#singing earth -endless edition-

[kaito-module-of-the-day]

Today's KAITO module of the day is:

Singing Earth -ENDLESS EDITION- by hinayukki@shigotoshiteP!

[kentopedia]

♰ sent to destroy — dazai osamu

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 5 - fallen angel!dazai

he promises he's not the devil, but he steals your soul with just a kiss.

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, takes place in 1920s for fun ig, actress!reader, alcohol, one mention of suicidal ideation and prostitution by reader, blasphemy, sacrilege, pls don't read this if ur religious & will get offended LMAO, angel fucking (& he has wings), bondage (thru powers), unprotected sex, cunnilingus, corruption kink, possessive sex, softish dazai, mm idk what else — 6.1k

note: i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i normally do so plss ignore any mistakes and i'll love you forever

the speakeasy fills with a thin veil of smoke, coating the room with an intoxicating mix of alcohol and nicotine. it’s a lewd place, full of degenerates and failed actresses like yourself, a crowd of people who don’t belong, but try their best to find a way to keep living. 

it’s a place where women pick up their clients, leading them to the hotel around the corner for a night they certainly won’t be paid enough for. it’s where people drown their miseries in alcohol and hope they won’t wake up in the morning. 

it is, regrettably, the only place you can afford. 

you sit alone at one of the tables, hands shaky from nerves as you smoke another cigarette, contributing just as much to the cloud that suffocates the small room. 

hoards of people make their way downtown for a sip of alcohol, the drink that has so ridiculously been banned, but you are no exception, no angel amongst the sinful devils. 

someone plays a saxophone at the front of the bar, spinning into a graceful melody of jazz that sings out to you, lulls you into an embrace that warms your core. it soothes the anxiety that has lingered with you throughout the day, the reminder that your life is tailspinning. 

you’d failed at landing yet another role, and the acting career you’d packed your bags and moved out for was plummeting. who would accept you now, now that your hopes and dreams had been for naught, now that you’d created a shameful woman of yourself and your family?

the answer was clear; but you were too stubborn too accept it, too desperate to believe that you could be up in the glimmering lights, the brightest silver star the world had ever seen. 

you lean back in your chair, stamping out the cigarette with a sigh as you stand to collect another drink. there’s not much left in your pockets, but you’ve made it work before, and you’ll keep making it work now, scrounging up coins for the relief that came with forgetting. 

the only consolation is the line of women that stand alongside you at the bar, as dejected and miserable as yourself. all of you have been labeled the failures of your families, the ones that bet on a shot in the dark. none of you expected that the road would be easy, certainly not with the way the industry is hasty to pick up only the most beautiful faces… but your ambitions had led you to believe that you, of all people, had had a chance. 

you know your beauty is endless, a sight to be admired, but even that had not been enough to secure your spot in the limelight. 

you thank the bartender as he hands you a drink, and slump back to your table, waiting for the effects of the alcohol to kick in. yet, when you stand at the edge of the table, peer at the chair you’d once been seated in, there is already a man there. 

he gazes at you with a crooked smile, eyes amused as he regards your beaten-down state.

you’ve seen him before—made every attempt not to see him again. you know what they say about him. he’s a wizard, he’s the devil, he’s a god that steals the body of a mortal, waiting to destroy the earth. all bad things, certainly, and with the way your life’s been going, you’d be a fool to get mixed up with someone like him.

still…you know of the things he’s done for people. that miracles have happened for those brave enough to ask for them. 

perhaps, you’re in need of a miracle. 

the dark-haired man leans forward, eyebrows raised as you gawk at him from the other side of the table. “no need to look so frightened,” he says, gesturing towards the other chair. “sit.” 

“i don’t want any company,” you say, straightening, pulling your drink closer to your chest. “i came here to be alone.”

his eyes flash, predatory, as if seeing down through the depths of your soul, to the very desire that lingers within. all of your dreams, your ambitions, and your loneliness are displayed to him, a flashing banner that alerts him easily of everything that’s ever been wrong with you. 

“is that so?” he asks, leaning forward, his voice deepening amongst the chaos of the speakeasy. “then, why have you been staring at me all evening?” 

you can’t help the flush that rushes to your cheek, the heat that covers your entire body. with the crowd of men and women alike that are constantly at his arm, you’d hardly thought he’d notice you.

and though you know what they say about him, he is undeniably beautiful; you’re drawn to him. there is a dark and heavenly beauty about him, something that you fear is too angelic to be of this world. his eyes glimmer almost like diamonds in the candlelit room, skin so flawless that it is nearly luminescent. 

it’s no wonder, really, that you haven’t been able to peel your eyes off of him.

you circle around his question, instead, and set your drink down on the table, lured in either by a false sense of safety, or the confidence of his grin. “i know what you are,” you say, swallowing back the fear that devils often prey on. 

he smiles, indulging you, a lifelong game he has surely played. “and what is that, my dear?” 

the mocking tone sends a cold wave down your spine, even though the sweet name seems to warm you. “i don’t believe i should say it out loud.” you’re not sure what kind of consequence that will bring you. perhaps you do not need to make a deal with him for your soul to be damned, straight to the fiery pits; maybe this conversation is enough, and already, you are on the long list of sinners that will be sent to burn.

“because you believe i am the devil? a demon sent to prey upon you and your soul, drag you down to hell once the contract you’ve made is over?” 

you say nothing, but your silence speaks loudly. 

he sighs, leans back in the chair and looks at you from under thick lashes. “i have no interest in the dealings of those fifty, lesser beings. i find that i can bargain for more enjoyable ventures.” two dark eyes trace over you, swallow you whole as he grazes your curves with his irises, the shape of your breasts under the tightness of your dress, the style shorter to match the current fashions. “so, i think we both may have something the other is interested in. please,” he gestures once more to the seat in front of him, addressing you by your first name—one you never even had to tell him. “sit.” 

nervous, you take the chair, wondering why you aren’t running away, screaming at everyone that there is a monster in your midst, a being that hunts the weak to lure them away from their misery. no wonder he has made himself a frequent customer at this place—there are people drowning in sorrows. one deal with him, and they will wake up in the morning, drowning in riches instead. 

“what do you want from me?” you ask, letting your hands fall to your sides. 

“so eager to get to the best part of my bargain, silly girl. have some patience.” he takes a sip of his own drink, pinning you with his gaze, even above the rim. you squirm under the intensity, but you, even now, can’t look away. “i know you’re struggling to find work. you’ve been here for years, and made pennies to live off of.” he reaches across the table, spins a lock of hair around his finger as he sighs dramatically. “such a shame, really. they must fear the power of your perfection if they refuse to let you shine brighter than the rest of the dull creatures that they call starlets.” 

your heart drops, stutters within the delicate bones of your skeleton before starting again, as you remember that this is how the devil would act, luring you in with sweetly poisoned words full of deceit. “they are talented—”

“they are nothing,” he snarls, banging his fist on the table so loudly that you jump, hands shaking against the beaded skirt of your dress. “you may claim to believe in your own talents, your appearance, but it is all a lie, a facade that you maintain to protect yourself. you are the one holding yourself back, and unless you let me help you, you’ll get nowhere.”

you feel tears burn. “you mean to lure me away from the path of god—”

his eyes narrow. “i mean to free the human race from the chains that religion has bound on them. there is nothing for you in the afterlife but an existence of slavery. one to a malicious devil who only wishes to torment, or one to a god who doesn’t love you.” 

it confuses you, the way he speaks of these beings as if he is not on the side of heaven or hell. as if there could be another option. it seems surreal, a secret that you should not have been told; since the day you were born, you have learned of the path of righteousness, the will of god. 

that is the only way you can obtain a life of peace… yet, there is a creature before you, claiming to offer you a third path, one that doesn’t have you bowing down for a god that won’t answer your prayers. 

it may be foolish, the work of the devil, but you are willing to listen. you are already lured in by this graceful creature with a charming smile and a quick tongue, and you don’t know if it will take much more for you to succumb to him completely. 

already, you have lost your way—you would do anything to escape your unhappiness.

“what is it you’re after, then?” you ask, your voice softer, weaker than you anticipated. 

he laughs, and lets his head tilt sideways, studies you before answering. “my father has cast me out of heaven; i plan to build my own religion of followers, tearing them away from that idiot of a being they call their god. because i am much stronger, much wiser, and the only way that they can find peace after their death is by trusting that i will give it to them.” 

you swallow, twining your fingers together, and think. “you’re… an angel?” 

he waves his hand. “a fallen one.”

there are things about the world that you do not understand, but you know that god has not once help you when you were drowning without a savior. he did not guide a helping a hand when you contemplated dragging a knife across your wrists, and yet, here is something, someone wanting to save you from just that. how is it that god can be more benevolent than those he casts out, when you have seen nothing but the opposite?

“you want me to join you, then?” you ask, drawing your eyebrows together. “if i join you, you’ll give me what i desire?”

“well… that is usually the bargain i offer. however,” he hums, eyes flashing as they scour your body. he looks at you hungrily, like he has never seen a being like yourself. “it has been a while since i’ve seen a human as beautiful as you.” 

you swallow, blinking at him with wide eyes as you grow hot all over. this would not be the first time you’ve sold your body for fame, but never has it been with a man as stunning as the angel before you. “you mean… if i fuck you, you’ll give me whatever i want?” 

he sniffs, repulsed by your suggestion. “always so lewd, you mortals.”

your eyebrows knit together. “but you said—”

“i don’t want you for one night. i want you forever. i want you to swear your body over to me for the rest of your life, let me use it as i wish, bear my children.” he traces your features, grazes a thumb over your jaw, your lip. his eyes are hard, and you swallow, wondering why your stomach flips. “you are meant to be mine.” he smiles, and though you can see the mischief within it, for some reason, there is also softness there as he crosses his arms over the counter. “but if you aren’t interested, then the deal is off the table. i have no need for someone who doesn’t want me in return.” 

you blink back at him, observing the seriousness of his expression, the softness lurking within the pools of his deep brown eyes. perhaps he is a vengeful angel… but he is offering you a life that is much more promising than the one you have now. would it really be so bad to give yourself to him, to spend the rest of your life in his arms, when he promises to give you everything you’ve ever wished for?

“i—” you hesitate, unsure how to even begin to answer the question, when you didn’t quite understand what it was that he needed from you.  

“i’ll give you some time to think about it. after all, it is a decision that will affect the rest of your life.” he stands to his feet, and it is then that you notice there are some eyes on you, the women he typically has hanging off of him watching your interaction with bated breath. “when you have an answer, just call for me. i’ll be there.” 

“wait,” you say, turning in your chair to face him. “i don’t even know your name.” 

“you can call me osamu.” he smiles and winks at you, tucking his jacket closer as he begins to walk away. “we’ll be in touch."

three weeks pass before you see him again. 

you’d decided quickly what you would say to him, and after two weeks worth of auditions that led to nothing, drinking without a friend in the world, alone to rot in your bedroom, you’d made up your mind.

osamu’s proposal, now, after everything you’d suffered, seemed too good to be true. how long had you wished for a companion, for money, for a steady job—and now, these were all things he promised to provide you, if only you’d stand by his side. 

you’d called to him at the start of the week, said a prayer to any angel named osamu that was out there—but no one came. 

night after night, you said the same prayer, wondering, if perhaps, you’d been made a fool of. that everything he had said was a lie, and you, truly, were doomed to live an unhappy life. maybe, he was mocking you for your misfortunes, for your weak heart. 

though, on the twenty-first day after your discussion, you awaken to a figure standing in the corner of your room, watching you with hawklike eyes, the shadow of a wingspan shaped out behind him. 

you gasp, nearly letting out a scream as you scramble to a seated position in your bed, bringing the sheets up to your chest. the man is nothing more than a silhouette, so dark in the moonlight, but you know, without seeing his face, that he is the one you’ve been searching for.

