#i just finished another commission and as i get closer to completion i itch and crave to draw even more ocs

[basketoreblogs]

by the way to my mutuals: if u guys ever wanna request me to draw anything, by all means do it........... u could literally send an ask to this blog or just dm me or whatever........ it could be a request of anything.... our ocs interacting... just a doodle of ur oc.... a specific scene playing out....... a meme redraw.... IDGAF!!!!!!!!!! just know u have the right to do that

[dumdumsun]

To Nightfall

A/N: Every chapter of this fic has been completely finished and polished!!

Warnings: violence, mentions of death

Word Count: 4516

—————————————

Chapter 5: Pocket Full of Lightning

PARADOX PROTOCOLS:

THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO TEMPORAL ANOMALIES --

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT:

THE GRANDFATHER PARADOX.

1953

It’s New Jersey, 1953, and Elmer Tatelman hates his grandfather. Elmer blames everything on his grandfather. His mother’s pain, his father’s death, and his own sad life. This could have been just another sad tale about soup, except for one thing. Elmer is about to invent…

1955

…time travel. You see, Elmer has decided the key to his future happiness is to go back in time…

1905

…and kill his grandfather. Elmer completed his mission, but he’s made one crucial mistake. He went too far back in time.

1925

You see, murdering his granfather in 1905 meant that Elmer’s mother didn’t exist to meet his father in 1925. Which made certain Elmer himself was never born.

Elmer killed his grandfather, so his mother was never born. But if his mother was never born, Elmer no longer exists. But if Elmer no longer exists, how could he possibly kill his grandfather? And around and around we go. Elmer has created a paradox--

THE GRANDFATHER PARADOX

The most pernicious problem in The Commission Handbook of Paradox Protocols.

This story is not true. But if it were, Elmer would have placed time, space, and every living thing in grave peril. Don’t be an Elmer! We’ve been lucky so far. With your help, constant vigilance, and a little strategic violence, the Commission will make certain nothing like this ever happens.

Or god help us all.

-------------------------------------------------

Five had relocated him and his siblings from the bar to the poolroom to explain their current situation. “I’m so confused.” Diego shook his head.

“Shocking.” Allison rolled her eyes.

“Well,” Viktor attempted to paraphrase Five’s previous explanation. “Someone killed our mothers, so we shouldn’t exist. But clearly, we do exist, and the universe can’t handle it, which is a problem.”

Five nodded, bringing a mug to his lips. “Big problem.” He sighed.

A few feet away, Stanley had been letting out huffs and exclamations as he swiped a pool cue through the air and kicked an invisible opponent, somewhat distracting the conversation.

“Stanley!” Diego shouted at his son. “Now is not the time to be doing karate, okay?”

“Mom said I need to practice!”

“Yeah, well, she’s not wrong,” He went back to flipping his knife. “You’re very bad.”

“Yeah, well, I saved your pathetic ass!”

Allison exhaled through her throat. “Okay, hold on. Five, so we caused a paradox. What does that mean?”

“It’s hard to say,” He turned to her. “It’s all been theoretical until now, but things have started to disappear.”

“What things?” Viktor frowned.

“Right now? Uh, lobsters…”

“And,” Klaus sat up from the floor. “A shit ton of cows!”

“But I have a feeling this is just the beginning.”

Allison scoffed with a sarcastic smile. “A feeling? Aren’t you retired?”

“I want nothing more…”

She marched right up to him, no more sarcasm. “You know, you can’t drag us through hell because you have an itch only an apocalypse can scratch and then expect us to deal with the fallout. You’re not the boss!”

And as much as Five wanted to snap at his sister, he remained calm. “Fine, I’m the messenger, and I’m telling you something terrible is coming.”

“Then let’s go attack the Sparrows, get the briefcase, and go home.”

“This is our home, Allison. Accept it.”

The two had a bit of a staredown before the sound of clattering could be heard. They looked over to see that Stanley had just knocked something down with the pool cue. Diego quickly stood and walked closer to him. “That’s it! I’m telling your mom.”

“Ooh!” Stanley mocked. Five furrowed his brows.

“Wait, where’s Lila?”

“Shower. I told her she could stay with us.”

At that, Five grabbed his mug and began out of the room. “Five, where are you going?” Diego called out.

“To go talk to somebody who only has half her head up her ass. Let (Y/N) know where I am when she gets back.”

Klaus groaned as he watched his brother leave. “Don’t leave, Five. Don’t leave.”

“No, Klaus. I’m leaving.”

The four turned to each other, waiting for someone to come up with some sort of idea. Viktor jutted his thumb in Five’s direction with a shrug. “I mean, he has a good track record with this stuff. I feel like we should listen to him.”

“Sure,” Klaus pointed with a smile before standing and making his way over to the pool table with the rest of them. “Hey, quick question.”

“Cobra Kai! Yeah!” Stanley exclaimed as he kicked the air, resuming his “practicing”.

“Do none of you heartless bastards care about our murdered moms?” Klaus asked as he plopped his book down. Diego narrowed his eyes.

“Klaus, the only one that we knew plugged into a wall.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, this is my real mother,” He held the book up so the picture of the woman was right next to his face. “And she’s called Rachel. And I have her eyes. See?”

But no one seemed to have any sympathy for him or his desire to avenge his mother. He threw the book back onto the table and jabbed his finger into the page as he spoke. “Come on! We need to find out who did this! This is the thing! This is the main thing!”

“Is that all you want?!” Diego shouted.

“Yeah.”

“‘Cause it’s obviously Dad, alright?! He knew where we were born. He hated us in ‘63. Boom. Murders.”

Klaus widened his eyes at the notion. “You think Dad is capable of killing innocent people?”

Allison chuckled.

“Absolutely.” Viktor nodded.

“Oh, it’s Murder City, buddy,” Diego smirked. “Also explains why (Y/N)’s double is here. She’s his favorite, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess so…” Klaus sighed.

From the entrance of the room, Luther walked in with panting breaths. Everyone looked up at him, curious as to where he had been and why he missed the very crucial family meeting. “I was being held captive. By the Sparrows.”

“What?”

He frowned. “Wait. Did none of you notice?”

There was a short silence.

“We’re just happy you’re home safe and sound.”

“Yeah. Oh, my god.”

“Stop lying.”

Luther rolled his eyes and walked up to them. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Nice.”

“Did they hurt you?” Allison asked.

“Who? The Sparrows?” He shook his head and set the tote bag on the table. “God, no. Not at all. Excellent hosts. Really quite charming, actually. Oh, and you should see their gym! Outstanding! I really think we got these guys all wrong.”

Allison took out a Sparrow Academy soundtrack on vinyl from the tote bag and held it up. “Says the guy they kidnapped.”

Diego whistled to grab Luther’s attention. “What did they want?”

“Oh,” Luther nodded. “Marcus. He’s missing. They want him back. Unharmed.”

Viktor confusedly shook his head. “We don’t have him.”

“Well,” He blinked. “...damn. I was hoping we’d solve that one quickly and then move onto problem number two: Disappearing people.”

A crash was heard from the side. Everyone turned to see that Stanley had just smashed a vase with the pool cue in his hands. He grunted and turned to the disapproving looks directed at him. “Uh, it was… it was the wind.”

“Who’s the kid?”

Five entered the hotel’s spa that was empty, save for Lila who seemed to be enjoying a bubble bath, running a razor along one of her legs.

“The hell are you doing here?” Five asked. She turned to him and plopped her leg back into the water.

“Shaving my nest, you little perv.”

Five smirked and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Don’t flatter yourself, Lila. I like my women a little less likely to kill me in my sleep.”

“We’re learning so much about each other.”

“Mm.”

Suddenly, she launched a knife at him, Five blinking away and leaving it to wedge itself into the door behind him. At the sound of a whoosh, she turned around to find him on the other side of the room. With a glare, she blinked away as well.

Five’s eyes widened at this, for he had no idea where she would come from. Before he could react, she blinked behind him and grabbed him by the shoulders, ramming his head into the mirror behind them. When she threw him again, he had no time to recover before she kicked him in the gut and then punched him to the ground.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed a towel off one of the tubs and shot up to his feet. Lila went to punch him, but he blocked her and maneuvered his way behind her, wrapping the towel around her throat and digging his knee into her back to add pressure. Lila gasped and clutched the towel around her constricted airway as Five tightened his hold.

Five stumbled when she blinked away and over to the door, ripping out the knife and blinking in front of him. He jumped out of the way each time she jabbed the knife near his abdomen. She kicked him back and swiped the knife at his face, but he ducked down and rammed the heel of his palm into her chin, causing her to bite her lip harshly enough to leave a wound. He reached over and picked up a tray that held a few towels, holding it up as a shield from the knife.

Lila gripped the knife in two hands and held it above her head before slamming it into the tray, the sharp end inches from Five’s face. The metal of the tray creaked as he struggled to push her back. He eventually did, causing them to lose hold on their objects, the two returning to hand-to-hand combat.

The punches that were thrown were either dodged or blocked until Five landed one to her face, ducked down, and then kicked her in her side when he rose again. He went to punch her again, but she grabbed hold of his arm and kneed him in the gut. Five twisted her arm so she turned before spinning and elbowing her in the back, sending her forward. Just as she turned around, she got an eyeful of shampoo from Five. She groaned and wiped at her eyes just before he kicked her in the face.

“Alright, enough!” She grunted, picking up a towel from the ground and wiping her hands on it before wrapping it around her nude body. “I’d forgotten how much I hate you, you puny little turd.”

Five let out a breath as he leaned against one of the tubs. “The feeling’s mutual, Lila. As much as I’d love to stand here shivving each other, I have bigger concerns than you.”

“Yeah? Like what?” She wiped at her eye.

“What do you know about the grandfather paradox?” He straightened and walked closer to her.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Well, I read the same training manuals as you did. Why?”

“Because it’s happening.”

“You being stupid?”

“Hand over your briefcase. I need to go to Herb and find out how he let things get so cocked up.”

Lila leaned against the wall and jutted her chin over Five’s shoulder. “Over there with my knickers. Toss them to me, will you?”

He went to the other side of the tub, picking up her fishnet tights and throwing them to her, freezing at what he just uncovered. Swiping the rest of her clothes to the ground, he reached down. “Lila,” He picked up two briefcases and set them on the edge of the tub. “Why is it you have two briefcases?”

She hummed. “One’s yours. Nicked it from the Sparrows. Go on. Give it a go.”

Five set one case to the ground and undid the latches of the other.

“First, we try yours.”

His heart almost stopped at the red glow inside, the case sputtering and powering down. Hurriedly, he set it down and picked up the other case.

“And then we try mine.”

A shaky breath left him when Lila’s briefcase did the exact same thing.

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“This can’t be happening… The odds of one of them failing, it’s in the millions. But two of them…”

“Astronomical, yeah.” She rubbed her eye to clear the soap from her vision. “So, what does that mean exactly? End of the world?”

Five raised his brows. “Oh, it’s much worse than that. It means you and I…” He set the case down and stood up straight, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “...are gonna have to work together.”

“Shit.”

As soon as they exited the baths, Diego and Stan were right there. “Lila?”

“Hm?”

“You need to take this kid with you. The hell were you doing in there?” He frowned as Five walked out behind her, carrying both the briefcases in his hands. Lila smirked.

“Bathing.”

“Together?”

Five rolled his eyes. “Oh, okay. Diego, we don’t have time for this,” He moved past Stan. “Lila and I have got important shit to do. Let my wife know what I’m doing, alright?”

“Hey, love.” Lila quietly greeted Stan with a smile.

Diego quickly began to follow them with Stan behind him. “Wait, what’s more important than family?”

“End of the world, genius.”

Just as they reached the elevator, Diego gently grabbed Lila by the arm. “Lila? What’s more important than us?”

