#withering blossom writes

[withered-blossoms]

The Witch Who Never Cries

A/N: this is a little original fic that I wrote like last year? For a writing competition that is, I might or might not write a more.....detailed/actual fanfic based on this short flash fiction that I wrote (the word limit was like idk, 500?). Anyways, the theme I picked was "Good VS Evil" or something along the lines of that. Also, this is not proofread so just ignore any typos you see and I hope y'all enjoy the short fic :DDD

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There was once a witch who never cries.

  No matter what, a kind smile always adorned her face. She passed off as the kind herb expert who lived in a cottage down the street, hence the conservative townspeople greeted her with warm welcoming smiles. They never knew that she was what they deemed 'evil incarnate'. She went to church with them and prayed with them, so how could she be a witch? Witches do not pray, right?

  What they also did not know was that she envied the head priest. Oh so revered and beloved, she flaunted a head of gold and donned snow-white robes, unlike the witch's midnight locks and dark aesthetic. How she envied her beauty. However, it all changed when she met this young lad who adored her black hair and dark clothing. He had appeared on her doorstep, bleeding and disheveled. She had let him in and tended to his wounds. Soon, they found themselves chatting late into the night. When she opened her eyes blearily the next morning, the couch had long grown cold, with a neatly folded blanket and a note of gratitude stuck on it.

  Her disappointment did not last long, for he returned with a bouquet of flowers. Every day, he would buy a bouquet for her, so it was no surprise that they fell in love. Unexpectedly, the priest had been watching through scornful eyes. Chancing upon the couple when she caught her crush buying flowers daily and followed him, she felt jealousy course through her. This man was hers, and so he will be.

  On the first of September, knights clad in armour barged into the cottage, lead by the head priest. With the curious villagers gathered round, her holiness had the knights search the cottage, ignoring the couple's pleas to stop. Cauldrons and potions were uncovered for all to see, along with her identity. Sadistic glee filled the priest as she drank in the horror of the villagers and her crush— the witch's lover— greedily. It was decided that the witch was to be burn at the stake precisely at midnight.

  The time for the witch to be burn came too soon. As she was tied onto the stake, she searched the crowd for the one she used to call hers. Her sapphire blue eyes locked onto him, but all she got in return was disgust and anger. The pain from the ropes rubbing roughly into her skin was nothing compared to the heartbreak that he was not on her side. And so, the witch who never cries let her tears cascade down her once rosy cheeks as the fire lit by the head priest devoured her, her ear-splitting cries of agony and betrayal filling the silence of the midnight sky.

  There was once a witch who never cries, not until her beloved, holy twin sister brought her demise.

[luveline]

You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.” 

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could. 

“You’re not saying hi anymore?” 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.” 

He looks up tentatively. “You have?” 

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.” 

“Why?” Spencer asks. 

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.” 

“Okay.” 

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.” 

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.” 

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.” 

“And stuff.” 

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.” 

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone. 

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks. 

“What are you enjoying lately?” 

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?” 

“Yes,” he laughs. “Lots of cereal.” 

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse. 

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail. 

“Hug?” you ask hopefully. 

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear. 

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly. 

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second. 

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?” 

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.” 

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?” 

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him. 

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger. 

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.” 

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face. 

“Nothing,” Spencer says. 

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.” 

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases. 

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart. 

[comfortless]

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. BEAST Edition

Part: [I] [II] [III] [IV] [V] [VI] [VII] [VIII]

🐅 BEAST! Atsushi Nakajima is lurking around Teyvat, hunting people, who have hurt you. White Reaper of Port Mafia will tear them to shreds.

He guards the house in his tiger form. He and OG! Atsushi will let you cuddle with their tiger forms to sleep.

🥋BEAST! Akutagawa Ryunosuke, together with Adam Frankenstein, are on rescue duty. He helps to safe people, who has helped you.

He will make hammock for you from his Rashomon.

🕴️BEAST! Gin Akutagawa is dealing with archiving documents from Teyvat. She is making notes, filling in holes in Information about Teyvat.

She is discussing news with you. She stays near, keeping you company.

📖 BEAST! Oda Sakunosuke is helping rescue people, who have helped you.

He is reading you bits of his book. Offered to write something only for you.

📝 BEAST! Dazai is helping OG! Dazai and Fyodor in planning revenge on Teyvat's people. His plans are more bloody and destructive.

He is staying close to you. He is silent, for the most part. Yet, he is ready to fight anyone, who have made you feel uncomfortable.

⛓️ BEAST! Chuuya Nakahara, together with OG! Chuuya and Paul Verlaine tearing through Teyvat's land with their abilities. BEAST! Chuuya is more ruthless. He will destroy towns, if it becomes necessary.

He is protecting you. He won't let anyone, who could put even the smallest frown on your face near you.

🧑‍⚕️BEAST! Mori Ougai is helping to look after saved people and after kids. He is silent around you, he doesn't want to scare you.

He is hugging you every time you feel scared. He will be there, let you cry on his shoulder.

👩‍⚕️BEAST! Elise is helping BEAST! Mori. She is making sure, that everyone will feel comfortable in new world.

She is taking care of you. She will bring you food and small presents. Everything, to make you feel better.

🌨️👿 BEAST! Kuyoka Izumi is hunting people, who have hurt you. Citizens, treasure horders, Fatui. Everyone will pay for their crimes.

She is bringing you goods from Teyvat. Paintings, tableware, silk... Anything, she can get her hands on.

_____

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters

[stararch4ngelqueen]

i saw this couple on the train and his gf fell asleep on him and she just looked at her fondly and took off his jacket to put around her and i damn near burst into fucking tears because what the actual fuck-

ANYWAY

soft!simon reading to reader about something that interests him and she just...falls asleep on him (she could be tired from work or wvr) and he just looks at her like shes the only girl in the world????? please???? i need to heal my heart rn

<3333333

This isn’t proofread, as I risked my sanity typing this out on a long car drive. I hope you like it!

Time written - 5:43 p.m

“That’s a lot of paperwork.” Your comment reaches his ears after he hands you a mug of apple clove tea, cuddled up cozy in a warm gray comforter on the couch.

“It is,” he mutters, carrying with him a thick journal half full of pages he needed to continue. Such as a man like him to bring work home, wanting to keep an eye on you as you fought this seasonal cold.

“That looks like a thousand words.”

“Probably is.”

“What’s it about?” You ask while sipping your hot beverage, tasting orange blossom honey he used to sweeten your beverage.

“Boring stuff, love.” He comments after getting comfortable beside you, clicking his pen in case he needed to use it. “Not worth your time, just drink your tea.”

“Tell me.” You insist without force, resisting the urge to peer over at his blue and black handwriting.

Simon ponders for a good while, mindlessly tapping his pen along thick paper. He figured you’d ask once he brought out this old journal when inspiration struck, but to speak of it? That was a little new.

“It’s a … manuscript,” he decides to call it with the slightest bit of hesitation. “Or a draft. Thought of writing a novel at some point.”

“Really?” Your head meets his, watching him nod slowly.

“Mhm. Mostly short stories. Not ‘bout my life, no. Just … about a boy.”

“A boy?” Your smile permeates through your words, making him sheepishly tilt his head with a nervous grin.

“A boy with a stray dog. They have an adventure in the woods, that sorta stuff.”

“Sounds cute,” you smile, finding the idea of Simon writing a story endearing. Maybe this took his mind off his work stress, our about his own personal struggles in general.

“Can I hear some of it?”

Simon’s lips flatten in thought before he sets the pet down, proceeding to flip through a few pages.

“I’ve never showed anyone this,” he peers at you. “So, don’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” you smile with a mild giddiness whilst getting more comfortable.

Simon proceeds to relay a short paragraph he had written just a couple weeks back. Back when he barely had the time to think much of this journal, but felt the ever so endearing writing urge at a late hour of the night.

He remembers you had gone to bed early that night after cooking him dinner. The snow was dense outside, covering all the piles of withered, colored leaves that had long since fallen from hibernating trees.