“osamu,” you say, trying to quell the fear that has made a home in your chest. you gawk at him as he uncrosses his arms, sauntering over like he owns the place, like he’s been here before, knows the shape of your body, even under the sheets you hide within. “you heard my prayers.” 

“i apologize for not coming faster,” he smiles in the darkness, teeth glimmering under beams of starlight. his face becomes visible then, and it steals your breath away—he is more stunning than you remember, skin nearly glowing, golden. “you were beginning to sound desperate.” osamu watches as your breathing evens out, your eyes flicking over his features. “is that still the case?” 

he is a sight to behold sitting before you, the very essence of power seeping off of him in waves. a creature crafted from the hands of god, shaped to be the very thing that would protect the weaker creations. 

osamu’s skin, his hair, every inch of him is without flaws, while you are but a sinful human girl who succumbs to each of her urges. 

“i want—” you stop, realizing that you’re not sure what you want. to be an actress, yes, a famous starlet that is cherished by the masses. but, when you look at osamu, the soft, plump shape of his lips, the lean limbs that hide under his tailored coat, you wonder if fame, security, comfort—perhaps, those aren’t the only things you desire from this exchange. “i accept—”

“you sound uncertain,” he interrupts, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. “you called me here, begged me to come steal you away, and now, you change your mind?”

“no!” you say, scrambling to grab his wrist as he starts to stand from the bed, his eyes flashing as you reach for him on all fours. “i’m not changing my mind. i want to be famous, i want to be yours.” you swallow, choking out the word as it turns your cheeks warm, the heat making its way up from your toes. 

it hit you harder that you anticipated, the taste of belonging to another. you aren’t sure if its because you’ve craved the connection for so long that it’s twisting your insides, turning you into something desperate, or if, already, you feel an invisible string tying you and this stranger together. 

“but?” osamu asks, still seeming like he’s about to flee, his eyes hard, blinking back at you. there is something about you that he wants, but he won’t take it, not unless you crave him just as much. it muddles your mind, confuses you—he could have anyone, could take anything. yet— 

“but why do you want me?” you ask, releasing him to curl your fingers around the blanket. “i don’t understand.” 

osamu balks, then laughs, his eyes crinkling as he regards you with some sort of gentleness. “perhaps i have always loved humans a little too much, much more than i should, at least.” he curls a piece of your hair around his finger, hums to himself. “innocent creatures that my father cursed with misery, blaming their own sinfulness against them.” osamu licks his lips, hungry as dark eyes cover your face. “but it’s not entirely your fault that you must bear the torment of generations. just as it is not my fault that i was born with a lust for something much more delicate than the creatures of heaven.” 

he strokes your cheek, fingers grazing you like you are nothing more than a piece of glass, that you might shatter under the force of his power. perhaps you would—with too much, he might break you, turn you into a pile of ash with a snap of his finger.  

“but there are millions of us to choose from,” you say, sweating under the blanket as your heart pounds in your chest. the breadth of his power becomes more obvious with every passing second, and yet, you crave  a taste of it. “what makes me so special?”

he wraps a large palm around your jaw, thumb pulling at your lower lip. the tip of it dips into your mouth as you watch him with wide eyes, frozen, but not from fear. “i was meant to be your guardian angel, to be the guide that leads you away from the devil until your dying breath.” he moves closer, dipping his head towards your lips, brown irises never leaving your own. “and yet, the moment i laid eyes on you, i had already broken the first rule.” 

you stumble over your syllables, whispering them breathlessly. “and what’s that?” 

osamu smiles, muttering the words against your mouth, his voice ghosting over your skin. “angels are wired to protect those that we are assigned to,” he says, swiping his tongue against your lip, just barely kissing you, the sounds low and breathy. “we’re not supposed to want to fuck them.” a finger drags slowly, sensuously up your arm, and you can’t move, can’t do anything but watch as he pushes you, sinks you slowly into the bed. “i have never wanted anything as badly as i want you.”

you breath, in and out, slow, as the heat settles in your stomach, a burning pool of need churning there. it’s been so long—so long—since anyone has touched you in a way that is kind, has wanted to please you, instead of steal from you. “all that, just for me?” you ask cheekily, though you’re still not sure that he is telling the truth. 

maybe he is the devil, but you no longer care. his voice is so sweet with praise and affirmation, bleeding into the softness of your heart. 

he shrugs. “perhaps i was always meant to fall.” your head hits the pillow. you aren’t sure when he got you pinned on the bed. osamu looms over you with wide, burning eyes, licking his lips with an ache he doesn’t bother to hide. 

“osamu,” you shudder, grabbing his bicep to steady yourself. it is too much, suddenly, all at once. you are filled with need for him, clawing at his skin as he commands complete control over you with nothing but his words. “i—”

your sentence is stolen away by a kiss, one that burns from your mouth all the way down to your toes. it twists something within you, turns you into a monstrous being that you had not realized you were, longing so recklessly to be touched. 

his hands roam over your body, touch featherlight as he removes your dress, drags it slowly off your body, eyes grazing over every inch of your skin like he wants to devour your whole.

he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, fingers lightly dipping down your chest, between the swell of your breast to your ribcage. “how cruel of our father to keep us from such divine creatures,” he says, leaning down to kiss up your stomach, lick the skin around your breasts. “perhaps we are the ones that are truly being punished.”

you writhe under him, hands curling in his hair as his own dips between your thighs. grabbing his scalp hard, you yank him back up to your lips, and your eyes meet, both dark and dangerous as you brush your nose against his own. “you are punishing me right now.” 

“is that so?” he laughs, eyes flashing with humor. “such a greedy, impatient little thing.” osamu slips out of his coat, his shirt, revealing the tent that has already grown in his slacks. they are the next to go, and his golden skin is revealed, the perfection of every line and angle of his body heavenly and refined. he leans down to whisper in your ear, breath ghosting the shell of it. “act like such a princess, but i know you want to be fucked until you can’t form a single thought, don’t you?” he says, and the coolness of his voice has you squeezing his shoulders, gasping out his name.

your skin burns, your chest burns, an ache gathering and settling deep in your stomach. your cunt throbs as you look at the angel before you, and he kisses down your neck, bites a hard bruise into your collarbone. 

you whimper, wondering why you ever questioned going with him, when he could make you feel this good from nothing more than his hands on your skin. 

“such pretty fucking tits.” he swirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, teasing the bud as you cry out loudly in the silent room. far too loudly for the thin walls, the cheap apartment. yet, you wonder if you care that your neighbors can hear the noises that come with your pleasure. 

“that’s it,” he purrs, kissing down your stomach before his lips reach your hipbone, smiling into the sensitive skin there. “so quiet before… thought i was doing something wrong.” 

“n-no,” you say, chest rising quickly as you watch him hover above your soaked cunt with anticipation. “feels good.” 

osamu smiles, spreads your legs farther, so your dripping, aching hole is on display, embarrassingly, every inch of you vulnerable to him. “look at you,” he says, eyes hazy as he holds you tight, digs his fingers in your skin. “so fucking perfect. bet you taste as good as you look.” 

there isn’t a moment for you to say a word—his head is already between your thighs, kissing your clit before sweeping his tongue through your folds, gathering up the wetness. a moan leaves his lips, and the vibration sends a wave of need through you as you squeeze his hair, force him back down on your cunt, nose dragging against your clit. “osamu, please.”

“ah, ah, ah,” he stops, licking his lips that are moist from your juices as his head lifts from between your thighs. a dark smile stretches across his features, calculating and cruel. “where are your manners, sweetheart? i don’t want you to cum too quickly.” 

you’re not sure what he means until you feel your hands pinned to the bed by an invisible force, the power of the angelic creature before you, finally obvious. you can’t move, can’t even writhe against him, even as you try to thrust your hips forward, gain any sort of relief from the position. 

he laughs at you, so pitiful at your desperation to be touched. “much better,” he says, and returns to lap at your cunt, tongue already stretching you as his fingers graze your thigh. 

“s-samu,” you say, feeling the heavy pressure build down in your stomach. “want,” your cheeks grow hot, and you’re tingling with a need to touch him, but you can’t move. his pace is too steady, too slow. you’ve never wanted to scream more. “want your fingers. please, please.” 

“please? such a good girl.” osamu grins against your pussy. the sound of his tongue slurping at your arousal is loud in the darkened space, and you clench around him, burning with need and shame. “you taste so good, too. better than any of the fucking shit in heaven. fuck.” he slips a finger in then, working at your clenching hole as his tongue curls around your clit, rubbing at the sensitive bud. 

your words leave you in a cry, every muscle in your body aching. “please, i want to move. let me touch you, i want to, i—”

“i’m not letting you go that easy,” osamu says, and he pulls his mouth away, his face glistening, soaked. his fingers curl into you and you squeeze your eyes tight as he reaches deeper, to the second knuckle. “you’re so fucking worked up. bet you could cum at the sound of my voice alone.” 

“i wanna, please, i’m so close—"

he laughs, looking up at you from under dark lashes. “already?” the sound is mocking, nothing about it soft as he kisses your inner thigh. he sees the desperation in your irises as you can do nothing but stare, unable to twitch a single muscle. “gonna cum all over my face?” he asks, and he’s back between your legs, tongue diving into you. “make a mess on me, sweetheart, wanna see that pretty face of yours when you cum.” 

you don’t think you’ve every felt like this before, basked in the moonlight as the angelic man soaks his face with your desire, smiling at the sight of you so sinful. your heart hammers in your chest as you remember what you’ve promised him—that you would be his forever and, perhaps, this is what forever entails. 

breathy moans leave you, and with each thrust of his tongue, you’re left with less words on your lips, less thoughts in your mind. “feels so good, you’re so good, osamu,” you babble, over and over. 

osamu reaches the deep spot inside of you, and you squeeze him, clenching as you come on his fingers, cry out in the space of black room, nothing but the stars to guide you. you’re not sure you’ve ever come this fast before, not without the help of your own hands, but osamu just continues to lap at your cunt, drinking the juices and making lewd noises of pleasure at the taste of you. “mm,” he hums, “so fucking perfect.”

he fists his cock, already hard as his tongue swirls inside of you, and you lose any train of thought, too focused on the way he’s making you feel. 

osamu is hard, leaking before he shifts onto his knees, rubbing his cock between your folds, gathering slick at the tip. “want my cock, baby? such a pretty thing deserves it, don’t you think?”

you nod, muttering syllables you don’t even understand. osamu teases you, drags his cock against your hole as he kisses your lips. 