“There is no us, Diego.” At the sound of the elevator ding, she went to follow Five inside, but Diego pulled her closer.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, for you, it’s been a couple days. For me, it has been over a decade. I’ve moved on. I’ve slept with many, many people. Many.”

Diego looked absolutely destroyed as she turned around, but it seemed she wasn’t done with him yet when she turned back. “The only relationship we have left is the one with our child. So, you better not screw that up.”

“Wait!” He called when she joined Five in the elevator. “What am I supposed to do with him, huh?! I got important shit going on, too!”

“I doubt that. Figure it out, Diego. Be a dad.”

The only thing that broke their eye contact was the elevator doors closing between them.

Below, in the poolroom, Allison was sitting on one table with Luther on the one across from her and Viktor standing between them. “So, all the people on the street just disappeared?” She asked as she poured herself a drink.

“Well, no, not all of them, just… half of them.”

“Five did say animals were disappearing.” Viktor sighed.

“Okay, well, now it’s definitely people.”

“Marcus was supposed to meet up with us earlier, but he never showed.”

“What, you think this grandfather thing ate Marcus?”

“It can’t just be a coincidence, right?”

Allison sighed. “Great. Now those Sparrow psychopaths think we took their Number One. We’re never getting the briefcase back.”

Viktor took a moment to think before holding his hands up as a way of telling them to hear him out. “Okay, what if… What if we just told the truth? Marcus is gone, and maybe we’re partially responsible.”

Allison humoressly chuckled. “That’ll go well. They’ll throw us a party.”

“I bet they throw fantastic parties.” Luther dazedly smiled and took a drink from his Sparrow-brand cup.

“Listen,” Viktor sighed. “Marcus was ready to give us back the briefcase. If the rest of his family is even half as open-minded, you know, maybe we can come to some kind of an agreement, get it back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Luther nodded, standing to his feet. “Well, if you guys are heading over there, I should probably come along. You know, uh… for protection.”

Viktor gave Allison a knowing look. She gave him a smile before finishing off her drink and standing up. “Yeah. Nice try, Stockholm. Your ass is staying here.” She patted his shoulder as she walked past to leave the room.

“Wha-?”

“She’s right.” Viktor stood before him.

“What? Who put you two in charge?”

“Look, Allison…” Viktor lowered his voice. “She needs something to take her mind off Claire. So, we’ll handle this.”

Luther nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Copy.” He whispered. “Hey, um… Thanks for looking out for her.”

Viktor gave a tight smile and left, also patting Luther on his shoulder as he left.

-------------------------------------------------

The crows’ caws from above was white noise to Ben, sitting in a chair within the dimly lit room. Beside him was Fei, chopping food on a desk in front of her to feed her pets. She watched her brother as he stared off into space, deeply in thought. She decided to bring up a topic of discussion to break the tense silence.

“We’re getting tons of missing person complaints in a three-block radius. I was thinking hysteria.”

“What are they up to?” He quietly asked.

“Who?”

His eyes moved up to her. “The Umbrella Academy. Use your head, Number Two.” He stood to his feet. “First Marcus, now they’re grabbing civilians off the streets?”

“‘Number Two’? I suppose that means you’re Number One now?”

Ben tilted his head. “Marcus is missing. I’m taking the reins.” At her chuckle, he narrowed his eyes. “What? You think it should be you?”

She set down her butcher knife and wiped her hands together with a sly smile. “You had your chance once. Didn’t turn out too well, now, did it?”

Ben had to close his eyes and breathe deep to keep his composure. He slowly turned his back to Fei as his anger boiled. He was growing tired of the nerve his siblings had of bringing that up in arguments, tired of the constant low blow. Opening his eyes, he snatched the crow closest to him and clutched it in his fist as it shrieked in pain. He turned to Fei as she inhaled sharply.

“Say that again.” He dared, holding the crow up.

Fei winced in what seemed to be pain before cocking her head up, her crows moving to flying throughout the room above their heads. Their eyes locked on each other, awaiting the next person’s move. Waiting to see if Ben would relent, if Fei would cave, if either would advance their move.

“Excuse me. Children, do you mind if I clean up?”

Ben rolled his eyes at the sound of Grace’s voice and let the bird go. “Do it quickly.” He hissed. Grace smiled and moved to clean the room as Ben stood before his sister. “You know I respect Marcus.”

“Of course.”

“I’d do anything to protect him.”

“Sure.”

“But we’ve been Numbers Two and Three for far too long, Fei. With Marcus gone, it’s moving day.”

Fei deeply exhaled and squared her shoulders with a clenched jaw. “Change can be good.”

“Think about it,” Ben smiled. “You, me, center stage. Taking things to the next level.”

“So, how do we handle the Umbrella situation?”

“If they bring Marcus back, so be it. If they don’t, then we have some decisions to make.”

Grace looked up with a smile. “Marcus isn’t coming back. God took him.”

Fei furrowed her brows. “God?”

She stood up straight and widened her smile. “Yes, God is in the basement, and he called Marcus home.”

Fei watched her robot maid exit the room before looking at Ben again. “Does she need a checkup?”

“Focus, Fei.” Ben firmly spoke. “We play this right, Sparrow Academy is all ours.”

He was just about to walk out of the room when Fei crossed her arms over her chest and called out to him, “And what of (Y/N)?”

He turned to her with a confused expression. “What of her?”

“What will become of her?”

“She’ll become Number Seven, obviously.” He shrugged.

“And with the promotion, will she have a say in any decisions that will be made concerning the Academy?”

Ben snorted and laughed a bit at the thought, shaking his head. “Hell no. Not in a million years. Her days of special treatment were over long ago. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He backed out of the room and shut the door behind him. At the sound of footsteps, he turned around to be met with his sister, walking side-by-side with… the Umbrella (Y/N)?

“What the hell is she doing here?”

(Y/N) froze and slowly turned to her brother with wide eyes. She was banking on everyone being in their rooms for the night. Ben catching her could put a halt to her plan if she didn’t think quickly.

“Oh, no, this is a… clone,” She gestured to her child counterpart, who played along and froze in place with a blank look. “Found it walking alone in the street. Stupid Umbrella girl can’t keep track of her toys.”

Umbrella (Y/N) stumbled forward when she was smacked in the back of the head, the young girl immediately retaliating by elbowing Sparrow (Y/N) in the groin. The woman groaned and leaned forward in pain. Ben watched the two in perplexity as his sister straightened herself with a long exhale.

“I was just going to, uh, wipe its memories and dress it up.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Take this.” He held up a wooden key that (Y/N) beamed at. “Found it in an antique shop. Thought you’d like it.”

She took it from him with a wide grin and bright eyes. “Thanks, Ben.”

He nodded and walked away, her eyes following his form before he disappeared around a corner. (Y/N) turned around and led her Umbrella self into her bedroom.

“Was the slap necessary?”

“What? We had to sell it.”

Both (Y/N)s entered the bedroom with the older of the two leading inside. The young girl gasped as the door closed behind her. Sparrow (Y/N)’s room was gorgeous. The general theme was white and pastel pink, but mostly white. Vines snaked down her walls acting as wallpaper, covering the frame of her bed along with the threshold of the door.

On the wall across from her bed was a collection of wooden clocks, all ticking in unison. Against her vine-covered wall was a wooden gothic chair, fit to seat royalty. She noticed that every sitting area was wooden. The chair, her stool that sat in front of her wooden vanity, her bench at the foot of her bed. Even her bedframe was wooden.

On her vanity was an opened binder consisting of coins that had been neatly placed into little slots, the edges of the coins worn and dented. Beside it were numerous ornate boxes containing antique jewelry, some of which the woman was wearing right now. Around the room were glass vases varying in size housing different types of flowers that were beautifully growing. There was a shelf against a wall that held glass tea cups, decorated saucers under them.

“Your room is… beautiful.”

Sparrow (Y/N) proudly smiled to herself as she picked something up from her vanity and walked up to one of the vines. “Have a seat.”

Umbrella (Y/N) looked around before taking a seat on the stool, her (e/c) gaze running over the coins on one of the pages. Sparrow (Y/N) watched her from the corner of her eye as she looped some string around one of the vines, tying the key Ben gave her to it to add to the collection of keys on the vines.

“Who is Anthony?”

Umbrella (Y/N) turned around. Her gaze softened at the thought of her deceased husband and she let a smile make its way onto her face. “Anthony was… my light in a dark time. He always knew what to do, what to say. And he was… gorgeous,” She lightly chuckled. “We created a whole world together. One that neither of us knew could ever exist… What do you think of the names Michael and Jada?”

The woman hummed and turned slightly. “They’re nice, I guess. Both biblical. Michael means ‘a gift from god’ and Jada, ‘wise’.” She shrugged. The young girl’s smile grew loving.

“Well, I think they’re the most beautiful names. They were the names of my children. And they were the most beautiful creatures.”

Sparrow (Y/N) looked at herself fully. The look the young girl gave the thin air in front of her was one that everyone wanted to be looked at with. Her eyes held so much care, so much delicacy. She couldn’t imagine what kind of emotions created such a stare.

“You had kids? Aren’t you, like, twelve?”

Umbrella (Y/N)’s face fell as she snapped back into reality. “No. Physically, I’m thirteen. But I’m about… thirty-two now. My husband, Five, came from the future and due to his miscalculation, reverted back into his teenage body.”

“Your husband is the kid?”

“He’s not actually a kid!”

“Okay, so, what does his bad math have to do with you?”

She sighed. “I commanded one of my clones to follow him into the future. And for some reason, when he came back to 2019, that thirteen-year-old clone was affected, meaning I was affected.”

“Ah,” Sparrow (Y/N) nodded. “Because your clone needs to match your form.”

“Exactly.”

“So, why didn’t it just die? Clones last for only a year.”

The girl shrugged. “Hell if I know… Anyway, I’m not actually a child, so yes, I had children. They were… everything to me. And I lost them in my timeline…”

“Oh… I’m so sorry.”

She nodded in appreciation. “I was hoping to see them again, but you never met Anthony Petrov. So, you two never made that world.”

“Petrov…” Sparrow (Y/N) pondered. “You married a Russian man?”

“Bulgarian.”

“Hm.”

The Umbrella girl stood to her feet and cautiously walked up to her adult self. “(Y/N)... I want you to know that I am not your enemy.”

She placed a hand on her hip. “I want to believe you. Really, I do, but my family also has a missing sibling.”

Umbrella (Y/N) blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, right. You’re Number Eight, so you don’t know. Marcus has been missing since the night we met you. He was last seen with one of your siblings and now my family thinks you guys have him.”

Within the next second, Sparrow had Umbrella pinned down into the gothic chair, holding her in place with one arm, a promise in her eyes. “So, you’re gonna tell me everything, including Marcus’s location and his condition.”

Umbrella (Y/N) widened her eyes, surprised at how she had been duped by herself. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Her hold tightened on the girl. “Oh, I doubt that.”

She thought to herself for a second. This Sparrow version of her may have been different in some ways, but she knew that one thing about her that couldn’t change was the effect false hope had on her. So, she decided to make a deal.

“If you take me to Reginald, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Sparrow (Y/N) frowned and tilted her head. “What the hell do you want with my Dad?”

—————————————

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[helaintoloki]

Old Times

pairing: Five Hargreeves x reader

warnings: language, mentions of violence and some graphic imagery

request: Can I request a scene where Five kills the commission's board members but with the reader

The sleeves of your dress are beginning to itch and your inability to spot Five is beginning to agitate you. You didn’t come all this way just for him to start the festivities without you, and you certainly weren’t going to let this outfit go to waste no matter how irritating it was and how awkward you felt dressed up like some old lady’s little doll- an old lady had dressed you, of course, but no one needs to know that.

