit, I think I recognized her.” Quivering fingers tapped at the now alighted screen, scrolling further into its archive. 

“You recognized her? That's impossible, mom hasn’t been back in Japan in years.” 

The world fell silent.

Revealed from a turned phone screen, a single photo sent Akeno’s world crumbling. 

“It’s hard to tell since she’s wearing a mask, but doesn’t she look a lot like this hero? Her name was S- 

“No.” 

“B-“

“No. That is not my mother Izuku. I don’t know what you think you’re onto but it’s not true.”

“But I-Wait, where are you going?” Thunderous footsteps blazed past the baffled boy, heading down the hallway to hopefully catch the last minutes of lunch. Refraining from following, Izuku feared he had made his friend uncomfortable. All he wanted to know was if it was possible. Perhaps his assumptions were wrong after all.

‘It can’t be true. That picture has to be fake. It has to be.’

Silenced for the remainder of the day, Akeno’s mind drowned within its thoughts. 

Far too scared to approach for fear of worsening the situation, Izuku allowed his classmate space. 

The final bell rang, signaling the end of the day. As students flooded the hallways ready to be home Izuku was once again pulled aside by his mentor. Exchanging pleasantries and pouring two cups of tea, Toshinori sat rigid before his pupil. Shaking hands curled into the excess fabric of his suit as words struggled to form.

“Young Midoriya, there’s something I must ask of you. Though I hope you don’t find it too weird.” 

“Of course All Might, what is it?” The boy's demeanor starkly contrasted the older man's gloom; his apprentice's charisma almost made him cringe. 

“I-I’ve been meaning to ask,” Sucking in air through gritted teeth he almost recanted his curiosity though burning desire for the truth propelled the notion. “What do you know about Akeno’s mother?”

Emerald hues widened.

“Actually that's something I wanted to talk to you about as well. Did you happen to see her while in the infirmary?” 

“No, I… I didn’t.” A sense of confusion clouded over once sharpened instincts.

‘I could’ve sworn I was going to try and talk to her…But then I… Fell asleep?’  

“I know you spoke to her, who was she? Have you seen her before?”  

“That’s the thing, she looked vaguely familiar to me. I thought I figured out where I’d seen her before but when I tried to talk to Akeno about it, he didn’t agree. Now looking back at it, I don't think my assumption was right either, it’s too far-fetched.” 

“What was your assumption?”

“It…It was nothing, I really don’t think it could be who I originally thought. It wouldn’t make sense.” Refraining from showing his mentor the photo or divulging in his theory after reading more about Siren and her untimely demise, If he was wrong about this theory then telling All Might could upset him, especially if they were close.

“But, Akeno has told me a lot about her so maybe you could figure it out?” 

Besides, surely if All Might actually knew this hero and if all the information he was about to give matched, he would tell him. Right? 

“What has he said?”

Recalling every scrap of information to his mentor, Toshinori's thin brows drew together, thick wrinkled lines of contemplation forming the further he recalled. 

“Does that remind you of anyone?”

“I… I don’t think so, sorry.” In reality the inner workings of Yagi’s mind went into overdrive, cogs grinding and turning with recollection. 

‘It can’t be. Rationalize. It’s surely all just a coincidence… All a coincidence…It has to be. She’s…she’s dead…’

His feeble attempts to sooth his rampaging mind were not boding well, buckling with each new piece of information. Pushing them back was becoming overpowering.

Sighing in defeat Izuku came to the conclusion that his theory had in fact been incorrect, a simple fairytale that his fanboy mind had concocted. 

‘It was just a theory.’

“Don’t worry about it, whoever she is, if it’s important I'm sure we’ll figure it out. Besides, you should be focusing on the sports festival!” Redirecting his pupils' attention as a way to forfeit his mind's own psychosis and dissipate the defeated look upon Midoriya’s face he pushed them back to the matter at hand. 

“That kid could be your clone ya know.” Midnight laughed, the two sat alone within the teachers lounge, wrapping up the day's paperwork. Typically Midnight would talk about her day or problems while Toshinori only nodded, occasionally adding very little to the conversation. However today's topic of discussion had landed on the sports festival and their predictions on how it would go. Going down the roster of both 1A and 1B this one off comment seized his full attention. 

The thoughts that had been plaguing him over the mystery that was Akeno and his origins resurfaced. It had been less than three weeks since his chat with Midoriya, ever since his mind had been spinning its wheels, desperate to find traction.

“Yeah no kidding, kid looks just like me” He attempted to play the comment off with a chuckle, however it struggled to come off genuine, the light quiver in his tone gave away his unease. In an effort to sooth rattled nerves a hand rubbed at the back of his sweat slicked neck. 

“All Might!?” Midnight’s voice had raised in pitch, both eyebrows up in suspicion under her mask. “Do you have a secret child?” She practically yelled this question, voice high in excitement. Steam could’ve piped out of his ears and a thick haggard cough of blood spurted from his mouth at her brazenness.

“NO! Not that I know of.” His hands flew up in defense.

“That you know of?! So it’s possible!” She laughed “How promiscuous of you Toshinori.”

“Nemuri please, there is no way that kid could be mine. I haven’t…” He trailed off thinking back to the last he’d been active. It was with you. After all these years he had not found it within himself to seek out a new lover. Not that it was not offered to him, as All Might women practically threw themselves at him. He simply had no desire to, no want for sexual or romantic intimacy with anyone ever again. Sure there were nights when he felt lonely and craved affection but the mere thought of receiving it from anyone else made his skin crawl. Besides, he had learned from you that bringing anyone into his life, his personal life, was dangerous. For both himself and them.

“It’s been…awhile”

“ Common All Might,  it can’t be that long. You’re a bit older but you’ve still got game! Tell me how long. I have to know now!”

He pondered her question. Then counted back the years in his head, sixteen… 

‘Wait, how old is this kid? He’s in young Midoriya’s class so he must be’ 

OH.

He coughed, his mind ablaze with thoughts. A splatter of blood coated his hand, gasping for air, violent hacks surged through him. The seductive hero passed him a cup of water, with a few forced sips the fit subsided. 

“Twenty” he lied through his teeth, revealing too much could lead her to the same conclusion. Midnight’s mouth hung open her eyes wide.

“TWENTY? What a travesty! Absolutely appalling! How can you go on without the touch of another?” 

“Look, I'm not too comfortable discussing this. Can we please pick another topic?” Toshinori felt as if his whole world was spinning upside down. The train of thought he had tried so desperately to derail steamed down the tracks, now full speed ahead, barreling into a brick wall of realization.

The kid matched the age gap.

He was the spitting image of him.

He had your exact same quirk.

Given all the information Midoriya had told him earlier he was born in America, however his mother was originally from Japan.

‘That's where you moved after the break up.’

The boy's whole reason for being a hero was in his mothers honor who was attacked by a villain when he was young. 

‘Deducting the years from the time you were ‘killed’ would put him around 3-4, far too young to remember crucial details yet aware of the situation.’

Too many ‘coincidences’. Too many dots connected. Yet the one gaping hole in this whole theory revolved around one central point; 

‘His mother is alive, you are not.’ So he thought. 

He needed answers. 

Now.

Sneaking into the gyms locker room to most would be seen as nothing short of creepy and perverse, yet driven by the need for mediation All Might proceeded. Scrounging through every cubby until finally reaching the quarry. Unsurprisingly, as most teenage boys did, Akeno had not washed his pullover after their last training exercise. Pillaging the uniform he examined it carefully until his target was acquired, a singular piece of golden hair pinched between his finger tips. 

“Tsukauchi, I have a favor to ask. It's urgent.”

Two strands of blonde hair sealed safely into ziplock bags were handed off to the detective. 

As the hours ticked by awaiting results Yagi’s mind spiraled further, the facts at hand repeating themselves forwards and back until the jingle of his phone broke the cycle.

