#The Magical Nights of Glorious Tang

[kdram-chjh]

Cdrama: An Oriental Odyssey / Una Odisea Oriental (2018)

Gifs of Intro of cdrama “An Oriental Odyssey”

[irris30]

The bandit king falls for the deadly princess Minghui.

[irris30]

He is soooooooo cute

smoooooth.

[jaskiersvalley]

🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼 (for you're such a lovely person who shares so many beautiful fics with us and is always up for talking. ily

I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting on this ask because I just love seeing you in my inbox. But, like with everything, I need to stop hoarding and write a little thank you <3

Something wasn’t quite squaring up with Nilfgaard’s army. It spread at an alarming rate, much faster than a regular army could. Whatever sorcery the mages and sorceresses have concocted, it was terrifying. Such an army shouldn’t have been able to sustain itself, it needed food, water, resources to travel. Yet, despite all this, the army seemed to move silently, without the usual almost locust like destruction and draining of everything in their path. Nobody seemed to be able to pinpoint where the army was when it wasn’t fighting, only small scouting groups. People learned to be wary of those groups too. Wherever they went, the army was never seemingly far behind, backing them up at a moment’s notice. It was a mystery that was yet to be solved.

Finding a Nilfgaardian on the run was quite unusual. Eskel didn’t think it was something he’d live to see. They were usually so cocksure, travelling in their little groups. He had learned to spot them, even if they weren’t trying to make a scene. One leader, with five protectors. Those five tended to be on full alert and guarding their leader which was a bit odd, but then again, Nilfgaard as a whole was a bit peculiar.

The man Eskel spotted was obviously from the South, he heard him order, the accent harsh yet lilting at the same time. Watching him find the darkest corner - the one Eskel had wanted for himself - curiosity was winning out. Only a desperate man would share a space with a Witcher and this man, though he shrank away, steadfastly refused to move from the shadows of the corner.

“Got separated from your group?” Eskel liked to make small talk if he could. Especially when it helped solve a curiosity like the man opposite him.

“Something like that.”

Evasive, huddled and not looking Eskel in the eyes. The plot thickened. “So you ran away.” While the man didn’t seemingly react, Eskel could hear his heartrate pick up. “Why?”

Silence stretched. The man finished his food in a great hurry and was up, evidently not wanting any kind of company. Oddly, Eskel didn’t think it had anything to do with him being a Witcher.

The next morning the man was nowhere to be seen. But Eskel caught his scent and, with nothing better to do, he set off at a leisurely pace in the same direction. If they bumped into each other he could always claim it was a funny twist of Fate. He shouldn’t have joked about it, not even in his own head because, not a few miles out of the village, he found the evidence of a scuffle. The whole stretch of road had a tang of death to it which he couldn’t place. However, he soon forgot about it because he could smell blood and hear the pained, laboured breaths of someone. Rounding the small clump of bushes, Eskel tutted. “Run into trouble?”

“No.”

The blatant lie drew a laugh from Eskel. He had to admit, he was intrigued. Grabbing his pack, he approached the man, showing him his hands in an attempt to reassure that he meant no harm. In fact, he was offering a helping hand.

“Did they get what they wanted?” The question tripped from Eskel’s lips as he lifted the man’s gambeson away to reveal a cut to his side. It wasn’t deep but it was in the crease of soft flesh that tended to sting like a bitch, Eskel knew that from experience. His only reply was a shake of the head. “Good. You sent them packing by the looks of it. I’m impressed. My name’s Eskel by the way.”

Still no reply and the man tipped his head back, staring at the sky with gritted teeth while Eskel saw to his wound.

“Well, you’re in no state to travel alone. You headed anywhere in particular?” Another head shake but this time the man watched him with guarded eyes. “Okay. Why don’t we travel together for a bit. I can help keep you safe.”

“I can’t pay you for your services.” Clipped words that sounded tired. "And you probably shouldn't be around me."

It was cute, how the man seemed so determined to drive Eskel away without being cruel. Most refreshing. "I don't need your payment. As I'm not headed anywhere in particular, I figured we could both use a bit of company."

That settled the matter and, for three days they travelled in companionable silence, sticking to villages and heading north. It was only in a larger village that Eskel learned the man's name and not because they were getting more friendly either. The poster bore quite a good likeness to Cahir.

"So-" Eskel said as they camped outside the village, "-want to tell me why Nilfgaard thinks you're dangerous enough to not be approached but your sighting should be reported swiftly and discreetly?"

Cahir let out a world weary sigh, shoulders drooping. "I control a large portion of their army. They want me back for that."

Which was interesting. In Eskel's experience no general tended to command such loyalty. He was also a sucker for those in need. Plus, the chance to fuck Nilfgaard over was quite glorious. He smirked. "Want to come to Kaer Morhen to hide out for the winter?"

It was a bit of a trek north still but Cahir began to relax around Eskel. They shared their first kiss at the foot of the trail up to Kaer Morhen. A few more were traded along the way but, for the most part, they huddled for warmth, cuddled up for the cold nights.

Slowly the keep filled up with its regular winter visitors, all of them somewhat hesitant to greet Cahir until Eskel intervened with a pointed glare from behind him. Everyone settled in, Geralt turned up with Jaskier, Lambert and Aiden did their usual thing, even Coen managed to slip through the gates before the snow hit. Soon, they were all enjoying the roaring fires, drink and songs. Despite his army background, Cahir turned down all invitations to train and share knowledge. It didn't make him very popular but his cooking helped ease any grumblings.

It was all going well until a portal opened up and Yennefer stepped through. midway through greeting everyone she froze and turned to the door as Cahir stepped in.

"What are you?" she hissed, hand curling to cradle an unleashed spell.

"Nilfgaard's finest deserter."

That didn't seem to help ease Yennefer and she looked over Cahir with a critical eye. "I can see Fringilla's work in there with several others'. You volunteer for this?"

"Only as much as someone volunteers to be a Witcher."

"Just what is going on?" Vesemir rumbled. He had a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to jump in. That had Cahir taking a step back, a pained expression.

"I wouldn't advise you hurt me. You have an awful lot of dead buried here."

The growl from Vesemir wasn't reassuring. "Don't threaten me in my own home, boy."

"Vesemir!" The warning came from Yennefer of all people. "Don't."

Something was crackling in their air, Eskel could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was magic but not any kind he had felt before. Even worse, he could trace the source back to Cahir whose eyes were turning black slowly.

"I'm going to go outside. Please nobody follow." Stiffly, Cahir turned and marched out of the keep, into the snow covered woods. Silence reigned in his wake.

"The fuck?" Lambert spat, looking angry in his bewilderment.

As one, they all turned to Yennefer for an explanation. None of them had felt even a hint of magic from Cahir until that moment.

"That-" Yennefer pointed to where Cahir had been, "-is an unnatural necromancer. No innate ability but, with the right stimuli, can raise the dead between here and the bottom of the mountain."

The silence stretched until Jaskier cursed. "Now we know how Nilfgaard's army is sustained."

As big as the revelation was, Eskel had a bigger concern. That was his boyfriend who had just walked out, looking ready to be consumed by his unnatural powers. Stepping out of the keep, Eskel had to whistle. The whole area between the keep and the woods was covered in flowers, a carpet of green dotted with blossoms of colour. In the middle of it all was Cahir, kneeling, eyes closed and head tipped towards his chest. His breathing was forcedly even and deep.

"Go away," Cahir gritted out.

"It's just me."

Looking up, Cahir's eyes were black and bottomless, his breath hitched as a tear trickled down his cheek. "I didn't mean to. I promise. They're everywhere."

Eskel could hear the footsteps, shuffling and shambling. Not all of them human, one alarmingly large.

"Old Speartip," Eskel growled. From the forest around them an army of the undead approached. All the bodies they didn't have the means to burn after the sacking, Old Speartip from his cave, forktails they'd left dotted around the mountain, they were all approaching Kaer Morhen. Along with them came the smell Eskel had scented on the road where bandits had accosted Cahir, now he knew what happened back then.

Cahir let out a shuddering breath, hands curled into a fist. "Threats of violence and pain make them come."

"And when you feel safe, do they go away?"

