#and if the only depth of this drabble is heart break or falling out of love then so be it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mochaintherain · 11 months

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Pleonexia

Summary: Cemented as a false God, the title of "The Creator" warranted a certain Fatui Harbinger to impose his greed upon you.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SAGAU, implied violence, implied cultish themes, the fatui comes as it's own warning, slight jealousy?

A/N: formatted on mobile </3 A little drabble I had lying around (*´▽｀*) I really like SAGAU but only a specific flavor of it RAUGHH I also have so,,, many ideas for other fics. Yippee for summer!!! (delusional)

Zapolyarny Palace was destitute of warmth.

The room the Tsaritsa had generously provided on account of your descending far outgrew your meager body; the walls stretched too far, any insulation it may have mustered in the heart of a blizzard out your reach, and the chandeliers hung from the ceiling too high to provide any ample light, encompassing you in darkness. The only reprieve within your residence laid a stately hearth. The fire roared, breaking the monotonous cold hues of the bedroom. Its heat blanketed your face in a sweet caress. Soft whispers of crackled wood lulled you to slumber.

Temptation gnawed at your being. You wanted to rest.

But something you quickly learned about the palace was its capacity for people.

For Fatui.

And they wanted anything but your comfort.

The Regrator hummed, cold fingers trailing the bare of your neck, reveling in your shudders as he clicked the gold necklace onto your figure. Illustrious gemstones and the smoothest links of gold culminated to create art - now adorned by you. It could have been beautiful, had it not been tainted by avarice. Had it not been tainted by his prayer.

"Your Grace, do you like it?"

That moniker stirred ill within the depths of your stomach. When would be the day they realized they deluded themselves into a lie? When would be the day they killed you for being something you never claimed you were?

As intriguing as the Fatui were on one side of the screen, they were sinister zealots on the other. They despised the Gods so much their hatred festered piousness--and they paraded you like a doll around the estate, an object to collect worship and donate it to rising influence. You were another gnosis, another piece to their revolution.

The match to inevitably burn away the Old World.

"Your Grace," the Regrator repeated, the edge on each syllable chiding, "is this not up to your tastes? ...Not refined enough?"

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. No semblance of warmth pierced his icy veil. For all the devoutness the Harbingers touted, their theatrics fell short. Ugly, false fidelity bled through their altruistic ministrations.

How you wished to curl up next to the fireplace instead of having to cling onto your robes.

"No...no, it's, ah, beautiful. Thank you," you mumbled, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Of course. Someone of your status—" he grit that phrase out from his throat, you swore it—"deserves only to be lavished in the finest treasures Teyvat has to offer! Wouldn't you agree?"

When they killed you, would he scatter his riches upon your corpse? Or maybe Pantalone would bury you with all the accessories he gifted you--

Perhaps they’d continue the facade, setting your still heart upon the altar dedicated to the Creator. The name you unwittingly stole from its rightful place.

He took your long, drawn, silence as acquiscence. "It's quite alright if you're shy. I fully understand, as your acolyte, but really, you must be more open about you and your capabilities--humbleness goes hand in hand with honesty, after all! Surely that's nothing to hide, hm?"

His hands found their way to your own, and he traced the shape of a diamond on your palm.

"What did you call them again? What was it...oh, primogems?" From your visage, the corners of his lips curled. "Your Grace, won't you show me your divinity? For all my offerings, a glimpse wouldn't hurt."

It's only fair.

"I'm...truly grateful for everything the Fatui, and especially you, have provided," you started slowly, eyes falling to his rings, unable to harbor the weight of his scrutiny any longer, "but...I'm sorry. I can't just use them whenever I wish—" the words died on your tongue as his grip tightened, leaving behind desiccated sputters.

"And why is that?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Am I not worthy?" Pantalone laughed a little, devoid of joy, "have I not given you enough, Your Grace? What more can I give? I've already built myself up from nothing, despite the Gods' negligence—must I give that up too, to bask in Your warmth?"

You winced, trying to pull away. Yet he held firm, as if it wasn't wrists he was holding, but the bags of mora he hoarded.

"That's not—"

"I really am not asking for much, Your Grace. You've shown the Balladeer—even the Doctor—your powers. So why not me? Dottore and I are close partners, and if you trust him, I can assure you, you can have complete and utter faith in me, just as I do you."

"I...Okay. But only one summon," you conceded, the crystalline shards manifesting into your hands.

As if he hadn't been intimidating you moments prior, Pantalone stared in awe, clasping his hands together and humming.

"Oh! You're too kind, Your Grace!"

"Please, just call me by my name," you whispered, before cupping the primos together into an Intertwined Fate.

"How beautiful," he gasped, "may I?"

Reluctantly, you handed it to him. The size of his figure dwarfed the small orb, brimming with power. A pink and blue glow breathed life into his otherwise dull fur coat.

"How do you use…this?” Pantalone’s brows furrowed together, raising it up to the light as if to get a better view. “It’s quite…tiny.”

"Well, I'm not sure how it fully works in Teyvat—but you wish for something and hope to get it."

"Hm? So you leave it up to chance?"

"Yes, in a way..."

"How pitiful," he whispered, before his voice dropped an octave, "you must have more power than that. You’re a God.”

“I’ve already told you all…” you stopped in your tracks, images of corpses scattered across Dottore’s lab. You were almost a test subject, “godhood” shielding you from the vivisection table by a narrow margin. If they learned the truth…

“I…am not a god in my home world,” you stammered, picking words haphazardly from the floor of your mind, “I’m still getting used to Teyvat, so…”

He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. “I see. Well, demonstrate how it works.” The reassuring gesture only spurred your unease.

With a slight nod, you pondered what to wish for.

“…Thrilling Tales,” you declared, the fate sizzling with luminescence before shooting up into the sky.

Pantalone’s mouth fell agape as a bright, blue, light enveloped your hands, swirled together, then dissipated, revealing the weapon. Another wish granted. More primos depleted, with no way to earn them back.

“A book; Is it a catalyst?” He took the tomb from your grasp, skimming its contents. “From what I can tell, not a very good one.” A frown slowly painted over his countenance. “Are you playing games with me, Your Grace?”

“W-whatever do you mean, Pantalone?” Your voice faltered as he took a step towards you. Gripping your face just hard enough for his rings to chafe and dig into your cheeks, he tilted your chin up.

“When you were with Dottore, you summoned a brilliant sword that he remarked, “wasn’t from this world”. And, with me, you summon this…” He pinched the book by its cover, letting the pages sway limply below. “Fairy tale?”

“Well—! The Doctor scared me—I, I am much more comfortable with you.” Though not necessarily a lie, it wasn’t a truth either. Of all the people you’d interacted with so far, mainly the harbingers—only the harbingers, when you thought about it—Pantalone, compared to the Doctor, was much less scary.

Eyes widening, the grip on your face went slack, morphing into a soft caress of your cheek. You shuddered again.

He smiled, returning to that cheery demeanor.

“Well, if that is the case, I’m glad, and honored, Your Grace.”

You nodded, every muscle in your body taut and strangled by your lies.

“Of course.”

#self aware genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin impact sagau #pantalone x reader #religious themes #sagau #sagau pantalone #why do i keep writing sagau #AND ITS NOT EVEN SCARAMOUCHE?#im not even that into pantalone tbh.#maybe its bc whenever i try to write scarapookie #i end up with far too many words and far too little time

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flowerwrites06 · 2 years

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golden lotus I — kth

Plot: Refusing and underestimating a warning from Time can have its prices. One God pays the worst of it. Pairing(s): God!Taehyung x Goddess!OC (Name: Angel) Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+ Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series Word Count: 6.9k Genre: Romance Fantasy | Gods & Goddesses Tags & Warnings: sexual content, violence, jealousy, obsession (not from main couple), character death (temporary) Authors Note: I was reading through some old headcanons I answered on this account and it made me really happy how much people enjoyed this series. I know I tried to make it such a point to have this as an original story but reading this back, I love the characters made from the original and reading those headcanon just...really warmed my heart I don’t know how to explain it. Hope you like this surprise if you enjoyed the series and I appreciate you all so much, thank you for the support!

A great tragedy will befall your kingdom were not the words a ruler wanted to hear on a beautiful, calm morning in the throne room. Unfortunately that was the fate Taehyung had to deal with when he claimed rule over the Gods and world below them. Every week the God of Time, Tempus walked into the halls of the sky palace to tell him how the future looked and what he could do about it.

What could he do about it?

Nothing.

The trick was Tempus spewed all these predictions to the high status of Gods but never really told them exactly what to do when the time came. His knowledge simply was to be noted and they would wait for the inevitable.

However Taehyung personally liked one prediction he was given when his father was still on the throne. Flowers and the beauty of life will be granted in your arms one day. With her gentle companionship, you both will rule the kingdoms above, at the center and in the depths forever.

The Nature Mother sprouted a young goddess soon after the prediction occurred. When her naked body landed on the soils, there grew a beautiful field of golden bride blossoms. A sign of life, love and prosperity. Goddess of Creation.

Taehyung looked down at the gold band around his ring finger with a small smile gracing his lips.

The God of Time was accurate at times but this recent prediction seemed too far-fetched to be believable.

“What kind of great tragedy?” Taehyung humored Tempus for a few moments.

However the God was not pleased with the lack of seriousness in Taehyung’s expression. “If you trust those close to you far too blindly…darkness will fall upon your life and the fate of our kingdom.” Tempus announced, letting it echo in the deep brown walls of the palace back into the Great Protectors’ eardrums.

Taehyung flickered his eyes over to Jimin standing on the side of the throne room with a concerned expression on his face. “See, now you’ve worried my Inger.” He gestured towards the male. “Can you at least be specific? If the situation is truly dire then I can’t run on riddles.”

Tempus sighed, features hardening in exasperation. “I can only give you so much. Time is unpredictable even for a God.”

“Well then tell Time that I need a better explanation than that before I start interrogating the people I trust most.” Taehyung leaned forward on his throne. “It’s a very bold claim, Tempus. You must understand I can’t just act on it.” He tried to speak in a more reasonable tone for the God even though it didn’t look like he was convinced.

“Then tread carefully.” Tempus tightened his jaw. “That’s all I can say.” He turned on his heel, black feathered cloak trailing on the floor behind him as the Inger guards escorted him out of the throne room.

When the double doors thud close, Taehyung relaxed back against his throne with an exhausted sigh, rubbing his face to calm himself down.

“Don’t worry too much about him.” Jimin’s voice fluttered through the room, lightly breaking the tension as he walked up to the stairs closer to his throne. Wavy blue hair hovering over his left eye when he reached out to touch his shoulder. “He likes being dramatic sometimes.”

Taehyung sighed. “He’s always dramatic. But he’s also always right.”

“Not always.” He shook his head.

“How do you mean?”

“His predictions can be inaccurate. He predicted that you would rule the kingdoms above, at the center and in the depths. But Namjoon rules the depths.” Jimin smiled, squeezing his shoulder gently to provide more comfort. He hated it when people stressed his King out far too much, the way his lips curled downwards and his features hardened. “He said your father was going to die from your hand but he ended up jumping into the Underworld’s fire out of his own madness.”

“He really was fucking mad, wasn’t he?” Taehyung scoffed. Memories flooded of how he had to hide Angel from his fathers’ wandering ambitions for a year until he gained the satisfaction to see him burning in the Underworld. Even Gods cannot escape Death. He still remembered Namjoon’s eerie words haunting him a little to this day.

Jimin smiled in response, glancing around the throne room before looking back at him again. “I think we’re done with the meetings. Go rest, I’ll tidy everything up here for you.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but feel his body loosening into relaxation hearing his words. It felt nice to be able to relinquish himself for a moment and let someone else take care of things. There were moments at the back of his mind where he wished that moment could last longer to the point where he never had to enter this throne room again. But he knew his replacements were not exactly good for the world. Enslavement, blind devotion and some even suggested mass destruction to rebuild a more ‘perfect’ world. It was too risky. The second he flails his power away to someone else, he signs a death wish for all of humanity.

“Thank you, Jimin.” He sat up from the throne patting Jimin’s shoulder gently before making his way out of the throne room. His mind set on only one location.

“Tonitrua wept as he held his love, Niji in his arms. Stilled by the call of the Underworld Nymphs. He watched them carry her soul away…saw the tears rolling down her cheeks as she smiled. Then she vanished. Leaving the God holding a lifeless shell that used to be the woman he promised to marry.” Angel left a small silence with that solemn note watching the Ingar children with her bright eyes widened and jaw dropped. Eventually a smile tugged at her lips as she reached to brush one of the Ingars’ fringe so it wouldn’t tickle their eyes.