“Yagi, I have the results for the samples you gave me. It wasn’t easy convincing the lab to run it without prior authorization and on such short notice but since it’s for you, we managed to pull a few strings.” Toshinori’s heartbeat thundered into his ear, threatening to overshadow the man's words. 

“It’s a 50% match. They’re either parent and child or siblings.” 

‘Parent and child.’

“Yagi? You there-”

Hanging up, there was only one person he wanted to speak to right now. 

“David. Tell me the truth.” 

[aylen-san]

Lúthien's Encounter with a Stranger

Twilight gently descended upon the forests of Doriath, bathing them in the golden-pink glow of the waning day. The sky deepened with each passing moment, as if an unseen artist was blending shades of blue across the canvas of the horizon. A warm breeze stirred the dense foliage, whispering the ancient songs of the trees, carrying echoes of distant times that seemed poised to awaken in the present.

Lúthien spun gracefully among the towering trunks, her movements smooth and fluid, as though she barely touched the ground. A light silvery cloak fluttered behind her like butterfly wings, catching the faint starlight that had begun to twinkle in the evening sky. Her dance was not mere motion—it was a part of Arda itself, a reflection of its rhythm and breath.

The path she followed was familiar, yet every step felt new and singular. Her feet scarcely grazed the grass, and even the forest creatures hushed, unwilling to disturb the harmony of her presence.

But then, everything changed.

The wind stilled, and the leaves ceased their whispering. In the sudden silence, a melody arose.

A voice, soft yet deep, like the first murmur of the tide, reached into her very soul. Its tones carried the weight of worlds—a bittersweet tale of beauty and sorrow. It sang of bright days long past and of the yearning that lingered in those who remembered them.

Lúthien froze.

She had never heard anything like it before. Not even the songs of Daeron, her dear friend and the greatest bard of Doriath, could rival this sound. There was not only beauty in the melody but also a call—a summons. The voice resonated within her heart, making it race and simultaneously soothing it, as if promising something profound.

Her eyes closed involuntarily, and then, as if guided by an unseen force, she moved forward.

The forest she had known all her life transformed around her. Shadows deepened, and the tree trunks stood close together like watchful sentinels. Their tops intertwined, forming a nearly impenetrable canopy, but she was not afraid. The melody's call was stronger than any fear.

Soon, she saw the source of the magic.

Seated on a small stone at the foot of a towering tree was a stranger. His figure nearly blended with the shadows, but the starlight traced his outline in delicate lines. Long black hair fell over his shoulders, gleaming like the surface of a midnight lake. His hands rested on his knees, fingers slightly curved as if playing an invisible instrument that existed only in his mind.

His eyes—gray, like the morning mist over a tranquil lake—gazed into the distance. Yet within their depths lay more than longing. It was the gaze of someone who had seen and endured far more than one heart could bear.

Lúthien stood motionless, unable to look away. The stranger exuded something indescribable. Light and shadow wove around him in an almost otherworldly harmony. It was a power she could not understand but felt in every fiber of her being.

She took a step closer. The grass beneath her feet did not stir, but the stranger sensed her presence. His song ended abruptly, like water vanishing into the depths of an underground river. Slowly, he turned his head, and their eyes met.

For a moment, everything else vanished.

"Who are you?" Lúthien whispered, her voice trembling like a taut string.

He remained silent, as if he did not know the answer or words were too feeble to capture his essence. Then, after a long pause, he spoke.

"My name is Kano. I am a wanderer from across the sea, seeking my way in this land."

His voice was as mesmerizing as his song—deep, calm, tinged with distant sorrow.

Lúthien smiled, though her eyes burned with an inner flame. She felt that this meeting was no accident.

"Then, Kano, I will show you the paths of Doriath. But first... sing to me again."

He inclined his head slightly. The corners of his lips twitched into a faint smile, and once more, the song began. This time, it was different—gentle, like the breath of spring wind. Lúthien listened, holding her breath. The stars shone brighter, and the forest seemed to awaken, absorbing every note.

Her heart was utterly captivated.

[maledivine]

The noble motives of my Cock

A few weeks ago I was on a work trip which led to some discussions on potential new initiatives and collaborations. The idea arose in me to establish a foundation or NGO. As I was reflecting on this possibility while we drove through the mountains of a remote region, I touched my crotch and fell into bliss. As I entered into a deep connection with my cock, I asked myself about my motivation for having such a plan, since setting up an NGO, although it's something that in appearance may be for the benefit of others, can actually involve a lot of ego and materialistic motives.

And then I felt, coming from my penis, a strong impulse to make sure that such an initiative would be completely selfless as far as I am concerned: if I do it, I should not have a single trace of desire for personal benefit.

And then I fell into a deep state of forgetfulness of self, a sense of total merging with the universe, and love for all beings. As a Baha'i the notion of selfless service to humanity is a key teaching and a core motivation for me in my life and career, so at one level the message I received was nothing new, and something I am deeply aware of at both spiritual and intellectual levels. But now I felt the same message coming to me from my cock (and also my anus -- all of my genital zones), and leading me to an embodied and blissful experience of oneness.

At that point I discovered that my lowly cock and anus are aligned with the highest and most noble purpose of my life, that they are aligned with God's will. My cock is not only a toy for innocent playing with and pleasuring, as I had experienced a few days earlier -- it is a partner and guide on my path of God.

I realised, as my cock was guiding me to purify my motives and to experience universal love and oneness, that my cock is even more pure than my own heart. As I communicated my gratitude to my cock, and welcomed it to join me on my path of service to God and humanity, it was so happy that it threw me into deep orgasms, orgasms so deep and powerful, I realised that these lofty aspirations had been the deepest yearning of my cock, but I had not involved it in my work, having only taken it as a source of pleasure and bliss... Ooooh! I just had an orgasm thinking about it…

[chavasjewishscrapbook]

From 'Why I Still Want to Be a Jew' by Janine Parkinson

"Just as I was ready to take the next steps in my journey of conversion, a dear friend posed a thought-provoking question: Could embracing this conversion also expose me to antisemitism and hatred? This question weighed heavily on my mind, prompting deep conversations with friends and careful consideration of the implications. These discussions ultimately led me to temporarily set aside my pursuit, as the weight of indecision became paralyzing. Pushed aside again and again as COVID-19 swept the globe, my priorities shifted toward survival. Like so many others, I focused on self-preservation and isolation.

"However, as the world gradually reopened, I felt an overwhelming desire to reconnect with the community that had breathed life into my journey. In the early months of 2023, I started reestablishing those pre-pandemic relationships. Yet, as I attempted to rebuild these connections, a new challenge arose in the form of the Middle East conflict, particularly Hamas’ invasion of Israel. The news left me glued to the screen, yearning for a resolution and peace. The deep divisions in society became even more apparent on social media, as fake news and the echo-chamber effect exacerbated the situation.

"It was during this very moment that I felt an overwhelming compulsion to once more reflect on my path, to discern where my heart truly yearned to belong. And so, I wrote, and kept writing until I had found my answer: I am Jewish, and I am proud of my faith. It is an integral part of who I am, as significant as my race, sexual orientation, or other aspects of my identity."

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

SasuNaru snippet.

For @atqh16, whose ideas are sparking way too many dynamites in my brain. For god's sake, why is it that when I'm at my most busy that's when ideas decide to hit? I've got so many W.I.P's I have to complete, but, oh well—

The scars whispered secrets of a garden haunted by stolen blooms.

From the crevices and chasms of his weary form, delicate tendrils of life erupted, unfurling like pale specters in the moon's ethereal glow. It was a ghastly ballet of nature's triumph over human frailty, a testament to resilience carved in flesh and bone.

From the deep, jagged scars that marred his skin, blossoms of sorrow and hope arose, their petals kissed by a pale luminescence that cast long, ghostly shadows. Their roots snaked through the fissures, entwining with the sinews of his being.

Each bloom held the weight of his untold stories, the fragrance of his silent suffering mingling with the night air. They whispered secrets carried by the wind, secrets of a soul adrift in the boundless sea of existence. And yet, they yearned for solace, for the gentle touch of understanding hands.

