#my heart is a pomegranate

[shehrekhayal]

Do it then, break my heart, but do it ruthlessly and brutally. Crush my desires with your hands dig, dig your fingers in my heart, pick it apart like a pomegranate, and let the blood splash everywhere. Do it so painfully that I don't reach for you - do it so gruesomely I can at least try to hate you.

[nightjar-jack]

Something something "eat your heart out" or however that phrase goes...

Had one hell of a visceral dream the other night, and knew I had to makes something about it.

A paper collage of an anatomical heart made from pomegranate flesh. Made a few small digital alterations to fix the colour balance and not have them bleed into each other :)

[mythblossoms]

cherry wine

pairing: sylus x gn!reader

content: mutual pining, slight angst, music used as metaphor (poorly), pre-relationship, hand holding and dancing

a/n: sometimes a specific scene sticks in your head and you have to write something around that only. i also just love the sound of a cello ;-;

wc: ~1.4k

Music was honest. It spoke plainly about its desires and was vulnerable. The melodies openly conveyed emotions and stories, imploring those who heard to succumb to their passions. There is a beauty in patterns and themes laced between the harmonies.

At the least, that’s what Sylus told himself as he leaned casually against the gilded pillars decorating the gala floor. 

Your invitation to some musicians gala hadn’t been unexpected - the connections and intel privy to him had become a bonus to your missions, and Sylus was happy to oblige. But your openness, that was new. Your willingness to reach out and discuss tactics and invite him as something more, more than a source of knowledge at least.

He was happy to watch you work, your acting skills so finely honed now as you smiled coyly at other guests perched at the bar - your eyes, in contrast, sharply focused on your surroundings. You were an unknown force in your element, poised to strike. 

The musicians began their arrangement, the opening notes notifying the guests of the story they aimed to tell.

The aching thrum of the cello, the pining glide of the violin - woven together to create a song of want, grounded by a repetition of keys played softly on the piano. Sylus knows the story that inspired the peaks and valleys of this piece - the undying devotion of some underworld god to his spring bride, the names long forgotten but the sentiments still clinging to the notes. For you, I will wait. For you, I will suffer time and space. 

His eyes find your form across the gala floor. You, so warmly illuminated by the overhead chandeliers, cherry wine in hand and the pomegranate stain of your lips. Would you also eat the seeds — if offered? Would you stay — if asked? Your eyes flicked to his, offering a near imperceptible nod in his direction. For you, he would ask again and again.

The low lament of the cello hums through the room as your eyes leave his, searching the faces of each passerby as you swirl the untouched wine. Reasonably, Sylus knows that once you’ve completed your mission, you’ll be gone again. And he will wait again, until he is needed, until you are ready. The constant refrain his own frustrating internal melody - wait, wait, wait — again, again, again. He did not have the patience of some ancient god, and the yearning notes of the song left a sour taste in his mouth. 

As the music swells, melodic and mournful, Sylus finds himself pulled to you. He moves across the floor slowly, yet purposefully, eyes never leaving your face. 

“Dance with me.” Sylus offers his open palm to you, an open invitation, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slight smirk. 

You swirl the wine again in your glass, watching as the dark red liquid briefly coats the glass before settling. “Do you always ask people to dance to tragic love songs?” you mused, placing the glass on the bar. It’s easy, like this, pretending to be two strangers drawn together by the fervor of the strings. The hunger of their pitch echoing the feeling in your chest. 

“There’s a - sincerity to tragedy that makes it more memorable.” And for a moment, he seems far away, some distant memory clinging to the edge of his vision before he’s raising an eyebrow at you again.

“People will think you’re some sort of brooding crow.” You tease and gently take his hand, letting him guide you to the near empty floor.

“Do you think I care what people think, sweetheart?” Sylus smirks again, lightly holding your hand in one and splaying his other across your lower back. He pulls you in closer, chests nearly touching as he leans in closely. “I’m more interested in what your eyes see.” His warm breath sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. 

Logically, you think he means finding your target. Your vantage point from the center of the room certainly allows you to see more faces than you could from your singular place at the bar. And yet - the gentle way he holds your hand, the warm touch on your lower back, the softness in his eyes as he searches yours - you consider the outcomes of being bold, of being honest. 

