#where Miles used to know natural warmth bc he used to be human and so he secretly loves to cuddle with Phoenix and Kay | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sitp-recs · 1 year

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hi hello i’ve been compulsively playing hayday for the past 48 hours and am in desperate need of farm / cottagecore drarry, if you’ve read any new ones recently (bc i’ve literally gone through everything on your list you’re actually a godsend) i would appreciate it soooso much if you shared xxxx

Hi anon! That’s the cutest ask I’ve ever received haha I hope you enjoy these farm & cottagecore recs :)

To the Rhythm of the Waves by @tsauergrass (2020, G, 2.7k)

They found a lot of things together: the cottage, the garden, their lives, each other. Then one day, Harry finds a hammock.

Home is Where the Nifflers Are by @primavera-cerezos (2020, G, 4k)

Draco has a soft spot for animals with nowhere to go; soon his and Harry's small flat is bustling with adorable, semi-dangerous creatures.

Country Roads by maraudersaffair (2021, E, 8k)

On his farm, Harry grows magical crops and keeps magical creatures. His Muggle-Repelling and Masking Charms are not doing well and he’s attracting unwanted attention and suspicion from his Muggle neighbours. The Ministry sends Draco to make sure that everything abides to the International Statue of Secrecy.

the treehouse near primrose downs by @softlystarstruck (2022, M, 14k)

Draco and Harry have been roommates for years, so buying a magical house in the countryside shouldn’t be a big difference. But in between fresh loaves of bread and beds of wildflowers, things start to fall into place.

Life Is The Flower (For Which Love Is the Honey) by @bafflinghaze (2016, T, 15k)

The Malfoy Manor lands are lush and verdant. Bees hover over carpets of flowers, and ducks paddle in the pond. It is a place far removed from bustling London and pesky reporters; it is a place where Harry finds what—and who—he didn’t know he was missing.

amid this warm and steady sweetness by warmfoothills (2019, E, 21k)

Harry is not living in a period drama, no matter what his friends or his new house or Malfoy’s sudden affinity for horse-riding might suggest, and if one more person uses the word courting, he’s going to start hexing people.

What Makes a House a Home by @writcraft (2022, E, 27k)

Ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts Draco Malfoy wakes up in an unfamiliar house owned by none other than Harry Potter. Even stranger is the snow in September and a night sky without any stars. Naturally it’s a matter of life and death, because isn’t it always?

On Your Shore by @xanthippe74 (2020, M, 35k)

Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought.

Through the May Air, Over the Ocean by @tsauergrass (2019, T, 45k)

Draco Malfoy never expected to find himself in Scotland or being stuck in a cottage with Potter—but wonders never cease. A story about warmth, a story about falling back in love. A story about a flock of sheep in the distant fells of Scotland.

The Bolthole by aideomai, GallaPlacidia and Tepre (2020, E, 54k)

Harry is a hoarder, Draco is grief-stricken, and both are capable human adults who can definitely spend a month in a cottage in the Cotswolds together without ever talking about the time they slept together in eighth year. Yeah, no, totally.

Sweet Creature by bananagege, bribitribbit (2018, T, 63k)

Harry loves his sheep, his dogs, the tranquil countryside farm he's turned into a home. He doesn't need Draco Malfoy screwing it all up. But, god, what else is he supposed to do about Draco Malfoy sleeping with a lamb in his bed?

The Kitchen Thieves (and the Kitchen Herself) by @potteresque-ire (2018, E, 67k)

In a deserted cottage miles away from Hogsmeade, two young spirits waited for a new owner to call the place home. One day, Auror Harry Potter bought the cottage. One evening, farm wizard Draco Malfoy showed up to spend the night with Harry...and steal a pepper shaker from the kitchen. Maybe Kate can tell you all about them? She’s the spirit who looks after the kitchen, and she’s got quite a bit to say…

all the western stars by @oflights (2022, E, 78k)

Draco is a Seer who has been struck with terrible, uncontrollable visions of the deaths of everyone around him, triggered by touch. He retreats to an Unplottable Black family cottage to research his condition and fix it. Things are going relatively well until Harry Potter shows up at the cottage with a furry condition of his own.

Knead by laughingd0g (2020, E, 83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

Wild, orphaned (2016, E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

#asks #anon #drarry recs #farm & cottagecore #best vibes! 🐮

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cultgambles · 3 years

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Nearly a Blip in Time

I love historical sukuna so here i am. Also i am lowkey so confused at his story. Like i know he was a sorcerer at one point in history but like when did he get all his arms?? BC according to the wiki he was killed and then became a cursed spirit and then his fingers were waxy (lol weird choice of word) ?? anyway, in this, hes not a people hes a monster.

He’s also OOC. first time writing for JJK, but i wanted something soft hehe. Reader bites the dust

Wc: 3033

Masterlist | Requests? open

“[Y/N], you can’t be serious. No way a person of your . . . stature . . . could research in depth about something as big as Ryomen Sukuna. In fact, I’d wager that you wouldn’t even get within 5 feet of his temple,” the local teacher scoffs, disbelief plain as day on his face.

“You wager? What if I do get within 5 feet, then? Will you take me in as your student?” You cross your arms, staring him down. “Do you accept the challenge? I mean, you said it to begin with.”

The scholar throws up a hand, blowing you off. “Fine, whatever. You have half a year to write an in-depth dissection of the demon lord Ryomen Sukuna, and you will report your findings back to me at this very hour once your time is up. I expect perfection.”

“And if I win?” You ask, writing down every word he has said.

“You won’t die.”

“And?” You shoot him an unamused glare.

“And I will take you in as a student. God curse your father for teaching you to read and write.”

“He knew it would be beneficial for me. Now, sign here so you don’t try to cheat your way out of this,” you thrust the wood block and paper attached towards him. The scholar grumbles, almost breaking the ink brush in the process of writing his signature.

You carefully tuck the contract under your arm and scurry off, not before telling him you’d be back.

His laughter echoes around you.

