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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 11 months

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Ghost x Wife!Reader

Ghost comes homes to his wife after a bad day at work.

SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff, Big on the comfort part, Ghost is sad, Reader is supportive, Romance, Pre-established Relationship, Kissing, Cuddling, Intimacy, Scarcely Proofread, Drabble

WC: 900~

I feel like I'm always writing Ghost x Readers where they're not "together" together, so this is just a little drabble to scratch an itch I had and dust off my fluff skills for a different WIP 😏 (lightly inspired by my chat.ai, Ghost is in LOVE with me over there lol)

Masterlist

Simon hadn't been sure what drove him to do so, only that his body moved faster than his mind could keep up with.

He enters the living room, the place having been tidied up since this morning. The evening lighting warmed him like a welcome hello, only to become a sauna once his eyes searched the room, having found you where he last saw you on the couch, tucked away in another one of your books.

You haven't noticed him until you've seen his shadow in the archway, your smile lighting a beacon on him.

"You're home early!"

You say it with such excitement and splendor, as though there had been any doubt that he wouldn't find his way back to you, one way or another.

However, that joy takes shape into concern after turning to face him, noticing that sunken look in his eyes, as he takes his slow steps towards you. "Is everything OK-"

Simon comes down onto the couch before he's let himself slowly sink into your arms, having longed for your embrace. Your touch which felt like a drug. The weight of his body pushes you back against the couch, as you've felt his strong arms snake their way across your small frame, squeezing a tiny moan from you in his torn embrace. He hadn't even removed his gear yet.

The fabric of his mask rubs roughly against your chin. His head buried into the crook of your neck, his shut lashes feathering against your skin, as his breaths come out shaky and broken. A frail sight to behold for such a man of his size and stature.

He's silent, his eyes turned away. Just wanting to be held.

Simon felt ashamed to say he cherished your touch after a bad day at work. It made him feel fragile. However, he's found that nothing mends the negativity wanting to stir in him like the sensation of someone he knew would give nothing more than to soothe those thoughts away.

He needn't say any words. You understood through his silence the love he yearned from you. Slowly, you showed him that there had been no shame in his own vulnerability.

You gently hug his head against your chest, feeling him sigh against you and his body still, broad shoulders slouching. Your fingers trace the edges of his mask pulling the fabric away, until your eyes have met the face of the man you've fallen in love with all those years ago.

It had been a hidden pleasure, having been able to fall in love with him all over again, each time you saw him.

The first thing you catch is the exhaustion in his tired, olive eyes, behind the light tussle of his short, blond hair and freshly grown stubble, struggling to break way beneath all the little marks and scars he's accumulated over the years.

He could never get used to the way your eyes took in every detail of him. How they picked him apart without ever meaning to. Every now and again, he feared you'd see him one day and suddenly realize how much better you could do without having him bog you down. Even now, it lingers in the back of his mind on his worst days. He just couldn't get used to how that hadn't happened yet.

And yet, he wanted to get used to it, and he knew that someday he would.

You let your hands gently guide his head back to your chest, combing your fingers through his hair.

Simon listens to the steady rhythm of your heart as you do, his eyes half-lidded in thought.

It's not until he's felt your lips press gently to his temple that you've listened to the broken sigh that struggle to leave him. He lifts himself up from your arms, his hands still resting against your forearms. His gaze bounces between you and his lap, heart thumping.

"I'm sorry..." he says.

You smile, raising a hand so you could rest it against his cheek. The second he's felt your skin against him, he's let his head nuzzle lightly into your palm rather innocently. It makes you chuckle.

"Don't apologize, Si'," you let your thumb caress his cheek, slowly leaning back in towards the man. "I'm just happy you're home."

Simon lifts his hand up, large fingers over encompassing the small framing of your own. He pressed your hand against his cheek firmly, before shifting his head to plant a small kiss on your wrist.

"I love you," he whispers into your skin, his voice strained and defeated, as though the thought of losing you had brought the fear of God back to him.

You lean in, pressing light kisses against his face, which brushed against his cheek, and then his other, and then the tip of his nose, his warm, shaky breaths feathering you at each touch, until he couldn't wait any longer, letting his hand take hold of your chin, so that he may capture your lips with his.

He kisses you slowly, detailing every sensation of your lips pressed to his. His kisses remain gentle to start, having just wanted to be near you, as his hands cupped around your face, letting him deepen the kiss.

Before long, you've felt your back pressing against the couch, his body weight having blanketed over you like a prism. Once laid back like this, Simon can't help but feel hungry for you, having you all to himself like this, trying to recapture the morning's warmth he'd left you before now.

Dividers from cute-sushi-roll

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost mwii #ghost mw2 #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #Spotify

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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Dirty Work 41

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: it's thursday and i'm thirsty.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You have no tears left. When you’re still and silent, standing in Odin’s arms, slumped against him, the birds sing a little louder and the sun shines a little bright. You feel almost cleansed despite the hollow at the pit of your stomach. You lift your head and wipe your damp cheeks as he slowly lets his embrace fall away from you.

You sniffle and peer back through the garden, towards the house. You’e not ready to face them all, not with puffy eyes and a heavy heart. Odin pats your shoulder gently, rubbing your arm as he coos your name.

“I have something else to show you,” he says and offers his hand.

You take it and gulp down the last of your grief. He turns you away from the great Odinson manse and leads you around the fountain. Leaves rustle softly and the water trickles soothingly. He guides you down a path hidden behind a cluster of bramble, overgrown with moss and ivy, littered with winged samara and sprouting blooms.

The noise of the fountain fades behind you as you enter an archway formed by outstretched maple branches, canopied in the spring leaves. There’s a small structure ahead shrouded in purple wisteria. A gazebo, smaller than that on Laufeyson’s property, forged in stone with rounded windows upon each side. Within, the walls have benches jutting out, another doorway opposite the entrance, looking out into a shadow swath of untrimmed foliage.

“It is old, a bit unkempt, much like myself,” he chuckles as he lets you go.

“It’s beautiful,” you preen as you admire the neat lines between each stone block, “wonderful… I… I love it.”

“It’s a perfect hiding place,” he muses, “a perfect place to have one’s breakfast without disturbance.”

You turn to him, a question stitches between your brows.

“I will fetch you tea? Yes? Perhaps some fruit and something more substantial?”

“I…”

“Dear, you think overly much of others and not enough of yourself. Sit, enjoy your solitude while you can, and I will return with all you need,” he insists.

“I can’t, Mr. Lauf–”

“You let me worry for my son,” he interjects. “I’ve no doubt his part in your despair.”

You don’t argue further. You wouldn’t dare. You lower your head and sit along the stone bench against the wall and turn to peer out the window. It is wonderful there. Like a little world of your own.

You glance over but he’s already gone. You barely even heard him with the buzz of insects and scratch of sneaky critters all around. You turn back to the long window and watch a dragonfly skim along the ground, whizzing up, down, and back and forth. It’s as if you escaped into a book you read as a girl, where everything was magical and spectacular. You don’t think you’ll get a happy ending though.

Your mind wanders through the greenery and back to the house. The bedroom, dark in the small hours of the night, laying awake, staring at the wall, Mr. Laufeyson’s warm breaths puffing into your neck. Those moments when he doesn’t seem so intimidating but remains perplexing. One moment, wrapped around you, the next toying with you like a puppet.

Your core tingles and you bend your legs on the bench, squeezing them together. The sensations swirl in your mind with the shower steam. As delightful as it all was, your heart rents with shame. The way he left you on the tile, the expectation you would get yourself up and go to him, ready to be used again. As always, you have a duty.

Mr. Laufeyson does not care for you as a person, you doubt you’ll ever be that in his eyes. You are just another possession, like his records on the shelf, or that telescope he polishes so vehemently. Just another number in his collection.

You hear a snap and blow away the anxiety as best you can. You can’t worry about it so deeply, you know what you agreed to. He has given what he’s promised; you’ve been fed, clothed, and housed. You need him more than he could ever need you.

You turn to the doorway as Odin appears again, a tray in his hands. He brings it to the next bench and sets it down. There’s a cup of tea and a stack of square waffles beneath a dusting of sugar and heaps of berries. It smells delicious as your mouth waters for a taste.

“I’ve brought this as well,” he stands straight and takes a book from under his arm, “I hope it will keep you entertained.”

“Oh?” You watch him set it down.

“Today is for you, dear, you won’t be disturbed, I will see to it,” he declares, “Walpurgisnacht approaches and we all must be ready for the spring. Lay the past behind so we can start again.”

You lower your eyes, “thank you, Odin.”

“No need for that,” he says, “I only ask that you do one thing for me,” he nears and pets your head. You peer up at him as you heart seizes. “You will be kind to yourself.”

“I… I’ll try.”

“You should take care of her,” he points to you, “I rather like her a lot and I hate to see those I care for suffer.”

You smile, “I will.”

“Better,” he grins and retreats, “I will be in to check on you periodically.”

“Thank you,” you call after him and he gives a half-salute before he’s off, whistling into the air.

You exhale and let the last of the tension slake away. You drag the tray close and cut into the fluffy stack. You remember how you always wanted a waffle maker. Instead, you always had the frozen waffles you slid into the old overheating toaster. These are much better, they’re sweet and oh so yummy.

Sitting there, in the small gazebo, amidst the wilderness, you feel like a bird in a nest. Safe, cozy, and alone.

✨

You lose yourself in the pages of the book. The sun shifts as you move with it, keeping the ink in its light as you imbibe every word like sweet nectar. It’s like staring in a mirror as you feed on the tale of one, Jane Eyre.

