YukiAsano

Just a girl who wants to leave a memento on this world. 30+years old | ISFP -A/T

[writing-prompt-s]

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

[sadoeuphemist]

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?” 

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer. 

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.

[sameenbyhat]

Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

[stu-pot]

Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.

The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.

He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.

So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.

“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.

The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.

“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.

“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”

“No,” Arepo smiled.

“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”

“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.

“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.

“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”

The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”

“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”

[corancoranthemagicalman]

I reblogged this once with the first story. Now the story has grown and I’m crying. This is gorgeous, guys. This is what dreams are made of.

[threefeline]

[writing-prompt-s]

This is amazing!

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.

[captain-acab]

You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?

You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”

[misscrazyfangirl321]

This one wins.

[janothar]

It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up.  She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out.  First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.

Clark’s introducing her around.  “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

You blink, and take a step back in fear.  You’ve never seen an 11 before.

[aniseandspearmint]

The day Bruce Wayne shows up for his long promised interview with Lois Lane, you can’t help it, the mug your holding drops from your fingers and sends a shock of hot coffee and ceramic shards across the floor.

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

That’s it. Your gift has officially gone haywire. There is no other explanation. Because there is absolutely no way that Brucie Wayne is a 10.

[petitstar]

At this point, you’ve seen it all. Miled manner reporters and billionaires at a 10 and a model-like woman at 11. You were really starting to doubt your power. The day you really stopped believeing in it was when Bruce Wayne came for another visit, and this time with a kid. The kid couldn’t be more than 10 years old, a bit on the short side.

He was an 8.

[lainathewitch]

The day you started believing in it again was when you saw on tv the formation of something called the justice league.

There were those same numbers over superman, batman, wonder woman and robin. That’s when you put two and two together. You wonder how nobody at the daily planet noticed that Clarke was Superman with glasses. You wonder why you didn’t notice. You wonder why nobody put two and two together that Diana Prince and Wonder Woman looked exactly the same. You look in the mirror as the realization hit you and you see your own number change from a 3 to a 9.

[rainnecassidy]

IT GOT BETTER

[bowcrazy]

TSURUNE NOVEL VOLUME 3 ANNOUNCED???

It's coming out 8/19 and was announced with a CM!

[degenderates]

idk man, i just wanna write a fic that someone reads obsessively at 3am. a fic that someone loses sleep to finish because just one more chapter and tries to give multiple kudos. a fic that people will leave a comment on every chapter. i want to write a fic that people will recommend to others, that they think nails the characterization and relationship dynamic. i want to write someone’s comfort fic, someone’s favorite fic, or someone’s fic they read when they want to re-read something. i want to be that fic writer. i want to write that fic.

[darsky17]

Hey there! So here’s this I guess!

God, I wish that you had thought this through.

Before I went and fell in love with you.

Feel free to reblog/like!

[zombieswere-peopletoo]

I’m reading this AMAZING fic called Hidden Gem and I’m completely in love. Go check it out f you want some kurotsukki (side bokuaka) it’s so worth it. Despite the bittersweet update we had last time (damn you Kuroo, you stupid stupd man! >.

PS.: Click for better quality bc tumblr decided to fuck me up.

[kyovtani-deactivated20250219]

and to make myself feel a little better:

— cw: mentions of body image issues, weight loss (attempts), self image issues, body/fat shaming, gaslighting (if you squint), insecurities

— includes: oikawa tooru, iwaizumi hajime, goshiki tsutomu and kyoutani kentarou x chubby reader

— whenever you find yourself standing in front of the mirror crying because you've been working so hard to lose weight or because someone once again shamed you for being on the bigger side, oikawa takes your face into his big hands, wipes away your tears and starts telling you about all the things he loves about you. and after every single thing he leaves a soft peck on your lips, never once looking breaking the eye contact because he knows you hate yourself and your body because you're bigger and society has you convinced that you're not beautiful, attractive or loveable, he makes it his mission to convince you of the opposite. because to oikawa,none of that matters. your weight is nothing but a number to him because he fell in love with your soul – your body was just a (big) bonus. 🤍

— in those nights, where iwaizumi finds you curled up in the bed, hugging yourself as you shed tear after tear because you've tried something on and it didn't fit or didn't look the way it's supposed to because of your body type, he just pulls you into his chest and holds you. he knows how difficult it is for you to try out new things and how disheartening it is for your worries to become reality. but iwaizumi doesn't care about any of that. to him, you always look perfect, no matter what you're wearing. he holds you in his arms for hours, caressing your tummy and your thighs, your arms and your hands because he knows in those moments you would rather chop them all off instead of looking into the mirror again. and every single time, iwaizumi just tells you all the reasons why he's absolutely and unedniably in love with you and your body snd never once does he grow tired of it because you're worth every second of it.🤍