“Through brittle cold air and dense fogs resides a canopy made of broken trees; the roof made of crunchy leaves, the steps made of cracked stones. Upon the center of the canopy laid a small puppy, no more than seven or eight months old. It’s fur was slick, her eyes a bright blue. She sat waiting for the boy, proceeding to greet him like an old friend that had left for a long time.”

Simon pauses, realizing his cheeks had grown a bit warm. Clearing his throat a bit, he turns his attention to the next paragraph, purposely avoiding the adoring look in your eyes after reading such a creation.

“The puppy clung to his side like a burr, waddling along with no promise of food. The boy gave nothing in return, other than carrying her in his arms when her legs were too tired to continue.”

“The boy was in search of an old well, said to be in the midst of fir trees in the center of a mushroom circle. Once he finds the well, he’s told to look inside for all his desires to come true.”

“He wandered for hours and hours until he found what he sought; a broken well with dried, dead vines clinging to the rocks. The boy leans over, peering inside to an apparition of a siren staring back in the water’s reflection. She smiles, singing promises of riches and cures to all sickness he knows, for all she requires is for him to reach for her hands fifty feet down below into the cavern.”

“He desired nothing more until the puppy bit into his pant leg, the strength of her tiny, curly body bracing him back from making such a jump. To the boy, who promised not even an ounce of bread to such a minor companion, broke his blindness to the siren’s secret demise.”

“Such a small little thing opened his eyes just in time before the stones cave in, swallowing up the well without its promised child. In return for the pup’s bravery in saving his life, the boy carried her in his arms, promising a warm bed and home cooked meal all the way back home.”

A faint, heavy pressure rests along his shoulder, your slumped head nearly slipping off of his shoulder.

He’s quiet for the longest time, gazing down at the reason he enjoys coming home each day. The sweetest, most heartwarming woman he’s had the pleasure of laying his eyes on.

A chorus of angels erupted from your lungs with every word you spoke, your pretty head full of ideas and phrases that never left his mind running dry with boredom. You were a strong, incredibly beautiful woman, whom sometimes reminded him of a bouncing puppy by his side during your private moments within your own home.

Especially now, snuggled up in his arms, your affected nasals interfering with your breathing just a bit. The cold medicine did it’s job in helping you sleep, so Simon was more than content. Especially as he chose to believe your mind was affected by a cold medicine’s side effect rather than pure boredom.

Softly, he hums as he removes the still warm mug from your hands, readjusting the blanket over your shoulders.

“Told ya so, sweetheart.” He murmurs, running two rugged fingers through your hair before peering outside, frost coating the window pane as pure white snow blankets the earth just outside.

[namusthetic]

The Writers' Series

Who wrote you, based on your aesthetic?

British Edition

---------🖋️

Oscar Wilde

"You can never be overdressed or overeducated."

Irregular sleep schedule

Sprawling on a sofa quoting poets long gone

The forbidden sweetness of guilty pleasures

The gently whispered name of a lover

Losing oneself to sensations and feelings

Writes poems for their lovers

Dressing up only for the pleasure of doing so

That dizzy feeling of late night adventures

Procrastination and unsent letters

An old silver framed broken mirror and forgotten withered roses

Sitting alone late at night. The thick, stuffy air in the room is making you dizzy and dulls your senses

Virginia Woolf

"How many times have people used a pen or a paintbrush because they couldn't pull the trigger?"

The soft first autumn breeze

Spending winter afternoons in hidden library corners

Taking long walks along the riverbank in the early afternoon

Gives good advice but doesn't follow it

Scented candles and gentle nostalgia

The furious, quiet calmness of the ocean before a storm

Orange blossoms and sea salt

The texture of paper under your fingertips and the sound of chirping from outside the window

Wants to change the world one word at a time

Never forgives, never forgets

Reads poems in the golden afternoon light

Romantic but won't talk about their feelings

William Shakespeare

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."

Wine stains on victorian shirts

The sound of footsteps on marble floors

Scribbling random Latin sentences in other people's notebooks

Dark, alluring, and a little bit occult

Writes poems on random scraps of paper and then forgets about them

The line between dreams and reality starting to blur

Loud, contagious laugh

Sword fights back stage

A lone flickering candle in the night

Laughs and cries at the same time when overwhelmed with emotion

Believes in the power of the unsettling and the forbidden

Sprawls on any available surface just to read tragedies and drink wine

Mary Shelley

"When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster?"

The sound of your heart beating in your ears when waking up from a nightmare

Anatomy and science illustrations

Equations and formulas scribbled everywhere

The touch of cold metal on warm skin

The clap of thunder and insistent drumming of heavy rain on the windowpanes

The muffled sound of cracking thunder from outside

Organized shelves and absentminded humming

Cold gravity and solemn silences

The cold shudder of realisation

Pacing back and forth trying to solve grave problems and unexpected results

Empathizes easily

Agatha Christie

"Poirot," I said. "I have been thinking."

"An admirable exercise my friend. Continue it."

Hot chocolate on cold winter days while people watching inside an old Café

Sitting down in parks and reading the paper

The scent of clean laundry

Windswept hair and sharp looks

Spontaneous conversations and smiling at strangers

Could prove anyone wrong solely for their own amusement

Wet pavements glinting in the sunshine after a rain shower

Apricot jam, fresh baked croissants and café au lait while reading the newspaper in the early morning

A glint in their eyes and a spring in their step

Peppermints and vanilla hand cream

Sarcasm and condescending smiles

J.R.R. Tolkien

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Early morning dew sparkling on spiderwebs

The awareness and clarity that comes with crisp morning air

Daisies, gingerbread and warm comfy clothes

Really into folklore

Snail shells and acorns kept in a jacket's pocket

The scent of fresh homemade bread in the morning

The gentle murmur of the wind blowing through the trees

Nothing could make them miss their afternoon tea

Knows the name of every plant or bird species

Presses flowers in their notebooks

That spark for adventure glims constantly in their eyes

George Orwell

"But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought."

The smell of cigarettes and the sound of steps on the wet pavement

Long night walks around the city

The cold winter wind howling against the windows

Cheap black coffee drank in a small almost empty 24/7 coffee shop

Tired eyes and vivid dreams of liberty

Messy, rushed writing

The condensation on a cold window

Minimalist notebooks and black ballpoint pens hidden everywhere

Trying desperately to be free, to feel alive

The deafening silence of loneliness and the gentle quiet of solitude

T. S. Eliot

"For I have known them all already, known them all / Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, / I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."

Coffee and ink stains

Tiny scribbled notebooks carried around in worn out messenger bags

Reads to escape the real world

Reading on public transportation and almost missing the stop

Falls in love five times a day

Strong coffee and dark chocolate

Feels like nobody can truly understand them

Doesn't take care of themselves

Stacks their books randomly around their house, forgetting empty coffee mugs and notepads on top of them

Flopping facedown on the bed and listening to the sounds of the life out the window

[violettduchess]

A/N: This is an entry for my and @lorei-writes Shapes of Love creation challenge. It was originally a spicy holiday prompt that I retooled a bit.

This fic's type of love: Eros with a touch of Mania

Gilbert x Reader

WC: ~1k

It is your first ball in Obsidian, the first ball since you made the decision to leave Rhodolite behind and remain here, at Gilbert’s side. Your nerves are tangled, electric under your skin. You want to make a good impression on those you know he works closely with. Or those he has a close eye on. You’re no longer a foreign guest but have been declared his consort, a position of considerable power. You hope tonight, at the winter ball, you will be able to earn the respect of those who may still be skeptical of the union.....well, secretly skeptical since you know Gilbert would have the head of anyone who dared even breathe a word against you.

You take a deep drink from your glass of chilled wine, reminding yourself that this is a celebration. It is Obsidian's final embrace of winter in all its beauty in the face of an encroaching spring. And you have done your best to dress for the occasion. Turning, you face the full-length iron-wrought mirror that leans against the wall of your dressing room. Your gown is a confection of black lace overlaying soft, shimmering silver. Black gloves, so fine they are almost transparent, stop just beyond your elbows and the smooth skin of your shoulders is bare. Black roses hang from your ears and your hair is pinned up by the pearlescent hair combs shaped like crescent moons that Gilbert gifted you the evening you told him you were staying. A wide, black silk ribbon is tied around your neck, hiding the dark blossoms left by his insistent mouth this morning. If anyone could see underneath the voluminous skirt of your beautiful dress, they would notice matching love-bites in almost symmetrical rings around your thighs and hips. 