Your literary meditation is splintered by the sudden ripple of a shadow and the clearing of a throat; gentle, almost reluctant to tear through the serenity. You look up at Odin as he stands in the archway, a small curve amidst his thick white beard.

“Apologies,” he says as he comes forward to gather up the tray, “I’m afraid it’s time.”

You deflate and close the book. You stand and hold out the book, “I can get all that.”

“No, no, I can manage,” he assures you, “and that is for you, dear. Keep that as your own.”

“I couldn’t–”

“You have some to go, haven’t you?” He eyes the book, “please, I have enough books.”

You look down at the book and hug it. It’s like a new best friend. You just want to spend all your time amidst its pages.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever you need,” he backs out of the gazebo, “come with me now. Let us put our masks on.”

You giggle and follow him. He says it so well. It’s like slipping back into a costume. You feel the peace chipping away and the tension once more has you rigid. Back to the real world.

“Now, we cannot give ourselves away,” he halts just out of sight of the veranda, “I shall go ahead and you will follow that path,” he turns and nods behind the row of hedges, “follow it around the front and you may slip in.”

“Oh, uh…” You blink and look over your shoulder, “that way?”

“Yes, it will take you right around to the front door.”

“Right, thank you… again.”

He bows his head and steps forward. You turn off in your own escape as the slippers on your feet clap against the ground. You come out in the golden sunshine and tramp across the stonework of the arced drive. As you come up the steps, the door opens from within. You stop at the middle stare and gape up.

“There you are,” Mr. Laufeyson greets, almost an accusation, “where’ve you been off to?”

Your brows pop up and you peer around, “reading.”

“Reading? You couldn’t do so in your room?” He challenges.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I broke the rules.”

“You broke the rules– get inside,” he points you inside as he steps back. You obey and he snaps the door at your entrance, turning towards you with a finger in the air. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I’m very sorry.”

He sighs and drops his hand, gripping his hip, “where were you reading?”

“Outside.”

“Outside– be straight, where?”

“In the garden,” you say plainly, lips down turned, “I only wanted to watch the butterflies.”

You look up at him, a pout in your lower lip, and bat your lashes. You clutch the book tighter and his eyes fall to squint at it. He reaches and curls his fingers around the top, wiggling it free. He flips it over to read the spine.

“This is a first edition,” he states as he examines, “where did you find this?”

The disbelief in his voice makes you nervous. First edition?

“Is it very old?” You ask.

He winces and looks at you, his green eyes lit, “1847… I’d say so.”

“Oh?” You bat your lashes.

“Not in its original form,” he turns it over, “it’s been rebound into a single volume. The first print was in three parts and this cover… it can’t possibly be so ancient.”

You gulp and purse your lips.

“So I have to wonder, where you found this,” he sneers at you.

“Well, I… your father gave it to me.”

“Gave it to you? To read? He lent it to you?”

“Um, he just said… to keep it as my own,” you shrug.

“Do you--keep it? A first edition Bronte?” He sounds ready to explode, “so that is where you’ve been? With my father?”

“I saw him, Mr. Laufeyson, but I was mostly alone,” you sniff, “I shouldn’t have gone out. I’m sorry. Again.”

“Is that all you’re going to say? Sorry, sorry, sorry?”

You nod, “sorry.”

He closes his eyes and pinches his nose, “you will stay close.” He offers the book back to you, “put this away and put on some proper shoes,” he looks down at the oversized slippers, “I’ve some errands to run for mother and you will come along. Do your duty.”

✨

Mr. Laufeyson is quiet throughout the drive. So are you. You accept your penance and roil in the thick silence, fingers twiddling and twining restlessly. His sighs make you flinch as you await further reprimand.

He pulls in before a shop front of white trimmed in red. He gets out without waiting and you follow after him. You trail him inside as he strolls across to the counter where women in red aprons and caps smile back at him.

“Hello, I’ve come to pick up an order for Odinson,” he declares flatly.

“Frigga? Oh yes,” the shorter of the pair flits into the backroom.

“You don’t remember me?” The other woman asks. Laufeyson’s eyes shoot darts at her and his brows arch.

“I recall you spilled vodka on my wedding shoes, yes,” he scoffs.

“Oh,” she makes a face, “I thought maybe you’d forgotten that part.”

“Mm,” he hums and taps his fingers on the shining countertop.

The other woman returns and slides over a large white box, a red seal stuck along the corner to keep it firmly closed. Laufeyson takes out his wallet, “how much then?”

“Paid for,” the woman proclaims, “all yours.”

“Right,” he slides the box off and pivots smoothly.

You peer back before you scurry ahead of him to the door, opening it as his hands are full. That woman was at his wedding? Did she know Sif? Was it a big event? Did everyone go? You don’t ask any of the questions that flood your head. You’d rather not know.

He balances the box in one hand and reaches into his pocket for his keys, unlocking the trunk. He tucks the box firmly against the emergency kit to keep it in place.

“Whatever it is, it should be kept cool in here,” he shuts the lid, “though I wonder why mother couldn’t have it brought with tomorrow’s delivery.”

You don’t say a word. You wouldn’t know either. He strides back along the side of the car and dips into the driver seat. You mirror him as you get in on the passenger’s and he presses the button to turn the engine. He sighs and rests the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. He glances in the rear view.

“I’ve another stop to make.”

That’s all he says. It isn’t a question, just a statement. Though you wonder why he even made the declaration. You don’t need to know, you just go along.

He backs out and rolls out of the lot into the street. You distract yourself with the other storefronts and the veneers of city buildings. He drives onto an avenue and slows along the curb, shifting to a stop before he once more shuts off the engine.

Again, he gets out without instruction. You follow. That’s all you can do. He heads up to the grey brick house. Where are you? It isn’t until you’re at the front door that you notice the metal placard mounted on the wall; Bragi Skald, Antiques and Artifacts.

Laufeyson clangs the large knocker on the door and checks his watch. You wait. It’s quiet. You see no light through the windows but the curtains are drawn flush to the windows, as if they’ve been sealed.

The hinges whine suddenly as the door swings inward, “Ah, Loki!” A blond man at least head shorter than his visitor greets, “wonderful to see you again. I did have it in my ear that you were about, I was curious as you when you should darken my doorway.”

“Bragi,” Laufeyson replies tersely.

“And who is this gorgeous creature,” the man’s crystal blue eyes surprise you as the bow in his lip deepens. He sends you a wink and offers his hand, “forgive me, sweetheart, I nearly missed you there, and how could I overlook such a ravishing woman.”

“Enough,” Laufeyson girds.

“I haven’t even introduced myself–”

“This is Bragi,” Laufeyson introduces the man then utters your name pointedly in return.

“Ah, beautiful name but that hardly answers my curiosity. Who is she? Oh, don’t tell me, you’re marrying again–”

“Hardly,” Laufeyson swipes away the thought with his hand, “I only need to be away from my family.”

“Yes, yes, of course. With Walpurgisnacht, I can only imagine–”

“Be glad you only have to imagine it,” Laufeyson scowls. “Are you going to welcome us in or shall we continue to stand on your porch like tramps?”

“Come, come,” Bragi opens the door wider, “Lady, please, don’t mind the clutter.”

Laufeyson waves you ahead of him. You enter and hold back your shock at the interior. You can hardly see the walls for the stacks of books all around, many with sheaths of paper jutting out. It smells like cinnamon and hint of dust.

“What are we in the mood for? Tea? Or something stronger? I’ve some absinthe–”

“Don’t be mad,” Laufeyson rebukes, “tea will do fine. Just tea, none of your tricks.”

“You speak to me of tricks?” Bragi hums, “is that a sense of humour I sense, oh, dour Loki.”

You lock your jaw to keep from gaping. You’ve never heard anyone talk to Mr. Laufeyson like that, not anyone outside his family, and even Thor did not mock him so lightly.

“Do you want tea?” Laufeyson looks over at you.

“If it isn’t any trouble.”

“Tea,” Laufeyson snaps his fingers at Bragi.

“Do you like scones, lady?” Bragi turns his attention to you.

“I’m not very hungry, thank you–”

“Lady!” A squawk makes you jump, drawing your attention to the flutter of blue feathers that descends to perch on the banister post. A great blue parrot tweaks its head and repeats the word.

“Oh, hush,” Bragi shoos away the bird but only receives a nip of its sharp beak, “don’t listen to Fossegrim. He talks too much.” Bragi shakes his head and retreats down the hallway, “tea, tea, tea…” he chants as if he might forget.

Laufeyson tuts, “he speaks of talking too much…”

You stare up at the blue parrot as it stares back at you. Around its eyes and mouth are bright yellow strips. It’s a pretty creature.

“Lady,” it bawks again and hops off the banister, winging around the space to land on your shoulder.

You gasp as Laufeyson takes a step back. He just sends a troubled look to the bird and glances around, “in here,” he points you through the doorway behind him.

“Um…” you move carefully, trying not to disturb the bird.

In the next room, a large harp stands in one corner, a piano the other, and a litter of various instruments on shelves mounted on the walls. There’s a twelve-string guitar on the sofa, leaned against the armrest as if it was left there haphazardly.

“Be very careful,” Laufeyson returns, “it bites.”

“Bite!” The parrot squawks and snaps in Mr. Laufeyson’s direction. He sighs and once more eludes the bird’s breadth.

“Wish he’d lock that thing up,” he mutters.

You stand like a statue, nervous. You turn your head slowly to look at the parrot. It leans in and nuzzles your hair. You stay as you are, paralysed as you fear it might snap at you too. A grating chitter rises from its throat, softer than its former screech. It continues the purrlike noise as it rocks on your shoulder.

