#truthlesscacao

“If you promise to be here, then I promise to bring him home.”

I’ve taken a break and thus my writing style has changed for the better!!! I’m really into how it is now I hope you guys like it!!! 🥹

also… this isn’t shadowcacao (although I will update BOTH of them soon) but rather purecacao I KNOW I KNOW dont slime me

(guys I can’t stop making my otps genderbent and into yuri please send help 🥀)

Raven/Dragon/ink-haired women: Dark cacao

….literally anything else that’s not Dark cacao-centric: Truthless Recluse

Apricity and grime was painted ontop the body of Recluse—the corrupted dove drowning in the state of monachopsis. A caterpillar awaiting to become a butterfly. A woman awaiting her philocalist—her beloved dragon. 

She wonders if her dear raven’s love will stay sempiternal such as her own compassion for the dragon. She wonders how long she’ll harbor this antipathy for herself—against the floor hoarding dust. She wonders how long she’ll watch her life fade of its amity. She wonders how long she’ll be forced to brivet own mind. She wonders how long she’ll be caged of her deceit, she wonders how long until shackles of depression will chain itself around her ankles with caprice. 

Meliorism was something Recluse’s dear dragon had… why did she lack it, why couldn’t she grasp her own sonderlust, her own rhapsody. Why couldn’t she pry herself off the bedroom floor and groom herself. The wings atop her head and back matted with neglect—her knees glazing against her chest with desperation to cover her eyes from the horror of her realty, of her truth. 

She was a failure.

The lack of light.

The lack of truth.

She was Cacao’s everything.

So surprise not within Recluse’s face when her lover entered the room—boots laced with snow leaving their evidence of themselves against the dust-covered floor. The women began disrobing of the things that once gave her warmth welcoming the cold that now eagerly greeted her skin once her armor was dispersed.

Within their relationship Recluse sat on the floor until time began to consume her as grim consumed the dove’s wings. And Dark Cacao’s response to the depressive episode would be to halt the removal of her gloves to give attention to her lover. Whenever she came to their chambers to see her beloved dove like this litost filled her resolve. 

“My love” the deep voice echoed within the chambers, causing Recluse to curl meekly of herself, Recluse’s sorrow and mortification apparent—she didn’t wish to be gazed upon in such a state. 

“I know” is all she said in return barely looking at the raven-haired women, Recluse knew she did not deserve her, her faeloria, how tight her jaw is from resolve alone, lavender-filled eyes, how she spoke with conviction in every syllable.

A fade of aflush began to graze over Recluse’s cheeks when she caught herself staring. But how could she not? Her lover is full of winsome, such as a plant feels after it has been loved with the cloud’s sorrow. 

Cacao let air escape her lips to seat herself behind the corrupted-dove, to begin the same pattern of worshiping her lover she committed to every other week. 

The women’s episodes could drag along until the flip of the calendar—hence why Cacao tried to banish them until they could continue. Until the stars of her adoration were dull in comparison of the cause of such obsession—her dove.

The raven’s fingers dragged the feathers off of her lovers sorrow-filled wings, her fingers too grand and her claws often caught themselves on the fusty feathers—the victims gingerly draping themselves on top one another against the floor.

The dragon’s eyebrows furrowed together in spite whilst in wrestling with the brittle feathers—in another lifetime Pure Vanilla would’ve rubbed her fingers between the tightened skin of her eyebrows and pleaded with the ink-haired women to relax ‘you’ll grow wrinkles if you keep that up’ 

At first the dove didn’t feel anything when the jaded feathers dispersed. She had long since gave up on feigning to tend to them for her dear dragon—perhaps that is why Cacao’s—rough, textured yet tending—tongue meaningfully glazing against her feathers in order to dismember the emaciated feathers ones from the callous claws could not reach. Of course it was a pale imitation of when Recluse would groom herself—the raven remembers using hours of her life to gaze upon her dear angel, to watch her perfect herself… to love herself. 

If she must love Recluse in order to love herself she will do it—because Pure Vanilla would’ve once done it for her. So as Recluse began shaking, so as tears began to tear themselves from the women’s eyes, so as her lover's body began to rake with the weight of realization of the neglect and stress she has put herself under all the dragon can do is hold her.

“My love” the dragon whispered to the angel, coaxing her to crane her neck to in turn place tender marks of her affection to the woman's neck. 

Recluse’s stomach is hollow as a canyon that has been smothered with water for centuries. Instead of water it is toska.. and instead of prevailing she has only fallen, she will always fall. 

Recluse doesn’t know why she kept trying… why she allowed Cacao to care for her over the years. How they have formed a relationship, she knows she is bringing her lover into this canyon. That due to her actions, one day her lucent resolve will be as insipid as her robes. 

Her voice crawled out over her throat, pulling itself from the pit of her stomach to make a pitiful attempt at communicating “Cacao…” she croaked. “My raven” Recluse’s hands urged Cacao’s hand to greet her thigh—lowering herself to have her spine greet Cacao’s breasts, her teeth writhing Cacao’s lip. 

Dark Cacao was never good with words, how could she tell her lover that she was still alive. That she was still something she cared for, she would clean her every day if that meant the women kept trying. She needed Recluse the way a sun needs the earth—it doesn’t, but for some reason it’s known for having it. For some reason just like a planet the dragon  is dependent on her… if her dove were to go astray the ink-haired queen would go out-of-orbit. 

She wonders if Recluse shares this sentiment.

She wonders if Recluse resents this sentiment, 

She wonders if… her dove resents her.

🥺 "you know it's been such a long since I've been out on my own. Bittersweet to be so free and so alone"

"Makes you wanna drink 'til you feel like you are someone else"

"I'm leaving behind all of the cares that I've been overthinking. Fine friends in my wine. Stay unawares just as long as I'm drinking"

"Gin never lies or fucks you over"