A miserable nod was his answer and Eskel dropped to his knees. He gathered Cahir against his chest and kissed his softly, demanding all his boyfriend's focus to be on him. The noise of the undead around them stopped, under his knees Eskel could feel the grass wilting back to its winter state. Pulling away, he was pleased to see the blue of Cahir's eyes.

"I'll always keep you safe," he rumbled. A darker thought crossed his mind. "The groups of six scouts for Nilfgaard, they weren't scouts at all, were they?"

From the doorway, Eskel could hear the others shuffling around and peering out at them. But his attention was on Cahir and Cahir alone.

"A necromancer and their guards who're also their tormentors." Cahir sniffled. "There's a reason I've not joined you in the waterfalls. To raise an army, they did unspeakable things."

Eskel pulled Cahir tightly to his chest, wishing he could make everything better. Alas, there wasn't much to be done other than what he'd already been doing; supporting and loving to the best of his abilities.

"We now know better," he tried to reassure. "How would you feel if, in the spring, we continued to travel together? We can take any road you feel comfortable on."

Looking up at Eskel with wide, wet eyes, Cahir licked his lips. "I can't pay you for your services," he said, repeating his words from all those months ago. "But how would you feel about fucking Nilfgaard over? We could rescue a few more necromancers."

It was a daring plan but one that Eskel was intrigued by. So were the others when, over dinner, Cahir haltingly told them everything. The Path was unpredictable at the best of times, the coming year it was going to get even more convoluted.

[wide-eyedscottishlass]

Scarlett and the Professor

moodboard by @strangelock221b​

[continued from] 

Following her watery lesson in the bathtub—in which her insatiable lover had proven his endurance matched perfectly with his dedication to their mutual pleasure—the rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of quiet happiness for Scarlett. Once dried and dressed, he had headed back to his study to grade the last of his papers, having instructed her to get herself dressed and promising he would come back to collect her in no longer than twenty minutes. “I think a tour of the manse is in order once I return,” he’d promised, pressing a few lighthearted kisses to the back of her neck as she stood before the bathroom mirror, towel-clad and about to brush out her hair. “And then perhaps we’ll take a little drive to see what other adventures we can get up to.”

And as good as his word, Hennessy had squired her about his home both inside and out, quietly delighting Scarlett with his apparent need to maintain at least some small physical contact with her most of the time. Splaying one hand on the small of her back or draping an arm across her shoulders, and even stealing occasional kisses from her when she least expected it. How heavenly it felt to know by these simple gestures how thoroughly he now considered her to be his own! His surprisingly tender affections proved distracting enough that if asked, Scarlett would not have been rightly able to answer questions about the layout of his home.

Beneath a cloudless, cerulean sky, they strolled through the wild-grown garden that bordered the pool and jacuzzi behind Hennessy’s house. A riot of indigenous plants and flowers grew thick around them; despite her several months on the island, they still struck Scarlett as breathtakingly exotic. Bougainville and anthurium flourished unchecked, along with several species of lily, banana flowers, and hibiscus; the vibrant reds and pinks, golds and oranges, vied for dominance amidst the deep green of the leaves and vines, with splashes of light and dark blues throughout. The center of the garden held an old, marble bench beside a small ornamental pool filled with lotus blossoms. Beyond this private little piece of Eden lay a wide, grassy slope that ended at a hedgerow which ran the length of the property. But for all its tranquil charm, it was clear from his commentary that Hennessy preferred the shingle of white sand beach which she had viewed from his balcony. Scarlett hoped that in time he’d take her there as well.

“Feeling peckish yet?” They were sitting beneath the umbrella of a wrought iron table on the patio near the pool. “I’m famished…how about we grab a bite to eat?”

“I’d like that,” she agreed, game for whatever he had in mind. Hennessy held out his hand to her as she stood up and whisked her along with him to his garage. He continued to play the gentleman, seating her in his sleek, midnight blue convertible and advising her well. “Buckle up, little lamb—I’m feeling the need for speed,” he grinned, slamming shut her door and then taking his place behind the wheel.

Scarlett was shocked to discover that despite being a man who held nearly absolute and steadfast control over every aspect of his life (that she’d observed thus far, anyway), Hennessy drove like a maniac. Though he must’ve known well the curves and dips and swells of the two-lane road from his home and beyond, he took them with an incautious speed and virtual abandon that were quite harrowing. She did her best to keep her eyes set on the road in front of them, making involuntary sounds of distress at his most egregious transgressions, and feeling him sneak peeks her way while chortling at her obvious distress. “Almost there, m’dear,” he laughed as the tires squealed through yet another reckless curve and played havoc with her loose, fishtail braid—so that once they’d reached the little roadside, seafood shack that was their destination, Scarlett had to loose it from it’s binding and run her shaky hands through her hair to set it right.  

Once her nerves and stomach had settled, she discovered she was hungry enough to put that harrowing experience behind her–for the time being–and indulge in the bounty which Hennessy has ordered for them, and then laid out on one of the weathered picnic tables behind the small, brightly shingled building. “The best and freshest catches on the island,” he bragged, “Prepared with all the culinary magic only a native chef could provide!” Scarlett found greater pleasure than she might ever have imagined in watching him indulge his ravenous appetite. They feasted upon cornmeal battered shrimp, a crab and curry stew, conch fritters served with a spicy brown rice, pickled mackerel in a thick coconut milk sauce beside fried plantains. At Hennessy’s insistence, she even tried the Bake and Shark with Citrus Chutney, surprising herself that she actually enjoyed it. He was larger than life in everything he did, and she felt a swell of simple affection for him fill her heart, and unabashed gratitude that she was along for this glorious, albeit unpredictable, ride with him.

Afterwards, he surprised her yet again, offering to drive to her flat so she could grab a bathing suit and another change of clothes—indicating that he expected her to stay with him a second night. Even another nerve-wracking drive back to his estate couldn’t dampen her joy at that.   

          ____________________________________________________

The sun glinted off the ripples and waves lapping at the warm, white sand of Hennessy’s beach as he spread out a thick blanket for them to recline upon. Curious gulls flew low, checking for food scraps that so often accompanied the presence of humans in their domain. Scarlett stood where the water just kissed her toes, breathing deep the salty tang of the Atlantic, a scent that often awoke a quiet longing in her heart for home---though she wouldn’t dream of being anywhere in the world right now but at her lover’s side.

A sudden updraft swept through her hair, and the squawks of protest from the sea gulls caught in the rising air current drew her attention away from the ocean and back behind her. Hennessy had one arm crooked and was drawing swirls in the air, that same determined focus on his face as when he’d worked that mysterious water magic as she bathed. He’s clearing the birds away, was her immediate thought; he’s literally stirring the air to send them away! How in hell is this possible? Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet didn’t feel as solid as it should. 

He flashed her his ever-charming sideways smile, and held out his free arm to her and he lowered the other and the ‘breeze’ died away. “Come sit with me, Scarlett.” Hennessy’s tone of command was undeniable, and her knees went weak with her need to obey. She took his proffered hand and then settled onto the blanket, not allowing the certainty that she wasn’t the first woman to share it with him here, to dull the pleasant anticipation that he would inevitably be taking here soon in whatever way pleased him best. 

Hennessy made their small talk easy for a time, skirting the edges of the questions which he had to know were weighing on her mind, while drawing from her the details of what he certainly must think of as her quaint, little life. He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow while Scarlett sat cross-legged and continued to watch the waves lap at the warm sand. As relaxed as she was feeling, she could also feel him watching her as though everything she told him was of great interest---and as if he was in no rush to pursue his pleasure just yet. 

The blazing orange disk of the sun had sunk lower on the horizon by the time that conversation lapsed, and he finally saw fit to broach the topic that remained foremost in her thoughts. “You’re quite a patient woman, Scarlett. Especially for one so green.” The husk of his voice was as soothing as the rhythm of the waves, and drew her eyes his way. “I’m impressed. You’ve held your tongue all these hours about something I know you must be bursting to ask about.”

Scarlett shrugged and gave a wee smile. “My Mam always taught me that patience was a virtue—but before he lit out into the wider world to make his fortune, my Da taught me a simpler wisdom…”

“Which was?”

“That I should take a lesson from the Sea, whose patience endures forever. And who always gets want she wants, in the end.”

“Hmmm…wise man, your Da,” Hennessy reflected, “Though he’d have done better by you not to father you in absentia.”