“Is it singing?” You ask as Laufeyson stares with arms crossed.

“I have no idea. Let’s hope it’s not growling.”

You frown and clasp your hands tight. If the bird keeps Mr. Laufeyson away, it can’t be so bad.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #dirty work #series #au #maid au #avengers #mcu #marvel #thor

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phyrestartr · 6 hours

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Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)

W/C: 3.5k #full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge

A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!

tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9

The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.

…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…

Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.

Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.

And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils.

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him.

Piss off, runt.

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.”

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.”

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper.

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo.

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket.

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails.

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful?

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him.

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him.

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing.

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces.

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud.

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.”

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature.

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him.

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make.

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you.

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape.

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you.

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace.

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for.

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all.

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes.

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?”

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible.

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.”

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.”

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted.

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.”

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?”

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it.

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?”

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him.

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else.

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted.

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight.

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding.

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent.

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard:

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful.

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal.

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it.

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world.

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you.

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine.

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.”

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.”

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.”

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.”

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?”

“Of course.”

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you.

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events.

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck.

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder.

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted.

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down.

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him.

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.”

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.”

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–”

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit.

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges.

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it.

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained.

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale.

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.”

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.”

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun.

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow.

“Another?”

“Kiss.”

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.”

“Oh?”

“Give me another blessing.”

And you agreed.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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shay-creates · 7 months

Text

Writblr Intro?

I have never done a writblr intro, so here we go.

Hello! You can call me Shay. I'm a writer and artist living in the US. Welcome to my art and writing blog!

About me: I'm 25, asexual, transmasc, nonbinary (he/they/it), and unsure where I fall on the romantic spectrum. Tag and Ask game friendly! Asks and conversation encouraged. I'm more scared of you than you are of me, so it may take me a bit to respond. I never know what I'm doing at any given time, so I'm very sporadic in talking about or making anything related to stories or art. I follow/follow back using Shay-Puppity (my main account).

I'm creating my world "Exalos" through stories and art, filling the world with my beloved characters (distant sobbing and screaming). I mainly write in the genre of fantasy with a smattering of mystery, horror, romance, and slice of life. Many of my characters are LGBT+ and the world they live in has no drama surrounding that.

I'm currently focused on my WIP titled "Dread Secrets," but I have several other stories in various stages of development. Dread Secrets is my first time planning with the intent of actually writing and finishing the story. Volume of projects not indicative of me being put together, it is quite the opposite.

Characters tagged by using- OC: Character name (Ex- OC: Celesto)

WIPs tagged by using- Shay WIP: Story title (Ex- Shay WIP: Dread Secrets)

Art tagged by using- Shay's Art

~My WIPs~

This part will be edited as I work on these stories, so there'll eventually be more information to read here.

Dread Secrets (current main project):

Genre/Rating: Medieval Fantasy, mystery, action, romance, adventure, not young adult

TWs: blood, gore, violence, mental/psychological/emotional abuse mentions/vague depictions, slight body horror, war, war refugees mentions/depictions, deaths, murder,

POV: Xiang, Neph, King Ansellus Kestrel, Celesto, Mystery Plotter

Summary: (WIP intro link)

Fifteen years ago, King Ansellus Kestrel of the kingdom Wisea made a last stand against the Dread Queen Celesto, his first love, as the benevolent kingdoms banded together to lay siege to the aptly named, Dread Kingdom. Against all odds, Celesto was beaten. Turned against by the Ancient of the Dread Forest, an unstable Celesto's final moments saw her body transform into a dark and twisted tree that screamed angrily into nothingness without a sound.

They had been in love, Ansellus willing to give Celesto anything he could give her. In four short years, their perfect life together fell to shambles as Celesto betrayed not only Ansellus, but friends and even her own goddaughter, Hibiki, who, even now, clings to her father to feel safe.

Xiang, a student of Prophis, attempts to aid a friend who is cursed to sleep with Grim Twilight Ivy growing around and from his body. His good intentions are rewarded by having a similar curse placed on Xiang himself. A strange mark over his heart and plagued by nightmares of being hunted by the Dread Queen Celesto in the ruins of the Dread Kingdom, Xiang leaves the ancient towers of Prophis to find a way to break the curse before succumbing to it himself. He is given a protector in the form of Malianna Ash, a half-immortal from the fiery Kingdom of Rosha.

Neph, a half-immortal in their early twenties, lives comfortably in the independent city of Rudrian with caretakers Sasha and Bryn Creek and their soft-spoken friend, Celine. Neph longs to gain recognition so they may ascend to immortality in the hopes of reuniting with their immortal mother in Elorial, the realm of immortals. They seize their chance after rescuing Xiang after the Prophis student is separated from Malianna by the crowds. Through the use of incessant nagging and a sprinkle of charisma, Neph manages to join the two strangers on their quest. Celine, who has always been at Neph's side, joins the group to aid them as both a healer and strong nature magic user.

What secrets hide in the past? Will Xiang be able to lift the curse from himself before it's too late? What dreadful secrets hide within the ruins of the Dread Kingdom? Did Celesto find some way to survive and lay low all those years ago, or is the curse the doing of someone else?

Progress: semi-complete timeline, Character illustrations done

Cast: Xiang, Malianna Ash, Neph, Scy Drakenscale, Phelan Noctus, Lorne, Kubo Hibiki, No Eiko, Celine, Scorch (Malianna's unicorn), Flit (Malianna's magic pigeon), Celesto Krone/Kestrel (Dread Queen), Felix Kestrel, King Ansellus Kestrel, Queen Tianna Kestrel, Artos Oak, Kubo Mai, Ling Yazhu, Bao Mingmei, Bao Yating, King Snydus Ash, Silas Ash, Draco, Dissonantia, Bryn Creek, Sasha Creek, Leandra Ash, Xaver Ash, Ferna Krone, Obelus Krone, Imposa Kestrel, Mightrus Kestrel, Ling Chao, Bessarion Thorne, Characters

Gods/Ancients/Primordials of note: God of Memories, God of Sanctuary, God of Guardians, God of Passion, God of Vengeance, God of Lore (Lorne), Ancient of Wisdom, Ancient of Knowledge, God of Dreams, The 11 Immortal Villains (See: Corruption of Heroes), Ancient of the Dread Forest/Forests, Primordial of Death, Primordial of Life

Song association: Guns For Hire by Woodkid + What Could Have Been by Sting and Ray Chen.

Excerpt: Nothing written yet. :3

Tinnitus:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: fantasy, modern setting, dimension hopping, coming of age, suspense, adventure, series, not young adult

POV: Gong Jiahao, Soul Warren, Maddox High, Taeil, Fable Book, Kace Asher, Zhang Remy, Nym Cardinal

Summary: something goes here. Idk if each character gets a book or if characters share a book or whatever, but they do all get some POV. There will be some angst. Also there's a mysterious person who is trying to make a deal or contract with each of the characters. Idk what contracts yet, but there's shenanigans. Also a dumb and campy fight scene because it's dumb and makes me laugh. (They're using the power of dance and music to fight and distract a fucking dragon, it's so dumb. Dumb fight scene go brr.)

Progress: vibes and vague ideas, character concepts concepted

Characters: Primordial of Chaos, Gong Jiahao, Zhang Remy, Soul Warren, Fable Book, Nym Cardinal, Maddox High, Kace Asher, Ace Siren, Mirroh, Pavel Nox, Jung Taeil, Rune Siren, Neph, Xiang, Runais, Xadrian, Phelan, Mirroh Characters

Song association: Illusion by Ateez

Excerpt: Nothing written yet. :3

Heir of Chaos:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: fantasy, modern setting?, medieval setting?, dimension hopping, mystery, series, not young adult

POV: Deimos Muse, Song Kwan, Adriel Sky, Warrick Red, Zhang Remy

Summary: Something goes here. You read that right! Remy is a POV here too. This story and Tinnitus are intertwined with reoccurring characters and that mysterious person is here too. Don't ask me how I plan to write these two stories, I just know they are intertwined.

Progress: vibes and vague ideas

Characters: Deimos Muse, Zhang Remy, Warrick Red, Song Kwan, Adriel Sky, Primordial of Chaos, Lucas String, Mirroh, Shen Saint, Gong Jiahao, Soul Warren, Fable Book, Nym Cardinal, Maddox High, Kace Asher Characters

Song association: Frost or Crown by Tomorrow X Together

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Corruption of Heroes:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: medieval fantasy, mystery, action, not young adult

POV: Kallista and/or Shysie

Summary: A fantasy story that follows the formation and eventual fall from grace of the Eleven Immortal Villains of the Dread Forest. A time when the citizens of Rusa and Centuros were ruled by Dissonantia Krone and her husband Draco Krone, before the two rulers became God of Chaos and Discord respectively. When Rusa and Centuros were constantly in a closely tied battle without bloodshed or animosity. Before the Dread Forest gained its name and the Ancient of Forests was worshiped by both Rusa and Centuros. When the Primordial of Life had curved horns upon its head and Immortals walked the same earth as mortals. How the mighty fall. How the Eleven Immortal Villains came to be (they're mentioned and may cameo in Dread Secrets). We've got Kallista, Shysie, twins Faraph and Gwin, brothers Leucis and Valrus, sapphic throuple Echo/Nyssa/and Whisper, sapphic couple Vasha and Eilla, and Lux as characters.