Your hand flattens against the base of his neck, a thrum of energy flowing between the closeness of your bodies - your eyes fixed solely on his. “I’m not sure I’ve seen enough to make an informed decision.” The air stills around you, time seemingly frozen in this moment as the energy between you intensifies, the magnification of something bigger than both of you. “I’ll keep looking though.” 

The far away look returns to his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly - unexpressed sentiments hanging in the air. The instruments die down, the lack of sound somehow deafening in your ears, and Sylus slowly releases your waist - breaking the chord that hummed so loudly between you. 

Before you can step away, he captures your hand in both of his. Delicately, he lifts your palm to his lips and presses a light kiss in the center, holding your gaze before fully releasing you. Your palm tingles with warmth as you squeeze your hand shut, tucking it at your side. “Careful - don’t look too far or you may lose sight of what you're searching for.” His words feel ambiguous, leaving you sifting through context and emotion, the two swirling together as he steps closer. “On your right,” he murmurs before casually walking towards the exit. 

This is why pretending is easier, why leaving is easier - even when you knew you would come back. Staying meant confronting whatever ambiguity grasped onto each look or word between you and Sylus. Leaving granted space, a moment to breathe. Exhaling, you locked onto the man on your right, surrounded by others clinging onto whatever syrupy words he spun. Leaving meant gaining some control of this situation.

Sylus did not have the patience of long forgotten gods, but he did have their petulance. Standing at the end of the long hallway, shrouded in the shadow of a pillar - surely this is the type of brooding expected of a deity. 

Twice you managed to catch him in a moment. Twice, a fleeting sense of clarity that was quickly broken once he realized his surroundings and the scenario you both were in. You had truly looked at him this time, as if you could see each miniscule crack that deepened each moment spent together then apart. He felt a seismic shift beneath layers of protection he had spent so many years building up. The notes of the cello reverberated through Sylus’s mind, blending with his internal symphony - wait, wait, wait, for you. He had no clear path forward to you, no seeds to offer you - only the notes of song urging patience.

Footsteps interrupted his ruminations, the sound resonating down the hall moving closer to him. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you, the familiar determination underneath the light sound - letting you come to him. “Caught what you needed, kitten?” The teasing nickname falls easily from his lips, but he’s searching your face again - looking for something, anything to flicker across your face. Your determined mask remains in place and you’re barely slowing down as you pass him — leaving again.

“His notes were…off-key,” you state plainly, stepping out into the cool night air. Sylus huffs a laugh in response, bad intel. “But not a total loss, he had some interesting friends. Guess I’ll have to look closer.” There’s a subtle curtness to your voice, dismissive even, as you navigate the city street - Sylus still trailing behind.

“Be patient,” he almost bites out, the irony not lost on him. “True motives always reveal themselves, in the end.” 

You stopped abruptly in front of him, turning to face him with a boldness he’d grown fond of. “And if I’m not patient?” Your words are clear, daring to hold his gaze. “What if I’m impulsive?”

“The power is in your hands then - you have to decide how you want to proceed.” Another dance, another song — laced with hidden meanings. Your eyes soften slightly - were you playing the same tune? Did you understand the notes played under his words? Sylus extends his hand to you again, palm open and still. “For now, let’s get you home.”

You smile lightly, the corners of your lips slightly turned up. “It’s early for you - isn’t it?” You take his hand, gently lacing your fingers with his. “Why don’t you take me on the scenic route?” 

[uwumuwu]

At dusk, I will think of you 🌇🥀🍎

[sbblake]

written by william gold, performed by wilbur soot ⭐️

<3 follow my twitter here:

[lvstharmony]

my weird snack cravings / combos makes me question how bad my pregnancy cravings would be

[dysfunctionaldogdude]

I love these images (mix of Hozier & Hannibal)

Might make a moodboard based on them, I'm a big fan of all things deer, hearts, pomegranates, and skeletal - Hence why my name on Spotify is DeerSkullz lol

[candlesoul]

[aomiiine]

Sylus’s bday event card DEARRR

[nonverbaltenderness]

＊insert pomegranate emoji＊ Haunted. Sounds like a scary word, something you wouldn’t want to be. Then you’re haunted by a lost love, and that’s all you wish to be . . .

[betweenthetimeandsound]

--prompt from my own, "pomegranate heart" (15 November)

Oh my love-- blood drips onto my palm, and I clinch onto it as if they came from holy flesh and could transmute into defiled poison. Tainted skin meets sacrosanct blade; a sampling of death always taunts life with its squid ink tears.

