zuyiesque

[zuyiesque]

The Underworld ｡

꒰ Chapter 1 ⩨ ͢ The Story of a Son I. ꒱

❛ ݁ ˖ genre : paranormal ❛ ݁ ˖ setting : bar ╱ pub ❛ ݁ ˖ synopsis : a group of not so normal co-workers share drinks and stories ❛ ݁ ˖ warning : dead dove do not eat. rated 18+ for possible violence , horror , and sexual themes ❛ ݁ ˖ note : the characters will be slowly revealed one by one

“Smirnov. Choice.”

The woman with the wild brown hair shook a bottle of the auspicious drink toward the red head.

Her under eyes were dark but the irises that it framed were a beautiful but eerie amber color.

The red haired lass gave her a look before accepting the bottle then pouring a glass for herself. She groaned after downing. “That’s got a cold after taste.”

“Like the winters of Russia,” said the girl.

“Oh? Have you been there?” the red head inched closer, scrutinizing the brunette.

“No. Have you?”

“Argh!” an angry voice entered the conversation, along with the sound of a fist slamming a table. The culprit was a good looking man with golden blond hair. A small braid peeked out on the side of his neck, from where his hair line ended. “What’s this? Alcoholics United?” cracked he, as his bright bottle green eyes twinkled.

Gathered along with them, around a circular table, were three other guests which indeed made them look like an alcoholic’s support group.

There was an exotic looking man with dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and molten gold eyes. He was dressed in a simple cotton shirt that showed off the glistening skin on his chest. Playfully dangling along with his movements were long golden earrings.

Beside him was a girl with wavy chestnut hair and eyes of chartreuse. She was in a black and white collared dress while on her neck was a rugged silver and iron cross necklace.

On the other side was a woman with long raven black hair in a high ponytail with bangs that framed dark eyes. She was in a black suit with a white lotus flower on her breast pocket.

“Either everyone keeps throwing looks at each other or I could start,” he continued. There was a wild aura around him, like the kind that people who stayed outdoors frequently have.

“Uhh knock yourself out, I guess,” the brunette answered, shrugging her shoulders.

The blond inched closer toward the table, putting on a menacing look. “Ever heard of dark witches?”

The group did a fake gasp.

“Witches?”

“Oh my god, however did it slip through our knowledge?”

“Okay, shut up. You gits are making me sound stupid,” the blond man frowned then crossed his arms.

“We already know you’re a witch hunter,” the tanned man yawned. “You’re not very incognito, dude.”

“I like it that way,” grinned the witch hunter. “But dark witches, come on. I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen those ugly hags up close.”

“Are you gonna tell us about one of your hunts?” the wavy haired girl asked.

“I’ve always been curious about what kind of people turn out to be witches,” added the raven haired woman.

“Well shut up and let me do the talking,” complained the witch hunter. “Because this is unlike all those boring stories I told before.”

“Ma! I found you a four leaf clover!”

The small child came running toward his like faced mother. Covered in dirt, he presented the lucky find to the beautiful woman with the flaxen hair.

“Lucky you!” she ruffled his golden mane that was already getting too bushy and long.

The mother and her energetic son had been picking out weeds in the garden behind their humble home. There was already a basket full of it right in front of her.

“But look at you, Logan, dear! So unruly! After this, we are going to have a bath!”

“But I got this for you, ma!” the boy insisted. “So that the villagers won’t talk bad about you anymore.”

“Wherever did you get the idea that four leaf clovers would stop people from saying bad things?” laughed the mother.

Logan shrugged. “Didn’t you say these protect us from evil?”

“They do.” The mother took the boy into a gentle embrace. “But there’s an even more powerful way than gathering tens and twenties of lucky clovers.”

“Tell me!”

She smiled. “You do good deeds and say a little prayer every night.”

“Ah, like the one you do for me?”

“Yes.” The mother placed a hand on her chest, the boy mirroring her actions. Together, they recited, “The light of the moon and the light of the sun, with the goddess’ blessing, no harm shall be done.”

“Perfect!” she beamed.