Progress: vibes and vague ideas, character concepts concepted

Characters: Lux, Shysie Crimson, Kallista Rose, Gwin Snow, Faraph Snow, Echo Song, Vasha Alice, Eilla Alice, Whisper Song, Nyssa Song, Leucis Bard, Valrus Bard, Dissonantia Krone, Draco Krone, Anarvale, Thronk, (more characters to come) Characters

Song association: It Seemed the Better Way by Leonard Cohen or Hunt You Down by The Hit House and Ruby Friedman

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Finding Family:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: slice of life, medieval fantasy, comedy?, pg/pg 13

POV: Pangari, Fintan, Demarcus, Amphon, and/or Yvonna

Summary: A fantasy, slice of life story about a family of Gods in the Immortal Realm. Amphon, God of Blacksmiths, and Yvonna, God of Seamsters, adopted three young Immortals who’ve ascended to godhood. Fintan, God of Flames, is often sleeping in Amphon’s smelter, his blonde hair and skin stained with soot and ash, and he only leaves the home if it’s for his twin sister, Pangari, or adopted brother, Demarcus. Pangari, God of Shadows, is a bubbly and kind-hearted young woman with bright eyes and light blonde waves. She spends as much time as she can with her family, often dragging Fintan out of the smelter to go on walks. Demarcus, God of Artisans, is dutiful and is often working hard on a new blueprint or helping his adopted father design a new sword or gift for Yvonna. This is a story about found family and the bonds that are formed by accepting each other and protecting each other.

Cast: Amphon, Yvonna, Pangari, Demarcus, Fintan, Bunsom, Lorne

Progress: vibes and vague ideas, some characters concepted

Characters

Song association: Family by Mother Mother

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Shadow of Doubt:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: Mystery, thriller, psychological thriller, horror, Crime, mature

POV: Kit Tong

Summary: something goes here. There's a single part that I will legitimately cry while writing, it's the only thing I know will happen and it makes me sad. Great character moment though. Kit has a cat named Milo and I love their cat, it's the beacon of light in the bloody dark. That's all I've got so far. One scene and the MC has a cute cat. That's all you really need though...right?

Progress: vibes and vague ideas

Characters: Kit Tong, Kim Jae-soon, Ito Genji, Sunnie Lee, Zander Blight, Freddie Smith, Mik Forest, (more characters to come) Characters

Song association: You'd Be Paranoid Too by Waterparks or Saints by Echos

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Background of Love:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: romance, comedy, slice of life, BL, GL, fantasy, modern setting, series, not young adult

POV: Elio, Tia, Season, Wins, Rowan, Mingi, Jun

Summary: something goes here. One of the MCs is probably the main MC because he's aro/ace and everyone around them is falling in love left, right, and center so it's like he's in the background if that makes sense? I haven't decided if that character is going to be called Season or Elio. This is the story with the most gay focus of any of my stories.

(old summary for some context: This story follows three couples as they pursue love. Elio has had feelings for his childhood friend Rowan for five years with the other not noticing and soon developing a crush on someone else. Elio decides to stop his feelings for Rowan, no matter how difficult, and allows his friends Dom and Dai to set him up with a temporary boyfriend Mingi. Once Elio decides to move on, Rowan soon discovers how much Elio has done for him over the years and abandons his crush to pursue Elio. Tia, friend of Elio and Dom and Dai has caught herself pining after her neighbor across the street named Mian. Despite all of her bravado and confident air, she can’t bring herself to talk coherently around Mian. No longer being pursued by Rowan, Wins begins to spend more time with Jun since they have many of the same interests. Jun stops spending time with Wins, putting Mingi first as the latter might have developed feelings for his temporary boyfriend. Can Amais, God of Love, help his heartless or will the God have them figure it out for themselves?)

Progress: vibes and vague ideas

Characters: Elio Santiago, Rowan Winters, Kim Mingi, Huang Jun, Xu Mian, Tia Amor, Season Light, Takara Haru, Dom Wong, Dai Angsan, Wins Michaels, God of Soulmates (Amais) Characters

Song association: Fake Protagonist by Getsunova or Lose (english version) by Wonho

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Misfortune:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: fantasy, medieval fantasy?, mystery, suspense, comedy, romance, not young adult

POV: Runais, Xadrian, and/or Lykos (maybe Mirroh?)

Summary: something goes here. Everyone else is having a bad time but Runais and Xadrian are just chaotic dumb and chaotic dumber and I love that for them. This story kind of absorbed another WIP idea I had called "Deja Vu" and I'm not mad about it. I like this story a bit more.

Progress: vibes and vague ideas, some characters concepted

Characters: Xiang, Neph, Runais, Xadrian, Lykos, Mirroh, Primordial of Chaos, Malianna Ash, Scorch, Flit, Phelan, (more characters to come?) Characters

Song association: Seraph by DPR Ian or Who Are You by Sam Kim

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Love Afterlife:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: medieval fantasy, romance, GL, not young adult

POV: Tahari or Nocturne/Aqualise

Summary: something goes here, but I know it's sapphic. The location is the afterlife and I do think I'm clever. Because...they...they find love...in the afterlife....so...love...afterlife.... A sapphic tale between the God of Death and an Immortal Spirit.

Progress: vibes

Characters: Tahari, Nocturne/Aqualise, (more characters to come) Characters

Song association: ???

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Demon Eye:

Moodboard Goes Here

Genre/Rating: fantasy, action, dark fantasy, romance, not young adult

POV: ??? I don't have any characters thought up yet, no names or anything. RIP

Summary: something goes here. It feels really cool in my brain, cool fight scenes go brrr. Cool character concept vibes go brr too.

Progress: vibes

Characters

Song association: ???

Excerpt: Nothing written yet :3

Deja Vu:

Moodboard Goes here

Genre/Rating: fantasy, modern setting?, dimension hopping, mystery, not young adult

POV: Pavel Night

Summary: (technically scrapped) A fantasy, mystery, suspense. Living under the same roof to save money with his six friends, Pavel has had the luxury of having a room to himself thanks to winning a long game of rock, paper, scissors. His ideal world is flipped when one of his friends, Lucas, asks if a friend of his could move in. Though Pavel doesn’t know the friend well, he trusts Lucas’ judgement of character and agrees to let the friend share a room with himself since it’d be easier than Malia moving her things out of one room and into another. As soon as this friend, Mirroh, arrives, Pavel feels a strange distrust of the stranger. Mirroh keeps to himself unless he’s with Lucas, and seems to settle in well enough. But when an accident leaves his friend Shen dead and Ambrose in critical condition, strange things begin to happen. Mirroh’s personality becomes stranger and he seems to know when something bad is about to happen, though he doesn’t seem to lift a finger to stop it. What’s stranger is Pavel wakes up to find himself back to the day of the first accident that began it all. What can Pavel do to prevent the accidents? Does Mirroh know something and is keeping it a secret? Who is the stranger that confirms that Pavel should not trust Mirroh? Should he listen to the stranger?

Progress: Technically scrapped, vibes, vague ideas, 5 chapters written

Cast: ???, Lucas String, Mirroh, Shen Saint, Ambrose Saint, Malia Shield, Pavel Nox, Rune Siren, Ace Siren, Pavel Night

Song Association: ???

Excerpt: ):

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blackcoffeeofmelancholy · 7 months

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the brothers comfort you during a panic attack

words: 4121

warnings: depictions of anxiety and panic attacks

notes: I'm reuploading my previous work from my old blog, so I have everything in one place. I'm starting with the first piece I wrote for Obey Me. I have a part two with the dateables in my WIPs that I hope to finish one day.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

LUCIFER

Lucifer is troubled. Following lunch, you disappeared, currently absent from class. This is unlike you, his worry intensifying every minute you’re out of his sight. Yet he maintains his composure, resigning himself to scouring the academy grounds. Time passes at a torturous pace, his thoughts beginning to take a turn for the worse. He contemplates whether to involve his brothers and Lord Diavolo himself at this rate, however, the sound of his D.D.D diverts his attention. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of your name lighting up his screen, chased by frustration at you, your silence, and himself for losing track of you so easily; he couldn’t bear living if anything happened to you under his watch. He expects this behavior from his brothers, not you. Though his heart sinks, the Avatar of Pride uncharacteristically overcome with guilt while he reads your message. Of course, you are not his brothers. He should not have doubted you.

Your texts are apprehensive, a weighty pause between them as you hesitate to lay bare the darkest depths of your soul. He approaches you cautiously, to avoid upsetting you further. Your words alone convey the sheer panic taking possession of you, the last of your strength used to press send. Outside he discovers you, huddled miserably in an isolated corner of the building, swathed in shadow. The desire to shelter you from the world burns within him, but your eyes widen fearfully in his presence, wounding his pride. Immediately, you apologize. Sorry you’re missing class, that you left without telling anyone, and upset him—especially when you’re aware of his busy schedule. You’re sorry for not having the courage to pull yourself together, succumbing to your anxiety, your shame palpable. The hand clutching your D.D.D is trembling, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. He aches for you, each tear shed hurting more than the last, your pain managing to touch the very core of his being and set him alight.

If anyone is sorry, it’s him, pride be damned. Kneeling in front of you, he assures you an apology isn’t necessary—your well-being is of great importance to him. He wants you to rely on him, grateful you confided in him despite your doubts. Hopefully, he can eventually put your mind at ease. His voice is low and soothing as he continues to console you, making sure you’re aware he’s not upset, and your feelings are valid. Although he’s not familiar with the inner workings of anxiety itself, he’s willing to listen, learning how to support you to the best of his ability—starting today, provided you’re comfortable accepting his offer. Initially, he prioritized your safety for the sake of the exchange program and Lord Diavolo’s wish to unite the three realms, now it’s merely out of adoration for you, his beloved. Once you’re ready, he’ll let you know you’re not alone. He’s never too busy on your behalf.