“I suppose so,” she sighed, resolving to keep that quiet pain from tainting this precious time with her teacher, “Though it’s all water under the bridge now, isn’t it?”

He smiled at her winningly, “You have an apt way of looking at things, m’dear.” He took to his feet as he told her, “And your patience has earned you the answer to the mystery of the afternoon.” Hennessy held out his hand to help her rise up, guided her forward to stand with her toes tucked just beneath the edge of the water again, and then stood behind her, “But first a little demonstration more.”

The sun had dipped almost completely beneath the waves; the air was warm and soft, rife with the night’s possibilities. Scarlet felt, as much as heard, Hennessy draw a deep breath, and in moments saw the seafoam suddenly part around her feet, wetting the sand in a widening circle that left her skin untouched. The circle soon grew to encompass them both, closing behind him.

Scarlett licked her lips, barely able to speak. “It’s real…it really happened. Part of me kept insisting that I dreamed the whole thing, but…but it’s real…”

Hennessy stepped into her and spoke against he ear, making her shiver with his truth, “Very, very real, my sweet. As real as the Sun at it’s zenith. As real as the pull of the Moon upon the tides.”

Though her mouth had gone dry, Scarlett remained undaunted in her need for the full truth. She turned to face him, clear-eyed and ready for whatever he might reveal. “Then how, my jo…tell me how it’s even possible. Please.”

“Oh my dear,” he tutted, “My sweet, innocent girl. Hennessy’s eyes gleamed softly in the dying light. “There is so very much you have left to learn.”

(to be continued)

tagging: @strangelock221b @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange @splunge4me2art @ben-locked @ben-c-group-therapy @letterstosherlock @humanbornarchangel @aeterna-auroral-avenger @frowerssx-world @tsukuyomi011 @emilyinnj4real @losille2000 @macgyvershe (as I have a hunch this is just up your alley!)

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

The Legend of the Two Queens

Ask the Mystery Gang: I’ve been inspired by all the recent sightings of the possible return of the Pirate Queen and I dug up this old legend you all may be interested in. I present to you “The Legend of the Two Queens”:

        “Long ago in a time when the kingdoms of man and fay stood side by side in a world filled with magic, a fay was born that possessed so great a potential for magic that it is said the great forest itself silenced was temporarily in awe of her arrival. Her people seeing this great potential within her, came together and decided that this child would be trained to become their queen and lead the Fay into a glorious new era of magic, or so it was believed. It was that from that day forward that the Fay girl was taught the ways of magic and diplomacy by strict observation of the court, a future written by everyone’s hands but her own. When she came of age she took the crown but she could never shake the desire in her heart for a world beyond the ancient forest where she could not only learn on her own terms, but be free to influence a world beyond the restrictions of tradition.

        As time came to pass, she was regarded by her people as an excellent queen, but she knew better when the hands of the council so often made their moves in her name. A world of power in her hands, but no way to guide it herself. She nearly resigned herself to her fate, when on a dark, moonless night she awoke to an intruder in her quarters. Casting a spell of light, she bore witness to the oddest (and quite frankly only) human she had ever seen. Her hair was the blueish green of the ocean itself, her eyes shined like the brilliance of a clear day’s sky and full of mirth and mischief, and the young queen could swear that she could smell the salty tang of the waters roll off the woman in waves, likely permanently a part of the sturdy leathers and cloth of her nautical attire. The woman’s hand was wrapped around the Queen’s crown and while caught in the act she had mind to smile smugly at her would be target.

        While normally her first instinct would be to summon her guards, or better yet, unleash magic on the intruder herself, she was held back by the burning curiosity she had for the stranger that managed to sneak into the heart of one of the most powerful fay kingdoms. The stranger, ever the opportunist, announced herself to be the Queen of the Pirates and noticing the Fay Queen’s hesitation, did what she does best, she laid out a wager. The Pirate queen challenged that by the end of one month she will have either stolen the greatest treasure in the fay kingdom or she would willingly turn herself over to the Fey Queen for judgement. Against what many would consider better judgement, the Fay queen agreed to the Pirate’s challenge.

        It was an eventful month for the Fay as the pirate managed to sneak past all manner of guards and council to visit her throughout the day, content to walk side by side with her or simply share a moment. She even made a game of surprising the fay at odd hours and locations, often with a gift of likely stolen treats and clumsily plucked flowers. The pirate had all manner of tales to tell, happy to find any opportunity to put a genuine smile on the fay’s face. Over time the fay began to respond in kind, speaking of the dreams she dares not share with her council, of her desire for freedom and passion for learning and teaching. Day by day the two would steal more and more moments for each other, whether it be talking for hours on end or the silent pleasantness of resting by each other’s side. The pirate deflected any questions of her impending heist with promises that she would still have her prize by the end, although if the fay was being honest, she secretly hoped that day would never come.  

        By the final day the fay queen knew that she could never imprison this beautiful paragon of freedom and charisma. Steeling her heart, she offered the pirate her crown if she would promise that she would continue to bring as much joy to others as she had to her own life. But the pirate refused. She did not tell the Fey that she would steal the crown, no, she promised to steal the greatest treasure in the kingdom. In one smooth motion the Pirate Queen sealed the fey’s lips with her own and oh how the fey suddenly understood as she herself deepened the embrace with tears of joy trickling done her face. That night no trace of the Fey Queen was ever seen in the kingdom again, save for a crown and the smell of salt in the air.

        The legends vary after this point as the tales of the two’s adventures are as numerous as the world is vast. Countless years later, it is said that as the presence of magic began to fade from the world, the two Queens knew what must be done. The two who had become as inseparable as the moon is to the stars, separated for the good of their missions. The Fey Queen went off to become a guide to the young of the world, each and every one of her disciples becoming a paragon in the world in their own ways. Meanwhile the Pirate Queen would find the greatest sources of unjust rule and become the spirit of rebellion that drove forward the greatest revolutions of the world. But I believe the greatest part of these later legends is the simple promise made between them. That throughout their countless new identities and lives crafted to conceal themselves in this mortal dominated world, they made a promise that no matter what, they would eventually meet up again and again, for the pirate to reclaim her greatest treasure, and the fey to return to the one who unlocked her true spirit.”

———

“holy fuck that was beautiful.”

“Aww that was romantic..”

“Hey J- Hey are you okay? You’re looking pale..er.. is something wrong?”

“..I need to go call my mom really quick.”

———

I can imagine that this is how Anarka got her immortality. Because technically, she made a deal with Caline, that being to bring her joy for the rest of her life, and Anarka can only do that if she lives as long. Then again- I’m torn between ‘Bustier falls in love during the conference’ and ‘this’— I love either one anyways but it’s up to you guys.

[irris30]

Mu Le loves Yuan’an

look at how smitten he is

[imagines-oneshots-blog]

All That Glitters Chapter Ten: Leprechauns, Half-Truths and Lines Drawn in Scorched Earth

“Come on, lassling, we don’t have all day now.”

Sweeney’s voice was almost playful and undeniably hungry as it rasped against the slope of your neck, his fevered tone a perfect match for the frenzied deftness thrumming in his long, agile fingers as they snaked beneath the waistband of your leggings to find the supple skin of your hips, his digits seeking the firm flesh of your ass with ease. Never mind that it was broad daylight in a gas station somewhere along the winding back roads of Kentucky, or that your impatient companions waiting just outside by the car had specifically warned you not to make use of the relatively clean, if not claustrophobic bathroom that the rickety structure sported to indulge in a much needed afternoon quickie. As usual, Sweeney didn't seem to give a single fuck about the opinions of anyone but himself as he pulled you against him, directing your tangled forms through the doorway of that blessed bathroom, all hints of gentleness fled from his touch, the ragged need coursing through his veins spilling into the urgent press of his fingers at your waist, the ragged rasp of his beard at your neck, his wicked curses that burnt like fire as they kissed your skin.

"Here? Now?" you groaned beneath the onslaught of his hungry mouth, unable to keep the smile out of your voice, your fingers burrowing eagerly into his hair despite the reluctance flitting about your tone, grit from rolled down windows and dust coated roads imbedded deep into the silky strands that played within your grasp. However, despite the close quarters and limited opportunities for ablution that he'd had, when you breathed him in and flicked your tongue against the warm skin of his neck all you tasted was musk and sweet fertile earth and something you supposed might be the tang of sunshine catching playfully in the flaming glint of familiar copper. Absently you marveled at that little show of his latent power, poignant awe and something dangerously similar to reverence flitting tellingly in the back of your mind in worshipful response.