“The heavens cries rained down on the earth.” She waved her hand and a grey cloud formed over the children, lightning striking with rain rushing down. However the water only lightly sprinkled on them earning tiny, adorable laughter to spread through the group. “Tonitrua beat on his drum as loud as he could muster and it rippled across the skies.” At Angels’ words, a distant thud echoed in the makeshift storm she created, trying not to make it too loud for their sensitive ears. “He beat the drum all night long praying his love could hear him. The world could hear his grief and pray for his mercy not to shatter the skies.”

“Ton-tua is thunder!” One of the female Ingars squeaked causing Angel giggled.

“Tonitrua…and yes, he became the brewer of thunder.” The storm over the Ingar’s head now faded back into the beautiful day light of the palace gardens. “As the Titans ceased their grieving, the Nature Mother blessed the earth by kissing the Sun God Solis’ forehead. Together they formed colours…the very colours that manifest all the hues of our world.” With another wave of her hand, a burst of bright colours reflected around them, rainbow shining on their young skin.

Angel giggled seeing one of the infant Ingar’s screeching in excitement at the rainbow reflection on the mat they were sitting on.

“What happened to Tonitrua’s love?” Another older Ingar inquired.

“She would always follow him wherever he went.” Angel grinned. “Niji means rainbow.”

A series of light gasps and smiles spread across the group causing a warmth in her heart.

“Alright, children, let the Queen rest now.” One of the Ingar caretakers announced to the whole group guiding all the little children back to their homes while the infants were gently carried out.

Angel waved at the toddlers saying bye to her before removing the rainbow reflections. She rested back against the peach blossom tree bark with a sigh, letting the subtle sweet scent grace her nostrils and calm her body.

“Do I get a story too?”

The familiar deep, chocolate voice coaxed a smile to stretch across her pink tinted lips. Angel felt his soft fingers brush against her cheek when she looked up to find Taehyung looking down at her. She held onto his hand and placed a gentle kiss on his skin before he moved to sit down in front of her.

Taehyung sighed in relaxation being able to admire his wife’s face rather than any more complaining Gods who had far too much time on their hands.

“Maybe later. My throat aches.” Angel murmured. “You look tired.”

“Happens when you need to listen to every whiny complaint from people with powers beyond humans.” He shifted so his head could rest on her lap. Warmth seeped through his veins capturing her scent and filling his lungs with the ultimate comfort. It almost felt selfish how good he felt with her presence. Almost as if he didn’t deserve being so close to her.

Angel raked her fingers through his raven locks, caressing small circles on his forehead to soothe his exhaustion. “It’s lovely that you listen to them though.” She brought her other hand to trail down his nose to his lips.

Taehyung placed her fingers in between his twin flesh smirking at how she giggled. “I only listen because someone convinced me to be more attentive.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” She tapped his lips three times. “You’re the most loved Ruler of the Gods we know.”

“It was only possible with the most beautiful Goddess by my side.” Taehyung held her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. He lifted up again, placing his arm on each side of her body while she was pinned to the tree and took her lips against his own. A low hum emitted in his throat as one of his hands began sneaking up her long light pink dress.

“Ah, don’t.” Angel giggled into the kiss, lightly pushing his hand away despite the tingles that shot through her body when his warm fingers touched her skin.

“Come on, just a quick one.” Taehyung breathed out, sneaking his tongue between her teeth.

“Tae—” She chuckled pressing a hand against his chest. “There’s people here.”

The God managed to whine a little as he moved to nudge his nose on her jawline, taking in more of her scent so he could never forget. “Our bedroom then…” Taehyung cupped her cheek, gaze darkening as he forced himself not to pounce on her right there and then. “No one needs us right now.”

Angel bit down her bottom lip feeling a light tingle pooling between her legs. “We should be quick.” She whispered. “Before someone sees us.”

The absolute best parts of his day and night. Taehyung would give up all his nights’ sleep just to be perched between Angel’s legs, her warm sodden walls hugging his stiff length as he moved in and out of her. Palms pressed against the back of her thighs, so deliciously thick that his whole hand couldn’t reach the width.

Long auburn hair matted to her temples, the flowers in her hair still stuck to her strands as they splayed out on the pillow. Smudged pink lips parting to spew the most beautiful moans as Taehyung stretched her out, thrusting in so deep his tip hit the soft walls of her cervix. Glazed eyes fixated on his as a smile graced her features.

Taehyung hooked her thighs over his arm, increasing his pace with a grunt in his throat. Her walls fluttered at the constant impact, the sound of skin slapping echoing across the grand chambers mixing in with Angel’s shaky moans.

“I-I love you..” She whispered, watching him through hooded lids.

His body loosened and tingled at her words. Taehyung let go of her thighs, leaning in closer as his elbows rested on each side of her body, hips grinding against her. He gripped at her soft hair, sweat glazed forehead against hers. “I love you too…” He breathed out.

The coil tightening in her lower belly reached uncontrollable heights giving him a tender kiss. Heat burst through her body erupting a choked cry of pleasure from her as she wrapped her legs around his waist tightly. Arms hooked under his shoulders as the shots of pleasure overwhelmed her trembling body.

“That’s it.” Taehyung whispered in her ear, feeling a tightness in his own belly as her walls clenched and pulsed around his member. “My sweetheart.” He pulled out of Angel almost completely before thrusting back into her until every inch disappeared inside her heat. “My precious.” The tightness sprung as he spilled inside his love, hips stilling and a light moan under his breath.

Angel hummed in delight feeling his warm release spilling deep inside her. She lazily smiled down as her heat swallowed him in further as her hand moved to caress her fullness. “Feel better?”

Taehyung chuckled breathlessly, kissing her hungrily. “So much better.” Pulling out of her carefully, he dropped next to her with his chest still rising and falling.

Once the couple calmed their relentless heaving, Angel turned to Taehyung with a question playing on her mind. “I noticed Tempus was on the list of your advising. What did he want to talk about?” She brought the wet cloth from the night stand cleaned off the excess between her legs gently, tiny flowers falling down from her curls.

The God replied with a scoff mindlessly playing with her hair. “What he always wants to talk about. Today he said something about a great darkness befalling our kingdom.”

Angel blinked slowly looking over her shoulder. She moved to face him now cleaning him off carefully before placing it back on the night stand. “He’s never said that before.”

“He’s said a lot of things.”

“Did he specify anything?” Angel propped herself on her elbow while her fingers traced his left breast.

Taehyung shrugged nonchalantly avoiding her gaze knowing he would find concern in them anyway. “Something about not trusting people too blindly.”

“It’s not a far fetched prophecy.”

“It’s incredibly vague, I can’t act on it.”

“But—” She stammered. “I don’t think you should ignore it either.”

“Worse comes to worse, Jungkook probably wants to overthrow me.” Taehyung gave a mocking scoff to the thought. God of Indulgence always loved spewing the idea of claiming the throne and ruling the worlds better than he or his father ever could. “There’s always going to be enemies and darkness trying to taunt our kingdom. I can’t get paranoid.”

“You also can’t be far too loose either.”

“I am not loose. I just think it’s silly to act on vague prophecies.”

“Tempus’ prophecies have always come true, Taehyung.”

“And what good has happened when I listened to those prophecies, hm?” It was an impulsive choice of words. Taehyung knew there was one prediction that brought so much good in this world, in his world. Though his words had already reached her ears and seeped into her mind before he could catch them back.

“I suppose not.” Angel rested back against the pillow ignoring the light squeeze in her chest. “But they do come true.” She sighed.

“It’s my decision to make whether I will demonize the ones I trust most.” Taehyung gulped down. “My decision alone.”

Angel smiled faintly before nodding. “Of course.”

Taehyung tried to take a breath to say something else. To reassure her that Tempus was right about one thing. But somehow it felt the moment passed and his tongue clipped hoping it wouldn’t cause a bigger problem between them. So he turned on his side, back facing the woman as he felt a tightness in the middle of his ribcages.

Biting down her bottom lip watching him face away from her, she leaned in and kissed his glistening shoulder causing Taehyung’s heart to drop. Angel turned on her side leaving the room in a slightly tense silence mixing in with their previous act of intimacy.

A gloomy, grey afternoon set upon the center world as Taehyung walked to the throne room for his usual routine of listening to troubles that were far too miniscule for him to take seriously. Except one still lingered on his mind. Eyes wandered across the halls of the palace just in front of the throne room and he stopped at one figure.

The couple had not properly spoken about yesterday but it seemed the tension had passed by morning. He saw Angel look over her shoulder and catch his gaze. His heart fluttered seeing a smile directed his way which he returned. Perhaps a silent way to reassure one another that all was well even though he could feel Tonitrua’s drum beating under his feet.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jungkook’s enamored voice broke through his thoughts.

“Watch it.” He seethed.

“Fuck you.” The younger male walked past him to enter the throne room first.

Taehyung sighed sadly seeing Angel walk away with the Goddess of Souls, Belle following her into the palace gardens. He moved into the dark throne room then as the guards closed it behind him. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

Jungkook had raven hair just like him, shorter just under his brow and parted. His eyes shone a shade of amber and hazel mixed together that Taehyung could never decipher nor bother to ask. He always had a permanent smirk on his face like he was ready to kill or have sex with anyone in sight. “Thought I might accompany you with the advising. Jimin said he was sick so he asked me.”

“The man who wants to enslave humankind does a favor for an Ingar.” Taehyung scoffed making his way to his throne. “Is Namjoon playing illusions on me?”

“Jimin is nice. Who knows if I keep doing favors he might just swear loyalty to me one day?” There was that smirk again. The one Jungkook showed whenever he could tell he stroke a nerve with Taehyung.

“I should’ve let Seokjin drown you.”

“Your brother couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Not a fly, no.” Taehyung shook his head, relaxing on the throne with a light sigh. “You? Probably.”

Jungkook chuckled walking up the stairs to stand by his side. “Your brothers love me. Possibly more than they love you.”

“Namjoon dotes on you but the minute I tell him you were flirting with Minnie, you’re done for.”

“Aw, look at you keeping secrets for me.”

“It’s not for you, dumbass. Angel told me to keep it a secret so Namjoon won’t kill you.”

“Thank Mother for Angel then.”

Taehyung felt anger seep through his veins hearing how he spewed those words. Of course Jungkook couldn’t help it. It was in his nature to sound like he was constantly satisfied or satisfying someone. That didn’t mean Taehyung could control his annoyance whenever he spoke her name. “Let’s get this over with.”

As usual an eternity passed hearing all the troubles. Except the God of Envy was going to be punished for trying to threaten a Water Nymph for rejecting him which Taehyung found immense pleasure in. The one good thing about having Jungkook here was his harsh jabs at anyone who were whining far too much for their own credibility. Something Taehyung couldn’t do without someone trying to claim his throne.

Tonitrua’s kept beating his drum harder and harder almost making the ground shake underneath them. Rain beating down the earth, winds screaming for dear life as even the heavens felt a chill through its core.

“Didn’t know a storm was happening.” Jungkook murmured.

He tapped the arm of the chair, the slight tinge of confusion at the back of his mind. They would always warn us of a storm. “Maybe the Titans are in a mood.”

Before they could think on it further, the double doors on the side opened with a deafening thud causing both Gods to jump a little.

Taehyung tried to face the intrusion with an angry expression before his face quickly softened seeing Belle. Her cheeks stained in tears and usually bright features contorted into one of immense pain. His stomach dropped seeing the patches of red on her white dress. “What—”

“A-Angel—” Belle sobbed, gesturing with her trembling finger to the side.

Something cracked inside his chest hearing the name utter from her lips. All the thoughts in his mind emptied to a blank slate except for that one face. The one face that always made him happy when he looked at her. Taehyung pushed off his throne almost making it stumble back while Jungkook was already sprinting towards Belle as they rushed to the palace gardens. Dread filling his gut as he questioned where the blood was from.

The garden was empty for the first time. Not its usual bright state. No rainbows or children laughing, even the trees branches didn’t face upwards while the leaves kept falling like the rain in the center world. Taehyungs’ heart raced against his ribcages watching Belle run towards the tree. Her favourite peach blossom tree now almost emptied with its flowers. All of them withered on the ground.

Jungkook walked in front of him, pausing in his tracks as they reached the tree before meeting his gaze. Not a single smirk in sight. Hazel eyes turned deep and murky as he tried to hide the view from him while Belle quietly sobbed behind him. “Tae, don’t.”

Taehyung tightened his jaw. “I need to see.”

