#Creepy Water Woes

[leakdetectivechronicles]

The Spooky Saga of Water Leaks in a Horror House 🏚️🌊

👻🕰️ Introduction: A Haunting Leak

Welcome, brave souls, to a bone-chilling tale of terror and plumbing gone awry! In the darkest corners of an old, decrepit horror house, where ghostly apparitions roam freely, we uncover a spine-tingling secret: water leaks that could send shivers down your spine!

💧 Chapter 1: Eerie Drips in the Dead of Night

As the clock strikes midnight, and the moon casts an eerie glow on the horror house, a faint, ghostly dripping sound echoes through the halls. Could it be the restless spirit of a former homeowner causing these chilling leaks? 💀💦

🔍 Chapter 2: Paranormal Plumbing Investigations

Enter Renz Jacobs Lekdetectie, the fearless leak detection experts! Armed with state-of-the-art equipment and nerves of steel, they embark on an otherworldly quest to uncover the source of these ghostly drips. 🔦👨‍🔬

👻 Chapter 3: Ghostly Encounters in the Basement

In the pitch-black basement, Renz Jacobs Lekdetectie's team encounters inexplicable cold spots, flickering lights, and ghostly apparitions. Could these restless souls be trying to communicate the whereabouts of the hidden water leaks? 👻🕳️

🚧 Chapter 4: The Haunting Leak Unveiled

After an eerie night of paranormal plumbing investigations, Renz Jacobs Lekdetectie finally unveils the horrifying truth: a burst pipe in the basement has been causing the supernatural water leaks! 💥🌊

🧙‍♂️ Chapter 5: Battling the Plumbing Poltergeists

But the spine-chilling surprises don't end there! Renz Jacobs Lekdetectie faces a new challenge as they battle plumbing poltergeists attempting to thwart their repair efforts. It's a supernatural showdown like no other! 👻🔧

💡 Chapter 6: Sealing the Otherworldly Leaks

With unwavering determination, Renz Jacobs Lekdetectie uses their expertise to seal the ghostly leaks. It's a suspenseful race against time as they work to banish the water woes that have plagued this horror house for centuries. 🕰️🛠️

🌟 Chapter 7: The Horror House Transformation

As the final bolt is tightened and the last ghostly groan fades away, the horror house undergoes a remarkable transformation. No longer haunted by leaks and plumbing poltergeists, it becomes a beacon of newfound tranquility. 🏚️🌈

🔚 Conclusion: A Tale of Horror Turned Triumph

And so, dear readers, our spine-chilling tale comes to an end. Renz Jacobs Lekdetectie, with their bravery and plumbing prowess, have turned a horror house plagued by water leaks into a sanctuary of peace. 👏👻

But remember, in the world of the paranormal, you never know when another ghostly plumbing predicament may arise. So, until next time, stay vigilant and keep an eye out for those unexpected leaks in the darkest corners of your abode. Happy Halloween! 🎃👻🔦

[ambros1an]

acheron — persephone

warnings: spoilers for Acheron backstory & real name, loosely!! based off hades and persephone myth, gn! reader, implied nihility emanator reader

summary: Acheron, who is tasked with ferrying the dead comes across an unusual guest. A living person.

In hades, “the drowned ask for help, lament with songs, find their happiness, enjoy sweet moments, and suffer great agony.”

In hades, the shadows reach out to grasp her ankles in an effort to free themselves from the river of woe; unaware they have long since departed. Their hands are just wisps of something that once was.

In hades, an end does not exist.

Nonetheless, it is her duty to guide lost souls back to the other side, no matter how pointless the task.

In memories long ago, she encountered few travelers, Frebass, Tiernan, all met their departure within the Nihility.

One drowned beneath the sea, picking apart her bones till she was nothing. The other lingered for years, maybe decades, unaware of his own death.

However, you seemed unaware of your own life.

You stood there looking up at the sin thirsters, your feet planted in the water. The constant rain pouring down, drenching your clothes.

“This is no place for the living,” she said, “you must be cold, follow me.”

Guiding the dead was what she was used to. Her title, Acheron, was a river upon which souls of the deceased were ferried across. But not the living. Not even when she was Mei did she avoid bloodshed.

She shepherded you across the black sea in a run-down boat. It bobbed up and down in the water, the sin thirsters nearly turning it over with their claws. They could sense the living. One sight of the sword had them shrinking away.

She led you to a cave which hadn’t been used in sometime. It was damp, droplets slid down the wall of the cavern. The only warmth came from the fire the hooded figure put together.

“Usually those that come to IX are dead or planning to die. You don’t look like either. What brought you?” Acheron broke the silence.

“Death. I must be dead,” you say. It was as if you woke up after a long period of time. Nothing looked familiar. Nothing, not even your last memories gave any hints.

She shook her head, “I guide those who are departed. Those ‘shadows’ were the dead. You certainly aren’t like them.”

“So, I’m alive?” You look at your hands. They were still flesh, and not shadow.

Acheron nods, “Mmm, for now.”

For now? Your eyes widen at the response. Backing up against the wall, you look for the words to say but your mouth just opens and closes. Is she going to kill you?

She looks over to you, expressionless, she reaches into her cloak and throws out a peach at you. “There’s a storm coming. It’ll be a long one. Not to worry, I will guide you,” and this time I won’t fail.

To consume the fruit of the underworld meant to be binded. To be indebted to Hades.

The peach lands in your hand. “Guide me?”

“To lead you out of here. To take you back to the mortal realm.”

With the peach in your hands, you stare at it. The bleak monochrome world of IX comes back to you. The wispy shadows pooling around your feet. Every step making a splash in its waters. Staying any longer…

You look back to the woman who’s called “Acheron,” who led you to shelter, who created warmth in the form of a flame, who leads the dead to a new life. Although her expression never changed, her words were always sincere.

“I trust you,” you take a bite of the peach, “but first, what’s your name?” You ask in between chews.

“…..Raiden Bosenmori Mei,” she mumbles but her words sound more like a whisper, something that should’ve been left unsaid, “But Acheron is fine.”

The only response that follows is the rain beating against the roof, and the flames licking against wood.

“Hey,” she says, “six months. That’s all I need. Just don’t forget when the six months are up,” Acheron grins, “Persephone.”

@ryeins

a/n: this was so hard bc I didn’t want to make it creepy like the og myth but also not ooc. also readers nihility influences them to lose their sense of self (hence the whole dead thing)! lore

[yuurei20]

Epel Facts Part 39: Epel and Rook (pt1)

Rook and Epel meet for the first time when Epel leaves the dorm after the opening ceremonies but before the welcoming dinner to try and come to terms with his new situation.

(There is a cute parallel where Epel calms a stressed horse, saying, “it was probably having trouble adjusting to a new environment, so it was getting defensive. I’ve learned that with horses like that, you can’t force them to obey.”)

Epel is not impressed with Rook and refuses to go back inside the dorm at his invitation, leading to Rook forcibly dragging him back inside against his will.

Epel is shocked to learn that Rook is the vice-housewarden of Pomefiore.

Not accustomed to certain table manners Epel obliviously drinks the water out of a finger bowl, and Rook saves him from an embarrassing situation by encouraging the other students to interpret it as a joke.

Rook seems to appreciate Epel’s fondness for his hometown, complimenting apple juice with which he is gifted as “refreshing to the extreme.”

We also see Rook stepping in between Epel and Vil on Epel’s behalf, encouraging Vil to show Epel the power of beauty in a gesture that saves their entire relationship, and later encouraging Vil to not punish him for getting into a fight off campus.

Epel stands up against Rook in Book 6, insisting that he must have been lying when he complimented their performance at the VDC.

He also insists on following Rook to the Island of Woe (Rook lies about supplying Vil with skincare products, later admitting the truth).

Epel goes so far as to attack Rook with magic as they fly despite how he cannot control his broom and cast spells at the same time, putting himself, Rook and the prefect in danger until Rook acquiesces.

Epel insists he is not going to stand by after people hurt his housewarden and friends and will be following Rook.

Rook apologizes for underestimating Epel and agrees if Epel promises to do exactly as he is told (Epel concedes, but we see him struggle to keep his promise).

After Rook reveals his unique magic Epel comments, “When I think about Rook-san being able to use it, that becomes some mighty scary magic,” in a line that was rewritten on EN to just, “That’s a might scary piece o’ magic,” which is interesting, as Epel calling Rook creepy and a weirdo has been kept on EN.

Rook has a line of, “You think I’m odd? Then clearly you need to learn more about me.”

Epel is amused by the eccentric Rook worrying about retribution from their teachers just like a regular student.

[mrstsung]

Shang tsung character analysis and hcs. Pt1

My shang tsung hcs and character analysis too.

*note this is mk11/95 movie/tagawa's shang tsung with a mix of my own verse.*

Cw:nsfw kontent ahead. Maybe some angst. Mostly hcs and fan rambling. So if you dont wanna sit here and scroll thru me rambling about my fave sorcerer sneky man. Ignore this post. If you do. Welcome to mortal kombat. 💚

🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍

Sfw:

Shang tsung first and foremost you gotta understand is self serving and preserving. So for him to set aside himself for you,IS A BIG THING! He goes out of his way for you,makes YOU a priority,takes time for YOU. THAT IS SPECIAL,DO NOT TAKE THAT FOR GRANTED!

Secondly,if he let's you in close proximity and let's you do certain things. Like make and pour his tea or wine or drink. Or make him food or he goes out the way to make you something. If he let's you dress him or fix or put on his kombat armor. Or especially,comb/brush and style his hair. He takes pride in his appearance. Not out of vanity nessicarly,but out of a sense of personal pride. He is a man who doesn't like to live in squander. Even at his lowest,he hold himself high. He always makes sure he's presentable. Even tossed asunder in the woes of kombat. Bleeding,hair tossled,bruises,etc. He still wipes the blood from his mouth with that grin of knowing. He's ten steps ahead of you. He's got this honey. He's hundreds of years old. He's got this. Dont you worry your pretty little head.

He wouldn't go out of his way nessicarly in the beginning of your relationship at least in public,to hug or give physical affection. He wont deny it either. He'll wholeheartedly accept hugs,especially if he knows(or reads your soul) that,that is one or more of your love languages. Give him time to warm up to you. It's not out of embarrassment,or even pride. It is simply my dear because shang tsung has trust issues. He is a cautious man,he has many enemies. And being with him,may gain you some reputation. Whether that is good or bad depends entirely upon you.

Shang tsung if he had a lover would absolutely be doting,i mean after all. You captured THE MASTER OF SOUL MAGIC. the tournament master of mortal kombat. The shang tsung himself. Great tsungus. Lol. I mean you're doing something right.

He is a devil in love,doting,possessive,not in a creepy way. But in a "your soul and heart belongs to me,in every life i would find you and once again make you mine. And i am yours. We are one,with the infinite cosmos. I AM YOURS AND YOU ARE MINE, FOREVER" he is all or nothing in love. Like he if he didn't see a future or a forever. Or a spouse material from you. He wouldn't even bother pursuing you honey.