“Oh come now, lassling," Sweeney hummed as he slid those deft hands hungrily from the perch of your hips, slipping them beneath your tank top, up the swells of your waist, his digits catching in the dips of your rib cage, his touch restless, like he wanted to feel all of you but for the life of him he just couldn't decide where to start, "I know what you've been keenin' for since we got just one merciful fuckin' night alone in that motel room a few hundred miles back. Let me give you what you're wanting."

It was a tempting offer, really it was, but at the moment, sleep deprived and lust drunk and a bit hungover as you were, you just couldn't get the daggers that glinted in Dead Wife's eyes, ready and waiting to be flung at a stray unsuspecting artery, out of your mind’s eye, no matter how good Sweeney's hands felt as they undid the clasp of your bra to slide eagerly up between your breasts with an impatient familiarity, a poignant comfort that you felt simmering low in your belly, tripping a spark of knowing heat to flare to life deep within you, or how fiercely your heart twisted in your chest at Sweeney's low appreciative growl, the fevered, lost sounds of his pleasure still doing heated, carnal things to you despite all the countless times you'd experienced them by now.

In retrospect, you would admit that it was those small noises of unfettered want, of utter untamable need, that would prove to be your undoing, but in the throbbing heat of the moment your lust fogged mind couldn't think of them as anything other than unbearably sexy, so in response you just sighed against his mouth, wrapped your hands more firmly about the thick coils of muscle knotting in his button down clad shoulders, and arched into his touch, glad to lose yourself, however briefly, in the virile magic of this wild, wanton male kicking the bathroom door closed with one large booted foot and messing impatiently with the lock somewhere near the handle behind him.

"It's been so long," you murmured between kisses, well aware that in any other situation you most likely would have been embarrassed by the whining need sharply edging your voice, though now, in the dimly lit, achingly private bathroom of this no-name gas station it only seemed to spur Sweeney on, to make him work harder to bring out that ragged want tripping hot and aching through your veins, swirling behind your fluttering eyelids.

"Too long," Sweeney growled as he palmed the aching heft of your breasts in each of his scopic hands, thumbs skating over your throbbing nipples, twisting and plucking in that perfect way that he knew would make you melt for him, "Too damned long. I can't go without you. I need you, mo Éinín. I need you like I need air."

Sweeney wasn't usually one to bear his godamned soul to you in the middle of intimacy, so the fragile lilt of his voice and the tentative vulnerability in his words had you pausing, stilling where you had been writhing beneath his touch so that you could sweep a soft palm along the cut edge of his jaw, cup the nape of his strong neck with gentle fingers and make him meet your gaze.

"I'm right here, Sweeney," you whispered, peppering delicate kisses along his bruised cheekbones, across the freckled bridge of his crooked nose, and you swore to Bran that Sweeney fucking shivered at the softness in your voice, the comfort lilting in your sweeping touches, "I'm not going anywhere."

"That's what I'm afraid of, lassling," Sweeney husked cryptically, his tone pleading and broken and fucking scared, and you suspected it was that same icy fear that spurned him to tighten his grip on you, his long fingers biting into the flesh of your ass hard, a snarl ripping from his throat as he clutched you to him protectively, possessively, and backed you up against the nearest surface, which happened to be the chipped porcelain sink propped up on the far wall. His lips were as scorching as a brand as they pressed against yours, his kiss morphing from fearful to needy to consuming in the space of a few heartbeats. Figures that even when being tender, your towering, virile male was still all heat and dominance and intensity, such damned, throbbing, contagious intensity.

Read more! http://archiveofourown.org/works/11306139/chapters/29176851

Tag List!

I’m SO Sorry for this chapter being long overdue, I hope the glorious smut it holds will make up for my absence! Much love!

@raspberrymama 

@kimskew

[recentanimenews]

Cardcaptor Sakura – 61 – A Hymn of Twisted Metal

Sakura is flying around late at night…has she become a delinquent? No, she was just converting four new Clow Cards while using Mirror as her decoy in case anyone checks on her in her room. Mirror wants to tell her something, but Touya peeks in, and she has to return to her card form.

Kero-chan believes Touya is totally on to them but Sakura doesn’t see it. Why would her big bro teases her about everything—from her stomping to her tardiness to the way she eats—yet not tease her about dressing up in frilly dresses and collecting magical cards?

While escorting her to school Touya asks Sakura if he’s gotten a gift for dad yet. He needs a new wallet, but Sakura can’t afford one on her allowance, so Touya and her will pick one out and buy it together. I loved it when Sakura run down a list in her head of people for whom to give gifts…and leaves Syaoran out!

As we know, Touya knows pretty much everything about the magical goings on with Sakura, Yukito, and Tomoeda town in general. He’s pretty much onto Ruby Moon/Nakuru too! It’s just that he’s usually a passive observer and nothing more. I wonder how long he can keep that up when Yukito is growing more and more fatigued.

Sakura has homeroom duties with Syaoran, which I’m sure he sees as yet another glorious opportunity to tell her how he feels, only to be interrupted yet again, this time by Yamazaki’s inane rambling. I daresay this bit has the potential to grow stale, as one can only imagine so many iterations of Syaoran trying and utterly failing to say three simple words.

However, each instance seems to add more dimension. This time, Sakura has Syaoran translate the characters Meiling wrote in her letter, which mean “my dear friend”. Syaoran also tells Sakura that you give people “close to you” Christmas presents in Hong Kong as well, and Sakura tells him she’ll be sure to give him one. Dawww…

Speaking of confessing, Touya has said “I…you…” several times to Yukito without ever getting his intended words out. This week he comes closer than ever, telling the snow rabbit “I know the truth” before Nakuru pops out of the scenery and pounces on him anew.

After listening to Eriol practice a hymn of gratitude on the piano, Sakura prepares to meet her brother, but she and Syaoran sense Clow’s presence. She decides to go with Syaoran, and summons Mirror to go with her brother.

Once Sakura and Syaoran arrive at the location of the presence, they’re confronted by a detached metal railing with a mind of its own, full of sharp, jagged points. It’s one of Eriol’s nastier conjurings, seeing as how the animate twisted metal is a veritable hive of tetanys.

The pair hack at the metal to no avail; it simply reattaches and comes at them again and again. That’s until Sakura summons Mist, which causes the metal to corrode into harmless dust. The aftermath of their battle would appear to be a good time for Syaoran to say what he needs to say, but Sakura, having realized something, has to suddenly go!

As for Mirror!Sakura, she seems happy for the opportunity to hang out with Touya. Even though he immediately notices she’s not really his sister, he’s still kind to her and they have fun shopping and having coffee. Tange Sakura does a lovely job modulating differentiating between Sakura Prime and the quieter, gentler Mirror!Sakura’s voices.

Touya even thanks Mirror for helping Sakura, and offers her a humble gift for Christmas: hair ribbons for her normal form, which he knows has longer hair. Mirror accepts them, bursting with joy and gratitude.

When Sakura suddenly left Syaoran, it was out of a sense of duty to express her gratitude to her cards for helping her whenever she’s in tough spots. She decided to have Eriol teach her the hymn so she could play it (or at least one side of it) and record it for them to listen to.

Mirror, the only card who can communicate verbally with Sakura, warmly accepts the gift, and reveals that what she had wanted to say to her all along was thanks in return for changing them into Sakura Cards and taking care of them. Sakura’s cards love her—and who can blame them??

In the most heartwarming part of the episode, upon returning to card form, Sakura notices green ribbons in Mirror’s hair—the very ribbons Touya gave her. I have no idea how that worked, practically speaking, but it was hella sweet nonetheless!

By: magicalchurlsukui

[irris30]

Flowers for you

Actually…this is for you.

[lati-will]

Are You Taking Spirituality Too Seriously? You May Be Missing The Point…

Is spirituality causing you more frustration than fulfillment?

Spirituality is a term I use loosely. Many (or at least I did) associate spirituality with images of dedicated gurus living off of sunshine and plants, stretching their perfectly sculpted yoga bodies into even more perfect asanas, and meditating in the forest for weeks and months at a time in the pursuit of enlightenment and wisdom to save humanity.