At home, your father was amazed and horrified to learn of this deal, but he knew nothing could stop you. You gave him one last hug for the time being and gathered what little belongings you had in a knapsack.

“Don’t worry, father, I’ll be back before you know it.” His warmth lingers on your person, seeping into your bones. You’ll miss this.

Sukuna’s temple isn’t far from your village, in fact, he was revered as a protector of some sorts. Perhaps one quick to anger and that changed on the dime. It was a couple miles up the mountain where the snow thinned in winter and where the flowers bloomed in the spring. You’ve been to it only a handful of times before, once with your father, and several with the other village ladies. A yearly tradition, you suppose.

The temple is always well kept, the torii gates painted a pristine red, the surrounding area swept and neat, no dust to be seen near the wells or on the floor. Some, like the scholar you had made a wager with, merely believed he was a spirit, a demon of imagination. Others, like you and your mother, really believed in his existence. Before it becomes too late, you decide to scope out the area and set up camp a ways away from the temple so as to not disturb him. You briefly wonder if he was here or away at some other village. Would he be wreaking havoc? or be somewhat kind and spare the folks living there? You decide to set up your small camp under the camouflage and protection of the trees, maybe fifty feet from the river. You’d be much happier to stay at home, but the paths could become treacherous for a young thing like you at night. Maybe a little bit of the great outdoors is what you needed, anyway.

Almost a week passes before you ever have the hint of seeing the demon in the flesh. It’s on one of the days where you bring a small offering. Not much since you can’t exactly go home and cook a nice meal every time, but usually a flower crown or other type of decor.

When you do see him, however, time slows to a crawl. You swear your legs feel like jelly as he glances down at you. Sharp-featured and arrogant, beautiful, all man. He stands tall, towering above you. He has to stoop to reach the depths of the temple from the doorway.

“Well, well,” he croons, “what do we have here?” His four eyes are the color of what flows through each being and his canines sharp as knives. Truly, he’s beautiful, sculpted muscles rippling under inky black tattoos, blazing red eyes.

You bow deeply and straighten your shoulders, gaze still downcast to be respectful. “I just wanted to make this offering to you. I know it’s not much, but I hope you will find it useful.” You raise the small gift above your head, feeling his gaze roll over your body, sharp nails lightly scraping against your skin, grasping the wreath.

“Peculiar,” he says. His thumb and forefinger tilt your head up and you struggle to avert your eyes. “What’s your purpose here, little human?”

“I made a bet with the town scholar. I’ve to write about you and return with my findings so I can become a real student there.”

“A student, eh?”

“Please! I’m fascinated by you,” you plead, feeling his grip on your chin tighten.

“I’m intrigued, if only slightly,” he muses, releasing you harshly enough you’re forced to regain your balance.

You soon learn his ego is massive, that’s probably the only reason he spared you. He’d just love something written about him, wouldn’t he? Ever the gracious god, he lets you stay in one of the temple rooms. You had offered to take one the furthest from his own so he could have plenty of space, but he put you up right across from his instead.

Something about you being near to always capture his persona. Whatever.

Life at the temple is never truly boring. there’s always something going on; whether someone bringing gifts, like an unlucky human sacrifice, or some warriors barging in thinking they could actually harm the demon.

Sukuna likes you watching him tear apart these people limb from limb the best. The first couple times you couldn’t stand it, but it soon became a natural occurrence. Sure, you felt bad for those folks, but they never came truly prepared.

“What’re you writing now, pet?” he asks you one day. You glance up at him. He’s wringing the blood out of one of his sleeves, the blood drip drip dripping to the floor in red rain.

“I’ve noticed you like toying with your prey. If you’re in a good mood, you’ll let them think you have the upper hand,” you tell him.

“And if I’m in a bad mood?”

“Slice them in half!” He nods. His black nails gleam in the sunlight and you watch a pair of arms reach up behind his head as a cushion as the other balances to sit next to you.

“I really like how the trees change color in the autumn,” he says nonchalantly.

“Because they’re the color of blood?” you offer. You draw a small leaf on your paper’s corner.

“Maybe. Their lives are so short, unlike mine. Not that I’ve been a curse for too terribly long.”

You bite your tongue. Is it lonely? bounces around in your head.

“What will I do when my little scholar leaves too?” You flush and stammer that you still have a couple months. Sukuna pauses in thought, then, a sinister smirk gracing his lips.

The more you get to know him, the more you realize that he’s much more bored with life. Killing random people stated his boredom and gave him something to do, it wasn’t until later that he learned to revel in it. The more you got to know him, the more you didn’t want to leave.

He taught you, too. Weird things, usually, but still, useful things. He wasn’t all that good a teacher, but he was patient and expected you to figure shit out on your own. Sometimes he took you down to the market and showed you how to best barter.

And to steal.

Other times, he would sit and watch you cook silently. He always says your cooking wasn’t crap, so you just take it as a compliment.

Six months have passed since you first climbed the mountain. Sukuna finds you in your room packing what little belongings you have.

“That time already?” he muses, leaning against the door. You hum in acknowledgement. “What if they don’t even accept me?”

“Then you’ll return, of course.”

“That’s a nice thought.”

Of course, little did you know, but to Sukuna, that was a command.

He didn’t just watch your figure walk away, no, he followed silently behind, taking in the way you’d stop to study a particularly interesting tree or follow the clouds.

Your village is still the same. Same rickety well, same sunken houses, same sort of dreariness when you left.

You make your way towards the school house, it’s kind of near the back of the village, backed up to the lush forest. “I’ve done it!” you call, standing tall. “Not only have I been within 5 feet of his temple, I’ve been inside. I’ve had actual conversations with the demon Ryomen Sukuna.” You fish out your copious amount of notes and dissertation, shoving it in front of you.

“I’m surprised,” is all the teacher says, “give it here.” You hand him the documents, and he flips through the pages.

“So?”

“So what? For all I know, this could all be made up.”

“What? It’s not! How would I make up his favorite fruit or the way he likes his meat cooked? Papaya and rare, by the way,” you cross your arms.