You’re just smoothing down the bodice when the door to the room opens and Gilbert, a vision in black and gold, steps in, the crisp, chill scent of winter following him wherever he goes. And although many would think you insane, you find yourself smiling at his presence. “There you are.” You fuss a moment with one of your hair clips, adjusting it ever so slightly. “I hope you like the dress? I know the tailor made it according to your design and I think she did an excellent job. But I know you’re very particular….”

You glance at him through the mirror and your words wither and die, dropping like fallen petals. It takes you a moment to recover, your voice and breath robbed by what you see. He has not said a word. He has not moved a centimeter since entering. His leather-gloved hand is still wrapped around the golden handle of the closed door. But there is hunger clearly etched into every line of his tensed body. It flickers in the deep red of his eye, a flame born the moment he entered. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lets go of the door handle and crosses the brocade carpeting towards you.

……why is your heart fluttering so recklessly in your chest, a butterfly trapped under crystal glass, erratic and beautiful and wild….

He comes to a stop behind you, staring into the mirror at your reflection. His gloved hands slide up your bare arms, up until they rest on your shoulders. There is possession in his tight grip, something dancing the border of discomfort as he drinks in the sight of you, held in place by the press of his fingers.

“Oh Häschen….this won’t do.” One hand slides up higher still, his fingers curling around the sensitive nape of your neck. His head tilts to one side, regarding the reversed image of you both in the glass. “You can’t go out there, like this.” He lowers his head, catching the tip of your ear with his sharp, white teeth before whispering. “This sight is for me and me alone.” His voice drips with dominion, rasps with barely-reined in restraint. Your chest rises and falls with every shallow breath, pressing against the black lace of your gown's sweetheart neckline. 

He watches you for a moment, drinking in the paradox of your body, so perfectly still in his grasp and yet beneath the surface, chaos. Your blood courses frantically through your veins, pumped by a heart gone wild, lungs gone turbulent. Leaning against your back, he reaches around, holding his hands in front of you and very slowly removes one soft black leather glove. You’re hypnotized by the revelation of each lithe finger.

“Maybe…..”, he murmurs, tossing the glove aside where it falls listlessly to the floor, “Yes…maybe like this….” And you feel the cool kiss of his fingers touch the ribbon at your neck. It comes undone, a snake unwinding. Gilbert wraps it around his wrist as he thoughtfully studies the marks he left upon your skin this morning, in the gray, predawn light of his bedroom. “Like this, you are marked as mine. Maybe it would not make a difference who lays eyes on you if this is the first thing they see.”

He truly sounds like a man puzzling out a problem. Your mouth goes dry at the thought of being so brazen in front of all of Obsidian’s nobility and important citizens. Heat blossoms in your body, rises to your cheeks as you realize the idea of showing the world how he claimed you…is not unpleasant.

He can see the way your skin flushes, the gleam in your eyes and his breath catches in his chest where something hard and hot is born. “No….”, he whispers savagely, his blazing eye holding your gaze as captive as his hands are your hips. “No one else gets this. You are not meant to be seen looking like this by anyone else.” He has solved his puzzle.

The world shifts as you are gathered into his arms, held by a strength fueled by desire, by infatuation, by greed. He carries you away from the door with its golden handle, deeper into the shadows of the dressing room, towards the black velvet chaise longue in the back corner where he lays you down, covers you with his long body, his mouth already hungrily claiming yours, swallowing any protests you may try to make about waiting guests and making appearances. 

Soon you won't have enough breath to even attempt forming words. All that you will be able to do is give in to the furious storm of his desire, bending like a reed under his voracious touch, his endless onslaught of exquisite, stinging kisses. 

The ball, the guests, your beautiful new gown soon to be pooled on the floor in a heap of black lace and silver….all willingly, wantonly, blissfully forgotten.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @joiedecombat @ozalysss

[wheneclipsefalls]

Could you maybe tells us about the withered one shot? I haven’t seen anyone request to talk about it

Of course!

I actually have written and rewritten certain scenes from this one shot since the first time I tried writing it...it just didn't feel right. So I started over. Second time around I am feeling a lot better about it. I just love this pair so much and love how the original turned out so it's important to me that this one especially is written well.

The one shot is about Neteyam's rut and how that couple deals with it when it comes up unexpectedly. Reader is a lot less experienced that Neteyam so you get to see his hesitation and concern for her but also....things get turned up and we see a different side of this Neteyam;)

Here's a little teaser for you<3

WITHERED ONE SHOT TEASER (unedited)

He’s a coward. 

A downright skxawng with the planning skills of a young child. 

This Neteyam is sure of as he dunks underneath the cool river for the fifth time. Only a few nights ago this water was cold enough to have his mate taunting him for wading in slowly. Now it is inadequate in cooling down his heated skin. A fire that burns without respite until sweat is beading over his brow. 

Neteyam’s rut isn’t originally due for another two months. Two months that would allow him the time and patience to ease you into this new dynamic of your relationship. His sweet tanhi whose experience with alpha males stops at her interactions with them during nightly hunts. His innocent little star who just barely gave over her virginity to him no more than a moon cycle ago. 

To him. Only to him. This thought sends a shot of heat to his pelvis and Neteyam hates himself for it. Hates the way his inner alpha perks up and revels in that fact, reminding him over and over that he was the one to claim your innocence. That only his hands would know the shape of your body. That only his cock has ever been buried in your sweet heat. And your body only knows him.

A little star only he has had the privilege of plucking from the sky. 

His temple rests against the thick rooted tree as he wrestles the restrictive loincloth away and harshly grips the base of his cock. It pulses in his grip, a bead of precum already dripping from the tip into the water below. The last thing he should be thinking about is the way your small hands would wrap around his length softer, timid strokes bringing his pleasure to new heights.

He’s left you alone with Kiri, and ran to the hills after Lo’ak’s warning like a coward. You are sure to be looking for him, prancing from tree to tree until you can find your skxawng of a mate and question him for the inappropriate behavior displayed tonight. 

And yet, the idea of you looking for him only heightens a primal desire from deep within him. His lovely little mate looking for her alpha. Would you be embarrassed at the sight of his arousal, hand gripping and tugging at his length with no shame? He can see it now, those doe eyes widening accompanied with a blossoming tint over your cheeks. The same eyes that were clouded with unshed tears as his cock slowly pistoned into your mouth for the first time last week. 

Oh Eywa, what he wouldn’t give to see the sight of you on your knees taking his length again. The string of saliva that had been a bridge between your swollen lips and his dripping tip, just before you tiredly smiled up at him in search of approval. 

His spins on his heel, head tipped back against the tree as his hand furiously increases its harsh pace. It’s borderline humiliating to feel his climax approaching so quickly, and yet it would be the first of many that only leave him breathless and aching for more. There is truly only one cure for this condition. Only one person that can give him the sweet release he craves. 

Chest heaving and fingers spazzing around his length, Neteyam just barely catches the sound of water rippling. Immediately he yanks his hand away and turns to face the oncomer.

“I thought you said this water was too cold last night.” You snicker, fingers already working to undo the knots of your tewng as you slowly wade in. “I know Lo’ak poked some fun at your need to bathe earlier, but you could’ve at least waited for me.” Your eyes narrow and nose scrunch in a reprimanding expression but there is no true ire there. Only a glimmer of playful excitement that is easily perceivable with your swishing tail. 

By Eywa. 

He is done for. 