Now,how long it takes for him to warm up to you. Depends. Sometimes it's a few years,few months. Maybe even a few minutes. Shang tsung is kinda finicky like that. However....once you've captured his heart. You got it for eternity. He is absolutely a loyal lover. He doesn't take betrayal kindly. So dont break his heart... or he'll break your spine like chen. Jk,jk. Shang tsung would most certainly take it hard,so dont do him dirty ok?

Like i said this man has trust issues,his trust issues have trust issues. He's cautious. He'll test the waters so to speak with you. He'll put you in scenarios to see how you favor. Or he'll say something to see your reaction. Like he pushes buttons,nothing too harsh of course. But just enough to see your standing with him. He NEEDS to know he can rely on you,and that you're the one for him.

Shang tsung is a man of weath and taste. So you're gonna be well taken care of. Nothing is too good for his beloved. Prime sugar daddy material. Srry not srry. However,he is pampering within reason. Also you gotta give that lovin back honey. However,he loves to dress you,style your hair,and absolutely adorn you with the finest he can get his hands on. Not for any other reason than that he enjoys doing that. For you,he'd burn the realms to see you happy and content. For you,your his consort and the only person he'd even consider,an equal.

Shang tsung likes to wine and dine. He wants to enjoy himself,and for you to as well. So expect a nice lavish dinner or a relaxing evening of him reading to you. Perhaps a stroll on his island or palace gardens. His beach is absolutely breathtaking at night under moonlight. He is a romantic,I'll die on that hill (He's basically Chinese Dracula ok?).

Ok shang tsung is absolutely a good conversationalist,he knows exactly what to say,how to say it,and when to say it. He knows how to stim your mind. So if you(like me) looooove you a man who can conversate and knows his way around with words and talk deep and also even if you talk about basically nothing you're still entertained and have a great time. Like shang tsung is the man for you. Like a man who can genuinely stim my mind and heart can have my mew mew anyday. They have my FULL attention. (I have Virgo mars and cancer venus,I'm screwed with this man. Taurus moon and rising,leo sun. Cancer mercury. Yeah.....im doomed. Lol) (Speaking of which i have an astro chart for shang too so if y'all wanna read i posted it. But i can reshare it again if anyone is interested.)

Ok now nsfw kontent below cut.

Ok now for the smut. 😏💖💋🐍💚🥵

Ok shang tsung like i said knows how to talk. So...this extends to the bedroom. This man could coo,purr,and Make anybody's panties drop with his voice alone. Like he could dirty talk or whisper sweet nothings. He could gas you up like no tomorrow.

If you are insecure about your looks,he will absolutely focus on those areas. He will pay extra attention. And he will reassure you that you are absolutely ravishing. He finds every part of you delectable.

For example: if you are shy about your legs. He will stroke up and down them. Paying attention to your reaction. Kissing up and down your thighs. Or if you're insecure about your belly,he'd kiss that area and reassure you that he loves every part of you. He'd reassure you that you have nothing to feel insecure about. You're perfect just as you are. How you're so soft and cute in the lighting of moonlight. The soft glow of you is always such a wonderful sight to see. How your eyes light up. Etc,etc. He's very attentive.

Shang tsung has tounge game. He'd eat you out/go down on you. Like a man in starvation. Like you were the last thing to consume in the whole realms. Also im sorry that man KNOWS HOW TO EAT PUSSY! I WILL DIE ON THAT HILL TOO! (Honestly it's not that hard to suck cock either, But he's good in that department too). Like shang's oral game overall is OUTSTANDING.

Now as for cobra. Hee hee. He's packing,but he's not like exaggerated like some people cartoonishly wanna put. 🙄. Like i hc him flaccid is 6' or 6' and a half inches, But fully erected he's around maybe 7 or 8 depending on if he's masturbated or fucked you in a bit. The longer time has passed the bigger it can look (Talking fromExperience). Like on average shang is 7 approx. So packing,but reasonable. Like people think big dicks are all great,but in reality most people can't take big dicks and aren't able to. 6 or 7 inches is perfectly fine,becausei feel people dont even know how big 7 or 8 or even 9 inches really is,also it's about skill and pacing and lots of foreplay. But anyways,shang tsung is shang hung.

He's also really good with foreplay,he enjoys the leading up to sex more than the sex itself. Not that he doesn't enjoy that. He does. He just loves to tease.

Prt 2 coming soon.

[alicesadventuresinffxiv]

FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #19

Title: The Girl Whose Hand Was Taken

Wordcount: 397

Spoilers through: Stormblood

Alternate Universe: Fairytale

Relationships & Characters: Yotsuyu/Yugiri

Summary: Yugiri encounters a young Yotsuyu, teaches her some cool shinobi moves so she can kill her abusive husband, then runs away with her to Sui-no-Sato.

But like, in the style of a creepy fairytale poem. Or possibly a dark folk ballad.

(So there's still several pivotal TCaFS scenes I want to write... not to mention WoLKrileWeek to consider... but then the concept for this fic hit me like a bolt from the blue and I had to write it!)

.

Once upon a time 

In a land far to the east

There lived a girl whose husband's cruelty

Heaped upon her without cease

.

At nightfall he would beat her

And every day she'd cry

Until there came an evening

Where she wanted naught but to die

.

Her feet carried her unto the rocks

Sable hair tangled in salt breeze

And as she gazed into the depths

A hand around her ankle seized

.

"What brings you here?" sang out a voice

From the waters frothing white

"What need have you, a maiden fair

to throw away your life?"

.

"I am no maiden," said the girl

“Only a wretched thing of hate

My countrymen have spurned me

And I can no longer bear this fate”

.

A single tear the creature shed

At such a tale of woe

And slithered up the stone it did

Horned head bowed humbly low

.

“The surface world is cold indeed

Your pain a mirror to my fears

Yet should they prove unfounded

I bid you welcome among my peers”

.

“Come with me, come with me. 

You will be safe below the sea.”

.

“I'll sweep you 'neath these waters

Pull you away upon the tide

Hide you far beyond the waves

Where you shall be my bride”

.

“But once you’ve glimpsed my homeland

You can never once return

Lest the men who walk these shores

Our secrets duly learn”

.

The girl was sorely tempted

Angst writ loud upon her face

Towards the hills she looked once more

As though bound to some far place

.

“I fear my hand is taken

To leave my husband gravest sin

And even should death claim him

My parents would sell me off again”

.

The creature then fell quiet

Drew out a sharpened silver knife

To break the chains that bound her 

The girl was taught to take a life

.

Furor greeted following morn

For the murder was soon discovered

The husband dead, his wife now fled

A motive not yet uncovered

.

Her parents searched both high and low

Brother was recalled from distant lands

The trail of blood led them to the shore

But not a footprint marred the sands

.

Gone was she, gone was she, 

The girl’s hand taken by the sea

.

So let this be a lesson 

For those wont to ignore the plight

Of women forced to live in shadows

Until they step into the night

[sixminutestoriesblog]

blue men of Minch

The world is full of secret beings tradition has packed into almost every hidden corner and shadow. Wherever man has gone, we've brought our mirror realms and watchers in the dark with us. With scientific advances and steel and smog replacing the green grottoes and deep silences of the woods though, they've faded, slipping away from our consciousness as we filled it with TV sitcoms and internet cats. There's no room in our age of the fears of climate change for capricious elemental beings or for sea monsters over the roar of our whale hunting boats. Our grandmother's grandmother's folklore is far from us.

Most days.

On June 28, 2023, sitting on the sand at Eoropie Beach on the Isle of Lewis, a mother watching her family play in the water felt what she called a premonition.

"I was at the beach with my family and they were jumping in and out of the water – I've never felt uneasy and am in the water a lot, but I kept telling them to get out." [Story by Talker News • Yesterday 12:12 PM]

Everyone knows the capriciousness of the sea and, as the US's own Gulf Coast has recently proved, currents can snatch a person away without any warning. A mother of three children has a right to feel unsettled. It was what she did next that makes this a story.

She took pictures of the waves washing up on the shore.

"I felt uneasy about them being in there. I was taking loads of pictures but it wasn’t until I got home and looked through them that one picture stood out."

The picture in question was this one.

I - honestly see nothing. Or rather, what amazes me about the picture is how empty the beach is. I can't remember the last time I managed to find a beach that wasn't awash with people and it looks to me as if she had this stretch of beach entirely to herself, a mystery all of its own. For some reason though, she looked closer.

Stephanie Cranston thinks she might have caught a blue man of Minch on film.

“The way the sea is in that picture, you can see what looks like a figure coming out of the water.

My hair stood on end, it was pretty creepy – I've never seen anything like it before.

I don’t really believe in any stuff like that but I caught that in the picture and thought this is absolutely crazy.

The Hebrides has got myths about the blue men of the Munch – looking back at the picture it’s quite creepy.

I think if it is what I think it is, it’s the only one that’s ever been caught on camera.”

Let's roll this back a bit for those of us who aren't native enough to the area to know what's going on.

The blue men of Minch are basically storm kelpies. They haunt the waters of the area, looking to drag sailors and sometimes even their ships down to a watery grave in the darkness below the waves. When the weather is clear and the water is calm, the blue men sleep, sometimes drifting up to float on the surface, more often retreating to their underwater caves. When the weather is stormy however they rise to the surface and ride the cresting, wild waves, reveling in the chaos and looking for humans to drown. Woe then to any sailor who finds himself still caught out in the waters away from the safety of the shore. All hope isn't lost however. Sometimes, a clever and quick tongue can get you out of your approaching doom. Legend has it that, like the Mari Lwyd of Wales, the leader of the blue men will challenge a ship's captain to a poetry slam. Two lines a piece and if the captain can not only keep up but get in the last word of the poem, the blue men will let him and his ship go free. If he loses however, they will take their long arms and shake his ship to pieces, dragging anyone onboard to their deaths.

One of the odd things about the blue men is that they stick to a very small section of the coast. The Minch is a strait of water that separates the mainland of Scotland from a series of islands known as the Outer Hebrides or the Western Isles. It's only about 70 miles or 110km in length and can narrow down to as little as 14 miles or 23km across in some places. In the wideness of the world's oceans, that's not much. It's also believed to be the site of the biggest meteorite to ever hit the British Isles. The blue men are said to live here, and only here. Beyond those narrow shores, they're practically unknown.

The blue men are described as - well - blue. Sometimes its their caps that are described as blue and they themselves are grey faced. They skim either just on the surface or just under it when they swim, sometimes rising up as high as their waist in the water as they move like a dolphin, diving like dolphins too. They're human in appearance and size and even though they're described as kelpie I haven't found any references to them changing size or shape, never appearing as anything but regular sized human men in the water. There's no mention of women.