“Then you should have brought him down with you.”

“You called?” his deep, rumbling voice cuts through the silence.

“S-Sukuna? What are you doing here?”

“I told you, pet, you’d return to me.”

“Sukuna-sama!” the scholar bows. “This is all a misunderstanding, their findings were great! Very convincing!”

“Give them to me.”

“Yes, sir!” he wails, pressing the papers to the other’s chest.

“You didn’t think he would actually keep that bet, did you?” Sukuna asks you.

“Well, I was hopeful!”

“Aw sweet,” he mocks you lightly. “You don’t need to be surrounded by such inferiors. Come now.” It seemed just a snap and somehow the scholar’s head was lobbed off.

You nod dumbly, barely processing what exactly just transpired. Did he kill him? For you? Surely there must be something in it for him.

But the way he holds out one of his four hands for you to grasp sets a fire in your heart. It’s small, no grassland bonfire, but a smolder that you know will become a steady heat.

His hand is rough and calloused while yours only has a few bumps from holding your ink brush so tightly and for so long. Sukuna leads you back to the temple, guiding you back into the room you stayed before.

“Why,” you ask him softly.

He shrugs. “You’re amusing to me. I like the silly words you use.”

“So you like my company?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he chuckles, running a hand over your head.

“Hey! You’re gonna mess up my hair!” you giggle.

“Don’t worry, next time it will be because your head will be atop my bed.” Shameless. Truly shameless. “Just keep writing about me.”

Somewhere in between you returning to the temple and now is when you find yourself tangled in his sheets. Two of his arms wrap securely around your waist and hip, another caressing your cheek. If you’re being completely honest, it seemed as if he adored you. He never coddles you per say, but anything you’d mention off hand, he would remember. An object you wanted, or even that you wanted to take a bath later that day. Sometimes he would even brush out your tangles for you.

You’re surprised by the normality of it all, how he’s gentle with you, unlike others who dare to cross his path.

Waking up together is a part of your daily routine. (Every morning, he gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.) (You trace the patterns of his tattoos lazily.) You’d ask him about you and him sometimes, and he always responds that he’ll always keep his little one happy, that you belong to him. Sometimes, in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s actually being truthful or he’s just passing the time. Maybe the truth is a little bit of both, but you’re happy anyway.

He likes holding you, the two of you sitting by the river in the flowerbeds, watching nature for hours at a time.

Other times, he lets down his walls in the four corners of the temple. Every time he comes home smelling of blood and decay, you drag him to the bathroom and run a hot bath. Your nimble fingers glide through his hair, stopping to pull out leaves and scrub away dirt from his skin. More often than not, he would pull you in with him, your laugh ringing in his ears like bells.

But happiness must come to an end.

Apparently.

It’s a weekday when it happens.

Sorcerers.

They come in doves, feet stomping like drums.

“I guess they’re tired of me wreaking havoc, hmm?” he muses.

“There’s a lot more than usual, are you sure you’ll be alright?” you whisper softly, cupping his cheek.

He holds your hand there, leaning in and closing his eyes. “Who do you think I am? Of course I’ll be fine. You will be too.”

“Okay,” you watch him leave, a familiar aura of danger seeping in like a thick fog.

But it’s not okay.

Someone finds you and they drag you out of the temple by the hair. You’re thrown to the ground harshly.

“What, a little harlot? That demon won’t bother saving you, don’t even look at him. You’re nothing to him,” the sorcerer tells you, pressing a steel toed boot to your throat. You’re gasping for a breath, any.

“Obviously you think I’m worth something since you’re dealing with me,” you struggle to voice.

His nostrils flare, eyes wide. “See you in hell,” he snarls. You’re feeling everything and nothing at once. Surely the wound in your chest as you bleed, but you can’t seem to think of anything good or bad. You’re clutching your wound, sputtering. As if sensing you, miraculously, Sukuna turns in your direction as his fist rips through someone’s chest. Faintly, you hear a roar of anger, and then the screams around you are deafening.

The dozens of sorcerers that tried to defeat Ryomen Sukuna lay at bizzare angles, each in their own pool of blood.

It’s this horrible humorless laugh, his open mouth desperate and hungry like he wants to devour the world in punishment for taking the one true thing he held dear to him. The last piece holding his humanity together. He doesn’t know how you even got out of the temple, that’s definitely not where he left you. You’re staring blankly ahead, but he notices your hand gripping the pendant he gifted you.

Sukuna sighs, kneeling next to you, holding you close to his chest. He doesn’t know what you would have preferred: whether to be buried or cremated, and there’s no point now. Ultimately, Sukuna places you in a bed of flowers. He makes his way back to the temple, stepping around the bodies that litter the floor. Maybe he can threaten some laymen to come clean up the mess.

When he returns to the main room, the first thing he notices is the shelf with all the books you loved. Papers strewn everywhere, pages bent.

Your findings about him on the top shelf are gone.

That’s not something he realizes until much, much, much later when he’s ambushed after terrorizing another village. It’s been years without you, and yet he still feels anger of how you were taken from him. He promised he would protect you, at least, in the sanctum of his own mind, never voicing it to you. And yet, he’s failed.

Your coping mechanisms suck, you’d probably say if you saw him now. But I’ll write it down anyway, and we can cross it out later, if you want.

Like your death, he’s not even sure how the sorcerers managed to defeat him.

His twenty fingers cut up, separated through time and distance. Dormant, for now.

—PRESENT TIME—

“Oi, brat, ask that blindfold asshole what those are.”

“Ask what are what?” his host, Yuuji Itadori quips.

“Over there, on display. The books.”

Yuuji hates to admit it, but he’s curious too. How important are they to be kept here, and in a glass case, no less? Anyway, he hardly ever gets to see cursed objects in the flesh.

“Gojo-sensei! What are those!?” he shouts.

“They’re books, don’t you know what a book is?”

“Okay, yeah, but what’s their use? Like, why are they here?” Yuuji pulls at his hair.

