#and i drew it on paper inn like one night

[ritoryb]

my drawing of gay people

[lyrabythelake]

Have a very unfinished fic I began for fun starring Four and Warriors

Four started it. 

Enemy defeated, worlds saved, the heroes were wandering Hyrule with weighted footsteps in unspoken suspense for that last portal that would send them their separate ways. 

Except time drew thin, the portal never came. By the time they reached the inn, they counted an entire month treading a land unfamiliar to all of them but Legend without clear purpose or direction. It was driving them all a bit insane.

So when Four slipped the innkeeper a small, rectangle piece of parchment from the top of a stack tied carefully in twine, Warriors latched onto it as a single, tiny mystery to be solved in a whirlwind of boredom.

“Can I see that?” he asked, eyeing the papers Four was hastily shoving back into his bag. The innkeeper slid his own under the bar after studying it with vague interest.

Four’s face grew red but he handed them over without further persuasion.

A neat border of repeating patterned inked swords framed the words:

Heroes for Hire Evil warlord got you down? Monsters driving you mad? We’re here to help. (Additional services include smithing, cooking, sailing, pot clearance and more)

“I just thought we could all do with a project or two. I think everyone’s been feeling a bit… lost these days.” Four rushed to explain.

The night before, Wild had used his fusion ability to attach a block of butter to one of his shields then slid around the camp on it for two hours. ‘Lost’ was probably an understatement. 

“You know what?” Warriors said cheerfully, handing the card back, “I think it’s a really good idea.”

Warriors had slipped over three times while getting ready that morning; Wild had turned their entire camp into an oily booby trap.

Fours face grew even redder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I think what we’re lacking is a sense of purpose, you know? We all miss our homes and this could give us a good distraction.”

They didn’t really talk about why they were still here all that much. None of them were the type to air the worries and concerns out in the open, but they all knew they were thinking the same thing. It was as if the Goddess had abandoned them here now they had fulfilled their usefulness. She couldn’t even be bothered to get them all back to where they belonged.

“How many people have you given these to?”

“Just that innkeeper,” Four said. “And one of the farmers we passed on the outskirts of the village.”

No sooner had he spoken those words than a young boy ran into the inn, eyes huge beneath windswept hair.

“Are you the heroes for hire?” he asked, his breath catching between words.

With an impressive swish of his scarf and a blinding smile, Warriors stood before him.

“Why yes, as a matter of fact, we are.”

“At your service,” Four added, if only to prevent Warriors from taking complete control over the idea that was Four’s in the first place.

“You gave my father your card earlier,” the boy said. “The Zora have flipped our sheep again. Dad said he’ll give you two blue Rupees if you give us a hand putting them right before it gets dark.”

“Did you say the sheep were flipped?” Four asked. Warriors elbowed him hard.

“We’re happy to help.”

“This isn’t really what I had in mind,” Four told Warriors as they strained to heave the third sheep onto its feet. “Why do Zora even do this, it seems very petty.”

“Legend said there’s been civil war between the Zora and Hylians for hundreds of years around here. It’s mostly died down now, but Hylians still fish in Zora territory so the Zora do things like turning sheep upside down to show their defiance.”

“Still, it’s not exactly the ‘evil warlords’ I was expecting”

“Patience, my small friend!” Warriors declared just as they managed to push the sheep onto its feet, “everyone must start somewhere and our business is only a few hours old after all. Small beginnings make for the best hero agencies, as they say.”

“You just made that up,” Four muttered dispassionately.

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Omg it's so late here, but I managed to make it on time. Thanks to @gilgamish for sprinting with me. Would not have written these words otherwise <3

Tagged by: @thequeenofthewinter @ladytanithia @mareenavee @lucien-lachance @elavoria Thanks everyone 💕 Catching up on all your stuff before bed

Tagging: @atypicalacademic @gilgamish @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy. @paraparadigm @nuwanders @throughtrialbyfire @miraakulous-cloud-district @sylvienerevarine @kookaburra1701 @justafoxhound @chennnington @rainpebble3 And whoever else wants to join in c:

From Slither and Writhe

Stranded, Sylawen retreated to the inn room she’d paid off until the end of the week. It was an ugly, moldered thing, a perfect microcosm of Bravil, and she, just another haplessly floating spore destined for its dank, dark corners. Wedging herself into the far side of the rickety bed, she closed her eyes and let herself fester, let herself become one with the mildew fanning out along the paper-thin walls, then decided such an unsettling shade of beige washed her out terribly. If she had to be a fungus, surely she’d be some sort of polypore. Vibrantly red, perhaps a splash of bold yellows. Or one of those pink oyster mushrooms growing in shelves along the deadwood, sprouting atop itself like the leaves of a fleshy, monstrous rose. Yes, a far preferable alternative. And besides, she’d always favored pinks.

That night, a storm swept through the Niben. Sylawen knew not whether to consider it yet another omen that had trailed her from Skingrad or to risk a sliver of hope in these grim times— a sign of new beginnings. But by the anger with which the windows shook in their panes, she assumed it heralded shattered glass and a million tiny perforations, then moved the bed to the other side of the room. Sylawen slept lightly, if at all, blankets hiked over her head to shield herself from impending doom. Any minute now the roof is going to cave in, she thought, then scolded herself for sounding just like her brother. Why Rillion would die from the shock alone if he had to spend a minute in this inn. She imagined him here, staring at the house centipedes scurrying across the floorboards in horror, rushing behind her, screaming ‘get it out, Syl! By the Eight, get it out! Don’t let it touch me!’ And it made her smile, drew out a little snicker that just as soon filled the room with the echos of his absence. Joy rotted in her belly, and she wished she was a mold; at least then she could feed on its remains. 

Most likely Rillion was lying awake in his room, stressing over where his stupid, selfish sister had run off to now, asking himself for the hundredth time why she had to make everything about herself, why she couldn’t have a civil conversation if her life depended on it, why she had to torment their mother time and time again, and over what? Over her sick, twisted little obsessions with— 

That night, all the dreams that came to her wore his face.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fifteen on Ao3

or read Chapter Fifteen below the cut

It took ages to find a satchel, and the search for the item began to feel like the last big obstacle to leaving the palace. Two days ago, Astarion had left Isolde’s room abruptly and they hadn’t spoken since. She’d only seen him from a distance, at the yawning end of a dark hallway. She was sure he’d seen her too, but he hadn’t acknowledged her, hadn’t approached. He’d kept moving.

It hurt a lot more than she’d expected it to. She should have been entirely prepared for him to turn. She’d seen that kind of thing before, and it suited a man like Astarion. He’d gotten everything he wanted from her, and then she’d pushed him too far. It was inconvenient and uncomfortable now. He liked his life orderly, surely.

So. That was it.

She tried to be grateful, tried to take a few steps back so she could perceive the two of them with more objectivity. On paper, he’d spared her, sheltered her, cared for her, and perhaps most important, he’d given her a place to think, and enough time to gather herself and decide what to do next. It was generous, honestly. There was an argument that he’d done more for her than anyone else in her entire life, save maybe her own parents.

But she didn’t feel grateful.

She felt hurt.

Maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she was the one who was wrong to ever even consider she might be entitled to more. It wasn’t as though he’d deceived her, or promised her anything. He’d done nothing that he hadn’t told her he would do, and he’d required no more of her than what she offered.

It might just be the healthiest such relationship she’d ever experienced.

This grim realization spurned her to speed up her plans. She needed to be gone from this place. The longer she stayed, the more she prolonged her own pining, the more bitter she would become about her sad little fantasies. She asked Alice what could be spared and the maid helped her put together a pack of supplies, a change of clothing, and a pair of good shoes. She also encouraged her to take any of the books she could carry. She knew she’d need to pack light, but she could probably risk one book. She hadn’t made her choice yet, but it would have to be something very practical, and that could fetch a few coins if she needed to sell it. She’d also put together a collection of other small items she found around the palace that wouldn’t weigh her down.

She’d stay one more night, and she’d try to make it a good sleep. Then, she would be gone first thing in the morning. Stretching her legs and considering the journey ahead, she stepped outside of the palace and looked out over the city from the balcony. Tomorrow, she’d be sleeping somewhere unknown. Would she have made it to an inn? Would she have to find shelter in the wilderness outside Rivington? Would she be looking up at stars, listening to the night?

The sun was just starting to touch the horizon, and the warmth of the day was fleeing, leaving her feeling a shiver over her skin all the way down to her bare feet.

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew her attention out of the distance and back to the balcony. Seated against the railing, half obscured under the shade of a leafy trellis was a stunning half-elf with a long, dark plait of glossy black, and glimmering green eyes. She wore a long black dress with a clean plunging neckline and high slits to show off clear skin and a lithe body. In spite of being in the shade, and the sun going down, the woman had a dark parasol propped on one shoulder, lazily turning it with her fingers.

“Oh, excuse me,” Isolde curtseyed, “I didn’t see you, M’Lady. Well met.”

“Well met, Alice?” the woman squinted at her, doubtful of her guess. They didn’t really even look alike, in spite of both being human. Well. Originally.

“She’s inside,” Isolde tried not to take the mistake to heart, “I can fetch her if—”

“—no need. I could have let myself in,” the half-elf shrugged. “I only wanted to take a moment,” she glanced over her shoulder, implying that she too, had been appreciating the view of Baldur’s Gate in the setting sunlight.

The door had been locked. Did that mean she had a key? The woman wore a mysterious half-smile that suited her pretty face. “I’m Shadowheart. Just Shadowheart. No need to M’lady me.”

Unusual name, especially for a half-elf. Then again, Baldur’s Gate drew all sorts. “Isolde,” and she curtseyed again.

“Gossip with me a moment,” her eyes flashed curiously, “someone here was injured quite terribly the other day, weren’t they? Have they since recovered?”

Isolde wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but her first thought was to be concerned that this Shadowheart woman knew something about Horrold’s murder, somehow. When she didn’t respond but only stared at her, Shadowheart’s searching gaze seemed to grow more relaxed. She felt strange, looking at this stranger. She didn’t feel like a stranger. Not at all. She didn’t feel like a friend either.

Moisture started to gather in the corners of Isolde’s eyes, and she had to blink it away and fight not to look at Shadowheart for the space of a breath, and she wasn't sure why. 

The half-elf didn’t look like her mother. She didn’t look like any of her older sisters, or her father, or her little brother—what of his face she could recall clearly. But, Isolde thought of them, all of them, and thought she caught glimpses of everyone she’d ever lost in Shadowheart’s small expressions, serene countenance and lingering eyes.

“Someone called for a cleric,” Shadowheart explained with a soft blink that did just a little to dispel the heady sense of familiarity. “Healing magics.”

“Oh!” Isolde pulled herself back from dark wanderings in time to give a more informed response. “That was me, actually. It was nothing. I simply should never drink.”

“Dear me,” Shadowheart seemed satisfied with this answer, she rose up from where she was leaning against the balcony, situated her parasol and approached Isolde at a saunter. “I couldn’t imagine. Quite recovered then?”

“Indeed,” Isolde answered, “I’m rather embarrassed about the whole thing. Such a fuss, all because I was… foolish.”

“He did make a bit of a fuss,” sighed Shadowheart, and her little half-smile nearly extended to be a grin for the space of a breath, but she sighed and schooled it. “Quite the pretty color in your cheeks.” 

Again, Isolde thought of her mother. “As I said. I’m rather embarrassed.”

“I must confess, when he first told me, I made an indelicate assumption that he might’ve lost control of himself and that he’d been the one to drink too much.”

Isolde’s blush flared up to more of a fever at that, “does everyone actually just know?”

“Everyone in his life, surely,” Shadowheart shrugged. “I wouldn’t call him an honest man—but, he is certainly transparent. He introduces himself, smiles and flashes those long eyeteeth without shame, puts the knife away,” she rolled her eyes, “and it’s fairly obvious what he is.”

It was tempting to agree with her on reflex, but Isolde mulled the words over critically. On the one hand, there was truth in what Shadowheart said, on the other, Isolde felt certain there was more to Astarion than what could be seen on the surface.

“Well, that isn’t what happened,” Isolde finally said. “I mean, that does roughly describe how we met. But, he wasn’t responsible for my condition. I can’t imagine him losing control, and I can bear the blame for my misfortunes myself.” And Horrold, but he was dead, so she rather felt that his accountability was no longer a standing issue.

Shadowheart twirled the parasol on her shoulder, making the shade dance in the orange light. “Good to see you well for myself. Put a face to the story.”

“You’re a cleric then?”

“I am,” she answered simply, almost dismissive. “And you’re not one of the staff?” she guessed.

“I’m not,” Isolde confessed. “I’m… just a friend. Astar—his lordship has been very kind to me.” 

“I see,” but Shadowheart sounded doubtful, and Isolde must have given her a look that called her out, because with a somewhat apologetic smile she added, “forgive me, Isolde. I do not know you, but you hardly appear to be someone who has been treated with excessive kindness.”

“Oh?” Isolde wanted to take some offense here, to bristle, to stand up for herself, but she just felt weary and perceived with harsh insight. Besides that, looking directly at Shadowheart was becoming difficult, in that, for some reason, it kept stirring up old buried sorrows.  “What do I appear to be then?” she wondered.

“You look like someone who has experienced a great deal of loss,” said Shadowheart delicately.

Was that it? Was Shadowheart merely perceptive enough to pick up on Isolde’s distress? It was true that she tried hard not to think much about her family. Astarion’s interrogation of her had been the first time in years she’d spoken about it with anyone. Perhaps it left a shadow over her.

The concern in Shadowheart’s look was spiked with just enough pity to further shake her. “You look like you’re wearing clothing that doesn’t belong to you, relying on kindness from someone for whom that virtue has always been elusive, and contemplating what’s in front of you the way a sailor contemplates the depths below the ship.” Her own mother could have said that, and again, Isolde had to fight off the search for a resemblance. They both had long dark hair, but that was where the similarities ended. Or was it? Was she not somehow the spitting image of the mother Isolde had lost? In spite of being entirely different races—in spite of Isolde’s mother being dark-eyed, olive skinned and made up of many robust and round shapes? Somehow, this skinny little half-elf embodied everything Isolde had nearly forgotten about the woman. Nearly.

Shadowheart raised a cautious finger to Isolde’s face and pushed back a lock of hair, eyes narrowing just a little as her smile fixed. One of her eyes wasn’t really green. It had more blue in it than Isolde had initially noticed. It also lingered in a lazy way. Was it fake? It looked very good, if it was a prosthesis.

“I won’t try to argue,” Isolde flinched away from her, not really meaning to, but the mixture of embarrassment she felt at suddenly noticing the false eye, and then staring long enough to see the pity in Shadowheart’s face repelled her. That pity was bludgeoning. The tenderness in her touch somehow sharp. “I’ve never had the luxury of knowing precisely what the future has in store for me—but if the past is any indication—”

“—it doesn’t have to be,” Shadowheart sounded so encouraging it actually gave Isolde a moment of pause. “I know well how the past can keep us anchored when we ought to sail on. Even the happy memories become tainted, don’t they?”