“No—” He lightly groaned as the God slammed his shoulder against his to push past him.

He wished. He wished so badly to have Jungkook blocking his view again. The cracking in his chest now completely shattered as he saw her beautiful baby blue dress ripped with deep cuts, blood staining the colour to a horrid dirty violet. Bruises on her down her arm, the golden band around her ring finger stained with a reddish tinge. And her face. If he could ignore the purpling marks on her cheek and the cut on her lip, it could almost look like she was sleeping soundly. Even the flowers in her hair lost all its’ colour and vibrance, withered and lifeless.

Knees losing all its power, Taehyung dropped on the ground next to her shrugging off his cloak and draping over her body. Tears burned at his eyes, his body losing all of its usual composure. All he could do was brush away the hair on her face with his trembling fingers and cup her cooling cheek. Gently he sniffled, lifting her up a little so he could rest on his lap. Just like he rested on hers only a day ago.

How could something end so quickly? In a flick of a finger, his whole world could come crashing down before it lays still on his weak arms.

A quick gust of wind passed through the group and dread filled him to the brim.

“Brother…” Namjoon’s deep voice echoed through the darkening garden. Footsteps crunched against the dried leaves and withered flowers until he stood next to Taehyung, gripping the love of his life with all he could.

The King of the Underworld never visited every single death but when he felt this one…he knew he had to be here. Though a part of him wasn’t prepared to see his younger brother in a state of complete and utter vulnerability, tears trailing down his pained face as he hugged his stilled wife in his arms.

He hesitated for a moment but eventually softened, reaching his hand out and brushing through Taehyung’s hair as a form of comfort. His own silver locks covering his eyes to hide how deeply he could feel her loss. “I’m sorry.”

“Do—” Taehyung let out a trembling sigh, fresh tears at the brim of his eyes. “Do you know who did it?”

Belle shook her head, wincing as another feeling pooled in her gut. Pure guilt. “I just l-left for a w-while…she—was h-hungry…” She wrapped her arms around herself tightly almost curling up into the ball as her shoulder shook with her sobs.

“We’ll find out.” Jungkook’s tone rung dark and furious as he padded closer to Belle, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“Taehyung…God’s souls work differently from humans.” Namjoon attempted to explain in the most gentle way possible. “I can keep her safe for now but she will inevitably—”

“Disappear…I know.” Taehyung swallowed down the lump in his throat, stifling the sob that tried to pass through him again. “I know.”

Namjoon sighed in slight defeat, wishing there were some way to console his brother but no consolation could bring his love back. Death was a battle everyone lost. “I’ll make a garden for her.” It was the only thing he could think of. Perhaps knowing her soul would rest in her favourite place could bring some comfort.

Taehyung nodded even though his grasp didn’t falter as if some desperate part of him wanted to keep her here and hope hard enough that she would wake up. I didn’t even say anything to her today. He closed his eyes freely letting more tears roll down as Namjoon moved to hook his arms under Angels’ neck and knees, lifting her up from the ground.

Another cool gust of wind and the God found his arms empty save for a few red splotches on his arm. Taehyung curled them into fists, tight as his nails dug into his skin and the blood seeped through his fingers.

“Taehyung…” Jungkook called in a tender voice for the first time.

“Leave me. Both of you.” His head was lowered, raven fringe covering his reddened eyes as he stared at his hands. The blood of his love staining his skin reminding him that this was his doing. His stupidity. Someone came in here to hurt her. Darkness was going to befall your kingdom. Tempus was right and he ignored it. Your fault. This is all your fault.

Jungkook let out a defeated sigh, holding onto both of Belle’s shoulders and gently leading her out of the autumnal gardens. It was not right leaving Taehyung with his thoughts but arguing with him would be just as troubling. With a heavy heart they disappeared back into the palace while the Great Protector now sat under his wife’s favourite tree with her blood on his hands.

Your fault. All your fault. Taehyung wanted to say it out loud. He tried. When he did, the only thing that came out were screams. Shrieks of agony, breaking his throat and tightening his chest, palms pressed against the earth begging for the Nature Mother to bring her back. He imagined golden bride blossoms growing around him with his love being born again. Bring her back! Bring her back! I’ll do better!

Nothing happened. The garden still mourned in its autumn. Taehyung was all alone.

Centuries passed since his heart emptied. Mindlessly pacing around the throne room with no one entering with their complaints anymore. They were too frightened. Too frightened to see their fool of a King cut them down where they stood if their complaints were far too menial.

Heavens were still waiting for a new God of Time after the last one’s body was thrown into the Underworld fires. One should be reborn instantly but no one had ever destroyed the over-looker of Time itself so early in their life. Perhaps there was a new Tempus somewhere but they were too afraid of Taehyung to step forward.

He didn’t care though. He just kept pacing around the room ignoring Jimin’s gaze following him wherever his feet moved him. Calves ached terribly but Taehyung kept moving. Moving so his mind could be occupied. Moving so the thoughts don’t come rushing in. Moving so he doesn’t stop to remember her smile again.

Jimin tried to take a breath to say something that could soothe his beloved King but all his words died on his tongue. Everyone had to be so careful around Taehyung nowadays to ensure they didn’t strike a nerve. And his nerves were far too vulnerable even after all these years.

The double doors thud open and a tinge of anxiety rushed through his belly. Every time he heard that door, he saw Belle crying. Pointing him to his worst nightmare.

Gulping down, Taehyung flickered his gaze over to the visitors. Much to his concern, he found Belle with Jungkook following close behind almost like a bodyguard. “What do you want?”

“She’s just here to help.” Jungkook spoke in a hardened voice.

So he was a bodyguard.

“Why would I need her help?” Taehyung seethed, shooting a glare at the Goddess. He could notice the gloominess in her aura even though her features were as bright as ever.

The curse of never having the same adverse effects as humans. No one could ever tell where Gods were having a terrible time.

“Careful.” Jungkook warned, irises fading to an angry amber as he narrowed his gaze.

“Or what?” The King stepped forward almost bumping into Belle. “If she had just stayed at the garden a little longer instead of fleeting about her own stupid business—”

“Taehyung…” Jimin tried to get him back to his senses with a calm voice but it already tugged at Jungkook’s last nerve.

The younger god pounced at the Ruler with a grunt, grabbing onto his collars while Belle was pushed aside. God of Indulgence swung a fist across the Great Protectors’ face. “It’s not her fault! You fucking fool!” Jungkook’s growls boomed across the halls, reminding them that he was almost Ruler as well if Taehyung were not equally persistent.

Jimin noticed Belle immediately sobbing as she curled into herself, struggling to breathe deeply.

“I found her!” Belle cried out. Her heartbreaking voice echoing in the room and reverberating in Taehyung’s ears.

Both gods paused in their actions looking over at the saddened Goddess. Taehyung’s grip on Jungkook immediately loosening as he looked at Belle with widened eyes and parted lips. “You—w-where?”

Belle sniffled and joined her shaky hands together. When she spread them apart, an orb formed, floating in between her palms. Through the orb they could see luscious green mountains covered almost entirely with mist, blurring into a house, old design almost a little imperfect but full of healthy gardens. “She lives in the mountains and runs a farm.”

Jungkook finally let go of Taehyung giving him a soft glare before walking over next to Belle.

Taehyung watched the vision of present day in the small orb as it moved from the gardens to a pair of feet walking down some green patches. Behind the legs was a tawny puppy and a lamb bouncing as they followed. His heart raced so fast against his ribcage, he was almost surprised it was still there.

It jumped to his throat when Belle showed her face.

He let out a weak chuckle, tears glimmering in his eyes, watching Angel crouch down near the patch and grab some leaves from the patch with a small smile on her face. “I-It’s her.” Taehyung reached his hand out a little almost as if he could touch her but he quickly retracted a little, hovering his palms over the vision of her face.

“It is. Except her memories are not fully intact. Reincarnated Gods get extremely fuzzy memory and usually don’t know where they came from. They will generally say they’re an orphan who only remembers living alone all their life.” Belle explained even though her voice was a little meek and exhausted.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she needs to get her memories back and bond to you. That’s the only she can reach her full form and return to the Heavens.” She shook her head slowly. “Otherwise she’ll have to stay like this forever.”

Taehyung finally took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, trying to understand Belle’s words before nodding. “Alright.” Soft eyes looked over at the young Goddess and his stomach dropped. “I’m sorry…she was your friend too.” He attempted a smile. “Thank you for finding her.”

“It’s okay.” Belle smiled so beautifully even though her eyes were still glazed with tears. “Just bring her home.” She gently closed her hands again to dissipate the orb.

He had the urge to reach out but he put his hands back to himself before anyone could notice. “You’ll take care of the Heavens for me?” Taehyung’s gaze flickered up to Jimin ignoring Jungkook’s light scoff.

“You really don’t trust me that much?” Jungkook seethed before Belle touched his arm.

“Jimin will take care of matters in the throne room while you keep an eye on the center world.” She spoke to the God softly although most of them knew it didn’t take much for Jungkook to be swayed by the Goddess.

Jungkook sighed in slight defeat. “Alright.”

“With all my heart, Master.” Jimin bowed until his head could reach his toes before moving up to give him a faint smile. “The Heavens will be in safe hands.”

“An Ingar running the Heavens…talk about darkness befalling your kingdom.” Jungkook mumbled in annoyance.

Belle pressed on the God’s chest to gently guide him out of the throne room. “I think it’s time to go.” She quickly looked over her shoulder. “Make sure to be gentle on her, don’t try to drop everything in one day. She’s asked for help on the farm in the nearby villages so start there.”

Taehyung let every word burrow into his mind before Jungkook and Belle disappeared out of the throne room. He wasn’t going to ruin this again. Never again. “You’re going to be okay?” He smiled at Jimin.

Jimin giggled nervously before nodding. “I’ll try my best, Master. Good luck.” His expression as he saw the Great Protector take a breath and vanish down to the center world.

Once the throne room was empty, his smile disappeared and a darkness fell over his usually glimmering eyes. Breathing heavy and a little rapid as he stomped over to the table filled with an array of ambrosia. A blood-curdling scream vibrating in his throat, arms swept across the surface. Glass shattered on the ground pricking at his skin but it didn’t hurt him nearly as much as seeing his beloved Master run back to the Goddess who never deserved him.

He heard the doors open again, heart pounding against his ribcages expecting Jungkook but thankfully Hoseok’s head peeked through. Jimin sighed deeply leaning against the edge of the table. “He’s gone to get her back.”

Hoseok, another Ingar, carefully padded into the throne room eyeing the glass splinters on Jimin’s forearm and rushing over to him. “Shouldn’t that be good news? Why—why are you so angry?” He tried to reach out for the injuries but Jimin walked away from him towards the throne.

“That wasn’t the plan, Hoseok!” Jimin growled, wincing as tears burned in his eyes. “He—he was supposed to forget about her…I waited…I waited so fucking long for him to forget.” Shaky fingers curled up into tight fists as he allowed the pain from his splinters to sting from remnants of alcohol. “I worked so hard to be the best for him. To do what was best for him and he just—” He waved his hand harshly. “—runs away without even thinking about me.”

“She’s his wife.” Hoseok tilted his head in confusion. “Of course, he’ll go get her if he knew his love was alive and waiting for him.” A ghost of a smile graced his lips, admiring how dedicated Taehyung had been all these centuries when he could have taken any Goddess or God under his arm.

“She’s not his love!” Jimin cried beyond his throat’s capability, making it ache and crackle. “He’s supposed to be here…with me.” He whispered. “I worked so hard.”

Hoseok examined the Ingar with a hesitant expression, worried what he was finding in the way Jimin held himself and the words spewing from his mouth. “Jimin…what do you mean when say you worked so hard?” He took a step forward when he really wanted to exit the room completely. “You mean you just helped him, right? Nothing else?”

“I loved him. I still love him.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Jimin’s reddened, teary eyes flickered to meet the older Ingars’ gaze. Pain may have spread across his look but there was something behind it that Hoseok wished he didn’t find. “I did what was best for him.” He muttered, nodding to himself. Convincing his conscious that his actions were for the good of his Master. “Taehyung doesn’t know what’s good for him yet.” He smiled softly except there was no brightness in his eyes. “He’ll know soon.”

Village of Sericum adorned the finest collection of silk and the most luscious crops known across the country side. Most of them were supplied by a mysterious farmer hiding out in the mountains. For some odd reason, her harvests were always the most full and fresh. Her fruits were the juiciest, flowers were the most vibrant and her vegetables were absolutely delicious. At least that was all Taehyung got from asking the villagers.