As a spiritual life coach, I’ve come across many seekers who are in search of the concept of perfect spirituality to better their lives and be closer to Divine.

My personal journey of searching consisted of long years of yoga, daily meditation with crystals, learning different healing modalities, endless reading lists, healers and mentors, etc. No matter what I did, my mind told me if I perfected one more thing, I’d be closer to the grand prize of living as a fully awakened and aligned being (picture those wise beings called Abraham in Abraham Hicks’ videos).

I know quite a few beautiful souls who get down on themselves when they are not in that “high frequency” place. They get frustrated at their partners for being glued to TV, the “idiots” that cut them off on the highway, or having an off day that starts with being stuck in traffic and ends with a night of turning and tossing; they then get frustrated at themselves for getting frustrated and rush to work on their mindset or try to locate the nearest yoga class. As a result, they wonder what the heck happened to all their spiritual practices and why they have not arrived at that place of divine love with sound of crystal singing bowls — which causes them more frustration. They may even judge themselves for not being spiritual enough.

And there goes nirvana.

Sounds familiar? That was my life for many years, and it is also one of the main complaints from most of my clients and students.

What is “Spirituality”?

My dearest fellow soul traveler, I would like to remind you by quoting the famous line from the French philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin: “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

It means, everything about you, and everything around you is spiritual, or a manifestation of the One Energy. Every idea you have and every action you take whether it is to volunteer at an animal shelter, or fantasize about throwing the folder in your boss’s face is spiritual. You can awaken to the truth of your existence and spend the rest of your life servicing humanity, or you can continue to be an actor for the role you picked in this large drama called human life without ever feeling the need to awaken; whatever it is that you choose and experience cannot make you any less spiritual because you are already a spiritual being.

How can you wander from Divine if you are Divinity Itself made physical? How can you be spiritual or not spiritual if you are the very definition of Spiritual? Can the essence of the drop ever be different from the ocean just because it has clung to a seashell that has been washed ashore?

It is true that when you are angry, stressed or grieving, you are vibrationally further from the frequency of the true self which is nothing but a state of purest and most powerful love imaginable, hence it creates a false sense of disconnect that makes you want to do whatever you can to run back to it. But in truth, there is absolutely nothing you can do that can divide you from the spiritual because you are That, and you cannot be anything but That.

Regardless of who you are, how you feel and what you choose in life, even if you are without a home, job or friends, or inches away from death, you cannot be any less than the perfection of what you are. You can never be excommunicated from Divine, cut off from the infinite love Source Energy has for you, or be separated from God. The only pressure of you needing to be more spiritual and more perfect is coming from your mind.

What Is the Purpose of Life, Then?

You can spend the rest of your life doing every practice you choose to stay in that high frequency place (there is absolutely nothing wrong with it, I have kept all my “spiritual” practices), but if you constantly beat yourself up every time you happen to feel less than perfect, or run from emotions, tears and failures, you may just be missing the purpose of life — which is to embrace all the ups and downs in this experience called life from your own unique perspective.

One of the most brilliant, and hilarious summaries of the purpose of our existence came out of one of my magic mushroom journeys. While in that Oneness state, I remembered all the knowledge my soul holds and was yelling in absolute ecstasy “I got it! I got it!! I GOT IT!!!”

My sweetheart then chimed in, “Maybe the purpose of life is to NOT get it. Have you thought about it? Maybe the new getting it is not getting it” which caused rapture of laughter among us.

Think about it, if you are meant to “feel good” and “have all the spiritual wisdom” all the time, your beautiful and courageous soul would not have chosen to take on a human body for this grand adventure to begin with! This journey is a bit like going on a rollercoaster ride or watching a thriller in the theatre. You purchase the ticket knowing fully it may scare the bejesus out of you and rock your world, but you do it anyway!

Why? You are here to experience the thrill by embracing every moment and experience!

In the eyes of your eternal Divine Self that transcends duality as well as life and death, there is no good or bad experience, there is only experience.

My dear soul sibling, have you been denying yourself the thrill of the experience called life? Are you always looking to get somewhere or waiting for the next moment to be better than this one?

The grand cosmic joke is that there is nowhere to go and nothing to do. The “you” that is showing up in this moment, or the moment itself is ALL THERE IS.

This is it! You are it! This is the purpose of life, the icing on the cake (and then some), the most glorious journey of all, the exciting adventure only you can create, the magnificent experience your soul so desires and craves even if your mind is saying otherwise at the moment, and the only reason why you came to this planet.

Be here. Be you. And enjoy the ride boldly and unapologetically. Somewhere in this world, I’m rooting for you.

By: Juliet Tang

[irris30]

Minghui, Lanzhi and Yuan’an leave the Imperial Palace at the end of their adventure. The need for Yuan’an to mourn Mu Le outweighs any feelings of celebration after their achievements.

Yuan’an returns home to remember her husband, when she hears him whispering her nature she runs out to find him.

[dracox-serdriel]

Lament of the Asphodels - Chapter 36: That Final, Spitting Head

Lament of the Asphodels

Title: The Eleusinian Mysteries Author: Dracox Serdriel Artist: @liamjcnes Artwork: Post 1 | Post 2 Word count: 2,700 Rating: NC-17/Explicit (except on FF) Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Graphic sexual content, Declaration/threats of sexual violence, Minor character death, Social stigmatization/abuse, Detailed descriptions of hopelessness/depression/inner turmoil, Descriptions of the effects of extreme phobias/social anxiety, including anthropophobia, thalassophobia/hydrophobia, and hylophobia/dendrophobia, Descriptions of shipwrecks and storms at sea

Read Lament of the Asphodels on FF, AO3, LJ, or start at the beginning on Tumblr. Written as part of @captainswanbigbang.

Chapter 36: That Final, Spitting Head

Killian shouted until his voice went hoarse calling for Emma, even though he doubted anyone could hear him. The walls around him were crafted from the smoothest marble, with neither hole nor blemish, save for the beautifully hewn windows twenty feet up. Even if he had his hook, there was neither foothold nor knot with which to scale the height before him.

Exhausted, he surveyed the cavernous holding with wearier eyes, forcing himself to recognize this place for what it was: his tomb. He had been buried in a monument of sorts, laid to rest in a glass coffin much like the one that encased Snow White while she was under the thrall of the Sleeping Curse. Someone ignorant to Prince Charming's upbringing or Snow White's tumultuous survival as a bandit would mistakenly see this as an honorable but humble goodbye to a man beloved by their daughter. But he had known them, and their dedication and respect for his everlasting repose moved him deeply. They had provided fine stone and glass for his remembrance, and they dress him in garments befitting pirate and prince alike.

Though he, like any true sailor, hoped for a burial at sea, Emma's plan to restore him to this life required his body's preservation, lest his miraculous return come to a far-too-early end in some watery abyss as soon as he attempted to draw breath.

Killian felt a surge of gratitude toward Snow and Charming as he realized that they kept this monument to him until the day they died, waiting and hoping for her to return. His heart clenched at the thought, plagued by the guilt of costing two good people a lifetime with their beloved daughter. They never would've lost hope, but he knew even they must've hated him for his part in all this. After all, he was the reason their daughter was buried before them.

The pain doubled when he remembered Henry. She had missed his entire life toiling away in the Underworld to rescue him. How could the lad ever forgive him? How could she ever forgive him?

Memories of his time in Storybrooke flooded him, and though many filled him with gladness, they ebbed away with sorrow. Not that long ago, he could scarcely recollect his own brother, let alone those he befriended in Storybrooke. Yet now that his true history was his to review at his leisure, he wanted nothing more than to forget, even if only for a little while, for the memories were more bitter than sweet.

He collected himself by pacing. Emma had made her own choices, and self-loathing had no power to alter history. Charming and Snow were his friends, nigh his family, and they supported Emma's quest to save him, as did Henry. All he could do now was cherish the life he had with her. He owed it to her and every one of them besides.

Killian wondered why they had buried him without his hook. Charming had once told him that, in his kingdom's tradition, they laid warriors to rest with their weapons and often with things of great personal value, such as missives of love or a prized ring. Surely that meant he should have not only his hook but his cutlass and baubles as well.