Isolde knew it was true. She’d long since given up trying to recall those happy memories with the people she lost, it inevitably just caused her more pain. Just remembering she had parents, Isolde could only relive those violent last moments with them, before she’d sprinted from her family home with nothing, letting them curse the name they gave her without looking back at them. 

Her time with Astarion would probably be the same, in the end. She couldn’t think about him without remembering the ice in his voice the last time he spoke to her.

“Try something with me,” Shadowheart set her parasol down delicately so that the handle was propped against the balcony’s stone railing, and faced Isolde, indicating that she should square herself in front of her. Obedient, but a little awkward, Isolde did as she was bid, and Shadowheart wrapped their hands together between them. “Close your eyes.”

The glare of red from the setting sun still bled through her eyelids. “Breathe in, Isolde,” Shadowheart’s voice took on a soothing quality, even moreso now that it was her focus, and she was gently caressing her entwined hands with her thumbs. “I know what you see now. A vision of all that you have lost. The ghosts of those who failed you, and scorned you, and the many ways in which they filled your life. Blind yourself to them, and instead, Imagine for me, a future. See yourself peaceful. The past does not burden you, the future never frightens you again. You are different here. Powerful. Free.”

It shouldn’t have worked, but Isolde felt a prickling at her eyes again. Then, it released, and she felt…. Empty. For a moment, her body floated, and her mind snapped away from all of it.

There was nothing to feel sorrow for.

Because, there was nothing at all.

“This can be real. It’s just in your mind, right now.” Shadowheart’s voice was not her own, but it was so soothing, so rich, so inviting. “But it can be. You have but to embrace it.”

The emptiness cracked, and Isolde felt sadness like a lifeline. The red glare of the sun still burned. The blackness had just been in her mind. They were still grounded exactly where they’d met, out on the balcony of Astarion’s palace, surrounded by the chirps and chimes of the city.

When Shadowheart let go of her hands it was to brush her cheeks with the soft blades of her thumbs. “Come now. These can be your last tears.”

But, they wouldn’t be. Isolde felt certain she’d cry herself to sleep again tonight.

“Do you know the House of Grief?” Shadowheart asked, taking her hands again, more firmly. “I think they can help you there. Show you true kindness. They’ll help you forget you ever fell in love with an unfeeling vampire lord.”

“It’s not that I want to forget,” Isolde opened her eyes and took her hands back. It had been reflex, not something she had intended to do, the same way she hadn’t meant to passively confirm the feelings that Shadowheart imposed on her. Given the way Shadowheart looked at her, hands and countenance frozen between them, the gesture had offended her, but she didn’t respond right away, allowing Isolde to defend herself. “I always knew my time with him would be short, but I hoped we’d find comfort in one another, and not regret.” She wouldn’t usually confide in a stranger, but Shadowheart’s immediate recognition of what she was going through felt like something it would be futile to deny. Perhaps Shadowheart had been through the same thing, perhaps even with the same man. “I think I may have made that impossible. We might’ve been able to cherish a few happy days together and part amicably, but I was too weak.”

“I am far too familiar with Astarion to believe that you are the problem, Isolde.” Shadowheart’s declaration was flat and firm, “and I am very sorry to tell you that to forget all about it is likely the only remedy. He’s hollow. Selfish. Incapable of love. Even if you did cause some falling out, there was never a scenario in which it would be otherwise. He would never allow it. You would always be destined to regret him.”

Isolde’s throat felt tight and she feared that she lacked all ability to control her voice, but still blurted out, “well I am leaving in the morning, in any case.”

“For the best,” said Shadowheart heavily. “As you head on your way, you should make a visit to the House of Grief. Alice can show you the way. They are well equipped to help you move forward, unburdened. Trust me. Astarion is already as unburdened as any man ever can be. You ought to be equals in this.”

The heavy double-doors leading back into the palace crept open and Isolde managed to turn away and brush at her cheeks just as Astarion greeted them. “Dear old Shadowheart! I had a feeling you’d come to call.”

“I thought about sending word ahead, but felt certain you’d be free to speak to me.” Shadowheart took up her parasol and floated between the two of them, perhaps considering Isolde’s undone state.

She was grateful for the opportunity to hide a moment and compose herself, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking at her. For all the world, he hadn’t even noticed she was there.

“Presumptuous,” Astarion declared Shadowheart, but he gestured for her to follow him inside.

Astarion’s neglect of Isolde sharpened to a painful point as Shadowheart turned and bid her farewell, and still, he didn’t even look up at her. “It was very good to meet you, Isolde. I do hope to see you again.”

They went inside together, leaving her alone where she could try and fail to understand everything she had done wrong, and whether or not there was any way to fix it. Shadowheart’s meaning was clear. Astarion would be happy to never see her again. Once she was gone, he’d surely forget all about her. At this point, perhaps she should be grateful for that, but she couldn’t be. 

She felt only loss.

[harrystiddess]

Unexpected Occurrences Part I

Warnings: Smut

*if you’re wondering what happened to my last series of posts, I took them down because I don’t own the writing and the author very kindly asked me to not post it! Although this one is written by me so there are no worries!*

It was a regular Wednesday night. I was working and harry was out with some of his friends to celebrate the completion of the album. He was practically begging me to come but I couldn't since I had some important papers to send in. And I thought he should have some time alone with his friends, enjoying, without me. I needed him to remember the life he had before me and not forget his lovely friends and things he used to do on a daily basis.

 It was around 10 PM when I decided to take a much needed break and drink some coffee wash my face and work again.

 Just when I was done making my coffee and was about to sit back in front of my laptop, I heard he door open. 

"Harry?"

"Hey gorgeous" he said kissing me on the cheek

"I didn't  know you were coming!"

"I missed you and I needed hugs" he said visibly pouting

"awwh baby!  I just met you in yesterday...  is everything alright?"

I said setting down my laptop and embracing him even closer.

He clung on to me like his dear life and softly placed his chin in the crook of my neck wrapping around me like a koala. I softly smiled and drew abstract pattern inn his curly hair.

H looked up for e second =, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and kissed me ever so softly which I didn't resist. he pulled back, "Baby"

"mhm?"

"Knock Knock"

"oh god not again" I said playfully pulling back from his warm embrace

"please please just this oneeeee" he said like a five year old begging his mum for an ice lolly 

"Ugh fine....who"s there"

"Dover."

Dover who?

"Ben Dover and I'll give you a big surprise!"

You tried your best not to laugh at the horrendous joke. But Harrys face was way more funnier than the actual joke you thought.

(he makes that face)

"ooh ohh wait I have one I have one 

Knock knock" I said rather enthusiastically earning a chuckle from him

"Who's There"

"Asshole Who"

"Asshole Who?"

"Asshole who is terrible at jokes"

"oh yeah oh yeah?"

He said digging his fingers into my sides earning breathed giggles and squeals from me. 

"Ahh harry....ah- harry stop-stop" I said trying to catch my breath.

There was an intimate moment of silence in between us. a moment in which I could stay forever. a moment that felt like forever. Just Harry and I staring at each other with all intimacy, love and passion.

That was before he closed the gap between us by a soft passionate kiss by smashing his lips onto mine, pulling me even closer if at all that was possible.

We broke the kiss in sync gasping for air, with a glint in both of our eyes wanting for more.

I pulled him closer by grabbing his cross necklace which led to him slightly moaning on my lips. It wasn't often that I'd take the lead in situations like this. But surprisingly I was on top of him- him laying down and I straddling him.

(like so : )

That was when he suddenly flipped us over earning a squeal from me. I knew I spoke too soon

He took over. I love the dominant side of harry even though he is a total softie! He began swiping his tongue against my lower lip asking for permission which I gladly gave. He deepened the kiss until he started placing wet, sloppy kisses near my cheek going to my chin. my collar bone, my neck and finally behind my ear. H every well knew his ways with his mouth and he knew that the minute he earned a loud moan from me. He came back up, and kissed me again even more passionately undressing me with one of his hands as the other found its way to my waist. As my t-shirt fell right across the room, he unclasped my bra while sucking on my neck clearly marking and gatekeeping his property taking a break and looking and taking as much of me as he can with his eyes and mouth. He slowly went down and down as he started to work his way through my nipples as he leaves me in a moaning mess. He never took his mouth off me while he removed his t-shirt and rings well almost before I stopped him

"what" he said with his eyes full of lust

"they stay on"

His lips quickly pulled into a smirk, "bold.. mm like it" he said shortly before pulling my panties down and attaching his lips to my stomach near my belly button piercing and suddenly looking up

"When did you get this?"  he said with his eyes as wide as they can get 

"mhm Today morning"

"fuck princess your gonna make me come with just the sight of your beautiful body" he said while going dangerously closer to my core

"mhm don't stop" I said trying to control the endless loud moans which were soon going to be relentless.

"fuck ha-rry go faster" I said gripping onto the sheets.

"fuck" it was a wonder how harry could just send me into oblivion with his tongue 

That was when I was suddenly yanked out oof that state of oblivion due to the sudden thrusting of Harrys two fingers inside me with the rings on. 

"Agh fuck" I screamed

"Shh baby girl we don't want the neighbours hearing us now do we?" he said while getting one of his hands to my mouth while still working wonders pleasuring me just by his tongue and ringed fingers.

Not soon after harry started unbuttoning his jeans and slipped them down and jumped out of them, with his "little friend" who wasn't so little now, clearly visible and throbbing. he climbed on me, placing sloppy kisses on my neck and my lips while his "not-so-little-friend" kept pressing against my thigh. That was my cue and taking that I took my hand down his shoulder to his abdomen and to is pelvic area as I started stroking "his friend" feeling him yearn for my touch. He slipped out of underwear swiftly and started to pump his own self hastily when I decided to take over. I stroked it with my hand for a while before licking the tip of it and slowly taking him in. We have had sex innumerable times but I will never get used to his size. Slowly I started picking up my pace and bobbing my head until he reached his high. Shortly, he in between my legs, my thighs over his shoulder, he started slowly lining his not so little friend with me and entering carefully- checking if I was okay, occasionally. He was slow at first and slowly started going faster.

 "oh fuck yeah!" it came out louder than I was actually expecting it to, almost leaving me screaming, moaning mess.

"What do you say baby girl"  he said still thrusting in and out in a rhythm 

"pl-plea-se daddy"

"that's my girl"

"Such a fucking slut for me aren't you?"

"y-es j-just for yo-u" I said trying to stifle the upcoming load moan

He had picked up his pace by now and we both were dangerously close to our high when his phone started blowing up with notifications and suddenly went off with Jeff, his managers name flashing on the screen. Harry kept thrusting- 

"Ha-rry I-I think y-ou should- ta-ake that"

I said almost reaching my high

"Almost there baby"  He said his thrusts getting faster

"Not yet"

"Harry I'm going to c-cum"

"Together in 3...2...1..."

I nodded as we both reached our orgasms, together. We fell on top of each other, chests heaving up fast, now slowly falling in a rhythm. We just laid their staring at the celing as we caught our breath.

 After a few moments of processing the amazing sex we just had, I Spoke up-

"I think you should call Jeff, you just met him an hour ago it must be something important..."

"mhm you're right" he hummed in my hair kissing my forehead, and then grabbing his phone from the coffee table-  dialling Jeff's number.

"Hey Jeff whats up!" he asked being his usual cheery self.

"Harry....."

"Jeff whats wrong?" harry said sitting up straight....

"The album......"

"The album what..?"

Part Two Coming Soon!

Hope you Guys enjoyed it

All the Love,

Ava <3

[salamanderinspace]

How Many Holes Make a Grave Digger?

short Good Omens season 2 fic. On Ao3 also.

(full disclosure: I didn't watch episodes 5 and 6.)

Elspeth tried to "be good." She went to a more reputable inn for the night, but only ordered corn porridge--that's what a good one does, yeah? Good and virtuous ladies don't make themselves fat on roast in the middle of the week. She only took one pint and turned in early. In the morning, she had a wash--something she never enjoyed, what with the cold and the damp creeping in her ears and making her feel all moldy.

When she went down to pay, she gave the barman a guinnea, and waited for her change at the bar. A lot of sad sacks were strewn around at midday, out of work and out of hope, burying themselves in ale. Some looked at her a little too long. Too too long, in fact, as the barman didn't return. "Oi!" she called. "My change, sir?" He didn't come out. What does a good and virtuous young woman do? she wondered. Certainly not go jumping over bars and making demands. She looked around, and as she did, luck would have it, she saw someone pass out the window. A constable. She ran him down, catching him on the sleeve, at which he drew his baton.

"What's this?" he barked.

"This innkeeper is jacking me for my change, sir," Elspeth explained. "I paid him a guinnea and he went in the back."

"Oh yeah?" He looked her up and down. "And where'd a rat like you get a guinnea? Found it in the gutter, didja? Run off or I'll take you to the station."

He seemed to mean it, so Elspeth did as she was told. She kept the rest of the money close, after that. She thought of going to a lawyer but couldn't be sure he wouldn't do just the same. No--she needed to look like a credible lady, first, so she went to a shop and ordered a dress. "Can't I just wear it out?" she asked.

"I've got to order the fabric," the tailor lady huffed. "And it'll take time to do the adjustments. You never bought a dress before?" She looked suspicious.

"Me mum handled all that," Elspeth lied. "Before she passed." The fib was automatic, and the urchin kicked herself after. Lying wasn't "being good," was it?

The lady said to come back next week, so it was another week sleeping in the gutter. Without Wee Morag to watch over her, Elspeth couldn't rest but in short snips, for the danger of men lurking. She developed a cough. In a week she fetched the dress and paid the hefty price for it, and with a hefty tip, the tailor let her have a wash there. "You're not going to ruin it with your filthy streaks," she said, but she looked sympathetic.

Elspeth went and got a bite to eat. She felt desperately sleepy, after, but still had nowhere to lay her head, and she figured she should go straight to a law office. "I'm here to buy a farm," she announced, after waiting on the hard chairs in the waiting room. Her dress was too warm in some places and too cool in others. She couldn't slouch properly in her chair, either, as that would pull on the laces.

"And your husband?" asked the law man, without looking up from his letters.

"Dead," Elspeth said. Another lie.

"Sorry to hear it," he said, not sounding sorry. "Well, what's the property in question?"

"Was hoping you'd help me find one."

"Were you?" He looked up at that, and raised a brow. "That can be a time-consuming matter," he said. "My hourly rate--"

"Yeah, I can pay," she answered.

"Very well. Come back next week, and we'll look at a few properties."

That bit went as smoothly as one could hope. Most places were out of Elspeth's price range, and she had to settle for a very wee lot with only a few sheep and chickens established. "Will you be needing to hire day labor?" the lawyer asked.

"Ah, no, I've got it," Elspeth said. She signed the papers and the lawyer left her with a bill. The house on the land was small and dark--no windows. The only nice thing about it was that she could hunt and fish at her leisure--though she'd have to teach herself how to do the fishing, as she'd never had a proper pole for it.