Angel had created somewhat of a reputation but apparently for the most part, she stayed right up in her simple home in the mountains by her lonesome. A few farmers were surprised to see such a young farmer have so much knowledge and experience on nature. Taehyung couldn’t help but smile. Even centuries later in a new form, Angel stuck to the place she loved most, surrounded by nature and animals while blossoms scented the air.

One of the farmers was kind enough to let Taehyung ride on his cart up to the mountains after he stated his business. The mystery farmer needed someone to give her a hand around the farm for a few weeks while harvests were getting really busy.

Up the mountains they rode until they reached the beautiful light wooden gates that led into Angel’s home. His heart hammered so hard in his chest, Taehyung was worried he might faint out of his nervousness. What if her human form didn’t like him? When she was born as a Goddess, they were fated to be together. Even though their love was genuine, it was already written to be in the future. Now it was different. There was no Tempus to tell him that this was the right thing or the wrong to do. It was just him deep diving into a chapter of his life where he was weakened of his powers and blind with love.

Giving his thanks to the farmer, Taehyung padded towards the wooden gates few higher than him and almost impossible to climb over it which made sense considering she was alone here with no security. The air brushed sharp and cold around him as mist slowly thickened on the mountain range creating a calm, eerie atmosphere.

Finally he knocked on the wooden gate as loud as he could to ensure the sound echoed.

Pitter patter of footsteps sounded on the other side causing a jolt in Taehyung’s belly. A smile spread across his face when he heard her voice.

“Back, Solar.” Angel murmured which earned a whine for something much smaller.

Then the door opened with a light creak revealing her. Auburn hair braided back, purple coat over her with she held two sticks with broken sharp ends.

“Oh—I-I come in peace.” Taehyung raised his hands up in defense.

Angel looked at him in confusion before looking down at the sticks and gasping lightly. “Sorry.” She chuckled, dropping them to the side. “Can I help you?”

“I—uh—” A light smile stretched on his lips as he tried to swallowed the lump in his throat. It was so tempting to just embrace her after so long, hold her and apologize. Tell her to come back home so they could be together again. Fate wanted to play cruel games though. To pay for his own mistakes. “Sorry, I was here for the—the help you wanted.”

“Help—oh!” Angel chuckled. “Of course, come in.” She opened the door a little further keeping a leg in front of the tiny, tawny puppy so it didn’t escape. “Don’t mind Solar, he gets a little excited.”

Taehyung wondered why she had to warn him before the tiny animal sprinted between his legs, circling around one of them and barking as loud as he could muster. Even though it merely sounded like a squeak. He couldn’t help but laugh at how excited the creature looked as they were led through another wooden gate possibly made for extra security.

Once inside the yard, his eyes were graced with vibrance and the fresh scent of flowers. Roses amongst others bordering the yard with trees adorning mangos, lemons and apples. Pineapple and pumpkin patches as they led up to the beautifully imperfect house.

“I’ll get you some snacks and some water.” Angel chirped joyfully, prancing so she could stand in front of him. “And uh—” She scratched her head lightly. “Could you…grab the mangoes for me?” A shy chuckle emitted under her breath pointing at the incredibly ripe mangoes hanging from the very top of the tree. “I broke the stick trying to get it.”

“Of course.” Anything you want. Taehyung cleared his throat gently before looking up at the ripe mangoes again.

Angel turned on her heel remembering to get some of the fresh picked cherries for him as well before the realization hit her. “Oh!” She quickly tuned around again. “What’s your name?”

There was light twinge in his chest hearing that extremely familiar voice ask him the question. But he pushed it aside smiling faintly at the beauty. “Taehyung.”

“Taehyung.” She repeated in a soft tone and a gorgeously bright smile. “I’m Angel.” For a few moments, the girl played with her fingers shyly as if wanting to say more before turning back on her heel again and walking to the house.

Centuries passed since his heart was emptied. Centuries. But it only took a few seconds of seeing her smile and hearing her voice for him to fall deeply in love with her again.

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#taehyung #thebtswritersclub #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #taehyung fanfiction #god taehyung #bts god au #god and goddesses au #god au #taehyung god au #tw: smut #tw: violence

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boosmidnighthour · 5 months

Text

Here's a little drabble that I haven't gotten back to in a while. I made it back in September and don't really know how to finish it or lead up to the moment I've written to.

Working Title: After The Cut

Fandom: Total Drama, Total Drama 2023

Bowie's missing from the party celebrating Priya's success. Raj goes to find him.

He found him.

Sitting alone on a rock, watching the waves lap at the sand, there was Bowie. Raj walked over, frowning to himself once he saw how tight the other's posture was, how pale his knuckles were from the grip he had on his hands.

"Bowie?"

The lanky teen nearly fell off his rock, seeming entirely startled. Even with only knowing him for the summer, Raj knew that this behavior was entirely un-Bowie-like. He hadn't gotten this trapped in his head, at least from what he had seen from watching and re-watching the last few episodes.

"Raj- what're you doing here?" Bowie started immediately after collecting himself, looking at him with a quirked eyebrow. Then his eyes darted around him, and his brow curved in, more concerned. "Where's Wayne? Did something happen at the party?"

"No." Raj sat down on the rock next to him. "Well, nothing serious. Wayne just got tired and overwhelmed and went to one of the cabins to sleep. Head's messin' with him, ya'know?" After all, they were still recovering from the cassowary attack and falling from the side of a cliff. "I just came to see where you went, since I noticed you weren't with anyone else." He looked out over the lake. "... What're you doing here, anyway? You tired, too?"

His question was met with silence, and when Raj looked back to Bowie's face, his expression seemed conflicted. "Not… exactly," he started hesitantly. It looked as if he was trying to rip some sort of explanation from the depths of his heart through his throat, mouth open one moment and then his lips sealed tightly the next. He continued on like that for a moment, getting frustrated each time his mouth opened and nothing came out.

"You don't have to tell me. We can just talk about something else," the hockey player quickly interjected.

Bowie groaned, putting his head in his hands, palms digging into his eyes. "I want to be honest- you deserve that much- but it's just… ugh! Why can't I spit it out?!"

Raj blinked as he started piecing things together. He looked back to the light of the campfire and the smoke billowing, the faint cheering from the ongoing celebration just barely reaching them over the gentle sound of the waves. Then he looked at Bowie, remembering all he had endured today.

"Is it about the finale?"

"Yes."

"... It's not your fault you didn't win-"

"Yes, it is!" Bowie started, looking at Raj incredulously, almost offended. It startled the hockey player. "It most certainly is! If I had just… just kept those stupid goats in line, ran faster, kept my stomach as steely as ever, pushed myself harder, I could have done it! I would be a millionaire right now- I was so close!" He curled in on himself, the last word hissing through his teeth as he did.

Raj watched as his back trembled with how tightly he had himself wound. He frowned, worry spiking as he bit his lip, not knowing what he should do or say. But it didn't matter. Bowie looked back up, a rage filling his normally warm brown eyes.

"I worked so hard to get there, and I placed second. Second!" He scoffed, teeth grit so tight, Raj thought they'd break. "I can't believe I suffered through disgusting kitchen slop for nearly a month, just to get this treatment- I was so close!" He said louder this time.

□◇□◇□◇□

If you have suggestions, don't hesitate to comment.

#total drama #total drama reboot #rajbow #td bowie #td raj #my wips

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peachyxin · 9 months

Text

to spend my tomorrows with you

ao3 link • 886 words

pairing: Vashwood

tags: angst, hurt no comfort, grief/mourning, coping, dead Nicholas D. Wolfwood, drabble

cw: major character death, Trigun manga spoilers

summary

Vash copes with Wolfwood's death, while the latter reaches for faith in the void of the underworld. A pseudo-katabasis and the dream of a falling star.

---

01. six feet under

Vash sits stone-still on the couch, in a daze. He toys with the weight of the Punisher and traces its contours with the pads of his fingers. The cool metal counterbalances the phantom memory of warm hands held and cherished deep beneath his skin. It still doesn’t hit him that Wolfwood is gone. There’s no way he can be. He imagines how Wolfwood would hold the gun; he remembers the cheeky grin that would accompany the confirmatory glance that they shared before charging head-first into battle. He imagines that the warmth that lingers on its handle is real and not just a desperate manifestation of his denial.

No tears fall as he buries him. Shovels full of dirt hit the casket with dull thuds. Repeat, and repeat. Soon, the ground is level, and he is truly gone. No tears, but his whole world falls. In the depths of the night, left alone with his own suffocating thoughts, Vash sobs. He sobs, the force of his anguish sending tremors through his entire being as he clutches Wolfwood’s smoke-infused blazer to his chest so hard his knuckles turn white. I love you . Vash realizes this, belatedly, in the surreal trance of his grief, and the thought shears his heart open and raw, allowing the fears stowed carefully inside to rear their ugly heads, entangled in the depths of his psyche. The ghost of cigarettes may as well be of incense, prayer, and holy reverence. He’s convinced burying the only person so dear to him — the only one who saw him for more than his cheery facade, the only one who could ever pull him out of his head whenever he floated too far — damns him to a life of perdition.

He brings the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. He coughs, sputters, then collects himself and tries again. One more. The poison seeping into his lungs is his punishment and repentance, the temporary antidote for his guilt and self-loathing. He imagines how Wolfwood’s cigarettes dangled effortlessly between his lips. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that Wolfwood exists instead of him. That he survives, instead of him. Again, again, and again, he invites the smoke into his lungs, willing it to cloud the despair within, convincing himself that the wound is not severe. He wonders if Wolfwood would laugh at him, at how pathetic he is now, destroying his body to quench his searing, parching, and utterly destroying thirst for a memory long past, that can never be relived, not in this lifetime or the next. (He imagines Wolfwood laughing. The lengths he would go just to hear him laugh again.)

---

02. fallen angel’s ode to the sun

A sinner doesn’t deserve heaven. I turn the other way, not bothering to find out if cruel destiny deems me fit to enter; I am but a pawn in its eternal game. I fight against the tide of apparitions clambering to be first at the pearly gates. The blood staining my skin cannot be so easily cleansed. I descend the steps into the dark, cold labyrinth that marks the beginning of the underworld.

I was in love with the sun, once. He burned — breaking down and recreating endlessly, selflessly radiating warmth through the destruction of his own being. In my hubris, I convinced myself that I could best Icarus. I thought I was doing quite well.

The sun was my salvation. In his light, I believed that I had escaped the sinner’s path, that I could be reformed, born anew, and be cleansed of my wretched past. Well, that’s why I ended up here, anyway, but I wanted to believe. I still do. I have to.

But, back then, just as my fingertips were about to brush something holy, I was hurled into the unforgiving abyss of the cold sea. It wasn’t supposed to end that way. I hadn't intended to fly far in the first place. All I wanted was to have more, to be closer, to spend all my tomorrows steeped in the sacred rays of his ever-burning light.

I would burn for him a million times, over ten thousand different lifetimes, just to be his priest, his prophet, and his anchor in each one. He was so bright that I could hardly see him, and at times my unenlightened mind even found him foolish, but all that did was make me want to chase even harder, addicted to the thrill of flames licking at my fingertips, just out of reach.

As I descend, an invisible force holds me back. The selfish will of a star. Even in death, I cannot escape his self-imposed martyrdom, the pure deeds that only underline the extent of my defilement.

“Wolfwood?” an echoing and distant voice says. It’s almost a whisper, barely audible, trembling and unsteady. I wouldn’t have caught it if it weren’t for the aching familiarity in its timbre, melancholy disguised by jovial grace. I turn around. I have to believe, but I cannot.

My star burns as brightly as ever, but the farther I run, the more obscure his trembling mirage becomes.

⋆

Vash awakes with a start. The faint traces of the fading dream elude his reaching fingers. The star falls, cradled by a single tear, its outline reflecting the flickering oil lamp’s last exhalation, returning to the void of infinite nothing.

#trigun fanfiction #vashwood #vashwood fanfiction #vashwood fic #trigun maximum #trigun maximum fanart #couch scene #writing #hurt no comfort #vashwood angst #trigun spoilers #finding out wolfwood dies destroyed me I cried every morning over this for a week #thanks twitter for the lovely spoilers I haven't even finished trimax yet but I know probably like 45% of the plot

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capricious-bastard13 · 1 year

Text

ZoSan drabble that’s been ruminating in my mind ever since OOR dropped “Let me Let you go”.

To start off, it has that Chapter 1032 (Ion remember if it’s 1032 or not) vibes in it.

====================================

The curl to Sanji’s eyebrow changed, so noticeably-unnoticeable.