Then he recalled a story Snow White told him. Her father had been buried with a crown of solid gold set with diamonds the size of chestnuts. At the funeral, it adorned his head, but before they interred him in the Royal Family's Mausoleum, they stowed it in a concealed compartment. Her family taught her it was to ensure those they loved entered the next life unburdened, but she admitted that she had always suspected it was really to deter grave robbers.

He inspected the glass coffin, but for obvious reasons, it offered little in the way of concealment. He turned to the rise upon which the casket rested. Like the room itself, it was solid and flawless marble for all the eye could see. But then again, if the eyes could see it, it would be a poor place to hide something. He closed his eyes and palmed the surface, gliding his fingers across every inch of its surface. Sure enough, touch found a notch that his eyes missed, and when he leaned his weight into it, a small click sounded.

His eyes opened as a drawer rolled out. It fit seamlessly into the top of the rise, its only visible points concealed by the casket that covered it. It held his brace, hook, and cutlass, as well as the fine leather jacket Emma had given to him as a gift. He pocketed the pouch that contained his rings and necklaces. The rest he donned.

When he had awoken, the rays of the sun had poured in from above, illuminating the entire space, but now they had begun to fade. He had done all he could to distract himself from the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, still buried with no means of escape. How long could he survive in this place without food or water?

And more importantly, where was Emma Swan?

It didn't feel right to perch upon his own coffin, so he sat in the corner and cast his eyes up at the windows, as if he might will them closer for staring. The only real entertainment he had was watching the shadow spread, their ever-changing patterns delightfully playful.

At least it was a beautiful way to pass the time.

He couldn't have been idle for more than half an hour before he heard a thunderous crash. He was on his feet in an instant, his heart pounding hard in his chest. The noise meant that anyone or anything could await him outside, but there was only one person who could make his heart race like this.

"Swan?" he called. "Swan!"

"Killian!"

Hearing her voice was like the sun on his face or the sweet tang of rum or even the lingering scent of the sea.

"Killian! Take cover!"

Glass shattered as Emma's foot collided with one of the windows. He stepped quickly to the other side of the room to avoid the cascade of shards. A makeshift rope ladder unfolded as it fell into the room.

His Swan was bloody brilliant.

Climbing was never an easy task with his hook, but nevertheless, he made short work of it. His leather jacket protected his arms and torso as he pulled himself over the rake of edged glass into the brisk dusk air. Seconds later, he felt hands brushing the clinging shards from his hair and back before they dropped to his hips and spun him around.

Hearing her voice was a blessing, but seeing her face was the salve that cured a thousand wounds. He crushed her body against his, so strong was his embrace. Then her lips were on his, and the world vanished but for him and her, flooded with moonlight and passion. It was more than enough to overshadow the fact that he had just climbed out of his own grave along with all the sorrows he had contemplated there.

Killian would've happily lounged in her arms forever, and no doubt he would have, had it not been for a strong but playful nudge at his shoulder. Their kiss broke apart, and Emma's head nestled against his chest as he turned to see none other than the glorious Pegasus, his wings and coat a brilliant white against the green and gray of the graveyard.

"Bloody hell, Old Boy," he mumbled. "I never thought I'd lay eyes on you again."

"He was my ride out," Emma explained, looking up at him with her cheek pressed against his jacket. "I remember asking the ferryman for a lift, and then... I was on the other side of the river, alone. I went looking for you and found him instead."

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, the words escaping his lips before he had time to consider their weight. "Right at the end, love. I thought..."

"We made it," she said. "We're home."

"Aye, and it's nearly dark," he said. "Perhaps we should see what's become of Granny's since we last were here."

Emma's brow furrowed, but she said nothing.

"Swan?"

"I flew over Main Street to get here," she explained. "It was empty."

"Perhaps they were all at supper," he suggested. "Or perhaps there was some manner of social event. Or some evil sorcerer to battle."

"So, still Storybrooke?" Emma asked.

"Aye, love. Shall we?"

Pure, unbridled euphoria swept through Emma as Pegasus leaped into the air. She had worried that Hades had returned her while exploiting some loophole to keep Killian in the Underworld despite the many trials they had endured. She clutched at him to strengthen the reassurance that only his presence could bring, relishing the sensation of his heartbeat against her skin, the rhythm in perfect tandem with her own. It seemed unreal, holding on to him again in this realm, more so than flying through the clear night sky.

Though she wouldn't vocalize her doubts, a persistent nagging shadow lingered in the back of her mind. She had expected things to feel... different somehow. Emotions should feel more acute or tactile sensation, more real. But as it transpired, the Underworld was an impressive facsimile of this one, seeming as true and solid as a Land without Magic. For all she knew, Charon had ferried them to another part of the Underworld that was fashioned after Storybrooke to fool them into staying. How would they know the difference?

No. She didn't know how, but her heart told her that they were really and truly home. And no matter where they were, they were together.

Pegasus touched down with a clatter that echoed ever after, filling the eerily noiseless thoroughfare. Before, Emma had only glimpsed in passing, but even then she felt how empty it was. It was only now, as she stood among the buildings that once comprised her home, that she really saw it for what it was. Every window, eave, and door was boarded up as if a particularly potent hurricane lurked on the horizon. The only exception was Granny's, which at first glance appeared unmarred by time, though a more careful look revealed covered furniture and a fine line of dust. Out of habit, Emma grabbed the handle as if to open it. To her surprise, a ripple of power poured through her like a surge of electricity, a tiny spark that warned of a stronger, more dangerous surge to be provoked upon further contact.

She yanked her hand away. Someone had spelled the door shut, and she imagined whoever did also cast a shield of protection. Her natural reaction to her curiosity was to investigate further, but before she could reach out and touch the glass, Killian's hand was over her wrist, gently halting her.

"Love," he said, concern evident in his voice. "You pulled you hand away, as if burned."

She blinked several times trying to clear her mind. She had yanked her hand away because of the magic, but it hadn't hurt her. She turned her palm up as if to prove it, but instead she revealed inflamed skin that began to blister at the edges, as if seeing it and thinking it made it so.

The pain was so acute that she screamed, and her cry went on and on and on, unfading and uncurbed. He was suddenly all around her, as if trying to contain her agony and her wail, and she flinched away, stumbling backwards and crashing hard on her side, unable to break her fall because she was cradling her injured hand.

The ground jolted her back to her senses, so when Killian joined her seconds later, she didn't recoil from his support.

"Magic," she blurted, somewhere between a curse and an answer to his unasked question.

"Swan?"

"Protection spell," she added for good measure.

She turned away from the stinging in her hand, and the pain eased slowly, as if ignoring it speed her recovery. She took a steadying breath as she relaxed in Killian's arms, and she sank into his warmth and protection. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of safety wash over her, and their shared heart fluttered in response. They gasped at the mutual sensation, and her eyes snapped open in time to witness the pure elation on Killian's face, like he was standing at the prow of his ship in the fresh morning air. His eyes met hers, and his lips followed. It was like drinking that first draught of cool water after being stranded in the jungles of Neverland. She escalated it, using the kiss to tell him everything she couldn't find words for, so wrapped up in him that she didn't even feel it as her magic healed the wound on her hand and the bruise on her hip.

Killian pulled away and cupped her cheek, as if trying to examine her face for some sign that she was all right. She supported his hand with her own to reassure him. Then he helped her back to her feet.

Storybrooke was a ghost town, but it still felt like home.

"Perhaps we should find another place to lay our heads," he suggested.

"Yeah, it looks like someone boarded up everywhere else," she replied. "Hopefully they didn't spell every building, too."

She tugged his arm and, by virtue of habits that even the Underworld could not change, led him to her parent's loft. Luckily, the boards proved little hindrance to their entry. Even Pegasus slipped inside with ease, though the steed set off to a loft of his own on the other side of the building before Emma finished magicking the boards back in place, just in case there was something out there that needed to be kept out.

The interior was gray with dust, and she was surprised to find that the door to the apartment was open, though it felt like no one had been there in years. The loft itself was empty, save for the covered dining room table. It seemed smaller now without her parent's furniture or fancy, and she wondered what had become of them when she failed to return home.

Killian scrounged through the cabinets and produced a can of black beans so old the expiration date was faded beyond reading. He continued his search in the other apartments and discovered a few more cans and a box of saltines that had expired many years ago, but as far as Emma could tell, they were still good.