“I can memorize stuff pretty well!”

“Now, let’s go get you a bath you filthy little ground crawler!”

Logan Vervain lived all his early years in his humble home that was located on the outskirts of town, just before where the forest started.

His father was a logger. He would often go to the forest with his father to find the best trees. His mother would also tag along, occasionally teaching him about the countless flora that grew there. Over time, he had the forest memorized like the back of his hand.

Growing up, he had very odd chores. One of those were raising chickens, only to kill them for their blood. He had asked why they didn’t raise them for the eggs but both his mother and father told him to never mind it.

When the other town boys would go and scare the girls that were playing by the stream, Logan would stay home, plow the garden, look after his mother’s flowers and herbs, and read the collection of old books she kept.

Sometimes, he’d get teased by Big Allen about how good he smelled because of his garden work. It was to his advantage though, because the girls liked it and the boys found that as a point of jealousy.

Smelling nice wasn’t the only thing he got going for him. When he reached thirteen, he had noticed that all the town girls would flaunt their dresses or their hair dos whenever he was around.

They would even drag him around with them when he wasn’t doing his chores.

Today, the girls successfully brought him to the stream that they frequented.

“Have you been growing this out intentionally?” asked Jane, the prettiest of the bunch. Perched on top of a huge rock near the body of water, she played with Logan’s hair. She showed him the abnormally long lock that jut out the side of his neck.

“Not really?” he answered.

“It’s cute,” added Betty, one of Jane’s close friends.

“But so distracting.”

“What if we braided it?” said Annabeth. She was a black haired, blue eyed southern belle that beamed whenever she smiled. She wasn’t as pretty as Jane but Logan found her smile beautiful.

“Oh yes!” agreed Jane. “Come on Logan, we’ll show you how to do it.”

Annabeth took down one of her own braids and handed him a small but sturdy hair tie. “Hold that. You’ll look even more handsome.”

“Ahh no, it’ll only make me look girly,” frowned Logan.

“Wrong,” Annabeth persisted. “It’ll give you personality. A small braid won’t make you less of a man. Besides, the Jedi sport it all the time.”

He sighed. “Fine, whatever goes.”

“There!” Jane was done when she motioned for Logan to give him the hair tie. She quickly fastened the braid then stepped away to study how it looked. “Perfect!”

The girls cheered.

“See?” Betty handed Logan her compact mirror.

He looked at the small braid and smiled. “Yeah, it does add to the personality.”

“That looks nice on you,” Logan’s mother said as she caught sight of his new hair do.

He paused, smiling. “You think so? The girls did it for me.”

She nodded. “Yes but it lacks something.” His mother stood and went to her study, quickly rummaging through her stuff. When she finished, she signaled for him to come closer. Reaching for the braid, she fumbled with it.

“I was about to give it to you anyway,” she said.

Logan took the braid and looked at what his mother had put on it. At the end of it where the hair tie was was some sort of twine that had a wooden and a metal bead on it. Nestled between the beads was a silver ring.

“What’s this?”

“It’s like mine,” she answered, showing her a twine necklace that looked exactly like it. She had it hidden underneath her blouse. “You see Logan, your Mama isn’t a normal woman.”

“Are you sick or something?”

“No dear. Mama is a witch. That makes you a witch child.”

“Ahh but if I was, I would have been female….right?”

His mother chuckled. “I see you’ve been paying good attention to my books. Witches only give birth to daughters, many don’t even bother having children. You are a rare occurrence; the son of a witch. You carry an ancient bloodline. And son, I have so many things to teach you.”

“Hey, Vervain!”

Big Allen and the other boys saw Logan exiting the forest. He was carrying with him a sack of dead toads. It was no easy job but he finished it anyway.

As they came closer, Logan quickly hid the sack behind a blackberry bush.

“Where’ve you been?” Big Allen came up to him. Funny how Big Allen didn’t seem as big as Logan remembered. Had they always stood eye to eye? “We were fishing up stream. You missed it.”

“I was busy with helping my dad out. And chores. Lots of it.”

“What? You grounded or something?”