“Fuckin’ Fudge Nutter!” A familiar irascible voice seethes from down one of the hallways, and it’s then that you’re able to witness Five’s unhinged assault on the vending machine. Part of you wants to stop him before he can make a mess, but the other part of you knows that he’s had a rough couple of weeks. After all, you would think being able to get a stupid snack from a vending machine would be painfully easy compared to all the other shit he’s been tasked with these last few weeks, so you understand why such a feat would seat him off. Besides, by the time you do decide to speak up his foot has already smashed through the glass.

“Having fun?” You muse, startling the boy with your sudden presence. He opens his mouth to snark back but closes it once he notices your ensemble. The anger and irritation present in his features are soon replaced with a snide, smug grin.

“Well if it isn’t the milkmaid.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you retort sarcastically. “I went to go use the bathroom and the next thing I know I’m being shoved into this. But I guess this wont be the first time I’ve gotten blood on a perfectly good dress.”

“You ready?” Five asks as his eyes begin to scan the hallway for anything that may prove of use for your assignment. Your nose scrunches in disgust as his finger dips into the frosting of the cake sitting on the table, but the act allows you to spot the very elegant and very sharp cake knife sitting beside it. The handle is glass with a red bow neatly wrapped around its middle, and you appreciate the fact that it matches well with your outfit. By the time you’ve found your weapon of choice Five is standing at the ready with a fire axe in his hand.

“I never am,” you admit with a small sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

You follow behind Five as he emerges into the conference room, the board members of the commission all sat around their fish boss at the table discussing important matters related to the space time continuum. This is your first meeting of Carmichael, and you can’t say you’re disappointed; he certainly lives up to the expectations.

“You!” The fish exclaims, his once lackadaisical posture now fading into one of alarm at the sight of your partner. “Call security!”

A woman rolls her chair back to the telephone only to have her arm chopped clean off by Five, and so the bloodshed begins. There’s a pattern to the way in which you work, switching off between members as Five swings and you slash. Dismembered limbs line the room, blood coats the walls, bodies slump over one another and one hangs clean from the ceiling, but each kill is executed with swift precision and accuracy. It’s a twisted waltz between partners, one that holds a flow in your movements and a beauty despite the psychotic nature of it all, but you never miss a single step.

You decide to let Five finish Carmichael off just to let him have a small victory for once after the shit storm of failures he’s endured thanks to the unintentional incompetence of his siblings; the glass of water he’d taken a drink from earlier was calling your name, and it’s as your quietly sipping from the cup that the seemingly harmless attendant from the entrance tackles Five off of the table and onto the ground.

“You’re gonna pay for that vending machine, little mister!”

“Get off of me!” Five demands before elbowing the woman in the face. He’s quick to scramble to his feet just as you’re quick to rush over to the pair from the other end of the table. “I don’t want to hurt you, alright?”

You can’t help the surprised gasp that leaves you as she retaliates with a square punch to his jaw. If she wasn’t getting in the way of your assignment you might have stopped to admire just how bad ass this lady was.

“Hurt me? Oh, I ain’t afraid of you, you little puss ball.”

“He said hands off, lady,” you grunt in time with the impact of the axe handle landing on the back of her head. You didn’t want to kill her, but you really needed her out of the way if the two of you were going to pull this off. Five meets your gaze with bewilderment at your actions— he’s always been the one to take out the distractions — but you only give him a helpless shrug before dropping the weapon. “What? Okay, I’ll admit, not my proudest moment. But-“

“Carmichael,” he interrupts hastily before rising from the ground to fetch another makeshift weapon.

“I’ll get the water,” you say through another grunt as you rise from the ground to fetch the very same glass from earlier before refilling it with the pitcher left behind for the commission members. A small huff of air leaves your lips as you do so, the physical toll of the day’s activities finally beginning to settle into your muscles. A younger body did not make the work any easier, but you push through and rush back out into the hall to find your bloodied boyfriend standing over the flopping fish on the carpet.

You’re careful to avoid the shards of glass that have been strewn about as you lift Carmichael from the ground by the tail and plop him into the glass of water. Five watches your every move closely, his chest rising and falling with the panting breaths that leave him as a result of the short-lived chase.

“You know, he’s kind of cute like this,” you smile while admiring the colorful little fish in the cup. “Can we keep him?”

“We’re not done yet,” Five reminds you with a harsh sigh. “Now lets get out of here before some other crazy lady starts sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Curios eyes watch your retreating forms casually stroll out the front door as if you both weren’t coated in blood and carrying off an unruly fish in a small glass cup, but neither of you seem to notice nor care. You’ve completed a job well done, you’re one step closer to getting home, and now the world can finally be saved once and for all.

“You did good back there,” Five comments offhandedly. “Almost felt like old times.”

“Wait, I’m sorry. Did I hear that right? Did Five Hargreeves just give me a compliment?” You tease with a sly grin only for him to roll his eyes.

“You always have to ruin it, don’t you?” He scowls, but before he can take the compliment back you’re using the pad of your thumb to wipe some of the blood from his cheek so that you have a clean surface to press your lips upon.

“Always,” you chirp happily, giggling at the bemused expression on his face before skipping ahead of the boy to the rendezvous point. “Let’s go, Carmichael. We have places to be.”

“She’s an enigma, that one,” Five mutters softly, but the corner of his lip is upturned ever so slightly and there’s a lightness to his step as he follows close behind.

Yep, just like old times.

[oddshelbyout]

The Luck Is On Your Side // Thomas Shelby X Male!Reader

Requested by: @molstkiwi

Summary: You are a thief trying to rob Thomas’ home and he offers you a job.

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking

Word Count: 1816

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy

Author’s Note:

This one was a really hard one to write. I really didn’t know how to write it but I think it turned out to be not so bad. Once again, I’m afraid Tommy might be a little out of character but I hope you still enjoy it.

English is not my first language and I’m not always confident about my work so please let me know if I make any mistakes or anything I can fix in my writing.

You can ask to be added to my taglist. You can be tagged to works on a specific character or just any of my works. Please dm me or send your wish to my ask box if you’d like to be added.

Requests are open. You can request any Peaky Blinders related imagines or prompts for me to write. I’m a minor so I don’t take NSFW requests, please keep that in mind.

———————

You left home at exactly 3:30 am as you always did. You started walking around. Your gloves were itching your hand. These were new ones. You had dropped one pair of your old ones in a flat you broke in. Now your work was infamous.

You were a thief, a professional one. You would break into homes, steal everything valuable and disappear without anyone noticing. You were also new in Birmingham so it was much easier to not get noticed.

You were quite young, you hadn’t been to the war. That was actually when you started stealing. You were around 11, your two older brothers were sent to the war and you were left home with your drunk mother.

You started pickpocketing, it was easy. After a few years, it started becoming not enough for you. The euphoria you got from pickpocketing was great but what you stole was never enough.

It was years later, when you hit 23 that you decided you were going to start robbing homes. You needed to change cities. Your brothers were already back home, they were disappointed in you and you were no longer needed at home. So you left.

Stealing was harder in Birmingham. The locals were more aware, they were tough and knew how to fight. Then there were the Peaky Blinders. They basically owned Birmingham. You heard so many stories about them but could never figure out which ones were true and which ones weren’t.

You were looking around, trying to choose which house to break in. You weren’t good at planning and you never planned your robberies. You probably should’ve but that wasn’t the way you worked.

You finally choose one home. You were going to enter from the back. You slowly walked to the back alley, found a dark spot and put your mask on there. You could never risk getting recognized.

Every house from the back looked the same, you forgot which one you were going to break into. “Fuck!” you whispered to yourself. You were confident so you were sure it wouldn’t matter which house you robbed.

You carefully started climbing to the second floor of the house. You looked into the window and you were relieved. The room looked empty. You opened the window, which for some reason didn’t have a lock. You felt lucky.

So you started looking around. It was completely dark, you were quiet but you couldn’t see anything. It was a matter of time you dropped something and everyone would wake up.

You couldn’t find anything in the first room and the other room had a closed door. You quietly walked down the stairs. The living room was always the best room to rob.

You looked around for another while. You put some little figures, they looked gold plated. You looked around and around and around. Nothing was worth stealing, nothing was worth breaking in.

The house had a weird feeling, there were new furnitures but no one seemed to live inside. You gave up, you were genuinely sad that you couldn’t find anything. You decided to leave, go home and sleep.

You were literally out of shits to give, you were going to leave from the front door. You held the doorknob and you heard someone come. Your first instinct was to be quick and run away but the one who came was faster.

The person grabbed you from your mask and took it away, uncovering your whole face. “Fuck!” you said, he made you turn to him.

You eyes grew big, “Fuck!” you said more quietly this time. There stood a man before you with shining blue eyes. His eyes were so bright that you could even see them in the darkness of the night. He had sharp cheekbones, defined jawline and full lips. He was really attractive. The higher your gaze went, you noticed his hair. The signature Peaky Blinders haircut.

You didn’t panic even though you should’ve. The more you looked into his features you knew exactly who he was. You had seen him before, he was Thomas Shelby.

He had a gun in his hand, you accepted your death. “I assume this is the moment you put a bullet in my head.” you said, Thomas was confused. “Come on, let’s get on with it.” he continued.

Thomas was silent, he was genuinely confused and surprised to hear you say that. “Let’s not waste time.” you said and he pushed you to the wall. He wasn’t happy with the way you spoke.

He hadn’t said anything yet which was extremely annoying. He was really good to look at, he had you against a wall and your eyes looked directly to his. You thought “What a wonderful way to die.” it was a funny thought but exactly represented who you felt.

You weren’t scared of death and Thomas seemed to know that from the way you talked. “I’m not going to kill you.” you heard him say. You were shocked to hear that.

“Why?” you asked, he stepped back. “I can use you.” your mind immediately stopped working, you had absolutely no idea what that meant. “You’re him, the thief, you’re a good one.” he continued with his deep voice.

You nodded slowly, still had your back on the wall, you didn’t move an inch. “So good that I got caught.” you mumbled, it was true you were a good one but this has been your worst job. “But you got caught by me, that’s different.” he didn’t even ask you if you knew who he was. It was Birmingham, you had to know.

“Still got caught.” you said, you sounded disappointed. “Work for me.” he said, you released your back from the wall, stood straight. “I can use a good thief.” he said, “Or would you rather I killed you.” he continued. You chuckled nervously.

“I’m okay with work.” he offered his hand to shake, you took it and shook it as hard as you could. “Now leave, drop by to the Shelby Company tomorrow.” he said, you couldn’t believe what just happened. You listened to him and went home.

After that you worked at a few robberies for him, he gave you commission from what you gathered. You two actually developed an unusual way of conversation in time.

You brought whatever you stole to him directly, usually to his house. Not the one you broke in but his actual one. Apparently when you broke in, he was only there because his other house wasn’t safe at the moment.

A year after you started working for him, you went to his house one night again, to give him a bag of guns you stole as he directed.

You entered with the big bag in your hand, immediately went to his study room on the first floor. You didn’t knock the door, you never did and he didn’t mind either.

He was lost between a pile of letters. You dropped the bag on the floor to get his attention. “Welcome Y/N” he said, “Hi Tom.” you replied. You left the bag there and went to the bar in the cupboard to get yourself a drink.

A year ago, you would’ve never thought this would be your life. You had more wealth than you imagined and you were close with Thomas Shelby. You had no idea how and why you got so comfortable with each other after the way you met. Loyalty was very important to Tommy, you were only loyal to him and no one else.

You took your glass of whiskey and sat on the couch. “Give me a moment.” Tommy said to you, he sealed a letter then grabbed his cigarettes and whiskey to join you on the couch.

He sat next to you, “How did it go?” he asked, meaning the job. “Easy, I was even more invisible than a ghost.” you said confidently. Tommy chuckled, “Just like I knew it would be.” you smiled.

“What about you?” you asked, he looked tired as usual but not as tired as he was the most times. “I got bored, sat in this bloody room the whole day.” you rested your head on the side of the couch.