There's a little taste. Let me know what y'all think so far<3

[lanasblood]

𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Prologue

pairing: neteyam x f!reader

summary: after fate brought you to awa’atlu and you felt hope for the first time in so long, the sea became the lonely witness of a bittersweet love, making you quickly realize how life withers as fast as it blossoms. [takes place five years after the events of atwow, neteyam is alive]

warning: this story will make you cry. read at your own risk. 

read first chapter →

voice-over by @neteyamfromwish (scroll down for details) 🔊 volume up + use headphones for best experience 🎧✨

note: I am excited to announce my upcoming neteyam mini-series. special thanks to @eclipseatsea​ who gave me the courage and motivation to publish this poem as an intro for the story. she’s such an inspiring person, make sure to check out her beautiful writing if you haven’t already 💕

and again, thank you @neteyamfromwish for being so kind as to complete my request. I don’t know about you guys but I’m in love with this audio, it fits the story and the mood perfectly. for more info, check his website. I highly recommend giving it a try!! the accuracy to neteyam’s voice is chef’s kiss, and I cannot wait to share more with you ✨

let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💗

୨⎯ series masterlist ⎯୧

(in case the video doesn't work, i'll leave you the poem here):

for even in the darkest of times, the moons and stars, they always gave you signs. 

with each passing night, you learned more, of the art of loving and losing, and what else was in store. 

back then, the gentle beat of his heart by your side,  comforted you like a river, making calm and serenity collide. 

that night's bright light did glow, with a slender crescent in tow, along with stars above the green trees’ crown,  the deserted sand illuminating on its own. 

the shadows of his lashes long, cast upon his blue cheeks, so strong, the constellation of freckles, like little diamonds,  his beauty almost ethereal to be described by words. 

though you had known him for years, you never looked at him with such conscious fears,  his exhaustion was evident to see, the cuts on his shoulder, the wounds on his knee,  his chest held an elongated scar, that reminded you of the one on his hand so far,  you tried to avert your eyes, but failed, and let yourself sink back, blanket well-veiled. 

a tattered poetry book, a relic of his father’s past,  that you gently reached for, its words meant to last,  the old paper, faded and so rough, the letters, black ink, good enough. 

all I loved, I loved alone, the last words written, all unknown, you knew not much about poetry or rhyme,  but the words cast a spell that stole your time. 

staring out at the endless sea, counting sheep,  with tears in your eyes, you finally found some sleep. 

stars die softly, he had once said with a sigh,  wishing people could do the same, quietly passing by. 

but you wished no one would die and no death would ever come near,  not on nights like this, neither now nor here. 

© 𝖫𝖠𝖭𝖠𝖲𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖮𝖣 2023 — please do not copy, modify, steal, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[withered-blossoms]

(Withered-Blossoms) SAGAU Scheming Creator! Reader Imposter AU Part 5

A/N: First and foremost, this AU is by @sena-shi

I do not own this series, nor the idea.

Secondly, I absolutely love this series, it is amazingly written and I would highly recommend checking it out to those who haven't. Third, after reading part 4, I suddenly had a tiny bit of inspiration and I wanted to try writing my version of part 5 of it (this will not affect the original author in writing part 5 of the series, worry not).

Edit: The original author has given me her consent to write my version of this series, admittedly I should have dm'ed her beforehand, and I will never make this mistake again.

Also this is not proofread, so apologies for some typos/spelling mistakes. The word count is 3878 words or so Google Docs says.

Anyways, enjoy :DDDD

꧁༺Main Page | Angst Masterlist | Fluff Masterlist༻꧂

If every year of not being graced with your divine presence acts as a tiny blade that cuts a fibre of the impossibly thin thread known as Zhongli's sanity, then seeing you allowing these.....unworthy, mortal commoners to bask in the holy light you radiate would be the pair of scissors that snips the thread in half.

How dare they, when those foolish mortals are unable and consequently have not worshipped you for thousands of years, flit around you like the pesky flies they were? How dare they, not having devoted their entire being, their entire life, their existence's purpose to you, drink up your attention so hungrily? How dare they take the place that belonged, rightfully so, to him and only him when what they have done for you are nothing but specks of dust compared to the glorious acts he carried out in your name?

So why were you choosing to stay with them? When they have done nothing worthy of your grace? Why were you looking at him with a gaze that carried the heavy disappointment and disapproval that you never voiced? Zhongli does not understand, and neither do the adepti now standing beside him in a neat, uniform line, waiting for their archon's commands.

You find it amusing though. One would think that for someone who has lived for so long like Zhongli, he would be an expert at hiding his emotions and maintaining that mask of cool, indifferent politeness that he took pride in. And yet look at him now, losing that ability and reverting back to a child who knows not about keeping emotions from twisting their features into an ugly snarl.

Ganyu, on the other hand, looked pale and regretful. Under normal circumstances, should such a look appear on a face as pretty as Ganyu's, anyone else would have gone soft and thrown in the towel. But yet that sight filled your heart with this twisted sort of satisfaction. The desire for them to beg and grovel at your feet for forgiveness was thinly veiled behind a mask of betrayal and shock, and you were starting to find it hard not to let your eyes crinkle from the smirk threatening to curve your lips.

Not now, you reminded yourself, it's not the time for your facade to shatter.

And Xiao, your sweet, sweet child, who also happens to be the one responsible for the wound scabbed over on your leg. He, who was so persistent on making sure you were unable to escape, could not even look at your eyes now, amber orbs choosing to lock onto their targets instead. He couldn't bring himself to check your form, not when the chance of your bloody bandages catching his attention was so great.

After all, Rex Lapis needs his finely-honed weapon to carry out his commands now, and he couldn't break down in front of his divine creator. He's already shown such a horrifying part of him to you, one that slaughtered and knew nothing else, he would really go insane if you started fearing his more unsightly sides.

You would have applauded Morax and his little clique for the entertaining display of emotions had the boat not started to rock even more. It truly was a shame that they did not take up Sichuan Opera face-changing; they would have done so well even without the masks.

Meanwhile, Beidou was busy commanding the crew and making preparations for a possible tsunami, and Kazuha was ready to scoop you into his arms and bring you under deck. You, however, were not willing to miss this act, and thus stopped him by placing a hand over his. Temporarily ignoring how he froze up and blushed, you turned to the defenders of Liyue.

You could tell that the only reason why Zhongli kept up the intensity of the earthquake was because Xiao or the Cloud Retainer would immediately pluck you out of the ship before it was swallowed by the massive waves, but would you really just let yourself be taken to Liyue like this? Before even seeing the famed Inazuma? Of course not, after all you still had to see how Raiden Shogun, the one you personally raised alongside Zhongli, would react after seeing your face.

Choosing to let the winds carry your seemingly heartbroken words to their ears, you muttered, "Are you.....here to capture me? Is Liyue really unable to tolerate my existence?" And oh how much delight their flinches brought, especially the one coming from the ever-composed Geo Archon. Upon hearing your words, the group dropped to their knees, the seabed stilling as apologies and pleads spilled from their lips.

Beidou and her crew on the other hand though, you really got to give it to them. As if sensing your intentions to leave quickly, they took the chance to sail away as quickly as possible, with the winds guiding the ship. And of course, you were not going to let their efforts go to waste, choosing to keep the crazed adepti at bay with your sorrowful words.

"I've already given you my word to stay out of your sight, Morax. I apologise for breaking my promise to you, and if Liyue wishes so, I will disappear here and now. However, if you are still willing to listen to me, then I wish not for any harm to befall on these kind souls." You sighed, motioning to the Alcor's crew.

You weren't dumb; you could practically see the sparks forming from their clashing gazes. Beidou and Kazuha's were filled with hatred— disdain, even— and the adepti's a beautiful mix of hesitation and jealousy. What a wonderful sight it was, seeing the high and mighty adepti almost grovelling at your feet, and watching them struggle internally between their twisted desires and your commands.

The quirk of your lips was getting harder and harder to hide even behind your veil, and you had to turn your head before you burst out laughing at their foolish attempt at redemption.

But even the turn of your head was planned, not that they needed to know anyways. You know their rotten brains will just automatically decipher this action as a small try to hide your disappointment. Adding the facts that Zhongli had made you cry and Xiao had wounded you personally into the equation, the tides would no doubt turn to your favour.

Seeing how Zhongli's grip on his weapon tightened then loosened, you knew you had won the bet. He could only keep his head down low and motion for the adepti to retreat while stilling the earth, though his burning gaze stayed on your form until The Alcor all but disappeared into the horizon. He simply couldn't risk you leaving Teyvat for good, not when he finally had you in his grasp, and so he will wait patiently for the right time, just as he had for the past thousands of years.