— when you suddenly cancel your plans with goshiki, he knwos immediately whats up. he knows you're on your bathroom floor, sobbing and crying because you couldn't stand the person you saw in your mirror. he knows you probably had to listen to your mother's speech about how much prettier you'd look if you just lost a little bit of weight and he knows that even though you claimed to be happy with the way you are, her words still cut through your chest like sharp blades. so tsutomu just goes and gets you your comfort snacks, buys you flowers and writers you a little notes with as many compliments as possible before he shows up at your doorstep again. he doesn't care about how you look, he just pulls you into a long, soft kiss and follows you to your room. he spends the entire night with telling you about how much he loves your big tummy and thighs, your arms and your legs, your face and especially your eyes. because no matter what you think, to him you're holding the world in those beautiful eyes and he's determined to have you agree with it. 🤍

— and in those times where looking at yourself makes your heart ache and tears sting at the corners of yours eyes, kyoutani doesn't hesitate to pause whatever he's currently doing because he knows you need him. you need him to tell you that no, you're not any less important or valid because of your weight and you need him to tell you that no, no matter what people say, you're still beautiful any loveable just the way you are. kyoutani knows it won't be easy. he knows you hate yourself and every bit of your big body because your whole life you've been programmed to do just that. but regardless of that, kyoutani makes it his number one priority to remind you just how perfect you are. he doesn't care about any of those beauty standards because whenever you ile ag him, the world stops and he feels like he's floating. and he wants you to feel the exact same.🤍

[yukiasano0926]

Not me crying because it hurts to the core. 🥲

[yukiasano0926]

Apparently, no matter how many attempt I try to change my banner and pfp here, it just doesn't work. 🙄

[ellitx]

Do you ever get in the mood to just pull down Venti’s pants as soon as he gets home. The man’s got important papers to do but it ain’t as important as thrusting his dick in your mouth lol. Whoops the papers are due the next day.

masterlist 1; masterlist 2

warning: NSFW content

word count: 1.2k

It was rather late and Venti came home to see you pouting on the shared bed. Despite that, it was obvious you wanted something from him and he’s always there to treat his princess. 

Judging from your body gestures, it seems like you really miss him. He has a clear idea of what’s going on the more he glances at you. Much to his surprise, he never expected you to ask him if you could give him a blowjob after a tiring day in the plaza. Even you yourself were surprised with your willingness to do it for your lover.

In fact, this is the first time he’s getting the receive from you instead of the other way around. It just feels right to repay him back for always making you feel good in those previous intimate and hot session with him. When your request had been pushed into the conversation, you had been thoroughly flustered.

You almost want to take your words back because of his silence. Stammering, fidgeting, and asking him to forget what you said but he quickly latched his hand on top of yours to get your attention. How could he say no to his darling? Any request from you, he always says yes. He’s been dreaming about this for so long but what he prioritizes the most is your own needs instead of his.

He does get his own satisfaction just by making you cum with his cock, tongue, and fingers and that’s already enough for him. 

Your face had heated instantly when he agreed to your desperate needs. Your mouth becoming dry and your heart seeking to jump up your throat. Standing up from the bed and kneeling between his knees, you had fumbled with his teal shorts, fingers trembling with excitement and nerves alike. But once you had successfully undressed him and reached to his stockings and underwear, those nerves had swiftly died.

Under your touch, Venti was hot and thick. His lack in length makes up with his girth though he can change his size anytime he wants to. His cock was growing quickly harder the longer you brushed your fingers over him. 

Pulling him free of his clothes left any doubts or distractions to wither away to nothing. Left in their wake was only a pang of hunger that made your mouth water. Glancing briefly at him out of the corner of your vision without moving your head, you caught a pleased little smirk on his lips. The sight only aggravates your craving for him and weakens your control.

You gave an experimental lick on the tip, hesitant and unsure of what you’re doing was right.  With only a soft lick as a small test of his flavor, you slowly and carefully wrapped your lips around the head of his dick, flattening your tongue against it. The salty tang of skin and bitter pre-cum greeted your tongue fully, and a small, stifled moan of delighted satisfaction escaped from your pink lips. 

You sucked lightly for a moment, swirling and skating your tongue around the head and wriggling it against the sensitive spot on the underside until you heard him inhale sharply. An appreciative, growling hum of pleasure from Venti spurred you onward, and you took more in his hardening length. You relished the way the distinct taste of him filled your mouth, and how the thick vein on the underside of his dick throbbed against your tongue.