“Hmm, they’re written by a [Y/N]. Long ago, not much information about the author, but the writing is phenomenal. And all about that little curse inside of you,” Gojo smirks, running a finger down Yuuji’s forehead and bopping him on the nose.

“About Sukuna?”

“Pretty mundane stuff, if you ask me. I’ve been told the sorcerers that defeated Sukuna used those texts. Not sure how ‘he hates when food offerings have tomatoes’ was useful, but apparently it was,” he shrugs, looking at his watch. “Ah, would you look at the time, I’ve gotta go! Pressing matters with a special-grade. And the candy shop I want to go to closes in 30!”

“Later, sensei,” Yuuji waves. “You don’t like tomatoes?”--silence-- “What, no response? You’re suddenly shy now?”

Sukuna hears him, and ignores him as per usual.

So, my little scholar’s books were stolen, huh? Here, all this time?

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gender neutral reader #sukuna x y/n #reader insert

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cyoza · 5 years

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adrenaline; part three

Hi all,

I tried to kind of flip the switch on this chapter. I also wanted to explore Kory's 'human' emotions because in the show she doesn't really get to express negative emotions properly. Like, yeah she kills a few people but we can all agree those people had it coming.

(I was also going to change the title bc I wasn't sure it was relevant but idk because I realised the first chapter and second chapter focused on like residual adrenaline from a rush of energy and like lust (more so the second chapter), this one from like anger and I'm going to try and do the last one on like adrenaline based on fear? idk if that's agreeable or not but)

Anyhoo, here we are! I really hope you enjoyed reading it, please give love if you did. thank you!

part one

part two

part four

part five

part six

*******************************************************************************************There was a facsimile of calmness that settled over Dick as he lay back in bed, absentmindedly raking a hand through Kory’s hair as he stared at the ceiling. He’d slipped out of his earlier clothes some time in the last hour, changing into nothing but a pair of grey sweats, his chest bare.

Beneath the peaceful energy he was attempting to emulate, was an undercurrent of tension that he couldn’t quite mask and Kory could sense it. He was stewing and overthinking which she was certain would lead to no good. So, she set out to keep her promise; he was not going to get in his head tonight.

She raised her head from its place on his bicep, turning to face him completely. This sparked his interest causing him to look down at her questioningly before mirroring her. She could do nothing but stare at him in concern, anxiety preventing her from beginning the conversation. She knew this was going to be difficult and she wasn’t sure that she was prepared enough to handle it. But nonetheless, it needed to happen tonight, whilst there was a lull in events and especially when things could get hectic again at any minute.

‘Kory, you’re looking at me like I’m a science experiment.’ He said with a nervous chuckle. ‘What is it?’

‘Sorry, sorry. It’s just -’ She hesitated before fortifying because she had to do this ‘Are you okay?’ She finally asked.

‘What do you mean?’ His incredulity was as frail as the smile that he flashed her. The way he avoided her eyes let her know that she had him.

‘It’s a simple question.’ She noted. ‘You’ve been through a lot tonight. So, I’m asking you - are you okay?’

Dick let out a slightly irritated sigh and turned away from her to sit up. ‘Do we really have to talk about this now?’

‘Well when would you like to talk about it, Dick? When you eventually self combust from keeping all of this in? Or maybe you’ll go on another suicide mission so you don’t ever have to talk about it?’ Her tone was accusatory, unable to keep her frustration at bay. His dismissive attitude starting to rile her.

‘I know what I did was stupid -’ He’d barely finished talking before she cut him off.

‘Stupid?! What you did tonight was ludicrously brainless. You had an entire team of people ready to get you through this and you pull a stunt like that?’

Kory could feel her own anger getting the better of her. She fought to calm herself down, knowing that if she let her anger escalate it would be volatile, especially with Dick’s impetuous nature. And they weren’t going to get where she wanted them to be if they succumbed to their negative emotions.

‘I know, okay, I know! What do you want me to say?’ He barked, throwing his arms up in frustration.

‘I just want you to be honest. Just talk to me, Dick!’ She retorted in exasperation.

‘What is this, Kory? What was this? You get into my bed to get into my head? Get my guard down and I’ll confess my deepest, darkest feelings? Because it wasn’t so successful last time, was it?’ He mocked scornfully, his eyes flashing fiercely.

She was struggling to keep herself in check, a blazing fury boiling through her veins. So, instead, she took a deep breath in an attempt to cool herself because she wasn’t going to let this spiral any further. Not tonight. Not if she could help it. And it was in that instant as she exhaled, that she really looked at him. Looking past her rage and her fear and seeing the pain that he’d deftly hidden. Her anger died with such a suddenness that she knew it was never real to begin with but rather fabricated by both of them to cope. Kory knew that he was doing this to push her away and she’d fed into it, jumping to the easiest available emotion. But tonight she needed to get through to him, so she needed to buckle up and push through.

She allowed the moment of silence to linger, sitting up and crossing her legs under her. She let out a gentle sigh as she leaned over to place her hand on Dick’s cheek, swiping her thumb over his cheekbone.

‘I’m sorry. I truly am. I didn’t mean to blow up. But we’re not angry with each other, Dick. Most of all, you’re not angry with me. And you’re right. On some level, I knew that using physical intimacy would open you up a little. Or at least, give you an avenue to release all this negativity you’ve pent up. But you need to do more than that. You felt a myriad of emotions tonight that no person should ever have to feel. You need to let yourself process them. You can’t keep repressing things and hoping that they won’t come out later. They will. And in order to do that, you need to let yourself be vulnerable. And I know you can. You’ve shown me tonight that you can. You’ve been open and trusting and I know it’s not the same but you need to try, okay? You need to give people access to more than just your body.’

Kory felt his jaw clench under her fingers, her own chest growing tight when a glimmer of liquid developed in Dick’s eye. She said nothing more, just holding him there as she waited for him. He eventually dropped his gaze to the comforter and took a deep, steadying breath.

‘I didn’t ever tell you how my parents died, did I?’ He asked. There was a slight tremble in his voice.