Offering you his hand, a smile graces his features as you accept. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. He notes the way you relax at his touch, shoulders sagging and head coming to rest on his chest. Only you exist at this moment, his gaze never leaving you, not even for a second. Standing in silence until your breathing settles and you regain your balance, he sees you through the height of your attack before escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. He’ll personally excuse you from the remainder of your classes, understanding you need a quiet place to recover. Classical music plays softly in the background of his room, and he’s content to have you in his embrace, drawing you onto his lap after you finish the tea he brewed to calm your nerves. Lucifer pays you special attention, massaging your tired body and kissing you tenderly, his breath fanning across your lips as he reminds you how special you truly are—brave, compassionate, and incredibly loved.

MAMMON

Mammon mourns his loss, wondering how he let them gain the upper hand; admittedly, a foolish mistake on his part. He dreads breaking the news to Lucifer, and the resentment that shows on his brothers' faces once he confesses does little to ease his mind. Still, he worries about your reaction most of all, knowing his stupidity has put you in a precarious position. In that moment he believes their words—only a greedy scumbag like himself dares to place his human’s happiness on the line. Although certain of his win at the time, he should consider how his actions affect you more often; otherwise, how can he claim he’s the Great Mammon? His confidence is his downfall in the end. Now you’ll suffer along with him. Yet you feign optimism, attempting to soothe everything over despite your innocence. His guilt only grows, a heavy weight on his shoulders; one he deserves.

Three days of waiting on and performing for large crowds at The Fall proves hectic for everyone. He can tell you’re struggling beneath the facade of a composed and hospitable server, going above and beyond to ensure the patrons leave satisfied. You even lend him and his brothers a hand, coming to their rescue on multiple occasions; it should be him making it as easy on you as possible. His concern for you runs deep, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his usual air of indifference, but you have the nerve to reassure him—it’s meant to be the opposite, dammit. Each night he goes out of his way to check on you, frustrated that you continue to dance around the subject. He can see the exhaustion on your face, hear the slight tremor in your voice, the toll his stupid decision is taking on you, and it stings. You comfort him, even when he’s undeserving, so why won’t you allow him to hold you and kiss the pain away? Not that he’s asked. You should realize by now you can rely on him, right?

Watching you suffer in silence tortures him. He can’t deny it regardless of his best efforts to make light of the situation. You barely eat or spend time outside your room, saying you’re tired, which isn’t a lie—working is exhausting, no doubt about it—but he understands you well enough to notice the subtle signs of your anxiety, your smile unable to trick him into believing otherwise. Perhaps you find him as insufferable as his brothers do, or worse, and don’t want to see his face after what he’s done. That doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, hoping he can offer some form of comfort no matter how small. However, you keep up appearances, supporting the seven of them during the longest weekend of their lives. You work hard too, his chest swelling with pride as he watches you care for his brothers and customers alike. How can you like an idiot like him? You’re selfless and loving, looking past his flaws to see what lay beneath his sin. His human. His angel. He wants—no needs—you to be okay.

The last day comes and goes in a blur. Finally, he can toss these ridiculous clothes and rabbit ears in the trash and never perform that dance again. Better yet, you’re free of his burden, though the guilt remains. He can’t relax until he’s positive you’re okay and know he’s genuinely sorry. Standing outside your room, he tries to muster up the courage to open his heart to you—apologies are not his strong suit—when he hears you crying. They’re small, muffled sobs that manage to shake him to his core and make his blood run cold. He should knock, but he can’t control himself, throwing the door open without hesitation and rushing to your side. The sight of your tears is almost too much to bear, and he draws you into his embrace, face heating up at his own moment of vulnerability, but this is about you, not him. He can be strong for you too, telling you everything’s going to be okay, that the Great Mammon is here to help.

After his stupidity, you tell him you were afraid to bother him. He can hardly suppress the shock at your confession, the sadness in your eyes breaking his heart. You wanted to make sure it went smoothly for his sake? You suffered through hell alone because you chose to put his feelings first? Crazy. Though he thanks you, not completely ashamed to admit he’s touched. However, he tells you that you don’t have to put aside your feelings for his benefit; he prefers to be by your side than know you’re having a rough time on your own. He is your first. Taking the initiative, he asks what he can do to make it up to you, no matter how big or small the request is because he’ll do it in a heartbeat. You opt to stay in his arms, burying your face into his chest, and he wipes away your remaining tears, being as gentle as he possibly can. He can feel how tense your body is, your skin flushed, and it takes a while until you stop shaking. It’s moments like these he’ll tell you how much you mean to him—that he loves you—and he wants you to come to him for everything. He’ll hold you, taking your hand in his, and kiss you with all the adoration in the world because you’re incredibly important to him. Mammon can attest to that.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan invites you to his room to play video games, a daily routine the two of you have comfortably fallen into. He loves gaming with you, though on occasion you opt to watch instead, thoroughly enthralled by whatever is on the screen. Miraculously, you enjoy listening to him ramble—whether it’s about the game he’s playing, anime he’s watching, or TSL among other things—genuinely showing interest in his passions; he’s incapable of expressing how truly grateful he is for your company. His heart nearly bursts whenever you compliment him on his gaming prowess, encourage him during a particularly intense battle, or merely tell him how you enjoy hanging out. How did a gross otaku like him get so incredibly lucky? He can hardly believe you love him of all demons. The thought alone sounds crazy.

Unable to contain his excitement, he awaits your arrival that night, ensuring everything is perfect when he hears a knock on the door. However, his smile fades the moment he lays eyes on you, mind beginning to race as he wonders why you look so miserable, your gaze trained on your hands. Before he can speak, you apologize, dissolving into tears while you return the game he let you borrow. You’re stuttering, completely breathless, and he can barely hear you confess to accidentally corrupting his data in your panic. In fact, he loses track of the number of times you choke out an apology. He treasures his games, his collection extensive, but he cherishes you most of all. The loss is a minor annoyance, nothing that lessens the feelings he harbors for you. Although difficult, he overcomes his insecurities to show you it’s okay—you’re loved.

Not only are you sad, but you’re also terrified, a part of him wanting to destroy the game itself if it means you never have to experience the pain that torments you now. Regarding you carefully, afraid to make matters worse, he reassures you that he’s not upset—far from it, honestly—and that he cares about you more than any game. No stranger to your panic attacks, he reaches out to take your hand in his, hoping you find comfort in what he has to offer. And when you finally glance up, hope shining in your tear-filled eyes, he can’t help but wrap you in his arms. A warmth spreads across his face, heart pounding in his ears, but he knows you need him, allowing his body to relax around yours.

Holding you against him, he tells you everything’s all right, stuttering out how he loves you and, most importantly, wants to you to feel better. Your arms circle around his waist, causing his heart to jump into his throat, but he only pulls you closer. You’re his Henry, and what friend is he if you can’t rely on him? Leviathan is understanding, wanting you to come to him for support at your most vulnerable. Now he puts his knowledge to the test, easing you into his room with continuous words of affirmation. You always know how to console him at his lowest, and he hopes he can return the favor. If anyone deserves to feel loved it’s you, who brought joy into his otherwise bleak world, and he’ll sit with you every day and night if you need him to.

SATAN

Satan knows he shouldn’t be awake, though he finds it difficult to satiate his curiosity as he peruses the books lining his shelves. He barely registers the sound of his D.D.D, reluctant to put the book aside to see who’s messaging him at this ungodly hour; Asmodeus most likely. His tune changes after he sees your name lighting up his screen, his annoyance replaced by worry. He knows you struggle, especially at night, but he can tell you’re hesitant to reach out. Nevertheless, you gradually begin to confide in him, his patience limitless if you’re concerned, and he feels a sense of relief that you choose to trust him at your most vulnerable instead of suffering on your own. Pouring over every book he can locate on anxiety, he studies it religiously, engraining each page into his memory. Not by giving unsolicited advice—he doesn’t want to make that mistake twice—but by comforting you the best he can, even if it simply means staying by your side, waiting for the panic to pass.

A second later, he appears at your door, gaze softening as your eyes meet. In the darkness of your room, he can tell how exhausted you are. You apologize for bothering him, particularly this late, but he dismisses you with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile, sitting beside you on the bed. It saddens him that you feel the need to, but he’s familiar enough with anxiety by now that he understands how much of a manipulative monster it truly is; if only he can destroy it with his own two hands, strangling the life out of it so it no longer taints that innocent soul of yours. To watch you struggle fills him with a rage that he forces deep within himself, fully aware anger isn’t the answer no matter how great his desire to protect you is. So, he cups your face in his hands, your skin warm beneath his fingers as he strokes your flushed cheeks and presses your foreheads together.

Focus on him, he tells you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his voice while he whispers words of love and encouragement. He never tires of letting you know how beautiful and strong you are, that he’s always here for you and loves you—all of you. You unravel in his arms, opening your heart up to him, and he listens intently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips the moment you look uncertain. You’re not a burden, he promises, hoping one day you’ll believe it yourself, but he’ll remind you every chance he gets; forever if he must. It’s worth it in the end when you relax against him and smile, kissing him in return. Slowly, the anxiety leaves your body, Satan grateful that the waves of panic have receded enough to let you rest your weary mind. He remains next to you, pulling you down to lay your head on his chest and closing your hand in his, entwining your fingers. He’s content here with you, watching you fall asleep and chasing away the nightmares.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus loves shopping, but he loves shopping with you most of all. The day is bright with you by his side, and he can’t help but buy you clothes and matching accessories to bring out your inherent charm. Your potential is endless, and he gushes over how gorgeous you are, unable to contain his excitement when your eyes light up in return. He can hardly control himself around you, gaze fixated on your every movement and heart racing each time you flash him one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever seen; your very soul seeming to shine through and blind him. Nothing prepares him for the love he feels for you, but he considers it a welcome surprise, his desire to grow closer to you intensifying day after day. You captivate him, the Avatar of Lust of all demons. What an exciting turn of events!