You reached for his cigarette case to grab one. “Sounds boring.” you said, he grabbed your whiskey and drank from it. “Hey! That’s mine!” you exclaimed, you sat up and reached for his glass.

“Today was so boring that this is the most exciting moment.” Tommy said, that was weird. “That’s unusual.” you said, “Exactly, something wrong is coming, I can feel it.” he confessed.

“Be right here with me, that’s enough.” he said, that was all you wanted too. “I’ll be here for whatever you need.” you said even though you didn’t need to. He knew already, that was why you were drinking there with him in his house, not even 6 feet apart.

Neither of you talked for a few moments. You examined him, the way he wore his watch, his piercing eyes then you stopped. “What would you think if I kissed you?” you asked, a sudden courage took over your mind and body.

“The luck is on your side.” he took a deep breath “I would enjoy it.” Tommy said. That wasn’t the answer you expected. You expected him to kick you out. He finished the whiskey in your glass.

He slided closer to you. “Are you sure?” you asked, he nodded. “Why don’t we try?” he asked, raising his eyebrows high.

You took a last drag from your cigarette, put it out and got back to staring into Tommy’s eyes. He got closer to you each passing second, “What do you say?” he asked. You didn’t say anything and just kissed him.

It was the moment you waited for since that man pushed you on the wall when you tried to rob his home. You didn’t know at that time but now, you did. He kissed you, you kissed him and he seemed to enjoy it just like he said.

You were both getting into it, he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. Then there was a knock on the door, you split immediately. He buttoned his shirts again.

“Tommy, I came like you asked.” you turned to the door to see Polly. Tommy stood up, you clenched your jaw, hoping Polly wouldn’t ask for it. “Come in, Pol.” he said, you stood up too.

“I’m going to leave.” you thought it was your time to. “Sit down Y/N, this involves you too.” it was obviously about a new job. Possibly related to what he meant when he said something wrong was coming.

The kiss was everything and Tommy was keeping you in business too even after that. You assumed there were more kisses to come and it made you the happiest man on the planet.

[xenteaart]

A Thousand Buzzing Bugs

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Request: Well, hello! Would I like to place an order with Five for 'Umbrella Academy'? Could you do one where Five has a panic attack and the reader calms him down by singing? It is my way of comforting my friends and family.

Note: thank you so much anon for requesting this, I really enjoyed writing it! also my requests are still open so please feel free to drop your suggestions in my inbox or DMs <3

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, descriptions of a panic attack

After successfully stopping the apocalypse and saving the world, you would expect life to get easier. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the case for Five. 

He was so used to living his life on the run, always restless, tense and having some sort of threat following his every step that when it was time to finally stop he simply didn’t know how to. 

As the Hargreeves siblings’ lives were slowly but surely falling into place and giving them a sense of stability and security, Five had absolutely no clue what he was supposed to be doing. So he was stuck with himself in the agonizing and seemingly frozen present, left to deal with the baggage of his traumatic past and the horror of his uncertain future. Naturally, since his brilliant but cluttered mind wasn’t occupied with anything urgent or even remotely important, it was bound to catch up with itself. 

You didn’t have to be a genius to guess Five had PTSD and had to break down sooner or later, so you kept an eye on him. 

Well, you always have done because he had a truly exceptional talent of getting himself into potentially lethal situations, but this time you were properly paying attention. 

It was a rather quiet evening at the Academy, and if it weren’t so completely and utterly empty, you’d probably even dare to call it peaceful. The house didn’t feel very inviting when no one was home, its huge corridors and cold walls only serving as a painful reminder that everyone else had other places to be and things to do. Everyone except you and Five, because neither of you belonged in 2019, both ex-Commission assassins with barely anything but bloody history and hardship to remember. 

You were currently in the kitchen fixing you and Five a dinner while he was absent-mindedly tapping on the table with his fingers, waiting for you to finish. You weren’t the type to get bothered by repetitive sounds easily but Five just wouldn’t stop, his gentle tapping gradually turning into aggressive and loud knocking.

Five’s mind was starting to feel like a pool of thick slime, his thoughts barely moving through the cold sticky texture, getting caught halfway and immobilized instantly like a silly trembling fly in a cobweb. It was merely annoying at first but became truly terrifying in a matter of seconds.

“Are you okay?” you asked as you turned to face him, your gaze filled with irritation and genuine worry all at once. The question clearly snapped him out of his thoughts and he flinched a little, furrowing his eyebrows and curving his lips in a displeased expression.

A thousand bugs were buzzing under Five’s skin in a vicious choir, itching and burning and aching and tingling. His own heartbeat was pulsating in his temples, making every other sound around him muted and dull, only intensifying the crackling static in his ears. Five’s palms were getting clammy.

“Fine.” he replied, his tone sharp but somewhat anxious. You noticed that Five was still fidgeting, rubbing his fingers against each other and picking at the skin around his nails, and it almost looked like he wasn’t even fully aware he was doing it. His breathing became fast and shallow, and you recognized what was happening right away. You were no stranger to panic attacks - you knew one when you saw one.

Five, however, wasn’t at all familiar with the feeling, his first assumption misleading him to believe he was having a heart attack which was a fairly easy mistake to make. He was beginning to feel very light-headed, unable to grasp onto any passing thought and figure out what the hell was happening.

You put your spatula down and quickly washed your hands in the sink. As you approached Five, you rested your hands on his shoulders carefully and then wrapped your arms around him from behind, putting some pressure on his solar plexus with your palms to help ease the anxiety. 

You were watching Five closely, reading his body language to make sure you weren’t making him feel claustrophobic because there was always a thin line when it came to situations of such delicacy. At the end of the day, every person was different and needed different things but what you were doing seemed to be working a little which only proved your theory that Five wasn’t the kind that needed to be left alone. And it made perfect sense considering his flashbacks and anxiety were heavily related to his many years of solitude and hopeless isolation from everything and everyone he ever knew and loved.

“I got you, you’re alright. I got you,” you uttered quitely, your voice perfectly steady and confident, its tone sparkling with care.

Five gave you no reply, closing his eyes shut and squeezing your forearm instead as if it was the only thing that could keep him grounded and sane. The most important thing now was keeping his focus on one thing and preventing his mind from wandering off into the intrusive thoughts and anxiety territory any further. You leaned a little closer to his ear and started humming some random melody, suddenly remembering that low frequency sounds were known to have a deeply calming effect on people. It was a good sensory trick that worked wonders to catch one’s attention and distract them from whatever it was that was making them feel uneasy. You knew that because you used to hum and sing to your own self a lot whenever you were anxious or panicking, which arguably wasn’t as effective as having another human being do the job and hold you close but it helped nonetheless.

As your soft singing continued, you pressed your cheek against Five’s, feeling the little drops of cold sweat on your skin as his slightly wet strands of hair were sticking to your temples. You didn’t mind. 

The time was passing by at a funny and fairly confusing pace, taking away your ability to tell whether it had been 5 or 15 minutes. It didn’t matter either way because your top priority was calming Five down and making him feel safe, and you would keep holding him for as long as he needed.

He was probably going to brush it off later and act like nothing ever happened, a little too proud in nature and a little too puzzled by his own brain to properly address it, let alone saying “thank you”. But after many years of being by Five’s side you knew his heart well enough to see he was thankful even if he never verbally confirmed it.

Five’s heartbeat was starting to return to its normal pace under your palms and you couldn’t help but smile at your little victory, placing a gentle chaste kiss on his forehead and casually saying:

“So... rice or pasta?”

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 2

Chapter 2: Shine Like Stolen Gold

Stories aren't meant to be lost and forgotten.

When a timid bird comes knocking at his den, the dragon seizes the rare opportunity presented.

(Smut this chapter: Zhongli/Reader)

So, really, come on. When Aether is cooking some minty meat rolls or sticky honey roast, is it so hard to believe that he thaws their frozen meat to make up for when they lack the ingredients otherwise? Paimon really can’t complain, her mouth waters at the thought of it and a childish smile creeps on her face as her eyes glaze over.

Behind her, Aether is throwing his face in his hands in mortification at the realization that they ran out of chilled meat for goulash. Paimon vaguely registers your voice laugh-crying at Aether that now, they must go fight some unreasonably angry grandpa boars for their next meal.

Yep, the fairy rubs her belly completely content. The sticky honey roast was totally worth it.

She yelps when Aether grabs her ankle to pull her down to their level of reality. “Alright Paimon, think you can handle the cold without that goulash? We ran out of Frostshield Potion a while ago too, which reminds me, can you ask Lisa if she can make more?” Aether turns to you, and you take out your journal to note the next task with a little side note, circled twice: ‘Check all inventories before walking into deadly weather. Obviously.’

Paimon nods, though she puts on a big show of rubbing her arms with a cheeky grin. “Paimon will be okay! The sooner we get off this mountain though, the better.” Nobody disagrees with her, but some hours into climbing the mountain and Paimon is grumbling once again. This time though, it’s not about the cold, oh no.

Aether gave her the golden Seelie to hold and act as a firefly while she scouts for the next torch.

You would laugh harder, really, you would, but every breath you take in this frozen wasteland seems to burn your lungs even more. The sensation reminds you of how Venti once spoke sparkly-eyed about a Snezhnayan drink called Fire-Water that ignites the body while freezing their breath. If not for your collective appearances seeming to be ruefully young for this world, you’re certain that Aether and Venti would have somehow convinced Diluc at this point to import the drink just for them.

Though, come to think of it, you’re not entirely sure if you want to see the havoc that would indubitably follow the drunken duo. After all, you already remember how Aether was shy of throwing a dumpling at Zhongli when he enthusiastically ordered wine-soaked rice balls instead, and that was when Aether was sober.

Your commission involves collecting some of the old books left behind in the libraries littered throughout Dragonspine for the researchers at the base of the mountain. While normally not a difficult task, the blizzard appears to be picking up just to spite you three. If only there was… Aha! “Aether! Paimon!” The two turn at your calls and frantic waving, pointing to the cave just to your right. All three of you missed this hidden entrance – that’s it, time to go inside and wait out the weather. If none of you caught this, then most definitely the visual conditions were progressing from bad to fucked. Stars, you can’t even think beyond trying to get warm.

While Aether kneels to light a cooking fire, you shuffle forward and take stock of your surroundings. All in all, the walls certainly saw better days, but there is no shortage of old books to rifle through for information. Paimon is a step ahead of you though as she floats (wobbles) towards you, carrying two books that are double her size at least. Through your combined efforts, you manage to find a decent number of books to ferry back for the researchers while Aether finishes cooking some jewelry soup.

Gods, the speed Paimon dive bombs for her bowl rivals the hawks over the Liyuen mountains. Magpies are cute and dive too, right? Maybe Paimon is part magpie, with her big eyes and penchant for swooping the unfortunate souls who wander too close to her food.

You shake the thoughts out as you consume your own dish. The silence among you three is not unwelcoming, though you can tell Paimon is itching to say something. Bracing yourself, you take in a deep breath and –

“Do you and Aether ever visit old worlds again?”

Choke on your food. You choke on your food, all elegance and style gone as Aether is clearly not expecting such a question either. Paimon huffs, though she looks more concerned about the wasted food Aether spat out rather than Aether himself.

“We, uh…” Aether coughs, hitting his chest a bit before going silent. There is a shift in the atmosphere, even the embers in the fire long ago dying to merely whispers of warmth. Golden eyes mellow as Aether looks hazy, distant all of a sudden. “We don’t go back usually, no. Why do you ask?”

Paimon scratches her head. “Well, Paimon noticed that every time we come here, there seems to be more to the story of an old kingdom here. The paintings and the books… It’s like they wanted to be remembered, but they weren’t.”

You close your eyes, ears straining as Aether attempts to formulate a proper response. “It’s… We,” he gestures between you two, “We don’t belong to any world. We never did.”