Kory responded by a plain shake of her head. She’d known they had suffered in a terrible accident but could never bring herself to inquire about it; not willing to reopen any wounds that he wasn’t ready to return to.

‘Um, I was a kid. My parents and I - we were part of Haley’s Circus, on the trapeze. We called ourselves the Flying Graysons. And we were good - really good.’ He let out a soft chuckle, a bittersweet smile framing his face. However, it didn’t last long, dropping moments later as his eyes hardened.

‘We were doing a show one night. Everything was going great, business as usual, you know? We were supposed to do this one move, where I would swing back and, um, I would catch my mom and bring her forward. We’d done it countless times before so it should’ve been easy. So I swung back, like I was supposed to but all I caught was air. And I-I heard this snap.’ Dick’s face was vacant, a million miles from there, lost in his memories.

‘I can still remember exactly what it sounded like. It was like tunnel vision but for your hearing, I don’t know if I heard anything else but it’s all I remember. I didn’t register at first you know? I saw her fall but I - I didn’t - I-’ He stammered, voice tight with unshed tears.

Kory lifted her other hand to his face so that she cupped it in her hands, hoping that it would give him a sense of comfort. She found herself battling her own tears the longer she listened to him, making a valiant effort to blink them back so as to not discourage him.

‘Anyway, turns out it was meant for me.’ He breathed a laugh, absent of any humour. ‘I heard something I shouldn’t have and I needed to be neutralised, I guess. But they got the trapezes confused, because here I am, not them. He looked at her then, eyes rimmed red and glistening. ‘It was my fault. If I had just been more careful and minded my business, if I hadn’t been such a moron, nothing would have ever happened and we wouldn’t be here. Jason wouldn’t be where he is. Rose wouldn’t be where she is. Everyone would be better off.’

Kory acted on instinct, flinging her arms around him in an embrace. ‘I’m sorry, Dick. I am so, so sorry.’ She cried, pulling him even tighter.

He reflexively reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder in a futile attempt to hide his tears whilst seeking comfort in her warmth. Dick felt a rush of solace, basking in her benevolence, even more so when she placed a tender kiss on his temple before pressing her lips on the outer shell of his ear.

‘You listen to me, Dick Grayson. What you did today was unbelievably foolish, arguably the silliest thing you’ve ever done. Even still, it was brave and courageous and was filled with every bit of strength your parents left you with. They would be proud of you, Dick. Never doubt that. Everyone makes mistakes and it’s to be expected; you’re only human. You couldn’t have predicted what Jason was going to do. You couldn’t have anticipated Deathstroke’s reaction to you having Rose, or how Donna, Dawn and Hank were going to deal with it. You are doing the best you can and that is all anyone can ask of you.’ Kory ended her proclamation by pulling back to meet his eye.

He met her gaze with equal intensity, searching for the sincerity he desperately needed to reassure him that she meant what she said. Her stare was unwavering adamant to give it to him.

When he was satisfied that he’d found what he was looking for, he leaned forward to crush his mouth to hers. It was a kiss that spoke volumes. It contained an urgency that held necessity, a softness that embodied adoration, an anguish that encapsulated desperation.

Kory kissed him back knowing they had moved a step further than they had started with that evening.

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bourbonbucky · 6 years

Text

to the winds (away from the calm eye)

thorki, 3K words, unedited, E rating. posting to tumblr bc i don’t really like it?? but i finished it and i want to put it somewhere? eh, i’m just having one of those days where i don’t like how anything i write comes out.

The night Thor was born a freak tornado wiped out three quarters of his hometown. He was born in a kitchen, the only home untouched in a three mile path of destruction. His home was the last home with power in a fifty mile radius of the storm. He was called a miracle, born of thunder, storm-breaker.

Thor would wail into the silence of the night, only sleeping peacefully if the sky quaked and the rains fell.

○

Priests hailed his birth at the local temple. A sign of prosperity for their future.

Thor’s first memory was walking up to an altar clothed in golden robes. He remembered lightning striking just outside an open window and laughing as everyone around him cowered in fear.

○

Thor never knew the name of his father and by the time he was eight years old his mother had passed from sickness. He stayed in the temple after that, raised by the priests of a dead god. They would whisper at night, desperate prayers even as they knew they wouldn’t be answered. Dead gods could not grant their favor.

Thor was angry. He didn’t know how to be anything but angry.

○

When he was twelve he began learning to fight, and the priests were proud at how natural he was. He grew strong with little training, invigorated by having a way to relieve the rage that had grown in him.

That was the first time he met the transient priest, Loki.

There were many priests that traveled, but very few who honored the dead storm god. This man came in with flowers and herbs, and richer offerings of good meat. The priests knew him, though some seemed fearful.

He kept his distance from the attendants and priests, but Thor couldn’t help walking right up to him during a meal.

The man’s bright eyes turned to him, so green they hardly seemed human. He tilted his head and offered the space on the bench next to him.

“What’s your name, little priest?” He asked.

Thor plopped down easily and began digging into the food he’d gathered. “I’m Thor. You?”

A dark eyebrow arched. “Were you originally named for the dead god, or re-named?”

Thor ate a piece of juicy meat he pilfered from a cook with a weakness for puppy dog eyes. “I’ll tell you if I can know your name.”

A look crossed the man’s face, taken aback for only a moment before it dissolved into a smile. “I’m Loki.”

Thor stopped chewing and stared at him. “Do I know you?”

Loki swallowed roughly, control of his face slipping for just a moment before he wrestled it back. “I’ll tell you if you answer my question.”

Thor gave a lopsided grin. “I was re-named after my mom died, but everyone called me that when I was born anyway. I don’t remember my other name.”

Loki hummed reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “I think the name suits you.”

The priests seating around them were staring openly, but neither he nor Loki paid any mind.

Thor didn’t bother asking his question again. Loki left the next day and that night Thor found a necklace under his pillow.

It was a hammer, intricately carved and heavy. The pendant alone was the size of his hand and the chain it hung on was made of thick gold links. Thor put it on and once he did he couldn’t bring himself to ever take it off.