“use your words, sweetheart,” he smiles. his soaked fingers leave patterns of your own slick on your stomach. 

you groan, eyelashes wet. “want your cock, ‘samu, please, wanna be stuffed so full,” you babble, and you can’t do anything but lay there, even though you want to touch him, want so badly to shift your hips into him. “please, osamu, please,” 

he makes a noise in the back of his throat, grinning as he plays with your nipple, lining himself against your dripping hole. “so fucking sweet for me, anyone would think you were the angel, wouldn’t they?” osamu asks, and then he sinks into you, slow, eyes careful as he searches for any pain in your features. 

you blink up at him, making a soft noise as you writhe under your skin. “b-big,” you say, feeling him stretch your walls as he sinks further. 

though his eyes are careful, he doesn’t bother to stop, each second dragging as he inches further into you. he laces his fingers with yours on the bed, grinning as dark hair falls into his eyes. “i think you can take it, can’t you? you’ve been sogood for me already.” 

sucked into the coolness of his gaze, you don’t realize that he’s released you from whatever spell you’ve been trapped under, kept helpless on the bed. you gasp as he sinks into you completely, aching from a mix of discomfort and the deep need with you. 

“too much,” you say, but he sinks further, deeper, and your walls clench around him, bringing a heavy groan out of both of you. “fuck, please, let me move, i—” 

“i’m not stopping you,” he kisses you hard, sloppy as his saliva drags across your lips. there’s a possessiveness in the way he fucks you, dragging his mouth across your own, claiming you as his. “you take it so fucking well, angel, slipping right into this soaked pussy.”

his words take a moment to reach your disoriented mind, and when you try to move, you can, your hands flying to his shoulders to bring him closer. your whimpers are loud in the hollow room, and osamu loves the sound of you, drinking each little whisper in like a heavenly elixir. 

“you’re so pretty,” he says, kissing across your forehead as you arch into him. “making you feel good, hm? so fucking innocent, and i’m ruining you.” 

“mmm,” you force the sound out as osamu thrusts into you, hard against the mattress, his hips moving in a steady, fast rhythm. hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his brown eyes even darker in the midnight hour. 

your fingers graze across his back, between his shoulder blades, and though your touch is featherlight, he freezes, stops immediately with a loud groan as he clamps his teeth down on your shoulder. 

you breath in sync, your chests rising and falling together. “osamu?” you ask, staring up at him, his eyes pinched together tightly as he grits his teeth. 

“sensitive,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. “fuck, i’ll cum on the spot if you touch me there.” 

you blink, your haziness clearing as you let your hands fall to your sides. it takes you a moment to realize why he would curl away from your touch there, why he would—

“your wings?” you ask, and he drags his gaze back up to your’s, nodding, before dropping his head onto your collarbone. he exhales into your neck, resuming a slow, steady pace inside you. though, you place a hand on his chest, feel his erratic heartbeat. “can i see?” 

“you don’t want to.” 

you pinch your eyebrows together, but he shifts his hips, forces a cry out of you as you collapse back down against the mattress. “i do,” you argue, but he’s fucking you mercilessly, sensuous sounds echoing in the room as he attempts to distract you. “i want to.” 

he’s about to deny your request, but you let out another soft please, batting your eyelashes so sweetly. your cheeks are flushed from the heat in the room, and, for some reason, he relents, bowing his head in some sort of remorse. slowly, his wings span out across the room. 

you lose your breath for a moment as you stare at them, muddled from the feeling of him inside and the beautiful sight before you. the wings are thick, black and feathery, spanning the length of the room, casting a dark shadow over you. they’re strong and unwavering, with a sheen that could be seen only on a raven, the light turning the shades from a deep purple to green. 

“oh,” you can’t mutter anything else as he drags his tip against the sensitive spot inside you. “oh, they’re so beautiful. fuck, osamu, i can’t—”

you can’t stop yourself from touching them, dragging a gentle touch against one of the feathers. osamu cries out, groans into your mouth as your walls clench around him, sweat dripping between you as your chest presses against his own.

“shit,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “oh, i’m so close. gonna make me come, aren’t you, baby? squeezing me so fucking tight, touching me like that.” 

his eyes are hazy, and, somehow, for some reason, he’s let you have control of the situation. he kisses your face, treats you with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of, his lips so warm against your skin. 

the dark, heavy wings cage you in, falling over the two of you, and you run your fingers against them once more as you feel another orgasm creep upon you. your clit rubs against him, and your slick drips between the two of you, down your thighs as your breath catches in your throat. 

for a moment, you revel in the feeling of him deep inside you, and you close your eyes, his feathered wings so soft under your palm, letting your pleasure overtake you.

though that is short-lived as osamu pinches your jaw.

“hey,” he says gruffly, “look at me. want to see those pretty eyes of yours when you cum.” and though his eyes are soft, delicate from the way you’re stroking his wings, he sounds so mean, so possessive. “gonna fuck all my cum inside you, cause you’re mine now.”

your fingers curl around the feathers, hard as you tug him down towards you. osamu moans deep into your mouth when you clench around him, your orgasm rolling over you again as you scream his name into the blackness of the room. 

“such a good girl f’me, fuck, i—” he doesn’t finish his sentence, already filling your soaked pussy with his cum. it seeps deep inside of you, coating your walls white until he pulls out, lets his seed drip between the two of you. 

osamu presses his fingers across your face, dragging the delicate touch around your jaw, your chin as you breath heavily, still awestruck by the creature before you. you’re exhausted, sleepy, eyes hazy as you regard him with stuttered breath. 

but he doesn’t let you go, kissing you over and over again with flushed lips. “i know you can give me one more,” he says in a low voice, humming against your throat. “my perfect mortal girl. just one more, and i’ll give you whatever you want, got it, pretty?” 

your body aches, sensitive and spent, but you don’t object when he slips another finger into, kissing you hard as he lets you touch his raven wingspan. 

you’d always wanted to be an actress, anyways. 

tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

[skyguytoast]

DAD! WILL BEEMAN X DAUGHTER! READER HEADCANONS 💋

Dad! Will who works long hours but always brings thoughtful, carefully chosen gifts home to make up for the time he’s missed. Whether it's a limited-edition toy or a rare book you mentioned in passing, it shows that you’re always on his mind, even during the busiest business deals.

Dad! Will spoils his daughter, not just with material things, but with undivided attention when he’s home. No matter how long or stressful his day has been, when you run up to him, his face lights up. He listens intently to your every word, eager to hear about your day, offering advice, or just laughing along with your stories.

Dad! Will who, no matter how furious he is with work or an associate, instantly softens when he sees his daughter. One look at your innocent eyes, and his frustrations melt away. You’re his ultimate source of peace in a chaotic world.

Dad! Will who can’t stand to see you cry, his protective instincts flaring immediately. Whether it’s a scraped knee or a broken heart, he’s already thinking of ways to make it better. And if someone else caused those tears? He’ll stop at nothing to solve the problem, he would kill for you—sometimes with a firm phone call, other times with a soothing cuddle that makes everything feel right again.

Dad! Will kisses your tears away, his lips gentle against your cheeks, and strokes your hair until you’ve calmed down. The rare times you cry in his presence, he holds you until he’s sure you're comforted, whispering reassurances like, “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” as if nothing else in the world matters.

Dad! Will tucks you in every night, even when you’re older. It’s a tradition he refuses to let go of. He pulls the covers around you just like when you were little, and even if he’s had the longest day, he still takes the time to sit by your side, singing an old lullaby or telling you a bedtime story about a hero that somehow always reminds you of him.

Dad! Will is serious and intimidating to everyone except you. He would move heaven and earth if you asked, no questions asked. And yes, he’ll even let you drag him to a spa night. Picture the ultra-serious businessman sitting with his face covered in a bright green mask and pink toenails, all because you asked him with that adorable smile he can’t resist.

Dad! Will’s favorite sound is your laughter. He would do anything to keep you smiling, whether that’s making goofy faces or going to extremes to cheer you up. He says nothing in the world matters more to him than seeing you happy.

Dad! Will’s love language is physical touch, so expect endless hugs, forehead kisses, and hand-holding. Whenever you're nearby, he’s either ruffling your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, or resting a hand protectively on your shoulder. Holding you tight against his chest when you need comfort is his way of showing how deeply he loves you.

Dad! Will who holds you tight during horror movies. You’re a little too scared to watch them on your own, so he always agrees to join you, even though it's not his favorite genre. As you cling to him throughout the jump scares, his arm wraps around you protectively, his steady presence reassuring you that nothing can harm you when he’s there.

Dad! Will who gets secretly emotional during milestones. Whether it's your first day of school, a big recital, or even a tiny accomplishment, he’s the one holding back tears, hiding it behind a proud smile. He may not be overly expressive with words, but the way he looks at you in those moments says it all.

Dad! Will who carves out special time for "Daddy-Daughter Days", even with his hectic schedule. It could be a trip to your favorite ice cream shop or a weekend getaway to a secluded cabin. Those moments are sacred to him, where work doesn't exist, and it's just you two bonding over shared memories.

Dad! Will who teaches you the value of hard work and discipline, but never imposes his workaholic tendencies on you. He encourages your passions, whatever they may be, always reminding you that he’s proud of the person you're becoming, regardless of your choices.

Dad! Will who surprises you with handwritten notes. They’re always tucked into unexpected places—your backpack, inside a favorite book, or next to your breakfast plate. Simple but heartfelt messages like, "I love you, little angel" or "You make me proud every day" brighten your day more than any gift ever could.

Dad! Will who lets you “help” in the office, allowing you to scribble on important-looking papers or sit on his lap while he works, even when he’s juggling major business decisions. You’re the only person allowed in his world of seriousness, and he loves showing you the ropes, making you feel like you’re part of his success.

[gwaedhannen]

[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”

[theladyregret]

Drow Name Tables

Something I did as a special favor to @kimmurielsscryingmirror (@eldritchmist ) who showed interest. Because it’s...pretty big I decided to make it into it’s own post.

These are a few Drow naming tables that were originally found in an issue of Dragon Magazine. It’s two d100 tables of prefixes and suffixes commonly used in first names. The second couple of tables is a list of common house name prefixes and suffixes.

EDIT: Just a little something for those who care which I didn’t add before because it took me so long to finish the transcription I just wanted to post it lol. The gender difference is noted in the related Dragon Magazine article as being significant. Non Drow may not notice but a Drow will notice the difference. Female names sometimes borrow parts that are normally only considered male and this is considered fine...but a male with a name that borrows a typically only female part would be seen as extremely taboo.