Those hands were brushed aside, shoved aside for calloused hands and indifferent hearts. Hands that came to teal away these fragile blossoms, ignorant of the pain that bled with each pluck. They took, as if entitled, heedless of the toll it exacted on Naruto's garden of scars.

Petals fell, like mournful tears, leaving behind a desolation that echoed in the hollow chambers of his heart. The once vibrant blooms now lay strewn, reflecting the erosion of his spirit. And still, the insatiable hands reached out, tearing at the remaining vestiges of his fragile sanctuary.

As the moon waxed and waned, so did the garden of Naruto's heart. What was once a testament to the indomitable spirit, now bore the wounds of a thousand thefts. Each stolen blossom left behind a void, an emptiness that resonated through the very core of his being.

---

For all that the sunlight dappled through verdant leaves, there was no warmth to be found in Konoha.

No warmth for Naruto who had been drowned in the cold and cruel waters of solitude. From the first rays of dawn, he was taught to bear the weight of his trials, to swallow his problems like bitter pills.

(Jiji's weary voice weaves a lament, 'What doesn't kill you births strength,' he murmurs, a symphony of sorrow in his timeworn tones.

Younger Naruto, the one that had been a mere sapling had nodded, eyes wide and yearning, desperately trying to find some source of warmth.

But after years of fighting off the shadows that have embraced his soul, a scream threatens to tear itself out of his chest. ‘I don't crave for strength,’  his words come out as a hoarse whisper, merging with the ephemeral winds. ‘Love's embrace, safety's sanctuary, and happiness' tender kiss – these are the blooms I seek.’

But what does it matter now, when the recipient of those words has long turned to dust?)

A tempest, raging silently within the confines of his being, whipped by memories that howled like winds through the gnarled branches of ancient trees. His heart, a mosaic of shattered dreams and thwarted hopes, was guarded by a ribcage of iron.

The sunken path he treads upon was strewn with the fragments of a thousand battles fought, both within and without. Each step echoed with the resonance of whispered promises and stifled cries. His spirit, forged in the crucible of adversity, bore the scars of unspoken pains etched deep into his very core.

He found no guidance on how to mend the breach, how to stitch together the torn fibers of his soul. The echoes of his struggles reverberated through his chest, a relentless drumbeat that pulsed with the rhythm of a heart yearning for release.

His voice, once vibrant as a chorus of songbirds heralding the dawn, had become a hushed murmur, choked by the weight of unspoken burdens. The river of words that once flowed freely, now dammed by the wreckage of unvoiced confessions. His throat, the conduit of his soul's symphony, lay barren and desolate.

In the quiet moments, when the village slumbered and the moon cast its silvery veil, Naruto would sit beneath the canopy of stars, seeking solace in their distant glow. His breath, a fragile whisper in the vast expanse, carried the weight of untold stories and stifled cries. The moon, a silent witness to his struggles, bathed him in its ethereal light, as if offering a balm for his wounded spirit.

The heavens wept for him, their tears mingling with the rain that kissed his cheeks, as if mourning the silent suffering of a soul bound by its own silence.

He was far too tired now to find the strength to retrace the stitches of his heart, to sew his throat back together, and reclaim the voice that had been lost to the winds of misfortune.

---

The hands that cradle his face are gentle, as if woven from the finest threads of moonlight. Their touch, a balm to wounds unseen, carries the solace of forgotten lullabies, each finger a whispered promise of respite.

Warmth, like a slow, ethereal river, seeps into his skin, a golden current burrowing its way into the very marrow of his bones. It pulses, a steady rhythm of comfort, casting away the shadows that had taken refuge within his soul.

‘Come on, usuratonakachi.’

The voice that reaches his ears is soft as if made from the very material clouds are made of. It swirls around him, a delicate mist of wisdom and weariness, carrying the weight of centuries in its ethereal notes. It is a voice that has weathered storms and witnessed the rise and fall of empires, yet still carries the tender cadence of compassion.

In the hushed stillness, Naruto finds himself drawn to the presence before him. Sasuke stands like a sentinel in the fading light, his form bathed in a halo of moonbeams. His eyes, deep wells of understanding, hold the secrets of a thousand lifetimes, and yet, they shimmer with a melancholic gentleness.

‘Let's go home.’

As the words hang in the air, they linger, like a whispering breeze through forgotten ruins, carrying with them the weight of unspoken truths.

(A fragile bloom grows amidst the thorns of his existence.)

Maybe, Naruto wonders, just maybe, they are, perhaps, the flowers that can grow even in the cracks and scars of his wounded heart, awaiting only the touch of tenderness to awaken them from their slumber.

(Love, pursuit, and happiness need not be distant stars in a darkened sky.)

Inspired by the Hanahaki disease.

[esters-notepad]

By the beggar from Lu-ossa everybody gathered round,

and they listened to him sing in firelight.

And he sang of tramps and drifters and of many things profound,

and he sang about his yearning all the night.

"Something lies beyond the mountains, past the songs, beyond the flowers,

something lies behind the stars, behind this restless heart of mine.

Listen to the quiet whisper, he who calls me through the hours:

Come and join us, thou art not from Earth, this kingdom is not thine.

I have listened to the quiet beat of waves against the shore,

I have dreamt about the calming of the sea.

In the Spirit I have flown towards that formless place of lore

where what we held dearest shall forgotten be.

By pale mothers we were born into a wild, eternal yearning.

From the birthing pains of worry our first plaintive cries arose.

On the plains and in the mountains we were playing, tumbling, turning,

and we played at god and beggar, lion, butterfly and moose.

I sat quietly beside her, she whose heart was just like mine.

She prepared our home with soft and gentle hands.

Then my heart cried out inside me, thy possessions are not thine,

and the Spirit took me to the peaceful lands.

What I love, that is beyond and under distant shadows hidden,

and my rightful way is wonderful and high.

In the bustle and commotion I will pray to God unbidden:

'Give me that which no-one, no-one has; let this world pass me by!'

Come with me beyond the mountains with the cool calm rivers, brother,

come with me where all the ocean waves will slowly go to sleep.

In a place beyond the heavens is my home and lives my mother

standing in a cloak of roses, in the golden mist so deep.

May the dark and salty waters cool our faces in their fever,

may this life be miles away before the morning dawns above!

I was never of this world, and as a restless unbeliever

I endured a thousand tribulations for my burning love.

On a beach of many shells and heavy roses stands a portal.

Here the shipwrecks find their final rest, and weary men find ease.

And a melody is echoing, unheard by any mortal

where the never aging children of the blessing live in peace."

-Dan Andersson (translated by me)

[letters4amira]

06th march, 2023 ; our second eclipse

But over time, you showed me the true beauty and power of love. In a million subtle and not so subtle ways, you let me know that love doesn’t have to be confined to grand gestures. Rather, it can manifest itself through everyday acts of kindness, compassion and affection.

My Love,

When I first met you, I had no idea what true love felt like. All I had were half-baked notions of what it should look like from movies, books and other people’s relationships. I was unsure of whether this intense emotion was something I was capable of.

I learnt that love means cherishing every single moment we spent together, both big and small. It’s a commitment to accept and support each other through all the highs and lows that life throws our way. That it’s not a superficial emotion but one rooted in trust, honesty and a mutual understanding of our relationship.

I long for you.

I am lost in longing as I think of how it feels to be in your embrace. With every caress of your hands I feel the warmth spreading through my body, bringing with it an intensity that fills me with desire.

I am yearning for your touch, craving it more and more with every second that passes. The thought of having you explore my body is electrifying, sending tingles down my spine as I imagine how it will feel. Your touch alone has the power to set my legs trembling, an uncontrollable force taking hold as pleasure courses through my veins.

I ache for you to show me the heights of pleasure that I have yet to experience. To fill me with a love and longing that I have been searching for. You have become a part of my heart and soul, a craving I cannot control and no longer try to resist. All I can think of is having you closer, closer to me. I want you and all the things you can make me feel.