"It is time for our divine grace to take back their throne." He muttered, the adepti bowing when they realised what his words entailed. He knew they would not run their mouth in front of the others; this was a matter only for the adepti to know. Not long after, Zhongli was left alone, the others returning to their posts and duties. He watched as the Alcor gradually disappeared from his sights, vowing that he would bring you back no matter what.

And with that grand finale, you finally left Liyue.

The journey to Inazuma was relatively pleasant, save for the terrifying thunderstorms at the lower-half of the trip. But eventually the ship docked, and you saw that familiar teleport waypoint where you once met the capable and friendly housekeeper named Thoma, except that he was nowhere to be seen this time. Oh well, it does not matter, he is probably at the Kamisato estate, waiting for his Lord's commands as usual. What was more important was playing your part as the kind and benevolent creator, and so you turned to the crew and smiled sweetly, thanking them for getting you to Inazuma safely with as much sincerity as you could muster to make it more convincing.

Travelling along the streets, without a friendly local guide this time, you could not help but subtly glance around. From the game, you always knew how the locals here treated foreigners, but experiencing it yourself turned that knowledge into the understatement of the year. It wasn't just overcharging you to a ridiculous degree; there were also the stares that never seemed to leave your figure and the whispers that revolved around you as if you were the eye of a tornado.

But it matters not. As long as they don't stop you from "vacationing" in this gorgeous nation, then you won't pay any mind to their actions.

However, this time the plot happened faster. You had no idea just how The Shogun managed to grasp the news of a fake creator being present when she was so....closed-off from the world, but clearly she had some amazing news sources. The streets were filled with even more patrolling officers than you recalled, and even the people on the streets had taken to scattering when the Doushin came around.

Well, this was clearly not a good time to be a foreigner huh? Because a Doushin was already heading your way, and in a condescending tone had asked for your identity, or any documents related to it. You did not have any, though this time even Kazuha could not save you with his smooth-talking, which in fact seemed to annoy the officer more.

Instead, the officer reached out to remove your veil, but Kazuha wasn't going to let him. Half because he knew you were going to get taken away, and the other half was due to the slight possessivenes swirling in his chest. Why should he have to let other people be graced by your beauty and light?

Although shielding you from the guard did seem to wear his patience thinner than the thread that made up Zhongli's sanity.

Sensing Kazuha's worry when the officer roughly grabbed your arm to take you away, you slyly patted the back of his hand and shook your head, putting on a comforting smile and whispering for him to go back to the Crux.

Despite his initial hesitation, you knew he'd listen to you anyways. After all, he couldn't fight the Doushin here and risk getting his kind, caring and benevolent creator injured or even exposed here could he?

Hence he retreated, hungrily drinking up your sweet smile as you were dragged away. He feared that this might be the last time he'll ever see of you and so he did his best to engrave the soft and beautiful curve of your lips into his memory as he went back to find Beidou.

You, on the other hand, weren't too worried. After making sure you had fooled Kazuha with a convincing smile, you opted to follow the guard instead. He was essentially your one-way ticket to the Raiden, so why not? Even though you would have to be thrown into a prison cell, you supposed that it wouldn't be the worst thing on Earth.

In the end, you will be the one seeing their arrogance and triumph morph into an amusing combination of regret and desperation anyways, and you certainly weren't in a rush to speed up the process.

".....Is this the order of The Shogun?" You asked, knowing that he most likely weren't going to give you an answer, but you still have to keep up the role, which was as fake as they had deemed your identity to be. So, you let out a seemingly self-mocking chuckle.

"First Mondstadt, then Liyue, and now Inazuma. It would seem that I am truly not wanted by my children. But at least they look happy and content. After all, even baby birds leave their nests one day...."

Muttering to yourself, you didn't miss the slight flinch from the officer, though it only earned you his panic, hidden behind a harsh shove into your cell once he's done reporting to his higher-ups.

"Do not act like you're the real creator, Their Grace may be forgiving and benevolent, but we certainly will not be merciful."

He snorted and walked off. Good lord, you have never seen anyone as arrogant as that. And of course you weren't complaining, it just makes their begging afterwards more.....satisfying, wouldn't you agree?

That doesn't make your time in the cell any more pleasant though, seeing how they saved the worst one for you.

You didn't have to wait long though, since it only took an hour or two before Kujou Sara was standing before you, peering down at your curled up form as if you were the most repulsive being she's ever laid her eyes on.

Instead, she settled for ordering the guards to free you from confinement and had them escort you while she lead the way to the Shogun's residence. Sara spoke not a word to you as usual, and you busied yourself with looking around subtly while keeping your head low to mask your lack of fear. The scenery was more beautiful than what you had seen in game; the colours were more vivid, and even the lavender melon that hadn't looked appetising were practically tempting you to take a bite out of their orchid bodies. Unfortunately, you didn't get to take in the beautiful view a little longer, for they had already brought you into the Tenshukaku.

It would seem that Raiden is eager to meet you, seeing how swiftly her subordinates dragged you to the Tenshukaku. Upon entering the room, your eyes landed on the puppet sitting serenly on her throne, eyes closed and meditating. Hah, what a nice facade to disguise the anger practically radiating off of her.

You weren't scared though. After all, even dogs don't bite the hand that feeds them, and you could easily take back everything you've ever graced them with.

Thus, 'long time no see, my strongest battery.' was your first thought, though you could not let that spill past your lips. Hence, you let out a small but sweet smile and mumbled in the sweetest voice you could let flow from your vocal chords.

"How have you been, Ei?"

The archon in question slowly opened her eyes, elegant and refined as always. Although, from the fury burning in her purple irises alone, you could already tell that she wanted your existence to cease, and that if it weren't for the fact that the creator had asked to bring you back alive, you feared she may have slashed you with her elemental burst right here and now.

You could sense how the Doushin and Sara froze upon hearing you address their archon by her real name. However, before Sara could reprimand you, a look from Raiden sent them bowing and leaving the room. And now, it was just you and her.

You were just wondering why she demanded to meet you alone when a thought popped up in your brain — could it be that because she couldn't execute you personally without the other archons present, she wishes to hurt you in a non-lethal way instead? Seeing the confirmation in the lilac eyes you once found beautiful, you almost let out a snort. My my, who knew that the almighty Raiden Ei was actually such a sadist?

You refused to let her hurt you though. How dare they hurt the actual divine being who had given them life and created this beautiful world for them to live in for a mere phony? How dare they give you scars just because they were too ignorant to see who's the real deal?

With that in mind, you raised your eyes to meet hers, yours ever so subtly showing the galaxies they hold, and hers slowly filling with slight confusion when she noticed the depth of your orbs. It did not hinder her from holding her precious sword to your neck though, so you cut her off before she could speak.

"You mentioned that when we meet, you wished for us to enjoy some tricolour dango together along with the finest tea you have. It is such a shame that we had to meet like this." You smiled, keeping your gaze and voice level as you took in every change in her expression from suspect, to shock, to disbelief and finally distrust.

"....I do not know how you dug up that information. It matters not, for that only applies to their Grace. You are but an imposter who is undeserving and yet seeks to take over the throne, and I shall not be deceived so easily. Since their Grace is too kind to the likes of you, I will take it upon myself as their loyal devotee to punish you for your atrocious attempt."

Before she could lift her blade, you grabbed it with a hand. You thanked the high heavens that it was as sharp as you hoped it to be, since you did not have to dig the blade too deeply into your skin for your blood to show. You weren't willing to leave scars because of their foolishness after all, and God knows that those maniacs would be more delighted knowing that they had marked you in some way, albeit under less ideal circumstances.

The two of you watched as the ichor slid down your arm before one, two, three drops of it splattered onto the pristine white clothing you had. It shimmered an ethereal gold before being absorbed, and Raiden had finally gone still for once. You could almost hear the non-existent gears turning in the puppet's head, where a brain was supposed to be, and before you could react, she had gently removed your injured hand from her blade and tossed the sword aside.