The days were long and lonely and hard. The lies came often. Merchants who wouldn't do business with an unwed woman. Merchants who tried to take her for twice the value of their goods. The money ran out before winter and she was forced to creep into the neighboring manor's coal-cellar and take a little, just a little, to get through. She imagined herself as a miner, digging for ores. Sometimes there was pretend and sometimes there were lies and it all ran together.

She'd imagine Wee Morag with her. Would talk to her, make jokes, even share a touch or two. She began to wonder, after all she'd seen with the two strange men in the graveyard and their dark magick, if spirits were a great deal realer than she'd thought when she was hawking corpses. She'd never seen a ghost, after all, not until … whatever those men were. On her market days she dawdled at the occultists' stall, and eventually struck up a conversation.

And her cough never really went away.

The days were a river of sameness. The same chores, the same dark and damp. She planted crops, which got blight and died. Paying the doctor for a bad lambing wiped out her savings. The sun rose and set and she drank and slept and it started to feel like there was very little reason not to go and get another vile of laudanum.

And if there was nothing to lose. What could it hurt to..?

That's how Elspeth found herself under the full moon, with the occultist and his eleven apprentices. The smell of charcoal and goat's blood, of briars and late-season lavender. The crisp air of October. Her heart beat with the chanting, the initiation. She called out to Wee Morag and felt her return. She swore herself to her Dark Master. She was no longer alone. She would never be alone again.

And she would never "be good."

[extravalgant]

title: crosspaths

summary: You were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased. But this one... you recognized this one.

notes: not much to say about this one... i edited this one about twice? before i thought it seemed good enough to post 👍 may this encourage me to make more switch up au stuffs....

READ ON A03

You think, after all this time, you would forget a name like his – a face like his.

The hustle and bustle of the late-night crowd is loud, but the air is filled with hearty laughs, the ambience of the denizens of this world having a good time; you hear the sounds of drinking glasses clinking together, cutlery sliding along plates, and spoons digging into bowls.

It would be comforting if you weren't running on very little sleep. You can feel your tunic bunch uncomfortably from underneath your coat, feel the itch of the fire insignia still fresh on the back from when you drew it in a rush, eager to get something warm over your body.

You feel as if you look a bit foolish standing there in the entrance to the inn, so you busy yourself with finding an unoccupied table. Regardless of how put together you look at the moment, your mind is still hazy from recent events.

Khrysalis had ended on... a semi-rough note, you reflect. The sting of betrayal is still raw, still twists something in the pit of your stomach if you marinated on it for too long, but you can’t help the wash of embarrassment that rushes over you at the thought of your kindness taken advantage so easily again.

You had gotten too complacent, and that’s why you were here—on the verge of frostbite and too tired to care. You had been too used to the idea that everyone was going to be on your side, that they wouldn’t lie to your face, extend an olive branch, offer any sagely advice that came with being trapped in a shadowy, guard-infested prison for thousands of years—

That train of thought stops very quickly. 

The physical symptoms of that particular adventure still lingered within you—you believe it’s because you absorbed so much of Morganthe’s magic after she had fallen to her demise. You figure this may be your body's way of getting used to having the proper amount of magic again.

Perhaps, a little part of your mind speaks up, voice so quiet you almost wanted to ignore it, perhaps it would have been better to die a martyr – you would have liked to see the look on his face had you not decided to be obedient for once, and died with the magic he so craved.

It had initially been a surprise when Merle Ambrose summoned you to his office, with claims of ‘something important’ needing to be discussed with you. You hadn’t noticed the sharp curl of anxiety in your stomach until he presented you with your diploma, managing a quiet laugh at your shocked expression. The tension bled out of your shoulders almost as easily as it appeared, and your vision focused to better examine the document he gave you.

The paper had felt crisp and clean, so unlike the quest paper you bought from the bazaar, and so unlike the thin and flimsy paper you used when you used to turn in your assignments. It had felt warm to the touch, and your eyes narrowed in on the way ink pooled slightly in certain places, as if this certificate had recently been finished.

And then, there had been your name – printed neatly, slanted in Merle Ambrose’s cursive script, sharp and wondrous across the page, with a golden stamp reflecting in the light.

Graduation. You couldn’t help the small grin that overtook your features. It took this long, but I’m finally… 

The following graduation ceremony had been… quick. You suppose Wizards hadn’t been much for celebrations, always straight and to the point, but it had been sweet. Try as you might, you could not discreetly wipe away the tears as each of the Ravenwood staff stepped forward to say a few words after the official assembly had ended, giving you their own words of encouragement as you stepped out into the new world. 

It wasn’t hard to miss the sudden chill that blanketed the area, and the familiar pit inside you was starting to fester inside you. Bartleby got sick, you knew it had been your fault, in some way or another—and now you were here. 

In cold and icy Polaris, tension is thick and heavy. The air is full of things unsaid, but you’re not quite sure what’s being said in the first place. This isn’t helped by the local inspector, who sniffs with disdain and squints disapprovingly at your lack of prepared attire for the weather. He doesn’t seem pleased by the smudged ink displayed almost proudly on your hand, but lets you pass anyway.

The quest was still fresh–you had to write it in a hurry and head to Polaris, after all.  You had always been a bit sloppy with quest writing—there’s a bit of an excuse now. You have a time limit. 

As long as it's legible, You said to yourself.

(A habit that would never die – a habit that lingered as soon as you learned the practice of quest writing. At the beginning your letters were neat and clean – this habit had stopped during Azteca, until you stopped writing them at all. 

…

Spell Writing 101 had always been your favorite class anyways.)

You digress.

Now, you were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased. But you didn’t think you would ever run into one in Polaris of all places. You didn’t think anyone could stand the cold like the Pingouins. But this one... you recognized this Monquistan. 

Because as soon as you laid your eyes upon the figure, you blinked, pausing in your descent of the steps.

“...Mister Gandry, is it?" You said, stepping close to the figure's table. He had been nursing a mug of... something. You detected the smell of something vaguely sweet and acidic.

Wine. You think, immediately. Wizard wine exists? Well, wine isn't exactly hard to make, is it? It's just... grapes.

That wasn’t important right now, you think.

He scrutinizes your dress for a moment, in a way that reminds you of the inspector at the world door, but he must have recognized you, with the way his eyes widened slightly at the edges.

"Can it be?" He said, and even his tone brings something like disbelief to the surface. It's almost hard to hear over the thick accent he has, and the sudden loud cheers a nearby table gives, but you nod in reply, breaking into a grin.

"The Wizard we met on the ship! My word, you're looking... a bit worse for wear."

He gestures for you to sit down, waving over the nearest waiter to bring them a drink for you as well. You can't even get a word in edgewise about your lack of drinking before the cup is being slid across the wooden table, red pooling deliciously at the edges.

"Worse for wear is putting it lightly." You say, chuckling a bit. Your hands come up to wrap gingerly around the pint, fingers tapping gently against the aged wood. It smells even sweeter than you thought. "I never thought I'd see you again! Where is, ah...?"

"Boochbeard?" He finishes for you, just as he polishes off the last of his drink. You nod. "Who knows. We got separated a while back."

“Aren’t you worried?” You ask, and he levels you with a stare, brow raised.

“It’d be a miracle if something around here manages to kill him.” He shifts in his seat, giving a lazy look around. “I see Polaris still hasn’t gotten back up on its legs after the war, eh? Figures.”

The words begin to blend together into his accent, but you can hear bits and pieces of what he’s trying to say. Something about the ‘armada,’ something about a ‘pirate.’

“The pirate?” You tilt your head to the side before the memory blooms behind your eyelids. Excitement bursts in the pit of your stomach. Yes, yes—the ship, those people, and most curious of all, that robot. “How are they doing these days?”

He takes a swig of his second drink – when he had ordered that one, you wondered – and shrugs.

“You... don’t know?” You’re dumbfounded. “I figured they were one of yours.”

“An orphan.” He amends, but the tone of his voice dips into something more casual, as if this were par for the course.

“Is that... common? Is this common?”

He nods without saying another word, and the two of you descend into another silence. This didn’t exactly astound you, seeing as Wizard City also housed these types—the city was safe enough as it was (with you there anyways, your brain supplies). You had surmised a while back that Ravenwood functioned more as a boarding school then it did a regular school, so the lack of parental figures wasn’t all that surprising to you.

But regardless, a pirate... you didn’t have any experience with them, minus Taylor Coleridge and the Monquistan in front of you.

“Is being a Pirate fun?” You ask.

His mouth twists thoughtfully before frowning. You think that has more so to do with the taste of his drink than your question. “About as fun as being a Wizard is.”

That was… Hm. You can count how many times you stood there and wondered if being a wizard was worth it. For all that it gave you—whether it was the joy and awe of seeing magic for the first time, or the warmth in your chest as you learn the words to another spell, or even just the fact that each spiral key you required earned you a glimpse into a new world, with new places to explore…

There were also things you… loathed about being a Wizard, no matter how hard you tried. Clearly there were things written in the fine script, but you had been reading that contract with younger, naive eyes. 

In Wizard law there are no accidents. 

You think your silence stretches on longer than usual – Gandry pauses, peering over the rim of the cup with inquisitive eyes. He puts his cup down.

"Tell me then," he prompts. "Is being a Wizard fun?"

The edge of your own cup reaches your lips. The first and only sip you would have. "...About as fun as being a Pirate is, I suppose."

He says nothing as you tell him your answer, but push your cup to the side and flag down the waiter for a steaming mug of something hot instead—the tea smells earthy and fragrant, warming your frozen fingers as you blow on it with cooling breaths.

"I wonder how they're doing." You muse quietly. You hadn't even gotten a glimpse of their face, or their personality—only gave words of encouragement, coaxed Mister Gandry and Mister Boochbeard into investigating whatever it is that the Maestro and his robotic friend were keen to stop before it started. “The Pirate, that is.”

You had touched upon their life – altered the course of their timeline, without ever seeing them. You think it's almost better this way, but you can't help the twinge in your heart that wants to meet the person they are today.

Did they have any friends? Do they have family? Did they have a favorite food, a favorite color, did they like the way the stars twinkled at night, or how the clouds stretched upon an infinity? Most of all—

Were they alive? 

You wonder.

"Running from the armada, probably." Gandry’s dry tone snaps you out of your haze. "I want to say I'm surprised the armada hasn't touched this part of the spiral, but – you're here."

"... I'm here." You repeat softly. Almost fondly. You were here, fighting tooth and nail to prevent the rest of the spiral from falling apart. To give others the chance to do the same. You’re not sure what an ‘armada’ is and have no clue whether or not you’d be able to defend against it, but you recognize that the two of you are on different journeys. 

You wonder if you’ll ever cross paths.

The silence stretches on until you stand, pushing your chair backwards as you relay to your companion that you had Wizardly duties to deal with. There's no note of change or expressions on his face, only neutral responses; he nods as he waves you off, and pushes the gold back into your hand when you attempt to repay him back.

"My treat, wizard." Mr. Gandry speaks. This time, there's a grin stretching across his face. "Welcome to Polaris."

[ariel-seagull-wings]

EUGENE VISITOR: THE MAN WHO HOLDS THE HANDS OF DEATH

@professorlehnsherr-almashy

From the IDW Publishing Comics Ghostbusters: Volume 01, Issue 08.

Eugene Visitor was a friend of Egon Spengler who trapped Death after being fataly hit by a car.

In the 1970s, Eugene was a friend of Egon's when they attended Senn University. On one fateful night, Eugene was hit by a car while crossing a street. Eugene saw Death and managed to trap it in his bag after remembering a paper he did on Russian folklore. Before the driver could get out of the car, Eugene vanished without a trace. He reappeared 20 years later.

Eugene Visitor's story bears similarity to the russian folktale "The Soldier and Death":

Once upon a time there was a soldier who had served God and the Great Sovereign for twenty-five whole years, and had only in the end earned three biscuits, and was journeying back home. And, as he went along, he thought: "Lord! here am I; I have served my Tsar for twenty-five years, have received my food and dress, and what have I lived for after all? I am cold and hungry, and have only three biscuits to eat." So he pondered and thought, and decided to desert and run away whither his eyes might lead him.

As he went along he met a poor beggar who asked alms of him. The soldier gave him one biscuit, and kept two. And, as he trudged on, he soon came across another poor beggar, who bowed down low and asked for alms. So the soldier gave him another biscuit, and had only one left. Again on he went, and met a third beggar. The old fellow bowed low and asked for alms. The soldier got his last biscuit out, and thought: "If I give him the whole, I shall have none left; if I give half, why, this old man will come across brother-beggars, will see they have a whole biscuit, and be offended. Better let him have it all, and I shall get on somehow." So he gave his last biscuit, and had nothing left.

Then the old man asked him: "Tell me, good man, what do you wish? Of what have you need? I will help you."

"God bless you!" the soldier answered. "How should I take anything of you?—you are old and poor."

"Don't think of my poverty," he replied. "Just say what you would like, and I will requite you according to your own goodness."

"I want nothing; but, if you have any cards, give me some as a keepsake."

For the old man was Christ Himself walking on earth in a beggar's guise. The old man put his hand into his breast and drew out a pack of cards, saying: "Take them. With whomsoever you play, you will win the game; and here you have a nosebag. Whatever you meet on the way, whether wild beast or bird that you would like to catch, just say to it: 'Jump in here, beast or bird!' and your wish will be carried out."

"Thank you!" said the soldier, took the cards and the nosebag, and fared forth.

He went on and on, may-be far, may-be near, may-be short, may-be long, and arrived at a lake, on which three wild geese were swimming. Then the soldier suddenly remembered the nosebag and thought: "I'll just test this nosebag"; took it out, opened it, and said: "Hi! you wild geese, fly into my nosebag!" No sooner uttered than the geese flew straight up from the lake into the bag. The soldier grabbed the bag, tied it up, and went on his way.

He travelled on and on and came to a town. He entered an eating-house and told the inn-keeper: "Take this goose and cook it for my supper, and I will give you another goose for your pains. Change me this third one for vódka." So there the soldier sat like a lord in the inn, at his ease, drinking wine and feasting on roast goose.

It occurred to him suddenly he might peer out of the window, and he saw opposite a big palace, but not one pane of glass was whole. "What is this?" he asked the inn-keeper. "What is this palace? Why does it stand empty?"

"Why, don't you know?" the master replied. "Our Tsar built himself this palace, but cannot inhabit it; and, for seven years, it has been standing empty. Some unholy power drives every one out of the place. Every night an assemblage of devils meets there, make a row, dance, play cards, and perpetrate every sort of vileness!"

So off the soldier went to the Tsar. "Your Imperial Majesty," quoth he, "please let me spend one night in your empty palace!"

"What do you mean, fellow?" said the Tsar. "God bless you; but there have been some dare-devils like you who passed a night in this palace, and not one emerged alive!"