Prefix (Female/Male) - Meaning

Akor/Alak                 beloved, best, first

Alaun/Alton             lightning, powerful

Aly/Kel                     legendary, singing, song

Ang/Adin                  beast, monstrous, savage

Ardul/Amal               blessed, divine, godly

Aun/Ant                   crypt, dead, deadly, death

Bae/Bar                      fate, fated, luck, lucky

Bal/Bel                     �� burned, burning, fire, flame

Belar/Bruh                 arrow, lance, piercing

Briz/Berg                    graceful, fluid, like water

Bur/Bhin                     craft, crafty, sly

Chal/Chasz                earth, stable

Char/Kron                  sick, venom, venomed

Chess/Cal                  noble, lady/lord

Dhaun                          infested, plague

Dil/Dur                         cold, ice, still

Dirz/Div                       dream, dreaming, fantasy

Dris/Riz                        ash, dawn, east, eastern

Eclav/Elk                      chaos, mad, madness

Elvan/Kalan                 elf, elven, far, lost

Elv/Elaug                     drow, mage, power

Erel/Rhyl                      eye, moon, spy

Ethe/Erth                    mithril, resolute

Faer/Selds                   oath, sworn, vow

Felyn/Fil                       pale, thin, weak, white

Filf/Phar                     dwarf, dwarven, treacherous

Gauss/Orgoll              dread, fear, feared, vile

G'eld                              friend, spider  

Ghuan                           accursed, curse, unlucky

Gin/Din                         berserk, berserker, orc, wild

Grey/Gul                       ghost, pale, unliving

Hael/Hatch                   marked, trail, way

Hal/Sol                           deft, nimble, spider-like  

Houn/Rik                       magic, ring, staff

Iiv/Dip                             liege, war, warrior

Iim                                   life, living, spirit, soul

Illiam/Im                         devoted, heart, love

In/Sorn                           enchanted, spell

Ilph                                  emerald, green, lush, tree

Irae/Ilzt                           arcane, mystic, wizard

Irr/Izz                               hidden, mask, masked

Iym/Ist                            endless, immortal  

Jan/Duag                       shield, warded

Jhael/Gel                       ambitious, clan, kin, family

Jhul/Jar                         charmed, rune, symbol

Jys/Driz                         hard, steel, unyielding

Lael/Llt                           iron, west, western

Lar/Les                          binding, bound, law, lawful

LiNeer/Mourn            legend, legendary, mythical  

Lird/Ryld                   brand, branded, owned, slave

Lua/Lyme                       bright, crystal, light

Mal/Malag                     mystery, secret

May/Mas                         beautiful, beauty, silver

Micar                                lost, poison, widow

Min/Ran                           lesser, minor, second

Mol/Go                            blue, storm, thunder, wind

Myr/Nym                       lost, skeleton, skull

Nath/Mer                        doom, doomed, fate

Ned/Nad               cunning, genius, mind, thought

Nhil/Nal                 fear, gorrible, horror, outraged

Neer                                  core, root, strong

Null/Nil                             sad, tear, weeping

Olor/Omar                       skin, tattoo, tattooed

Pellan/Relon                    north, platiunum, wind

Phaer/Vorn                      honor, honored

Phyr/Phyx                        bless, blessed, blessing

Qualn/Quil                        mighty, ocean, sea

Quar                                   aged, eternal, time

Quav/Quev                        charmed, docile, friend

Qil/Quil                               foe, goblin, slave

Rauv/Welv                         cave, rock, stone

Ril/Ryl                                 foretold, omen

Sbat/Szor                           amber, yellow

Sab/Tsab                            abyss, empty, void  

Shi'n/Kren                          fool, foolish, young

Shri/Ssz                             silk, silent  

Shur/Shar                          dagger, edge, stiletto

Shynt                                 invisible, skilled, unseen

Sin/Szin                              festival, joy, pleasure

Ssap/Tath                          blue, midnight, night

Susp/Spir                           learned, skilled, wise

Talab/Tluth                        burn, burning, fire

Tal/Tar                         love, pain, wound, wounded

Triel/Taz                           bat, winged

T'riss/Teb                           blade, sharp, sword  

Ulvir/Uhls                           gold, golden, treasure

Umrae/Hurz                       faith, faithful, true

Vas/Vesz                            blood, bloody, flesh

Vic                                       abyss, deep, profound

Vier/Val                               black, dark, darkness

Vlon/Wod                           bold, hero, heroic

Waer/Wehl             deep, hidden, south, southern  

Wuyon/Wruz                      humble, third, trivial

Xull/Url                                 blooded, crimson, ruby

Xun                                       demon, fiend, fiendish

Yas/Yaz                       riddle, spinning, thread, web

Zar/Zakn                             dusk, haunted, shadow

Zebey/Zek                        dragon, lithe, rage, wyrm

Zes/Zsz                              ancient, elder, respected

Zilv/Vuz                             forgotten, old, unknown

Suffixes (Female/Male) - Meaning

a/agh                  breaker, destruction, end, omega

ace/as                                savant, scholar, wizard

ae/aun                             dance, dancer, life, player

aer/d                                    blood, blood of, heir

afae/afein                         bane, executioner, slayer

afay/aufein                        eyes, eyes of, seer

ala/launim                          healer, cleric

anna/erin                            advisor, counselor to

arra/atar                             queen/prince

aste                                      bearer, keeper, slaver

avin/aonar                           guardian, guard, shield

ayne/al                       lunatic, maniac, manic, rage

baste/gloth                         path, walker

breena/antar                   matriach/patriarch, ruler

bryn/lyn                               agent, assassin, killer

cice/roos                             born of, child, young  

cyrl/axle                               ally, companion, friend

da/daer                                illusionist, trickster

dia/drin                                rogue, stealer

diira/diirn                             initiate, sister/brother

dra/zar                                  lover, match, mate  

driira/driirn                         mother/father, teacher  

dril/dorl                                 knight, sword, warrior

e                                           servant, slave, vessel

eari/erd                                 giver, god, patron

eyl                                       archer, arrow, flight, flyer

ffyn/fein                               minstrel, singer, song

fryn              champion, victor, weapon, weapon of

iara/ica                                 baron, duke, lady/lord  

ice/eth                                 obsession, taker, taken  

idil/imar           alpha, beginning, creator of, maker

iira/inid                                 harbinger, herald

inidia                                     secret, wall, warder

inil/in                                     lady/lord, rider, steed

intra                               envoy, messenger, prophet

isstra/atlab               acolyte, apprentice, student

ithra/irahc                         dragon, serpent, wyrm

jra/gos                                 beast, biter, stinger

jss                                          scout, stalker

kacha/kah                            beauty, hair, style

kiira/raen                              apostle, disciple

lay/dyn                               flight, flyer, wing, wings

lara/aghar                         cynic, death, end, victim

lin                                         arm, armor, commander

lochar                                   messenger, spider

mice/myr           bone, bones, necromancer, witch  

mur'ss                                   shadow, spy, witness

na/nar                                 adept, ghost, spirit

nilee/olil                             corpse, disease, ravager

niss/nozz                           chance, gambler, game

nitra/net                              kicker, returned, risen

nolu                                 art, artist, expert, treasure

olin                                   ascension, love, lover, lust

onia/onim                           rod, staff, token, wand

oyss/omph                       binder, judge, law, prison

qualyn                                 ally, caller, kin

quarra/net                           horde, host, legion

quiri/oj                                  aura, cloak, hide, skin

ra/or                                     fool, game, prey, quarry

rae/rar                                   secret, seeker, quest

raema/orvir                         crafter, fist, hand

raena/olvir                            center, haven, home

riia/rak                       enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ril                                 bandit, enemy, raider, outlaw

riina/ree                     enchanter, mage, spellcaster

ryna/oyn                         follower, hired, mercenary

ryne/ryn                      blooded, elder, experienced

shalee/ral                 abjurer, gaze, watch, watcher

ssysn/rysn          artifact, dweomer, sorcerer, spell

stin/trin         clan, house, merchant, of the house

stra/tran                             spider, spinner, weaver

tana/ton                           darkness, lurker, prowler

thara/tar                             glyph, marker, rune

thrae/olg                          charmer, leader, seducer

tree/tel                         exile, loner, outcast, pariah

tyrr                    dagger, poison, poisoner, scorpion

ual/dan                                speed, strider

ue/dor                                  arm, artisan, fingers

uit/dar                                  breath, voice, word

une/diin                         diviner, fate, future, oracle

uque                              cavern, digger, mole, tunnel  

urra/dax                       nomad, renegade, wanderer

va/ven                             comrade, honor, honored

vayas                         forge, forger, hammer, smith

vyll punishment, scourge, whip, zealot  

vyrae/vyr                     mistress/master, overseer

wae/hrae                           heir, inheritor, princess

wiira/hriir                           seneschal of, steward

wyss/hrys                          best, creator, starter

xae/zaer                             orb, rank, ruler, sceptor

xena/zen                         cutter, gem, jewel, jeweler

xyra/zyr                             sage, teller

yl                                          drow, woman/man

ylene/yln         handmaiden/squire, maiden/youth

ymma/inyon                      drider, feet, foot, runner

ynda/yrd        captain, custodian, marshal, ranger  

ynrae/yraen                       heretic, rebel, riot, void

vrae                                   architect, founder, mason  

yrr                                         protector, rival, wielder

zyne/zt                                finder, hunter

House Name Prefixes - Meaning

Alean                        the noble line of

Ale                             traders in

Arab                          daughters of

Arken                        mages of

Auvry                        blood of the  

Baen                          blessed by

Barri                           spawn of

Cladd                         warriors from

Desp                          victors of

De                               champions of

Do'                              walkers in

Eils                              lands of

Everh                         the caverns of

Fre                 ��            friends of

Gode                          clan of  

Helvi                          those above

Hla                              seers of

Hun'                           the sisterhood of

Ken                            sworn to

Kil                               people of

Mae                           raiders from  

Mel                            mothers of

My                              honored of

Noqu                         sacred to

Orly                            guild of

Ouss                           heirs to

Rilyn                           house of  

Teken'                        delvers in  

Tor                               mistresses of

Zau                              children of

House Name Suffixes - Meaning

afin                              the web

ana                               the night

ani                                the widow

ar                                   poison

arn                                fire

ate                                the way

ath                                the dragons

duis                              the whip

ervs                              the depths

ep                                  the underdark

ett                                 magic

ghym                            the forgotten ways

iryn                               history

lyl                                  the blade

mtor                             the abyss

ndar                              black hearts

neld                              the arcane

rae                                 fell powers

rahel                             the gods

rret                                the void

sek                                 adamantite

th                                    challenges

tlar                                 mysteries

t'tar                                victory

tyl                                   the pits

und                                 the spider's kiss

urden                             the darkness

val                                   silken weaver

viir                                  dominance

zynge                             the ruins

[sugaggukkie]

Back from the dead for more kpop opinions no one asked for but I have to share: Le Sserafim at Coachella edition:

You would think the way people online were talking about this set, the girlies went on stage and BOMBED. I was prepared to watch the worst live set I’ve ever seen. INSTEAD. It was so fun?????? Like incredibly undeniably extremely super fucking FUN!!!!!!!!!! I literally can’t believe the shit yall say on dolly parton’s internet about this group.

Firstly. Since the SECOND I got into kpop all I have seen is endless debate on the overuse of lip syncing and vocal smoothing and loud backtracks etc etc etc and I have always always always been on the side, as someone who has seen quite literally hundreds of live sets, of LIVE. VOCALS. I want to hear breathing I want to hear cracks I want to hear imperfections I want to hear actual singing from a real live person standing on stage. Were their vocals perfect? Obviously not. Were they still giving it their all, dancing at full energy, and putting on an insanely fun show???? YEAH GIRL. Not one person on planet earth bar beyonce can dance at that level and give absolutely flawless vocals and for the energy they were expending the vocals still sounded fine and most importantly, conveyed the emotion of the set they were going for. It was high energy! It was hot and fun! It was a party! Of course they’re going to yell and scream and hype up the crowd and run around, THANK GOD THEY DID.

Secondly, if I had watched it and the crowd hated it and the energy was bad and everything was awkward and weird that’d be one thing. But the ENTIRE time everyone in the crowd was losing their minds, screaming the girls’ names, and SINGING ALONG!!!!!!!! The energy was so good and fun and you could tell everyone there was having a blast which in my opinion is the absolute 100% nonnegotiable most important part of a live set.