I think of you.

In those short, seemingly insignificant moments between each second of my life, my thoughts naturally drift to you. Those moments are fleeting, but to me they represent a bond that’s stronger than I ever could have imagined. Even when we’re not together, your spirit lives in the spaces between seconds of my life, comforting me and inspiring me to be better.

Every time I am counting down to the start of a new day, the finish of a long project, or even the beat of a favorite song, I am reminded of you. In those times when my mind races ahead, sometimes to doubt, sometimes to anxiety, it is you that brings me back to the present. Even in the hard times, your presence gives me peace, providing the assurance that I can always be brave enough to push through.

No one else fills these spaces the way that you do. You may not even realize it, but it is in these silent moments between seconds when my love for you is most strong. Although it’s true that words fail to accurately convey the importance of this bond, my heart is brimming with admiration, gratitude and awe that someone like you could ever exist in my life.

I love you no matter what.

Even though we've had our share of fights and misunderstandings, it has only brought us closer together. Despite our moments of tension, I always manage to find a way to stay connected with you. Our arguments are proof that we are not perfect and we both make mistakes. Despite these shortcomings, I love you and your flaws unconditionally.

At times, I may feel frustrated and let out my anger, but deep down I still have the utmost respect for you. Through the struggles, I have come to understand and appreciate you for who you are and for that I'm thankful. No matter what we go through, I will always have a deep love and respect for you.

I have realized that I have become more open-minded and understanding as a result of our misunderstandings. We've had to compromise and see each other's perspectives. In our discussions, I have come to better appreciate what's important to you, and you have been understanding of my needs as well.

My love for you has never wavered, even when the conflict between us arose. Our willingness to continue the fight to love each other and keep working at our relationship has been worth it. It's something I will cherish for the rest of my life. I love you beyond our fights and misunderstandings.

It has been 2 years already, my love. My love for you remained constant as the sky above.

Happy anniversary baby! I hope to spend my lifetime with you. I love you so much wifey <3

My heart will always belong to you.

always,

mtcd

[stuairi675]

The Forest of Nightmares

Word Count: 1275

Stave 1: Greed

It’s out there, if you’re not aware,

Dancing in the fancies of whim,

Outside the limits of reason or rhyme.

Let’s start this properly, once upon a time…

Marking the crags with watery hands,

Ravenous, the sea clawed.

Upon their squat little house,

The sun began to dawn.

 *

A little girl named Adeline

Stared out at the crashing waves,

Awaiting the arrival of any sign

That her Father might be safe.

 *

Her Mother had lost her mind,

Had forgone for fear of truth

And submitted in time

To madness sublime,

But to her baby son would soothe.

 *

Upon the anniversary of their bleakest day,

A mist consumed the bay.

And from the tide

Devils did stride,

And took the baby child away.

 *

When Adeline set her eyes upon the crib

When finally she arose,

She saw her mother weeping there,

Hands bleeding, taut around a rose.

 *

She took hold her Father’s Cowl,

And draped it around her form.

She set out to sea, to bring her brother home

And save him from the storm.

 *

Across the ocean, she would row,

Tempted down by drowned stares,

For she journeyed through the Sea of Souls,

Through, to the Forest of Nightmares.

 *

Upon her venture she came across a charming little nymph.

It was small in size

And from its eyes

A white light burned,

revealing the nature of the wooden imp.

 *

It strolled with her for some time,

through the gnarled thickets and trees,

As they marched beyond and abandoned

the mournful, wailing seas.

 *

They came across a banquet, barren.

Bounties, alluring and rich,

And at the helm, a creature crowned

A Straw-man is what would sit.

 *

A carved pumpkin for a head,

And a sickle at its side,

It lay there, motionless,

Almost as if it had died.

 *

Adeline approached the table

And stumbled upon a plaque.

Embellished into the gold,

It simply read that:

 *

‘I am covetous, I am greed,

And from my bounty, I implore you take.

Meek hands that thieve,

Hollow cheeks that breathe,

In return you guard what I have toiled to make.’

 *

Adeline outstretched a weary hand,

And took hold a loaf of bread.

It sung to her in harmonies of voices,

Combatted the moans of the dead.

 *

It sat golden in her shaking palm,

Promising insulation from hunger.

But the saccharine was sickly sweet

And longed to pull her under.

 *

And from scolding breath of life present

The Straw-man revived and struck her with a blow,

Knocking the feast from her grasp

It approached and breathed one word: ‘woe!’

Flaming sickle in its grasp,

Fire billowing from its maw,

Adeline fled at its torrid rasp

As it reached out a hand and said once more: ‘Woe…’

Stave 2: Secrets

Adeline and the Nymph ran far into the trees

Till cold bit at their lungs

and tiredness at their knees.

 *

They ventured through the night,

Baring not solace nor no sin,

And braved the deep Darkwood,

The unfettered plain they were in.

 *

Webs streaked across the sky

And swallowed the dismal light,

Cocooning them in darkness

And a thousand hissing frights.

 *

Within the nest of a 

thousand sobbing webs,

Stood a fair little cottage,

amidst a flower bed.

 *

It sat in a valley of perfect crystal

And bled the trapped light from the dark.

A perfect haven for wayward souls

And those determined of heart.

 *

From out the door

Emerged a creature draped in red

With four arms,

Each clutching a needle and a thread.

 *

A mask concealed its face,

Kept her shrivelled and shy,

And from behind it,

She began a heavy sigh:

 *

‘Welcome, young pilgrims,

You have travelled far and wide,

To reach my humble abode,

The place with time, I bide.

 *

I am furtive, I am secrecy,

I am the font of harboured sin.

With woe I look upon you,

Shrouded by this web of lies I spin.

 *

I am the Devil Weaver,

Warden of hidden words,

But here I stand, a weary asylum,

Maddened by their corrupting yearns.

 *

Come hither, small creatures,

Beware not my features,

For I do not intend to harm.

 *

Onward you will tread,

Become fixated by dread

And this shall be your home.

 *

Now march farther than you have before,

With those grim faces that you bore,

And face, your final task, 

the loathed Manticore.’

Stave 3: Chaos

And so, Adeline and the Nymph

Pressed deeper into the dream,

Into a grove entwined with starlight

Where the trees did burn and gleam.

 *

From the epicentre of the reverie

A lake of moonlight froze,

And from the refractions of the ice,

A dark figure rose.

 *

He brandished wings of night,

And swayed a scorpion’s tale,

And from behind serpent’s fangs

He let out a deathly wail:

 *

‘Welcome, my emissary,

Long I’ve awaited this day.

I am that which is called Manticore,

Long live my Devil’s reign.

 *

I am chaos, I am temptation,

I am the universe’s reckless whim,

I am the twisting of the mind,

I am the perversion deep within.

 *

I am the Troupe Leader

Of this counterfeit Masquerade,

Barron of the Sea of Souls

And those whose spirits I’ve lured away.’

 *

Adeline started forward,

For she feared not him and no other.

Unabashed and Unafraid,

She looked up and simply asked,

‘Where is my brother?’

 *

‘Oh, is woe,’ Mocked the Devil,

‘I did not think you deceived as so.

From here to there, to everywhere,

These places you’ve been shown.

You’ve been swindled, little pilgrim,

By your guide you’ve been misled,

For you came upon your destination long, long ago.’

 *

With the weight of solid lead,

Adeline turned her head,

She looked once more into the eyes of the nymph

Which moved as if they were dead.

* 

And as to reply, the imp so said so,

One single word:

‘Woe.’

 *

From out the shards of ice,

Darkwood brambles grew,

Encased the mourning Adeline,

Making something new.

 *

They buried into her flesh,

Plucked deep into her mind.

The door of time was opened,

The veil left behind.

 *

Apple and wine in hand,

The Devil sat upon his throne,

And released a mighty cackle,

‘To me, your soul is what I own.