"Well, still, a Russian soldier cannot drown in water, or burn in fire. I served God and the Great Sovereign five-and-twenty years, and never died of it; and, for one night's service for you, I am to die! No!"

"But I tell you: a man enters the palace at night alive, and only his bones are found there in the morning!"

But the soldier stood firm: he must be admitted into the palace.

"Well," said the Tsar, "go, and God help you. Stay the night there if you will; you are free, and I won't hinder you!"

So the soldier marched into the palace, and settled himself down in the biggest saloon, took his knapsack off and his sabre, put the knapsack in a corner and the sabre on a hand-peg, sat down on a chair, put his hand into his pocket for his tobacco-pouch, lit his pipe, and smoked at his ease. Then about midnight, I don't know where from, hordes of devils, seen and unseen, scurried up, and made such a turmoil and row, and set up a dance with wild music. "What, you here, discharged soldier!" all the devils began yelling. "Welcome! Will you play cards with us?"

"Certainly; here I have a set ready. Let's start!"

He took them out and dealt round. They began, played a game out, and the soldier won; another, and the same luck; and all the finessing of the devils availed them nothing; the soldier won all the money, and raked it all together.

"Stop, soldier," the devils said. "We still have sixty ounces of silver and forty of gold. We'll stake them on the last game." And they sent a little devil-boy to fetch the silver.

So a new game commenced; and then the little devil had to pry in every nook and come back and tell the old devil: "It's no use, grandfather—we have no more."

"Off you go; find some gold!" And the urchin went and hunted up gold from everywhere, turned an entire mine inside out and still found nothing: the soldier had played everything away.

The devils got angry at losing all their money, and began to assault the soldier, roaring out: "Smash him up, brothers! Eat him up!"

"We'll see who'll have the last word if it comes to eating," said the soldier, shook the nosebag open, and asked, "What is this?"

"A nosebag," said the devils.

"Well, in you all go, by God's own spell!" And he collected them all together—so many you couldn't count them all! Then the soldier buckled the bag tightly, hung it on a peg, and lay down to sleep.

In the morning the Tsar sent for all his folks. "Come up to me and inform me how does it stand with the soldier. If the unholy powers have destroyed him, bring me his little bones."

So off they went and entered the palace, and there saw the soldier trudging up and down gaily in the rooms and smoking his pipe. "Well, how are you, discharged soldier? We never expected to see you again alive. How did you pass the night? What kind of bargain did you make with the devils?"

"What devils! Just come and look what a lot of gold and silver I won off them. Look, what piles of it!" And the Tsar's servants looked and were amazed. And the soldier told them: "Bring me two smiths as fast as you can. Tell them to bring an iron anvil and a hammer."

Off they went helter-skelter to the smiths, and the matter was soon arranged.

The smiths arrived with iron anvil and with heavy hammers.

"Now," said the soldier, "take this nosebag and beat it hard after the ancient manner of smiths."

So the smiths took the nosebag, and they began to whisper to each other: "How fearfully heavy it is! The devil must be in it."

The devils shrieked in answer: "Yes, we are there, father—yes, we are there! Kinsmen, help us!"

So the smiths instantly laid the nosebag on the iron anvil, and they began to knock it about with their hammers as though they were hammering iron.

Very soon the devils saw that they could not possibly stand such treatment, and they began to shriek: "Mercy on us—mercy on us! Let us out, discharged soldier, into the free world. Unto all eternity we will not forget you, and into this palace never a devil shall enter again. We will forbid everybody—all of them—and drive them all a hundred versts away."

So the soldier bade the smiths stop, and as soon as he unbuckled the nosebag the devils rushed out, and flew off, without looking, into the depths of hell—into the abysses of hell. But the soldier was no fool; and as they were flying out he laid hold of one old devil—laid hold of him tight by his paw. "Come along," he said; "give me some written undertaking that you will always serve me faithfully."

The unholy spirit wrote him out this undertaking in his own blood, gave it him, and took to his heels.

All the devils ran away into the burning pitch, and got away as fast as they could with all their infernal strength, both the old ones and the young ones; and henceforth they established guards all round the burning pit and issued stern ordinances that the gates be constantly guarded, in order that the soldier and the nosebag might never draw near.

The soldier came to the Tsar, and he told him some kind of tale how he had delivered the palace from the infernal visitation.

"Thank you," the Tsar answered. "Stay here and live with me. I will treat you as if you were my brother."

So the soldier went and stayed with the Tsar, and had a sufficiency of all things, simply rolled in riches, and he thought it was time he should marry. So he married, and one year later God gave him a son. Then this boy fell into such a fearful illness—so terrible that there was nobody who could cure it—and it was beyond the skill of the physicians; there was no understanding of it. The soldier then thought of the old devil and of the undertaking he had given him, and how it had run in the undertaking: "I shall serve you eternally as a faithful servant." And he thought and said: "What is my old devil doing?"

Suddenly the same old devil appeared in front of him and asked: "What does your worship desire?"

And the soldier answered: "My little boy is very ill. Do you know how to cure him?"

So the devil fumbled in his pocket, got out a glass, poured cold water into it, and put it over the head of the sick child, and told the soldier: "Come here, look into the water." And the soldier looked at the water; and the devil asked him: "Well, what do you see?"

"I see Death standing at my son's feet."

"Well, he is standing at his feet; then he will survive. If Death stands at his head, then he cannot live another day." So the devil took the glass with the water in it and poured it over the soldier's son, and in that same minute the son became well.

"Give me this glass," the soldier said, "and I shall never trouble you for anything more." And the devil presented him with the glass, and the soldier returned him the undertaking.

Then the soldier became an enchanter, and set about curing the boyárs and the generals. He would go and look at the glass, and instantly he knew who had to die and who should recover. Now, the Tsar himself became ill, and the soldier was called in. So he poured cold water into the glass, put it at the Tsar's head, and saw that Death was standing at the Tsar's head.

The soldier said: "Your Imperial Majesty, there is nobody in the world who can cure you. Death is standing at your head, and you have only three hours left of life."

When the Tsar heard this speech, he was furious with the soldier. "What, what!" he shrieked at him. "You who have cured so many boyárs and generals, cannot do anything for me! I shall instantly have you put to death."

So the soldier thought and thought what he should do. And he began to beseech Death. "O Death," he said, "give the Tsar my life and take me instead, for it doesn't matter to me whether I live or die; for it is better to die by my own death than to suffer such a cruel punishment."

And he looked in the glass, and saw that Death was standing at the Tsar's feet. Then the soldier took the water and sprinkled the Tsar, and he recovered completely. "Now, Death," said the soldier, "give me only three hours' interval in order that I may go home and say farewell to my wife and my son."

"Well, you may have three hours. Go," Death replied.

So the soldier went away home, lay down on his bed, and became very ill.

And when Death was standing very near him, she said, "Now, discharged soldier, say good-bye quickly—you have only three minutes left to live in the bright world."

So the soldier stretched himself out, took his nosebag from under his head, opened it, and asked: "What is this?"

Death answered: "A nosebag."

"Well, if it is a nosebag, then jump into it!"

And Death instantly jumped straight into the bag. And the soldier, ill as he was, jumped up from his bed, buckled the nosebag together firmly, very tightly, threw it on his shoulder, and went into the Bryánski Woods, the slumbrous forest. And he went there, and he hung this bag on the bitter aspen, on the very top twig, and he went back home.

From that day forward nobody died in that kingdom: they were born, and they kept on being born, and they never died. And very many years went by, and the soldier never took his nosebag down. One day he happened to go into the town. He went, and on his way he met such an old, old lady, so old that on whichever side the wind blew, she inclined. "Oh, what an old lady!" the soldier said. "Why, it is almost time she died."

"Yes, father," the old dame replied. "The time has come and gone long since. At the time when you put Death into the nosebag I had only one hour left in which to live in the white world. I should be very glad to have some rest; but unless I die, earth will not take me up; and you, discharged soldier, are guilty of an unforgivable sin in God's eyes. For there is no single soul left on earth who is tortured as I am."

Then the soldier stayed and began to think. "Yes, yes; it would be better to let Death out; perhaps I, too, might die. And beyond this, too, I have many sins on my conscience. Thus it is better now whilst I am still strong and I bear pain on this earth; for when I shall become very old then it will be all the worse for me to suffer anything."

So he got up and he went up into the Bryánski Woods, and he went up to the aspen, and saw there the nosebag was hanging very high, shaking in the winds to all sides. "Oh, you Death," he says, "are you still alive?"

A faint voice came out of the nosebag: "Yes, father, I am alive."

So the soldier took the nosebag, opened it, and he let out Death.

And he himself lay down on his bed, bade farewell to his wife and son, and he begged Death that he might die. And she[1] ran outside the door with all the strength in her feet. "Go!" she cried. "It is the devils who shall slay you—I shall not slay you!"

So the soldier remained alive and healthy. And he thought: "Shall I go straight into the burning pitch, for then the devils will throw me into the seething sulphur until such time as my sins shall have been melted from off me." And he bade farewell from all, and he went with the knapsack in his hand straight into the burning pitch.

And he went on: may-be near, may-be far, may-be downhill, may-be uphill, may-be short, may-be long; and he at last arrived in the abyss, and he looked, and all round the burning cauldron there stood watchmen. As soon as he stopped at the gate a devil asked who was coming.

"A guilty soul to be tortured."

"Why do you come? What are you carrying with you?"

"Oh, a nosebag."

And the devil shrieked out of his full throat and made a tremendous stir. All the infernal powers roused themselves and looked out of the gates and windows with their unbreakable bolts.

And the soldier went all round the cauldron, and he called out to the master of the cauldron: "Let me in, please; do let me into the cauldron. I have come to you to be tortured for my sins."

"No, I will not let you in. Go away wherever you will—there is no room for you here."

"Well, if you will not let me in to be tortured, at least give me two hundred souls. I will take them up to God, and perhaps the Lord will pardon my faults."

And the master of the cauldron answered: "I will add fifty more souls to the lot; only do go away!" So he instantly ordered two hundred and fifty souls to be counted out and to be taken to the rear gates in order that the soldier might not see him.

So the soldier gathered up the guilty souls, and he went up to the gates of Paradise.

The Apostles saw him, and said to the Lord: "Some soldier or other has come up here with two hundred and fifty souls from hell!"

"Take them into Paradise, but do not let the soldier in."

But the soldier had given up his nosebag to one guilty soul, and had told it: "Just look here. When you enter the gates of Paradise, say at once: 'Soldier, jump into the nosebag!'"

Then the gates of Paradise opened, and the souls began to go in; and this guilty soul also went in, and for sheer joy forgot all about the soldier.

Thus the soldier was left behind, and could not find any home in either place, and for long after that he still had to live and go on living in the white world. And after very many days he died.

[hahahahawk]

I’ve been reading lately, and not just audiobooks!

But mostly cheesy romance. From the library!

The ones I’d recommend are both of Lily Chu’s books and Under the Whispering Door.

I had Lily Chu’s The Stand In on audiobook from a while ago, so after I finally listened to that, I checked out The Comeback ebook, and read it all in one day. I stayed in bed with the cat on my lap/legs and my partner brought me food periodically.

Both books were really funny (if very similar) and pretty cozy. I really liked the daydreaminess of the stories and the “conflicts” never really stressed me out.

Something about both of her books felt like doing a jigsaw puzzle, where everything starts out a mess, but I know it will be a neat and tidy whole by the end.

***

Last night/this morning I read The Wedding Date. Absolutely hated it at first. The initial meet-cute… well the dialog was godawful. But as soon as we got Drew’s perspective, I decided I enjoyed having both POVs. Read half before forcing myself to go to sleep, and managed to do it after their first fight but before the big one, so I wasn’t actually trying to fall asleep while “stressed”.

Finished it this morning, and while I still don’t think it was good, it was not-bad enough that I waitlisted The Proposal. Didn’t have the “jigsaw puzzle” feeling, the conflict was more stressful, but I liked the side characters enough that I’m interested in seeing them more closely.

***

While we were away for Christmas I started Under the Whispering Door on the plane home. I didn’t pick it up again until last weekend, when I “went to bed early” then couldn’t put it down until I finished around 1:30am. Oops.

I’m not historically (in the past 10 years) good at “sitting down with a book”, but we also have a paper copy of The House in the Cerulean Sea, so I might pick that up soon.

***

I got the ebook of What Moves The Dead from the library. It’s my first T. Kingfisher book. I started it this morning between finishing Wedding Date and eating breakfast. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.

Put it down for breakfast, and didn’t pick up after because now I’m in the crochet zone.

***

I’ve been revisiting Ilona Andrew’s Innkeeper books in their graphic audio form after reading the first 3 ebooks a half dozen years ago.

Partly due to the audio format, partly due to the cast/performances, but largely due to the content/attitudes, I’m not enjoying them so much this time.

I have a lot of nostalgia for the world building—the magic of the inn/innkeeper/guests relationship was a powerful metaphor for me for a long time. The inn is my mind, the guests are people I know and love. It’s my duty to protect them and treat them well. I have fantastic magic powers in my mind, where I can control the environment, but none out in the real world.

But… I don’t actually like how Dina and Sean treat each other. I don’t like how pro-military and violent the stories are in general. I don’t like how much space in the books is taken up with detailed descriptions, or how superfluous so many things are. (Things being “the best” or “the most” are pet peeves of mine. Perfection is just unrealistic and breaks immersion for me a lot of the time.)

I’ll probably listen to Sweep of the Heart when it’s available to borrow, then forget about the series for a while.

[cyborg-franky]

Hallo again! I did already make a request for killer so I can wait until you're less busy for this. I was wondering if I could ask for another with him?

Soulmate au + enemies to lovers + 7

You can ignore of course! I seen that list and there's so many who requested.

Killer X GN Reader SFW AU: Soulmate [you find your soulmates vivre card and it leads you to each other] Word Count: 1081

Your vivre card was going mad, it flipped and lurched across the palm of your hand, you watched with a frown, it had been ages since it has so much as twitched and now it was desperate to get going. The last time it caused such a fuss was when you had been docked on Sabaody Archipelago for a moment. The entire time you were there it was trying to fly out of your hand, you thought when you left that had been your only chance to meet your soulmate but once again it tugged.

Glancing up in the direction of the inn your crew was headed to for a well needed night off the damn boat the card pointed. You knew the person you were destined to be with was in that building. You felt sick to your stomach, was it nerves or excitement? Either way your pulse raced, you took a breath walking with your crew towards a beer for them and a fate for you.

Opening the door, you looked around, it was packed, many other pirates filled it to the brim, barely anywhere to sit but your captain and first mate managed to find a place at the end of the bar for a few of you to perch.

There was a loud bang, the sound of something large and heavy hitting a table, it was a bar filled with pirates it could be one of many things, but you found yourself turning slightly to gauge the other patrons of the bar. The loud bang had been from the corner, you winced. It was the Kid pirates.