A tremor to his fingers, his arms; his whole body that he can’t seem to forcibly stop. No amount of trying to calm his heart rate down is helping him. His chest aches with a weight that he can’t seem to remove. His veins throbbing for attention.

And in the depths of his mind sits a looming fog. Creeping steadily, silently--a predator to its prey. Hidden amongst the horizon.

His next inhale is shaky, broken and stuttering. His lips tremble. Queen is done for; down for the count and doesn’t seem like he’ll be standing back up again anytime soon.

Wandering down the battered halls, his knees wobbling and weak. He doesn’t want to admit it--can’t grapple with the reality of it. Doesn’t even want to think of it, knowing that with just a simple small passing thought, it would come into existence. There’s dread pushing down on his chest that it makes it harder for him to breathe. A numbing weight settling on his shoulders.

This is what he didn’t want to happen. What he didn’t, ever, want to see come into fruition. A shiver runs down his spine.

Water is leaking from somewhere, a puddle among the debris. The person who looks back at him is unrecognizable. He doesn’t know who is staring up at him, if it’s even still him.

Sanji, the chef--the cook of the Straw Hat Pirates.

In a small town with a spanning ocean blues and endless skies, of cheerful, heart-warming laughter creeps a fog so thick one can’t see through it. It chokes the people in the city, makes them beg for air, to please, let me breathe.

Sanji claws at his throat, tears unbiddenly springing to his eyes, streaming down his face.

He’s drowning. He’s drowning and he can see it happen.

“Has anyone seen Sanji?” Chopper asks, his voice breaking, clutching at a roll of gauze, running around, head swivelling left and right. Franky lifts up a large patch of the broken floor, wooden flooring with concrete ground crumbling. Robin casually crosses her arms and closes her eyes.

Nami and Usopp are calling out to him, Jinbei is helping Franky lift up large pieces of debris, thinking Sanji might have gotten trapped underneath.

Luffy and Zoro are lain down, battered and bruised, their clothes if not tattered then bloodied and ruined. Parts of their bodies wrapped in bandages.

Sanji is the only one missing.

The others help out, calling, yelling out his name.

Somewhere, in that island, the fog has crept in, dark and heavy. So thick one could barely see through it. Barely could breathe.

Sanji feels his limbs moving, his feet walking down broken terrain casually.

He can see, he can hear, yet it doesn't feel like it's him.

Someone else.

Zoro slips away when Chopper comes back after frantically running around in a panic, shocking him because he never went too far away from his and Luffy’s bodies, only really ran around in a wide circle among the debris.

Usopp says something about a spirit abducting their swordsman because what if he was closer to death than we thought!? Which only made Chopper spiral into frenzied, distressed mess, sniffling as he hurries to tend to their captain’s wounds.

This time, Zoro’s name is called out amongst the call for Sanji’s.

Through the haze and cold fog, the people stumble and fall. Scrapping both knees and palms of their hands with each tumble.

The fog has grown thicker, cloying to the senses, grasping at sight and hearing and taste and smell.

When Sanji blinks, he finds himself in an entirely new place. Wooden floor boards raised and broken with splinters scattered about. Heavy concrete and steel pipe, pieces of the broken roof, puddles of water and scorches of fire.

He feels a presence join him. Somewhere far yet within reach.

It stands, an imposing figure. Coiled tight.

Through motions not entirely his own, Sanji feels the empty numb of his limbs moving faster, his legs running, his feet on fire.

His heel meets something cold, colder than his fiery limbs and flaming heat, he can feel it cut through a millimetre of his shoe.

There’s a laugh, there’s a grin, and Sanji knows the sound it isn’t him.

His head is underwater.

His eyes are stinging.

His throat is clogged.

Kill me.

Zoro stands battered and bruised, on his knees with his sword piercing through whatever’s left of the ground, panting as pain lances at his side, the bandages covering his body dotted with blood. His hands are losing their grip on Wado’s hilt.

Blue eyes stare at him, a halo of gold beneath him.

I trust you.

For a split second, the eyes looking up at him isn’t who he’s sailed with. Isn’t the priss he’s come to know of.

This isn’t him.

Yet it hurts more than the injuries he has.

But he comes back, those blue, so blue, eyes flicker like it’s fighting somewhere he can’t see. And that, right there, is his cook. He knows.

A bloody gloved hand reaches up, tugging the sleeve of his coat, it’s feeble and so unlike the man he knows yet it’s strong.

The fog stops moving, suddenly it recedes, too quickly it gives him whiplash.

And the island is revealed once again.

The ocean surrounding them shines and twinkles from the sun.

The water clear yet deep. Fish of very variety swim, some in a school, some as a pod, some by their lonesome.

It is mesmerizing and beautiful.

Somewhere, someone calls out to him.

Sanji.

And he smiles.

#My Writing #Zosan #One Piece #Zoro #Sanji #Based on that chapter where Sanji goes all I want you put me down when something happens #I need you to promise me #Or something #drabble #Been in my drafts since August lmao #Spotify

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krethes · 1 year

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Autumnal Drafts Clearing: Part 2

Because "fuck-it, finish it fall" doesn't sound as classy.

While I work on Much Larger Things, I'll be sharing bits and pieces of things I've written for drabble tags and workshops in some discord servers. ❤️

From the HP Fanfic Writers' Guild workshop with the challenge: metaphor & pataphor

Definition taken from the workshop: A pataphor is an extreme form of metaphor in which the writer stretches an image to the point that it becomes absurd or surreal. This is typically accomplished by continuing to use the imagery from the initial metaphor without reference: you remove the reader’s grounding in reality. You build metaphors within the metaphor.

Grief, on loop, so many gone, has turned his heart to ice: crystalized, dark, impenetrable. He becomes frigid indifference with glacial reactions, and the cold seeps into his bones, into his very magical core. He is permafrost, and no amount of thaw or carving platitudes can break through the surface of the frozen lake of his mind.

Until her.

When she dies, he splinters.

Spiderweb fractures break him asunder and plunge him into the gelid waters below, down, down into the volcanic depths where he simmers, where the anguish boils him into a frothing, foaming rage. This grief, too much, has turned his heart to fire: scorching, volatile, destructive.

He is ravenous. Like the firestorm, he consumes everything in his path towards vengeance and knows he will only stop when there is nothing left, or he's run out of air. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

Written as Remus reacting to Lily's death, but it's purposely left ambiguous.

#autumnal drafts clearing #remus lupin #lily evans #lunarflower #mostly platonic soulmates #cw: death #cw: grie #drabbles #my fics #pataphor

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brightfancies · 2 months

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Unrequested drabble. Ft. Andromeda and Bellatrix.

“En guarde!”

The young, French fencing master shouts and Andromeda steps intuitively into the position - feet wide apart and arm stretched out with the sabre on her right hand.

Her older sister’s black eyes are locked into hers - wild and tempestuous as ever. Bellatrix looked beautiful and terrifying, and it only spurred her stomach to twist. The witch drags in a breath, and attempts to slow down her own heart, white knuckles gripping to the hilt of her weapon. Narcissa’s words a drumbeat against her ears, in her head, in her sleep and her awake --

“YOU NEARLY KILLED ME!”

How could she?

Bella is the first to attack, fast and full of impetus and Andromeda retreats, deflecting the blade and thrusting forward, hitting her on the side of her jacket with a cutting swish of her sword.

“Point to Andromeda.”

She cants her head, and blue eyes staring into her sister’s endless night. How could she? Andromeda cannot comprehend - cannot fully understand how her sister is standing here when she should be on her knees, begging for forgiveness from their youngest sibling. How could she keep thrusting forward, her blade swinging with dexterity and anger -- a fury she can empathize with so well. If Andy was in her shoes, she would also be drowning in hurt and hatred for herself. It is a tornado of emotions she can read in the depth of her black gaze and the loose, wild curls falling against her face. She may be ashamed, repentant even, but she is still here -- doing absolutely nothing about it.

“Fuck,” she says, feeling a sharp cut to her hand and taking a step back. Bella’s blade had hit her, lightly, not enough to actually damage and this angered the Slytherin even more.

“Language, Andromeda! Point to Bellatrix.”

“A little slow, sister?” Bella says, that annoyingly mocking playful tune to her words.

“Distracted, sister?” Andy replies, a tilt to hear head, “I know you can do more damage than this.”

In any other scenario, her words would be a sharp but lighthearted remark, a taunt between two fencers practicing. But her voice lacks any humor, short and laced with a tangible electricity.

I know, she wanted to tell her. Scream at her!

Of course, Andromeda wasn’t meant to know. It was only by pure luck that she passed by Narcissa’s bedchamber on her way to the gardens. Their house of dolls, asphyxiating as always, had never felt like a sanctuary to the girl. But even less so now, when at every corner she was faced with the demons of her own doing.

A boy whose dark eyes follow her with such pain and longing and anger, a mother who does nothing but try to fit her into her pretty laced box, a father who is more of a ghost than the spirits residing in the corridors, and her sisters -- Bella with her infinite need for approval and grandeur, avoidant and seemingly oblivious to the very fact that their own sister at the brink of her goddamn death. And Cissy, who carried that weight in silence, hiding so well behind her tactically manufactured mask of poise and perfection. Andromeda ached for them all -- longed for an earthquake to shake the ancient columns to their home, shatter the windows and break the pretty porcelain and let them all breathe.

The storm she hoped for, however, was not this - never this.

“I trusted you.”

Cissy’s unmistakable voice snapped her from her thoughts, inches away from her doorstep. An arched eyebrow, Andy walks slowly back -- hidden in the shadows of the corner as she tries to guess who could possibly be with her sister.

"You weren't supposed to be there! "

Her heart stops. Bella.

“Go again. En guarde!”

The master shouts and their waltz begins again, but this time Andromeda attacks first. Launching into a quick and sharp lounge, and thrusting the blade into her sister’s shoulder before she could react.

Point to her. And she’s angrier. Good, Andromeda could do with some anger.

“Slow and distracted, not a great combination Bella. ” She taunts her, taking off her mask and Bella does the same.

Her raven locks are nearly feral, as is her glare - and still there’s that way her mouth moves, Andy finds it curious; as if she is swallowing shards, as if she's about to say something, with glazed eyes and rosy cheeks. She cannot imagine she doesn’t look like a mirror to her older sister- tresses fall from her braid, framing her face, falling against her eyes and warmth glows on her face. They’d been at this for longer than expected, but neither had faltered, neither had stopped, adrenaline rushing through their royal veins.

“Again!” Her sister screams, her jaw locked and her breaths exacerbated, falling out of tempo.

Here they go. Maskless.

Andromeda steps into position and Bella attacks well before the master can give his signal. Andy ignores his loud complains, blocking and deflecting her sister’s sharp blade, stepping around her fast and twirling as she launches forward. Blade against blade, slicing fast through the air, the whooshing sound followed only by each of their grunts and shallow breaths. But the witch avoids every thrust, every effort with the grace of a dancer and the footwork of a fighter, and she makes it a point to make it noticeable to her -- Andromeda was gonna win their match.

“Cissy, that is enough! “

“YOU NEARLY KILLED ME!”

It was Bella.

It was never Rabastan.

It was never anyone else.

There was no investigation to be had. No enemy to be found.

Her very own sister had attacked their own blood in the hight of the night. And Cissy knew, all this time she knew. And Bella - she had just stood there, cold and detached like one of the bloody statues adorning their home!

How could she live with herself - under the same roof as Narcissa and do nothing about it?

The scraping sound of steel cuts through the silence of the four walls around them as the round tip to her sister’s sabre breaks - falling with a thud into the wooden floor, leaving a sharp edge at its end. And it’s Bella’s window to thrust forward and attack. They both know it. As they both know Andy could deflect it, if she wanted to. But she doesn’t -- not anymore.

Andromeda drops the tilt and lets her blade fall to the side. Bella's sword a sliver away from her left ribs.

“Do it.” Andromeda demands, taking a step forward - feeling the sting of the pointy end itching into her corset.

“Give it up.” Bella orders, low and threatening like an animal in captivity.

“Do it!” She bites back, and takes another step, letting the sharpness tear into the protective cloth.

“Ladies!” The master yells, but they both ignore him. Bella’s eyes follow the length of her arm and the sword she holds firm against her sister, before her black eyes meet the storm in her own.

“You did it once, why can’t you do it again?”

“How do you --”

“So you did.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“You didn’t? Then why did you do it?”

“You have no fucking idea--”

“What!?” Andromeda is exhausted of being told she doesn’t understand, and takes another step. A sting against her skin, crimson staining the expensive fabric. Bella’s arm wavers, in the slightest, before regaining its rigid position. She may not be moving forward, but Andromeda was not yielding either. Desperation dawns on Bella’s eyes, as Andy continues. “Tell me, Bella! Just say it!”