 *

I am consequence, I am reward,

I am misfortune and surprise,

I am a force of this universe

Never to be undermined.’

 *

But from the dark of the woods,

A flame began to grow,

And from the depths of time,

There was one word: ‘Woe!’

 *

From amidst the trees

The Straw-man burst,

Fatherly fire in its eyes;

Throat parched with a hellish thirst.

 *

Flaming sickle in hand,

It cut the young girl free;

Hacking at the grim root,

Before opposing the Devil’s Creed.

 *

From behind Devil’s teeth,

Seethed Devil’s rage,

As Manticore called out,

‘You ignorant slave!’

 *

And in their fight

The ice began to break,

And in a blinding flash of light

They were consumed by the lake.

Stave 4: Enigma

Deep within the forest floor,

A Nymph stalked and knocked on a door.

From within, the Weaver appeared,

‘Nymph,’ she said, ‘why do you seek this Seer?’

 *

‘Weave me a cloak of binding light,

So that I may hide myself from the devouring night.

Conceal my nature,

Restore my sight.’

 *

And so, the Weaver sombrely complied,

Sewing a cloak to mask a blotted stigma,

Hooded in secrecy’s shroud,

Becoming not more than a walking Enigma.

[aftaabmagazine]

"Music and Songs" Short Story by Babrak Arghand

"Music and Songs" Short Story by Babrak Arghand

Translated from the Farsi by Farhad Azad

AftaabMag.com | Spring 2024

The narrow, dusty alley of Kharabat exhaled loneliness, and a solitary lamp at the end of the alley flickered with a faint light here and there.

As I reached Saber's house, I stopped. It was as if my body grew numb and lifeless, and my feet lost their will to move. Time ceased its flow, the earth no longer spun on its axis, and the stars were absent from their reflection in the crystal spheres. Only the sound of mystifying music rippled through the air, and the fragmented cries of a santoor poured out into the alley through the cracks and crevices of the window.

I looked up. A dim glow illuminated Saber's upper room, and the shadow of a hunched man fell upon the white curtain of the window, swaying left and right with the instrument's melodies.

I thought, "Poor soul, it seems he's still sleepless..."

And I nudged the doorstep with the tip of my foot. The sound of the music rose louder. The plectrum struck the strings with greater intensity, and the cries arose more painful and melancholic.

In the courtyard, the rain fell drop by drop, the earth exhaled the scent of damp soil with sorrow, and the poplar tree stood guard by the well like a sentinel, as in the past. A faint light from the lamp at the end of the corridor glimmered weakly beneath the mulberry leaves, and a deceived, nocturnal butterfly wearily circled around it.

The courtyard was small and square. It smelled of dirt, dead leaves, and music. A small drum rested its cracked head against the brick wall of the well, and a small puddle had formed in front of it. The sound of laughter came from afar, a weak and painful laughter. I thought to myself, "They're intoxicated again."

I had known that courtyard for years. I knew Zeib Al-Nasa, Nowruz, and their son Saber. I knew of his love story and infatuation with Roushanak—he had told me his accounts of Roushanak. I also recognized that laughter, and now weakly echoed for years as time passed. Sometimes, I thought that laughter flared into the air every night, its scattered fragments spreading throughout Kharabat.

I slowly entered the room. The room was cold and reeked of sorrow mixed with saffron, death, and loneliness. A lantern burned restlessly at the top of the arch, flickering as if exhaling its last breaths, a halo of darkness coiled around its jug-like neck. 

The smell of death emerged from its burning. Further away, a basil plant had withered in a pot, and the wind gently swayed an empty, broken picture frame on the window sill like a pendulum. The walls of the room offered a heart-wrenching sight, riddled with holes, and everywhere, memories of grief and pain were painted as if a mad lover and songwriter had moved out of there. I could hear the echo of his voice, still reverberating with woe and pain:

"In death, I'll carry your love's scar, a burden unseen, Yet, I yearn for my darling's embrace, a fleeting dream."

Someone whispered in my ear, "Do you hear? This is his voice. It's Saber's voice. The voice indeed stays!"

And right there, at the entrance, I sat down. The echo still painfully twisted and turned in the room. Astonished, I saw that life had returned to that home with all its hustle and bustle, and music and sound once again filled the room. 

I saw Saber, his santoor resting on his knees, his head bowed, frantically plucking at its strings like a madman. The cries and shouts of his santoor arose in a clamor, striking the doors and walls, shaking the withered basil plant, and violently clanging the empty, broken picture frame on the window sill.

I saw Zeb-un-Nisa wrap her shawl around her neck, place her water pipe before her, and take a deep drag. A moment later, a column of smoke from the burnt tobacco emerged from her mouth, momentarily obscuring her wrinkled face. Beyond that smoke...

She said to her son, "Look at your face. Your color has become like the flame of a lamp. What have these three years of prison done to you?"

And she added, grumbling, "What does this Roushanak have that has stolen your heart? I wish I hadn't let you go to their house that first day..."

Her voice dissolved in the grayish smoke of the water pipe. I didn't hear what else she said. But then she raised her voice, "I told you from the first day look at our station and their station. Where are we, and where are they? We are from Kharabat, and they are..."

She raised her voice even louder, "One day, their servant didn't open the door for us. He sounded, 'They will not give their daughter to a musician. The lady of the house said to tell you to cut their coat according to their cloth...'"

And after a pause, she said, "Saber!... It's good you didn't listen to Roushanak; it's good you didn't run away with her!"

Upon hearing Roushanak's name, I saw the cries of the santoor evolve louder, more painful, and more hopeless. Zeb-un-Nisa added, "They wouldn't say anything bad about Roushanak. After all, she is the apple of their eye, but they would have skinned you alive!... Let my words turn to ashes. They would have killed you!"

I saw the santoor fall silent. Saber lifted his head. His complexion was a shade of yellow. Two tears had gathered in his eyes. His face was handsome and charming. He had powerful eyes and eyebrows. In a sweet but sorrowful voice, he replied, "I wish I had listened to her... When they didn't allow the wedding, I wish we had both run away!"

And he moistened his dry, parched lips with his tongue, "I wish I hadn't broken bread with them...after all, they had the right of a student over me...I wish their hospitality hadn't blinded me..."

Zeb-un-Nisa wiped the mouthpiece of her water pipe with the palm of her hand: "They didn't have the right of a teacher over you. You had the right of a master! Those ungrateful people achieved their intent, and that was it... All they learned from you was singing and reciting. What else did you have to offer them? What else would they do with you? You were naive, that's all!"

And she let out a series of coughs: "If you had listened to me, we wouldn't be in this shape."

And she brought the water pipe to her mouth again: "The earring wasn't worth hanging for. Didn't I tell you?... They imprisoned you and forcefully married off their daughter... For God's sake, three years of hard labor, all for a girl! Roushanak wasn't a shining beacon, she was a scorching flame, a scorching flame!"

And she murmured painfully under her breath, "I don't know what sin my son committed, falling in love is no sin."

Saber bit his lip and stared at the mother-of-pearl diamonds of his santoor. The lantern glow reflected in the pearly shapes of the instrument. Suddenly, he saw Roushanak in the diamonds on the edge of his santoor, twirling and twirling in a wide skirt, just like in the old days, dancing and dancing to the music of the santoor. Like the branches of a spring willow, her hands and feet joyfully twisted and turned and curved this way and that.

Saber thought, "I know that God created these flowers imitating Roushanak's beautiful face. I know that these shining stars are Roushanak's tears, shed upon the darkness of this world. I know that the winds blow to caress her hair. If she were not here, there would be no world, no tolerance."

And he pressed his lips under his teeth: "The pain of prison seared my bones, but I didn't die. But without Roushanak, I will die. Roushanak has no life without me, either. I can smell the touch of death. I see it hovering a few steps away from me. I see that death is to an instrument, a song, a strange melody sung by a poor traveler in a vast desert, with passion, blazing."