“Hey look at his hair!” laughed one of the boys. “He’s got a widdle braid!”

“So what?” he retorted.

“It’s so weird, man! Like why are you even putting accessories on it?”

“Hey!” It was Annabeth. “You savages don’t recognize fashion when you see it!” She quickly put herself between Logan and the boys.

“Fashion?” scoffed one of the boys.

“Yeah! It looks good on him. All the girls think so.”

“Ewwww what? That thing?”

“Yeah, we did it for him!”

“Uhh Annabeth…”

“You made the braid?” asked Big Allen. “With the other girls?”

“Yes!” she nodded proud.

“Well, I guess Logan likes it more with the girls especially when they’re braiding his hair.”

The entire male posse erupted into laughter.

With a sigh, Logan just took his sack from the bush and left.

“Hey!” Annabeth called after him. “You can’t just leave them to make fun of you like that!”

“I don’t really care. I’ve got important things to do.”

He made his way back into the forest, skillfully scaling up the overgrown tree roots and the huge rocks. There was no trail but he knew where he was supposed to go.

Annabeth was struggling with her breathing as she was catching up to him. “What kind of things?”

“Don’t follow me you idiot!”

Annabeth tripped over a big tree root that was covered in moss. Logan didn’t see her fall and just kept on walking.

“Hey!” she shouted after him.

He looked back at her, eyebrows meeting. From Annabeth’s angle, he looked very angelic. The light that hit his golden locks, made him look like there was a halo on his head. His bottle green orbs shone brighter than the greenery of the forest. A voice inside Annabeth’s head told her; he wasn’t like this when they were younger. Now, she felt like her breath was being taken away with just one look from him.

The southern belle was snapped back into reality by Logan’s annoyed sigh. He trudged back to where she was sitting and looked at her squarely.

She blushed as he drew close. Logan smelled so good. There was a faint smell of rosemary and lavender that came from him, but there was another scent that she couldn’t quite make out what it was. It was the sweetest one of all that made her heart race.

“Great. You got a scrape,” he said, lifting her skirt up just enough to reveal her bloody knee.

“Damn it Logan! We’re friends but you don’t just flip skirts like that!” Annabeth swiped his hand off.

“I didn’t, what the hell. Anyway, stay still. I think I’ve got something for it.”

“Huh?”

He took a vial from one of his pant pockets. Inside it was a gray colored cream.

“Medicine?”

Logan was mumbling something under his breath as he was pulling out the vial’s cork lid. For a second there, Annabeth thought his eyes flashed into a yellow. “Something like it.”

With a finger, he swiped a bit of the cream into Annabeth’s scrape.

“Ahh! It stings!” She raised her hand to swat him away, but he caught her wrist before she could hit him.

“Just wait ugh you’ll get it all over!”

The area that Logan had tended to stopped stinging. Then, with one final wipe, Annabeth’s scrape was gone. Clean off.

“How did you do that?” she gasped, inspecting her knee closely.

“It wasn’t me. It was the meds.”

“No way Logan. People don’t patch up that quick.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Go home, Annabeth,” he said it like an ultimatum.

“You can’t make me.”

“Hold up.”

The girl with the raven hair was waving her hand at the blond while making an unsatisfied face. “This is a love story? No one here signed up for a love story!”

“Is it now?” with one eyebrow higher than the other, his face soured. The man downed one shot of the Smirnov then gawked at the audience. “You people have any more objections? Story too unrealistic? Too tame?”

“No, continue, it’s getting juicy,” the red head said, waving him off.

“People do crazy things when they’re in love. I feel like romance when used well, can make a story good,” added the brunette.

The blond threw the raven haired girl a face of cocky victory. “I will but since miss salty here doesn’t like the love story, I’ll go directly to the main part.”

“Ugh fine. If it’s necessary for character development then don’t leave it out, jeez. Go talk about how you and Annabeth had the starry eyes.”

“What do you mean me? This isn’t about me!”

“Come on it’s obvious. You’re pulling a Witch Hunter: Origins.”