Thirdly, I’ve watched all of their encores, other live stages by them, and I feel like I know what they sound like live in general and this was actually truly leagues better than they’ve been in the past and that wasn’t because their vocals were worlds better, they were definitely improved but not by like A TON. what actually made this their best performance I’ve ever seen was how fucking fun the entire set was and how you could tell what they practiced was their actual stage presence and the show they put on and it PAID OFF!!!!!!!!!! The entire thing was just so enjoyable to watch and I truly didn’t want it to end because you could tell they were having so much fun and really working the crowd.

My favorite parts were eve psyche in English, the bit about going out for a drink but then realizing eunchae and kazhua are underage, the live band, THE NEW SONG!!!!!! WHERE THE HECK IS SAKI!!!!!! and of course “Coachella shake some fucking ass”

In conclusion, you guys don’t go to enough live shows, don’t know anything about what makes a performance good, love to be miserable, and hate having fun. I on the other hand, who love to have fun, love talented young ladies putting on a great show, and love live music for all its flaws and imperfections, had an absolute blast watching this set.

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

wen kexing, listen to my lament | Jarðartrá

there is an evil sibling to this video thats basically the exact same, only it hones even more in on wen kexing's fear of vulnerability and his yearning for warmth and release, to Sundown by Nightwish. i couldnt decide on a version and chose to go with both!

this is an almost 5 minutes video of just wen kexing shots from specific moments of the show while he has different conversations with different people. i wanted to comb his layers aside to find his dark underbelly; that terrible (self) destruction he bears within himself, that desire to harm that contrasts so his yearning for emotional intimacy. i wanted to explore that through his conversations with the most influental people in his present life: zhou zishu, luo fumeng, liu qianqiao, and gu xiang.

watch on youtube! | (original song) Jarðartrá by Eivør

“When I wrote this song, I envisioned the earth in its rawest elements: oceans, volcanoes, storms, soil”, remembers Eivør. “We all have echoes of these elements within us, but maybe we tend to forget that we are part of nature and its endless circle of decay and growth”. —Season of Mist, Eivør announces new album with earthy, electronic single "Jarðartrá", March 2024

(fully translated lyrics and thoughts under the cut!)

Dust to Dust/Jarðartrá, Eivør

Still it gushes forth in crimson waves fat river of fates bloodies sharpened blades From its dark depths corpses rise all the ocean’s delights drift before your sight Lift up your clouded eyes and look at me your unmasked home Listen to my lament come lie down in my blue embrace Reeking of your cruel rage flaking weapon-rust crusts your fierce death-lust Raging pyres must blaze out life’s primal song Can you sing along?

lyrics taken from the music video on youtube.

i took a more figurative approach to this video by expressing these themes, as i tend to do with all of my edits, and it doesnt focus on wen kexing's actions, rather on his relationships with those around him (also smth i tend to centre over other things), but i felt that aside from the rawness of the song's audio, the lyrics fit wen kexing's general plight very well and how it might affect his relationships even to those he wants to draw close and that he cares for.

[choco-pudding]

 Space Channel 5 Part 2: Sugoku Sugoi  Guide Book p. 090-095 (Translation by @lavoszero and myself. Edits and typesetting by myself)

Third part of Report 4.

Imgur link to all of the  Sugoku Sugoi Guide Book translations we’ve done thus far.

Plain text below

p.090 Channel 5 HQ · Recording Studio A

Dancing

Ulala’s Stars: 10 So, the Channel 5 director, Space Michael, was captured in the Recording Studio. This dance battle against Shadow looks tougher than normal, since his turns get progressively longer and longer. But still, Ulala… it was pretty cool that you got to dance with Space Michael… You'll have to handle the secret input together…

“Space Michael!“

10.

035 🠩 036 🠩 x 037 🠩 x x 038 🠩 x x x 039 🠩 x x x 🠮 🠬 ⬇ 040 🠩 x x x 🠮 🠬 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ 041 🠩 x x x 🠮 🠬 ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ x x x

11.

042 🠮 x 043 🠬 x x

-

Sweet! 86

Right

p.091

12.

044 x~ x 045 ⬇~ x 046 x x x 047 x o x 048 o o o 049 o o o 050 🠩 051 🠮 052 🠬 053 ⬇ 054 🠩 🠮 🠬 ⬇ 🠩 🠮 🠬 ⬇ “Tonight it’s Beat It!” ⬇

“Yeah, 110% groovy, baby!” [33]

-

Sweet! 87

Toyota

p.092 Channel 5 HQ · Recording Studio B

Finale!

Ulala’s Hearts: 1 Everyone follow me!

Left! Down! Up!

-

Sweet! 88

Honda

p.093

★ Ulala and Peace as Told by Space Michael ★

Space Michael's involvement in the incident is as follows. First, he orders the Special Report Team to be dispatched upon hearing the news of the incident. Later, when the Special Report Team was away, he was captured and forced to dance by the Rhythm Rogues' dance beams. He lastly assisted Ulala in stopping the broadcast of the "Purge TV Show." This is confirmed by the Space Channel 5 recordings and by the officer who accompanied them at the Mystery Zone and the Space Arena. There can be no doubt about it. Moreover, no new facts were presented when Space Michael was interrogated. For these reasons, we're refraining from publishing Space Michael's comments on the incident. But we would like to share some excerpts from his comments on Ulala's dance moves and President Peace's singing voice.

"Ulala's dancing has improved tremendously recently. She really has soul. It's a wonderful thing to be able to energize people though dancing. I hope she keeps dancing."

"President Peace's voice makes people feel calm. It also has a unique feeling of inclusion that comes from the heart that I really admire. I think his voice is one of Earth's greatest treasures."

In a related subject, there was a interview with Space Michael in the magazine "G.Q.C.Q Spring Quarterly Special Issue", page 49, "Space Michael's Point of View", edited by Nezumi Gray, non-fiction writer, where he speaks more about Ulala and Peace. This is presented below. On the page, Michael's comment "you dance pretty good" is analyzed with a series of photographs and his commentary.

"I've seen many stars over the years. Artists, writers, singers, dancers, performers, conductors and… it's an endless list. And many of these stars don't end their careers without a single moment of success, they live out their careers to the fullest. Except for punk rockers who burn through their brief limelight and dramatically disappear from the stage. There are only a few who can be called stars nowadays. Or rather, few outside of the entertainment industry. A good example would be President Peace, who manages to charm people despite his status; and Ulala, the Space Reporter. Ulala saved me after all (laughs). The singing and dancing energy from the both of them could burn the place to the ground and outshine the moon."

-

Sweet! 89

Toyota

p.094

The Best Dances of Ulala Selected by Space Michael This is the dance Ulala performed in Report 1, during her face- off with Kin, Kon, and Kan. With all the rescued passengers backing her up, and the hype of encountering her first "boss battle," it’s clear she’s pumped up and dancing her heart out. When most force themselves to make precise movements, they usually end up looking stiff and poorly exaggerated. But not this funky gal. Her dance moves are always on point and on fire. It just comes naturally to her.

Tap Tap Tap Clap-Clap Tap Tap Tap Tap!

-

Sweet! 89

Honda

p.095

This dance is from Report 2, right after she rescues Mr. Nervous and President Nervous. Each step feels warm and welcoming, like a gentle hug. She is performing for the Space Primary Schoolers after all. She’s way too cool to be a babysitter, but I think if she were to host a kids' show, the rating would easily exceed 100%. She's just that heartwarming and charming. Her clothes are also on point. The Floral Suit is perfect for this dance, no notes.

Ba Baa Ba Baa Baa-ba Da-na Na-na-na Ya ho!

-

Perfect! 91

Up Down Up Down Up Down Up Down Up Down Toyota Toyota Toyota

[hergrandplan]

hiiii!

7, 13, 20 for the writing asks <3

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! I hope you're well, thank you for sending these <3

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you've ever written and why you're proud of it.

"He wants to stretch this moment into eternity, to will the sun to not come up and the birds to not sing and the earth to stop spinning on its axis. He wants to freeze time.

But time heeds no one. And certainly not a lovesick teenage boy."

A very tiny (cowardly) snippet but this sentence came to me while I was getting groceries (most of this fic came to me while I was getting groceries that day actually) and it hasn't left my mind since. There's just something about its cadence that I really like (I'm not good at cadence so if it happens I'm extra proud of it), and the imagery as well. The desperation of Wille knowing this is their final night together, there's not going to be anymore chances so he delays the inevitable as much as possible, begging the universe to give him one more hour, one more minute even. Truly one of my favorite sentences I've ever written.

13. What's the best writing advice you've ever come across?

Idk if it's necessarily the best, but I tend to be very wordy with my writing, I want to explain everything because I like giving the full picture, and I am very aware of the fact that sometimes it's too much and I lose power. So one thing I try to keep in mind (when editing) at least is that a) less is more, but b) you also have to have faith in the reader that they can fill in the gaps sometimes, especially when simply Describing Actions. (idk this feels like really basic advice but I try to keep it in mind when I have another endless sentence happening, or when a scene falls flat, it's usually because I'm using too many words)

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions

No tumblr (too much distraction), a clean room (which it never is), rain ticking against my window (so I have a good excuse to not go outside) and a cup of steaming hot tea next to me (that I hope I don't accidentally knock over, spilling tea all over my keyboard). And also, idk, some kind of body doubling actually is my main method in being productive. So ideally, on voice call with someone lol

Send me writing asks!

[coffeexmythos]

Lemme introduce y'all to the Sleepwalker. She's not entirely a serious character but maybe you'll like her anyway! (Edit: this got really long, my bad.)

The Sleepwalker - true name Ath-Artyx - isn't exactly commonly known to occultists and the various worshippers in the Mythos. You might see the name pop up once or twice but there's not a lot of information on her other than that she's blind, presumably identifies as female and is connected to the King in Yellow somehow. That's not really special, though. There are a lot of strange entities in the universe and the King's secrets tend to stay his secrets, known only to the cultists and his Court. Probably just some lesser aid or Yellow noble, right?

Well... About that...

She's actually the incarnation of Azathoth. Literally, she is the dream experiencing itself. That explains a lot about her, once you know she's the Blind Idiot of infamy, because guess what? She's both! Though most would rather describe her with terms like "ditz" or "airheaded" - don't want to hurt her feelings. She's very sweet, see, to most people. She gives hugs and sings songs and cuddles with her favorites. But while she may seem childlike, she shouldn't be underestimated or treated like she's incompetent. As those in the know speculate, Nyarlathotep got it from somewhere...

Speaking of the Crawling Chaos, he tolerates his so called "mother". The Sleepwalker adores him and recognizes him in any of his forms, which often leads to her attempting to hug him or show her seemingly endless affection. His patience for her is endless as well, though it's hard to say if he genuinely cares for her or if he's just manipulating her like all the rest. Mostly Nyarlathotep tries to keep her in the Dreamlands, where she won't cause or get into trouble. She still tends to get out a lot.

The Sleepwalker mirrors the environment she's in. On earth, for example, she's human, with her eyes wrapped in bandages or hidden by dark glasses. Her hair is long, and she's always smiling. Under those bandages and glasses, her eyes are closed. When they open, she awakes - and so does Azathoth.

The fortunate thing is, these moments of wakefulness are brief, temporary. The Sleepwalker can't or doesn't want to wake up and even if she did she likely wouldn't be able to. These moments of waking are imperceptible to many, even the most skilled occultists won't notice them happening. But maybe one day you'll look over and notice the flowers by your neighbors house are different than you remember. Maybe you'll open a book and the words are written just different enough than last time. The sheets on your bed feel different. You could've sworn that picture pointed the other way.