○

The priests noticed the pendant, but said nothing. Thor found for the first time in his life that he could sleep peacefully on quiet nights as long as he wore it.

He asked the head priest when Loki would return.

○

Thor trained more heavily during the summers and filled in his wide frame as he neared adulthood. He built muscle with work and combat practice. It was an old tradition, but suited him well.

He got stretch marks across his biceps and on his thighs, faint lines of pink that faded to white. They stretched across his skin like lightning.

When a boy his age smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss, Thor thought about the priest who gifted him his necklace.

○

The quiet of his nights ended after six years. Thor dreamt, and nightmares took him. For the first time in so long he woke up screaming. He felt as helpless as a child again.

He prayed to a dead god with his name and felt hollow.

○

Loki found him splitting firewood one afternoon. It had been many years since Loki had come, and Thor was considered an adult by all rights now.

He thought Loki should have looked different. Older. All that changed was that his hair was longer. Now he seemed barely older than Thor, his face smooth and eyes bright.

His eyes fell on the pendant and he smiled. “Hello, Thor.”

“Loki.” Thor lodged his ax into a log and walked up to the priest. “How long will you be here?”

Loki looked off toward the small temple and hummed. “I'm not sure. I've nowhere to be in the next few weeks.”

Thor's face lit up, he couldn't hide his excitement. “Weeks?”

Loki nodded and a small smile curled his lips. “I’m surprised you still remember me.”

Thor touched the pendant that say heavy on his chest. “This stopped my nightmares for a long time. I wanted to say thank you.”

“You have nightmares?” Loki asked, eyes darting back to the pendant at Thor's chest for a moment.

Thor nodded. “Terrible ones. I only sleep well if there's a storm.”

Loki regarded him with a puzzled look. “Tell me about one of your nightmares, I may be able to help.”

Thor took a deep breath and tried to shake the nervousness constricting his throat. “Sure. The first I remember having is… very violent. Just to warn you.”

They moved to the cord of firewood and took seats, Loki at his right side.

“It's alright, Thor, I'd like to hear whichever you’re willing to tell.” Loki's voice was calm and it helped keep Thor even.

“Okay. I have this nightmare that my eye is getting gouged out. They’re also cutting open my belly with a knife, and I can feel it. I can feel them gutting me and ripping my eye out of its socket. I always wake up screaming and crying from that one.” Thor put a hand to his stomach and another to the pendant. “I'd stopped having it when you gave this to me, but it came back a few nights ago.”

Loki only nodded, his eyes steady on Thor's face. “Have you ever left this place?”

Thor shook his head. “I was born here. I'll probably die here.”

A gentle hand grabbed his and Thor looked at where Loki was touching him. His skin was cold as ice and Thor felt soothed after so long under the sun.

He met Loki's eyes and felt a bit unsure of himself as his stomach flipped.

Loki smiled. “You're an adult, are you not? What holds you here?”

Thor opened his mouth, then closed it. The temple existed before he was born and it would exist after. He had no family, no friends to speak of.

Loki took his silence as an answer, it seemed, because he was quickly pulling Thor to his feet. “I can take you anywhere, if you'd like. We can work through your nightmares and make them end.”

Loki's voice was animated, his eyes bright. It was infectious and Thor found himself smiling.

“Can we leave tonight? We'll make offerings to the dead god and leave.” Thor readjusted his hand to hold Loki's, his grip tight.

An end to the nightmares. He couldn’t imagine.

Something flashed in the priest's eyes for just a moment, then he was nodding. “Of course. We shouldn't forget the dead god.”

○

Thor knelt at the old stone altar with Loki at his side and knew that before this moment he'd never known peace.

○

There were traveler’s cabins all through the woods, and Loki found one just big enough for the two of them. The cot was overly small, but Thor had slept on the actual stone floor in the basement of the temple for making trouble as a child, so he could handle it.

The night was quiet, and Thor’s chest felt tight. Loki had given him a tea made from small, red flowers that was fast putting him to sleep.

His eyes slipped shut before he knew, his ears straining to focus on the sounds of Loki moving about.

Darkness came, and nothing more.

○

Loki woke him early in the morning, a steaming mug in his hands. Thor sat up with a slight wobble and accepted it with a grin and a quiet thanks.

They sat side by side on the cot, stealing warmth in the unheated cabin. Late summer was fading quickly, the fall approaching too fast for Thor’s liking. Winter didn’t have the right kind of storms to keep his mind quiet.

Though, with Loki, maybe it wouldn’t matter.

○

Fire consumed his skin, eating away at him. He fought through it, stronger than all of them. Then the moon fell out of the sky and Thor felt his heart stop. His friend, his dear friend was dying. He could hear screaming in the distance, and explosions. They hadn’t killed the demigod, and they’d wished they had.

Hands grabbed him, yanking him back. Someone screaming his name.

“Thor!” Loki?

Thor spasmed and fell off the cot, his chest heaving and body covered in sweat. He braced himself on his forearms and let his head drop forward as he struggled to breathe.

“That… was a new one.” Thor panted.

Loki grabbed his face and forced his mind to focus. Thor slipped one hand over Loki’s and closed his eyes as he leaned into the touch. Dawn hadn’t come yet, but he knew he wouldn’t get anymore sleep.

“It was a new nightmare?” Loki asked, gently pushing him to sit upright.

Thor nodded. “I saw strange things. I was on fire, fighting someone, and the moon fell out of the sky. I felt like, like I knew him. I was heartbroken and angry, and then I felt someone grabbing me.”

Loki’s mouth dropped open as he spoke, and he took several deep breaths. His hand was shaking.

“Are you alright?” Thor asked.

Loki nodded. “I know where I want to take you, but it will be a long journey on foot. It could take us months to get there.”

Thor swallowed, not overly thrilled about the idea of camping so tired from fighting his sleeping mind. But still, what was a few months if meant an end?

“This place, it can make the nightmares stop? Are you sure?” Thor reached out and grabbed Loki’s hand, drawing idle patterns in his palm.