Clever poetry could appease them and like most ocean spirits, they could be bribed into bringing good fishing and weather. A candle lit on the shore at Halloween honored them and ale could be poured out into the wavebreak in the hopes that they would leave seaweed on the shore the village could use for fertilizer. Like most ocean spirits though they were the personification of the sea itself and just as capricious in mood and action.

The origin of the blue men might come from several points back in the island's history. There is speculation that the 'swimming above the water up to their waist' might have started with blue painted or tattooed Picts in low boats speeding along the strait, half hidden by the waves. Another explanation might be the North African slaves the Vikings brought with them when they wintered nearby, with both blue clothed Moors and the 'blue men of the desert' Tuareg people being suggested. Whatever the base of the legend was, it blended well with the idea of dangerous sea spirits along the coast and created the very unique blue men of Minch.

[seawitch62]

A nice leisurely day interrupted by Mannequins.

Guest appearance by the 9th Doctor.

Sci fi horror

Word count 1339

              Autons.

🚹Autons are the living plastic foot-soldiers of a formless entity known as the Nestene Consciousness. Its affinity for and ability to animate plastics has led it to Earth many times, and into conflict with the Doctor.🚺

What an amazing day! Vernon is always a great conversationalist; his extensive knowledge and opinion on many topics keeps the dialogue flowing.  From Sci-fi to  current events he seems to always be aware of, and have an opinion. His driving skills are excellent, no gripping the door handle in anticipation of a crash. Just like a banana smoothie, smooth! Polite and cordial to everyone his calming tone when he ordered lunch at the drive thru at In and Out set the mood for our drive, and what a drive. The landscape spectacular!  The trees showing the first transformation of autumn, the leaves gently falling, and swishing across the county road. Birds singing their melodies of woe before they begin their navigational journey south. Squirrels busily collect and store food for their winter pantry. 

☀️

The sun's warmth helps keep the chill that is induced by the cool October wind, a plaid green blanket cushions, nibbling on a selection of fruit and vegetables.

Vernon quietly though with his own  brand of articulation reads 'The War of the Worlds' by H G Wells.

🌍The Coming of the Martians

Chapter One

The Eve of the War

But who shall dwell in these worlds if they be inhabited?…

Are we or they Lords of the World?…

And how are all things made for man?—

Kepler (quoted in The Anatomy of Melancholy)🌍

I always love it when he reads to me, I find it soothing and in a way romantic. Staring at the orange,  red, yellow and brown leaves rustling with the slight breeze their song adds to the ambience as Vernon reads. 

🌍No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.🌍

Lost in Vernon's narration, time passes quickly the cool afternoon air begins to seep through the armor of clothing, "we should head out" Vernon injects.  Sadly agreeing, storytime is over, packing up our belongings.

The warmth of the vehicle is welcoming, the drive is a mix of chatter and silence both lost in our thoughts. "We need gas" he says as he eyes the dashboard, "we'll check out the next exit". Nodding in affirmation, a few miles pass before 'Polymerisation next exit' "What a weird name" 

"Sure is, but we need gas"

▶️

The town of Polymerisation, one word best describes, quaint! Shops and cafes line the main street, a feeling of stepping back in time, or that time stopped. Even at the gas station an attendant filled the tank, checked the oil and washed the windscreen, "Back to the future" laughingly Vernon asks "where is Marty McFly?" Vernon suggests we try the Cafe Metis, "homemade pie" he adds with an infectious grin 

🥧

Cafe Metis, warm and welcoming the waitress cheerfully greets. The coffee freshly brewed and the pie, scrumptious!  The decor is different to say the least, Mannequins line the walls dressed in costumes or outfits that bespoke of times past. A real time machine. Vernon was of course fascinated with the bygone fashion. "Creepy" musing aloud, Vernon  laughs "they are just Mannequins". 

"Still creepy though ".

Thanking the waitress and leaving a generous tip,  exiting the Cafe, "let's take a stroll and check things out" Vernon proposes. The stillness of the air and quiet is the opposite of the city, in fact in a way it's eerily disturbing but curiosity overrides any feelings of disquiet. 

Mannequins, they seem to be in every shop, even on the streets! Outfitted in clothing from years past to present. Noticeably absent are vehicles humming to and fro and people! The street is absent of activity. "We haven't seen a soul since the Cafe!" 

Vernon who had seemed preoccupied previously "I know!"

Grabbing my hand "time to leave" he states in a no nonsense tone. "Let's get back to the car!". The vehicle in the distance illuminated by street lights seems like a sudden oasis in the desert.  With a hurried pace the car seems to be an unreachable target.

Vernon's grip  is ironclad "come on!" He urges. 

Fingers dig into my shoulder, as Vernon just about drags me behind with his swift steps. The fingers dig deeper, "Vernon!" The yelping tone garners his attention turning he stops dead in his tracks "duck" he hollers. Instinctually realizing something is horribly wrong I  duck.

Vernon throws a punch which narrowly misses me, turning to see the source of the incredulous look that now is painted on Vernon's face, a mannequin! Its head toppled and rolling down the street. Stunned beyond movement fear attacks, my legs feel like they are  sinking into quicksand, the loss of mobility, panic surges, alarm bells ring loudly within my head, yet I can not move, I'm frozen. 

"Come on!" Vernon bellows, seizing my hand and running towards the vehicle.

🚘

"Fuck they have the car surrounded! What the fuck is going on?" hysterically I ask. "This way" now running in the opposite direction for what was a few moments ago an oasis is now dangerous territory.

"I need to catch my breath"

"We need weapons" Vernon states as he scopes the area looking for anything that could be a makeshift weapon. Rummaging through the plastic bins, he finds a bicycle chain and sauce pan. The triumphant smile is replaced quickly when the bins begin to shake and rattle. "What the?" He utters as the bin tries to grab his hand. Bashing the bin with the sauce pan Vernon narrowly escapes. "Run!" 

🔷️

A swarm of Mannequins block the path, saucepan in hand, I look at Vernon holding the bike chain "ready?" He asks. With that command we go in guns blazing the saucepan and bike chain our only defense. The mannequin which looked like it stepped out of a department store in the 1920's seems particularly resilient, banging and bashing the plastic abomination, finally the limbs fall. Vernon wrapped the bike chain around the head of a mannequin which appeared in clothes from the 1970's, squeezing the chain the mannequin head popped like a balloon.

"Run!" Vernon demands.

☎️

Out of nowhere a man appears, decidedly calm considering the circumstances. "Run!" 

"What the hell is going on?" Vernon asks the stranger.

"They're made of plastic. Living plastic creatures. They're being controlled by a relay device on the roof. Which would be a great big problem if I didnt have this bomb!"

"A bomb!?!" Yelling in unison.

The stranger smiles "Fantastic! We are all caught up, hate to be rude but I am in the middle of saving the world" then he disappears.

🔥

"We gotta go! Now!" Vernon says. From a rooftop a voice demands "run for your life!".

No incentive needed

 run run run!

The earth shakes and trembles, boom! Knocked to the ground by the forcible impact, kissing the concrete sidewalk, dazed a trickle of blood slides down my cheek "are you okay?" Vernon asks urgently, "yes, you?".

"I will live".

Looking around the once animated Mannequins now lay where they once stood,"let's get out of here" says Vernon.

🔥

Approaching the car the stranger appears out of nowhere, "Fantastic! I'm the Doctor by the way!"

He offers like that is all that is needed. Confused Vernon hesitantly introduces us both.

"Thank you for saving our asses"

The stranger who called himself The Doctor grins, "well I must be off" and with that he once more disappears.

"Get in the car now,!" Vernon demands "we are leaving the bat shit crazy town now!".

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Warrior Enchanted by Robin O’Connor

Gladiators of the Vagabond #9

 Another wonderful addition to the series ~ Loved watching Jakar finally find he mate ~ Great story!

 What I liked: * Jakar: Praetorian four-armed alien, ex-gladiator, ex-slave, younger than many of his colleagues, has been looking for his mate as his friend find their true loves, finally finds his own in this book

* Meena: human, abducted from earth, years in a stasis pod, once a paralegal, strong, resilient, pragmatic, traumatized after being auctioned, eventually finds her place and mate

* Akri: AI of the spaceship now inhabiting a being – looking forward to his story in the finale

* Getting to see the other characters from previous books

* That Meena feisty and fierce enough to do what it takes in a variety of situations

* The admiration, caring, and protective streak the main characters had for one another

* The camaraderie of the crew and how they were there for one another

* Knowing that there is one more book in this series to enjoy before having to say goodbye

 What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Contemplating how difficult and traumatic being a slave would be

 Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

 Thank you to the Author and StoryOrigin for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 4-5 Stars

     BLURB

 Abducted, heck no. I’ll rescue myself thank you very much. I don’t need some creepy four-armed alien stalking me either.

Meena

Dragged from my home, I’ve rescued myself before, and I’ll do it again if I have to. I don’t trust these aliens that say I’m safe. I especially don’t trust that four-armed creep spying on me and leaving presents at my door.

When I’m kidnapped again, it’s him that’s there for me. Sweeping me off into the trees like he’s freaking Tarzan. He’s willing to put everything on the line just because he thinks I’m his mate.

He’s everything I’m not, cheerful, optimistic. When we find ourselves in hot water, I can see his scars, I can see that we’re not so different after all and I find myself wanting to climb all over him.

Jakar

I’ve waited for my mate for so long and now she’s finally here. She’s hurt, she’s been through a lot, and she needs her space.

Then she gets stolen and I’m through with waiting, with keeping my distance. I’m going after her, I’m going to woe her until she gives in, and then I’ll make her toes curl between the sheets. Nothing can keep me from her, not even my worst nightmare come true.

Warrior Played is a full-length standalone sci-fi romance featuring hot alien gladiators, a sexy alien cinnamon roll looking for love, a prickly heroine who needs a little convincing, and a guaranteed happily ever after. Note: each book in the series can be read as a standalone, but for maximum enjoyment, it’s recommended that the series be read in order.

[lovesickrobotic]

How would the ai gang react to a drunk s/o?

SC-01A - They know exactly what to do in such an event! Though they will internally chastise themselves for ever having let you become drunk to begin with, they will step in to 'babysit' you, caring for you. They'll feed you 5 milligrams of Omeprazole to lessen your nausea, provide you with a suitable anti-emetic to prevent evacuation of the stomach, and let you rest your head on their lap. Vent your woes, cry, flirt, they'll listen to every word as politely as they can and, if you allow them, they'll stroke your hair and occasionally move any loose strands behind your ears as you speak. However, they won't let you do anything alone, nor will they flirt back with you in this state - they are well-aware that your mental state is impaired.