Some people brush that off. The ones that don't, however, will almost always go mad.

The Sleepwalker has a cult to herself, sort of. Its more of a collection of scattered, desperate "friends" she's made, who pray for her safety and happiness, to not get run over in her wanderings, to rest comfortably and to never ever wake up. These friends have no idea the others exist, and if they meet a traditional Azathoth cultist, the kinds that want to wake up the Demon Sultan, murder or worse is on the horizon. Their offerings are candy, mostly - the Sleepwalker has a definite sweet tooth. They will also eventually get into the habit of referring to her as "Mom", just like she calls herself.

Out of all the other entities and so called gods of the Mythos, there's only one that the Sleepwalker has any negative feelings towards. Most of the rest, she seems to have no opinions on. The King in Yellow, though? She hates him. Haaaates him. And she'll be happy to tell you why: at some point, she, Ath-Artyx, became known and worshipped as one of his wives. The King in Yellow had no involvement in this development but she still blames him for it and will never let it go. Maybe Nyarlathotep really did get it from somewhere.

Two things tend to haunt the thoughts of those who know the truth about the Sleepwalker.

First, is she really as harmless, as happy, as she seems? She can seem as human as Nyarlathotep but he is not human and she isn't either. Is she really as big a ditz, a cheerful fool, as she looks?

Second, and far more ominous... If there's one avatar of Azathoth out there, are there more?

[somxthingfamiliar]

❝ How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with fewer ripples.❞ Is that KAT GRAHAM? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually RIKKI DUNE { female, she/her }. She is a 27/3000+ year old ORIGINAL FAMILIAR. She is an HORTICULTURIST can easily be found at CONSERVATORY OF FLOWERS. She is known for being WILD, POSSESSIVE, and CYNICAL but also WORLDLY, LOYAL, and WITTY. You could probably bribe them with GIFTS OF NATURE or piss them off by LITTERING OR HARMING WILDLIFE.

BASICS

Name: Rikki Dune Nicknames/Alias: Ki, Rik Face Claim: Kat Graham  Age: Appearing mid-twenties, is actually over three thousand years old Gender: Female Sexuality: Pansexual Date/Place of Birth: Ancient Greece Currently: Los Santos Species: One of the Original Familiars Subspecies: Lion

Occupation: Horticulturist 

HISTORY

Childhood/Family Life: 

Rikki is one of the familiars that was summoned by witches before the great fires took the library of Alexander the Great and thus took the knowledge of summoning more of her kind. She took to the role of aiding the coven that summoned her seriously taking well to the nature of the world she tried to remain within the wilderness more so among the great growing cities. She sent her time among the witches, ensuring the protection of the coven that brought her to.

As the news of the great fire getting to her it broke her heart to know that there would be no other familiars summoned as she was, brought a new found pressure on her as she was now more rare than ever and well sought out by witches in eagerness to bind with one. And eventually if it wasn’t the pressure to bind with a witch it was a pressure to create a bloodline of more familiars for the future generations as well. 

There was a time she went with a group of witches and familiars deep within the amazon, enjoying the wildlife and conducting research in both the mundane and magical when hunters spoiled the trip. Her lion phase made it simple to stalk her pray in the thick of the jungle, attacking from the bush and taking hunters down one by one as they hunted the witches she was with. However it didn’t seem to matter how many of them she took out because one arrow well shot hit one of her own and it was a pain that Rikki didn’t want to experience again. And for some decades she made sure she wouldn’t by separating herself from the supernatural world for a time and getting lost deep within the jungle. Education: 

The world has been her school, she watches and picks up things where ever she goes. Being on this earth as long as she has there is no greater time spent than there is in the seeking of knowledge. She tries to understand the changing world around her however a lot of it doesn’t make sense. How people have seemed to turn their backs on their mother nature confuses her.

PERSONALITY

Positives/Virtues/Skills: Worldly, Loyal, Witty. Skilled in herbology, botany, dance, singing, guitar, bee keeping, swimming.

Flaws/Weaknesses:

Wild, Possessive, Cynical. Handling Iron, lines of salt, Finds trusting humans difficult based on how they seem to be losing respect for nature and wild life. Puts the lives of plants and animals over human life.

Personality Type:

INFJ - The Protector

Archetype:

Guardian/mentor: She’s old and therefore has a lot to share with younger generations, if they are willing to learn but she knows better than most that a cup that is already full can’t take in anything else. 

Likes & Dislikes:

Anything outside is something she can enjoy, taking a long hike, looking for insects, small animals. She collects herbs and editable flowers, doesn’t believe in harming a plant or animal unless you plan on using it. Wasting life is the biggest sin in her eyes. 

Dreams/Ambitions:

Continue the mission of protecting the witches and familiars that deserve it, she was summoned for a reason and its not fulfilled till her last breath.

Fears:

Seeing more wildlife be wiped off the face of the earth, somehow losing the ability to shift into her animal form. Being locked away in a cage.

RELATIONSHIPS

Children: Based on her age its only realistic that she would have children thru the years (Wanted connections there) Ex-Partners: Going through the years they can get lonely at times and between protecting witches and others there is always the risk of feelings getting in the way and of course there has to be someone responsible for the children that she has had. Flings, long terms, things that ended badly and those that ended mutually. (Wanted connections there) Co-Workers: Those who work at the conservatory, anyone who enjoys plant life she does gains respect automatically.  Friends: People that she has a connection with, has taught them, helped them with their magic or protecting others.  Enemies: Some hunters, witches that wanted her to become their familiar and are bitter she went with Ash.

SUPERNATURAL/FANTASY

Weapon of Choice: Her claws and teeth Physical/Magical Strengths: Increased strength, speed and senses, the ability to shift into a lion  (Unique) Powers: The ability to communicate with animals and plants. Being the only living being that can reach ley lines and be a conduit to their power at a risk. Physical/Magical Weaknesses: Pure Iron, lines and circles of salt, mortal wounds

[jiejing-lifechanyuan]

The Meaning and Level of Freedom

Xuefeng

May 22, 2012

(Translated by Jiejing and Edited by Kaer)

Like an eagle soaring freely in the high and empty blue sky Like a steed galloping across the endless grasslands Free to sway freely and bloom with neither boundaries nor fetters Travel through the vastness of time and space at will

The pursuit of freedom comprises the unremitting efforts and the ultimate pursuits of all beings in the universe.

"Live Free or Die" was the cry for freedom pursued by the American statesman, Patrick Henry in his speech to the Virginia Parliament in order to gain independence from British rule in North America nearly a quarter millenium ago. The original meaning of the sentence from France was "Set me free or kill me".

"Life is precious, but love is more expensive, yet if it is for freedom, then both can be discarded". This is from the Hungarian poet, Petofi Sandor’s "Freedom and Love", from his “A Song of Liberty”, 180 years ago in order to get rid of the slavery of the Austrian Empire.

Freedom, you are the most beautiful flower in the forest, the eagle that spreads its wings high, the rushing river that flows without restraint, the boundless blue sea and waves, and the heaven of bliss; in your arms, there is neither fear nor worry, but only security for prevention, and there are no fetters, only the flirtatious splendor of Tathagata's nature.

Freedom is the most holy and most desirable, the most charming and fascinating, the sexiest and most inspiring, and the most solemn and dignified.

What is freedom?

Freedom is to do as you please without breaking the rules.

Freedom is to fully bloom the nature of Tathagata.

Freedom is to do what you want without interfering with others in society and without harming nature.

Freedom is to release the breath of love without interference or obstruction along the way.

Freedom is to gallop freely in the boundless time and space without shackles, constraints, or fetters.

Freedom is a the Greatest Creator’s gift of a natural right to life.

In a free life, there is no trouble, pain, anxiety, or sorrow, let alone any fears, anxieties, precautions, or worries. Within a free life are only happiness, joy, and comfort, and only carefree, elegant, wonderful, and infinite relaxation.

There are three levels of freedom:

The First level: Better to barter empty fame For the pleasures of good wine and sweet song In a straw cloak, I spend my life in mist and rain In the dreamy shades of apricot flowers In the spring that seems boundless Singing and playing the flute till dawn

The Second level: I see a thousand hills crimsoned through By their serried woods deep-dyed And a hundred barges vying Over crystal blue waters Eagles cleave the air Fish glide through the deep blue water Under freezing skies, a million creatures contend in freedom

The Third level: Jumping out of the three realms, Not in the five elements, Freely travel around the whole Earth.

How to achieve the three levels of freedom?

Being above the common and free from vulgarity, we can reach the first level of freedom where we can enjoy the wonderful movement given by nature in tranquility.

Making the world peaceful and warm, we can reach the second level of freedom where everyone can be Yao and Shun, outside the pavilion, along the ancient road, the grass is green. Wherever you go, it is indescribable, and you are high from mountains and rivers.

Listening to the teachings of gods, Buddhas, immortals, and saints, and walking the way of the Greatest Creator, you can achieve the third level of freedom, where you can raise a handful of sand and transform it into thousands of green trees, gallop freely in the universe, and absorb infinite beauty.

Long live freedom! Let us sway in the youthful time, play to the youthful music, walk out of the kingdom of necessity, and move toward the kingdom of freedom. I know the road to freedom, come with me, hold my hand as we run to the free hills to sing and dance, to enjoy the beautiful mountains and rivers, and to enjoy the endless, most wonderful time of life and of LIFE. ~

If you like this article and would like to know more about Lifechanyuan values, please check this link, thanks: https://lifechanyuanvalues.wordpress.com/2024/06/23/some-pdfs-of-lifechanyuan-values/

May Wisdom, Peace & Love from the Greatest Creator be with you.🙏

[twothpaste]

13, 25 and 50 for the ask meme?

13. Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently? Nah, I can't focus on words & music at the same time. I need nigh-silence when I'm writing, and endless eclectic heaps of music for inspiration when I'm not. I think I answered an ask about this for another set of questions a few months ago, and linked the [ Settled Score playlist ]. Linking it again here, cuz it's only gotten bigger, and I've only gotten more sick in the head about it.

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)? Aw jeez that's a hard one too! Actually Writing The Thing can feel like the purest most creatively fulfilling self-actualizing bliss on planet earth at its highest highs. But it is also often a difficult and sloggy process, where I sit staring at the screen for half an hour, typing 2 words and deleting them ad nauseam, as I try to figure out what the fuck I'm doing. So idk if I can say it's consistently my fav part. Outlining is always a blast though, and where most of my biggest breakthroughs happen. It's so satisfying getting to fart out scene ideas and build them into something substantial, re-arrange them, combine them, figure out what's missing & what needs to be cut… Plus I get to be as sloppy as I want. I can jot down absolute gibberish and it doesn't matter 'cause no one else is reading it, it just has to make sense to future Clark. My notes & outlines are labyrinthian and disastrous and full of love, and I'd be lost without them.

50. How would you describe your writing style? Hillbilly who went to a liberal arts college tells you a long-winded story by the campfire. Sometimes he almost starts singing the story. His singing voice is raspy and cracks a lot, but that's too bad, you do have to deal with it. Every now and then he pauses to offer you a Cherry Coke or some BBQ Corn Nuts.