The wind picks up, nearly deafening. What a confession, the wind whispers. What a blessing of freedom.

What a burden.

“You remember how I told you that we were travelers? Well, our people are tasked with, ah, watching those we encounter. We try to learn all of the stories and knowledge of our charges; to our people, that is worth more than all the golden Mora in Teyvat.”

“Oh! Oh! Is that why you’re so glowy and yellow?”

Aether laughs, shoulders relaxing a bit. “Yeah, I just took all the wealth of our old worlds and made it a part of my outfit. That way I’ll always be rich.”

“Ehhh? But why waste treasure like that?”

“Because I’m the real treasured cutie here,” he deadpans, proudly puffing out his chest, only to duck when you and Paimon immediately throw your spoons at him. The atmosphere is lighter now, happier.

You don’t hear the wind anymore, just Paimon and Aether. Only them, always them.

“Anyway… That’s the great paradox of our duty, though. We learn best by walking among them, but never with them. But we try not to visit the same place twice. Stories, once ended, always make way for another chapter. Each new world we walk into, we carry with us the knowledge of all worlds past and try to understand why people act the way they do. We were never mortal, so it’s…” He trails off, unable to complete that sentence.

“Paimon doesn’t get it though. Why do your people watch, if they never actually participate? Isn’t that the whole point of reading a book versus building a library?”

Aether stops, stunned into silence. You close your eyes tightly. Sometimes, Paimon’s naiveté can really hit the mark on all things wrong in a system.

When you were born into the universe, you were simply given one duty: to watch and record. The blinding brilliance a new star is meant to guide, acting as the light in the night sky. However, the only answer your elders gave was that it was the will of the primordial force guiding you all. Your family promised you then that you would find more explanations in the mortal realms, for no star is truly alone.

These answers still elude you, though, as they do Aether. How long have you been lost like this?

Did you stop counting your age because of your immortality, or because you refused to face another year no closer to the truth?

Nobody remembers who came before. Nobody talks of the distant, quiet stars above your own people, separate from their arrogant claims.

“There is a saying from one world we traveled to,” you begin carefully, “that says ‘you can never go home.’ It means that when you leave a place, you can never come back to the memories you made there. Nothing will be the same, because you will have changed in your journey.”

Paimon floats gently down between you and Aether. It is then you notice she still cradles the Seelie, her wide eyes reflecting the golden light that pulses. She kindly reaches for Aether’s hand and gives him back their newest companion before softly smiling. “Not all journeys are bad ones though, right?”

“Paimon,” Aether breathes, “I – “

“Like our next journey to get the heck outta here! Paimon’s hungry.”

“And there it is,” you laugh. Standing up, you offer your hand to Aether as you pull out the map. He leans forward before tapping a point near the camp full of adventurers. Paimon squints and nods, then disappears in a show of light. It’s beautiful, you admit to yourself. All the light, the warp of space-time, the blessed departure of squeaky Paimon. Really brings a tear to your eye sometimes.

“Hey,” Aether says, grabbing your arm. “Are you okay?”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who answered her question. Are you?”

He laughs and looks away. “Yeah, I am. Just shocked that Paimon used up her daily brain power allowance in one go.”

 ---

 Later, when you three stop by Wangshu Inn, Aether strides to the edge of a balcony from one of the many layers and can’t help his wandering thoughts to Paimon. He never cared much for deeper probing and purposes to his journey, he left that to you and Lumine. Adventure and fun always drew him instead, the promise of being chainless. He saw the ability to travel between worlds as a blessing, one where he can be untethered to nearly everything. No, he’s sure his sudden obsession with Paimon’s question is just because he didn’t expect Paimon to be so insightful. That’s it, it has to be.

He thinks of Lumine, of how she would have thoroughly enjoyed this view.

She is always the one reaching out to the locals, to guide and let them follow her back to the path of righteousness – or whatever was deemed lawful during that time, at least. Different worlds, different definitions. At least here, he tries to do what’s right by the people and helping with their (endless) errands. That’s what Lumine would have wanted. What does he want, though?

Well, for starters, he wants to find his sister, his other half, his twin star. Aether smiles to himself as he counts off all the nicknames he has for his little sister, how he plans on releasing Paimon on Lumine to see what the little fairy’s new nickname for her would be. A frown graces his lips though as he follows that thought, of names and designation and purpose.

It’s no secret that the Vigilant Yaksha established here his… home? Home, Aether decides, if only to avoid the sadder options. He remembers Xiao’s long conversation with him beneath the floating lanterns, of how Rex Lapis gifted him his name to give him renewed meaning and life. To protect those he once consumed.

Aether hopes that the adeptus can find that peace one day; as someone who travels worlds, who has seen that darkness between the stars, he knows the shadows are no welcoming place. Still, his heart warms when he remembers Xiao’s tireless watch, knowing that the spirit will come to his aid should Aether ever call his name. He never had someone do that for him, if he was being honest, that level of attentive care. It was always his people helping others.

It’s nice, he thinks. Real nice.

That’s why he resolved long ago to offer the same protection to the adeptus, much to the latter’s scorn, but Aether really didn’t care to listen to his grumbling, he was going to help, damn it. Aether thinks back to Venti, to the bard’s soulful flute and insistence on freedom from chains.

When he goes back inside, he muses, he’ll ask you to write a new quest: ‘Introduce Xiao to Venti.’ Somehow, someway, he plans on helping Xiao out of that darkness that Lumine fell into. Maybe this is his own redemption. Penance for lifetimes of no responsibilities, no cares, no duty to uphold for a singular cause. Look at where it got him now. He’s lost without Lumine as a tether.

He’s not going to give up on Xiao, damn all the others that did. Xiao never gave up on Liyue, so why should Aether?

The blonde turns when he hears your approaching steps and smiles. You return it, bringing him a bowl of sweet almond tofu. Not your own cooking – Aether would have heard the commotion first – but he’s grateful, nonetheless.

“There’s some jerk bullying a kid!” Both of your ears piqued at that, but you don’t bother trying to contain the fit of giggles at the ridiculous statement. You’re sure that someone would have dealt with the jerk by now, anyway.

“Who bullies a kid anyway? It’s like kicking puppies,” you mumble around the food in your mouth. Come on now, that’s a new low, even for Hilichurls.

Aether looks down and spies Paimon with two bowls of sweet almond tofu, full speed ahead like the devil himself is on her heels. Only, when he discovers the figure behind her, the flash of green and smoke and a spear trying to turn Paimon into a kebab, he nearly chokes again on his food.

Hey. Hey, wait, that’s –

“Shit,” he grumbles, “that’s my idiot.”

 ---

 The sun is kissing the horizon by the time you three make it back to Liyue Harbor. Your daily commissions complete and with enough Mora for the week, you nearly make it back to your inn before you catch the unmistakable lilt of a deep voice in the air. Zhongli?

Aether and Paimon catch on, and after a second, make their way to the source of the sound. The former Archon spots you three and his eyes crinkle before he stands. “Oh? I didn’t think I would see you here.”

Be still, beating heart, and thank the stars for the fading light casting everyone with a soft glow to hide your flush. You close your eyes, listening to Aether and the archaeologists ramble about Lord of Geo this, God of Wealth and Commerce that, something about the catalytic power of Mora.

When you open your eyes, you find Zhongli’s own on you instead. Huh?

Aether kicks your foot lightly and you turn to him, blinking again. “Hey, saddle up. We’re going on another adventure.” You deflate slightly; to be honest, you were hoping for a chance to rest and reflect on the conversation with Paimon. Stars, you can’t handle more of this right now, not in this… state. Mentally you’re flailing, trying to keep thoughts buried while you open your journal to mark the next task, because with thinking came emotion and with emotion came trying to understand why Paimon’s question stung you. You always believed these idle thoughts to be private questions, private sins about your loneliness in your duty. How far from the path have you two strayed for even an outlander to notice?

Still, you bite your trembling lip and nod. Back to work like always.

 ---

 You grab Zhongli’s hand as he hoists you up the cliff, your own arms quick to turn to jello. In front of you, you can hear the Fatui agent and archaeologist bickering over something, but you’re frankly too tired to care. Aether’s voice cuts through, trying to make peace. Or, really, trying not to pummel them both, but who cares about nuances? You say tomato and Aether says ‘gimme a sword.’

As you sigh and stretch your back, Zhongli smiles at you before observing the ocean once more.

Your throat is parched, but that’s not the first thing you think of. “I miss him,” you say, “Tartaglia.”

He nods. “I do as well. Are we selfish in desiring his company over his duty?”

You hum. “Well, it’s only natural to want to see your friend again, right?”

Zhongli blinks. “Indeed. Friend.”

Curious. The old god wanted Tartaglia to stay, to study him, thrilled in discovering a mortal so foolish for the first time in many millennia to challenge the Lord of Geo. A selfish want, yes, but present nonetheless.

He thinks he hears Guizhong. “Morax,” she chides, “you cannot hoard people.”

Did you want Tartaglia to stay for something else? He was certain you understood his own desire for the man with your gift mirroring his symbolic chopsticks, even if the Harbinger did not. Is Zhongli’s courting too old-fashioned?

“Ye-ap,” you smile. “He was a good partner-in-crime.”

Not for the first time, Zhongli thinks that perhaps, something is lost in translation.

“Indeed.”

 ---

 Forget Dragonspine. Things have somehow gone from fucked to holy stars keep it together don’t cry don’t cry –

“Your legacy? Your legacy,” you begin, voice shaky. Zhongli turns to stare at you, like… Like�� “No. No, you do not get to look at me like that, like you’re Morax. Morax wouldn’t do this.”

Aether and Paimon whip their heads to look at you then. You stop and turn upwards, eyes searching, and take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

Clouds cover the night sky. Cowards.

“We are tasked with remembering, yes. You know this. But don’t you dare imply your legacy was for naught.”

Zhongli’s lips tighten. A single tear falls when you look back at him.

“Mora transforms, yes? Maybe then,” you start and begin waving your arm around, gesturing to the ocean before you all. “Maybe this is a transformation. No god that passes is ever truly gone in Teyvat, so don’t you dare say that something so sacred has departed Liyue. She lives on in her ideals, her beliefs.”

The old god turns to look at the ocean. He thinks back to Ningguang and Guizhong. “Like a cycle? Is this what you have learned on your travels?”

You nod. “Morax knew there was power in mortals, there was potential. As the God of Wealth, does it not logically follow that he would understand that mankind is divinity transmuted? When these men come and go, their souls return to the divine. Nothing is ever truly gone.”

He scoffs at that, but nothing infuriating. It sounds more disbelieving. Still, he turns to you, though you don’t see it. “Rain that rejoins the river into the great ocean is no different than the clouds that made it.” His heart aches. Why does his heart ache? “Perhaps, when the clouds form once more, we shall see the revival and birth of gods anew.”

When you look at him, Zhongli is already gazing back out at the see, a distant memory washing across his eyes. You know of his connection to Guizhong, know of his pride to discover that her tablets still stand strong when you and Aether stumbled across them.

Suddenly, your heart falls in your stomach and you feel sick. “Come on,” you mumble to the other two present. They nod and you open the map, once again deciding that tonight is just too much.

Zhongli stares long and hard at the spot you three stood in, then turns to the stars above as they emerge from cover. The ring in his hand is gently twisted, around and around. He thinks of Aether, of Paimon, of you. Of how, no matter how close to the heavens a mountain dares to try and touch, it can only wait for the light to warm its barren earth and the rain to form once more.

The stars only twinkle back.

 ---

 All right, well, the plan to stay in your inn and once again contemplate Teyvat’s frankly depressing history just went out the window. Literally.

You jump from the bedroom and open your glider to land in a hidden corner to not attract too much attention. Moments like this, Mondstadt is perfect for you; the drunkards leaving the tavern at this hour would just look at you glide by and raise their mugs in understanding. Life is like that sometimes.