“Andromeda, please --”

“No! Tell me. Say it. Goddamnit, Bella - own it! Own what you did to our sister!”

Andromeda steps forward once more, drawing droplets of blood and it’s more than enough -- Bella pulls back her sword and lets it tumble hard against floor, following along. Her sister's statuesque body shakes, of tears or fury, Andy is not quite sure. But she notices now they are alone - the frenchman long gone, left to the echoes of her sister’s rugged breaths and her own in the room.

“Bella,” she says, a soft, painful whisper. Her blue gaze graces over her sister’s silhouette and Andromeda can’t stop the tearing of her very own heart. Fragmented pieces of their sisterhood scattered on the polished wooden floor.

She kneels down before her, and takes her sister’s hand her own - making the older witch flinch and glare up with bloodshot black eyes. Fury, yes. Pain, too. Shame even -- and maybe, just maybe, regret. Her thumb caresses her knuckles, canting her head as her untamed braid falls against her shoulder, her free hand moving to tilt the witch’s chin up to tilt her head tall, and high, as she often was.

“You’re losing her.” She whispers, furrow eyebrows marking her pretty face. “It is your choice whether that is for now, or forever.”

#&. supernova / general #&. supernova / ask meme

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hwajin · 2 years

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i fr need to stop obsessing over wanting my fics and DRABBLES to have any deeper message and have to finally befriend the fact that my favourite thing about writing is the artistry and making words sound pretty and that this alone can make a good fic or drabble as well without having a crazy plot or much depth

#like not saying i'm good at making words sound pretty yet but i'm working on it 💪🏼💪🏼#like i personally love fics that read like an art piece if that makes sense THAT'S what i wanna achieve #but i keep obsessing over the meaning in my DRABBLESSSS LIKE THEY'RE DRABBLES FOR A REASON #and if the only depth of this drabble is heart break or falling out of love then so be it #idk what i'm brabbling but i feel like this like every other week and am on the brink of abonding all my current works cuz of lack of plot #like who gives a damn tbh i'm doing this for free anyways #not everything needs to be deep does it #shut up kathy

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bluemingcore · 2 years

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> nightmare

> diluc x reader drabble

> fluff, comforting diluc after he haves a nightmare

roaring flames, bright orange and red, the sizzling and crackling of heat, illuminating everything, making his cheeks warm and sweaty. where is he? why is he here? the heat is unbearable. much too fierce, even for a pyro vision holder. but he looks down at his hands, covered in crimson blood and his eyes widen.

"y/n?" diluc’s voice cracks like the snapping fire. you’re in his arms, heavily wounded, covered in blood. whose blood, he isn’t sure but diluc is focused on the object in your hands. faintly glowing, he recognizes the all too familiar Delusion.

"diluc," you say weakly, eyes opening slowly to take in his countenance. "i’m glad you’re safe."

"y/n.. what happened?" he breathes shakily but he’s too scared to know the answer.

your fingers tighten around the Delusion, a small smile on your face. "i know you told me it’s too dangerous to use, but i had to save you." you reach a hand out to caress his cheek, as an unknowing tear falls across his usually stoic features. in all your years with him, you never thought you’d see him shed tears.

"why?" is all diluc could muster. why save him? why sacrifice yourself? why you?

"it’s because i love you, silly. why else?" you smile at him and he breaks.

"please…" diluc’s teardrops splatter on your cheeks as your eyes close. "please, no…" he’s whimpering, trembling and sobbing as you still in his arms. the one person who brought light into his life, reignited a flame in his heart that he thought was out forever, the one person who understood who he was, and loved him for everything he went through… gone. by the same device that took the life of his father. by the same hands of that damned fatui. past the stretching flames, in the depths of the blaze, diluc howls, loud enough for all of dawn winery to hear, loud enough for all of mondstadt, loud enough for celestial to hear his agony.

diluc wakes up with a start, sweat beading down his forehead and back, his cheeks feel oddly wet.

"diluc, are you okay?"

he looks to the voice, to see you basking in the light of the moon. no wounds, no blood, a worried look on your face. his heart is still racing when you sit on the edge of the bed beside him. a cool hand rests on his forehead.

"you look shaken up. did you have a nightmare?"

diluc doesn’t say anything, he takes one look at you and engulfs you in a warm hug. you’re taken aback but you wrap your arms around him, stroking his soft hair.

"hey, it’s okay," you coo soothingly.

"please," he chokes out, "don’t go." his voice is so small, so delicate like it could break any moment.

"i’m not going anywhere, diluc. i’m right here, with you. forever and always." you feel tears smear on your shoulder and you could only hug him tighter. "do you need water or anything?"

diluc shakes his head. "just stay here with me, like this. please."

"anything for you, my love."

so you stay like that for a little longer, stroking his hair and quietly humming.

diluc takes in your scent, the shape of your body, your warmth, the way you feel against him. his tears dry up, comforted by you being real, breathing and there with him. "i love you," he mumbles.

"hm? what was that?~"

diluc nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, blush creeping up his neck as he clears his throat. "i said.. i love you."

"and i love you."

#diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #genshin impact imagines #diluc fluff #mywriting #blueming gi fics

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oneprompt · 3 years

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Hi 💕 I'm so happy to see another op blog 🌻 can I request Zoro falling in love with an uncultured and oblivious reader? I mean like she didn't understand the world much because she's lived in her little island all her life and joined the strawhats. I thought it'd be curious to see a sweet girl taking our marimo's heart 🥺 Ty Ty Ty 💚

authors note : hello ! im more then happy to participate as a new blog <3 and i’d be thrilled to write such a thing ! the idea of reckless and somewhat ‘ mean ‘ characters x oblivious and kind is always very cute , a ton of fun. i just did headcanons + a small drabble , hope that’s okay.

Zoro x Oblivious/Naive! Reader Headcanons

• It was almost annoying how sweet you were, so harmless... at least to the naked eye. The day Zoro saw you in action for the first time was a sight he’d never forget. It was odd, almost. Even when you were fighting, whacking marines down one by one.. you still had that innocent expression on your face. Why were you so nice? And the way you apologized to the men you were beating down was even weirder. It didn’t match the rapid swing of the weapon that stayed in clutch of your hands. What sort of aspiring pirate has manners like that!? Usopp was kind, yes, same with Chopper but you were on a whole new level. It was cute but it also bothered Zoro, to a degree.

• With your background, you were bound to confuse things and make wrong assumptions. Wether the way you reacted to Franky’s appearance in Water Seven, not seeing anything wrong with his lack of clothing, or the way you would try and drink the cups of sake Zoro would forget about, mistaking it for water. It was cute, a lot of the crew found your mishaps and almost childish esque knowledge to be cute, Sanji and Robin especially. Zoro found it to be the cutest thing, he felt his heart squeeze everytime you giggled in embarrassment or turned red as Nami had to educate you on certain things.

• Yet, Zoro did his best to hide his interest in you. What did the worlds best future swordsman need some country bumpkin for? Plus, it’s not like Zoro was a huge romantic in the first place. Alas, it was impossible to keep under wraps. The way you freely clung to your crew members, or even giving them small kisses on their cheeks, that prevented Zoro from being capable of hiding how flustered he’d get.

• At first, he assumed you were some sort of moron, having no problem with being touchy with people. But no! Apparently, it was a regular thing to do in your village, something strictly platonic. Zoro was both relieved but also disappointed. He was relieved due to how close you were with Sanji but he was a tad grumpy that your small pieces of affection didn’t mean anything.

• Zoro would eventually make an attempt to confess or at least suggest such feelings, mainly at the force of Nami and Usopp. He tried numerous times with the help of the pair, only to have you giggle and reply with a care free smile.

• Now, no way you were this stupid! You were twenty for christ’s sake... how could someone of that age, regardless of surroundings be oblivious to a deceleration of love?

• Even if your oblivious nature annoyed him to the core, he would do his best to keep such a clean mind for you. He’d scold Brook if he asked for your panties, and would certainly beat Sanji if he tried anything weird with you.

• The day you actually confess, Zoro won’t believe you. He’ll assume you just mean your heart yearns for him in a platonic way, in the most harsh jab of platonic kinship.

• When you two actually start going out, Zoro is left in crippling debt to the navigator. Nami definitely had to sit you down and explain in depth about how Zoro viewed you, about what he meant everything he said he ‘liked’ you. Zoro is more then grateful to have you as his s/o now but now his pockets ache with severe emptiness.

Zoro x Oblivious/Naive! Reader Oneshot

Zoro had finally finished working out for the evening, his muscles aching with fatigue. He was heading to the Sunny’s garden to fetch some tangerines out of the garden. Fruit was always refreshing, especially after a hard workout.

As he opened the gyms door, he spotted you. Zoro couldn’t help but feel his cheeks prickle with a pink colour, embracing the sight of you watering the flowers you and Robin had grown together. You looked so cute, so joyous. The way your eyes could light up so much over a mere flower bed made no sense to Zoro. Yet, he loved it. He loved the faces you made when you were happy, your round eyes curling upward and shut as you laughed.

Sadly, for Zoro, his moment of admiring you would be cut short by the two biggest perverts on the Sunny. Is there even a moment in the day where they take a break off such a repulsive hobby?

“Y/n-san, can i see your underpants?” Brook asked, as casual as ever. Him and Sanji were oogling at the sight of your legs. The question visibly confused you as you raised your brows, mouth dipping into a small o.

“Why, what for?” You asked, looking up at the two men as you let the watering can rest at your feet. You had often seen Nami beat the two up over this question, and even Robin didn’t hesitate to glare at the two, causing a sudden cold chill to fill the area. Were you not supposed to? There wasn’t a huge deal with clothes, right? Nami always walked around in her bikini tops and Franky only ever wore his speedo.. It was okay, wasn’t it? Was it a representation of eternal friendship, you wondered. If so then why would Nami...-

“It represents a never ending love, Y/n-swan!” Sanji followed Brook’s statement with. He felt guilty for lying to you but was it truly a lie? You were only supposed to show your under clothing to the people you love!

An excited smile replaced your puzzled expression. “Really?” You stood up, “Is that why Franky shows his? Because he loves us?”

Brook and Sanji just nodded with overjoyed looks on their faces. Finally! They had a crew member who would do such a thing for them...

The soft expressions were immediately wiped away at the hands of Zoro. Zoro had kicked Brook’s head square off his shoulders, delivering his elbow to Sanji’s side in one swift move.

“Oi! Leave Y/n outta your perverted crap!” Zoro barked, crossing his arms as he snarled at the blonde and the skeleton. “Ya best leave them alone, unless you want Nami to find out.”

You couldn’t help but feel confused from the complicated scenario that unraveled before your eyes. Why was Zoro so furious? Why would Nami be upset over that, too?

“Thanks, Zoro! I think...” You murmured, unsure what to say. Were you supposed to be angry that he hurt your other friends? Or did he do the right thing...? You had no clue!

Zoro blushed at the sight of you, the way you gave him the most genuine smile a person could muster made his heart jack hammer into his ribs. You really had no clue how you made him feel, did you?

“It’s fine.. it’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you....love, anyway.” Zoro muttered, earning loud gasps from the men that remained on the ground. Yet, all your reaction carried was a bright smile.

“Really? I’m going to go hit Usopp, then! Nami always does!” You beamed proudly, as if picking up on some ‘wonderful’ advice from Zoro.

All Zoro did was sigh. How long would it take until you noticed him, until you noticed what he meant?

What a moron.

#roronoa zoro #one piece #one piece imagines #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro imagines #zoro imagine #fanfic

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taleasnewastime · 2 years

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WHOAA I’m loving all of your requested drabbles so far! Your world building always feels so rich & effortless—even on a miniature scale in these shorter pieces! May I request something to do with infidelity and jungkook 🥲?!

Gah, so sweet, I'm glad you're enjoying them! Thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy.

Another one. As if one wasn’t enough. As if four wasn’t enough. Of course there had to be more.

You hate that you care. Hate that you’re stood out the back, instead of at the shoot currently happening inside.

But why wouldn’t you still be affected, it’s only been a few months, the press still like rabid dogs whenever there’s even a hint of a story. And even a glance at the headlines today is enough to tell you that they’ve hit another jackpot.

A fifth girl – yes, girl, because their young looks could barely class them as women. Five girls he’d slept with while he was married to you. Five girls over the span of three years and you’re only just finding out about the true depths of it now.