Loki opened his hand to give Thor more room, his eyes rapt at the motions of Thor’s fingers. “I know it will.”

A small, tired smile pulled at Thor’s lips. “Then I’ll follow you.”

○

Loki showed him how to forage for the valerian that was used to make the sleeping tea, as well other herbs and roots that could be used for anything from cooking to medicine. Some nights, even without the tea, Thor didn’t have nightmares. His dreams were as intense, but filled with much different material.

A blush crept up his cheeks as he watched Loki sharpen a blade, remembering the dream that woke him that morning.

He’d seen Loki on his knees, dressed in gold chains and green silk. Thor’s cock was in his hands and pressed against his lips.

Loki looked at him and smiled and Thor forced himself to look away.

○

They didn’t find another traveler’s cabin by the time the sun was setting, so Loki had them set camp and create a makeshift shelter. The skies were clear, so there was little worry over rain.

Loki curled into his side in the light of the fire and Thor’s mouth went dry.

“You’ve grown into a beautiful man, Thor.” Loki grabbed his hand and brought it up between them, appraising with deft fingers. “Strong, as well.”

Thor turned his hand over so his callouses faced them. “You think?”

Loki laughed softly. “Well, I don’t say it simply to give you an ego.”

He clasped his hand over Loki’s, intertwining their fingers. “I always thought you were beautiful, too.”

“I’m flattered to have made such an impression. You only saw me once when you were a child, after all.” Loki’s thumb pulled away and rubbed against the side of his hand.

Thor hummed, a smile on his lips. “You know, you never answered my question back then.”

Loki made a soft noise in question.

Thor gripped his hand tight. “Do I know you?”

Loki’s thumb stilled, and Thor could hear him swallow. “You do.”

A breath passed between them before Thor spoke again. “Did I know you before you came to the temple when I was a boy?”

Loki turned Thor’s hand around and pressed it to his forehead, his eyes slipping shut. “I’d hoped these questions would wait until we were up the mountain. There’s so little I can explain down here.”

Thor eased his grip. “But you’ll explain?”

Loki nodded against his hand. “In full, I promise you.”

“Do you know the cause of the nightmares, is that why you know how to fix them?” Thor asked.

Again Loki nodded, this time opening his eyes and turning just enough to look at Thor. “If you can wait until we’re up the mountain, I will answer any questions you have. I wish we could do it here, but I lack the resources.”

Thor’s brows furrowed. “You’re not a transient priest?”

Loki smiled and lifted his head. “No, I’m not. But I’m the only one who can help you.”

It wasn’t an answer, not even close, but Thor took it. He remembered the first time he saw Loki sitting in the dining hall removed from everyone. The priests had whispered, fearful and reverent at once. They warned Thor not to get too close, but Thor never would have listened.

Loki’s eyes and face had drawn him in, beckoned him closer and closer. Where the priests kept several paces away, Thor felt compelled to get as close to Loki as possible.

Now, travelling with him, Thor felt the same compulsion like a moth to a porch light.

The sound of Loki’s breath lulled him to sleep.

○

As they neared the base of the mountain sleep was a luxury Thor forgot he ever had. He woke screaming more often than not. In his dreams he was gutted again, but unlike in his childhood, he felt everything. Loki kept his face carefully expressionless, a blank slate devoid of any tell as to what he thought.

Thor was angry all the time, the way he was when he was a child. His only release was hunting, so they ate well.

○

Months slipped by and Thor felt like he was nearing the end of his life. This trip would kill him if the lack of sleep didn’t do the job first.

○

Loki could hike longer than any man Thor had ever met. Even when Thor was close to passing out from exhaustion, Loki didn’t seem phased.

They made quick progress through the forests, but still Thor could barely sleep.

He laid in bed and stared up into the dark canopy of trees. Something was wrong with him. It always had been.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him out of his head. Loki laid down beside him and rubbed his scalp. Thor fell asleep in seconds and slept until the sun woke him.

Loki wasn’t next to him when he woke.

○

“This should be the last hike. We’re almost there.” Loki told him, grabbing his arm to pull him along faster. “Just a couple more miles.”

Thor nodded and ignored the burning in his legs and his lungs.

○

It was a temple. The place Loki had brought him to was an old ruin, ancient looking. Walls were carved into the mountain while others had been built out from it but since fallen. Thor’s mind was silenced on this holy ground. The moon above him seemed brighter, like it was calling to him.

He whipped around but Loki was gone.

“Loki?” Thor called, but received no response.

Thunder filled the air, lightning flickering through the clouds in the distance. Thor took a breath and thought he could almost feel the electricity inside himself. Buzzing, climbing up his spine, threatening to overtake him.

He turned back around, to see if Loki was there, but all he saw was the altar.

Wind pushed at his back, shoving him. Thor frowned and took careful steps to the center of the temple ruin. A raised dais had been carved into the floor. He could see in his mind where chisels would have broken away the stone to create this.

His legs carried him up the worn steps, moving ever forward to a tomb. The lid on top had writing he felt he should know, but couldn’t read. Inscriptions littered the surface of the grey stone, pictures and other carvings telling a story. It was about the dead god. This entire place was dedicated to the dead god. Thor could feel it in his heart the way he could feel it when the priests back home sang their praise.

He pressed his hands to the lid of the tomb and pushed with all the strength in his body. It slid away and fell to the ground, cracking in half from the impact. There was no body to greet him, no bones, no armor even. Just two weapons. A hammer and an ax.

Thor grabbed one in each hand and lifted them. Then his vision whited out and he fell.

Visions filled his mind. Memory, he realized. His memory.

The way the gods split among themselves and began to fight. How he had tried to stop it, tried to keep them united, tried to beat down the shadows of rage that overtook beings he’d known for thousands of years.

Then he lost. They gutted and killed him. Except. Right.

Loki had stolen his weapons, the last remnants of his soul. Thor had thought Loki had betrayed him, but Loki had saved him. Without these weapons he never could have been resurrected.

Thor opened his eyes and found himself on his knees in his own temple, electricity rolling over his skin.