You hadn’t been with your crew long and they didn’t know the whole story of your grievances with that crew, especially the hot-headed asshole that called himself captain. Part of the worst generation was right. He’d tried to sleep with you a few years ago, when you were both rookies and traveling along the same path.

Your rejection had made him incredibly pissed off, it seemed that he hadn’t forgotten you either as he nodded his head in your direction a few of his crew members turning not so subtly to check you out before Kid carried on talking, never taking his eyes off of you. The mood for the evening was well and truly ruined for you now.

You felt the card in your hand twitch in time with your pulse, you opened your hand up looking at the paper on your palm, it was pointing behind you now, you moved your hand in the air trying to work out who it was pointing to, and you paled, the very point of the soulmate tracker aimed straight at Kid’s table.

It couldn’t be him; it wasn’t him; you’d have realised that the first time he’d entered your life like a seaking in a pet shop. You took a breath walking towards his table, he sat forward with a grin eyeing you up. “Decided you wanted this dick then? Better late then never” He snorted, a smirk on his painted lips.

“Shut up, I’m not here for you, do any of you assholes have a soulmate vivre card?” Before anyone could really reply you slapped yours on the table watching it edge across the sticky wooden surface. Some of them mumbled before Killer took a piece from his pocket letting it fall to the table.

Everyone watched as the two pieces drew closer and closer to one another, soon as they touched, they become one complete piece. Kid tut and leaned back, downing a beer in disappointment, not that he wanted a soulmate but a free fuck was always a nice surprise.

“We’ve even met before.., haven’t we? And back on Sabaody?” Your mouth felt dry, and you picked up what was Killer’s drink and downed it. “You had no idea, did you?” you asked the blond who shook his head, he pushed out of the booth and put an arm around your shoulder leading you out of the inn, ignoring the jeers and dirty comments from the rest of his crew.

“I honestly didn’t” He started as you sat down on the empty boxes piled against the wall. “I never considered soulmates, I knew you were out there but I just, I didn’t consider it a priority and never paid attention. I knew something was up on Sabaody but you know yourself it became a shit show real fast” You nodded, he was right about that.

“You have no idea how happy I am it’s not Kid!” You sighed and leaned against the wall staring up into the night sky. “I can imagine” Killer watched you, neither of you knew exactly what to say, that was until Killer brought up the difficult topic.

“So, who’s going to join whose crew?” You laughed at that, you didn’t mean to, but it slipped out “Sorry” You shook your head “Just the idea of me joining the same crew that has Eustass Kid on is just that funny”

Killer folded his arms over his chest and let out a sigh it almost went unheard due to his mask. “Ok, but I’m the first mate so I can’t leave my crew” You both paused, the chill air started to cause your skin to prickle into goosebumps. “I… does this mean this has to.. end before it starts?”

“It appears that way”

Nothing, both staring at the sky or the ground, the sounds of loud merriment in the inn was a stark contrast to what was going on out here. Killer climbed up on the crates to join you and you found yourself wanting to be closer, leaning up against him, he let you. “I mean, what about we have a great night together? Leave these idiots to drink themselves into oblivion and tomorrow go our separate ways?” You suggested and felt the man wrap an arm around you, you felt warmer already.

“We could attempt long distance… split the vivre card up again and just… watch it.. and maybe we’ll have a better option in the future?” Killer mumbled; he didn’t expect this to be one of the pitfalls of being a pirate.

“Yeah… I think… I think that’s our only option, isn’t it?” He nodded, you gave a sad smile, bittersweetness of meeting your soulmate. “So, wanna get out of here?” He climbed down from the wooden stack and offered you his hand.

“Yeah, let’s go”

[psalm22-6]

“Fantine or the Fate of a Grizette”

I already thought this New York Clipper article, which describes a 1863 adaptation of Les Misérables at Grover’s Theatre, was cool because I love the list of principal characters. (Blancheville gets to sing a song? Marguerite is included!) But then I got to the last part, where they mention that it has music by Charles Koppitz! And realized that this is the production which David Bellos discussed at BarricadesCon! (Actually the title of the play could have tipped me off to that but it didn’t). The score can be found here. An interesting little piece of history. But by no means unique. Well, this production might have been uniquely good by the sounds of it, but there were quite a few adaptations of Les Misérables being put on around the United States in 1862 and 1863. The earliest I have found (so far) was October 1862, in Marysville California with J. B. Booth Jr. (brother of John Wilkes Booth) as one of the principal actors (I wish I had more to say on that but so far I just have a one sentence mention of it in one newspaper). And you’ll notice that in this article, they say “still another” play “has come to light since our last.” That’s because this article is from January 31st 1863, but on January 17th they had reported a different production of Les Miserables entirely that was also being put on. And the next month there would be at least two other productions put on in the area, reported on by the same paper (one of which was notably long, only ending at one in the morning and later being cut down so that it ended at 11).         (This article was in that super dense no paragraph break style of newspapers of the time so I have broken it up considerably for readability). 

And still another dramatization of “Les Miserables” has come to light since our last. This last is the production of Mr. Albert Cassedy, of Washington, D.C., and was presented for the first time at Grover’s Theatre, on the 19th inst., continuing through the week. Mr. Cassedy calls his work “Fantine, or the Fate of a Grizette.” The cast embraces the entire company, and as our friends may like to see the distribution of characters, we give it, as follows: — Fantine, Kate Denin  Jean Valjean, Father Madelaine, M. Madeleine, Mayor, Charles Barron Bishop of Myriel, Ben Rogers Javert, M. H. Bokee Tholomyes, D. Setchell Blackeville [sic] (with a song), J. L. Barrett  Scaufflaire, Harry Clifford  Fauchelevent, H. McDolanld Little Gervais (with a song), Sophie Gimber Prosecuting Attorney, Alonzo Read Host of the Inn, M.A. Kennedy Champmathieu, T. M. Wemyss Brevet, J. V. Daily Listolier, E. S. Tarr Favorite (with a song), Viola Crocker Madame Magloire, Mrs G. O. Germon Sister Simplice, Isabella Freeman Baptistine, Addie Anderson Marguerite, Fanny Ryan Dahlia, Ada Monk Zephine, Flora Lee Cosette, Little Katy Madame Victurnien, Minnie Monk Madame Thenardier, Jennie Monk Extra pains were taken to give due effect to this great work, and the full resources of the establishment were called in, to place the play in a proper manner before the public. New music was arranged by Koppitz, the “Nightingale;” and fresh scenery and skilful effects introduced. The last scene is said to be a gem; it is an allegorical tableau, representing the finding of Cosette by Jean Valjean, and the Apotheosis of Fantine. 

Here is a review from the Washington DC Evening Star, 20 January 1863 

Mr. Cassedy’s dramatization from “Fantine,” drew an immense house last night. The author has certainly been very happy in his adaptation, and having a company from which to cast his characters, whereon he could depend, the success of the piece was hardly to be wondered at. Mr. Cassedy has in a very felicitous manner woven into the representation every prominent feature in the book, and he has performed the difficult task of giving a somewhat prominent part to each of some thirty performers. If Mr. Barron could be induced to dispense with some of his spasmodic actions and fifth-rate melodramatic rant in the part of Jean Valjean, it would be all the better for the play. “Fantine” will be performed again tonight. 

[emperor-palpaminty]

Bruh I am SOFT can I have Western Tech with Fluff prompt 20?

DOCTOR VICTOR TRECH THE THIRD HAS MY HEART, bless you anon, especially this prompt? i’m melting

Also I had to changhe names again, Shaeeah isn’t a very “western” name, Suu became “Sue”, and Jek is close enough I think so he’s good!

And for those of you who don't know the AMAZING creator of this AU @hellothere-generalangsty has started that Tech was GOING TO PROPOSE but the woman turned him down. Ouch. Naturally I will use this to make myself sad.

Prompt 20: “My, oh my. You’re such a beautiful creature.”

Tech rolled up his sleeves, tying off the stitch. “There.” He slowly clipped the string and set his needle in the sanitization bowl. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mrs. Laquwane smiled, her thick hair being tugged at by her son, Jek. “Are you feeling better, Shay?”

The girl nodded, glancing down at the puckered wound. "Will I get better?"

"Of course you will." Tech smiled gently, watching as Jek admired his sister's wound. "Ah, don't touch it, Jek." Sue tossed her son a frown, before turning back to Tech. "Here." He handed her a small jar, tapping on the lid. "Apply that to the cleaned surface every night. If you need more, let me know. I'll drop by next week to examine the stitches."

Sue smiled, pushing one of her thick braids over her shoulders. "Thank you, Tech."

“Of course, Mrs. Laquwane.” Tech smiled politely, nodding, as Shay grabbed her bonnet, examining the stitched in her arm again. “You have brave children.”

Jek tugged on his mother’s second braid, eyes gleaming in their sly, childish way. “Can I get stitches too?”

“Oh, heavens, I hope not.” Sue sighed as Tech chuckled, shaking his head slightly, waving politely as the trio left. He leaned on the doorway, chest swelling with pride- another long day of good work was done. A grin that only emerged when he felt like he had a genuine job well done fought its way onto his face as he ducked back into his office.

Tech slowly rolled up his things. He tugged the curtains shut and picked up his bag, sighing softly as he plunked his hat onto his head. Tech tucked his key into his pocket, shutting the door as he slowly began the trek home - just a few streets away.

It was only beginning to darken when he reached the inn. He nodded to Cid and tugged the watch from his pocket. He swelled with pride, examining the elaborate design on the clasp and the cover of the face. The time stated it was only now past six-fifteen, and he was late.

Cid frowned, puffing on her cigar. "You're late."

He offered a small smile, taking the little stack of mail she offered him. "I understand that."

She chuckled, tucking the cigar into her mouth. "Need some company? I bet one of the girls would-"

"No, I am quite alright." Tech spoke quickly, face flushing. "Thank you." Her laughter followed him up the stairs.

He unlocked his room, walking in, pausing briefly to light the oil lamp. The flame caught, and he blew out the match gently. He dropped the medical bag on his bed, sinking into the mattress with a soft creak. 

He turned over envelopes, skimming the names on them. Some were letters from family, a letter from one of his Universities (probably inviting him to lecture), and one was...

The light spilled on the cream envelope, dripping like blood. The name alone made his throat dry. Miss Sawyer, he swallowed, fingers trembling. He opened the letter, shakily.

His face was warm, eyes unbearably hot reading the words- palaces of paragraphs, telling Victor how wonderful life was and how it wasn't the same without him. She had told him he wasn't enough when he had gotten on one knee. That being a doctor's wife was not suitable for a woman of her stature- and here she was, months later, pouring an arsenic-laced honeyed apology into a leaf of paper.

Tech stood, abandoning the letter on his bed. He took no time to try and tug his overcoat back on, or button his waistcoat- he just flew down the stairs, past Cid, tears blearing his eyes, throat chapped as he tore towards the stables.

It was about twenty minutes into the ride when he knew where he was going, horse slowly manuvering up the red hills, caked with rocks. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the mane of the horse, inhaling its scent of alfalfa and leather. The horse knickered softly, pausing in it's canter as a dog barked.

Tech glanced up, pushing a hand in his sweat-slicked hair. The door to the house was thrown open, warm light pouring out into the falling night, and the herbalist ran out, a bulky jacket thrown on over her coat. She ran towards him, not walked, ran, her hair loose instead of pulled into a bun or braids. Her eyes shone even in the darkness as Tech climbed off the horse. "Doc, what-"

No words came from him. He reached out, collapsing against her, leaning down aw(wardky and pressing his face into her shoulder, every shaky breath inhaling the old smell of her jacket- smoke, pipe smoke, and vanilla. He clutched her, his breathing hitching.

She was secure, safe. He needed only her.

The herbalist only paused for a moment before closing her arms around him, vocalizing no objections. They stood together, the light at her back, and he steadily found his shakey feet on the steady ground of her.

Tenderly, she tugged away. "Let's go inside." She said, gently. "I have some tea, and a fire." Her lips pressed into a smile, and she nodded in encouragement, leading him to the warmth of her house, her home.

___

The couch was comfortable, Tech found, curled up, with the Herbalist handing him a cup of tea. He took a small sip, mumbling his thanks as she plopped down next to him, the heavy coat still on her shoulders. She watched him, eyes softened in the glow of the fire. "You've been crying."

He drew in a sharp breathe and started into the tea, the water bruising with leaves and their colors and he nodded. "Yes," He managed. He blinked to help bring some comfort to his dry eyes.

She crossed her legs, watching him. "You wanna talk about it?"

Tech glanced up from the cup, eyes scanning her face. "No," The doctor rasped. "I don't."

"Mm," She hummed, standing softly. Tech stared up at her as she moved, lowering her cup. "I can leave you alone-"

"No." Tech moved quicker than he could think, moving to her, crashing to his knees and grasping the skirt of her nightgown. "I can't be alone," His words were short of air, shallow. "Not again, not again."

He didn't want to look up. He just wanted to keep his face in her nightgown skirts, holding them- holding her- and forget what he had been running from. Hell, he had forgotten, the moment he saw her riding up to his stagecoach, like an angel of battle, and the only thing stirring in him was an overwhelming sense of her.

She moved her hands in his hair, shushing his cries. "Victor," She said, and the way she said it broke him. That concern, that love-

Quietly, she slid to her knees, too, and hugged him to her. "I'll stay, I'll stay with you. Or you can come sleep with me again." A rack happened in her lungs and she shook her head quickly. "Like last time. When I put my head in your lap-"

Tech picked his head up and kissed her, fingers winding in her coat. Her words were cut short by his kiss, the fire, the need in it. She hummed and pressed her hands in his hair, tugging him closer, tighter, and Tech felt like the fire- warm, hot, needy, comforting- his lust and his love were an oxymoron within themselves.

She pressed herself away, chest rising and falling against Tech's as her fingers brushed down to his waistcoat. Her eyes darted to his own, and she licked her lips, the delectible tongue peeking out from the supple fresh-kissed lips.

Tech ran his hand down the side of her face, the warmth exploding in his heart. "My, oh my," He sighed. Her skin was rosy, flushed from the kiss, cheeks the tint of rose-hips. "You're such a beautiful creature."

She sighed, leaning into him as he tugged her close, surrendering to his kisses.

Tech was done running for his past- he had found his future, here, in his arms.

[wilteddaisies]

Yours - Chapter Three

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: the there’s only one bed trope, angst, cursing, wing kink, oral sex (female receiving), slight overstimulation

Note: I am so happy be sharing this chapter, it was an absolute delight to write! I love writing soft happy Az because we didn’t see nearly enough of that in the books lol. Enjoy!

CHAPTER THREE

You left the next day. After healing Azriel’s wings completely, in terribly awkward silence, you packed lightly and were off. You expected to be away from home for only a few nights. But, your pack seemed to weigh a ton after hours of flying. You and Azriel decided that it would be best to conserve as much magic as possible to bypass the wyvern and whatever other enchantments there might be to keep people out. 