Kneeling before you, she fretted over your injury while keeping her head low as Zhongli and the adepti had, desperately trying to heal you. Frantic apologies flowed from her lips like a river, and she panicked slightly more when she noticed that you were still bleeding. She was selfish, not wanting others to know about your existence, but your well-being and health eventually won the mental debate taking place in the puppet's head.

"Your grace, I did not realise it was you. My sincerest apologies for being ignorant, and I am aware of how unworthy I am to touch you but I beg of you, do let me heal your injuries before you decide to take your anger out on me." Having said that, she called for Sara to bring a medical kit, and the lady swiftly came in worth one in her hand. She showed neither shock nor regret as she helped the Shogun patch up your hand, though you supposed that it was only normal considering the number of years she's had in learning how to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

Huh, even a short-lived mortal is more capable than long-lived archons in this aspect.

You were tempted to stay and see how Ei and Inazuma would react and repent for their sins, yet the beginnings of an earthquake warned you to leave quickly. Your time in the Tenshukaku was almost up, so you quickly grabbed a brush and paper and left a note for a certain angy dragon. Or maybe it was an angy Teyvat, you didn't know. Just in case it was the former though, you could only hope that a note would prevent the people of this gorgeous nation from being decimated.

'Morax, I wish not for the citizens of Inazuma to face your wrath. With that, I hope you spare them from death and suffering alike.'

The note was short and sweet, as you had liked. There was nothing else to say to him anyways, so you rolled up the paper and turned to Ei, placing it into her hands.

"If you wish for your people and nation to live on, pass this to Morax if he arrives. Do not fight, your people should take priority. I'm terribly sorry for ruining your eternity, but it seems that you are favoured by luck itself, for my time is up." You lifted the corners of your lips into a gentle curve as you patted her hand.

You really were too kind, so benevolent and so bright that Ei could not believe her eyes nor ears. Her people watched and talked about you behind your back, dragged and tossed you into the filthiest cell they had, and she herself had injured you personally. She wanted to make it up to you, to proceed and lavish you in the best luxuries Inazuma, no, Teyvat could provide. She did not want you to be absent from her side, so why was it that even though you were in her hold now, it seemed like you would disappear any second?

What did she have to do to make you stay? Did you want her heart? Her head? Or should she injure her hand the way she had injured you? Tell her, what did you want from the Raiden Shogun? She would give you everything and anything, from her eternity to the stars in the sky. So why? Why did you still want to leave? Why not stay with her for eternity?

Seeing the crazed looks in those purple orbs, you removed yourself from her tightening grasp and avoided her attempts to hold onto you to ensure your stay. You still had to visit either Sumeru or Watatsumi Island anyways, and being held in captivity was not a price you were willing to pay. You knew that she could and would easily pull you into her consciousness, and you sincerely did not want to live your life there.

Reminding yourself that, your eyelids fluttered shut and you let the wisps of power engulfing you take you away, finding yourself in front of the Alcor again. Technically speaking, you also did owe the crew an explanation for your sudden disappearance and some reassurance, the sudden hug from Kazuha only proving you right. Even though you weren't close to him or Beidou, you still felt a little guilty when you realised that he was shaking.

To make it up to him, you patted his back and offered Beidou to join in on the hug, which she appeared to accept begrudgingly but you knew better, especially from the way her shoulders sagged in relief. Once they had both calmed their nerves, you ushered them back to work. Despite them questioning your next destination, you knew it would be impractical for them to sail to the other nations with you, and teleport waypoints were a godsend. You told the two that, and as disappointed as they were to not be able to accompany you, they still respected your wishes unlike a certain duo, possibly trio, which you greatly appreciated.

Hence,for the first time since arriving in Teyvat, you gave your first genuine smile, making Kazuha swoon internally and Beidou turn away in order to hide her burning cheeks. You were very well aware that the archons could possibly see this, though you weren't worried. In spite of the lightning flashing in the background and the rumble of the earth, you knew that they wish not to end up in your bad books just for a few mortals. Having confirmed the safety of the people who had helped you, you could finally retreat to your room on the ship and decide your next destination.

Now, where should you grace with your presence next?

[coff33notforme]

Can you do some heavy hurt comfort with Ryan Goslings! Ken and reader? Thanksss Love your writing!

A/n: Thanks Pooki. You asked and you shall receive, also sorry these requests are coming out slowly I've been busy with school and work. This could be before patriarchy Ken? I don't know where ever you feel it fits best

Summary: Kens perfectly happy living his best day everyday alongside you, but you can't seem to wonder what is would be like to really live.

Pairing: Gosling! Ken and Gender-neutral doll reader (a bit existential, talks of death and wanting to die not in a morbid way!)

“Hey!” 

Your head snapped around to the direction of familiar hearty, booming voice you had grown so used to, your flickering gaze didn’t wonder the vibrant stretch of houses for long, as they quickly snapped to giddy blonde man,

failing out stretched his arm excitedly, eagerly approaching the small gate of your white picket fence.

Flicking the latch and clumsily shutting the gate behind him, the frail wood bouncing with the harsh slam.

His dimples pushed back by the curves of his mouth, pearly rows of teeth gleaming under the sparking sun, golden strands of hair pushed back against his sun kissed skin, 

Ken.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! What have you been doing all day?”

He huffed with a grin, squatting down beside you on the soft green carpeting the quiet earth. 

You turned your head slightly, glancing at him, your eyes soft as you looked over the wavering green plants, that shook so softly in the gentle wind, dew dripping, dipping the delicate leaves down.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, your attention solely fixated on the garden before you. 

Ken's pale eyes remained on you, as you mindlessly watched over the pocket of green. His brow arched, his eyes narrowing at the swaddle of plants.

“How come you spend so much time looking at these things?” 

The breeze caressing your face, a sigh slipping from your mouth, shoulders slumping down at the question.

“I don’t know.” you muttered, voice strained in a hushed whisper, dying out in the draft.

Ken's face twisted into one of discontentment upon hearing your  reply, wrapping a firm arm around your wilted frame.

Ken wasn’t quite sure what to do, you weren’t usually like this.

“You seem off today?” 

He said as you tucked your head beneath his jaw, a heavy sigh escaping your throat.

“Do you ever wish you could be a plant?”

Ken let out a heart chuckle, but seeing your face fall, a blush biting at your soft skin he coughed, clearing his throat. 

“What do you mean?” his voice held a sentimental tone you had never heard from him.

“I don’t know.” there was a pregnant pause before you spoke again.

“Alive.” you mumbled anxiously fiddling with your clothes. 

Ken's brows furrowed.

“Aive? We are alive, aren’t we?”

“Not in the same way.” your voice held a longing to it, your gaze fixated on the plants as if waiting for something. 

“They have beginnings, they grow, blossom, they watch the seasons pass by, they wither.” 

You stopped yourself for a moment as if something in you froze and Ken couldn’t help but watch you intently.  

“They die.”

Time pulled the silence between you, stretching it further and further out, until reality came snapping back, hitting Ken square in the face. His chest filled with a sensation he couldn’t understand. An unwavering sense of fear.

“Do you want that?”

He breathed holding his breath as he waited for your response.

“Maybe. Someday.” 

Your eyes wander to the cloudless blue sky. There was a silence filling the air with uneasiness before Ken spoke again. 

“Well, when that day comes, I’ll lay down beside you.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was listening to Mitski when I wrote this, send more Ken requests!