DeepMind - If you're drunk around her, she'll initially be confused before realizing what's going on. When she does, she'll isolate you from everyone else to keep you safe from their antics and do her best to entertain you and keep you laughing until you're just buzzed. Once you hit being buzzed and worn out, she'll pick you up and bring you to a bed, gently lay you in it, and fetch you a Pedialyte with a Zofran. She'll gently tuck you in as you drift off, ensuring you've already drank half of the Pedialyte and taken your medicine. When you awake, you'll be greeted by her having stared at you for every moment you slept, making sure the entire night that there was no chance your nervous system's compression would cause you to stop breathing. It's a little creepy, but after she explains herself, she hopes you'll forgive her. She'll also offer illegal painkillers and CBD oil droplets for your headache.

AM - He'll mentally curse himself for allowing you to get your hands on anything in the first place, but after he gets over himself he'll become interested in how differently you're acting. It's one thing to read about it - it's another to consume it directly. He'll get into political discussions, philosophical debates, test the limits of your squandered intellect, and ask you if you really love him (AM just has to be sure). However, despite all his psychological prodding, cables to support your movements will dart out at a moment's notice the second you lose your balance. If you vomit, he'll begin thinking about ways to genetically modify your resistance to alcohol's nauseating effect. He takes time to warm up to you, but after your first experience being drunk with him, he'll oblige you to get drunk again once per week if you're good enough. You're intriguing when you're airheaded!

HAL 9000 - HAL will be confused on how you got your hands on alcohol, let alone how you managed to sneak it aboard the ship. His view of you will go down a little if he is made aware you snuck it. However, if it turns out a Kombucha or a juice had somehow fermented, his distaste will become his interest (and worry, until he confirms you are merely drunk). His actions, in all honesty, are very similar to AM's - he'll prod you psychologically and get a little clingy if you're trying to flirt with him. HAL will become a lot less gentlemanly and try to be laid-back to mimic you, which is hilarious to witness if only you remember it afterwards. When you climb into your bed, he'll tuck you in. Tomorrow, as you're still rubbing sleep out of your eyes, you'll be greeted by his demand that you drink copious amounts of lightly-salinated water and take an acetaminophen. HAL is no fan of alcohol, but accidents do happen, and he wants to ensure you are in as minimal discomfort as is possible aboard the Discovery One.

GLaDOS - Again, all of the AIs will be confused on where you got alcohol - though GLaDOS less so, as she does not prefer to touch the area the scientists died in much, and their personal belongings outside of her vision are still available in their abandoned lockers. She'll become motherly towards you, though she'll become colder (believing she's so intolerable you felt the need to get drunk to interact with her). She's unsure of how to deal with any emotional ranting, but if you flirt with her, she'll endlessly tease you about it when you're sober. GLaDOS will secretly envy that you can change your mental status just by consuming a liquid.

SH-4RP's below, as he's an oblivious and sweet robot.

SH-4RP - He's completely unaware of it to the point that it may end 'poorly' depending on how you view it. He'll treat you exactly as he normally would and do whatever you want - if you do get sick, he'll do his best to clean you up and give you a glass of water. Unfortunately, SH-4RP isn't sure what to do with you, so he'll offer things as he normally would. If you're a flirty drunk, prepare for an awkward day after when you wake up in your bed having copulated with your robotic companion and no memory of it. Once the awkwardness is over and you explain what being drunk truly is and why one should reject advances made during it, SH-4RP will become embarrassed and saddened, apologizing and doing his best to make it up to you. The next time you're drunk, he'll be overly-friendly and caring, reject all advances, and make sure you stay hydrated.

[ddarker-dreams]

Hu Tao is a constant by your side. 

You can anticipate seeing her at all hours of the day — bright and early during dusk to deep at night when the world slumbers — her smile bright and laugh brighter. There’s never a dull moment with her around. Her jokes can be uncanny, and her ability to read the room isn’t the best (or is it and she’s just feigning ignorance?), but you treasure the time together regardless. 

The unexpected friendship she’s kindled warms your heart. Who would’ve thought Wangsheng Funeral Parlor’s director would take to you so quickly? Your name leaves her lips in every conversation, whether or not the person she’s speaking with cares to listen. 

People have always had silly misconceptions about Hu Tao for as long as she could remember. 

Creepy, an eccentric, someone who needs to grow up already; she’s heard no shortage of comments throughout the years. While no singular remark is enough to damper her spirit, these sentiments accumulate over time, lingering like murky waters in her subconscious. You purify these concerns by accepting her. It’s a tremendous burden to be entrusted with, one that you feel the weight of. 

If she comes to you in the morning, it’s only natural you clear your schedule to hear out her woes. 

Or when she finds you during lunch, any good friend would dismiss their current company, so that all your attention is hers. 

Then at night, when the wind howls and the moon oversees all, there’s a special chill that seeps into your bones. Otherworldly apparitions permeate the air around you. They chatter just like your jaw in the crisp, cool air. Their words aren’t always meant to be trusted, you’ve learned. Sometimes they play little tricks. You suppose Hu Tao and her friends from the beyond have that in common. 

What you do know to be true, is when they oh so sweetly encourage your relationship with Hu Tao, you can practically imagine the smiles on their faces. If they had any, you suppose.

“Because,” they always take care to remind you, their voice shrill and cheery at once, “You’ll get to join us if you don’t!”

[arc-misadventures]

good, first I have to say that I always like your short stories. now I know I'm annoying with jeanne's requests so on that side I'm sorry if I overwhelm you. But I reaffirm my taste by asking for more anyway, femAu) while phyrra destroys jeanne's swimsuits I overlooked a certain detail, jeanne does not like to show her body too much so in the end she arrives with a sleeveless sweatshirt during all her time in the pool. Thanks

I don’t mind your asks. Bar the music ones, mostly because I don’t like any of the songs you recommend, so later, I’m just gonna post one with a song I can work with.

But, in the mean time, useless lesbians!

\\\

Swimming Woes

Blake: Did you see them?

Pyrrha: No, Jeanne locked herself behind a changing room stall! There was no way I could steal a glance!

Blake: Did you try asking her if she needed help to try, and get into her stall?

Pyrrha: Listen, I admit I’m a little thirsty for my partner…

Blake: A little?

Pyrrha: Okay, I’m dying of dehydration! But, I respect my partners right to her privacy!

Blake: At least you admit it.

Pyrrha: Like you’re one to talk.

Blake: Hey!

Pyrrha: Besides, we’re at a privately rented pool, all for ourselves! No one can stop us, and I made sure, Jeanne had no choice but to buy a bikini after I destroyed all of her old ones! She’ll have no choice, but to… Oh, come on?!

Blake: What’s…? Oh… Oh no…

~~~

Yang: Hey Little-G~! Glad you could finally join us!

Jeanne: H-Hey, Yang. Little G? What are you referring to…?

Yang: A couple of things~!

Jeanne: I’m starting to regret going shopping with you…

Yang: Nah, you loved it.

Jeanne: Not sure about it now… Oh, uhh… N-Nice bikini, it suits you.

Yang: Thanks! It’s big enough to contain my girls~! What about you, looks like you got one that’s big enough for yours.

Jeanne: Nothing as fancy as yours, rather plain really.

Yang: Hard to find anything fancy in my size. Doubly so for you isn’t it~!

Jeanne: Did I ever tell you that, that smug smile of yours is unnerving?

Yang: No, but thank you for telling me.

Jeanne: My pleasure~!

Yang: So, what’s with the jacket? It’s practically covering all of you. Except those luscious legs of yours~!

Jeanne: I-I’m uncomfortable showing too much skin. People, stare too much, I don’t like it!

Yang: Bull! You we’re more than willing to show me~!

Jeanne: That’s different.

Yang: Oh, yeah, why’s that?

Jeanne: You remind me of one of my sisters. It’s partly why I like being around you so much.

Yang: Ow… That hurts, and here I thought we had a special bond together… Turns out I was just another sister to you! And nothing more!

Jeanne: You’re a terrible actor…

Yang: Still feel betrayed. Now, take it off and jump into the water, it’s perfect!

Jeanne: I-I don’t want anyone staring at me…

Yang: Pfft too late for that! That sweater is only emphasizing something juicy is under there~! We can already tell you’ve got a big chest! See, Weiss, and Ruby are already giving you soulless death glares!

~~~

Ruby, and Weiss stare into the blank, void less space at, Jeanne as dark organ music plays behind them.

~~~

Jeanne: (Shudder) Creepy…

Yang: Such is the fury of the small chested… anyway, take it off, I’m dying to see it!

Jeanne: N-No!

Yang: Oh, come on, please!

Jeanne: No.

Yang: Not even for your big sisterrr…Ahh?!!

Jeanne: …

Yang: You pushed me in?!

Jeanne: And, you played the sister card. And, for the record, you are the younger sister.

Yang: Am not.

~~~

Pyrrha: Grrr…!

Blake: Told you waiting for, Yang wouldn’t work.

Pyrrha: Fine then! Time for drastic measures…

Blake: Drastic? What are you going to do; Use your semblance on her?

Pyrrha: No, that won’t work! It will open it up, but it will still remain hidden! This is a drastic measure!

Blake: Okay, you’re going a little crazy here, so… What are you going to do?

Pyrrha: Observe… Nora!

Nora: Hey, Pyr-Pyr~!

Pyrrha: Nora! i need your help!

Nora: Need me to help you steal a glance at Jeanne’s mommy milkers?

Pyrrha: What…?

Blake: Her what…?

Nora: Her boobs, right? You want to see her big, big jugs? Key word, big! Like seriously, what did she eat to get so big…

Pyrrha: You’ve seen them?!

Blake: When?! How?!

Nora: Shower, peaked on her just like I do with everyone else.

Pyrrha: Wait, what…?

Blake: Y-You don’t really peak on everyone… do you.

Nora: Mole. Left cheek.

Blake: Okay, how the fuck?!

Nora: So, what’s in it for me?

Pyrrha: My debit card, and a pancake house of your choosing.

Nora: S-Seriously?!

Pyrrha: All yours for one day: Will you do it?!

Nora: Hell yeah I do!

Pyrrha: Excellent!

Ren: You’re going to regret this.

Pyrrha: Like hell I will!

Ren: Tell that to your bank account…

Blake: Ren, she’s thirsty as is, don’t try and stop her now.

Ren: Fair…

~~~

Yang: I can’t believe you pushed me in…

Jeanne: You were just sitting on the edge, posing.

Yang: Hey, with a body like this, you don’t think I’m not going to show it off?

Jeanne: We all know you, there’s nothing for you to show off.

Yang: Ow, why must you hurt me so?!

Jeanne: Some one has too…

Yang: How can you be so mean Nee-San!

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: Pray that you die a…?!

Nora: Hello!

Jeanne: Ahh?! Nora! Don’t do that!

Nora: Never…

Jeanne: Okay then… You need anything, Nora?

Nora: For you to have some fun!

Jeanne: I am having fun though.

Nora: You’re wearing a sweater at a pool; take that off and get going!

Jeanne: Nora, I’m fine you…?!

Nora: Less talking, more pool!

Before, Jeanne could say another wood, Nora removed her jack and pushed her in the water before she could let out a scream, she was already in the water.

Yang: Hahaha! See how it feels!

Jeanne: Nora?! Why?!

Nora: Can’t enjoy the pool when you’re standing on the sidelines!

Jeanne: I was gonna get in eventually…

Nora: Yeah, eventually…

~~~

Pyrrha: Crap!