I saw Zeb-un-Nisa rise from her place. She stood in the middle of the room. She seemed lovely and graceful. She had a peculiar resemblance to Roushanak. Her stature was like a tall cypress tree. She had captivating black eyes and eyebrows. She stepped through the smoke. I saw her loosen the knot of her green shawl, bobbing her black, curly hair onto her shoulders. She secured a scarf around her waist and tested the strap of the bells on her feet.

A bitter smile appeared on Saber's lips, and his unwell eyes lit up with laughter. With his white, thin hand, full of turquoise-colored veins, he excitedly squeezed his santoor, and his fingers magically hovered over the strings of the instrument. And the room was once again consumed with music.

Suddenly, I saw the door in front of me flung open with a loud bang. I heard the sound of its hinges hitting the walls.

In the doorway frame, a square, dark figure appeared like a black hole, pulling the swirling, blue smoke of the water pipe towards itself with an unnatural force.

I saw familiar and unfamiliar faces appear in the doorway. Each face carried an instrument or a song. Then, I saw a sound like a roaring river surging into the room. 

The sound held significant meanings, with a surge shimmering in every wave, every twist and turn. It was as if the particles of sound were expanding in the space, making the room tighter and tighter. 

The sound couldn't fit in the room as the walls began to recede and the ceiling moved further away. I feared the expanding sounds, worried that Saber's upper chamber might explode. I foolishly held my breath, drew in my arms and legs, and contracted my body as if making space for the sound. 

The echo roared like a volcano: "I am the soul of Kharabat, the beloved of Kharabat!" 

And all the voices and instruments echoed in response: "We are the soul of Kharabat, the beloved of Kharabat!"

They shook the curtains and walls, and the lantern flame frantically leaped out of the black ring of its jug-like glass. It was as if the army of love had invaded, as if the foot soldiers of music and song had arrived with jars of wine and bliss. I saw Zeb-un-Nisa, who had morphed into Roushanak, dancing, twirling, and stamping her feet, her toes adorned with henna patterns. It was as if she, too, had joined the instruments and songs, her thin lips moving as she sang along with the rhythm of the instruments: "I am the soul of Kharabat, the beloved of Kharabat." 

She twirled, her skirt blooming around her like a red rose, twirling and singing, "I am the soul of Kharabat, the beloved of Kharabat," tossing her curly hair from side to side.

Saber's eyes were fixed on Roushanak, and his plectrum plucked petals of devotion from the heart of the strings, laying them as a carpet at Roushanak's feet. And Roushanak stamped her feet upon those painful, blood-red petals, stamping and twirling.

Suddenly, I saw all the instruments and songs fall silent, and the darkness of silence spread its wings mercilessly everywhere, but Roushanak continued to dance without music. This time, she wore a black dress. Her face was saffron-hued. The bells on her feet had become large pieces of iron. She seemed spinning and twisting in one spot, fearfully asking someone, "Why did the instruments fall silent? Why did the songs fade away?"

I saw Saber's color turn more and more yellow and pale with each passing moment, and his fingers lost their strength. It was as if his tormented soul was leaving his body, as if he was dying and his existence was coming to an end.

Roushanak stopped dancing and sat down in front of Saber, terrified. "Why are you still angry with me?... What was in my power? What could I have done? I said let's run away. You didn't."

But Saber lowered his head and sang with burning pain: "In death, I'll carry your love's scar, a burden unseen. Yet, I yearn for my darling's embrace, a fleeting dream."

I saw Roushanak untie her waist scarf and wrap her shawl around her head again. I noticed she had become Zeb-un-Nisa once more. Her tired eyes were teary, her back was bent, and her clothes smelled of bitter tobacco smoke. I saw her helplessly take the santoor from her son's hands and put it in a corner. Then she asked, with distress in her voice, "My child, what's wrong with you?"

Saber said, "Don't ask, take that basil plant away from my sight, get these thoughts out of my head!... Can't you see they're suffocating me!"

Zeb-un-Nisa rose painfully from her place, "Don't worry, I'll take it away!"

And she stepped towards the basil plant. Her legs were quivering.

I saw the instruments weeping, the songs lamenting, the lantern at the top of the arch lifeless, and Roushanak no longer dancing. The moth of the lantern at the end of the corridor had perished under the mulberry leaves.

Mournfully, I stood. Outside, the rain had ceased, and the sound of laughter no longer reached my ears. It seemed as if time had stopped once again. The earth no longer spun on its axis, and the stars did not reflect in the puddles.

Only the scent of death was scattered everywhere. Only the sorrowful voice of Saber came from behind the walls of time, singing mournfully:

"In death, I'll carry your love's scar, a burden unseen, Yet, I yearn for my darling's embrace, a fleeting dream."

[monarchgraphicsanddesign]

Breaking Free: From Surviving to Living. Poem

In the depths of life's stormy sea, At sweet sixteen, a child conceived in me, A mother, too young, faced with fears untold, Embarking on a journey I could not yet behold.

Eighteen arrived, another life to bear, The weight of responsibilities I had to share, A soul too tender, a heart not yet wise, Yearning for freedom beneath uncertain skies.

Twenty dawned, a third blessing appeared, With each passing day, the burdens veered, A life on hold, dreams tucked away, Trapped in a cycle that held my spirit at bay.

At twenty-four, a battle arose, A custody struggle, my soul in throes, Locked in a realm of endless strife, Surviving, not living, in a painful life.

Years slipped by, tears left their mark, Yet deep within, there flickered a spark, A whisper of hope, a glimmer of light, Guiding me towards a future shining bright.

Today, I stand with newfound grace, The shackles released, pain I embrace, For now, my chance to truly be alive, To soar with joy, and my dreams revive.

No longer trapped, I spread my wings wide, Embracing life's wonders, no longer to hide, I'll seize each moment, with passion, I'll strive, Breaking free from the shackles, finally alive.

In the battles I've faced, I've found strength anew, Lessons learned, resilience grew, I'll savor the present, cherish what's mine, Living, not just surviving, in this precious time.

So let the past be a testament, my tale, Of struggles endured, and wounds that did scale, For now, I'll embrace the freedom I've won, Living each day, basking in life's golden sun.

[honorhearted]

"Sweetheart, go fetch Papa's sketchbook. Over there, see?"

John gaped at them with a gap-toothed grin, then squealed before setting off on his mission. Despite the heaviness in his heart, Benjamin laughed, fondly curling an arm around Peggy as their son toddled off with spirited determination. Just as he reached the sketchbook, he flopped to his chubby knees, gave a dispirited little grunt, and then rose anew.

"A true marvel," Benjamin murmured, his eyes growing glassy with fond melancholia. "Why is it we never appreciate what we have -- truly appreciate it -- until faced with trials and tribulation?"

Peggy quaked at his side, and then suddenly her arms were around him, anchoring him securely against her chest. Unbidden, Benjamin practically melted into her embrace, closing his eyes and threading his fingers through her hair.

"I love you, Benjamin. You've given me everything I could have ever wanted and more...and for that, I'll always consider myself blessed."

"And I love you," he whispered. More than you could ever possibly know.

Another squeal from John roused them to attention, and glancing over at their triumphant toddler, Benjamin managed a husky laugh as the boy presented his sketchbook akin to a much-desired prize.

"Thank you, Johnny," he praised. "You're always so fast. I imagine that when you're older, everyone will be struggling to catch up with you."

Please let me be there to see it, he prayed. Please, God, please. I ask for so little...

--

All seemed quiet, bleak, suffocating within the smog of old artillery fire. With a sharp twinge in his chest, Benjamin remained hunkered down in wait, gazing between the British and American fortifications while he prayed underneath his breath. This couldn’t be the end. They had fought too hard for this – lost too much for it all to be over. Despite their devastating defeat at Saratoga, there had still somehow been hope. There had always been hope, but as a white flag of surrender lifted from the American side, Benjamin wavered and sank down to his hands and knees. Yorktown was lost...