Aether and Paimon long ago fell asleep, you made sure of that. It’s annoying that your exhaustion is now to the point where you can’t even fall asleep, thoughts dance just out of your reach, and even the ocean breeze as you shuffle close to the docks no longer tickles your senses.

When you hear your name called, you stop and turn around to find Zhongli ten paces behind you. Ah  shit, here we go again.

“I was hoping, though not expecting, to find you out. You appeared distraught when you left, so I went to Bubu Pharmacy to retrieve some medicine.” As he walks closer, you stand up straight and look at the bag in hand. He holds it out to you and you smile at his amber eyes, pupils in slits as he presents his gift to you with all the grandeur of a cat dragging a mouse to its master.

However, when you open the bag, you stop and look back at him. “Chamomile,” you say, voice flat.

“Yes.”

“You got me tea.”

“Yes. Is something the matter?”

You sigh and rub your eyes. “You could have gotten this at a regular herb shop and not been robbed blind.” He winces as realization dawns on him, nodding along, but then.

Then you start giggling.

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid and your mind is tired beyond reason and here you are laughing at the God of Wealth spending his money for you and got robbed for it. You cover your mouth, but you feel your wrist gently pried from your mouth and you gasp as Zhongli examines at you inquisitively. He smiles too. “Would you care for me to brew this tonight?”

You nod and babble what you hope to be a thank you, incapable beyond reason of any coherent thought, save for one. Food. Flipping him around, you instead take him towards the nearest food stands still open at this hour – at least feeding drunkards is universal – and lead him to the most appetizing.

It doesn’t escape you that his hand glides down your wrist to grasp your fingers gently.

 ---

 Some hours passed and you both settled long ago in front of Wanmin Restaurant for a gamble of Xiangling’s choice of mystery dish. When you first discovered this new weekly option, the three of you had widely ranging reactions: you politely tried to hide your shudder, Aether more openly grimaced, and Paimon was dragging you both by the collars as you desperately dug your heels in.

Conversation flows easy between you two, and you click your chopsticks at Zhongli as you take another bite from a perfectly cooked chunk of meat. “I think you would benefit from some hobbies other than work, you know.”

He arches an eyebrow and puts down his cup of baijiu. “I am attempting to integrate a mortal life. Is it not logical to work within Liyue as one?”

“Well, yes, but actually no,” you drawl and smile behind your cup at Zhongli’s expression. “You should do other things, too! Enjoy life, take long walks, play some xiangqi, meditate – “

“Dear Celestia,” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am not some grandfather you need to care for. I am old, not dying.” Vaguely, you register a quiet grumble and a why do I even bother.

“What was that, hmm?” You raise your hands to cup your ears, hoping to draw out more of his frustration. Instead, Zhongli’s lips curve up at you with a combined expression of haughtiness and mirth.

“Apparently, I am not the one who requires hearing aids.”

“Touché.” You swipe the bottle of baijiu and pour a small shot for yourself. “D’ya remember in the immediate aftermath of it all, Childe kept bowing and calling you zu fu? I personally think he was on to something.”

The ancient god only grouses as he pours himself another drink. “My temptation to indulge his battle lust then has never been so appetizing. The argumentative fool.”

You shrug. “He was looking to get a reaction out of you. It worked, didn’t it? The great Rex Lapis irritated by an incessant fly! Oh, the scandal that would cause, the humiliation.” Dramatically, you throw your hand over your forehead and lean back, the spitting image of a damsel-in-distress in one of Lady Ying’er’s lustier novels.

Zhongli smirks then and laughs low, a purr more than anything, before gathering his empty dishes to leave a bag of Mora in the center of the table. You’re proud, you really are, though you bite your tongue from any more comments on the old god remembering his money for once.

It’s a while before you both speak again, a silent agreement between the two of you to finish your bottle before moving on. He is the first to break, though you don’t expect the next words. “When I took the seat of Geo Archon offered by Celestia, I never thought this day would come.”

Tilting your head, you scoot a bit closer. He glances at you, posture pristine and relaxed, though you feel rather than see the tension in his taut body. “Why?”

“Because,” he begins, pursing his lips as he thinks. “I am – we are – immortal. Therefore, I suppose I simply did not see an end to my duty.”

“How sad,” you murmur. His eyes dim, so you put your hand on his shoulder to ground him before he sinks further into his memories. “Duties should only be taken when you see a future for it, rather than a lack of an ending. When the day came, I am glad you recognized the need to put down the mantle.”

Zhongli’s eyes burn into you, and realization dawns on you as you think of the potential reason for his intensity. Is it because of - ?

“I’m really sorry for my behavior at Wangsheng, really, I am. You were burdened with a seemingly never-ending duty, it wasn’t fair for my anger to cloud my judgment.” You try to look away, but Zhongli’s hand placed over yours keeps you still.

“Your frustration was reasonable.” He pauses for a second. What was that look in his eye? “You observe those around you just as I once did, though I have stepped into the story. Are you and Aether able to put down your duties as well?”

You quickly withdraw your hand and look away, biting the inside of your cheek. Not him too. “I don’t know,” you breathe. If Zhongli wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard you. He takes a deep breath before offering his hand. Taking it, you both stand, and he releases you as he begins walking away from the restaurant.

“I believe we still have some tea to brew, yes?” You grin at his question, warmth settling in your stomach. Tea. That sounds nice.

As you travel with him, the silence stretching once again, you can’t help but think of Zhongli’s eyes once more. Bah, damn your crush, he only looked at you as a god would a pleading mortal, he’s beyond your realm of comprehension and –

You try to stamp the disappointment before that thought keeps going further. Exhaustion begins to creep in your bones, you’re certain the late night is the cause for your distress, but that doesn’t stop your cynicism.

How could a god understand the burden of stories, of keeping records tirelessly? He’s the God of Contracts, but your contract doesn’t end.

Damn the pity in his eyes.

 ---

 (It wasn’t pity, something whispers. Compassion. Tenderness. Wrath.

All things must be fair, Zhongli thinks. Your contract never was.)

 ---

 By the time you’re in his apartment and sitting at his table, you’re sure you’ve spent the better part of ten minutes gaping like a fish at the luxury of it all. Each item’s quality is beyond description, truly, but you still fumble about in your mind trying to find the words anyway. Rich? Decadent? Unnecessary but very nice? Paper lamps are littered around you, both hanging in the air and on side tables, and you can’t help but notice the soft, hazy golden glow the light casts over the room. Somehow, you’re sure you smell incense burning somewhere…

The colors are earthy in tone, but what surprises you is the abundance of plants – mostly silk flowers and glaze lilies - along the windows and corners carefully placed, following the patterns of feng shui. Stone walls curve around, and the plants appear to rest in the embrace of the circular patterns carved within, perfectly matching the decorations. As the hand-carved furniture, laced with golden accents and filigree, weave into the background, you can’t help but appreciate the apartment’s forest-like ambiance. His den is warm, welcoming, and soft, a far cry from the image of a Geo Archon. All that’s missing is some art and –

There it is. That tapestry Childe bought the day you received your own token.

Before you can stop it, the quiet voice in your mind croons at the memory of him.

You’re only snapped out of your thoughts when Zhongli returns with a tea set and places one cup before you to carefully pour before joining your side. He blows the tea before sipping it, all the serenity afforded to an ancient god.

You pause, smile lost now. “I’m sorry.”

Amber eyes open and scrutinize you. “For what? You have already apologized before for nothing, starlight.”

Rolling your head side to side, you lower your gaze and find solace instead at the steam rising from the tea. There goes that damn nickname again. “For disrespecting your wishes. Your legacy is important to me, but what’s important to you is that you… You…”

It doesn’t have to be said. Zhongli pauses and puts his own teacup down. “You and Aether once informed me of your people’s duties in recording stories. My hope is that my time as Zhongli marks the end of Liyue’s need of me, to close that chapter in Morax’s story.” You frown at that.

“As Zhongli?”

“Yes,” he breathes, smile small but distant, “you were right on the cliff. Morax would not have made the decision Zhongli did. I am no longer that god.”

You reach over and grab his hand, his eyes meeting yours again. “If you are no longer him, then why is Zhongli the end of Morax’s story and not the beginning of his own?” He only makes a soft rumble in response, and not for the first time do you marvel at how lost he appears. “Your journey as Zhongli is not another contract. You shouldn’t start this journey the same way you started your duties as the Geo Archon.”

“Oh?”

Suddenly, Paimon’s question rings clear in your head. “As immortals, we naturally process things slower, we have more time to. Time is given to us to see the future and learn, not to dwell on the past. Otherwise, we waste this gift,” you murmur. Gods help you; you think this next statement is going to kill you but it needs to be said. “I’m sorry about all those you’ve lost.”

Great, just great, way to bring up his old friends. Still, you felt the need to blurt it out, if only so someone could say it to him once. Just once.

Zhongli’s hand turns so that his palm faces yours and his fingers entwine in your own. It’s a long time before he speaks, and if it wasn’t for his gentle grasp, you were sure that the former Archon was furious.

He must be using his elemental powers, he has to be. Why else are you petrified?

His eyes move, looking through your hands. Beyond, beyond. What does he see?

“They would have wanted me to move forward. I honor their memory through remembrance, and hopefully now, movement. All things must return to dust, though I do not rush the journey,” he eventually replies. Only, you look closer, and his eyebrows are barely furrowed, the only sign on his otherwise perfectly composed face of the emotion lurking underneath. “I do not know how she saw fit to be my mentor, to guide such a bloody god out of the battlefield. She saw a nurturer, where I saw only the destruction my hands have wrought eons ago.”

You don’t have to ask to know who he refers to.

It’s stupid, it’s bold, it’s desperate, but you’ve already gone this far, haven’t you? You bite your lip and ask gently, selfishly, “May I remove your gloves?”

He looks to you and nods, relaxing his grip and not bothering to hide the confusion carved all over his face. As you slowly peel off his gloves, you see his dark hands lined with geometric patterns glow dimly, the shade matching his own amber eyes. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, the statues and paintings of him do him no justice; the muscles along his arm flex in reaction when you begin to trace his fingers, inch-by-inch, from the tips to the palm. Reverence fills your eyes as you suddenly understand why so many mortals threw themselves to the floor beneath him in worship.

These are just his hands, though. Should you ever be blessed to see him fully, by the stars, you think you would die and ascend to Celestia right there.

You feel his steady gaze on you, but you don’t care. Home stretch, here we go, how much further can you test these boundaries?

“Do you ever wish you could have changed the outcome?”

He scoffs. “Wish? A god does not wish. What Celestia commands, we obey. Seven seats there were, and so the fighting began until seven victors remained.”

“Sure, but I mean, that’s in the past now. A name both defines a purpose and limits it.” A sentiment both you and Aether share, for those who traveled countless worlds surely held countless names. Zhongli fondly remembers his first encounter with Alatus, but he frowns, nonetheless.

“I will forever carry the scars as the former Geo Archon. I may leave Morax behind, but I can never forget that I am still him, buried beneath this visage and burdened with the weight of that knowledge.” He clenches his hand again, but you spread them out and begin slowly tracing the golden lines along his palm and forearm.

“Hm,” you hum, “that’s odd.”

“What do you see?” Zhongli says, voice pitched an octave lower than before. Subtly, you feel your core heat and you rub your thighs together, though not enough to draw attention.

“Your hands… I don’t see any blood, just these flowers you’ve cultivated,” you beam, eyes flicking to the silk flowers and glaze lilies permeating the room. Maybe it’s the scent, or the lingering baijiu in your system, or the fact that Zhongli’s eyes are on you, but you feel drunk and bold and stupid so you bring his hand up to your face to snuggle. The anxiety in your stomach melts when you feel his rough hands against your cheek. “Warm too. They’re no different than a man’s. Than Zhongli’s.”