Meanwhile, she looked through anything that she could find in the loft, hoping to find a calendar or diary or anything that could tell her what year it was and what happened to her parents. She found nothing but a few grocery lists in her mom's handwriting, which she tucked into her jacket pocket, unwilling to part with them. It was all she could do to stop herself from sobbing over them.

Emma activated the stove. There was no electricity, so she had to used magic. But Killian managed to make them an oddly satisfying meal of beans and vegetables on saltines. Afterward, when they went looking for a place to sleep, they came across Emma's bed. It was odd, as her parent's bed and Henry's bed were both gone, so why was hers here? Had they kept the loft forever in the family name, awaiting her return? Or was the thought of returning to remove it too much for them?

She choked on the thought, but she didn't want Killian to see, so she busied herself with the linens she discovered stored under the frame. At least they'd have a proper bed to sleep in tonight. He assisted her with the sheets, but they were barely halfway through when a hideous, rumbling roar spilled out from high above them.

They abandoned the blissful domesticity and raced to the window to see a great beast in the sky with the leather wings of a bat. Its eyes glowed red the darkness, but they paled in comparison to the fireball that erupted from its mouth. The illumination lit up the creature's face, which was startlingly human, as well as its lion-like body.

"Bloody hell," Killian said.

"I guess we know why everybody left," Emma remarked.

End-of-chapter notes: The Greek hero Heracles was tasked with slaying the Lernaean Hydra, a many-headed dragon. Whenever he cut off one of the beast's heads, two more grew back in its place, but he soon discovered that searing the stump after decapitation prevented the creature from growing two more. Unfortunately, the Hydra had one immortal head that could never die, so after Heracles cleft it from the body, it still hissed and snapped at him. He buried it deep under a heavy rock to prevent it from harming anyone else.

For next and previous chapters, proceed to the Lament of the Asphodels main Tumblr page.

[irris30]

The sinking of the pleasure boat and arresting the madam.

I must go find Zhao Lanzhi!

[tentaclepriest]

nighthold pt 6: when justice comes

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5

The Nightwell was glorious. When they finally burst into the Nightspire and beheld the dark arcane energy surging through it, all Rythien could do was stare. Suddenly it didn’t matter that his hip was aching, or that he hadn’t fought so long without a rest in years. Here, right in front of him, was enough power to make that all meaningless, and he was reaching out before he noticed the elven shape floating in the center of it.

Pure rage shocked him out of his fascination, and he tentacled Reginald aside and strode forward. “Elisande!”

As she floated closer, he saw she was smiling coldly. “Ah, little outlanders. I foresaw your coming, of course. The threads of fate that led you to this place…your desperate attempt to stop the Legion. My people face a similar dilemma. I peered into all possible futures in search for an answer... and found only one. The Legion's victory is inevitable. Every time stream shows it to be so.” Persicaria made a furious noise, but Elisande ignored her. “Had we resisted, they would have taken the Nightwell by force and left us bereft of it. I could not allow my people to starve, to waste away without its energy sustaining—”

How dare you. “You let them starve anyway!” Light flared around his fingers, and to his great relief his voice carried over hers. Vanthir. Arluin. Korinne. Dead or facing death because of you. Innocent children cry in the night because of you. “You sold them to the Legion, used their souls and bodies for fuel, slew them in the streets of your exalted city, and you have the nerve, the fucking nerve, to say you did all this for them?”

Elisande’s face twisted in rage. “They were traitorous peasants! They are nothing—”

“Babe—”

Bill’s voice was a warning, but Ryth was past heeding it. The Light answered his call in a raging torrent, scorching the floor under his feet as he snarled, “They were braver than you could ever be! They fought; you just rolled over and gave up! You’re a coward as well as a tyrant; come down here and face justice!”

She landed on the ledge in front of them; as soon as she touched down, Ryth was moving. The Light was an inferno within him and all around him, and his mind was almost entirely blank with fury—almost, save for the continuous litany of she dies now running through it. She was charging up some sort of spell, but he didn’t even care—

He only barely managed to fling up shields before it struck, and the glasslike wall of Light immediately started to crack under the pressure. No. Taking a deep breath, he opened himself up to more power, feeling it course through him; it bought him precious seconds, but it wasn’t enough, and he could feel his shields weakening. No. Light, if you love me, grant me strength. I will not die here. I cannot die here. “My steps…are sure in the path of the Light. I walk its path…” Fuckfuckfuck how did it go, I can’t remember the rest…

“And my steps do not falter!” Sometimes, he decided, he really loved Reginald Bladesworn. Especially in moments like this, with the undead knight charging in to take Elisande’s focus off him and opening up a window for the majority of their group to follow him.

Unfortunately, it also meant that he was now entirely too busy keeping them alive to find true outlets for the seething rage that still threatened to choke him. Each bubble of Light had to be carefully applied to avoid scorching his undead or fel-tainted friends (yes, he reminded himself, including Naahma now), and it left him with only enough focus to remember to wash Reginald and Bill in restorative shadow energy occasionally. And then Elisande started filling the room with beams of arcane energy, and after the first one seared his arm he had to add moving to his list of duties. I hate healing. I really, really hate healing.

Especially when there was so much else to worry about. His world shrank to snapshots of his friends in a sea of deadly arcane energy; there, Tanryn was buckling under the pressure of a spell until he reinforced her, and there was Reeta hissing in pain from an arcane burn on her side, and there was his husband just barely avoiding a spellstrike that split the stone under where his feet had just been—

He didn’t notice the arcane orb dropping from the ceiling until it was nearly on top of him, and then it was all he could do to fling himself to the side and away. His staff fell from his hands, useless for the moment as he twisted away from the impact; he had just enough time to think oh, shit before the wood exploded with the magical surge, sending splinters everywhere. Instinctively he reached for the shadows, dispersing his physical form before shards of wood and metal could skewer him. Risky at a time like this, but he couldn’t heal anyone if he was dead.

One heartbeat. Two. Three. The world was dim and gray, a dark reflection of the physical one. There were things in it, things with gibbering mouths and too many sharp teeth drawn to any sources of life and magic, but he knew he would be safe for a few seconds; all he needed was just enough time to regain his focus on the battlefield.

There was no pulse here, so he counted instead. One. Two. Thr—

The sudden concussive force rippled through him even in the shadow realm, snapping him back to his physical shape just in time to see Reginald and Tanryn being flung away from Elisande by the blast. The rogues and Naahma had been on the fringes and now crumpled to their knees; Percy’s wrathguard had fallen and wasn’t rising, but Percy was frozen in horror and didn’t seem likely to summon a replacement in time, and Reeta had encased herself in ice to avoid the blow. His bad leg shook as he got to his feet, and for a horrible moment he wasn’t sure it would support his weight.

And Elisande was turning to face him, eyes sharp and triumphant. “Mm. What was that about justice, blood elf?”

Part of him knew it was a stupid idea, but a much larger part simply didn’t care. “Oh, c’mon. Even if you kill us, you think it’s over? You think any of my allies are going to let you win? The whole world knows how you’ve led your people to ruin in the arms of the Legion! Which—by the way—isn’t gonna actually work. I’d think someone who’d been around for the first time they attacked should know how they operate!” As she started to respond, he raised his voice and barreled over her. “They aren’t going to spare you, lady. You’ll just die last, and you’ll get to see your entire glorious city burn at their hands first!”

“You know nothing—” The shadows surged, twisting in on themselves only for an instant before rising up from the one cast by her blind spot. As she lifted a hand to call forth a bolt of pure arcane energy, he struck.

As always, he felt the impact, tasted it in the sizzling coppery tang of mana-infused blood and the sick snapping crunch of bones and organs giving way in the path of the shadow tentacle’s sharp point. It almost made him gag, but he fought the impulse long enough to wrap a tendril of roiling black shade around her neck and snap it like a dried twig. Only when he felt life drain from her did he dismiss the shadows, breathing raggedly. It’s over. It’s really…over.

The sound of Tanryn gagging as she shoved herself into a more or less upright position broke through his haze. “Fucking hell, Rythien, was that necessary? Ugh, my head…”

He shook himself, taking a deep breath. “It worked, didn’t it? Nobody make any sudden moves, I have to—ow, fuck!” With a sharp twinge, his leg gave way, and it was only hastily-summoned shadow tentacles that kept him from falling. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in slowly. “I…am gonna sit down. Aya, do me a favor and check everyone for injuries?”