You’d glanced down at your phone for a minute in the middle of filming to see the news flash. Your heart had stopped, taken a free fall through you before you pulled yourself together. You only read the headline, it was all you needed to read, it told you everything, before locking your phone and focusing back on the camera angles and acting currently being performed in front of you. But you saw none of it, the picture of your ex-husband with his arm around that girl seared into your mind. It’s like you stared too long at the sun and now you can’t rid yourself of the image.

You stood for as long as you could hold yourself together. What felt like hours was probably mere seconds. You muttered out that you needed the toilet before leaving the room.

It felt like all eyes were on you, like everyone was laughing at you, though you know it’s not true you can’t help but project your self-deprecation.

You needed air. Needed space. Which is why you end up here, staring at the peeling wall contrasting a blue sky, a light breeze on your face.

Tears don’t come, they haven’t for a while now, all cried out moths ago. But it doesn’t stop the despair and helplessness. If you smoked, you’d light one up right about now.

You’re aware of the additional presence appearing. Are aware of them leaning back on the wall next to you, staring at the same boring scene as you. You’re thankful they don’t speak, just a steady presence to let you know you’re not alone.

“Do you ever wish you could run away?” Your voice is thick, it holds all the emotion you haven’t been able to rid of through tears or screams.

“All the time.”

You twist your head to the side, surprised to hear the words. Jungkook just continues to stare forward.

“Then why don’t you?”

He considers the question, watches a bird flutter past before he mimics your action, turning his head so you’re now staring into his eyes. It’s not a surprise that Jungkook is as famous as he is, even if his acting wasn’t as amazing as it was, his looks would be enough to get him onto every magazine cover. Even if he had no skills, there’s no doubt he’d still be famous.

“Because I know that won’t solve my problems. They’ll only follow me.”

You turn away from him, the answer hitting you way harder than it should. You laugh, breathy and holding no humour, an attempt to push away, to distract from all the feelings currently bubbling up in you.

“What sort of problems do you have to run away from anyway?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, you can still feel him staring at you and while you might have found it unnerving at one point, might have felt self-conscious, you find it oddly reassuring in this moment.

There are a few moments of silence, neither of you speaking, only the birds tweeting, before you break it, trying and definitely failing to sound casual.

“Why you here anyway? Don’t you have a scene to film?”

You see him shrug out of the corner of your eye. “Director called a break. Said our award-winning producer needed five so we may as well join her.”

A pang of guilt goes through you. If you hadn’t looked at your phone, if you hadn’t been so affected, if you had just pulled yourself together. You were delaying the production now, adding time onto an already tight schedule.

“Hey,” a gentle touch to your arm, and wide concerned eyes on you. “We all need five. Some of us more than others. A bit of rest will only make us perform better. It’s fine.”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to hide the meaning for your sake, or if he feels awkward calling you out so directly. You know he knows why you’re stood here. You’re well aware that everyone knows why you’re here. Though they might not have seen the latest news, there’s been four others’ just like this one. You feel their concerned, sad eyes following you around every day, you know what they’re always thinking.

“I feel like an idiot,” you admit and watch as Jungkook shakes his head in disagreement. “I was the last to know. He fucked five girls behind my back – no doubt more – and yet even now I’m still the last to know.”

Jungkook’s grip on your arm tightens. “You’re not an idiot –”

“Don’t you dare say he is,” you’ve heard it enough from everyone else, the words they think are comforting anything but.

Jungkook’s lips curl upwards. “I was going to say that no one thinks you’re an idiot and that it’s him they all hate.”

“I’m not so sure,” you say in a breath. “The papers still paint him as an idol, as if he’s done nothing wrong.”

“Because he owns half of them,” Jungkook says flatly. “No one is under any illusion that he isn’t a dick, Y/N.”

You bite your lip to stop your smile, lift an eyebrow at him. “Strong words.”

He laughs, the noise like music, his eyes lighting up. The sun seems to hit him at the perfect angle, and everything seems a little lighter because of it.

“Come on,” he tugs gently on your arm, letting go to step in the direction of the door, stopping to make sure you’re following. “We need our award-winning producer on set or this whole thing might be a complete disaster.”

You roll your eyes as you start to follow. “I doubt that with you in the film.”

You hardly notice the smile that has returned to your lips, but Jungkook doesn’t miss it, it only makes his own grow as you walk side by side back to set.

#jungkook fic #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #drabble game

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wetfeline · 2 years

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THE CORE OF THE EARTH

getou suguru x reader

warnings: angst, implied sex, spoilers for gojo's backstory, specifically chapter 76-77

notes: mb if this is short and has grammar mistakes!! please lmk :) this is just a drabble i thought at 2am

WHERE DID IT ALL GO WRONG?

You think, trying to come up with a solution to help Suguru and stop this whole shit that he thought of doing. (Even though you know nothing will be back to normal, not when he massacred a dozen.) But you can't, not with quivering lips as you look at him with wide eyes, the same ones that used to look at him with such admiration and love and instead replaced with tears, guilt and shock.

But not fear. You would never be afraid of him.

You and Satoru didn't even notice when exactly Getou moved away into the shadows, and you hate yourself for it. You know that even if years pass, guilt will still eat your heart. Because, why did you never notice he was falling behind?

He was gone when Suguru's swallowed curses began to rot inside him. When he massacred the village, his parents and also himself.

"Explain yourself, Suguru."

Getou tilted his head, as if to tell him that what is there to explain. You close your eyes, trying to not let the tears fall as you stand between the two men. Despite that closeness, Suguru felt so far away— like a barrier has been put up between the two of you.

As you watched his back turning around, starting to walk away, you opened your mouth as the dam started to break; "Suguru, why are you leaving so easily? What happend?"

He paused. "You wouldn't understand."

"Then let me understand! Didn't you remember that night when we became one, when I vowed to always help you with your problems?! And when I swore to the Gods above, I would follow you anywhere!"

You still remember when you touched each other's half naked bodies for the first time; calves, shoulders, bellies. He leaned forward and your mouths opened on eachother, Suguru's sweet warmth poured on you. You both absorbed each other's breath, the movements of your lips and the clumsy movements of your hands. The memory of how your bodies once intertwined together like a pair of hands caused you physical pain.

"Don't follow me. I've decided how I want to live, so now I'll do what I can just for the sake of it."

What you didn't know that he was doing all this for you, trying to create a world without non shamans so curses wouldn't be alive, for you two to live peacefully, have a family as you two get married. But he knows it's a unrealistic dream, knowing you probably hate him for doing all this. But he would risk you hating him than you being in danger.

"Suguru.."

But what he didn't know that you would follow him to the depths and end of the earth. It was always him, him and him. Him who you wanted to make a family with, him who you wanted to get married to. You don't agree with what he is saying, but you'd still follow him, just staying by his side.

As you were about to take one step, Satoru does it faster than you, but unlike what you planned to do, he raised his hands, doing a pose you've grown to recognize. Panic filled your eyes, about to push him out of the way but when you noticed he hesitated, you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Kill me if you want. There's a meaning to that."

He both left you there, standing with wide eyes as you both watch him disappear into the crowd of people.

As you and Satoru both sit on the stairs, you feel Ieri and your teachers familiar presence.

"Why did you both not chase after him?" You laugh a humorless chuckle, he by all people should know why. Silence comes, and a tense atmosphere develops. You were uncomfortable about the fact that including your teacher, you guys were only four. And not five.

Satoru stands up, dusting his pants as he gives a grin, but like your chuckle it was empty. He and Yaga goes for a walk, wanting to talk a little bit more.

"Hey, Y/N." Ieri starts and you

hum to confirm you were listening.

"Would you have followed him?

You faintly smile. "In a heart beat."

Ieri Shoko should've told Yaga and Satoru.

A WEEK AFTER THE INCIDENT, NEW REPORTING THAT L/N Y/N, A CLASSMATE OF GOJO SATORU AND THE CURSE USER, GETOU SUGURU, WAS SEEN WITH HIM KILLING ANOTHER VILLAGE IN SIGHT. LIKE LAST TIME, ANALYSIS OF THE REMAINS IS SHOWN THAT THE TWO INDEED ARE THE CULPRIT.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu #kaisen #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru x reader #getou x reader #getou headcanons #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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I have seen a few fanfics with this premise, so now I wanna see your hands drabble with it. AU where everything is the same except nobody knows that Dream is actually the youngest member of the SMP at 14-15 years old. Bonus points, revived Wilbur figures it out and makes some plans for how to use this knowledge to his advantage.

ooh yeah !! this au is one of my favorites - it’s a really interesting examination on the mindset of different characters in the server, plus just fun for just Angst Purposes. this is a little messy but i hope you like it!

tw: abuse, torture mentions, broken bones, branding mentions, trauma, emotional distress, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, mental illness, panic attack, mentioned death, dark portrayals of ,, most of the server, prison arc/pandora’s vault

“Hey. Thought I’d find you here.”

Wilbur turns at the familiar voice at his back, smiling.

“Dream,” he pulls him in to clap him on the back, ignoring the other’s full-body flinch at his movements. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me,” Dream’s words are biting, but he smiles as he says them - a small, bitter thing that stretches over his scarred skin. His new mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing the dark bags beneath his grey-green eyes, the varied scars that fall over the bridge of his nose and under his jaw to trace down his neck below his collar. Wilbur watches him as he walks forward to stand by his side with a small spark of fascination, enhanced further when Dream’s eyes narrow at him. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing- nothing,” Wilbur laughs. “They just really did quite a number on you, huh?”

Dream stiffens, then rolls his eyes. “Well, he did have seventy four days, or so I’ve been told,” he quips back, words dry. “Not that there was any keeping track in that hellhole.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wilbur smiles tightly, amusement coloring his words as the other scowls. “I kep track of my thirteen years quite well.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Dream huffs. “You have a cigarette?”

“I almost feel bad, y’know. You’re kind of underage, man,” Wilbur feels his smile widen when Dream glares up at him, eyes glinting dangerously from behind his eyelashes. “I don’t know if I should.”

“I was younger when you gave me one the first time,” Dream retorts immediately, not bothering to hide his annoyance, sharp-edged and acidic. “And even younger when you drafted child soldiers to fight in a war for your own glory. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Ouch, really know how to hit a man where it hurts, don’t you?” Wilbur mimes pressing a hand to his heart like he’s been shot with one hand, the other fishing through his jacket pocket for his pack. Dream rolls his eyes again, but stretches a hand out for him to press a cigarette and a lighter in his palm.

“Learned from the best,” Dream drawls, going quiet as he focuses on holding the end in the flame and then pulling the lit cigarette to his lips. He chokes, as he always does, on the first drag, sputtering slightly as the smoke seizes in his chest like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and Wilbur watches the little flickering light at the end of the stick in his hand as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Surprised I can stand the sight of these things,” Dream says suddenly, quietly, as Wilbur pulls out one of his own to light. He looks up, meeting Wilbur’s quizzical look with a faraway one of his own. “Quackity was a fan of making me his personal ashtray.”

He reaches up towards his collar, pulling it away slightly to reveal a collection of puckered circular burn scars that dot the skin of his shoulder to trace to the edge of his collarbone. Wilbur hums in vague sympathy and acknowledgement, breathing in a drag of his cigarette slow and smooth and feeling the smoke fill his lungs.

“Guess it didn’t make the cut of torture methods bad enough to become a trigger,” he laughs, sharp, the bitter punctuation of a joke he’d realized would fall flat halfway through speaking and fidgets awkwardly with the cigarette in his hand as he looks off into the distance. “I should make a tierlist. It could be...useful.”

The words are empty - Dream wouldn’t be able to stomach torturing anyone and they both know it; Wilbur cocks his head to the side curiously, deciding to press the point anyway.

“Useful?” He takes a deliberately heavy drag, blowing the smoke out slowly from his lips and watching as Dream flinches away from it. “How so?”

Dream keeps looking stubbornly away, the only indication he’s heard at all being the way his lips press tighter together. Wilbur laughs softly.

“You mean with Big Q, don’t you?” Dream’s hand, which never seemed to stop trembling since he’d left Pandora, starts shaking harder, the smoke rising from the cigarette clutched tightly between his fingers making a jagged pattern in the air. “I won’t judge man! He tortured you for- what, 72 days?”

“74,” Dream’s shoulders rise to his ears, his head pitching forward as his arms wrap around his torso in a futile attempt to hold himself, “74 fucking days, and no one gave a single shit.”