When his lips part, your eyes follow the movement and he stares at you for a long time. Those eyes flicker between yours, fully present and watching you now as they pierce your own.

Are you leaning in, or is he? Fuck it. “Kiss me,” you rasp, pleading and hopeful.

You groan when he moves forward and finishes that thought, deftly moving his other hand to your hip to rub small circles with his thumb. How are his lips so soft? All you can feel is his movements against yours, though you register him eventually breaking apart. His pants mingle with yours, and gods if he doesn’t come back you’re going to throw a bitch fit.

“Was that alright?” he murmurs. Ever the gentleman, you bemoan. Instead, you opt to whine lightly as you drag your unoccupied hand up his chest, cooing at his own gasps as you creep farther up.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, “Please, again, let me –“ You reach over and begin unbuttoning his shirt. Zhongli leans back slightly to allow you more access – though the cheeky god turns his head and peppers your forehead with kisses along the way -  and you move both hands to wrangle off his garments. After a few minutes of fumbling, you manage to bare his upper chest, but you pause in appreciation.

Oh, oh stars, you thought you were going crazy for his hands. Truly, you feel like a debauched Sister to Barbatos when you took all of Zhongli in; his hair tussled, lips mumbling something, and his eyes – fuck they are following your every motion. It’s almost predatory. You register somewhere that he’s still rumbling something, but you raise your eyebrows and dig your hands into his chest again, twisting the silken fabric. “I d-don’t, I don’t speak Liyuean, what was that?”

He laughs, solid and rich and you’re in deep. Zhongli takes one of your hands to kiss the palm, then the wrist. His eyes flutter open and look at you again, all mischief and pride still lacing his perfectly composed features.

It’s not fair, you think. Some stupid divine gift of being perfect all the time.

“I spoke Common, dear,” he replies and slowly kisses up your arm before moving to your shoulder. You tense as he leans forward, all but nuzzling your cheek as he whispers, “I asked if you would prefer to take this to the bedroom?” He says something else after, and this time you’re sure it’s Liyuean as he concludes by gently, playfully grazing his teeth over your cheeks and jaw and neck. 

Two can play that game.

You mumble something in response with your own native tongue, all chirps and purrs and light tones. Zhongli pauses and turns back to look at you inquisitively, single eyebrow arched. It’s endearing. “I said that tonight, you’re mine.”

He smiles and you suddenly feel the world spin as – oh fuck are you being lifted? You were trying to be smooth with your earlier statement, corny as it sounded, but this. This fucker literally swept you off your feet.

Yeah, not fair at all.

“Then, dear starlight, allow this old adeptus to humbly offer himself to your whims.”

“Hmm,” you purr, “You offer? Sounds awfully sacrilegious coming from a former Archon.”

As you’re taken to his bedroom, Cor Lapis eyes make a show of inspecting your body he carries before eventually meeting your own. “I am no longer that Archon.” His voices dips even lower, sultry and husky and possessive. “Tonight, I am Zhongli. I am yours.” You gasp as he sits down on his bed and pulls you back in with another kiss, light nips and moans. The debilitating arousal that hits you soaks your undergarments as you realize that this god, Prime of the Adepti, is begging for more on his proverbial knees.

Yeah, you think as you open your mouth and welcome him, this works. His tongue is warm and silky; somewhere, you feel his hands making quick work of your clothing, so you try to return the favor. After you unceremoniously toss his clothes – and ignore his offended puffs – you lean back, admiring the now shirtless Morax as he spread his legs further, nearly coy if not for that devilish smirk. His brown and gold marks extend all the way to his shoulders, reminding you once more of all that those hands have achieved.

Maybe… Maybe will do to you later too, you think, suddenly shy. When you feel cold air strike your core, you shiver, only now realizing that the god stripped you quickly without your notice.

Seeing him spread out like this, legs apart and chest bare, you can’t help but wonder how the statues littering Liyue do him no justice, not by a long shot. You sink to your knees before him, and he makes a confused sound, leaning forward only to halt when you place a hand beneath his naval.

“I thought you were the one to be worshipped tonight,” he mumbles, though clearly not opposed.

“Mm, my whims, right? I just – “ You lean forward and trail your lips up his thighs. “ – really – “ Another kiss, closer, closer. “ – want to taste you.” His breath stutters as you kiss his bulge, relishing in his earthy scent. Somehow, he always still smells of silk flowers, an undercurrent to what you experience now. You glance up at him and undo his pants; as you reach forward, you let just enough of his cock through before you shift forward and let him slide into your hot mouth.

Morax growls at you, and oh fuck that’s doing something to you as another wave floods you, settling low and deep to soak your thighs. He bucks his hips slightly to reach further into your hot mouth and you rush to keep your hands on his thighs. Not that it would help, really, but it reassures you that somehow, you’re still in control. As you move forward to further take him in your mouth, you simultaneously strip him of his last clothing and pull it down to his ankles before he kicks it away somewhere. Truth be told, you’re torn between making this as slow and reverent as possible or drink from him like he’s a fountain in a desert.

You settle for somewhere in between as you slowly move your head back and forth, swallowing around him when you can’t take any more, and you lift your hands to stroke what’s left. Stars, he’s thick and long, your jaws ache just from taking him this much.

As you pull back, a trail of spit connecting his leaking head to your lips, and you flush when you realize – “Only halfway?”

Zhongli chuckles above you and cards his hand through your hair. “It’s okay, starlight, we can – “

“No.” You interrupt him to take his throbbing cock again, but you begin tracing a warm and wet line down his shaft instead, and he groans low. You’ve wanted to taste him for so long and you’re sure there’s some bullshit adeptus aphrodisiac in his precum, because gods above he tastes exquisite everywhere. Somewhere above you, Zhongli is writhing and panting as you take his head again to swallow around it, drunk on his noises. The saltiness in your mouth only encourages your efforts, determined to give him the best performance he’s ever had.

You lay your tongue flat against his frenulum and he jumps, barely incoherent as he tugs incessantly. “Wai – nnngh – wait, I-I’m close, I’m… Haah.”

Warmth blooms within as you release his cock with a pop and look at him, eyes hooded. “I want to taste you,” you slur. “All of you.” He looks stricken as you resume your ministrations, and soon you feel him throb more insistently. Zhongli is a God of War, right? Maybe… Maybe if you do this –

You drag your nails fierce and unexpected down his hips and thighs and he cums, hard. Suddenly you’re forced to hold his legs for purchase as you swallow, it’s all you can really do as you feel his tight grip hold you in place to face-fuck you and you milk him for all he’s worth. Which, y’know, you’re fine with too. Your eyes flutter closed as you hear soft coos and praises tumble from his lips, and you release his cock to look back up as it twitches lightly, already missing your wet mouth. Between the two of you, you’re not sure who looks more drunk.

 No, actually, you’re sure that you look more drunk, because even though Zhongli’s eyes are deep in reverie as watches you stand up, he looks like the perfect image of serenity. His bed is vast, linen sheets with a ridiculously high thread count and shimmering amber patterns over the black base, and his headboard is a deep grey with Cor Lapis geometric decorations littering it almost haphazardly. You realize that the design mimics his throne in the Geo Archon statues.

Around the room, you suddenly notice more silk flowers and glaze lilies, with a window spanning nearly  the entire wall to your right with a view of Liyue only afforded to royalty. There are jade statues and crimson tapestries framing a weapon rack hanging on the wall to your left with multiple spears adorning it, each likely worth a king’s ransom.

And here you are, standing in front of Rex Lapis as he moans your name and nearly pouts for more attention. How many have seen this great emperor laid so low?

Suddenly, you yelp as the man grows impatient and grabs your hand to pull you to him before rolling over you. His glowing eyes narrow as he growls, though it isn’t threatening so much as restless, and you keen when he lowers his mouth to your neck. Ah, there it is, that dominating Archon present once more.

Zhongli’s lips trail kisses as he travels down the curve of your throat to your sternum, before shifting to one breast and flicking his tongue over your nipple. You jolt and moan again, louder when he bites, then nurses it again with kisses to sooth. Then, you feel it, those skillful and calloused hands as one traces your hips before reaching your core. You whine and lift your hips, grabbing a fistful of Zhongli’s hair as he moves to your other breast. “Please, please, please.”

He smiles against your skin as one tickles around your folds, suddenly in the mood to go slowly and tease. Right when you are about to complain, a digit touches your clit and you whine as you jerk your hips again. Only, the sly fucker moves his hand back with your hips so you never feel that pressure tending to your need. You moan out his name, an absolute mess as he massages you idly like he has all the time in the world.

Well, technically, you both do, but you want it now, damn it.

When he moves his head back up to your neck to begin kissing again, you snake your hand around his throat to pull him in close and seethe, “If you keep playing with me, so help me I will – “ The words die in your mouth as he suddenly plunges a finger in and moans at how tight and silky you are, the wet noises drowned out by your cry. Zhongli never breaks eye contact as he watches exactly how you come undone from just one finger.

You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how easily he calls your bluff with the overwhelming relief that comes from him stoking that fire deep within. He twists his hand around and a lazy smile graces his lips, the pristine image of composure while you’re twitching and mumbling underneath. You claw at his back and moan incoherently, desperately looking at him and hoping he understands.

Oh, oh he does, but Zhongli purrs regardless when he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “Words, darling, use your words.” Right when you begin forming them, though, he slides another finger to join the first to cut you off. Cheeky bastard. A third quickly joins, and you throw your head back, noises growing in your throat when you feel yourself getting closer, closer, yes there -

The god looks at you and frowns lightly as he tuts. “So loud,” he says, and you feel his fingers leave you as you clamp around nothing, right at the precipice. Zhongli laughs, silvery in sound, when he spies your frustrated bearing, about a threatening as a kitten’s, and he nips your jaw with a quiet, “Open wide.” When you oblige, you feel him slide his fingers in your mouth, and you move your tongue between them to taste yourself. He moans appreciatively and you smile as you lick again. You never thought you could be into this, but with him? Fuck yes you can be.

“How do you taste, little one?” You sigh at him and smile but pause again when you spot that glint in his eye, the one that spells all sorts of trouble for you. When Zhongli withdraws his fingers, you watch as he gracefully climbs down your body, all slow movements and muscles flexing like an elegant beast.

A dragon, really.

His eyes flick up to yours as you watch, thighs twitching around his head when he leans in closer to kiss your velvety folds. You close your own as you squeak and feel his laugh, before you throw your body up when you feel his tongue slide deep into your pussy without hesitation, the top of his mouth wrapping your bud in a furnace. God of the Stove? Something, something, something –

Your hips struggle to meet his lips, but you feel one hand hold you down with his growling. Stay put. “Ohhh, f-fuck, please – “ You try again and this time, his nails dig deep into your skin and you hiss with pleasure. His other hand creeps up and slides a finger in to match his tongue, and stars you suddenly can’t breathe.

When you look down again and see his golden eyes just fucking watching you, intense and concentrated, you realize the inevitable. “Nnngh, f-fuck I-I’m – “ you stutter, barely having enough wherewithal to warn him, “I’m g-going to –“

The devil smirks wickedly and he sucks on your clit, and you’re tumbling. Gods above, something tears through you as you cum with a ragged, hoarse cry of his name as euphoria streaks through you unforgivingly. Your muscles spasm and you grip the sheets harder, all too aware of your limited mobility and it’s like your body made your orgasm all the more intense, knowing it can only express itself there. White-hot pleasure concentrates around the god’s head, and you can’t figure out if the heat is from you or him.

Each spasm has you releasing more wetness from your cunt to Zhongli’s mouth and he groans deeply, lapping it all the while he finger-fucks you through your orgasm. When it gets to be too much, your oversensitive bud begging for a gods-deserved break, you lightly swat at his head to stop drinking you; he only purrs softly into your folds before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

When the former Archon sits back up and slowly, deliberately licks each of his fingers as he makes eye contact with you, your throat seizes. “Fuck,” you breathe. Oh, oh gods, if you were native Teyvaten, it’s him you would worship, you would throw yourself down and suck him dry all day if he would let you, ride his thighs on his throne, fuck he’s so sexy, so handsome, so fucking good to you –

Only when his eyes crinkle with pleasure did you realize you… You were saying those things out loud, each one of those statements tumbling and traitorous.