[ ask meme here ]

[us-cj]

● From last year

"My eyes roll back to white, I was born a million years ago in distant worlds, so we're you. We are all the exploding energy emanating from the Godhead at the time before the start of time. WE ARE THE WITCHCRAFT! HEXENNACHT ÜBER ALLES! The night of Witches lasts forever as we trip in the endless light of the Black Sun, on the edge of forests, in tenebrous alleys, over cold moors, deep in the heart of a concrete world you can still find us, a cancer sent by the Most High to poison their fucking worthless world. Our God's name is "Evil Doer"! Bölverkr, King of Witches, He Who Hung to Know, Grim, Gault, God! The very namesake of the word! He is the word and runes spill from his tongue into our howling hearts that seek the divine. Tonight is the night of Witches, drink and be merry, tomorrow we will not die, as death is a deception, it is maya, we can not die as we are of God and God is forever, we were never born, we have always existed as Odinn has always existed, long before names were spoken!

This is Hexennacht, the Witches Night, throw coins at the crossroad at night lest Frigg who is MahāDevi will send the Wild Hunt to drag you off to ride forever. The dead Völva knows all! Hail the Disir! ALU ALU ALU! Thrice burnt a Witch is initiated, thrice burnt she dies, when she awakens screaming in Hel she rides her broom back to the middle enclosure each time, maya being stripped away with each return until she knows the truth, and then she knows all.

Today we honor those who walk that path, who put their love and fate in the hands of the Perennial spirit of the world. I Hail to those who ride the night.

HEXENNACHT ÜBER ALLES

WE ARE THE WITCHCRAFT

ALU ALU ALU"

● and from the year before

"•Walpurgisnacht•

Throw your coins into the crossroads at midnight, and pray not to be lifted away into the wild hunt.

Now before the May Day daughters of Frigg in her wyrd-est form trace the weavings and read the fates. Now before the Protomagia the daughters of Hekate sing songs in cthonic voices where trails meet under the veil of Nyx.

The Hexenfrauen gather in the glades and on the mountain to call for He-who-casts-spells-despite-the-danger, to Ein sköpuðr galdra, to Fjölnir, to Fráríðr, to Glapsviðr, to He-who-hung-to-know, to Valföðr who is Draugadróttinn. He-who-comes-with-a-host-of-the-Dead is sought out for the knowledge of spells and his domain over Death where the wisest Völva dwell.

Thrice burnt thrice arisen the Völva sees the webs of fate, a dead Völva knows all and is the mother of the world.

To quote Hamlet, though I should quote Macbeth, "And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

I end with words from Óðinn.

•HARBARTHSLJOTH

Harbarth spoke:

20. "Much love-craft I wrought | with them who ride by night,

•Havamal 114:

If she cast a spell, you will care no longer

To meet and speak with men,

Desire no food, desire no pleasure,

In sorrow fall asleep.

Photo credit: personal edit of "Witches going to their Sabbath" (1878), by Luis Ricardo Falero""

● take care my Legions, its a wild world out there - That Guinea Goonbah From Down The Shore

[will-on-the-internet]

Grow Old With Me | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer Reid never imagined growing old with someone, but then suddenly it happens within a blink of an eye, and it's perfect. Inspired heavily by the song Grow Old With Me by Tom Odell, and featuring Dad! Spencer.

Warnings: mentions of children, allusions to sex.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.5 k

A/N: I honestly meant to write something in my request list next, but then I listened to this song for the first time in over a year, and my brain was just like...Will you've gotta write something now. So, it's now 2.30 am, and I haven't properly edited it, but I hope you enjoy a little look into the life I think Spencer deserves. Also helps to listen to the song while you're reading.

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE SPENCER REID FICS!

I can feel you breathing With your hair on my skin As we lie here within The night

I'll pull the sheets When it's cold on your feet Cuz you'll fall back to sleep Every time

It all started after one night together. One night of blissful love, of heated lust and a desire to have each other so close that nothing could distract you from the moment at hand. It was in Spencer’s bed where he first said, ‘I love you', where he first took you in his arms under the covers and made it clear he had no plans to let go, and it was in his bed where the both of you slept together for the first time, a mixture of tangled limbs, strewn around blankets and the light from the moon shining against your bodies. On that night, Spencer knew, as he watched you sleep, a soft smile curling his lips, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. And as the night turned into morning, as the cool spring breeze drifted through the window and you stretched in his arms, Spencer could only chuckle quietly as he tucked you back under the covers, pulling the sheets over your feet and humming as you laid against his chest. This was the perfect picture of all his dreams coming true, and he knew he wouldn’t ever trade it for the world.

Grow old with me Let us share what we see And oh the best it could be Just you and I

It didn’t take you long to realise that Spencer was in this relationship for the long haul, that he was going to fight to have every moment with you, to hold you as long as he could and to give you all the love in the world until your time on earth was up. You realised when he asked you to move in with him, and for a man who didn’t like changes, or going out of his way to make his life different, you knew as he held out the small silver key, that this meant something to Spencer.

“You…you want me to move in with you? Spencer, are you sure?” He nods furiously, knowing there’s no way he’s going to regret his decision any time soon. Standing up, he walks around the couch that the two of you are sitting on, and he gestures to the empty to one of the bookshelves that are now empty, previously jam-packed with his books.

“I’m sure, Y/N. Look! I made space in the bookshelves for all your books, and I emptied out half of my wardrobe for your clothes, and…and I just thought that this could be where you call home, from now on. And I know it’s sudden and we’ve only been dating for what…two months? But I know that I don’t want to share a place with anyone else, let alone wake up to an empty bed ever again.” You were kissing him then, taking the key happily while he could only smile against your mouth.

“Of course, I’ll move in with you, Spencer Reid. There’s no one I’d rather live with. Especially if it means I get to share a bed.” He laughs openly at your words and pulls you into a hug that you swear makes your stomach flutter and heart pound even harder, especially when he kisses you right underneath your ear and keeps whispering that he loves you as if you’re going to forget any time soon.

And our hands they might age And our bodies will change But we'll still be the same As we are

We'll still sing our song When our hair ain't so blonde And our children have sung We were right

Spencer’s greatest honour in life was having the privilege to see you grow, body ever-changing as the both of you got older, his chestnut-coloured hair being flecked with streaks of grey, and your face slowly taking on lines of age that he found so very beautiful. He loved everything about you, loved how even as the two of you aged, you still loved to lay yourself over his lap while he read, or how you danced around the kitchen while you cooked. And you loved every single thing about your doctor, from the way he smiled that little smile that made his eyes squint and cheeks blush, to how he never seemed to be warm enough, wanting an endless number of blankets, sweaters or even your body to swallow him up, to keep him warm and in turn, keep him safe from all the horrors of the world.

He loved thinking back to all those years ago when he married you, when he took you as his partner for the rest of his life, and how the both of you danced until the sun came up, surrounded by those that loved you and you loved just as much. He thought you could never look more beautiful than you did on your wedding day, dressed simply for the little ceremony in Rossi’s backyard, but every morning when he sees you for the first time, in the sun that shines through the window and under fresh bed covers, he’s constantly waking up in awe, wondering how on earth he was so lucky.

But then the two of you became four, a set of twins making the little family that Spencer had always dreamed of, and suddenly Spencer thought that everything was perfect, that nothing could beat the feeling he went to bed with every night; happiness, love and perfection all around him after he puts his son and daughter to bed, pulls you into his arms and listens to your heartbeat against his chest, and he knows that he’s a lot luckier than most people, and he’s eternally grateful for that.

And the hairs they stand up And my feet start to thump Yer the feeling is dreaming Around

You'll be the one Make me hurt, make me come Make me feel like I'm real And alive

In the early stages of your relationship, every moment with you was filled with his racing heart, the fierce fear that he would embarrass himself in front of you and a love that burned so bright both of you were scared you were going to be burned. But then, as the dust settled and a familiar rhythm formed, Spencer quickly calmed down. Sure, his heart still thumped loudly in his chest, and he still wanted to make you smile and laugh with him and not at him, but he knew that everything was going to be okay.

He knew without a doubt that you made him feel alive, that he existed for more than just his brain and that you loved him endlessly when you kissed him and held him. He knew you were undoubtedly his, that you would never want anyone else, and he held tight to that truth every time the two of you fought.

You both knew the fights meant nothing, both knew that you only fought when work was becoming too much and the both of you were tired, at the ends of your tethers and feeling overwhelmed by raising a family and being there for each other. But once the pain had passed, apologies accepted and loving regret-filled kisses exchanged, and the two of you always ended up in bed together, wrapped around each other until the sun rose or your children woke, whatever came first as you grew older.

Grow old with me Let us share what we see And oh the best it could be Just you and I

Spencer Reid thought he’d never end up with someone, never had someone to grow old with him, to share a life and a house and an endless amount of mornings, evenings and time in between. He’d never believed that someone would ever love him enough to spend their life with him, to kiss him when he woke, to make him dinner after a long night, to fall asleep in his lap on the couch or even promise themselves to him. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d ever have children, or a little slice of happiness that everyone else seemed to think he deserved after all the horrors he’d experienced. But suddenly he had it, and he was never going to let go, especially right now, as you wrapped yourself around him as you watched your twins do homework at the dinner table.

“You know, I never thought this would be my life.” It was a whisper against the material of his sweater, but he heard it all the same as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Oh yeah, what did you expect, my darling?” You smile at his question and tilt your head up to look at him, brushing some of his curls out of his eyes.

“Something boring, not something as perfect as this.” He hums in response to your statement and swoops you in for a sweet kiss that your twins groan at, complaining about seeing their parents kissing in the kitchen. But the two of you can only laugh, telling them that they’ll be doing the exact same thing when they’re older, and even as they roll their eyes and turn back to their homework, Spencer can’t stop looking down at you, so in love, so happy and so grateful to grow old with you.

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[yandere-wishes]

Dr.Frankenstein

💀Yandere Idia Shroud x Reader

💀Summary: Idia wants to prove the world wrong. To show that there is more to life than good and bad, villains and heroes. But somewhere along the way, he falls in love with what he is trying to prove. 

💀Warnings: Dead reader, delusional tendencies, gore,

💀Edited by my beloved Peri!! @tealyjade-libran

💀 Alternative title: Dr. Frankenstein falls in love with his monster. 

Idia had known, from an all too young age that his heart was fashioned to be enraptured with misery and sympathy.  

Once before, a few thousand eons ago, Idia had been a meager child, boyish, shy and happy with life. Sitting on his mother's lap, as her thinner than bone fingers ignited themselves on his scorching hair. He'd listen as her sunken lips recited story after story from forgotten books and dead myths. content, long ago he had known the feeling of contentment. 

And yet said feeling had died so long before Idia even comprehended the narrative behind death. His joy at hearing tales about daring heroes and bewildering gods ran dry all too soon. He'd grown numb to the stories of good and evil, the same formula used over and over and over again. Good won, good prevailed; evil lost, evil vanished. It lacked logic and sense. The probability behind mindless heroes saving the day each and every time was astronomical. It couldn't happen. Yet the history of their world and his darling mother's tongue told a different tale. 