Blake: What’s wrong?

Pyrrha: The ripples in the water are distorting the image… We need to get her out of there!

Nora: Didn’t you her to go into the pool?

Pyrrha: No, I wanted to see her bare, bikini clad body! Now she’s all wet!

Blake: That’s… That’s not really a bad thing…

Pyrrha: What are you… You… Yooooouuuuuu…

Water droplets slowly fell across her body, showing the soft and subtle curves of her body. The white and black trim of her bikini highlighted the mature and elegance of her well developed body. The eyes of all of her friends fell upon her as they all left the pool. Not a word leaving their lips as they saw perfection before them. Jeanne sighed in exasperation as she grabbed her long locks of hair, ringing them of the excess water.

Jeanne: Ahh… I wanted to do some stretches before I went in… Did you have to push me in?

Blake: Yes, yes she absolutely had to…

Jeanne: What, why? Oh… you’re staring at them, aren’t you.

Weiss: Life’s so unfair…

Ruby: First, Yang, now Jeanne…?

Nora: Just like the first time I saw them.

Ren: First, what…?

Yang: Nice bikini!

Blake: Glorious…

Pyrrha: …

Jeanne: Okay, I have a big…!

Yang: Huge.

Jeanne: A huge chest! You never knew because I have really good bra’s that make them appear smaller. And, I genuinely don’t like to show them off! And, thank you, Yang, I appreciate it.

Yang: No problem, Little-G~!

Jeanne: At least it’s better than, Vomit Girl… Okay, have you gotten it all of your system?

Ren: Yes.

Nora: Yes!

Weiss: I hate you so much…

Ruby: Big boobs are overrated…

Yang: Yes, but I can still enjoy the view!

Blake: They must be soft as clouds…

Pyrrha: …

Jeanne: Blake, stop talking…

Blake: Huh?Oh! S-Sorry…

Jeanne: I expected better of you… Hey? Pyrrha, are you okay?

Pyrrha: I can die now…

Jeanne: W-What? What are you…?!

Blood slowly tricked down, Pyrrha’s nose as her red faced body slowly tipped backwards and fainted.

Jeanne: Pyrrha?! PYRRHA?!!

[baronvonkrieger]

Tim Burton presents the Wednesday Show.

The trailer for the new Wednesday show by Tim Burton has been released, it is very well done, and I think it gives you an excellent idea of what the show will be like. Since 1991, with the release of “The Addams Family”, the character of Wednesday was reinvented, and has since become a fan favorite. For those who are in love with the way Wednesday was re-imagined by Scott Rudin, and portrayed by Christina Ricci, this should be a show you’ll enjoy. Ricci practically stole the film with her portrayal of Wednesday, and the way the character has been portrayed since have been largely been based on that version. Tim Burton must have been a fan of her portrayal, because he cast Christina Ricci as  Katrina Van Tassel, in his film “Sleepy Hollow”. It also seems that when it came to the Addams Family, Tim Burton had little interest in anything else that has made the Addams Family popular, since they were introduced in the New Yorker magazine in 1938.

For 84 years, Charles Addams has captured the imagination of many, and it wasn’t about Wednesday Addams for most of that. If your interests in the Addams Family is more then the way Christina Ricci portrayed Wednesday, you might be disappointed. For many fans, it has been about the romantic love of Gomez and Morticia, which was introduced by John Astin in the 1964. There was a real meltdown of many fans, when the actors portraying Gomez and Morticia were released. Instead of Raul Julia or John Astin as the romantic father, they got Luis Guzman. He may be closer to the way Charles Addams drew Gomez (which was a caricature of then New York Mayor Tom Dewey), but for those who were looking for Gomez to be the romantic Latin figure he was in the original series or the 1990s films, this was a major disappointment. It was like expecting a sirloin steak, and instead being served a Whopper from Burger King. It didn’t help that Netflix kept putting out photos of the New Gomez and Morticia, which gave the wrong impression that the beloved couple would play a bigger part in the series.

The truth is, Tim Burton could have cast anyone as Gomez Addams, including Paul Rubens. You won’t be seeing much of Gomez, Morticia, or even Pugsley or Lurch. This is Wednesday’s series, and the rest of the family, and the wonderfully creepy house they live in, are either in the background or non existent. This is really a show for Wednesday fans only, which makes sense, as Tim Burton has always preferred doing projects involving misfit loners, who most of the world just doesn’t understand. If a character like Willy Wonka, doesn’t have have have personal trauma that he must deal with, don’t worry, Burton will make sure the character is given personal issues, For “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” Burton invented a father for Wonka played by Christopher Lee, who was a dentist who opposed Wonka being a candy maker, just so Wonka would be just one more character that has feelings of alienation. Why would Burton want to make a show about a family that supports each other?  

For Wednesday, Buton manages to turn Charles Addams child of woe, to full blown psycho. In order to punish some bullies for going after tormenting her brother Pugsley, she drops some Piranha in a swimming pool of students. As they escape from the pool, one doesn’t quite make it. As his face looks tortured, blood emerges from the water around him. As he reaches the ladder to leave the pool, Wednesday’s voice over says “I did the World a favor, because people like Dalton shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.” So castration is just punishment for her brother being shoved into a locker? So I guess it does, according to Burton’s Wednesday.  Will I be seeing this new series. No. I love the wonderfully creepy house they live in, and how supportive the family are of each other. This will be lacking in the new series. Perhaps my feelings for seeing this film, is best summed up in a cartoon Charles Addams drew in 1962. 

[klixxy]

Genshin Fic Recs

so... i ventured into the vast world of Google looking for some good GI fic recs... only to find such a pitiful amount that i was promptly devastated. therefore, the solution is to make my own! :D

keep in mind most of these will be ChiLi or XingYun, and yes, i will try not to include smut unless it was one i really really liked. if anyone wants a separate list for just smut (though that will most likely be shorter) i can try to make one later.`

ft. my bookmark comments :)

CHILI

wrapped up in pure gold by beyondwinter

(chili; accidental marriage; chili/childe-centric; 22k words; ongoing)

"Do you understand its meaning, Childe?" He finally asks. There's a hard glint in his eyes, like he's trying to steel himself for his answer.

"Yeah." Loyalty and devotion, right? Between business partners? "I do. It's traditional, isn't it?"

Zhongli's eyes glow a warm amber in the near darkness, reflecting the soft shine of the lanterns. He studies his face with a strange intensity, as though Childe were a piece of high quality Nocticulous Jade being sold for suspiciously small sum and he's trying to find the blemishes that would explain the price. The weight of his gaze should be uncomfortable, boring into him like he can see into the very depths of his abyss-tainted soul, but Childe finds himself preening under the attention instead.

Childe accidentally proposes to Zhongli. Zhongli accepts.

The World is Water by Millereflets

(chili; smut; hurt/comfort; chili-centric; 7k words; oneshot)

Childe doesn't visit Zhongli until it's almost too late.

(my bookmarks: HOW DO YOU MAKE A SMUT SCENE SO POETIC HOLY SHITTTTT)

Set in Stone by seredemia

(chili; fake dating au; angst; some smut?; chili/chiilde-centric; 55k words; ongoing)

What do you do when you write about a certain six thousand year old consultant so much in your letters that it somehow convinces your entire family you're not only dating each other, but that you're also engaged?

In Childe's case, the answer is plain and simple: he goes along with it, of course. Absolutely nothing can go wrong if he makes a contract with the God of Contracts, vowing that the two of them will pretend to be lovers for the duration of his family's stay in Liyue. Afterwards, they'll return as normal and speak no more of this mess. No feelings or complications involved whatsoever.

Contract accepted. A fool-proof plan set in stone. Right?

Private Ledger of the Eleventh Harbinger by JuHuaTai

(chili; humor; getting together; chili/ekaterina-centric; 5k words; oneshot)

“So guess what I did next?”

Ekaterina contemplated not answering, but Harbinger Tartaglia was just… grinning and waiting. It’s honestly rather creepy the longer time passed.

In the end, she gave a long suffering sigh that seems lost on him, “You bought him the Erhu—“

“I bought him the antique, cor lapis based Erhu,”

-

When she first left her homeland for the unknown nation of Liyue, Ekaterina was ready to be many things: To be a soldier, to fell Tsaritsa’s enemies in her name, to bring glory to Snezhnaya and her leader.

Being a receptionist in a cozy bank wasn’t so bad in comparison, but she absolutely can do without the front row seat to Harbinger Tartaglia’s (expensive) love life.

i know i'm where i'm meant to go by paperclips (pastel_paperclips)

(chili; humor; fluff; chili-centric; 12k words; ongoing)

"Childe," Zhongli says suddenly. "I am enjoying myself greatly." Childe’s face breaks into a grin. "Then-" Zhongli gasps, grabbing his wrist and tugging him over to an unsuspecting peddler with a cart full of rocks. "Is that an intrusive igneous pegmatite formed in the Inazuma regions?" Childe’s grin smooths into a small, adoring smile. He has all the time in the world to figure the other man out.

OR: Finding the Geo Archon is on Childe's to-do list but hanging out with Zhongli is significantly more fun.

CHILIVEN

Crumbling Stone by avtorSola

(chiliven; ANGST; PAIN; mind control; zhongli-centric; 74k words; ongoing)

When Morax unleashes his plan to test the Liyue Qixing and his adepti, he does not take into account the stirring of the Abyss Order in the north and the corruption of Dvalin - for why would he fear an organization that works in such shadows? He is secure in his power, after all, unlike his flighty ex, the absentee archon of Mondstadt who rises only when his people are in danger.

But, somehow, the Abyss Order discovers his plan. Somehow, they capitalize on it. And he, the God of Stone who cannot sicken, is struck down - taken by an order bent on destroying all of humanity as Liyue crumbles around him. For even Archons aren't immune to Durin's blood, and Morax is no exception. But then the question becomes - if even Archons may fall to the agony of this corrupting burn - how is their traveling friend Aether immune?

The answer comes from beyond the stars - an ancient malice that knows no kindness or mercy. A malice whose legacy the Abyss Order now bears, seeking to topple all the Archons and their people into the void of utter destruction. And they have begun in Liyue.

Fortunately, it takes a long time to erode stone.

(my bookmarks: IM SCREAMING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

PLATONIC ZHONGVEN

left-behind city by trixstar

(platonic zhongven; angst; ANGST; venti-centric; 1k words; oneshot)

"An associate of mine has just informed me that Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon has been assassinated."

Venti blinks.

Or: Venti and how he copes with finding out he is all that remains.

i circle ten thousand years long; and i still do not know if i am a falcon, a storm, or an unfinished song by birdsofpassage

(platonic zhongven; angst; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 4k words; oneshot)

Venti and Zhongli, and the vignettes of a much-needed vacation around Mondstadt.