You stared at him, lips hovering on his cock, and the image of it was so dirty it embarrassed him and turned him on at the same time. You opened your mouth slightly, your hot breath tickling him.

“That’s it, princess. Just like that, you’ve got it.” He praised with a groan while his hand reached to your head to thread through your hair in appraisal. The gentle touch boosts your confidence and you could have practically purred in delight just from his words of praise. 

You moved quickly, kissing the underside then slowly moved onward, licking as you went. The image of you, your tongue tracing his cock and eyes glazed over, will forever be burned into his retinas with how seductive and perverse it was. You kept giving him kitten licks, the pressure was there but not nearly enough.

You put back your mouth on his length and wrapped your tongue around it, hungrily taking more of him as much as you can and trying not to choke yourself. When you reached your limit, you waited for a while before sucking harder and hollowing your cheeks. Tongue pressed against the bottom of him, you bobbed your head up and down in a steady rhythm. 

He needed more.

Lost in your excitement and arousal, you ignored the string of saliva that dribbled past your lips and down your chin, lost among what already coated Venti’s length. You let him slip from your lips with a half-audible pop before circling the tip and diving back onto him all again, and repeating the pattern.

You’re slowly getting addicted to this. His tip almost reached the back of your mouth as you bounced your head to please him, to make him cum with just your mouth. The longer you bobbed your head up and down his shaft, the more it turned you on and made your shorts damp— a small puddle already forming on the floor and you wanted to touch yourself as you sucked his dick.

Your arousal reached such a festering peak, you couldn’t resist any longer, not bothering to stop as you slipped a hand into your shorts and panties. You slid a couple of fingers through your lips, already slick and wet, and rubbed it in light circles. Even with a soft touch, the added feeling was bliss, and you moaned lewdly around your mouthful.

Venti didn’t pretend he didn’t notice the sudden change in you. The corner of his lips was pulled to a grin of amusement amidst his haze of pleasure. His free hand dipped down to grab your arm, pulling it up and out of your panties and denying you the stimulation you desired so badly.

“If you wanted my cock so badly, you could’ve just said so,” he stated under his breath, though his tone was almost playful, far from harsh.

A muffled whine came from you, casting your gaze up as far as you could without stopping your rhythm, trying to plead with him silently. His grin remained as he looked down at you, petting your head and throwing you even more praises that made you wetter than before. 

The motions became smoother as time went on. Quick and easy movements that coaxed more euphoric responses from him. Venti would sigh out your name and watch you rub your thighs together, containing yourself to not touch your aching cunt under his half-lidded eyes. The sight is really arousing, he could just pick you up and fuck you if you’re going to insert your own fingers in your pussy. 

He knows very well your fingers aren’t enough to make you cum, and so he gently tugged your hair to stop you from your ministrations. You blinked owlishly and yelped when he grabbed your arm and pulled you to him.

His hard shaft was just rubbing the side of your leg and your face turned beet red as Venti looked at you and held your chin between his fingers. His slender fingers stroked your mouth to wipe the saliva trailing from your lips and you closed your eyes at the gentle caress. You always love and adore how caring and sweet your lover is regardless of how sexually aroused both of you are.

“So messy and so spoiled. But I think that’s enough of sucking me, let me fuck my pretty angel now, okay?”

[yukiasano0926]

Uhmm... I mean... 😅🥺👀

[yukiasano0926]

My tumblr is so outdated. I haven't updated any of the info here in a while and used to only use this account for any translations before or when my thoughts were not okay. 😅 Gotta update this soon.

[ellitx]

From Me To You | Venti x Reader

[Name]’s been spending more time with Aether writing letters. When will she go back to him to spend time together?

word count: 9.7k

           “Now, who would love to listen to a bard’s song? One can harmonize with me to sing along~”

            Sun-kissed white cloud blossom in the blue, free to fly with the wind. In the long horizon, they take on azure hues. It was a wonderful day to sing ballads to the people of Mondstadt. 

            Children and adults have crowded around Venti, the little ones’ orbs sparkled in awe whilst the grownups are eager to listen to the stories he’ll share. A chuckle slipped from his lips and took out his trusty lyre, Der Frühling.

Keep reading

[worldofteyvat]

‘‘… but do they only have chopsticks?’‘

[yuutta]

jujutsu kaisen op 1 + locations

[poems-and-word]

[poems-and-word]

[yukiasano0926]

Oh yis!

[poems-and-word]

[yukiasano0926]

Someday we’ll know.

[poems-and-word]

[yukiasano0926]

Agree and there are days when they are raging hard.