“Oh my god that is a nice title,” the tanned man said, his eyes wide with childish wonder.

“Let him finish the story,” interrupted the wavy haired girl.

“Thank you. And just to emphasize. This isn’t about me.”

❪ * to be continued .... ❫

[zuyiesque]

The Underworld ｡

꒰ working title ⩨ ͢ original story ꒱

This is one of my longest running original stories. Unfortunately, there has been no updates since 2020 because of personal circumstances, but now that I've picked things up, I may continue writing more chapters!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀꒷꒦⠀⠀冫⠀🍰

Chapters :

❛ ݁ ˖ The Story of a Son

❛ ݁ ˖ The Story of a Son II

[zuyiesque]

His Troubles ｡ ꒰ Kamisato Ayato ⩨ ͢ short fic ꒱

◗ please do not read this if you are below 18+ ◗ english isn't my first language. there might be some grammatical errors ◗ do leave some constructive comments and feedback. they are highly appreciated!

The Kamisato Estate . Dusk

Of course Ayato is the picture perfect image of calm , serene , as if he were the glassy surface of pristine waters untouched by the ripples of fate ... Yet somehow , whenever you're around , the man switches to his more gleeful self.

Who knew the Yashiro Commissioner was a playful tease ? No wonder Yae Miko called him a rascal.

And soon you would find out exactly why.

One of the house attendants said he was writing in his chambers. Ah , probably his poems. True enough, you do find him elegantly tucked behind his table , plume in hand , expression expertly focused on the scrolls in front of him.

“ You're here , ” grins he ; the smile on his lips soft , his eyes lit like fireworks. “ Would you like to read this poem I've just written ? ”

“ Sure ! You've written so many good ones , I'm excited to see this one . ”

You're hovering next to him now and the wonderful surprise commences —— one that leaves your heart thumping rapid , your eyes wide and your cheeks a la rose.

Ayato's sure arm was wrapped gently around your waist ; he had pulled you close ... close enough to warrant you to take a seat not only next to him , but on his lap.

He was warm and the scent of sakura blossoms wafted from his presence. his hold ; still , was as gentle as ever —— oh just why wouldn't your heart stay put ? For sure , he meant nothing by this , right ? He's not as unfazed as you are.

“ It's a poem about how like the sakura , a person's heart is just as fleeting. I wrote this while I was pondering on some things that troubled me —— which is rare , I usually don't have this dilemma. ”

He sighs and his breath tickles the back of your neck. You cannot help but shudder and feel small — safe , in his arms. Slowly , your eyes start to feel heavy ; you were just too comfortable .

“ To be honest , ” he continues. “ My troubles only arise when you are near. It's funny , isn't it ? Even now ... I am extremely 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥. ”

Your heartbeat takes a dive as you can hear him shift and another warmth presents itself to you , only this time it was in the form of his hand delicately cupping your chin. Why was he being so careful ? It's not like you would break ...

“ You just had to come see me alone when I was thinking about you. ”

His voice was hovering oh so dangerously next to your ear , his breath tickling your skin.

“ How do you plan on compensating me for my troubles , hmm my sweet princess ? I'm afraid just sitting on my lap won't do. I was thinking of ... let's see , sitting you down in front of me and having you all to myself ? Did you know that I don't share the things I like ? hmm ? you better hurry up and tell me how this should go , my sweet princess. ”

He reckons to the raging pulse forming in between his legs , beneath his crisp white pants. Sinful , yet about to burst at the seams with anticipation. He had indeed been holding back .

“ I'm getting extremely impatient , lest you want me to give you the correct answer . ”

❪ * to be continued .... ❫

[zuyiesque]

Le Chancellerie de la Fille

Chatoyanté

𝓢he longs for love like it was poetry. Mused && adored like a midsummer night's dream. Therefore , she shines unmatched with chatoyance.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀love ,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀┄ 𝓩uyi 𝓓ulcettia 𝓐thenaea 𝄒 🎐

Welcome to Zuyi's literary archives . Most of the works I post in here will either be :

old but still updating fanfictions

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original character sheets

story concepts ╱ in the making

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