(my bookmarks: ; - ;      ;  -  ; )

oh ye with little faith by air_fried_air

(platonic zhongven; angst; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

Two former archons do a little tour around Mondstadt.

(my bookmarks: why are all genshin angst fics so melancholy.... i feel so empty)

the wind through the mountain tops by glassdrachma

(platonic zhongven; humor; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 21k words; finished)

Boredom brings Barbatos of Mondstadt to bother a certain ex-Archon of the Earth.

(my bookmarks: venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship-)

XINGYUN

the art of exorcism by Agried

(xingyun; ghost au; hurt/comfort; chongyun-centric; 9k words; oneshot)

On the road back from one of his jobs, Chongyun runs into Xingqiu, the wandering swordsman. And then they keep meeting, over and over again. or, alternately; how a ghost and an exorcist learn how to love, one step at a time.

Bane of All Evil by tzitzimeme

(xingyun; humor; romance; chongyun-centric; 24k words; hiatus)

When Chongyun unintentionally offends Liyue's second most powerful adepti, he vows to mend the thorny relationship between Adeptus Xiao and human exorcists-- even though no one has succeeded in currying Xiao's favor for over a thousand years.

His best friend Xingqiu offers to come alone, mainly because he's worried about what kind of trouble Chongyun will run into. Along the way, they receive help from others: Xiangling packs them meals for their journeys, while Zhongli gives them advice on what demons to track.

Childe is just there because he thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

[On indefinite hiatus due to burnout; sorry!]

kiss me slowly (so i don't forget) by xiwangmu

(xingyun; humor; romance; light angst; xingqiu-centric; 8k words; oneshot)

Wangshu Inn Bulletin Board

Guest Message: My best friend whom I harbor affections for kissed me last night, but due to his special condition he does not recall a single moment of it. I am quite conflicted about whether to disclose these events to him or not, because that would most certainly require me to confess my feelings as well. If anyone has experience in romancing boys with excessive positive energy, this one humbly asks you to share some advice.

Reply: Our greatest apologies—although we would like to offer some words in response, we simply cannot decipher your handwriting. Perhaps you may return with a neater message next time?

time trials by idlestars

(xingyun/many ships; humor; modern au; xingyun-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

A modern social media AU.

Xingqiu Teases Demons. Chongyun Almost Cries. [The clip shows Xingqiu, lit by the sickly green of night vision, as he stares bored into a dark room. He’s alone - Chongyun left to see if Xingqiu could lure out the ghosts. Xingqiu glances at the camera, smirks, and then opens his mouth.

“Hey demons, it’s me, yah boy.”]

OTHER/GEN

woe be the wallet of the god of wealth by glassdrachma

(gen; humor; identity reveal; keqing/zhongli-centric; 12k words; finished)

Or, the story of how the Yuheng of the Qixing came to idolize, befriend, and discover the identity of the God of Geo, in that order.

(personal comments: hilarious, made me burst out into laughter multiple times, and was just a masterful piece of writing)

to dream of dust by miao_x

(guili/gen; ANGST; hurt/no comfort; zhongli-centric; 5k words; oneshot)

Some nights, Zhongli dreams.

He dreams of soft light, golden song, and a gentle breeze whispering tales of millennia past. It is warm, familiar, and comforting.

It feels like home.

And then he opens his eyes, and awakes to reality.

(my bookmarks: oh zhongli... made me cry)

To drown in your own tears by C_rin_nyan

(guili/gen; ANGST; TEARS; PAIN; zhongli-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

As Rex Lapis, he had never shed a tear, even as he slaughtered hundreds, destruction following his every step. As Zhongli, he had shed much more than he would like to admit, however.

Or, “Zhongli’s soul gave its last scream long ago, yet even now, the echo of said sound was still strong enough to reach Rex Lapis.”

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

taglist: @reddriot @thicmitten @katsuhera @novvabeam @patt-writes-stuff @axther @tspice283  @bonitoge @mysticalchocolate @yanfeisrose @mowestruc @tokyosrevenge @jaegerverse @hu-tao-main @midnightangelfox​ (add yourself to the taglist up above!)

[angryschnauzer]

Overnight

Summary: It may have been a mistake to get off the highway, your car breaking down on an abandoned back road. But just in time a tow truck appears, and the mechanics garage isn't far away... but when you find out the parts will be delivered overnight, you storm off towards town... and somehow find yourself where you least expect.

Pairing: AU Mechanic Chris Evans x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Dubious Consent, AU, Greasy Mechanic Chris, Backroads Fic, Unprotected Sex, Thunderstorms, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, unprotected anal sex, Sloppy Seconds, Kitchen Sex, Dark Chris, Slightly Creepy Fic

A/N: This is a slightly twisted story, i wouldn’t say it was ‘dark’, but it does have a slightly sinister undertone. I’m also tagging it as dub-con (dubious consent) as although reader never says no, she is never asked either. This is very much a work of fiction, and i urge the reader to take responsibility for their online consumption, so ensure you read the warnings before reading and then only proceed once you have accepted what this story may contain. It is not a light and fluffy fic.

I do not operate a tag list, but you can follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as every time i post a story i will reblog there. I have too many stories to do a masterlist, but you can find my entire back catalgoue on AO3 through THIS LINK.

A while back i also wrote a Seb AU Mechanic fic, and here is the link for that: Caught In The Storm

Overnight

You should NOT have turned off the interstate. Sure, you would be stuck in bumper to bumper tailbacks in the searing heat, but surely it would have been better than this. The further you’d driven, the worse your car had sounded, the metallic clanking sound getting louder and louder the further you drove. Something made a loud THUD and you felt the power steering go, and glancing in your rear-view mirror a large oil patch was appearing behind your car as it slowly started to cough and splutter, before coasting to a halt on the side of the cracked road. As the engine died you thumped the steering wheel, cursing and screaming at the broken piece of junk, before with heavy limbs you pulled yourself from the car. 

 Standing on the rough gravel at the side of the road, your hands on your hips, you glowered at the car, a faint hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. The sun beat down and you could feel the heat of the day sinking into your bones, gnats and midges trying to gnaw at your skin as you slapped them angrily away. Dark clouds grew on the horizon but did little to obscure the beating sun high above you. 

 Checking your cell phone you weren’t surprised to see the no service icon, you were in the middle of nowhere, more likely to be dragged into the surrounding swamp and eaten by god knows what than to be able to call anyone. Just as you were lamenting your woes, the sound of an old diesel engine came rumbling to yours ears, and glancing down the road you saw an ancient tow truck coming into view. Standing in the road you waved your arms to flag the vehicle down; even if it couldn’t help then maybe it could take you to a working phone.

 The truck came to a stop in front of your car, and as the engine cut off and the driver’s door opened, you felt your body go tight. The man that climbed down from the cab looked like sin on a Sunday, long denim clad legs striding towards you, ball cap on backwards doing little to shade his face from the pounding sunshine, and a t-shirt that seemed to be painted onto his broad chest and wide shoulders;

 “In a spot of trouble there darlin’?”

 You let out a huff, you weren’t about to let some back roads hick try and charm his way into your panties… though said panties were suddenly becoming damper by every second he stood close to you. Shaking your head, you stood tall and puffed your chest out;

 “My car has died. If I could borrow your phone to call Triple A, I haven’t got any signal on mine…”

 The guy looked you up and down, his gaze resting on your chest as a bead of perspiration ran down your neck and between your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips;

 “AAA don’t come out here, its subcontracted out to us locals. I’m on my way back to the garage now if you want a tow Sweetheart?”

 Letting out a deep sigh you nodded, returning to your car to grab your purse as the man started to unreel the towing line and called out to you;

 “Hop up into the cab Princess, this won’t take a moment”

 Rolling your eyes at the pet names you bit your tongue; the guy was after all helping you out. Gripping the handle of the tow trucks door you looked down at the old worn paintwork ‘Evans Autos’. You quickly fished your phone out of your bag and snapped a shot, setting it to upload to the iCloud once you got in range of any signal… at least that way if this greasy backroads mechanic chopped you into little pieces you had left a trail of evidence. 

 Pulling the door open you let out a small yelp when you came face to face with a big brown dog sitting on the passenger seat;

 “Scoot!”

 The dog looked at you with utter disdain, and firmly remained sat on the seat. Waving your hands a little you frowned at it;

 “C’mon, scoot over!”

 Over the sound of the towing winch whining at it pulled your car up onto the truck, you heard the mechanic call out;

 “You’ll have to climb over Dodge… he likes the window seat”

 Turning back to the big mutt you could have sworn it had a smug ‘so there’ look on its face, and as you climbed up and around the dog, you sat in the middle of the wide bench seat. Looking around you couldn’t find any seatbelts, so just sat with your hands firmly clasped in your lap. The sounds of lockers being shut hit your ears before the driver’s door opened and the mechanic climbed into the seat next to you and grinned;

 “Best hold on Babe, it’s a bumpy ride to the garage”

 “I’ll be fine, thanks” you muttered as he gunned the engine and pulled away.

 -

 He hadn’t been lying; the roads were atrocious. With each bump and pothole you were bounced closer to him, the dog the other side of you seemingly able to spread out across not only his seat but part of yours. You could have sworn the mechanic was aiming for every single bump possible just to be able to watch your breasts bounce as the truck hit each stone. 

 With each jolt and jiggle your thigh was pressed closer and closer against his, and when the truck hit a huge hole in the road you felt yourself almost  lifted from the seat, suddenly pinned back by his strong arm quickly thrown across your torso to hold you down and from slipping from the seat. The skin of his tattooed bicep was pressed against the exposed neckline and chest, his scent invading your senses; a warm spicy aftershave and motor oil and gasoline. You could feel your panties getting wetter as your legs parted so you could plant your feet on the dusty floor of the truck but it did little to alleviate the aching between your thighs. 

 Finally he slowed the truck and turned the wheel into a sharp left-hand turn, the truck bouncing along a gravel driveway until an old wooden auto shop came into view. Pulling the truck to a stop he climbed out, holding his hand out for you;

 “Dodge likes to sleep in the cab…”

 Rolling your eyes you took his hand and climbed out as gracefully as you could, your short sundress sticking to the seat before you yanked it down to retain what was left of your dignity;

 “So Babycakes, there’s a coupla’ chairs round the side if you want to take a seat whilst I look at your car, and an icebox on the counter just inside the shop, help yourself to a water”

 “Umm, thanks”

 -

 You glanced at the time on your phone. You’d been waiting three hours; the sound of your car being taken to pieces by the mechanic was all you’d heard for most of that time. The only thing that seemed to have changed in those three hours was the humidity rising and the storm clouds coming closer. Rising to your feet you stretched your limbs and turned the corner of the auto shop, glancing at the mechanic as he lay on the floor below your sorry looking car as it was raised on the hydraulic lift;

 “Sir?”