You finally touched down right as the sun was setting, at the edge of a town near the castle. You quickly used your magic to cloak your wings and then Azriel’s before walking down the cobblestone road into town. The town was decorated with all sorts of banners and streamers, there must be some sort of festival or celebration going on.

The walk to the inn was quiet, unbearably so, just as the flight was with neither of you wanting to talk about your encounter two nights ago. You stride into the inn to the front desk.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat to get the attention of the bored looking boy behind the desk. He leisurely kept flipping through his leaflet, taking his time before turning his eyes up. And then immediately blanching at Azriel’s glowering figure behind you. 

“How-,” he squeaked and then cleared his throat, shoving the leaflet under the desk then straightening himself on his tool, “How can I help you?”

“Two rooms, please,” you told the boy. 

“I’m sorry we only have one room available. The town is flooded with visitors for the Summer Festival this week, you see.” He visibly swallowed and tried to avoid Azriel’s merciless stare. 

“Oh. . .” you started, “I suppose we could go somewhere else-”

“That will do, we’ll take it.” Azriel replied curtly. 

“Are you sure?” you murmured to him, he probably wanted to keep avoiding and ignoring you, “We can try to find-”

“There likely won’t be an inn with more availability any time soon. It’s fine.” He looked at the worker boy and held out his hand for the key. The boy tried not to shake as he handed them over to Az and his eyes grew to the size of saucers once Az threw a few gold coins over his shoulder onto the desk, far more than a single room at the semi-decent inn was worth. 

Fuck. Az unlocked the room and lo and behold, there was only one bed, it was probably sufficient for two humans but would be a tight fit for two Illyrians, especially ones who wanted to stay three feet apart at all times. Gods, it was like one of Aunt Nesta’s trashy romance novels. 

You both looked pitifully at the bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” you both say at the same time. Weird.

“No, you’re not,” again. Weirder. The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

“Stop,” you say, “we are both adults. We can share the bed.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” You took your bag into the connected washroom, changing into something more suitable for the mortal realm than your flying leathers before striding out of the washroom and out of the room altogether. 

“Where are you going?” Az asked, annoyed.

“To find that adventure you were talking about,” you threw over your shoulder.

“Your father told me not to let you out of my sight!” he called down the hallway. You kept walking but turned your head to shout back once more.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to come with me!” You turned back around to hide your smirk. You were not going to let some grumpy Illyrian male ruin your first adventure outside of Prythian. 

The light had faded almost completely, twilight was nearing its end. But, the night had only just begun. People started to hang lit paper lanterns on strings that criss crossed above the city streets. Children ran around freely, clutching lanterns of their own, and someone somewhere started to play a fiddle. A small crowd had begun to form around the fiddler, who had since been joined by a tambourine and lute player. The music was different from the floating melodies of Velaris, it was more rambunctious, more untamed. Soon, people were dancing to the merry jig, grabbing partners and swinging each other about. No choreographed moves or set steps yet, just dancing, free and wild. And soon, you were swept into the fray, too.

The song after did have a dance that went with it, and though you didn’t know it, the locals were happy to teach you. You formed a ring and joined hands, your feet stumbling over steps you hadn’t quite memorized but you didn’t care. Laughter rang through the air just as the music did, and wine and ale flowed freely. 

The song ended and another began, this one for pairs. You were asked to dance by a young boy of maybe twelve, to which you graciously accepted his hand and whirled into the fray, switching partners constantly. As the song crescendoed into its last note, you found yourself faced with a familiar chest, this time clothed in mortal attire rather than Illyrian flying leathers. You looked up to meet a pair of familiar hazel eyes. He was flushed, and breathing heavily but smiling widely, bigger than you had seen him smile in a long time. It seemed he had been enjoying the festivities, too. 

You smiled back at him before ducking out of his grip as the next song started. And you both were content with that, occasionally winding up dancing next to or with one another. Azriel laughed freely, something you didn’t see the shadowsinger do nearly as often enough, and danced without restraint. 

It was nearly three in the morning when you stumbled back to your room still humming the melodies of the night, feeling utterly content after the hours of dancing and drinking and eating from the various vendors across the festival. You released the magic cloaking both of your wings and got ready for bed, taking turns with Az for the washroom, but talking and laughing about your night the whole time even through the closed door. You tried not to stare as he walked back into the bedroom in only a pair of loose sleeping trousers with a few droplets of water still clinging to his gloriously muscled chest.

“How was I supposed to know it was spicy?” you scoff.

“It was red as. . . well, as red as your face was after eating it!” he laughed and you lightheartedly punched him in the arm. 

“And then when you almost knocked over that old woman during that one song!” 

“In my defense,” he started, holding his hands up, “that dance was a difficult one and she was a very short lady. How was I supposed to see her? Oh, how did the steps go again?” 

“Here,” you said, stepping towards him to take both of his hands, “mirror my movements.” And you started with a series of steps and kicks that Azriel absolutely butchered but you walk him through it again, until he’s halfway decent. But, then he stepped on your foot for what had to be the sixth time and you both bursted out laughing, absolutely hollering while clutching each other like mad men. 

As you settled down, Az realises that he is still holding your hands. He sobered up at the sight of his marred flesh against your own, and pulled his hands away. 

“Why, Az?” you can’t seem to stop the words from escaping your mouth. Maybe it’s the booze or the unhinged nature of tonight but, you just can’t hide the hurt in your voice or your eyes. “Why do you always pull away from me, right as we seem to be connecting? Am I really that repulsive to you?”

He took a seat at the edge of the bed, but you followed, standing right before him. “No, gods no. It’s just that-,” he paused, trying to find the words. “It’s just that. . .,” he finally huffed a sigh, keeping his eyes downward, “If I don’t pull away then, I might never be able to.”

You froze at his confession. The words replayed over and over in your mind. If I don’t pull away then, I might never be able to. 

You knelt down in front of him, placed a hand over his own, and tried to meet his eyes from beneath your lashes. “Then don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t pull away from me, you never have to pull away from me.” Your breathing suddenly became labored.

His eyes snapped to yours, they were so full of deep intensity you thought you might melt. And slowly, carefully, as if he might frighten you if he moved too quickly, Azriel lifted a hand to caress your cheek. You breathed out a sigh and closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Then, you turned your head, and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. 

That was his undoing. Quicker than you could react, he lifted you onto the bed, his strong body hovering over yours. You couldn’t help that your breathing stuttered for a moment. He was on top of you, his thickly muscled arms braced on either side of your head, his weight comfortably settled between your thighs and his lips, those gods damned lips, hovered a mere hairsbreadth away from yours. You were the one that broke this time. You placed your hands behind his neck and drew him towards you, finally closing the terrible distance between your mouths. Your lips moved in sync, kissing, licking, nipping. His tongue swiped your lip, asking for permission before caressing your own, you groaned at the taste of him. Then, you hissed softly as he took your bottom lip between your teeth, gently pulling before releasing it and attacking your mouth once more.

His hands roamed down your sides, skimming your breasts over your thin nightgown. Your nipples hardened delightfully so at the attention. But when he reached out to caress your wings, gods.

You cried out, back arching as you experienced a very different bolt of pleasure straight to your core. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, you had never been with a male who knew how to touch your wings and being with him made you realise exactly what you had been missing. Again, he dragged his finger down the inner curve of your right wing. Another cry escaped your lips, you were just so sensitive. Just that little touch had you writhing beneath him on the bed. He shifted his weight on his arms to work on your other wing. You let out a whimper as he gently traced his fingers along the sections. Your hips involuntarily bucked upwards, grinding deliciously against him when he pressed down on a particularly pleasurable spot. He grunted at the friction and halted his actions. His pupils dilated and his mouth fell open slightly as he scented exactly how excited you were. Smiling wickedly, he trailed a line of kisses from your lips, down your neck, in the valley of your breasts, to your navel, and lifted the flimsy nightgown to your waist. 

He took the edge of your panties with his teeth and tugged them down. Fuck. That was definitely a sight to behold. You couldn’t help but feel self conscious as he stared at your dripping core, you tried to close your legs but he held them open firmly. He leaned down so close you could feel his breath on your throbbing core, and looked up at you in silent question, genuinely wanting your command to proceed. 

“Please.” It was barely a breath but it was enough for him to press a kiss to your hooded clit with such tenderness you could cry. But, then he started to use his tongue, and gods did he know how to use it. The rough velvet of his tongue felt so delicious against your clit and folds. His soft kitten licks turned rougher, hungrier. Your hand found itself tangled in his hair, he hissed at a particularly hard tug but it only spurred him on. He used his mouth on you like a man starved. Licking and nipping and sucking, sucking with those gods damned lips, and playing with your folds. 

It was when your legs started trembling that he knew you were close. And his eagerness doubled, if not tripled. His mouth felt like utter heaven on your sopping core, the lewd noises that came from his ministrations only driving you further into bliss, or insanity. Perhaps it was insanity. Perhaps you had gone mad, mad with the desire to have him, to claim him. Because right then, you weren’t sure you could ever get enough of him. 

You felt a coil tighten in your lower stomach, the familiar pleasant ache intensifying until you could hardly bear it. And his lips and tongue never stopped. Right as you were on the edge, his lips closed over your clit and sucked, hard. 

You had never experienced an orgasm like the one Azriel had given you. Pure bliss washed over you, but instead of a wave, it was like a firework went off in your core, with bolts of mind shattering pleasure shooting out from your center to the rest of your body. You’re not sure what you screamed but it sounded a lot like his name. 

He kept up his movements as you came down, drawing out your high for longer than you thought possible, only stopping when your hips were squirming to get away from his eager mouth. 

He came back up to wrap you in his arms, holding you to his chest before also wrapping his wings around you. You were still basking in the high of your amazing orgasm but you reached down towards his achingly hard member. But, he took your hand and held it over his heart instead.

“But what about you?” you ask, breathless. 

“It’s alright. I’ve waited so long for this, let me just take care of you.” He sweetly pressed a kiss to your forehead before also pressing one to your lips. And you, too blissed out to object, snuggled deeper into his chest and wings, content to just live in the moment, safe in his arms. You closed your eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming of leathery wings and hazel eyes.

Author’s Note: Aw yeah we love the smexy times. If you liked this, please show your support by liking, commenting, and reblogging and all that good stuff. If you wanna to be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist:  @moonchild-cf @pansexual-booknerd @huffypuffyme @tinkymae​  @peneflop  @myfuckingacademia @sugarcoated44 @kexrtiz​ @gagaange @itsbebeyyy​

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Common Thieves

Short WIP of rewritten scenes from a certain Disney movie and adding Zelda because I’m an adult so, no, you can’t stop me. 

I sat on this one for too long... time to let it out into the pasture.

Common Thieves

A trio of carriages rolled passed a sign reading: “East Necluda”. Underneath the letters were etched markings that indicated three miles before the region border.  The entourage of soldiers accompanying them lit up the night around them.

The trail hadn’t been maintained in several years, a testament to the rural inhabitants and the reputation the road had built in the recent months. Still, the party pushed onward steadily – even as the sun slowly abandoned them. Lines of guards walked along with the first carriage with a several mules hauling oversized trunks.

Days of traveling brought a silence over the men and ripped any urge to paint their boredom with banter. Other the occasional curt direction to the work animals, the only noises either came from their marching or the muffled conversation in the vehicles they surrounded.

“Does it look like I am a mere peasant?” a vibrant hiss came through the first caravan – it was decorated with Gerudo drapes of rich color, shimmering even in the darkness.

Inside, the weary looking fellow with his helmet resting on his hip flinched as the hisser sneered.

“Of course not, Your Highness,” he spoke fast, “I only mean to inform His Highness that we passed the last town two hours ago and in order for His Highness to rest it would entail putting up camp.”

“Putting up camp?!” the larger of the men reared back. His gold-laced fingers gripped the chair. “Absolutely not. I will not be treated like some poor panhandler on the side of the road. We will ride through the night.”

The guard paused for a short moment, shrinking at the gaze he received before bowing his head. “At your word, My Lord.”

Another man, skinnier than the lot, appeared beside the superior and stared with the wide eyes of admonishment. His words were spoken quick and high-pitched, “Do you have any idea who you are addressing?”

“I-” the guard looked between the two with uncertainty.

“Why, the Royal Advisor Ganondorf Dragmire. ‘Lordship’ doesn’t shine a match to the nature of his reputation!” he gasped and held his book of notes closely while making grandiose gestures. Loose papers fluttered to the caravan floor. “He has proved himself to be above such title! Illustrious is he, respectable is he, most honorable – absolutely, and not to forget how handsome is he--”

The royal advisor patted his acquaintance on the shoulder with more force than necessary and smiled chivalrously. “Never mind that, sergeant. We will ride through the night.”

The sergeant cleared his throat, “Yes, Your… Highness.”

As he exited the moving carriage, the flaps closed behind him and through them had commenced a series of muffled arguments that had become the norm during marches.

Another armor-clad man reared his horse beside the sergeant with another horse in tow.

“Well? What does he want to do?”

The sergeant scratched his red beard and let out the sigh that was building in his chest, then took his horse’s reigns with short words of thanks. 

His partner raised his brow, “That bad, huh?”

“Gods, I don’t want to hear it Kriss. Inform the lads that we we’re riding straight to Hateno.”

When he spoke, he tried to copy the intimidating scowl of the royal advisor but his compatriot still grumbled with annoyance as he twisted his horse in the opposite direction.

Their travels matched the demeanor of wartimes, and though they technically were, this party wasn’t avoiding frequent rests for the sake of catching the enemy and nor was their pacing any faster with the amount of luggage they hauled. It was well known through the garrison that this was the equivalence to a royal tour and it should be treated as such – yet no one spoke it above a whisper.

“Sir!”

It was a younger man, barely out of boyhood. He was scraggly, even his stance was uneven when he drew his heels together for a salute. The boy faltered in the process as his ill-fitting armor rattled from the movements. The sergeant withheld an eye-roll, lazing over his saddle to give the kid a forlorn look.

“What is it, Short-Stack?”

“There’s a traveler coming towards us,” he swallowed nervously, gesturing vaguely ahead. “What should we do?”

Momentarily, he looked up at the partially starry sky and sighed once more. “Well, does he look like he’s armed? Dangerous at any degree? Use common sense, son. The last time it was another fur trader.”

Short-Stack fiddled with his gloves and spoke with varying degrees of confidence. “Um, no sir. Sir, it appears to be a woman and-and we haven’t encountered one and I was wondering what the procedures were and--”

“A woman?” the sergeant blinked, promptly ignoring anything more the boy had to say.

His eyes flickered to the dulling sky and motioned his horse to approach the head of the party. As he did, the snickering of those walking ahead abruptly ended. About one-hundred yards away was a cloaked woman, so unmistakably feminine that the sergeant had to do a double take.

Her approach only emphasized what they say from far away. Though she was dressed modestly, it was obvious to any man that she was well-endowed. In her hands was a glowing, recently lit lantern that swayed playfully with her hips.

“Hello, boys!” she called out, giggling afterward and pulled her cloak closer to herself.