Wilbur hums, encouraging, trying to tamp down his curiosity from making itself too obvious in his voice. Dream had been closed off for as long as Wilbur had known him, his walls only rising more after they’d pulled him out, half-starved, half-dead from the depths of the prison, newly revealed face startling young even deprived of the baby fat that would’ve otherwise lingered in its corners. For the other man to actually say something, to give more clues into his head than his usual one-word answers and bitter sarcasm - Wilbur settles in place, raising his cigarette to his lips once again. This will be interesting.

“I just-” Dream’s voice cracks, and he goes quiet, looking down at the cigarette in his hands like it’ll give him the answers he’s looking for. “I don’t understand. They’re all perfectly fine with throwing me in there and leaving me to rot, with letting Quackity come in every single day to make my life hell, but all of a sudden because I’m fifteen that changes? Because I’m a “child”? Because that makes them feel guilty?”

His grip tightens on his arm, breath seizing in his throat. “It doesn’t change a damn thing and they all know it. All of them were perfectly fine with watching me die, with sticking me in that hell, with letting Quackity- fucking-” his free hand reaches for the long tangles of his hair, the sandy locks peeking out from between his fingers, “He did- everything he could fucking think of, carved words on my goddamn back, broke every fucking bone in my body just because he could, branded his fucking NAME on me I-” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I screamed for them every single day. All seventy-fucking-four and I was still calling their names and-” Wilbur reaches towards him, watches as his head snaps away once again. “It didn’t fucking matter.”

“Dream-”

“None of it mattered. All that matters is that I’m a fucking child, that I’m fifteen fucking years old. Not that they stood by while I died twice with no means of defending myself! Not that they threw me in a fucking torture chamber! All that matters is how old I am and I fucking hate them!” He shouts, voice breaking and dissolving into a choked sob, and Wilbur watches quietly as Dream swallowed back his cries, shoulders shaking silently. “I- I hate them. All of them. At least Quackity still treats me like normal- the rest of them just look at me with this- this stupid pity, I don’t need their pity, I don’t need anything from them, not anymore-”

“Dream. Look at me.” Dream’s head snaps over, fear flashing in the backs of his eyes before it disappears as fast as it came. Wilbur ignores it, shucking off his jacket and draping it carefully over the other’s shoulders. “They’re hypocrites, I know. That’s why we’re doing this, yeah? We’re blowing it all up to kingdom come. You know how it goes.”

Dream meets his eyes, a storm warring briefly over his face before he looks down. “It was never meant to be,” he says, sounding tired, sounding resigned, and Wilbur smiles darkly at the self-same bitterness that shadows the words, recognizing the ashy taste from when they had coated his own tongue.

“Atta boy,” he says, grip firm on the other’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow. You can keep the coat for tonight; it’s getting cold.”

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs, quiet, and they both know it’s about more than just the jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

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cupcakemolotov · 2 years

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Drabble request: something to do with sirens that ignores every bit of canon TVD lore 👀

delightfullysunny: First meeting, Caroline ‘saves’ Klaus, supernatural dealers choice.

Hmm maybe parallel universe shenanigans? Going to somewhere with different powers, or different relationship status? Or I'm always a sucker for more dragons (for either of them!) -- DeaMariella

I ended up combining these three before I really thought to hard about it. Hope you don't mind! It is not super long, but under a cut anyway, to save your dash.

Caroline had once been told that monsters were made, not born. The young sailor had been an earnest, pretty thing. Wide-eyed at the wonders of the world, sincere in his belief that people were good, if you just looked hard enough. That naivety had tasted so sweet as she dragged him into the crushing depths of her world, magic keeping him alive in the cold, icy depths until they descended into the true darkness, until he knew true, unending fear.

No man could easily look at the heart of the oceans, the turbulent crush of the seas.

Monsters were monsters, born or made. They occupied the dark spaces between shadows, existed in the darting shadows just out of reach. Teeth and fangs, magic and song, it all existed in a chaotic tumble of desire and greed, the hunt for power. Good and bad were mortal concepts, held dear by mortal hearts. For the rest, the only law that governed was the hunt. By the boredom that only a creature who had watched the sun rise and fall for millennia could feel.

The cold, sharp press of loneliness, when you lingered alone. The only remnant of a civilization that had once existed, brilliant and scaled and powerful. She could sing entire civilizations into the ocean, could feast on their rotting flesh and the echoing loss of their souls. She could walk on two legs, seduce and beguile even the most stoic of kings, and yet, she could not bring back a single sister to keep her company in the sway of her home.

But here was something new, something different. Something cast aside to be lost, to never be found. Twisting around the sunken cage, the bars glimmering faintly in the dark with magic warnings, she studied the creature that it contained. The skin was sunken along the skull, drawn tight and aged. Male, young. His clothes were gone, eaten away by the endless sway of the salt water, the fabric no match for the hunger of the water. But where his flesh should have been sloughed from bone, torn away by hungry mouths, desperate for the gift that had been given, instead he floated, shriveled and waiting.

No heartbeat. No sign of blood moving in those veins. Yet, every instinct she had told her the man she studied lived, a survivor.

She knew this horror. Klaus the Undying, Wolf and Vampire, born of malignant magic in a desperate war for control among the witches. He had rampaged through his enemies, feasting with sharp teeth and the wild, terrible magic of the earth. It was said he killed his creator for her betrayal, for the breaking of his mortality and the attempt to bind what she had created. That his family had cast him to an undetectable, unbreakable prison to contain what he had created. But like Pandora, the witches had learned that what was unleashed could not be so easily locked away, and the remains of Klaus’ creations, vampires, spread like a disease, hiding and tucked away in the shadows.

They were waiting. For this return, for the breaking of the curse, she did not know. Such horrible, terrible destruction he could unleash, if freed. How sad, that she had no love for witches. Those who had hunted her kind with hooks and magic, who had torn scales and hair from her sisters for power, who had tried to bend the world to their will.

She wondered if he would hate them too.

Reaching out with a curious finger tip, she touched the shimmering bar. Magic bit at her scaled flesh, slid away. In this domain, she ruled. No magic bound of earth and sacrifice could harm her. Lips curling away from sharp teeth, she wound her hand along the bar, and shook.

In front of her, blue eyes shaded to gold opened.

#my fic #klaroline #drabble #fanfiction

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

What if the obey me brothers has a compliant darling? Like one who dosent see the the point in fighting if they're always gonna lose, but makes it oblivious they dont love the boys?

I try to avoid including any more than four characters in one piece, but,,, I may have made an exception, for this drabble. From Lucifer’s perspective, of course, because we love to see an older brother fret over his siblings’ toys.

Title: Observations.

TW: Imprisonment, Implied Physical/Emotional Abuse, Implied Learned Helplessness, and Delusional Mindsets.

Lucifer never claimed to be the most observant of his brothers.

He simply was.

That, unlike many things in his pride-addled mind, was a fact he could prove, something he didn’t have to reassure himself of because he never had a reason to question it. Demons tended in recede inwards with age, sink into their own desires, their own wants, and it made them clumsy, sloppy, indulgent, for lack of a kinder way to put it. Their perception warped, bent, twisted around themselves until all that was left was Mammon’s endless schemes or Beelzebub’s one-track mind or Belphegor’s reckless (often murderous) abandon. Lucifer kept himself sharp, kept himself responsible, for the sake of his family, if nothing else. He kept his eyes open. That might’ve been why he was the first to see your potential, when you first came to the Devildom, why he was the first one to see what a threat you’d be able to pose to his stability. That’s why he was the first to see how easy it’d be to love you, why he kept himself guarded for much, much longer than the others did.

That’s why he was the only one to see how miserable you were, when it turned out it wouldn’t be so effortless for you to love him back.

Them, really, you couldn’t love them. As much as he’d like to think he still had a special place in your mind, if not your heart, he knew it couldn’t be easy to have a demon pursuing you, let alone seven. You’d been uncomfortable with it, at first, rebuffing their more aggressive advances with breathy laughs and enough platonic affection to keep them momentarily appeased, but after discomfort came unease, and after unease came fear, white-hot and panicked and unmaskable, despite your attempts to hide yourself away from the rest of the House of Lamentation whenever you started to crack under the stress.

It’d been a trying time, both as an older brother and one of your many suitors. He’d wanted to send you away. He recognized that you were unhappy, that you could never be happy in the Devildom, that you could never be happy with him, but whenever he found himself at Diavolo’s door ready to plead for your dismissal, his words always seemed to fall short. He’d spent more time than he’d like to admit searching for solutions that’d put you at a distance, but wouldn’t put you out of reach - moving you into Purgatory Hall, turning your room into a well-cursed haven, building a cage in the corner of his room and shoving you inside of it - but plans could be abandoned and goals could be delayed. Part of it was his own selfishness, his own lingering desire to have you despite your hastening deterioration, but it was something more than that, too. Something almost altruistic, if you looked at it in the right light.

He was the oldest. The title came with responsibilities, and while he had an obligation to keep you safe, he had no such dedication to your happiness. His brothers, on the other hand, were owed that. He’d promised them that.

He’d soothed Beelzebub by telling him that you wouldn’t be thrown back into a world as volatile and as dangerous as the one you’d come from, not without him and not for very long.

He’d pledged to Asmodeus that he’d get at least a moment with you, if not more, when he voiced his concerns about who was dominating your time and who deserved to.

He’d swore to Belphegor that it wouldn’t come to that, when he suggested that he could solve your most recent string of poor behavior with a few ‘love taps’, as he’d put it.

He had obligations, and you’d made the mistake of catching too many eyes in too little time. Lucifer could hardly be blamed for doing what you’d forced him to do, when you refused to come along without a struggle.

To your credit, you’d never fought. You were out of your depth, but you hadn’t gone mad. From the second he let himself into your bedroom while you were still desperately trying to bandage Mammon’s latest ‘love bite’ without an extra pair of hands, you’d never raised your voice, never interrupted him, never lashed out. You’d sat in polite, timid silence as he explained, as gently as he could, that you wouldn’t be able to go home - or, you wouldn’t be able to return to your old home, rather. He’d tried to be rational, tried to treat the change like a necessity, but as soon as you started crying those rebellious, frustrating tears, his head was in your lap and he was apologizing, pleading, begging, his thoughts turning ragged and his words turning senseless until you fell silent and he could allow himself to do the same. You were merciful enough not to speak it again, but he never let himself forget. It was proof that you made him weak, evidence that you made him vulnerable.

Confirmation that he couldn’t afford to let you go, even if he wanted to.

It wasn’t like you ever openly defied him, either. Your temper grew short sometimes, sure, and you’d often be dragged into his office by a brother with a complaint about the idle threat you’d made or the ugly name you’d called him, but you never tried to run, never tried to attack, never tried to resist beyond your sharp tongue and the occasional glare. If he’d been as blind as his brothers, he might’ve been able to convince himself you were just being stubborn. That you were just childish, that you were just a brat, but Lucifer doubted he’d ever be arrogant enough to ignore the way you trembled when Leviathan took you by the wait, how you were so quick to glower and shrink into yourself whenever Mammon made a comment about how you were finally coming to your senses. It didn’t help that his room was the closest to yours, and he was so-often tasked with watching over you during the night. If he couldn’t hear you sobbing through the walls, it was only because you were balled up in the corner of his bedroom, spitting sentiments so vile, he wouldn’t be able to repeat them with a clear conscious. It was a privilege, in a way, to be the only one who really knew just how much you loathed him, but the cut ran deeper than the catharsis. He doubted any of the others would be so understanding, if you were so honest with them.

You were miserable. It was so apparent in everything you did, so obvious, he had to wonder how he was the only one who’d noticed. He spent so long in that rut, wasted so much time consumed by guilt, he’d manage to forget he had the nasty habit of selling his brothers short.

They knew. Of course they knew. They’d always known, and they still know, now.

They just don’t care.

Mammon doesn’t care if you glare, not when he doesn’t have to see your face while he’s holding you close.

Leviathan doesn’t care if you writhe and squirm, not when he can easily split his attention between whatever game he’s playing and clinging to you so tightly, you’ll have to sit still if you want to make it through the night without a broken bone.

Satan doesn’t care if you yell, if you scream, if you hate him. You can’t speak with his hand around your throat, and he’s more than happy to show you just how breakable the human body can be, under the right care.

But their poor, poor older brother, always so concerned, always so nervous, even if he thinks he can hide his anxiety under a scowl and a brow so furrowed, even Belphegor is starting to grow sympathetic. They all have their spats, their fights, but you’re so soft and lovable and you’re all theirs, now, whether or not you like it. He just hasn’t had a chance to break you in for himself, yet.

It’d be a shame not to show him how fun it is to play with you, especially when you try to fight back.

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