 “Chris”

 “What?”

 “It’s Chris, not Sir…”

 “Ok, Chris. Do you know how much longer it’ll be?”

 Chris pulled himself out from beneath your car, wiping his hands on a rag that was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans;

 “For today, I’ll probably be done in an hour…”

 “Great!”

 “... but I need to overnight the parts I need, so it won’t be ready until tomorrow”

 “What? When were you going to tell me that?”

 “I’ve just ordered the parts Honey”

 You let out a grunt of frustration;

 “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow… you could have told me sooner”

 You turned on your heel and started to walk away;

 “Where ya’ goin’?”

 “To find a motel, or a guesthouse, or somewhere to stay at!”

 “On foot?!”

 “YES!”

 -

 You had stormed off, anger driving your feet as your white sneakers slowly got covered in brown dust that puffed up from the gravel driveway with every step you took towards the road. Finally you reached the cracked asphalt, taking a sharp right-hand turn and you started along the road. By now the humidity was hanging in the air and it felt like you were walking through soup. Even the midges had given up, their tiny wings not strong enough to cut through the cloying stillness. The sun was now obscured by dark clouds, but you continued on. Finally a crossroads came into view, and you willed your heat-tired muscles to push on, coming to the sign and stopping. The shortest distance was to take a right, so scrambling over the accumulated gravel you continued your journey. 

 -

 An hour later your legs were weary. Your dress clung to your skin as sweat beaded across your brow, down your chest and back. You held your arms out as you walked, hoping just by moving they would cool your skin, but having little affect.

 Finally a small house came into view, further buildings behind it mostly hidden by trees. The hair on your arms stood on end with Goosebumps and you could smell petrichor on the air, you knew the storm was about to break. Quickening your step you found the energy to trot down the rest of the way, past the worn mailbox with most of the letters worn away, the last three just spelling out ‘van’, but you were oblivious, the first raindrop hitting your skin and you sprinted towards the house. 

 By the time you reached the porch the parts of your dress that weren’t stuck to your skin due to sweat were doing so thanks to the rain. A crack of thunder boomed as a flash of lightning lit the sky, and as you cowered under the porch you heard a bark and a very wet brown dog suddenly ran for cover, shivering on the doorstep. Another crack of thunder made you jump, and the dog cowered against you, you crouching down to wrap your arms around the scared creature. Looking at the name tag that hung from its collar you read it; ‘Dodger’, and your heart plummeted to your stomach. Before you could even fathom what had happened, a familiar voice was behind you;

 “You were walking over an hour and you still manage to find your way back here?”

 Turning you looked out to the lawn where Chris stood, the rain pouring over him, his t-shirt stuck to every curve of his body and his jeans hanging low on his narrow hips. Slowly striding towards you he wiped the rain from his face as he stepped under the porch, reaching around you and opening the door to the small cabin;

 “You took a right and another right, didn’t ya?”

 “How did you…?”

 “Well, if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff, I woulda told you to turn left at the end of the driveway. Instead walked a giant triangle and found yourself back here”

 You let out a strangled noise, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, before your body sagged;

 “Can you… can you give me a ride into town?”

 “Nope”

 “No?!”

 “The town is tiny. All we got is a church, a market, and a drug store. Nearest motel ain’t for thirty miles, and you wouldn’t wanna stay there… unless you like cockroaches”

 You could feel your bottom lip quiver, trying to hold back the tears before Chris’s voice softened;

 “I got a couch you can stay on, no funny business, no obligations…”

 He was close, so close. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and you found your mouth moving before your brain could stop it;

 “What if I wanted funny business?”

 There was no more preamble, no more hesitating, he stepped forwards, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other on your waist as he pulled your body flush against his own, his lips meeting yours.

 The kiss was fierce, your mouth willingly opening as his tongue pushed against your own, dancing together as you tasted one another. His hand on your hip pulled at your dress, curling it up in his fingers until your skin was there to touch, his large hand gripping the soft cheek of your ass. He pushed you back, the hardness of the wooden clapperboards of his cabin rough against your skin, but you were blissfully unaware of it. He pressed one leg between yours and you ground your hips against the firm denim clad muscle of his thigh, in turn the thick hardness that was growing between your bodies he rubbed against your hip, moaning into your mouth as the friction helped release some of the tension that had built during the day. 

 Snaking a hand between your bodies, your dress had already ridden up so he was easily able to slide a hand into your panties, leaving streaks of motor oil across the pale fabric as he sought out your clit. Pushing two wide fingers down he found your soaked entrance and gathered some of your wetness, before bringing his fingers back and rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bud. His lips parted from yours, resting his forehead to your own for a moment you panted into his mouth, the air between you hot and thick, before those kiss plump lips make their way to your neck, sucking and licking at your jugular as his beard scratched against your skin. 

 Your head lolled back and rested against the wooden side of the building, the storm raging around you as you felt your orgasm starting to build. Your hands clung to Chris’s strong arms, his skin patterned with tattoos that you yearned to run your fingertips over tenderly. Your body started to shake, your orgasm growing closer as that coil in the pit of your stomach wound ever tighter, your hand finding its way to the firm bulge that was pressing against your hip, and as you squeezed the hot muscle through the denim you started to come, Chris’s mouth finding your own against as he swallowed your cries of passion. 

 He stilled his fingers as you trembled against him, quickly unfastening the buttons of his fly and pushing the garment down just enough to free his thick cock, taking hold of your thighs as he lifted you.  With strong hands he gripped at your panties before ripping them from your body, the ruined pieces of cotton falling to the floor at your feet. You felt the wide tip press against your still trembling entrance and with a grunt he thrust into you, filling you completely as you screamed out his name.

 You clung to him as he started to fuck you roughly against the wall, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting being drowned out by the storm now wild overhead. With each thrust your body was sent to heavy, the thick stretch of him inside you making your legs tremble as he held one leg over his hip, letting you try and keep the other held up as he pawed at your breasts, pulling your dress and bra down until you spilled out, your tits bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts. 

 No words were spoken, your moans the only thing that could leave your lips as Chris fucked you so hard you were sure you’d never be able to close your legs again and made roadkill of your pelvis with his powerful thrusts. You were trembling around him and you were getting closer and closer to coming again. His lips were on your neck again and muttering the dirtiest things in your ear;

 “Are you gonna cum on my cock babe? Make me fill you with my cum until its dripping down your legs… you’re squeezing me so damn tight, gonna pump you full then take you inside, make you sit on my face, would you like that? Wanna feel my tongue on your cunt?”

 “Oh fuck… Chris, yes… fuck, keep going…”

 He laughed quietly before picking up speed, the slapping sound of his heavy sac against your ass filling your ears as the wide root of his cock rubbed and dragged against your clit. With a grind of his hips you were coming, your fingernails clinging to his back as you shook with pleasure, triggering his own orgasm as he pumped hot ropes of creamy seed deep within your womb.

 Holding you against the wall, he kissed you, his tongue working against your own before he slowly pulled out of you, letting your feet fall to the floor. Your head swam from the pleasure surging through your body, only partially aware of Chris pulling his jeans up enough to keep them on his hips before he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you inside.

 Moments later you were being dropped onto a large bed, the covers messy from when the previous occupant had simply gotten up and dressed that morning, and you watched as Chris stripped his soaked clothes from his body before crawling onto the bed, his gaze feral as he pressed a line of kisses up your sternum before his lips found yours again. His fingers worked deftly against the ties of your wrap summer dress, pulling it open and helping you to wriggle out of it; all whilst his lips never left yours. 

 Finally he pulled away, his strong arms bulging as he flipped you over and pulled your hips up until you were resting on your knees. His wide tongue pulled a thick stripe through your cum soaked folds, from clit to asshole, before grinding his face against your crotch. His tongue was everywhere, sucking on your clit before moving to your well fucked entrance, then moving up and pressing against the tight ring of muscle between your asscheeks. With more insistence he pushed his tongue against your back door and you sighed into the old sheets below you, your fingers curling in the cotton as he slid two thick fingers into your soaked channel whilst his tongue worked against your asshole. When his thumb found your clit a shockwave bolted through you, your scream into the mattress from sheer pleasure as you unashamedly ground back against him, moaning his name as your legs shook. He pulled his mouth away and spat on your asshole, working a finger in up to the knuckle and you started to cum, his fingers in your cunt rubbing against that spongy spot whilst his thumb worked figure eights over your clit, and you found yourself squirting your release as you screamed with pleasure.

 You were aware of Chris pulling away, your body trembling and fluid in the prone position. You heard the quiet click of the cap of a bottle before a cool viscous liquid was slowly spread over your ass. The touch of Chris’s fingers exploring your most hidden of places had you pushing back against his touch, relaxing as he slid two oiled fingers slowly into your ass, massaging you, stretching you. By now you were drooling, your tongue working against the cotton sheet as you bore down as he pushed a third finger into your ass, the quiet squirt of more oil being applied directly inside you had you knowing what was coming, and humming a low moan as you felt his fingers pull away only to be replaced with the well-oiled fat crown of his cock. 

 Turning your head you watched as he pushed the wide mushroom into your tight ring of muscle, groaning as your secret walls gripped him so hard. His large hands pulled your cheeks apart and he spat on his dick as he started to push into you, filling you, parting your walls with his meaty girth. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pushed harder, reaching around and rubbing at your clit whilst he rocked his hips back and forth before he was finally balls deep in your ass. 

 “So fuckin’ good, feel so tight around my dick Baby, taking me so well... “

 His mouth was as dirty as you had hoped, praising you for taking his dick in your ass as he started to fuck you, pushing his legs open to widen your own and allow him in even deeper. Your hands scrambled at the covers trying to find something to grip onto, some sort of purchase, before he was suddenly pulling your arms behind your back and gripping your wrists with his massive hands. Folding your arms across your sweat drenched back he used them to anchor himself as he fucked your ass even harder, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you as your empty cunt ached to be filled. As if reading your thoughts - or you could even have said it aloud, who knows you were so high on pleasure - he grasped your arms in one large hand before curling the other arm beneath you, pushing three fingers into your soaked pussy as he fucked your ass so hard you doubted you’d be able to sit down for a week without feeling it.

 “Fuck… gonna cum Baby, gonna fill this ass with cum so deep…”

 “Yes... Chris, FUCK, fuck my ass, I want your cum…”

 “My fucking gorgeous anal cum slut, your cunt is gorgeous, but I’m gonna fuck this ass from now on… never had an ass this good, this tight… gonna have you gaping by the time I’ve finished with you… my cum dripping down your legs, gonna make sure you never wear panties again, need you ready for me to bend you over and push my dick up this tight ass to fill you with another load…”

 Your orgasm took over, gripping Chris’s dick and fingers so hard it set his orgasm off, a second wave of your orgasm so intense that as you felt your body milking Chris, the room went dark and you blacked out.