It didn’t feel real – it wasn’t real. He refused to accept that his friends, his family and loved ones – Samuel – had died for nothing.

As cries of victory arose from the British parapet, Benjamin slowly felt his throat closing up around the scream that yearned to escape. Panic gripped him in a stronghold and he struggled to breathe, his breath stabbing fiercely in his lungs as Caleb clambered up alongside him. He heard his friend’s words, but somehow couldn’t fully register them.

"Oi! C'mon there, Tallboy, we gotta move!"

A soft, strangled laugh caught in Benjamin’s throat and he lifted his head again, bemused. “Do we?” he hissed. “Caleb, this is it – we’re finished. Washington is finished.” His eyes stung and his chin quivered with emotion, yet he refused to cry. “After his surrender, they will have him strung up for treason. You know this. And you must also realize that they will have me, and you, and anyone else they can link to the ring hanged for their efforts.” He exhaled then, long and shaking. “That is why you must deny any and all accusations, should you be questioned. It is inevitable that I will swing from the noose, but you? You still have a chance. Don’t let that be taken away.”

Even as Benjamin said the words, a pang of desperation welled from deep within, and seizing the whaler by the arm, he pleadingly hissed in a frantic rush, "Peggy -- my children -- you must protect them! Caleb, you must! We need to find them! W-we've got to-"

Caleb cuffed him with the flat of his palm, his dark eyes uncharacteristically somber. "Snap out of it!" he growled. "We'll find 'em, Ben, we will. Butcha gotta work with me here -- and in order to do that, we hafta go now."

“But how can I leave?” Benjamin pressed. “Caleb, I have never once abandoned Washington, nor our men. This feels wrong. I can’t just leave them to die!”

"It's either you die or your family," the whaler snapped, "and I can tell ya this much, Ben: no one here'll blame ya for choosin' family. Not at this point. Even the greatest o' men would be thinkin' o' their loved ones in a time like this."

Benjamin stroked her cheek and Peggy leaned into his touch, wishing she hadn't wasted so much time pushing him away. It'd be a regret she harbored for as long as she lived.

"You're the bravest woman I know, Peggy. No matter what happens, you will be all right -- that much I do know."

You're wrong, she thought, I'm not strong. If something were to happen to you I'll surely shatter...

"You know I can't make that promise. Only God can determine such an outcome." His forehead met hers and it was all that kept her from bursting into tears, tethering her to her last shred of sanity. She knew Benjamin could sense the uncertainty in the air, perhaps even better than she could. There was nothing either of them could say to stop the inevitable from coming, good or bad. God help her.

"I'll fight for you. I will. That much I can promise."

John squirmed and impatiently expressed his desire to be put down and Peggy donned a soft smile for him, glad that infants were not perceptive enough to see through the hollowness of an expression.

"Sweetheart, go fetch Papa's sketchbook. Over there, see?"

Though Benjamin teased, she couldn't bring herself to do the same, unable to shake the prickling sensation in her nerves. Not wanting Elizabeth to sense her upset, Peggy settled her snugly into her basket that doubled as a bassinet.

"With any luck, this will be our final battle," he reassured. "If something happens...well..."

"Benjamin," her tone was that of a warning, not wishing to be pushed to the brink of tears again.

"Every day isn't a guarantee, but having all this time with you -- with our children -- has been my greatest reward. Please know that."

Breath hitching in her throat, she lifted her gaze for fear the tears would begin spilling over as he took her hand.

"Every day isn't a guarantee, but having all this time with you -- with our children -- has been my greatest reward. Please know that."

Peggy shook her head repeatedly as he drew her hand to his lips, catching sight of his own eyes dampening and prompting her to lunge forward, throwing her arms around him tightly. She didn't weep, not really. She couldn't afford to in the presence of her children, at least not now. There was no reason to cause them any stress over something they were too young to understand.

"Let's enjoy the remainder of our morning together, all right? I don't want you worrying about me. That must be the Lord's job."

Nodding, Peggy pulled away just enough to appraise her husband, carefully studying his face so that she could remember it perfectly while he was away.

"I love you, Benjamin. You've given me everything I could have ever wanted and more...and for that, I'll always consider myself blessed."

[acaiasahi]

✶ second place ; kanemoto yoshinori.

synopsis. yoshinori chooses you as his 'plan b' after confessing to your sister goes south.

info. angst, non idol!kanemoto yoshinori x gn!reader, 1,390 words

warnings. crying, yearning, unrequited love (?), grammatical + structural errors, smaller text and lowercase intended, proofread-ish (sorry!)

[ now playing . . . ] in my dreams by red velvet.

second place.

whatever you did, it just — wasn't good enough.

no, never as good as your sister. you almost envied her but there was this small part of you that felt absolute guilt for ever thinking in such a way.

you loved your sister, you truly did but it you could not catch a break because it seemed like everyone just had to put their input on how your beloved sister was always a few steps ahead of you.

whether it was your third grade spelling bee, or getting understudy for your freshman year musical, you never rose to the occasion, always sinking. it's quite safe to say you grew up as a loser, and a sore one at that.

as you grew older, you slowly began retracting yourself from competitive activities and prioritizing ones that cared more about your expression and emotions. you thought that submerging yourself in your art was one hundred times better than groveling within your own pity party.

art was your escape, simple as pie. it helped allowed your feelings to flow wherever it pleased, your heart singing with nothing but pure joy and that says a lot compared to your past competitive lifestyle.

there was a certain point where you allowed yourself to view life as love rather than a competition. okay, it sounds a little crazy to say that your life is love but you were able to surround yourself with loving people, people who cared more about you and less of your cons.

and those certain people — well, person, has to be none other than kanemoto yoshinori himself.

he was your neighbor since a young age, the shy boy always reminding you that he saw you as his favorite star. only being three years younger than him, he tended to treat you like his younger sister instead of a potential lover.

it only became more clear as he slowly falls deeper and deeper in love with your older sister. an absolute slap in the face to say the least and what makes it worse is that she was completely oblivious which aggravated the absolute living hell out of you.

so like every good thing that comes, it quickly goes as you burying your feelings deep within yourself, heart breaking in tiny pieces that too far gone to repair. you bottle up your emotions, moving on and choosing happiness.

was it easy? no, because your happiness was yoshinori — he just didn't know it and you had no intention of telling him.

so you did what any sensible person would do, you moved on. desperately attempting to fall in love with the next best thing you could find and that happens to be takata mashiho.

it was quite surprising to say the least, because you knew the boy way before any romantic feelings arose. he was a friend of yoshi that you had met years ago when you had ran into the two boys whilst out.

"mashiho, takata mashiho." the dark-haired boy says so sweetly. you can't help but smile, grinning like an absolute moron, "y/n l/n."

"that's really beautiful," a whisper travels through the air. your ears perk up at the all too familiar voice, eyes softening upon seeing yoshinori. he smiles at you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jean jacket.

you return the grin, cheeks dusted with a soft strawberry hue as you turn back to your sketch.

his grass crunches underneath his sneakers as he draws closer and closer to your picnic blanket. he takes a seat on the soft gingham fabric, leaning back as a satisfied sigh leaves his lips.

as his hands rest behind his head, he takes a look at the blue sky above. your scribbling never ceases as your brows furrow together in concentration and almost forgetting his presence.

he rests on his elbows, wandering eyes scanning along your face. your eyes are quick to land on his, a small smirk gracing his face as he glazes over your features once more.

"what are you doing?" you ask gently, he shrugs a little before fully laying down again, "looking at you."

you scoff jokingly, goofy smile with all your teeth on display as you shake your head. a puff of air is released from your lungs, eyes darting from your sketch back to his calm form. "here," you mutter before practically shoving the sketch of him in his hands.

a chuckle tumbles from his lips, "it's very good," he says before tugging out a past drawing you done awhile a go. he flips it over to show you, "when was this?" he asks you before taking one last look.