The men around the sergeant whispered excitedly and he gave a hard stare to them before straightening in his saddle and trotting in front of the group because, after all, he was the sergeant. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this woman-traveler couldn’t be in some state of concern.

She paused as he approached and blinked owlishly up at him.

“Madam,” he said, dipping his head slightly, “It’s getting rather late, can I ask what you’re doing out at such a time?”

The woman made a noise of surprise and looked over her shoulder as if the sun had snuck passed her. “Oh dear…” she pouted, “I knew I should have left earlier. Why, I was hoping to reach the next inn by sundown!”

“The next inn is two hours minimum on foot,” he recounted with astonishment. Then, pretended to think. “It just happens, my lady, that I am the leader of this particular garrison.”

She gaped, “Is that so? That’s most impressive, sir! Whose company are you escorting this fine evening?”

A smile crept up his face and he nodded smugly. “The Royal Advisor and a few members of His Majesty’s court.”

“Is that right?” she nodded, coming to terms with his words. “I suppose I must be on my way, then. I wouldn’t dare impose on His Lordship.”

A shout of outrage sounded behind the sergeant and he stiffened at the realization of his mistake.

The royal advisor had a distinct voice that shouted without needing to raise his voice. His assistant clambering out of the stopped carriage with much difficulty. Before the opening closed, Dragmire voiced his complaints without abandon.

“Sergeant! Ghirahim, I want his head or it will be yours, by the gods--” The rest of his sentence was muffled as the thin man left him.

The one named Ghirahim hurried to slick back his white hair and scrambled to the front of the carriage. He first gave the horses a wary look before turning his attention to what was impeding them. With a fit of outrage bubbling, he stopped himself mid-word to address the woman.

“And just who are you?” Ghirahim seethed. She went to explain only to be interrupted by his flailing hands. “Actually, you are irrelevant. No matter of concern to the given issue at foot. Sergeant-!”

Then, the woman gasped.

“Is that not the royal advisor to His Majesty?” she covered her mouth daintily, looking past Ghirahim.

The sergeant nearly jumped out of his saddle at the sudden presence of the man, who seemed set on a fit of rage and decidedly settling to a curious indifference at his impediment. The woman pushed by Ghirahim and gave a small curtsy.

The royal advisor didn’t look at the sergeant when he addressed him. “Who is this?”

“A woman, Your Highness.”

He scowled heavily in his direction, “I know that. I meant who she is!”

“Franny, My Lord!” she spoke with excitement, ignoring the assistant’s gawking expression. Franny dipped into a curtsy. “It is quite the honor to be in your esteemed presence Lord Ganondorf. You’re held in such high favor around these parts, as I’m sure you know.”

Ghirahim attempted to cut through while maintaining a concentrated glare. “How dare you grace His Highness with your impertinence!”

The advisor smiled, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Am I now? It is unsurprising, however I do enjoy hearing it from your lips.”

“Sir,” Franny giggled, “If I’m not being too impertinent. Between you and I, I am in the business of telling one’s future. You see, I know now that this must be of the goddess’s divine will to have us meet!”

The assistant blanched. “Absolutely not! Your Highness, I beseech you to ignore this wickedness.”

“You will beseech me to do none of the sort,” Ganondorf dropped his grin momentarily to wave away the smaller man. “Do forgive this man’s ignorance. I must admit, you have me captivated.”

Again, she laughed and took his awaiting arm. Before the advisor led her away, she pushed her lantern into the assistance chest without another thought of his boiling anger. Ghirahim huffed and moved to follow them with his tail between his legs.

“Sergeant,” he bidded coldly.

The trio disappeared into the caravan and immediately the officer frowned.

Something was off, surely.

“Sergeant?” a dainty voice called out. His attention was immediate. An unmistakable face stared back at him with a quizzical brow. “Why have we stopped?”

“A short reprieve, Lady Zelda,” he smiled, nodding her way. The lady was halfway down her caravan’s steps when she called to him. Her kindness was appreciated and the sergeant wasn’t about to anger her by blubbering that they were held up because of His Lordship.

She hesitated outside her caravan, opting to watch the stars instead of retiring once more. The sergeant took a moment to watch her idle; she was a beautiful, youthful, and owning every bit of the curiosity that came with those traits. Her father was right to keep an eye on her, he thought to himself.

Some minutes went by and the men began snickering when noises began coming from the royal advisor’s carriage. Disgusted, the sergeant ordered them away while suddenly realizing the promiscuity that may have been outlining that woman’s proposition.

But the noises grew louder that even he couldn’t keep his eyes off the vehicle’s abhorrent jostling and reprimanded the few that stayed behind it. After all, he wasn’t entirely foolish – who knows what the advisor would do if rumors were milled around.

A few more minutes and – wait wasn’t the assistant in there as well?

“Guards!” a shrill voice screamed.

From behind the caravan ran a rather large form. It spooked the sergeant’s horse and from there all hell broke loose. The officer could hardly gather his bearings. The men around him stared with wide eyes at the carriages and then back to the sergeant with dumb idle.

“Gods, damn it all – GUARDS!”

Blearily, the officer began shouting orders and like ants the men were clambering into the wagon. The driver hurried to calm the horses amongst the scurry, especially when several men in armor ran into the forest. The sergeant dismounted quickly to find the royal advisor and his assistant bound by their feet and hands, left only in their underclothes.

“Don’t look!” Ganondorf screamed as Ghirahim blubbered incoherently on his side. “Do not look at me!”

The sergeant stood aghast. The cabin was scraped clean – from the gold trim of the windows to the velvet pillows – all had been taken. Most egregiously, the trunks of Akkala long coats had been taken as well and were being mourned over in low sniffling.

“We’ve been,” Ghirahim sobbed through short breathes before continuing, “We’ve been robbed! Robbed! Your Highness!”

“Shut up and stop crying, you imbecile!”

The rest of the evening hours were the longest the sergeant had ever lived through. The woman, who had evidently turned out to be a man, was far gone by the time patrols began. It was also said he was accompanied by a Goron with the strength of eight men, but he hadn’t believed it until the wanted posters were found when they arrived in Hateno.

The illustrations were pinned throughout town on every surface the royal guard could find at the insistence of the royal advisor. Those blue eyes were unmistakable from that night, though the green cap had been absent, and the scowling Goron bandit beside him matched up with his men’s description perfectly.

That had been the royal advisor’s first encounter with the renowned outlaw Link Woods.

[aminiatureworld]

In My Dreams IV

Characters: Xiao, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,167

Warnings: Brief depiction of violence, nightmares

Premise: The past is many things. Something to admire, something to learn from, something to hold dear. And yet how unreliable it can be, especially in the hands of ghosts.

In which the reader dreams of the past.

Author’s Note: Translation notes and historical references will come after the fic. This one was a little sketchy/ooc, prolly because I’m tired.

Xiao

If there was one thing that you appreciated most about your relationship with Xiao it was the fact that he never attempted to cage your independence.

Though the adeptus had a penchant for clinginess – something he’d never actually admit to – the circumstances of both his and your past had set a standard for a level of separation that you greatly appreciated. You were never pressured to tell Xiao about things you weren’t comfortable sharing and in return you never pressed your partner in regards to topics or events that made him somewhat uncomfortable.

And yet there was something very isolating about such a freedom.

It was an ordinary enough commission, laughably so in fact, the kind that you could knock back in ten minutes flat if you put a little effort into it. Treasure Hoarders were once more encroaching on Liyue, this time gathering at the vicinity of Dunyu Ruins, something that would surely be a hazard to the archaeologists who gathered to study the lost jade monument. The act of chasing out the Treasure Hoarders was indeed easy enough, and it was only until you started rifling through their loot that you found yourself uneasy.

The lid was an innocuous enough item. Though the box that it once covered was nowhere to be found it must’ve been a work of art, as the smooth tortoiseshell lid was clearly the result of patience and love. Painted a deep blue it depicted a snowy scene, with a castle or cathedral at the front and center. The building itself was of a unique design; a tall turret stuck out at the top while small onion domes sat a little lower, each painted a more outlandish color than the last. The architecture was completely unlike what one might see in either Liyue or Mondstadt, and really there should’ve been nothing to it except the odd design of the building. Yet the moment you set your eyes upon the building you felt something harden in the pit of your stomach.

You never thought about what you couldn’t remember; after all, what was the point of it? Why mourn something you weren’t even sure was good or bad? Yet in that moment you felt that you would give very little to not remember just a little bit. At least enough to know why the image of a cathedral in the snow made you wish deeply for something you couldn’t remember, and frightened you just as much.

“Something’s wrong with you face.”

“Xiao!” You sputtered, surprised by the sudden bluntness of your partner. “My face is just fine, a little dirt won’t kill me.”

“That’s not it.” Xiao scowled. “Your face is harder than usual. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened! Sometimes I just don’t smile, okay?” You instinctively moved the corners of your mouth upwards, trying to ignore the sudden jump in your heart rate. “I’m fine.”

Xiao looked supremely unimpressed at your efforts, sighing and flying up to the balcony of the Inn. You sighed, letting your expression once more droop. It was easy sometimes to forget how in tune Xiao was. You wouldn’t expect it from an adeptus who had spent thousands of years mostly secluded from humans, but your partner was impressively good at reading your mood. Usually you didn’t mind the ability of his, even welcoming the fact that he so bluntly brought up the question of your feelings. But today you wished despite yourself that he was a little less aware. After all, how could you explain to your partner what you didn’t even understand yourself?

The rest of the night was oddly tense. Though Xiao said nothing you could tell from the way he stared intently at your face that he hadn’t given up his suspicions. For your part you tried to ignore his gaze, talking about trivial matters such as the question of replacing the Guild roof and the fact that you had managed to gather a few Qingxin during your commissions. All the while you felt the roiling of your heart; and all the while you kept rubbing your fingers along the smooth finish of the lid in your pocket as if in doing so you might suddenly be struck with what you currently missed and currently, desperately, needed.

The next day you walked up to Katherine utterly exhausted. Though you’d made a concerted effort to sleep, knowing that if not you’d just arouse more worry in Xiao, most of the night had been spent tossing and turning, your eyelids feeling paper thin as you attempted to drag yourself down into the depths of sleep. Of course now that the sun was shining you felt like even a stone bench would be a soft enough mattress. Blinking heavily you smiled awkwardly at Katheryne.

“Any commissions today?”

“Two ordinary sweeps and one request.” Katheryne tilted her head slightly. “Are you sure you don’t need rest?”

“I’m perfectly fine Katheryne, thank you for worrying. You said there was a request?”

“Yes. It seems that the citizen who noticed the Treasure Hoarders for us claims to have been robbed by them. He says to meet you at Dunyu Ruins so you can hand over the item.”

“And what item is that?”

“He said it was some sort of box lid. He didn’t give many details I’m sorry. If you’re uncomfortable though of course we could send someone with you.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks for worrying.”

“Of course! Good luck!”

“Thanks.”

You turned around, trying to stem the ice that flooded your veins. Who was this man to whom the cathedral belonged? How did he come across such an odd item, was he from one of the other nations of Teyvat you hadn’t visited? Most of all you wondered if he held some connection to your past. The idea thrilled you in some way, though dread also lingered. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to meet this mysterious person. Commissions were commissions however; you wouldn’t betray the Guild. No matter how much you wanted to; you couldn’t.

The Dunyu Ruins were still, no monsters seemed to linger at the gates and no other adventurers peeked out from behind old walls. The air was utterly still, something which worried you greatly. Walking at an increased rate you sought out your mysterious commissioner. The more you thought about it the more you wished the whole thing to be over as soon as possible. Turning the corner you stopped in your tracks, gazing in awe at the person a few meters in front of you.

The first thing you thought was how oddly he was dressed. The second thing was that he was much younger than you had expected. The third thing was that you felt an odd sense of familiarity from him.

“Ah yes, the adventurer who accepted my commission. Have you brought what I asked of you?”

Though a response was certainly in order you found the words stuck in your mouth. Staring at him you felt the ground shift between your feet slightly. He was familiar, this young man in front of you, and yet he was also a perfect stranger. He seemed more like an apparition than anything, a spirit who had yet to cross to the far side. You stepped closer, reaching out your arm slightly. If you went to touch his shoulder, would your fingers go right through him?

“You really must think it’s odd that I’ve returned.” The man chuckled. “I assure you I’m completely real. You weren’t the only one to survive sister, though I know that information might be too little too late?”

“Sister?” You snapped out of your trance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Surely you aren’t pretending not to recognize me? I think that’s beneath even you. Come now, was I such a brat as that?” Reaching out the young man went to grab your hand. Instinctively you pulled away, feeling discomfort shoot through you.

“I don’t know what you mean? And you certainly aren’t my brother! I’ve never had a brother!”

“Then who was the kid you lived with your whole life before the incident?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about any incident or any brother. You asked me here to return something so I’m returning it.” Reaching for the lid you thrust the little work of art in front of you. “Here. Take it.”

“So you really don’t know who I am?” The young man reached out to take the lid. “How is that possible? Have they gone so far as to erase me from your memories? Have I been taken out of your family?”

“They?”

“The gods.” The young man’s eyes seemed incredibly harsh all of a sudden. “Their presumptiveness holds no bounds.”

“Don’t speak of the archons that way.”

“Answer me this,” the young man ignored your protest, “where are you from.”

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Humor me.”

“I…” You stood there for a moment, wondering whether or not you should tell this strange figure the truth. Morbid curiosity floated in your mind, and you took a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“So I really have been erased from your mind.”

“Nothing’s been erased! I just don’t remember, should that surprise you so much?”

“Yes, it does. I see my plans will have to be changed.” The young man took a deep breath. “Very well then, we shall see what we shall see. I have an offer for you.”

“And what is that?” You felt suspicion wash over you.

“Join the Abyss.”

“Over my dead body!” Instinctively stepping away you drew your polearm. So that’s what this was about.

“I figured you might say that. However, let me tell you this. Our family was torn apart by the cruel whims of faraway gods. Teyvat suffered the same fate, still suffers it. You may not remember what happened to us, but I know it is buried in you somewhere. If you wish to avenge our family, then you’ll join us.”

“I have no petty thoughts of revenge against the gods.”

“That may very well change.” The young man smirked. “I’ll be back in a week. I expect your answers then.”

He was gone before you could say anything, carried away by a blanket of purple stars. You stared at the empty ruins, confused and empty, feeling far worse than you had felt when you arrived here.

“You look worse.”

“Thanks Xiao.” You let out a sigh, unsure how to respond.

You’d spent the rest of the walk back to the Wangshu Inn in agony, thoughts darting back and forth as you tried to reason with yourself about the veracity of the young man’s claims. There was no proof he was who he said he was after all, no proof that he wasn’t simply insane, or trying to convince you to join him by lying. Yet there was something about him, his demeanor, his anger, something that spoke to a truth about him. Not that the idea made you any happier. After all truth or not, he was still an Abyss member, or at least an advocate. You could never side with him, even if he was your long lost family. And yet what if he was your family? What then? Would it truly be a betrayal then to simply send him packing?