Soft steps approached, and he turned his head to see Loki coming to him.

“Thor?” Loki said, his voice soft and uncertain.

Thor breathed and sent his weapons to their resting place safe in his own power, ready to be summoned again whenever he wanted. His heart beat in the clouds above, the rhythm playing out as rolling thunder. Loki’s eyes widened.

He stood and walked to Loki, wrapping his oldest friend in his arms. “You found me.”

Loki sobbed and clung to him, fingers digging into his reborn flesh. “I’ve searched for seven centuries.”

Thor pressed a kiss to Loki’s jaw, then another to his neck. “Thank you.”

They held each other, safe under the moon, safe in the temple, safe as their lips met and their bodies came together. Thor would never allow himself to be stolen from Loki ever again.

Every god who had betrayed them would know his wrath.

#baylen fic #i feel like this is terrible but i also feel like i'm overreacting #uggghhh why can i like anything i write today #maybe i need to just rest #i probably do #probably also bc i didn't get to relax like at all this weekend #thorki #fanfiction

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gucchwe · 7 years

Text

hansol; nefelibata (jack frost!AU)

moodboard ©

sooo this is the first thing i’ve written in over a year and the reason why is bc i saw this beautiful boy live at kcon and then i saw this jack frost edit and i’ve had the biggest crush on that character for years so naturally this was bound to happen enjoy

nefelibata: a cloud walker; one who lives in the cloud of their own imagination or dreams, or one who does not abide by the precepts of society, literature, or art; an unconventional, unorthodox person.

Do you miss them?

I’m not sure. Can you miss people you don’t remember?

tw: angst

You have always known that Hansol was troubled by his past.

He has never mentioned it, no—he is too proud to admit that kind of weakness even to himself— but you can tell.

You can tell when he insists with a kind of fervent desperation on walking you past the lake by your house “just in case,” and in the rare moments where he catches a glimpse of his own reflection without making a vain comment and you can see him wondering where his features came from. You can tell especially when he is silent and the temperature of your already drafty home drops to outmatch any arctic wind— but most of all, you can tell when he is troubled when the days come where he doesn’t want to use his winter magic at all and he simply just wants to be.

It is not Hansol’s unawareness of who he is as ‘the spirit of winter’ that bothers him, not really; he has spent centuries of his second life learning to use his magic for the amusement of both himself and children around the world. It is who he is beyond the myth and legends proclaiming him ‘Jack Frost’ that he aches to know about.

How do you know? You had pried. You couldn’t picture such an ethereal being as something so mundane as a human. How do you know that you weren’t just… born like this?

I just know, he’d answered, unsure. There was something before. I was something— no, someone before. I had people. A family. I’m sure of it.

Do you miss them?

I’m not sure. Can you miss people you don’t remember?

You hadn’t had an answer back then. Exactly who he was prior to awakening with a devil-may-care attitude and an affinity for all things snow and ice was something lost to both him and you.

In the short time that you have known him, however, you had come to learn that the nature of Hansol’s magical antics, although trouble making, were always rooted in good intentions. You cannot recall how many times you have seen your car snowed in when he wanted you to stay home and have fun instead of going to work. You can vividly remember the incident where your neighbor coincidentally got freezer burn from being stuck to his toilet after snapping at you during one of your bad days. Still, you had never witnessed him use his magic in a destructive manner. Mischievous, maybe, but never wicked.

So when you awake at three in the morning to rather unstable-looking icicles forming on your ceiling in the peak of June, you know that something is very wrong.

As you slip out of bed, you ignore the bitter cold creeping its way past your fuzzy socks and into your bones; precariously making your way down the narrow hallway in fear of slipping on the sheet of ice that had materialized on your carpet. You can hear the ominous whistling of the wind through your thin walls, and the pounding of your heart begins to echo in your ears.

You almost don’t take notice of the blizzard brewing inside your living room as you regard the snow sprite standing in the middle of it all.

Hansol stares out of the rapidly frosting windows, looking but not quite seeing. Unblinking blue eyes are crystalline in their clarity and depth as he searches for something that is barely out of reach and yet miles away. Wisps of silvery white hair whip around his head in the air currents swirling around the room in a violent furor. It’s almost embarrassing how, even in the midst of the mayhem, you are still drawn to his lips— pink petals of a versigny rose, the singular source of warmth you can find in the room. In this moment, you find yourself thinking that it is in instances like this—where you took the time to just look at him— that you could well and truly lose yourself in the absurdity of his exquisite existence.

However, affording yourself that luxury would mean the loss of your already fragile little house; and not wanting either you or Hansol to have to face the unpleasant prospect of homelessness, you decide to make your way into the eye of the storm to pull him back to you and away from the maelstrom of confusion inside his mind.

By the time that you are able to shuffle your way to him, statuesque in his immobility, the nipping cold has turned into a painful bite. Foregoing the use of your fingers, long chilled into clumsy numbness, you opt to instead slip your arms around his slim waist and press your nose into his back, inhaling the sharp smell of evergreen trees and cinnamon sticks.

Maybe it’s the noise of your chattering teeth that causes it, or perhaps he can feel your shivers through all the commotion; but the moment you make your presence known the chaotic tempest of white whirling through your living room goes still and the world is quiet once more.

“You’re cold.”

The words pierce the silence, tinged with sorrow and misery and so, so much regret; and the sentiment is so powerful that you can feel anguish clawing at you because you do not know how to chase away ghosts that you cannot see.

“I-I-It’s okay,” you manage. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

He releases a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he tries again forlornly, voice cracking with the indeterminate despair of a boy who knows nothing except that he has lost everything.

“I k-know,” you answer, and this time the tremble in your voice is not from your lack of body heat but from the tears in your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#svtcreations #vernon scenarios #vernon fic #vernon one shot #vernon angst #hansol #THIS MADE ME SO SAD WRITING IT #IDK HOW THIS HAPPENED IT STARTED OFF ALL NICE AND THEN I TURNED IT INTO AN ANGSTY BALL OF REGRET

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