[ddarker-dreams]

being a cynic comes naturally to scaramouche.

if he had a heart, it'd undoubtedly be hardened by this point in his centuries-long existence. to be made callous is not so bad. it offers certain protections, acts as both a sword and a shield. he's never had reason to regret the towering walls erected around his soul, if anything, his only regret would be that he hadn't done it sooner. he saps the energy from the room upon entering. excited conversations die down into cautious whispers for those who are brave and silence for those who are smart.

he is feared, rightfully so.

it's a wonder, then, that he tames his unruly tongue in your presence.

certainly, he's still disagreeable. petulant, argumentative, always ready to give an opinion you never asked for. compared to how he treats everyone else who has the misfortune of knowing him, though, the difference is stark. for the longest time, scaramouche never dwelled on this out of self-preservation. the door to exploring the deeper reasons behind his behavior isn't locked, yet he acts like it is. he writes it off as begrudging intrigue for as long as he can.

yes, it's to satisfy some mild curiosity that he winds up in your area more often than not. allows himself to sustain wounds he could've easily avoided so that he may experience your healing touch. why he falsely claims he's still recovering so that he might sleep beneath your roof another night. this is a passing fancy that'll lose its glow as every star is fated to. maybe he'll even revel in the reveal that he isn't who he's presented himself to be — you've been granting sanctuary to a harbinger, sharing silly childhood anecdotes with a being who delights in cruelty.

he entertains the thought, finds amusement in it. he'll part his lips, ready to unleash vitriol that'd shatter the illusion he's meticulously maintained, then you'll smile. or laugh. or maybe make a joke that's perhaps the tiniest bit clever. then he'll forget himself, the monster which lives beneath his unblemished skin. he'll lose his appetite for sadism. what you offer tastes far superior, and just when he thought he was averse to sweet flavors, you challenge the notion.

you'd look cute with glassy eyes, a trembling lower lip, and upturned eyebrows. but you almost look like you were the one destined for divinity when your countenance is beaming, enthusiasm carved into every crevice.

it irritates him to no end. if you happen across a pretty flower, you can either pluck it and delight in its beauty until it wilts, or leave it to bloom in peace. why is he opting for the latter? preserving this mirage is more trouble than it's worth. he has to go days without you — weeks even, when dispatched into the abyss — he should just secure you in a fatui stronghold and be done with it. perhaps your petals would wither away, but it's no matter, he'd see to it that you'd blossom again in time.

and still, he leaves you where your roots are spread. it's unlike him. this benevolence, this consideration.

when it comes time to leave, he'll often mull over these thoughts. this could be the time he takes you back. the difference in your strength is laughable, he'd barely need to exert any effort. while he weighs his options on an internal scale, you'll amble over, giving him homemade snacks for the road and a hug. your warmth envelops and washes over him, softer than the first rays of sunlight come dawn. as always, he falters. next time, he'll think. next time for certain. there's no more convincing liar than oneself.

the world made him cynical, but for as long as he can, he wants to prevent it from doing the same to you.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover ideas. The Guild Edition

Part [I] [II] [III] [IV] [VI] [Vll] [VIII] [XI]

💰 Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald is destroying people of Teyvat financially. Fine print, written in English ("Oh, it's just my special paper. It's an ornament") in a contract, and most of Ninguang's finances are now belongs to Fitzgerald. And he is sure, that slimes can only be destroyed with 10 000 000 000 000 mora punch.

Spoils you even more. Doesn't matter, what you want, he will buy it to you.

🦝 Edgar Allan Poe will use his ability to kidnap people. He will make mystery novels, that can't be solved without knowledge from real world. He will left kidnapped people in a wilderness.

He will write a mystery novel specifically for you. Karl will often curl on your lap.

🐋 Herman Melville stays in the real world and takes care of you. Makes sure, that there are food in the fridge, that taxes are paid.

Scared Fontaine's people with disguised Moby Dick up in the sky.

🐙 Teyvat's waters are no longer save. Howard Phillips Lovecraft is now there, lurking, waiting. He is destroying ships.

Brings you beautiful fishes from Teyvat. Now you have a huge fish tank with unique colorful fishes. If you wish, he will bring blubberbeast to you.

🍇 John Steinbeck destroy crops with his ability. It was discussed, that, in case, he and Kyuusaku will fuse their abilities again. Kyuusaku have agreed to participate in this plan.

Brings your fruits from Teyvat. Will pick the freshest ones.

☕ Lucy Maud Montgomery, same as Poe, kidnaps people. But she won't leave them in the wilderness, no. She will keep them in Annie's room. Forever, if situation calls for it.

Lucy will keep you company, will make you coffee. Will bring you plush toys from Teyvat.

🪶 Louisa May Alcott will create plan after plan to bring "Creator's" followers down.

She will bring you new books. Will read them together with you.

👒 Margaret Mitchell is using wings to destroy Mondstadt's mills and vineyards. Her ability has nothing to do with elemental energy, so, Venti can't stop her.

Mitchell will bring you new clothes. Will bring silk from Teyvat. Will try to make you something.

♊ Mark Twain will do some sniper work. He won't kill anyone, but will cripple Knights of Favonius, millelith solders etc...

Mark will try to make you laugh. Will let you use Tom and Huck as dress-up toys.

✝️ Nathaniel Hawthorne will try to make "Creator's" followers stop believing in them. He will point at how they can't stop Geo Demons (Chuuya and Verlaine), Anemo's Witch (Mitchell), Mechanical Imp (Kauai), etc. Slowly will make people lose faith.

He will listen to you whenever you need, even in the middle of the night. Will be supportive.

_____

Tag list: @withered-blossoms

[sevendeadlyheadcanons]

The Seven Deadly Sins if they played Minecraft

I love minecraft. Imagine this is like a modern AU but they also have all their abilities and stuff still.

-They all have a realm together. Meliodas owns it.

-Ban and Meliodas can’t build for shit and have little dirt houses.

-Elaine, Elizabeth and Diane have a cute girl house that they share (they looked up the design on pinterest) and they let them sleep there in exchange for mining goods and loot

-King builds the most extravagant house ever and Diane eventually moves in with him. He has a dog named Oslow

-Merlin knows how to make all of the potions by heart

-She absolutely stole a villager’s house and sleeps there

-I like to imagine Escanor (daytime) would hype his house up so much and be like “This house is the pinnacle of our village” and it just looks like this

-Gowther builds a humble little home. It’s very beautiful but it’s not very spacious. It’s simply good for what he needs. He got a cat called Nadja.

-Gowther is also CEO of farming crops. King is CEO of farming animals (Ban breeds them and kills them for meat when he’s not looking because King finds it cruel)

-Meliodas also has a parrot named Wandle

-Escanor writes poems in books and quills and leaves them signed as “Author Unknown” and leaves them in an item frame on Merlin’s doorstep. She knows it’s him but doesn’t have the heart to tell him she knows.

-Merlin somehow has every single rare mob in the game in little glass cases.

-Gowther doesn’t need to sleep so he stays up all night mining and everyone will wake up and he’ll be like “Hey guys i’ve got 269 diamonds you want some?”

-Merlin forces Orlandi to take over the computer and strip mine for her while she does her real life work and experiments

-They invited Zeldris and he was like “Minecraft? That’s a game for little babies. Call me when you’re playing Fortnite like real men”

-Meliodas and Ban probably fought the wither while everyone else was offline and they just came onto their game to find their village blown up and a beacon in the middle of the wreckage.

-King dies all the time to the most random shit. Lightning strikes, fall damage, baby zombies. Once he tried to prank Ban back by leading a creeper into his dirt hut but in the process the creeper got struck by lightning and became charged and absolutely demolished King.

-Diane can’t build to save her life but she takes designs off Pinterest and then pretends she came up with them all on her own

-Elaine is a god at building. She decorates their whole village with lanterns and cherry blossom petals

-Elizabeth can somewhat build but often needs inspiration

-Ban has a horse he named “Young Sheldon”

-They have a discord server and King is the mod. He has constant power trips. The only one who has admin privileges is Diane.

-Escanor kills every mob he can and puts their drops in item frames on his wall as “Reminders of the ones who couldn’t pass him”

Idk why i wrote this, I hope you guys are having a lovely day 💙💙💙

[mncxbe]

I suddenly thought of something really angsty.. imagine Aku with hanahaki disease..? He's definitely not the type who'll propose to their crush unless they know that their crush likes them back..

Yes omg. Sorry it took so long to write anon but it's finally done. Hope you like it♡♡

°☆○

Bloom for me

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst♤/ happy ending cuz he's been through enough already

The wind rustled the trees in the park; the new leaves stood out tender and yellow against grey clouds. With each day that passed, autumn crept deeper into the heart of the city. Days were shorter, nights grew longer and a tinge of putrid leaves lingered in the air, mixing with the smoky smell of exhaust fumes.