Oh my love-- you consume the fruit which stains my fingers, suckling tart seeds like milk from a wanton beast. A would reveals roots tangled around each other, only taking the time to shield a pomegranate heart from exploding and blinding you forever. --Elda Mengisto

[angelsarereal111]

I was just too soft to hate you

There's this tiny beating pulse in me who’s still kind to you, regardless of what you did.

Safe to say, I never regretted anything I showed to you, it’s all yours to keep now.

[margaritaville]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Our Flag Means Death (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet Characters: Stede Bonnet, Blackbeard | Edward Teach Additional Tags: Cannibalistic Thoughts, Cannibalism Roleplay, Bottom Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Top Stede Bonnet, Slice of Life, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Light Dom/sub, Aftercare, make no mistake this is essentially a comedy Summary:

Being in close quarters with Stede after everything — the heartbreak and the crying and the sobbing and the throwing up from sobbing and the falling asleep sobbing and the waking up sobbing… and then the reconciliation, all of it — is actually pretty fuckin’ nice. Everything feels perfect even when it isn’t. The scarcity of food makes everything taste even better, the straw mattress is a nightmare but it feels like a dream when he’s lying next to Stede. Manual labor feels exciting — he’s fallen off the roof twice. Stede has fallen off more. Ed caught him once, and the combined weight of them and the force of the fall sprained both of Ed’s ankles.

Ed loves it, loves him.

[agentark]

Late Night Lulls | The Fernweh Saga | MC x The Waiter | ~500 words | part 2/6

Summary: nightmare comfort feat. everyone's favorite totally normal diner employee

[ao3] | [James]

When she jolts awake, her eyes immediately focus on the steaming mug waiting for her on the nightstand. She already knows what it is: coffee, decaf (it is 2:30 am after all) with a splash of cream, and enough sugar that it doesn’t really matter if it’s decaf or not. It’s perfect. She watches the steam dance lazily in the low light of the bedroom for a few moments more, before dragging herself fully upright and resting her head on top of her knees.

This latest nightmare was particularly exhausting. She was running. Running until her lungs burned and her legs gave out. Running towards the voices of her friends, never making it to them in time. Running, running, running. She ran and ran until she collapsed, darkness closing in. As she closed her eyes to accept another loss, a hand slipped into her own. He always comes to her before the end.

She knows he’s near now, too, though the apartment is eerily silent. Knows that there’s something more to his preternatural ability to blend into the background than simply being a paragon of customer service. Knows that there’s more to the...particularly vivid approximation of him that her psyche will drum up after her worst nightmares. Knows that he seems to sense when something has trapped her into another round of its twisted game. Maybe she should be afraid of him. Her instincts scream that she should be afraid of him.

She can’t bring herself to run from him, too.

.

.

.

“’m sorry I disturbed you,” the muffled apology barely reaches his ears.

She can’t see the way his mouth presses into a thin line at that. Apologizing to him? That won’t do. “I was already awake,” he responds, peeling away from his spot in the shadowy hallway and silently gliding across the well worn carpet to reach her. He deposits himself at her side and sweeps her hair over one shoulder. Gently, he begins dabbing at her clammy skin with a damp towel. “Bad dream?”

She scoffs. “I’ve had worse.”

Then, with a mumble, “You were there.”

“Was I?” a noncommittal hum, but his hand stutters almost imperceptibly as it sweeps down her back. He’s been reckless lately, against his better judgement. For his own sake as much as hers, he ought to be more discreet. There is danger in attention. “Even bad dreams have their highlights, I see.”

She reaches for his hand and squeezes once. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t reply. Simply coaxes her backwards into his arms and holds her close. They have a few hours yet before she’ll sneak back to her own bed like a rebellious teenager.

No one else gets to see her this way. Tangled in his sheets, in his home, spending nights in his arms. Does her ragtag group even suspect where she is? (He can’t imagine the little nervous one would approve.)

He knows that she knows….something. She knows that he knows that she knows. They’ll continue to dance around it until it blows up in their faces. But, for now, they’ll just exist together like this.

[mingijoon]

[sarrrdoodles]

day 1: al amanecer / everyday, it’s a-gettin’ closer (challenge by colectivo1977)