Of course she was fine; paladin shields were always stronger than his. As she scrambled over the detritus of the battlefield towards her fiancée, Rythien pulled out his communication stone, fiddling with the settings until he found the frequency for the Shal’Aran base. At least he could do something useful. “This is the advance squadron. All clear to port in to the Nightspire.”

And we are victorious. Celebration, he decided, could wait until later.

[thingstodoinvietnam1]

Hoi An Memories Show

Every country has a special event that only happens there and a lot of tourists participate as well. Hoi An memories show is the special event of Vietnam that is huge like Olympics opening ceremony. It has a lot of importance in the lives of the people of Vietnam because it displays the 400 years old history, evolution and development of the country. There are visual performances, cultural and traditional displays, fireworks and a lot of other interesting things in the theatre with 3300 seats and 25000 square meters’ area. With the passage of time, the content and story lines are improving with every passing year and it is becoming more interesting. There are 5 parts of the show which are distributed according to the time and events. The majestic history, dynasties, religious changes and traditional developments are performed on stage. You will instantly go back to the hundred years old times. The performances show the rivers, mountains and the flooded plains, Hoi An old port with the traditional music, perfect lighting, choreography and hi- tech management.

(Ao Dai – Hoi An Memories Show)

People from all around the world especially book to enjoy the show and the memories remain with them forever. The Vietnamese people feel very proud of their history and culture because this event plays an important role in passing the knowledge into their coming generations. It seems like a huge Hollywood set with over 500 performers and thousands of audiences. They work with complete dedication to spread the knowledge of their culture, traditions and history.

Hoi An Impression Theme Park

The impression theme park is the key component of the memories show because they celebrate the rich history and culture of Hoi An. The entire crew, members and workers are the part of the event. They perform, act and manage according to their duties. Before the starting of the event you can roam around the park to see how amazing that place is. There are magic shows, street music, traditional cuisine stalls and many other things distributed in the entire park. Different folk tales are also performed in the park according to the timing. These tales are associated with the Vietnamese culture and tradition like the love story of Silk Queen, Trai Ho take on a ferocious tiger, the wedding of princess Ngoc Hoa, Tam Tang and many more. The theme park has different areas which are used by decorating them like the Villages, pagodas, bridges and workshops. The park normally remains open from 5pm till 12:00am and is closed on Tuesdays.

(Hoi An Memories Show)

How to get to the Memories show

Impressions theme park is very close to the old town and the Hoang Dieu road goes straight to there by crossing the bridge to Cam Nam Island. At the end of the bridge take the second left to the Luong Nhu Bich where you can see a lot of people going straight on the road. It ends at the huge signs and a lot of security of the show. You can easily get there by different means. Taxi charge around 1.50USD or 30,000 VND to get to take you there. You can pass from a very beautiful scene if you are going by walk or a bike.

(Hoi An Memories Show)

Take the immediate left after crossing the bridge. There you walk by the river bank and reach the bridge to the impressions island. You can easily reach the park in 15 to 20 minutes from the cloth market in the Hoi an old town. Another wonderful mean of travel is the boat that very less people know. You can get a free boat ride from the old town and it drops you behind the theme park where you can easily find the Memories show venue. Boat is the quickest and most interesting way to reach the park. Have your dinner before the show because after the show it becomes late and the old town closes at 10:00pm. You get very less dinner options.

Memories show Tickets and Seating zones

The prices of tickets vary according to the seating zones. The front and sides of the stage are Eco section. After this is the high section and VIP sections. The Eco section and the Hi section are the seating in the stadium where as the VIP lounge is a little separate with sofas and cushions. Complimentary snacks, water and hand fans are also given in the VIP seating area.

The tourist passes cost around 600,000 VND for adults and for kids it is from 300,000 VND to 450,000 VND.

The Eco seating passes are for 600,000 VND

The VIP Seating passes are for 900,000 VND

Sometimes the entrance to the park is for free and other than that the charges are 100,000 VND and the combo tickets are available with additional 30,000 VND to the show passes. It is better to get the ticket of the show only and enter the park during the free entrance hours. Different websites offer discounts of the Hoi An memories show ticket but they are not applied on the combo tickets.

(Hoi An Memories Show)

Time and Duration

Tuesdays are the only day when there is no show because the park remains closed or the weather is bad. The show happens every night for 1 hour 15 minutes from 7:30pm to 8:45pm.

Thoughts about Hoi An Memories show

The phenomenal show is a grand spectacle that should not be missed if you are travelling to Vietnam. This is one of its kind because of its amazing story line, arrangement and performance. You feel like living the Vietnamese traditions and spirits. The grand cultural performance is a power pack to take you on a journey of history, happiness, suffering, grief, growth, development and a number of emotions. There are no points, plots and twists in the show because the town is the main character. It is very interesting to watch and easily understandable even without a proper narration. For example, there is a loom of time and the tapestry of life in which the performers are strands, they form different patterns to create different events. The weaving sounds and the loom sounds are carefully created that you will really feel like the actress weaving the life of the town is really bringing back the past.

(Hoi An Memories Show)

Memories show stage

The island where the memories show happen is an artificial island that is especially built in the form of being on the two opposite banks of the Thu Bon River. There are five huge stages where the entire show happens. The female weaver shows the story by weaving a tapestry of life and narrating several things to take the audience back in the past and historical moments. The back stage is full of actors, extras, management staff and technicians. The extras on the other side chat, and perform the daily life chores that appears like the window of the past is showing 17th century.

Giant sized props are created with moveable parts like merchant ship, giant elephant, dragon, river and many more. Every scene has different props with moves, effects and choreography that appear more interesting and beautiful in the strips of lights in the different directions of the stage. The changing of season and the passing of time is shown by the lights. Although, everyone can easily understand what is going on but still there are two big screens to show subtitles in Vietnamese and English. There are five parts of the show:

Part 1 – Life

The show begins with the life that appears as a colorful picture of the start of everything. This part shows how the life started in Hoi An. The fisherman is building houses and more people are coming. How the customs, culture, traditions and costumes were created and how they developed with the time. It also shows the beginning of different traditional professions of Hoi An. This part is basically the introduction of the traditional life of the town.

Part 2 – Wedding

This is a very beautiful and festive part of the performance. The impressive performance shows the wedding of Princess Huyen Tran and King Che Man. The backdrops of dances of the wedding, Cham Pa temples, towers and many other things are stunning and extremely fascinating. The wedding is portrayed in a very impressive way that you feel like, you are actually attending a royal wedding. Costumes and colors are taken from the Cham culture. The huge elephant prop is used in the royal wedding as a part of Cham culture. The entire celebration looks real.

Part 3 – Lamps and Sea

Sea plays an important part in the life of the people of Hoi an. The scene shows a woman waiting for her sailor husband at the sea. The woman turns into a statue of stone by desperately waiting. The husband returns in the end and feels wretched. He squirms in grief beside the statue of his wife. There is no narrated story line of the performance. Hundreds of dancers and professional performers perform the story in colorful traditional costumes.

Part 4 – Trading Port

The Hoi An trading port is shown in 17th century that is a very important part of Hoi An establishment and history. This part portrays the trade relations of Hoi An with other countries. The traders from Japan, Holland, France, China and India are coming for business. They also attend the local festivals. The glorious strong past of the town is showed in details by the crew. They are very well prepared and perfectly choreographed.

Part 5 – Ao Dai

The end of the show is the Ao Dai part in which they show many ancient structures of Hoi An from the history. Most of them are still there and well preserved. You can visit them after the introduction. Hoi An has kept almost everything related to its past, values and traditions.

The performance is the hard work of two years when they tirelessly performed and practiced it. It is very popular among the tourists of Vietnam and they recommend it to other people. The show has five star reviews on the biggest travel websites and it broke two records:

The largest outdoor visual art performance in the country

The daily show with the highest number of actors

(Hoi An Memories Show)

This is the biggest show of Vietnam and the most unique one in the world. You will be amazed to see the management and performances. If you have limited budget than you should prefer watching the Hoi An memories show and skip one activity. After the show a lot of places in the old town will be closed so if you find something to eat from the food stalls of the park then get that. Do not book the show with a tour group because you will be bound to stay with them in the park otherwise you can visit the park early and explore it before the show.

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