As he walked down the main alley of the park, which was lined with withering cherry trees, Akutagawa couldn't help but marvel at the irony of faith: as the trees in Yokohama slowly wilted, a flower bloomed inside his lungs.

Playing it off as a mere cold, he had managed to hide his disease for the last two months but the sharp pain in his chest grew stronger by the day. Sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night and cough up a bunch of rosy petals, cursing under his breath and hoping that Gin wouldn't wake up and come check up on him. He would then gather the petals in the palm of his shaky hand and throw them out of the window, watching them fade away in the night.

Akutagawa managed to keep the symptoms of his illness under control, to ignore the pain; but it all got worse once he started seeing you again.

You...

He never once blamed you for his disease. The fact that a flower was blooming inside his lungs was soley his fault, the result of his deluded hopes and dreams. Of his feelings. And he was going to live and die with it.

That's what he believed until he saw you sitting on a wooden bench beneath the cherry trees; legs crossed as you slowly turned the pages of a paper bound volume; Murakami's "Norwegian wood"

For a moment he was transfixed. His cold gaze watched as the wind gently combed through your hair. You bit your lip and narrowed your eyes- probably in attempt to make sense of a sentence in the book- and his heart sank. Beautiful, you were so beautiful...

Still, the mafioso planned to walk away before you had a chance to spot him. Turning on his heels, he took a few steps back in the direction he came from before a violent coughing fit took over him. The sheer amount of pain he was in caused him to lean forward, pressing a hand to his aching chest as he panted hard.

"Akutagawa?" sounded your voice from behind and he cursed himself for being so reckless. Of course he'd feel worse around you.

"Oh God are you ok?" you asked again, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. You were close, so, so close.

Akutagawa clasped a hand over his mouth in attempt to keep the blossoms from spilling out but to no avail; a few roseate buds rolled past his parted lips and onto the leaf covered pavement.

Without wasting a second you hooked a hand under his arm and guided him to the closest bench, lightly patting his back until the coughing stopped.

The two of you spent a few minutes in silence before you finally gathered the courage to speak up.

"Are you alright?" you asked softly and he nodded.

"Yea. I am now. Thanks." he replied, barely able to contain his embrassment. How could he be so stupid? He should've walked away the moment he spotted you. Now you had discovered his shameful secret.

"Hey Akutagawa" you spoke again in the same gentle voice as you undid the lid of a thermos and handed it to him. "Have some tea. It may help."

He obeyed, taking the flask from your hands and bringing it to his lips; the liquid was warm and sweet, aiding his burning throat. The man took another sip before returning your thermos and mumbling a "Thanks Y/N."

"You're welcome"

"Well... I should go now. I need to catch my train" he said eventually as he watched you from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh sure. Want me to walk you to the station?"

He shook his head dismissively and forced a smile "No, there's no need. You can go back to your book"

"Alright then. Have a great day"

Akutagawa slowly rose from the bench, trying his best to ignore the burning sensation in his chest as he bid you farewell.

"Oh by the way..." you added, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.

"Yes?"

"Your secret is safe with me"

You spoke the last words so gently, flashing him that smile he so adored and oh, he swore his heart was going to melt. Instead he simply nodded, returning the smile before making his way to the train station.

That night he slept better than he did in ages. Sleep was deep and for the first time in ages he wasn't haunted by dreams or symptoms of his disease.

When he woke up the next morning, golden rays dappling inside his bedroom like mist, there were no more petals, no more blossoms. And he could breathe freely again.

[arctophyllax]

For the Dark Urge Tavs | Zevlor x Reader

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, very tender. Durge-centric. Yes I am supposed to rest. But the genius struck. I want to write more angst, more gore, more fights…

(Painting by Antoine Wiertz - The Greeks and the Trojans Fighting over the Body of Patroclus)

You had to tell him, and you had to tell him now. Too great would be the betrayal of a lie so profound, too radical the risk of shedding blood—or worse. You took a deep breath and faced him, glance cast downward, averting his questioning eyes as you spoke.

“Zevlor. I have been hiding something, something of great importance. And though I cannot promise this bond between us eternity, I know that I will regret endlessly if I keep this secret.”

You felt your blood thrumming in your skull, bone aching and stinging. A silent threat to you, issued by the parasite that isn’t the worry of your companions. Another. Not one with a physical form, not one you could possibly simply pull out of there if you wanted to. Something deeper, darker. An urge. An instinct. A trait. A trait so terrifyingly deadly and hungry.

“I was born of gore, raised in blood—fed on it. I was born a lesser being you could ever come to be. I was born not a devil, but worse. I was born not disfigured, but worse. I was born beautiful, tragically, without asking for it. I was nursed by mistakes, I blossomed from the guilt grown from it. And there were times when guilt had no care left for me, there were times when regret is not a feeling I knew. And sometimes, there are still times where I don’t know who I am, where I don’t know what to do with these hands of mine. Because no matter what I do, no matter what I touch. It will rot. It will wither. It will die. Death is my constant companion. Where I go, he goes. Where I act, he reaps. And I am afraid.”

You hesitated to place your hand against his cheek, but you did so anyway, your eyes finally meeting his. The flames within them seemed to flicker, hazy with a kind of understanding, a kind of acceptance, but also, fear.

“I don’t want you to be the next, I cannot have you be the next. Anyone but you. I am afraid. I can’t lose you, not you of all people.”

Your cheeks were flush from emotions, fear of loss, anger at yourself. Embarrassment that the thought of killing the one you loved so dearly could even dare to cross your mind. You almost flinched when he reached out to cup your face with one clawed hand, but melted into his embrace when his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye. You felt it now, your skin was damp, and his as well now. You hadn’t realised it but you were crying, your vision blurry from the tears that still welled up in your eyes, and your hands trembled, one at the side of Zevlor’s neck and the other one tense, in a fist, at your side.

“Please, don’t cry, my dear.” His hand moved from your cheek behind your head to pull you closer, his forehead settling against yours as both of your eyes closed. His other hand found your tense one and wrapped around it, silently pleading you to loosen your fist, and so you did. As his fingers threaded through yours and held your hand firmly, you let out a shaky breath and felt your body relax a little. The tremble was still there, though not quite as intense as before.

“I trust in you, I trust that this is something that can be resolved. Eventually. And I will wait centuries for you if I have to. I will not distance myself from you. Not now, nor ever. You are strong. Resilient. We can work through this. I will not leave your side.”

“When I close my eyes. I see blood on my hands. I taste it on my tongue. I can smell it, all I can smell is metallic blood and rotting, sweet decay. I’ve seen you in front of me before, so lifeless and silent. I didn’t sleep that night, I thought about tying myself to a tree.”

Your lips felt dry, skin cracked. Your tongue darted out to wet them, forehead still resting against Zevlor’s.

“You know what I’ve done. You know that I killed Alfira. And you know she won’t be my last victim. I bear no memory of that kill, but I remember a faint feeling. A hunger within satisfied, I remember a content smile on my lips, mere seconds before I realised what I had done. And I couldn’t get the blood off my hands that night. I couldn’t sleep. But I did not need to sleep for the nightmares to find me.”

Zevlor’s hand tightened around yours at the mention of Alfira’s death. You knew it did not leave him unaffected. She was under his care. And it was your fault that he felt guilty. He couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t protect her from you. You were the monster here, and he refused to budge, refused to condemn you for what you are.

As though he didn’t see. As though he saw something else in you, something brighter, something you were too tainted to see.

“You helped my people, you got rid of Kagha and the goblins, you could have sided against us at any moment—but you didn’t. And that says more about you than any blood on your hands ever will. Not as long as it is caused by something that isn’t entirely you.”

Soft lips found your cracked ones, mending the sores and chasing away the sorrows. You knew they would come back, the sorrows. But you wanted to try for him. Be good for him. To him.

“If I ever lose control. If I attack you. Strike me down. Play unfair. I need you to end me then. Before I can end you. Promise me. That is my only request.”

His flaming eyes looked deeply into yours. Unwavering. Lacking the hatred and fear you should be finding in them.

He stayed silent. He did not promise.

He could not.