-Not only could it be done, but rather it had been done on endless occasions.-

There had, however, been one story that stood out amongst the rotten batch. An anecdote that lacked morals and didn't defy a single law of nature. One would never think that a god born would find solace in a tale of a simple human trying to play god. The only story that sunk deep into his arteries like fragile needles, swimming through his blood before pricking manically at his heart. The only story mama told with faint nostalgia and a distant voice. The spiel of a scientist, whose mind was both his greatest ally and worst foe. A man who looked at the heavens with neither admiration nor hope. A mortal who wasn't satisfied with what good and bad had to offer. Dr. Frankenstein, whose one true desire was to do what gods did, to prove that he too could accomplish what the heavens claimed a miracle. 

It was then and there among the pitch black of his parent's room that the oldest -no the only- son of the Shroud family proclaimed in a hoarse voice that cracked at each interval. That he too would be like Victor Frankenstein. That he too would live in a world of his own, a world with no room for good and evil. A world free of wretched stories that filled the minds of jovial children. And on that day, fate had the gall to listen to the claims of a brainless brat. 

Even after countless millennia, Idia Shroud had not changed, he'd only grown into the role he forged for himself some centuries ago. 

Yet nobody ever said it would be so hard to suffer the pain of a once maddening genius. The stories made it seem easy, made Frankenstein’s pain into pretty poetry that held only a fraction of the weight. Idia came to question time and time again, what it really was he was trying to suffer for. Why did he bestow upon himself the endless torment of alienation from a world that he too longed to be a part of?

Victor Frankenstein had something to prove, he longed to be a god in the most unclassic way. All the frenetic doctor wished was to shout at all mankind and the heavens above that he was the greatest. For in his suffrage he had discovered the antidote to what sets men apart from gods. That he, the overlooked boy, the forgotten pupil had -with solely his intellect- created life. 

-Idia too desired to do just that. To scream at this fairy tale world that he, the cursed heir, the villain, the monster, was superior to every prince and hero in existence.-

Somewhere along the line, in the space between todays and tomorrows, he'd somehow lost the method behind the madness he had come to cage himself within. He lost purpose, lost hope, forgot why he'd declared to earth and Olympus that he too would be a genius akin to Dr. Frankenstein. 

Idia didn't know what spark had flared his senses, what made him realize what it was he lacked from the hopeless doctor. He liked to think it had been the moment glacial fingers rinsed in fair blood and washed away gold and been stripped from his pale clammy hands. Phantom kisses had waltzed away from his burning cheek to float back into the spiral from which they had risen. 

The dead marching back to the land of the deceased.

Leaving him to crawl back into the dark pits of his self-made hell.

Only this time, he'd understand why Frankenstein had dedicated his life to seclusion. Why he'd taken gulps of anguish, rather than air. 

It was so painfully obvious, sitting in front of him on a golden throne this whole time. How in Hades' name had he been so blind? How had he forgotten?

Although admittedly his chagrin of forgetting far outweighed his elation of finally remembering. Frankenstein hadn't suffered for not, he had suffered to build, to create. His isolation wasn't of choice but rather out of necessity. 

-The monster-

 The Monster was Frankenstein's raison d'être, The final fruit of his endless labors. He had risked everything to build him and that's exactly what Idia would do too. 

Victor Frankenstein had his monster. 

Idia Shroud would have his monster.

//

It was on a dreary night that Idia beheld the accomplishment of his toils. anxiety burned through his fragile body, amounting ever so quickly to agony. Thoughts of do's and don't's flooded his body, pilling on top of each other like corpses after a genocide.

Inside the lights were just barely surviving, every few minutes they would flicker breathing in a final breath before a short death, only to be revived minutes later, spilling their artificial glow throughout the chamber. The room itself reeked of rotting flesh and something so sickly sweet, it almost made the dorm leader of the nearly deceased heave. 

Idia's eyes remain static, seemingly stitched to the thing on the metal slab of a table. The body lays limp like a porcelain doll. No, not a doll, Idia thinks, like the monster, Frankenstein’s monster before it arose from its deathly slumber. 

Outside A flash of lightning crackles through the night sky, rough sparks of electricity flow through the murky air. They jolt and dance before dying in the night's void. 

After it, the world falls still, trapped behind the iron bars of an endless minute. The once meek god feels a surge dance through his core. The levity of his dreams prancing about. He's close, all so close. A breath away and it will be done. A minute away and all the world will see that there's never been any need for good and evil. Morals are merely prejudice beaten into every living thing, a simple way to keep mortals in their place and gods ruling above them. 

The bloody needle in his hand slips through his leather-covered fingers, chimes as it hits the blood soaked ground. Idia's mind races through the odds and ends of everything. Through the fairy tale that is his life. He wonders, would they be proud of him? Would His darling dead brother whose soul now rests in a metal body, shut down and laid to rest in a forgotten corner, advocate what he's about to do? Would his mother's sickly lingula sing praise to him, retell the glory of her son's endeavors to the children of the accursed isle? Probably not, it's a bitter thought, but as true as they come. What parent or brother on this damn earth would be proud of their monster trying to fabricate an abomination? Who, in the millennia to come would look back on him and declare with pride that Idia Shroud had been a genius, one who stood above the heroes and villains and gods? Who would ever call him something better than a hero, better than a villain, better than a god? 

In hindsight, Idia likes to think he always knew what he was doing. Always knew that he wanted the world to remember him as the one who broke the rhythm that the universe had been dancing to for endless years. To show this story-obsessed world, that good, and evil were merely perceptions of broken minds. Ideologies fabricated to justify meaningless actions. 

Good could be bad.

Evil could be nice. 

But science prevailed over all else.

Idia's knees quivered as he bends down by the table, his pale blue lips hovered above his creation's stitched-up forehead. He knew it was wrong, so, so wrong. But it couldn't be helped. For some ungodly reason, as the days ticked by and he began to sew together the bag of mismatched limbs. Idia had, in some way, come to love his creation. He wouldn't call it love per se. But he did long to hold his fragile creation in his arms. To kiss their reddened lips as their torn tongue invaded his mouth. 

In the dead of night as he laid beside his still dead lover, no monster, not lover, not yet. He began to wonder, had Frankenstein fallen in love with his abomination somewhere along the road? Had fate once again played its silly little games and twisted their paths to forever meet? Did Victor Frankinstine ever wish to kiss his creation, to have them kiss him?

It may have been wrong. The storybook-bound people of this world may even call it evil. But it wouldn't be that way for long. Idia's fingers curled into his palm, the shards of his bitten-off nails dug deeper into his flesh. His chest tightened with a foreign sensation. A feeling that made cold sweat run down his thin neck. 

Using what little strength he had left, Idia pushed himself off the ground and wobbled over to his mainframe machine. He braced himself on the heavy machinery trying to regain a semblance of his balance. He could do this, he had to do this. 

His bony finger coiled around the silver leaver, the patched of rust bite into his skin. He held the power to defy everything. To make a new world. His golden pupils land on his fingers for a second. a faint memory of his mother slither back into his mind. It's murky and foggy but he remembers the way her boney fingers use to trail down his hair and arms and legs. How she traced ghosts and blood splatters on his chubby wrists, as she retold the story of the mad scientist. Comically enough she had been the reason why Idia had fabricated this self-induced prophecy and now he'd grown to be her spitting image. A carbon copy of the person who fueled his obsession with defying the laws of good and evil. 

The leaver budged forward, clicking in protest as Idia pulled it lower and lower. Outside thunder boomed through the air, louder and louder. Maybe the ancient gods knew what he was doing. Maybe this storm was their warning to him. Yelling and shrinking to get him to stop. Threatening him to give up this game he had played for so long. 

No.

Not this time. 

Idia had operated by the book, he'd done everything like Victor Frankenstein. No ancient deity or prized warrior would be able to stop him. The gods' threats were the last part of his plan, all he needed was the lightning, the stray string of electricity. Then you would come alive. You'd be his to hold, to love, to cherish. To show to the whole damn mindless world. 

A crackle shot through the air, twisting itself around the rod connected to the device and to an extension, you as well. It slated around the iron, like a wild tiger trapped in a cage. Squawking and fighting to free itself as it slid downwards. The moment it came in contact with the larger body of the machine, it roared, a deafening white noise that reverberated off the stone walls. It pierced Idia's ears, causing a thin line of blood to drool down the side of his head. The apparatus buzzed to life, bright lights filled the chamber and the wires attached to your corpse began to stir. 

The once still carcass began to jerk violently, its head and arms and feet shaking, twisting in inelegant gruesome movements. Its torso would lift from the table only to crash down once more, with a force that surely fractured a few bones. Amid the madness, the mouth of the monster began to open, popping the loose stitches around the edge of her lips. Its long tongue darted out like a snake. And though it was mostly hushed by the hissing of the loose electric bolts and the harsh rain that had started to pour outside. Idia swore he heard her whisper his name.

The fire-haired boy ran across the room, tumbling to the side of the metal table. His large arms wrapped around your tiny ones. His eyes bore into yours. Watching as your inconsistent eyes stared into his. Your face was soft and tender, painted in an innocence only worn by young children. You were his now, his perfect creation. Something began to build inside of him, a forgotten feeling. 

Contentment; this was contentment, something he hadn't felt for a long long time. 

What are gods if not humans who possess a secret no one else could obtain? With you by his side, in his arms, Idia could finally, finally triumph overall. He had made life, he had defied all else, surely now everyone could see he was superior to all else in this make-believe world. 

But the moment ended all too soon. Your eyes began to dull over, darkening with every blink until they shut permanently once more. The thumping of your borrowed heart began to slacken. Pounding slower and slower until it stilled. The patched up body came next, falling limp, dead again, floating back to the yonder of the grave. Out of his grasp, out of his life.

The world didn't stand still this time, instead, it scrambled forward at aching speed. No sooner had you taken your first breath had you taken your very last. You'd left without ever saying "hello".

Maybe in the midst of all the chaos, glorious altering chaos, he screamed, maybe he cried. Maybe it finally dawned on him why Dr. Frankenstein was merely a myth. A fable told to accursed children. Because Victor Frankenstein wasn't good or evil. He neither harbored joy nor malice. He wished only to be the best. And for so long Idia had wished the same. Searched for the same purpose in his meaningless life. 

What is a scientist if not a harbinger of grief and pain? 

Someone who devotes their life and loin, riddle and reason, in search of true purpose amongst the forces of the universe. What's a scientist if not a god in their own right. 

Had he been a god just now, Idia was left to ponder. For two glorious, astonishing, baffling moments Idia had been better than any god in existence. He had prevailed where every hero had failed. He had accomplished what villains went mad trying to achieve. He had been victorious.

Yes, Idia Shroud had fulfilled his dream. 

If only for a couple of inert moments. 

Gods were merely that, humans who had created something from the very soil they too were made of. 

And he too had done it. 

But alas in the end, maybe the legends and the myths had been true, credible good always won and evil did always vanish. Barring you had been so young, so new, you didn't even comprehend good or evil, you hadn't been alive long enough to understand what those two defining forces even were. The world didn't yet know if you were even good or evil. But it matters all so very little because you were his creation, his monstrosity, his, and Idia Shroud had always been and would always be evil, a villain in his own right. Just another gear in the predominant forces of the universe.

He'd been a fool to think he could defy the structured narrative this world had come to accept as law. 

Although, no narrative could ever change how much he had loved you, dead or alive. It wouldn't change how he had almost, almost, became Dr.Frankenstein. 

Although at the final page just before he closed the book. In the back of his mind, Idia was sure he had become the doomed doctor. 

For he too had both fallen in love with his creation and driven himself mad over it.