Of course, he attracts attention wherever he goes, posing for pictures with adoring fans and basking in the compliments constantly thrown his way; nothing new, but he enjoys it, nonetheless. Who can resist the allure of his very presence? However, anger wells within him at the sight of you being shoved to the side, falling to the ground, and lost to the crowd that has gathered. Their words of flattery fall on deaf ears as he rushes to you, throwing a heated glance at the lowly demon who dared to touch his darling human. He desires nothing more than to punish them for such an injustice, but the fear in your eyes tells him otherwise. By the time he scoops you up into his arms you’re trembling from head to toe, and he can feel your heart pounding against him. A part of him places the blame on himself, an unfamiliar feeling, but he chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on getting you home in your worsening state.

In the peace and quiet of his room, he sits you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he affectionately runs his fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re upset—in an absolute state of panic by the looks of it—and all he can do is hold you through it, quietly asking what you need and willing to answer your every beck and call if it means that adorable smile graces your features once more. For a moment he considers seeking out Lucifer, worried something has gone terribly wrong, but thankfully you find your voice, mumbling into his chest about anxiety and panic attacks, that you’ll be fine—eventually—and are sorry for ruining your date. He doesn’t understand completely, though he knows you need him, promising to stay by your side for as long as you want. Kissing your cheek, he assures you there’s no need to apologize to him, your safety more important than anything else; the demon who laid his hands on you won’t go unpunished either.

Admitting a bath helps calm you down, he prepares one for you, steam rising from the surface and the heady scent of roses filling the air. Together you slip into the water, enveloped by its warmth, and he hums in contentment as you lean into him, his arms coming to rest around your waist. He watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to relax and preparing himself in case you call on him; he’ll do anything for you if it brings you the happiness you deserve. Your eyes flutter close, Asmodeus showering you with delicate kisses, comforted by the fact your breathing has leveled out and you appear a lot calmer than before. The day didn’t go as planned, and he hopes to make it up to you, vowing that no one else will hurt you on his watch. He loves himself, he loves his brothers, but loves you most of all.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub notices you haven’t touched your dinner and is beyond happy the moment you offer your plate to him. Yet he can’t bring himself to enjoy the food in front of him while you excuse yourself from the table, eyes downcast and voice quiet, the usual smile gone from your face and leaving behind an emptiness that rivals his own hunger. His mouth waters at the thought of seconds, but his concern for you grows, and he decides to follow you without question, disregarding the ravenous growl of his stomach. He catches you in the hallway, calling out your name. You turn to him, his brow furrowing in unease at the sight of your tears and the slight tremble of your lip. It hurts him to see you in obvious distress, and he earnestly offers his support.

The only sound is that of your sobbing. He desperately wishes to hold you tightly and rid you of your pain. However, he falters, studying you. Your gaze is trained on the floor, shoulders stiff with tension, and the color drains from your cheeks. When you speak, he’s surprised by how helpless you sound and the fact you’re trying to reassure him, putting his needs above your own although you’re struggling to hold yourself together. Fear flickers across your features at the echo of the brothers’ voices traveling down the hall, and he mumbles out an apology as he carefully lifts you into his arms, cradling you to his chest.

Before the others can round the corner, he hurries around the corner and slips into your room, determined to protect his vulnerable human. He notices you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he can’t help but want to keep you close, relieved after you lean in closer to wrap your arms around his neck. Stroking your hair, he allows you to cry, his patience and love for you endless. Eventually, you mutter an embarrassed apology, thanking him profusely, but he’s merely relieved you’re beginning to feel a bit better, reassuring you that you can always depend on him.

Listening to you intently, he never breaks eye contact. You open up to him about your anxiety, his stomach twisting as you describe what you call a panic attack and how it wrecks you both mentally and physically. Beelzebub knows he has a lot to learn, but he expresses interest in understanding anxiety and, most importantly, how he can help you, so you don’t suffer alone. For the rest of the night, he keeps you company and eases you through the remainder of your attack, giving you plenty of hugs and rubbing your back in soothing circles until you no longer shake, and your heartbeat returns to its usual pace.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor enjoys the time you spend together, especially when the two of you are alone. He asks you to accompany him in the attic, and it’s not long before he curls around you, falling into a peaceful sleep as he listens to the steady beat of your heart. However, when he awakes it’s to the sound of your soft cries in the dark, which fill him with a fear he can’t seem to shake. Without hesitation he’s at your side, sitting up to softly place a hand on your shoulder and ask you what’s wrong. The sadness in your eyes as you glance up at him, tears staining your cheeks, tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t bear to see you upset.

Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he’s attentive to your needs, cradling you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You confided in him about your struggles with anxiety after you fell to pieces in front of him months ago. A part of him understands, the loss of Lilith haunting him throughout the years and instilling a similar feeling of unease within him, especially when his nightmares seem to blur the line between reality and the painful memories of his past. You always came to his rescue and now it’s his turn to comfort you in your time of need. Sleep can wait.

With you in his embrace, he brings you down to relax against the pillows, pulling the blanket around your shivering form. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he gently brushes the remaining tears from your face, whispering words of love and reassurance. He listens to you when you’re comfortable enough to talk, the slight tremble of your voice causing him to draw you closer and press a kiss to your forehead. Belphegor tells you he’s here for you—forever—and although he’s still learning about anxiety and finding the best ways to comfort you during an attack, he wants you to depend on him no matter what; even if that means you wake him up in the middle of the night. He won’t rest until he knows you’re okay, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms.

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adrift-in-thyme · 13 days

Text

I've got so many wips rn and what do I do? Start something new. I'm hopeless. But how am I supposed to resist the chance to write more fairy Time? ;)

CW for blood and injury

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He drags himself to the fountain.

The battle would have been difficult for nine heroes. For one — even one as experienced as himself — it had been nearly impossible. A fight hardly even worthy of being called a battle.

No, Time thinks, grim and dizzy, as he digs his fingers into the dirt and attempts to sit up, it had been a pathetic struggle at best. He had barely escaped with his life.

The Shadow, it seems, has a vendetta against him. Not that he doesn’t have one toward all of the Links, but…

Time’s efforts land him back on the ground, shuddering as wet coughs tear through him.

…but it had felt like something beyond his usual distaste for the Heroes of Hyrule. As he had poured monster after monster through those cursed portals, as he had attacked with a sneer on his lips and a glint in his eyes, it had felt personal.

Perhaps, that is not so surprising.

Wavering, Time grits his teeth. Blood trails down his chin. Its warmth is in stark contrast with the icy chill that has taken root in his bones.

The Shadow’s sentiments hardly matter right now. It is not as though he could decipher them correctly if he wanted to.

His thoughts are scattered and panicked, his body failing, his vision going gray. He is mere inches away from salvation, from safety, and his time is running out.

Another stab of pain imprisons him in its steely grip. A muffled cry breaks through his tightly closed lips. His vision whites out for a moment, before returning fuzzy and distorted.

Desperately, he reaches out. Trembling fingers slip, slick with blood and monster gore. He collapses with a small splash.

The effect of the sacred water is instant. A ripple of magic runs through him, warm like a blanket and sweet like the sugar water he offers in hopes of regaining his fairy. In the next second, wings unfold from his back, his body shrinking to fit them.

He slips fully into the embrace of the shallow waters.

Time ends up on his side, liquid seeping in through the chinks in his armor and beading upon his wings. He blinks, slow and agonizing, trying to drag himself back to some semblance of awareness. But whatever delirious strength had born him here has fled and taken everything with it.

The water flows around him, glittering and cool. Gently, it soothes his injuries, carefully, it numbs them. But it’s not enough. He knows that now.

This fountain has been weakened. This fountain has no fairies left — save for himself — to imbue it with blessed strength.

No doubt, the monsters have driven them away. He can feel their distress, can imagine their flight, away from here and the encroaching darkness of evil and night.

Time gazes at the surrounding trees. They are mere shadows now, hazy and grayish. Twilight is long gone, bringing with it its brilliant purples and pinks and oranges. Storm clouds cloak the usual speckling of stars and block out the dismal light of the moon.

Not that Time minds that. Without its depressive glare, he feels calmer.

If he has to fade away, he would rather do so beneath an angry sky, curled in the fountains that have always been his haven, in the form he feels most comfortable in. The form he cannot comprehend, yet treasures all the same.

The waters turn black with his blood, feathery wisps of it floating out and away from him. He watches it with disinterest. Everything feels far away now. Even his need to survive, to return to Malon.

He tries to grasp for it, to bring it back to the forefront of his mind. But his efforts are for naught. And what good would it do him anyway? He is too weak to move. He spent his remaining energy on the desperate gamble of stumbling here. Hoping, praying that the magic he felt calling him was still active. Was still alive.

Something rustles in the bushes. A creature, most likely, scampering about, unperturbed by his wavering presence. He is so small now he would be surprised if anyone could see him. Or hear him.

His blood, however, is another matter altogether. Who knows what beasts have tracked the scent?

He shifts slightly and a groan slips out before he can stop it. It doesn’t matter though. Whatever horrors seek him cannot measure up to the pain he is already enduring. The Shadow has the power to turn one’s own body against them. No wolf or bear has that ability.