"hm, this was at the beach. y'know like when we went with mashi," your voice becomes small towards the end, more specifically when you say mashiho's name.

you watch yoshi's face turn somewhat sour, eyes narrowing, smile completely gone as it turns into a thin line.

he hums in acknowledgment despite the displeased look smacked on his face, "i see. where is he?" he asks in a bored tone. you're too scared to look at him so you opt to doodle around the drawing of yoshi.

"he's uh- been busy with work, should be free soon." your voice is unsure as if you're trying to convince yourself. yoshi nods, shoving his hands back into the warm pockets of his denim jacket. he turns around, walking away before his steps still like he's contemplating staying or going.

he turns back around, still a few feet away from you, "don't choose him," he says in a low voice yet you can hear every single word.

your head whips up to meet his eyes, unsure if you heard correctly, "what?" you say in disbelief. he looks back at you with a gaze strong, "don't choose him," he repeats before dragging his converse-clad feet back to you.

"why?" you ask sincerely, pupils shaking in fear of his next words. "why? you know why." he says as his steps bring him closer and closer to you.

your practically shaking with terror, eyes wide as saucers as you begin shaking your head, "no. no." your voice breaking slightly. yoshi nods, "yes," he says as his hand reaches to you, attempting to stroke your cheek but you slap his hand away before he can even get close to you.

"yoshinori," you say his name sternly, brows furrowed not out of concentration but out if anger, "what?" he responds airily, unsure of what you'll say next.

"you're being mean," you tell him, trying not to raise your voice. "no, stop it!" you try to keep your composure but his absentminded babbling continues to test your patience.

your eyes stare deep into his, a pain so unbearable rises to the surface and begins bubbling over. "i have been second to my sister since day one in everything. i will not be the person you settle for because you cannot have her. i can't do it — i wo-i won't allow it, you say and your cracking voice breaks his heart.

"i won- not when i've spent my entire life loving you."

you drop the sketchbook down onto the blanket, pencil clattering against the crisp pages as you begin walking away.

yoshinori's eyes are pooling with sadness, eyes watching you leave and keeping himself from going after to you in fear that he'll make things more worse than they are now.

you walk away from the man you've loved since day one, heart heavy as if it's made of concrete. out of any words you could've used, you used mean.

many would say that yoshinori's downright cruel, but you use mean. you love him too much to say tell him that he's a monster, he's a bad guy because never has he once been such things.

it's quite the opposite, really. your footsteps take you further and further from him, when in reality, you'd rather run and take refuge within his warm embrace.

but you push those ragged thoughts aside, feet taking you far from the park and back home despite the leaving your belongings.

kanemoto yoshinori was mean. no, not cruel, not inhumane, not vicious, nor malicious, he was mean boy who seemingly took pride in taking your heart with no means of caring for it.

only mean people would do such a thing.

★ treasure taglist. @kflixnet ... @ficscafe ... @yogurteume ... @tahyunwoo ... @h4chi ... @enhacolor ... @wonluvrbot ... @alohajun ... @minisxng ... @setakdongies ... @ncizen ... @kyufilms ... @saeromiz ... @sunoo-bby ... @dancinginthetaillight ... @seung-scrittore ... @sseastar-main ... @changmin-wrlds ... @hanjisungpark ... @existnesia ... @ily-cuz-i ... @yedamology ... @i-luvsang

[ 🎧 ] jaydi's notes. based off little women... kinda, just scene-ish tho?? sorry im high idk what im saying so tbh i might delete tjis but who knows mayhaps ill like it when im sober but slay

© ACAIASAHI 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. COPYING, TRANSLATING, AND REPOSTING IS PROHIBITED.

[always-in-an-au]

gold's worth

hi! my first fic in a long time, i hope you all enjoy it :)

xiao x gn! reader | angst w/ eventual fluff

word count: 941

Trying to get close to Xiao was like trying to break through gold; he had an impregnable defense, always managing to break away whenever a personal topic arose or giving the minimal amount of information when asked a question. But, there was something hidden behind the golden gates in his eyes. You could feel the wealth of sadness and longing buried deep within whenever you caught a glimpse of him unaware. You had read the tales of the yakshas, and the amount of pain Xiao had went through was unimaginable to you, however, you could not place what Xiao was yearning for.

Perhaps unfortunately and fortunately, Xiao already knew what that was. He may not spend all his time around mortals, but he was patient and eventually discovered what that pang in his chest was. Whenever he looked at you or merely thought of you, his chest ached with the weight of thousand of years of karmic debt. He was captivated by the pure beauty you held in the way you talked and the gentleness with which you acted. Looking at himself, all he saw was ugliness and a rough nature that came from countless deaths at his hands. Knowing the stark differences between the two of you, his heart cried with all the never-could-bes. Whenever Xiao had downtime, he would unknowingly search for you across Liyue. He saw the way you laughed with others, comforted them and oh how much he wished he could receive that same treatment from you. Despite his wishes, he knew it could never be as he was a broken and misshapen lump of gold, while you were a refined piece of golden artwork.

Xiao’s inner turmoil was unbeknownst to you, and you continued to act the same as you always had. Bringing Xiao almond tofu, ensuring the top of Wangshu Inn was empty, and lending your presence was all Xiao allowed you to do. Although your interactions were minimal, that didn’t stop you or Xiao’s feelings from developing.

These feelings all came to a head when Xiao returned—after months of not returning to the Inn—in the worse state you had ever seen. Incisions on his skin left sea-foam green rifts through his body and his jade spear had visible cracks throughout. You attempted to give Xiao as much medical attention as possible, but even in his state, he still managed to push you away. Frustrated at seeing someone you cared for in visible pain, you pushed Xiao’s boundaries.

Gripping his hand underneath the moonlight on the Inn’s balcony, you asked, “Why do you continue to push me away? Right now I can help you, but you still refuse. Why, why…”.

Hearing the strain in your voice and your iron grip, Xiao opened his eyes. But your head was ducked and all he could make out were the slight tremors of your torso. He sighed deeply and although he had much to say, all he managed to utter was, “I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t concern yourself over someone like me”.

He spoke those words so nonchalantly, but they raised a fire in your heart. Lifting your head, you said “What do you mean?” and with a brief sniffle continued “You may see yourself as this worthless person, but I see someone as strong as gold. Someone who continues to put the needs of others above their own and always acts with the utmost of diligence”. You and Xiao were maintaining eye contact now and as you stared deeper into his golden eyes, you could see the gates slowly open.

Xiao retorted, “But you and I are not the same”. No longer able to maintain eye contact for what he was about to say next, he focused on the space behind you and continued with “I am someone meant to admire an artwork like yourself from afar. Although my heart may ache seeing you with someone else, it is not my destiny”.

Slightly taken aback by Xiao’s hidden confession, you stared blankly at his eyes. You were snapped back to reality when you noticed the flush that danced across his cheeks. Speaking softly now, you said, “Xiao…even though we are not the same, your shape has been refined by the winds and is still beautiful to me. You may not have been forged under the perfect conditions, but the story your body tells is priceless. And I wish to cherish it”.

Xiao thought his wounds must be worse than he initially thought as he has started hearing things and he stared deliriously at you. The look on his face was one you thought you’d never see and was, honestly, slightly comical. Despite the seriousness of the moment, your lips curled upwards and a slight chuckle escaped you.

Confused, Xiao simply asked “What?”.

Through your laughs, “Your face is just too funny! It’s all scrunched up and confused” and under your breath, “Too cute”.

Xiao replied with, “Well how am I supposed to react when the one I’m pining for confesses to me?”. This time you laughed to yourself and thought, ‘he really is too cute’.

With a little mischievous tone, you leaned in and whispered, “You could do this” and gave him a light peck on the cheek. Xiao’s face burst into a pretty shade of pink and he covered his face with one hand. Seeing his reaction, you continued to patch him up and received no protest this time.

Sneaking a glimpse of Xiao’s eyes, you could see the gates had disappeared; and as long as you were here, you would not let Xiao forget that although gold may become weathered, its worth stays the same.

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