Xiao’s hand enveloped your own, the soft warmth drawing you out of your confused thoughts. Looking up you found him leaning into you, the tips of his hair lightly brushing your cheeks. His eyes bored into you ask he scanned your face. You stood perfectly still. You knew what Xiao was doing, knew that he was trying to figure out the depths of your discomfort. It was valiant of him, even if you hoped that he turned up empty handed. How could you tell Xiao, an adeptus who served directly under Rex Lapis, about the man who blasphemed the gods.

“You should sleep.” Xiao finally pulled away.

“It’s still early evening.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night, I could tell. You should sleep now; maybe you’ll feel better.”

“Maybe.” You replied, knowing that even if you slept better than you had ever before nothing would change when you woke up.

Still your eyelids were heavy and your feet aching. Sleep beckoned you with open arms, and you were quick to fall into its depths. Pressing a soft kiss on Xiao’s cheek you made your way up the stairs. Collapsing onto your bed you let out a sigh of relief. Sleep was coming on fast, and you quickly found the outside world swirling away. The last thing you were aware of was a dent in your mattress, and a set of familiar eyes staring down at you, filled with affection and worry.

It was dreadfully hot. That was the first thing you were aware of. The second was how loud everything was. There was a terrible sound swirling around you, inhuman shrieks seemed to rise up from the ground beneath you, accompanied with a banging that cracked through the air, echoing oddly in a night that was all too quiet. The third thing was that you had no idea where you were. Looking around you found yourself reeling at the scene that met your eyes. The house in front of you must’ve been nice at some point, but now had fallen into ruin and disrepair. Smoke was drifting up from a door that led into the ground, and bottles lay in pieces on the ground. A wall seemed to separate the house from the outside world, so tall that you had no idea what lay beyond it. Trembling slightly you felt yourself move towards the source of the noise, feet moving despite the rising dread that you felt. Making your way down a set of stairs a few lines came to you all of a sudden.

A ceiling of amber, a pavement of pearl

The smoke was thicker now, filling your lungs, leaving you short of breath. Little bits of orange blurred your vision, wielded by strange men in strange uniforms. They seemed distorted in the smoke, made into ghosts that might haunt a child’s nightmares.

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still

You didn’t move your head towards the back of the room, somehow you couldn’t. Your very soul fought against it. Instead you closed your eyes, overwhelmed with how hot it was.

“You’ve come so far and you can’t even look?”

The voice was mocking, familiar, full of scorn. Opening your eyes you stared at the men in front of you, the men with fire at the tips of their hands. Why did he want you to look? You knew what you’d see. Somehow you knew.

We climb’d on the graves, on the stone worn with rains

You couldn’t make it out among the smoke. All you knew was that it was red.

You screwed your eyes shut, even as sudden clarity danced before you. Someone was calling your name.

There was a hand on your shoulder.

And alone dwell forever

The smoke cleared, and with it the dream.

The scream ripped through your throat before you could even process it. You knew that you should stop, knew that you were no longer dreaming, knew that the hand on your shoulder belonged to your terrified partner. Still you screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

“Hey. Hey!” Xiao’s voice was frantic. Shifting your gaze towards him you felt yourself begin to tremble.

“It, it was true. It was true, I saw him. I saw him. I saw me. It was true. I, I, they’re dead. They’re dead.”

“It was a dream. No one’s dead.”

“But Xiao, they’re dead. He was right, they’re gone and dead and somehow I forget them.”

The loneliness slammed into you, mixing with the horror that sent your stomach churning. You dug you nails into your palm, desperately trying to stop shaking. Everything seemed distorted, the light emerging through the window just as menacing as the dark.

“Take my hand.”

Xiao pulled one of your hands on his lap, gently opening it and running his fingers over the marks that now rested in your palms. Unfurling your hand you it was flat against his he covered it with his own. Letting his palm rest gently against yours he looked up at you.

“No one is dead. You were having a nightmare.”

“I was remembering, Xiao. I finally remembered something. And now I wish I never had.” You unfurled your other hand, wiping furiously at the tears that pooled in your eyes. “I’m so alone Xiao, I’m so alone.”

“You aren’t alone.”

“My family, my family is gone. The only one left is an Abyss member. I, I’m so utterly alone.”

You felt Xiao drop your hand slightly. The sudden lost connection made your founder for a moment, but soon the feeling was lost as Xiao wrapped his arms around you. Pressing kisses to your forehead his grip was tight and strong, encasing you utterly in soft comfort. Letting yourself collapse slightly you leaned into his embrace.

“You’ll never be alone. I’ll always be here.”

If promises were conveyed in actions then you had no reason to doubt Xiao’s. Though the air around you was sticky with heat you found yourself pressing into your partner’s chest eyes more, soaking up every bit of connection that you could get. Xiao said nothing more, simply keeping you in his embrace, lips brushing against your cheeks as he kissed away your tears.

You knew that he wouldn’t ask about your brother that night, perhaps not even the morning afterwards, or even tomorrow evening. After all your partner wasn’t one for words, and your relationship wasn’t built upon the expectation of painful transparency. If you weren’t ready to talk he wouldn’t push you.

Eventually your tears slowed, though the pain in your chest still burned like a brand. Bringing your hands to your chest you gazed up at the adeptus who was still wrapped around you.

“Can we stay this way a little longer?”

Xiao’s eyes gleamed catlike in the moonlight. Leaning down he brushed his lips against yours, sighing slightly as you met him with exhausted ardor. Pulling back you rested your head on your partner’s chest. The dulled beat seemed almost musical, a reminder that Xiao was alive, a reminder that he was right next to you.

You had assumed in some way that it meant he didn’t care, or didn’t want to know. Though you would’ve never thought that before, the feeling of loneliness that had threatened to swallow you up had made that perfectly clear. Yet Xiao did care, cared enough not to prod and poke at wounds that were surely bleeding even now. Cared enough to kiss your worries away, cared enough to let you embrace him as long as you needed. Cared enough to show that you weren’t truly alone. 

In a week you’d give the young man who had once been your brother an answer. In a week you’d face the fact of your loneliness, of a family that you’d once been a part of. In a week you would let yourself be truly lonely. But until then you would listen to the familiar beat of Xiao’s heart as you remembered that you weren’t truly alone. That you never would be.

-------

The box lid itself was based off nothing in particular. The building painted on it is a reference to Saint Basil’s Cathedral. 

The poem I used was “The Forsaken Merman” by Matthew Arnold

The scene in the reader’s dream is a reference to the execution of the last Imperial family of Russia. It took place in the basement of the Ipatiev House in Ekaterinburg on July 17th/18th 1918. 

[stellartales]

Xiao — Call My Name 04

Chapter 04  — He Stands Alone

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ©justgenshin

DO NOT REPOST,  TRANSLATE OR USE ANY PARTS OF MY FICS IN ANY FORMS AND CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

My fics are kept within Tumblr (@savagetrickster​ @justgenshin​ — I am both.)  and nowhere else but if you do see my works outside, please notify me.

The way to Liyue Harbor was a lot faster on the cargo carriage a regular merchant of Wangshu Inn offered Paimon and her to ride on. 

The herbs Verr Goldett worked wonders; her leg could walk so much better now with barely any pain. Thanks to the lady boss’ care, her last evening in the Inn were spent making his favorite food in Smiley Yanxiao’s kitchen

As Verr Goldet had mentioned — one would only find the Guardian Adeptus if he wants to be found. 

Indeed, on the balcony, that night was the last she had seen of Xiao. Day or night, he was nowhere in sight. Even his usual place, the balcony, stayed empty with no sign of the adeptus. 

However, the missing box of the almond tofu she made that was gone along with her little handwritten note, ‘Eat well! :) Do you happen to know an adeptus named Starsnatcher?’ the following morning told her something else. 

 Liyue Harbor has always been a bustling port city for as long as he could remember. He was , afterall, the one who made sure it flourished. 

The faint aromatic whiff of Jueyun Chilli Chicken coming from Wanmin Restaurant just down the street was instantly recognizable to anyone who had stayed in Liyue Harbor long enough. Laughing children and energetic chatter about anything and everything was accompanied by the distant hollers of the shipcrews down on the port.

Wise golden eyes idled on the scenes around him.

Particularly, on the loaded carts rolling along the streets and the enthusiastic merchants they went past. 

This ever-going vitality was the very blood that kept this city port bright and running, and the Qixing its brain. One he knew Liyue Harbor could depend on when he decided to put his duties as the Geo Archon to a permanent rest and experience the world in the form of a mortal, just like now.

A satisfied sigh quietly slipped past his lips as Zhongli cast his gaze onto the view of the sky beyond the shimmering horizon the location of the tavern he was sheltered under offered, the edges of his lips curling mildly in contentment.

The curt flutters of an opening paper fan turned the thoughtful gaze back to the storyteller, “ We last left off, with ancient Liyue, beset by an ocean demon and a mountain dragon.”  

Elegant, long fingers curled around the steaming teacup on the table before him. 

“ Rex Lapis mustered his adepti,” The wispy steam from the teacup was blown away as it drew near to his lips, ” to restore peace into the land.”

A sip of the hot tea disappeared down his throat with a gulp and as he was lowering the cup to the table, golden eyes swiveled to the left.

The cup was placed back onto the table and he was on his feet, leaving the storyteller to tell his tale.

The crowd on the street of Chihu Rock parted like a flowing river as she maneuvered through the boulevard with eyes glued to the intricate words on the book — Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti . 

Perched on her right shoulder, another pair of eyes were equally engrossed in the content.

The pages in her hands fluttered lightly to the ocean breeze as they broke away from the busy street and onto the wharf overlooking the vast sea beyond the harbor. 

“It’s so tragic…” Paimon’s hands were held to her chubby face.

Brooding sadness brimmed in their eyes as they settled down on the neatly piled wooden planks. The shadow of the huge dockyard in front of them was the perfect shade blocking them from the afternoon sun.

Lumine nodded with a deep sigh, “Oh how they had suffered…” She shook her head.

“—Indeed, and terribly so.” A deep voice interjected.

Both jolted upright with a surprised gasp, lifting their heads sharply to find themselves being gazed upon by a familiar pair of wise eyes.

“Zhongli-sensei??” 

Lumine winced at the volume Paimon released from her shoulder. 

“Do you mind?” A smile played on his lips as Zhongli gestured at the spot beside her.

She shook her head.

His long brown coat fluttered behind him as he moved to sit down.  

“Interesting choice of literature you have there,” The wood beneath them shifted to his weight as he took his spot beside them. 

“Is it true? Is it true?” Paimon flapped her arms eagerly, “Is it true that this tragedy happened a long time ago? The lady at the bookhouse told us this was just a theory spun by historians.”

Zhongli chuckled, lifting a hand to return a greeting from a passing dockyard laborer along with a curt nod.

A serious look swept over his handsome face.

“Time is a powerful force. Stories passed along the passage of time are like the stone spears which I had left behind as the Guyun Stone Forest. I made sure what happened then still lives.“ 

The pensive stare on Zhongli’s face lingered even as he turned back to her, but with a slight frown. 

“Just like those spears which were roughed out by wind erosions, what is left to be seen today is what you get. Fabrication by the imagination of those who weren’t there to know what happened is inevitable, but the truth remains.”

Zhongli raised his gaze to the sky with a quiet look, a hand reaching up to cup his chin as how she would always see him doing when reminiscing something from the past.

“The yakshas, this book told of, after fighting the wrath of the gods for thousands of years, became bound by karma.” 

His deep voice dipped with a sad tinge, “Poisoned by the hateful thoughts of the gods, the yakshas would often descend into indescribable fits of terror, rage or agony…”

His long fingers left his face and curled into a tight fist. “They were a big sacrifice for the greater good. All for the peace you see now.” 

A dark look almost like wistful and remorse settled on Zhongli’s face.

“Then the yakshas…” Lumine mulled over his words for a moment. “The book says that their battles broke their souls and made them turn against each other.”

Sadness fell over her eyes like a grey cloud. “...most are no longer here, are they?”

“Some succumbed to darkness.” Zhongli stared forlornly at the book in her hand. “Even I don’t know where those went. But as of today, one still remains.”

He sighed.

“The age of gods and monsters is over. And so is my first contract with Liyue. This is no longer my Liyue to protect but the common folks.” 

Zhongli shook his head. “The moment I ended my contract with Liyue, so did his, but he still battles till this day.” 

“Hold on a second!” Paimon jumped in, waving her hands frantically, “What do you mean one remains? Aren’t there still two yakshas left?”

“Two?” Zhongli blinked calmly at her. “There has always been one   —  Xiao. I’m sure you know him. He was there in your battle against Osial, wasn’t he?” 

It was his turn to look puzzled.

Lumine frowned. “But what about the Starsnatcher—” Her face fell as realization dawned upon her. She ran a hand down her face with an exasperated sigh. “Oh nevermind, it’s clear now. ”

“Huh?” Paimon scratched her head, “Paimon doesn’t understand! What’s clear now?”

“There’s never been an adeptus with the name Starsnatcher.” Lumine narrowed her eyes at the book in her hand. “He’s a fraud!”

Paimon elicited a gasp. “Xiao needs to know that someone is impersonating the adepti!”

A knowing look from Zhongli was all before the Archon let out a chuckle. “And I trust that you three are capable enough to deal with this...imposter.” 

Long legs uncrossed, Lumine’s eyes were drawn to Zhongli as the man rose to his feet. 

There was an elegance even in the way Zhongli turned around to face them. One that she couldn’t help noticing whenever he was around. 

“You bet we will!” Paimon nodded her head enthusiastically. “Leave it to us, Mr. Zhongli!” Her hands curled into chubby fists as a determined glare scrunched up her cheeks.

Amusement danced in his wise golden eyes as Zhongli responded to Paimon with a light chuckle. “You’ve proven yourselves countless times, my friends, I’m sure this obstacle would pass like a smooth breeze.” 

Zhongli turned as if to go, before glancing over his shoulder. 

“Oh yes, before I go, please do me this favor and give these painkillers to Xiao.” He held out a small green pouch. 

“Painkillers?” Lumine said nearly in a gasp as he placed the pouch in her hand. She looked up at him with a worried frown. “Is Xiao in pain...?”

Then it hit her.

Xiao...with all he had gone through, why wouldn’t he? 

Lumine felt her heart clench with an ache at that thought, remembering Zhongli’s words and what the book had mentioned. 

A bitter feeling sank her heart, at the same time, a strange sense of greediness and yearning tugged her heart — to understand the yaksha behind his piercing eyes, to learn about the pain he hid underneath it all.

“I’m afraid so. Constantly and especially so after his battles.” Zhongli’s face held nothing, but there was gloom in his eyes. “That boy…”

Zhongli sighed heavily. “This may be too much to ask. Xiao will not like this, but please look after him.”

PREVIOUS  |   NEXT (coming soon)

— published on 16.03.2021