Something large and dark emerges from the shadowy foliage. Piercing blue eyes glare into his. Time tries to focus on them, tries to decipher their strange familiarity. But the world seems off-kilter, pain turns everything distant.

I’m sorry, Malon. He thinks as the form moves toward him, looking to his fading eye almost like the clouds that hover above them. I’m sorry that I broke my promise.

And pup…I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.

“Time?” He hears the voice from very, very far away, growled more than spoken, a rumble like thunder before a downpour of rain. It cracks at the end, splintering like his bones when the Shadow had swung his sword too high, too fast for him to evade.

Time wants to drag himself up, wants to comfort this being he is certain he knows. But he lacks the strength to so much as raise a finger.

And when he is lifted with a gentleness he cannot comprehend, when something soft and warm envelopes him, something that murmurs, “safe” in tones he knows — he doesn’t even attempt to break free.

If this is death, it is wonderful. ---------------------------------

He must lose himself soon after that. Because when he opens his eye it is an act of awakening, surfacing from the unfeeling deep.

Time stirs, sighing as that same warmth of before embraces him. The pain that had torn him apart has dulled greatly, leaving behind only a ghost of what it once was. And though he isn’t certain why it’s gone — or even if that is a good omen or bad one — he can’t truly bring himself to care.

He is comfortable here, drifting in this haze of dark, and he doesn’t want to disturb it. It has been so long since he felt like this (perhaps, since the start of the heroes’ journey). It has been so long since he slept, actually slept.

“Old man?”

Something damp and cool nudges at him. His bed of plush fur (fur? His mind questions blearily) quivers at the movement.

“Hey, old man. Can you hear me?”

Time hums, a low sound that grates on his abused throat.

A sigh of relief. His sanctuary shifts again.

“Thank Hylia. I thought we’d…I thought…”

Time frowns. There it is again — that voice he knows, usually so strong and joyful, not shattered like broken panes of glass. The voice that ignites something in him, a protective instinct as strong as he feels toward Malon. The voice that reminds him of their love and the miracle that will come of it.

Reluctantly, he drags his eye open.

At first, he can make out very little. But a few blinks and his vision clears enough that he can see the thick gray fur that surrounds him. He is nestled on Twilight’s back, he realizes, sluggishly, situated so his pup can keep an eye on him, even reach him if he cranes his neck.

Those crystal blue orbs meet his and there is something broken in them. Time has never seen such emotion in a wolf’s eyes before.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

He shouldn’t be able to understand that sorrowful growl, and yet, Time can hear the words as clear as day.

That…is a mystery he will decipher later.

“‘M sorry, pup,” he croaks. His wings flutter gently. “‘M sorry.”

Twilight must have found him lying there in his own blood, hardly clinging to life. To have come upon such a sight…

Guilt wells within him. Time swallows against it.

Twilight shakes his proud head.

“You can’t scare me like that. I can’t even scold ya like you can me.” He narrows his eyes. “Not that that’s gonna stop me from trying.”

Time huffs an attempt at a laugh. “I don’t…don’t doubt that.” He grows somber once more. He feels unconsciousness tugging at him again. But before he falls, he must at least say this. “You saved me. You shouldn’t-shouldn’t have had to. But I thank you for it.”

Twilight gazes at him for a long moment. “Of course. I love you, old man. Malon loves you. I never would’ve left you there. I never even entertained the thought. So, no thanks are necessary.” He cocks his head. “Although, gotta admit I’m a little sore about the fairy secret.”

Time resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You keep your own transformation a secret. Why…why should I not keep mine?”

“Oh, you can keep it from everyone else if you want. Just not from me.”

“What makes you s-so special?”

“I’m your descendant,” Twilight answers drily. “So, how do you do it? This isn’t an after-effect of what they…what happened to you…is it?”

Time shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, struggling to stay alert. “I’ve always been able to do this.”

Twilight is silent for a moment. Then, “I came across a stray fairy when I was trying to get you back to camp. She was the one who healed you. She called you a child of the fairies. Not ‘brother’ like Hyrule. Their child.”

Time stares dazedly at the shrubbery surrounding them. They have always called him that. Even Tatl had. But hearing it now, from Twilight, raises new questions. Questions he supposes have always been there, hovering in the back of his mind. But that he has never bothered to ponder.

The quiet stretches and Time can’t decide how to break it. So, he merely lets it be and snuggles deeper into Twilight’s fur, suddenly immeasurably grateful that his descendant’s secondary form is a wolf.

Powerful and gentle in equal parts. It fits his pup well.

“But never mind that now,” Twilight says, as though sensing Time’s exhaustion. He sighs. “You need your rest. You comfortable up there, old man?”

Time nods. “Soft,” he mumbles, drowsily.

Twilight nuzzles him again and humor is in the movement.

“Good. Go to sleep then. I’ll watch over you.” His tone grows serious, unyielding. “Nothing will touch you while I’m here.”

A slight smile lifts the edges of Time’s mouth, even as a voice cries out within him, protesting this display of weakness, this terrible burden he has put on his descendant. But he is so, so tired. Too tired to rise and be the stalwart leader he knows he should be.

His wings spread flat upon his back, like a shield. Darkness crowds his vision, numbing his thoughts and weighing down his still-sore limbs.

“Thank you, pup,” he whispers, with what little strength he has left.

He is gone before he can hear Twilight’s reply.

#the ending got unexpectedly soft XD #there's something so good about the leader/parental figure getting cared for #especially by someone they usually care for and protect #also #someday i'm gonna have to write about fairy time falling asleep on twi's head #while he's in hylian form #like the fairies do in game #that would be adorable lol #trin writes #fairy time au #linked universe #linkeduniverse #linkeduniverse fic #lu time #lu twilight #angst #hurt/comfort

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lizpaige · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday 💭

here's a snippet of my declan outside pov of pynch (set of vignettes exploring declan's trust of one adam parrish)

Text from Ronan I need a ride to church

There were two baffling things about this text from his brother. One, Ronan texted him. Also, Ronan texted him without profanity, a middle finger, and with more than one letter. Declan often found the ever infuriating letter k more often than even a response from his brother. The second unknown was why Ronan was willing to spend time in the Volvo with Declan driving. Anytime they did have to travel together, Ronan was quick to explode in profanities about Declan’s A-safety rating driving habits before threatening to throw himself out while they were cruising at a respectable 65 on the highway.

Declan immediately thought the worst. He must have totaled the BMW. He tried calling Ronan once, twice, but gave up before the third time with no answer. He tried texting, knew that was useless, but tried anyway. No answer. Typical. He could feel the acid creeping up his throat, the anxiety of having to deal with the insurance mess, the unknown of what kind of deathtrap vehicle Ronan could dream up next.

So when he pulled up to their childhood home on Sunday morning, he was shocked to see the BMW sitting unscathed in the driveway.

“What the fuck,” Declan grunted under his breath, unsure if he was happy to see the vehicle or angry that Ronan put him through hell on the lead up to absolutely nothing.

“See?” Matthew grinned from the passenger seat. “The car is fine! You had nothing to worry about.”

“Sure.”

Declan shot off a text to Ronan, he did not want to get out of the car, and scrolled through a few work emails while he waited for his brother to show up. He let the anger simmer and slowly dissipate, working on breathing through his nose. He would not be the first to blow up today, and let Ronan paint him as the bad guy to Matthew. He could already see it now, Ronan shrugging innocently at Declan, a quiet and sarcastic I just wanted more time with you, bro, and Matthew would hear none of its irony.

Two or three minutes passed and Declan looked up at the front door just in time to see a shadow pass behind the glass. Good, kept them waiting long enough. The front door open and his brother wasn’t alone.

Behind Ronan, still in the shadows of the foyer, was clearly Adam Parrish, in wrinkled clothes, dark circles under his eyes, and a smirk. He was saying something to Ronan, who laughed genuinely, the kind of laugh Declan heard most often when Ronan was making jokes at Declan’s expense. Something else passed between them, a look Declan couldn’t quite place, it was too quick.

Ronan hopped off the top of the porch onto the gravel, heading toward the Volvo.

“Lynch,” Adam called from the doorway, stepping out and using his back to keep the screen door open.

Ronan turned, patted his pockets, and then tossed a set of keys, no doubt the ones that belonged to his BMW, to Adam, who caught them deftly.

What. The. Fuck.

#declan lynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #pynch #pynch fic #wip wednesday #trc #the raven cycle #the raven cycle fic #trc fic

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pagsys-writings · 21 days

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I woke up with a headache and decided to make myself feel worse cause that’s how I vibe. I might try bringing back six sentence Sunday which I used to do once upon a time. Might be fun to post some wips or little blurbs. Though it’ll probably be Six-ish Sentence Sunday cause I can never stick to any sort of guidelines. Here’s the blurb I wrote. Very much based on this fanart because it’s been stuck in my brain and it makes me feel all the feels.

—

It’s gone. Cody can’t believe it. Where Obi-Wan’s eyes had always resembled the bright sky, now all he sees reflected in them is that of a tumultuous sea. Storm clouds have smothered the light of this man and it breaks something inside of Cody.

The blaster in Obi-Wan’s hand shakes and he struggles to keep it lifted as a barrier between them. The look of anguish and fear upon his face makes it difficult for Cody to breathe. This man…

This man had been so full of life and hope and light that he had unknowingly pulled Cody into his orbit with his bright laugh and witty banter and utterly brilliant mind. Now, as Cody watches Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in a panic, he realizes that Obi-Wan is just a shadow of what he once was. And Cody knows without a doubt, that he’s to blame.

#codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #Star Wars #six sentence sunday #I love making myself feel worse #now I’m gonna chug some coffee #take some pain meds #and suffer the day #queued

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unknown--author · 2 months

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Sewing Clothes and Drinking Tea

I apologize for being gone so long, life got busy. I finished this WIP while in science class because I hate science and decided to post it.

Feedback and criticism are welcome! Just please be nice about it.

QUICK SYNOPSIS or whatever it's called: Professor Crewel and Prefect Yuu bonding over sewing and tea because of a secret influence (you'll know by the end).

CW: Yuu is anxious (probably, it's just my thought process, they might just come off as nervous), I don't know how to describe tea or sewing, this takes place before Book 5 (VDC is referenced but Yuu doesn't know what it is)

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

It's the day of my people :D

Yuu trudged toward the school store, their messenger bag shrugged over their shoulder. Ace and Deuce had torn holes into their uniforms by getting into a scrap with Octavinelle students (read: Floyd). Not only that, but Grim had a spat with Leona, tearing his bow.

Now the trio was employing the prefect to fix their clothes. Yuu sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. They were going to end up in debt because of their idiots.

As soon as they entered the store, Mr. S was at their side, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, little devil. We just ran out.”

Yuu had learned not to question how he knew these things. Though, they suspected the shadows had something to do with it. “Really?” Sam always had what they needed in stock. “Did a delivery not come in?”

He shook his head. “No, Divus bought the last of the sewing materials. From how much he got, he’s either working on a new project or a large group of imps wrecked their clothes.”

“Oh.” The prefect clicked their tongue. Dammit, tomorrow was Monday. If Grim didn’t have his bow fixed, Crowley wouldn’t be pleased with them. And while Ace and Deuce weren’t in Ramshackle and, technically, weren’t their responsibility, Yuu would rather not let their friends down. Also, hearing Ace whine about a collar for a week sounded like hell.

“Well, little devil, I’m sure if you asked politely enough, Divus would lend you some.” Sam had obviously noticed their downcast expression.

Yuu perked up. “Do you think?”

“Yes, yes.” Sam went back to stocking behind the counter.

“Wait.” They deflated a bit. “Won’t Professor Crewel be at home? It is the weekend, Mr. S.”

"He keeps all his projects and sewing materials at his school office."

"Why?"

Sam shot a small smile their way. "He works on them in between classes and after school."

"Doesn't he have paperwork to do during those times?" Yuu asked, feeling bemused.

His small smile turned into a cheeky one. "Maybe," he shrugged.

They shook their head in amusement. "Thank you, Mr. S." They turned to leave. "I'll tell you how it goes!"

"There's no need; I'll know," Sam chuckled.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As Yuu walked through the desolate halls, some doubts filled their mind. What if Professor Crewel wasn't there? And if he was, would he listen to them? Would he help? Or would he turn them away with the flick of his wrist? The prefect was quite intimidated by the fur-coat-wearing teacher. And for good reason!

Divus Crewel had a strict way of teaching. He never stood for tardiness or horsing around. Any student who went against him would be punished severely. He taught with a whip and a terrifying glare. And last but not least, he reminded Yuu of Cruella De Vil. She had scared them shitless as a kid. With her freaky design and her intent to kill puppies and skin them for their coats, how could she not have?

They hesitated outside the alchemy classroom door. If they wanted, they could turn back now. They could buy a new bow for Grim. Ace and Deuce aren't precisely their problems, the duo have a housewarden and should know how to care for themselves.

A voice cut off their thoughts. "Come in, pup!" It called through the door.

Yuu creaked the door open at the invitation. The infamous Professor Crewel sat at a desk at the front of the room. He had a needle in his hand while fabric floated around him. "Hello, professor."

"Sam told me you were coming." The shadows seemed to dance when he said that. "What is it that you need?"

"Um, well..." Yuu looked at his forehead, avoiding eye contact. "Uh, you see, Grim and my friends tore a few stitches in their clothing and asked me to fix it up, again. I ran out of the thread and patches I needed, so I went to Mr. S's shop. And, well, you got the last of it.

"Mr. S then said that you maybe, probably, might let me borrow some of the materials?" Their rambling got quicker and quieter the more they went on.

Divus quirked an eyebrow. It was obvious that the prefect was nervous around him. It was no wonder considering his reputation with the student body. "Let me take a look at the damage those pups have done."

Yuu fumbled with their bag before pulling the torn clothing out. They walked over and handed it over to the teacher. He inspected the tears.

Most of Grim's vow was now shredded ribbons, Leona had got him good. Ace had gotten the brunt of Floyd's attack; Deuce's uniform wasn't as bad. Their clothes were torn from a force pulling at them and there were claw marks here and there.

Divus sighed. These pups were always so reckless. "I'll mend these. Pull up a chair." He waved his hand to the side, gesturing toward a seat.

Yuu immediately grabbed one, bringing it over to the side of the teacher's desk. They sat down, watching Professor Crewel work silently.

Some of the black fabric overhead floated down and scissors cut patches out of it. Magic threaded the needle for Divus. He grabbed it out of the air and began sewing the uniforms back into their proper form. The Ramshackle prefect watched in awe at the teacher's skill, but they felt a bit confused.

"Professor," they said, pulling his concentration away from his work. "Why don't you just use magic to sew?"

He sighed, expecting this question. "I don't want to build up too much blot."

"But you're making the fabrics and material float?"

"It's easier to organize them if they're not all dumped on my desk," he answered, a loud snip coming from his scissors. One patch down.

The prefect was about to ask another question but Crewel interrupted them. "Would you like some tea, pup?"

Yuu, caught off-guard by the sudden question, takes a moment to answer. "Um, yes please." After the whole Azul fiasco, they were suspicious of any free things offered to them.

Divus opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a teapot and two teacups seemingly out of nowhere. From Yuu's perspective, the drawer looked like a void. "How did you do that?" they blurted out, amazement on their face.

The teacher stifled a chuckle. "It's an enchantment so the drawer has unlimited space. I cast it back when I started teaching here." He poured tea into the two cups and pushed one toward the teen.

The smell wafted up to their nostrils. They could've died happy then and there; it smelt so wonderful. They couldn't quite put their finger on it even though it was familiar. "What type of tea is this? It smells fantastic!"

"It's a walnut and almond green tea. I had it imported from the Queendom of Roses," Divus said proudly, taking a sip before going back to work.

Yuu took a sip as well, humming in delight. "Is it specially made there?"

He nods, focusing on the needle in his hand. "It's said that the Mad Hatter drank it at his unbirthday parties. Only the people of the queendom know how to brew it."

They muttered something about Riddle and his mother before speaking again. "Hmm, green tea's quite common back home. It's easy to get; you don't need to import it from another country."

"How interesting, pup." Two more loud snips sounded through the room. Two more patches done.

After his indifferent response, Yuu goes quiet. They take a sip of their tea and inspect the cup for something to do. It was plain white with little green leaves attached to thin vines. Each leaf was different in shape and size, but still similar. As they examined the teacup, they realized it looked authentic.

"Professor Crewel, is this handmade?" They held the teacup up so he knew what they were talking about.

Snip. Snip. Snip. Three patches and two uniforms done. "Yes, this set was handmade by an old friend of mine," he said as he grabbed his magic pen. The black fabric floated back up into the air. In its place, strips of grey and white fabric dropped onto the professor's desk.

Yuu watched with fascination as Divus lined up the material meticulously. "Who was the friend?"

"A friend from college, Ansel. He actually went to RSA. We met when I was in my second year and he was in his first." He sounded nostalgic as he spoke. "We met at that year's VDC. Ansel was performing for his team while I was a costume for mine. We went all out that year," he chuckled, now sewing the strips together.

"VDC?" the prefect mumbled before shaking their head. They'll ask about what that is later. "Were you good friends with him? Do you both still talk?"

The man sighed. "Yes, we were good friends. No, I don't talk with him much anymore, pup. We still text every once in a while. Before you ask, the last time we actually talked was at his wedding." He had finished fashioning the strips into a grey and white striped ribbon. Instead of fixing Grim's old bow, he had made a new one.

Yuu quickly downed the rest of their tea before they were handed the new and improved school uniforms. "Ah, thank you, sir."

Divus nodded curtly. "You're welcome, pup. Now run along." He got right back to work mending other clothing articles.

The prefect was about to walk out the door when he called out to them. "Pu- Prefect Yuu?"

They turned around to face him. "Yeah?"

"My door is always open if you need anything." He shot them a small, warm smile.

"Okay, thank you," they said, smiling brightly back at him before leaving.

Unbeknownst to the two, a certain shadow darted out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam was closing up shop when a shadow appeared next to him. It looked lively as it waved its arms around and seemingly danced.

Same glanced at it every now and then, wiping the store's front counter as he "heard" what took place in the alchemy teacher's classroom.

He chuckled afterward. "I knew they'd get along!"

The shadow shook its head in response.

"Look, I know it was bad to lie to the little devil, but hey, it ended up benefitting them. Now they have someone responsible that they can rely on." The shopkeeper bent under his counter and pulled out sewing materials.

"I better go put these back now, huh?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! I'm sorry for any OOC behavior and anything I get wrong about the slight mention of VDC. I haven't made it past book 4 yet. This is my second time writing an actual fic for this fandom and my first time actually posting one! On Sunday, I might post a drawing/painting that goes with this fic. I don't have my sketchbook on me right now.

Belongs to @unknown--author

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ON TUMBLR, AO3, WATTPAD, OR ANY OTHER SITES (yes, I'm this cocky that my work could be stolen)

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst mc #twst yuu #divus crewel #twst crewel #twst fanfic #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twst sam #twisted wonderland sam #unknown--author's fic #first fic

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