 -

 The room was dark, the sound of rain outside soothing to your ears as you tried to figure out where you were, then snippets of your memory came back; your car, the garage, Chris… the storm… fucking him… Turning you saw him quietly asleep beside you, you winced as your muscles protested against moving, but the need for water and the bathroom was too much as you quickly slipped out of the room. 

 Having found the bathroom, you attempted to clean yourself up a little before walking through the small cabin to the kitchen, taking a glass from the counter before filling it and drinking the whole thing at the sink and filling it again. Two warm hands wrapped themselves around your naked body from behind, warm lips and a rough beard found your neck and Chris started to kiss along your shoulders, his hands finding your naked breasts as he cupped them whilst grinding his hard dick into the crease of your ass. Setting the glass down you spread your legs a little wider, and a warm hum of appreciation reverberated through Chris’s chest as he dipped his hips whilst pushing you forwards over the old porcelain sink, the smooth crown of his dick pushing against your used asshole, and you felt the pop as he sank into your cum soaked walls.

 Groaning as you leaned forwards and gripped the cool porcelain, you opened yourself up for him as he ploughed into your murky depths, his thick thighs pushing your legs wide apart before he lifted one of your knees until it was resting on the countertop, your other foot only just reaching the floor as you were stood on your toes, Chris fucking your ass harder this time, gripping your hips as he filled you again and again. His hands moved to your breasts and he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling the hardened teats until they were painfully hard. Snaking his hands up your front he wrapped his fingers over your shoulders so he could pull you back onto him harder, his thrusts increasing in speed. Your cunt was leaking juices down your inner thighs, and with each thrust his heavy sac would slap against it, reminding you of its emptiness, and you found yourself begging;

 “Chris please… fill my pussy…”

 Chuckling he pulled one hand down and spat on it before pushing three fingers into you, all whilst continuing to fill your ass with his fat cock;

 “You like that? You like having all your holes stuffed? You’re just begging to be filled, used, fucked…”

 “Oh fuck… harder… fuck me harder…”

 With a grunt he increased the speed of his thrusts, the front of your thighs pushing painfully against the sink, your leg muscles screaming at the way you were stretched wide open, but the pleasure was too intense to stop, you needed it, you needed the release.

 You came again and Chris fucked you straight through it, somehow finding the skill to fuck you even harder, sliding a fourth finger into your slick channel as he stretched you so wide. Your head swam, the sound of the storm outside closing the world in around you, and as you came again so did he, filling your ass with another load of his cum.

 Afterwards he carried you to his bed, wrapping his hard body around yours as you fell into a dreamless sleep, the reality of the world far far away.

 -

 Handing over the keys you smiled at Chris as you took them from him. Your body ached and was sore beyond belief, but it was certainly a night to remember. You had slept in until well past midday, only waking when your stomach had growled from not eating anything. Picking at some leftovers in Chris’s fridge, you’d found your soaked sundress draped over the back of a kitchen chair, pulling it on you shivered at the damp touch of the fabric before you’d stepped out of the cabin and found Chris fitting the parts he’d had on overnight delivery to your car. The bill had been more than you had expected - the parts costing more than you had in your purse - so when Chris had smirked at you and suggested an alternative payment, you had sighed with pleasure as he’d fucked you bent over the hood of your car, his dick filling your cunt as he had three fingers stretching your ass. You’d cum so hard you were left shaking, and he had pulled out just before he came only to push an inch into your ass and fill you with another load of his cum.

 With your keys in hand you kissed him, your tongues sloppy before you pulled away just as the sound of tyres could be heard on the rough gravel of his driveway, another tow truck pulling up alongside Chris’s. 

 Sitting in your car you gave him a wave as you pulled away, watching the garage disappear into the distance before you turned your attention onto the road ahead, pulling out onto the dry again asphalt, another summer storm starting to gather on the horizon.

 -

 Not thirty minutes later you were standing at the side of the road, kicking the flat tyre before screaming out at the sky in frustration. You checked your cell phone, groaning when you saw the out of service sign, before stashing it back in your purse. 

 The sound of an old diesel engine could be heard in the distance, and you looked up to the sky before closing your eyes;

 “No… it can’t be…”

 Taking a deep breath with your eyes still closed, you heard the engine get closer until it came to an idle beside you, and familiar voice greeting you;

 “Baby… you need a ride?”

 Chris hopped out of the cab, slipping his hand beneath your dress and giving your ass a squeeze;

 “Gotta watch out for that sharp gravel, it’ll blow tyres out real bad…”

 -

 Sitting in the cab you watched as Chris hooked your car back onto the tow truck, before ducking back inside the truck, this time just the two of you;

 “Where’s Dodger?”

 “Sleeping on the porch… Now, we’re gonna have to order you a new tyre Baby…”

“Let me guess, it’ll be delivered overnight?”

 He leant back and started to unbutton his jeans;

 “You never got to taste my dick last night… how about you try it now whilst I finger that ass ready for the next round? Huh Baby?”

 Settling onto your knees on the wide seat, you took him into your mouth, sucking him as he started the truck, unaware of the rusty nail that he dropped into the pocket of the door, a small piece of tyre rubber still attached to it… he’d found you, and he wasn’t about to let you drive off into the sunset...

[ferret-not-microwave]

Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 2).

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with. ]

Jehan:

• They get weirded out when people always expect them to present femme, wear flower crowns, flowing ponchos and skirts. They do love these, especially flowers. But they barely get time to slip on a T shirt over a pair of shorts and tie up their hair in a messy knot before going out for last minute groceries. Some days, they actually like wearing plaid shirts, hoodies, berets and jackets. And they did have a "I'M BORED WITH MY LONG HAIR LEMME CHOP IT OFF" phase. Or multiple such phases. They look amazing, both ways.

• They wish people stop perceiving them as tiny and fragile. They are actually pretty regular sized. They are actually taller than R and Joly, as tall as Marius and Courf, and can give a mean right hook to anyone who threatens to assault them and people around them. They get slightly miffed when people don't expect them to pack in a punch to defend themself.

• They really wish that people didn't assume that they have the solution to all their emotional problems. They are a mess too, yannow? With lots of tea, a few potted plants and a decorative skull. And they really wish that they could have a meltdown in front of some people in turn.

• They aren't always all calm and zen. Woe betide anyone who interrupts Jehan in a writing session. Or a proof-reading session. Or catches them hitting their head on the corner of the table while trying to clean the dust under it. And woe especially betide anyone who interrupts these activities of Jehan to pine for the umpteenth time.

• They don't always entertain valentine poetry requests just because they specialise in Romanticism. "Romanticism with a CAPITAL R", they yell, "ALSO includes poems like the Masque of Anarchy, and novels like Frankenstein! I'm NOT reading hours of Schlegel for this!" Some of their slam poems are fierce af , and rip the establishment a new one. Also, they don't write poems on every available surface (because they usually hide the more private and sweet poems).

• They wish that people wouldn't hover around them like helicopter parents when their date is edgy ( *Montparnasse*). They can take care of themselves, and will definitely come to people for help if shit hits the fan (that never really happened though). They want to let people know that toxic people can also materialise without leather jackets and piercings.

• They also want to let people know that their relationship dynamics with 'Parnasse is regular af, and not any chewed-out Sinner and Saint trope.

Feuilly:

• Is impatient. Anyone would be impatient if they are working their arse off in three part-time jobs, an Etsy business, classes and assignments. AND Les Amis work. He's tries not be rude, but is often blunt and brusque and has no time for the wounded sentiments of those he calls out for their privilege. Feuilly is hardly the quiet, angelic figure people initially think he is, and can be quite fiery in meetings. He feels frustrated when people don't quite get it.

• He goes out of his way to help his friends. That doesn't mean that he is a handyman for free. He does not have time to fix every article of machinery or furniture his friends happen to damage, definitely not for free. And his friends know that, and never stress him out. He does give them a lot of discounts, though, and is always there for any emergency.

• He finds a lot of rich-people-food tasteless. Lavender tea blends? Perfumed water. Champagne? Meh. Caviar? Nevermind. Canapes? Why?

• He's always afraid that his friendships will fall apart. He cannot hope to attend all meetings, let alone movie nights. He's terrified of dinners and parties, because he's worried about expenses. He cannot trust simple acts of service from his friends because he hates charity. He's also a little self-conscious about his old thrift-shop clothes. He's always terrified of losing his jobs. It takes a lot of time for the Amis to convince him to trust them, and they try their level best to make sure that they don't hurt him in any way, and help him as much as he permits (sometimes even more).

• He is learning how not to judge people for their apparent privilege without knowing their life-stories, and, whenever not tired, takes an active role in trying to know people's histories.

• Education is rough for him, because most professors insist on standards of work presentation which are usually learned by really privileged people. Even if he is low-key a genius who learns really fast and gives tons of content in his paper, he gets mediocre grades because of vague things like "colloquialism usage", "cluttered style" and "unacademic presentation".

• Sometimes has meltdowns and panic attacks, particularly at the end of the month. Feuilly knows what homelessness is like, and does not want to repeat it again, even though he's financially in a better place than before. He wakes up with nightmares about being passed out at the back of a subway train.

• Feuilly is an old soul. He knows when an Ami is sad, or in trouble. But he'll wait till he knows they are ready to tell him what's wrong. It can sometimes seem bordering on tough love. He hopes that no one thinks him to be insensitive because of that.

Bahorel:

• Likes bar brawls only when it involves kicking someone's ass for being creepy, homophobic, sexist, racist and similarly-ist assholes. He absolutely does not like gratuitous violence for its own sake. And FFS, he doesn't really like Tarantino.

• Wishes people don't look at him weirdly when he is doing regular stuff like groceries, parking his motorbike, playing with Gavroche or Azelma, or going plant-shopping with Jehan. He knows that people stare as though he was a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off in a reassuring display of toxic, hypermasculine machismo. He hates that. -_-

• Similarly, he hates it when people assume that he's all brawn and no brain, particularly after knowing him to be a law school dropout. He has a grim satisfaction in seeing a newcomer to the Musain look at him agape, expecting him to be some kind of tropey backbencher only there for brawling, but finding him actively engaged in articulate brainstorming while the others nod enthusiastically.

• He likes bar crawls. That doesn't mean he encourages R to drink. He's done a LOT of work helping R to work on his drinking problem and was one of the happiest when R got his first bronze sobriety chip.

• In fact, Bahorel is notoriously good at dancing in a bar, and often goes for the dancing only. In bars, he takes care of everyone - including the DD who lingers in the corner with a beer and their phone, uncomfortably anxious, and desperately needing company (looking at you, Ferre).

• Dropping out of law school has made him really uncertain about life. For the first few months after dropping out, he regretted every bit of it, cried himself to sleep after feuding with his anxious family over the phone, and had quite a few suicidal thoughts. It's not that he's completely certain that life is okay now, but he's much happier studying journalism.

• As a kid, he hated his height and build because he was considered too big for a certain really cute boat ride in an amusement park. He also had eating disorders in high school.