You quickly look away, mortified and all too aware suddenly of your current situation, the fact that you’re in bed with him. You’ve harbored a cru- fondness for him for so long, you lost yourself to the ecstasy before being brought back to reality.

Zhongli frowns and crawls forward, gently taking hold of your chin to turn you to him. His eyes. Stars, they’re so warm and welcoming and… Tender. “Starlight,” he rumbles, “Was that… All right?” Stupefied. You’re stupefied as you realize this ancient god thought you were embarrassed of him, of his performance somehow and not your own childish blunderings.

“Y-Yes!” you squeal and immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders. He falls forward with an oof as your legs find purchase around his hips, and you begin trailing kisses down his cheek and jaw to his neck in an attempt to rectify this. “Y-yes, that was so good, I-I just… I can’t believe you… We…”

Zhongli chuckles and you can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Well, perhaps we can keep proving you wrong?” When he bucks his hips, your pussy feels electric as you realize the angle you’re hanging off of him allows his cock to slide just outside of your slit. Again, you’re sure you would’ve been more embarrassed at the fact that you’re practically a sloth hanging off of him, but, well, come on. Who doesn’t want to climb this tree?

As he’s slowly rocking and coating his cock with your slick, back and forth and whispering sweet nothings between kisses along your temple, you realize belatedly that he’s asking for permission. “Please,” you mumble.

He doesn’t need anything more as you feel his hips angle, the tip poking just the entrance. When he slides in, slowly at first and barely the head inside you, you wheeze. “B-Big,” you huff unceremoniously and Zhongli pauses, waiting for you to adjust.

You both stay like that for a moment, breaths mingling, and you feel his back muscles flex under your nails. Eventually, your eyes open and you see how his are tightly shut and he’s painfully biting his lip. All those centuries carefully cultivating a strong discipline is being tested, here and now, and stars he looks to be in terrible pain as he holds, waiting for you to adjust.

Hm. A thought strikes you, lighting in your head with a faint ping.

Slowly, to not startle him – though his eyes snap open anyway when you touch his shoulder – you creep your hand up and go to the back of his head. He looks at you, curious and distracted for a moment while you reach for his ribbon. When you pull it undone, eyes scrutinizing his every movement to see if he enjoys this, you card your hand through his waves as they cascade around you two.

Then, you tug. Hard.

Shit, that does it as Zhongli sinks his head to your neck and groans, low and open and raw as he thrust his hips further, suddenly sinking in half of his length into you. You gasp and hold on to his hair tighter when he pauses, but you only tug again – lighter, this time – and he gets the hint. Slowly, the god begins rocking his hips once more; this time, he works inch-by-agonizing-inch into you.

You have a hard time breathing as his girth practically splits you open and glides along, your hips already aching from how wide you spread them to accommodate his size. Nothing about him is soft, it’s all hard planes of muscles and jagged edges, and yet. And yet. When he leans forward to capture your lips again, it’s all you can think of when you think of him. Soft.

The obscene noises your pussy makes around him is silenced as he slows, finally reaching the base and hips meet your own. You have to give him credit, those gentle kisses were excellent distractions, because you’re not sure if you could have survived otherwise. When you lean forward to nip his bottom lip, he hums and begins to draw back before rocking back in.

It’s torturous, really, it is, the way his cock rolls along your velvet walls hitting every nerve point with deliberation. He wants to drag this out as long as he can, and impatient as you are, you want him to instead be going faster. Amber eyes meet yours, and neither of you have to say it. It’s now a fight for control, for who can direct the pace of this little skirmish.

For every whine and lift of your hips, his own draws back to match you. “I… Have raised – urgh,” Zhongli starts, grunting when you nip at a spot on his collarbone, “Liyue meticulously… L-little one, let me b-b-hhuild – “ You lap at another spot as you claw his back. “ – you, worship you.”

“Mmmno,” you reply, huffing in protest when Zhongli captures your mouth again and begins exploring it with the same vigor he did your cunt. When you realize that, you squeeze at the memory, but he only groans and shifts for a deeper angle. You let out a noise somewhere between a chirp and a squeal as he begins hitting that one spot. “I-I a-a-am not… Hah… Not a sta-tuueee to worship and erect, Zhongli.”

He laughs. “Interesting choice of words.” You barely hear him though as he begins thrusting with greater power, and you keen as you feel yourself approaching the edge again while you clamp harder around him. Each thrust from his hips punches a slight gasp out of you, and feel teeth drag along your jugular until you’re meeting his piercing eyes. His golden pupils are slits now, absolutely proud and feral. Thank all the gods in all the worlds above because Zhongli doesn’t stop, doesn’t tease you this time. Instead, he guides you to that precipice with the same slow determination he promised.

“Hh-haah, oh fuck,” you whimper, “I-I’m - !”

He kisses your temple and murmurs, “I know.”

Any annoyance you feel at his haughtiness is swept away when another orgasm is drawn from you, and you gasp, tugging his hair needily. His rhythm doesn’t change, only the intensity, but that’s all you need as you feel your pleasure building in waves. You knew this was coming, but you don’t expect how quickly it arrives nor the duration.

No, while your first orgasm was passionate and blazing, striking you like lightning, this one made you feel as though you are in a boat on a turbulent ocean. Each wave you crest over only gets higher, your euphoria growing as you bite his shoulder in an attempt to hide at least some of your cries, but you fail utterly. The noises coming from your core as it floods are downright obscene, and… Shit, is he talking?

“ – lovely, perfect little one, pretty thing just squeezing around my cock, aren’t you? Good girl, you are perfect -”

You sob and nod vigorously, yes you are a good little girl, just keep pounding Zhongli and you’ll be good for him all night. “I – I,” you start, quite uselessly if you’re honest, and he looks at you curiously but doesn’t stop his movements. “I – I… Am still… I-iiiiiin cont-rhhhol.”

“Yes, you are,” he coos and leans forward to kiss you, his hips finally, finally moving slightly faster. Only slightly, though.

Are you, though? Are you really? Because as Zhongli smirks at your debauched expression, drool coming out slightly and covered in blooming bruises, you wonder if this is another one of his games to make the other think they were the victor all along. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“T-then,” you croon, “f-fuck me harder, Zhongli.”

“Mm?”

“H-Harder, faster, oh stars,” you whine, “I need it, p-please, I can take it!”

His eyes become hooded, and suddenly, you feel him pull out. Hey, hey wait, that’s the exact opposite of what you want. It isn’t long, though, and you’re flipped on your stomach with a stone grip yanking your hips up for him. Instinctually you arch your back and mewl as you present yourself, and you hear a string of Liyuen curses fall from his mouth as he palms one of your cheeks before you feel a slap. Oh, that one drew a loud moan.

You feel brave and look over your shoulder, only to be devastatingly aroused at the sight of him inspecting your dripping hole. “Filthy,” he murmurs, clearly pleased with his handwork as his other hand strokes his cock. Zhongli’s eyes meet you then and he smiles, shifting closer, clearly not wanting to waste time.

In a single thrust he’s sheathed fully inside you again, and you cry out as you feel both hands move to your hips in a bruising grip. He begins pounding in earnest, mumbling more praises under his breath, but you don’t register it, all you feel is him, just him.

However, it isn’t long before you’re frustrated. Not with him or his divine cock, but you feel like you’re missing something. You grumble, wanting some of the icy pain you gave him inflicted on you too. “Z-Zhongli!” you cry, turning around again and determination written on your face.

He doesn’t miss a beat in his movements as he meets your stare again, perfect eyebrow arched. “I can take it,” you grouse. “I can take you, don’t hold back, please. Stop treating me so gently. Be rough with me, I’m begging you, be a beast and use me. It’s you and me tonight, remember?”

The god suddenly freezes, eyes wide as saucers at your demand, and you barely stop an embarrassed wince from creeping on your face. Shit, was that too much? Except, when he smiles, all teeth and eyes glowing with pleasure and long eyelashes fluttering, your heart suddenly shoots into your throat with anticipation and no small amount of fear. “Very well.”

He leans forward to kiss the small of your back as he pulls out, your pussy clenching around emptiness once again. Before your very eyes, you watch scales erupt from his shoulders and you feel claws pricking your hips, sure to draw blood if they pressed any further. You vaguely register a sudden weight to your right; gasping, you watch a long, draconic tail wrap around your hand, flicking with all the excitement of a pleased cat. However, when you look back, his whole being seems to have grown larger and you feel small; the dark brown coloring of his shoulders bleeds now to his pecs and journey – delicate like paint strokes – to his naval. You don’t miss fangs grace his open smile and Cor Lapis antlers rising from his head, shy of scraping the ceiling. They glow rhythmically with the markings on his arms, pulsing like a primordial heart. Stars, it’s truly a radiant crown befitting the Prime Adeptus, Morax, emperor of Liyue.

You swear to yourself then to never ever ever tell Zhongli your original intent, not on your fucking life. Truth be told, you meant something more along the lines of biting, scratching your back or something, never in your wildest fantasies did you think he would take your dare so literally.

Well, maybe in your wildest fantasies, but that’s a secret between you and the stars.

When your eyes take in all the glory that is Rex Lapis, your breath hitches when you finally spy his cock, practically weeping with pre-cum and twitching to be back inside you. What gives you pause is the fact that, well, every part of him grew with his transformation. Not only the length and girth, but the very appearance shifted, looking more draconic. Ridges line his darkened member and like his arms, there are golden markings glimmering along his shaft that throb in time with every other.

Immediately, you hear two sides inside you war: fuck yes fuck yes fill me completely and can that even fit or will I die first?

What a way to go, you decide, and shyly meet his eyes again. The entire time he sits under your inspection, he is rigid and chest slightly puffed. He preens under your appreciative noises, and when you finally match his eyes again, there is a renewed hunger lurking in those amber depths. “Last warning,” he rumbles.

You feel the vibrations of his voice, deep and shattering like a rockslide, and another wave of arousal practically seeps out as you moan. The leak doesn’t escape his sharp eyes and he smirks, taking this as your approval. Grabbing his cock in one hand and holding you steady with the other, he begins the slow breach, and oh fuck does it hurt in the best way possible. Some of the loudest cries from you yet are quickly silenced as you bury your head into your arms, only to come out again when one of his hands snake around your hips to begin steadily rubbing your clit. You feel a slight jut and you’re pushed forward, but he doesn’t move. Instead, Zhongli’s head rests between your shoulder blades panting hot and wet while he focuses on getting you to relax.

“M-move,” you mumble, and he growls in response and presses just an inch further before stopping again. You whine, an impatient brat, and try to take more of his cock by rolling your hips back. Hissing, you feel his claws pierce skin as his grip tightens to keep you in place; you choose to ignore the warning and try again, only to yelp when you feel a sharp bite to your shoulder.

You’re pretty sure that if you move this time, his fangs will draw blood, so you still. Okay. Okay, yeah, nope. You’re not in charge anymore. You may have won the battle, but it’s only fitting that Rex Lapis won the war.

“H-How far?” you ask, almost scared of the answer.

Eventually he releases his jaws and begins tenderly licking your skin – is his tongue forked? – and he hums. “About a quarter of the way.”

“A-a quarter of the - ?! Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you sputter. You grab his tail and tug on it insistently, trying to get his attention. “Hey, pull out a sec.”

He doesn’t move.

“Zhongli.”

Grumbles.

“Zhongli.”

The god pulls out, and when you turn back, you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at the expression he wears. Liyue’s denizens will surely kill you if they ever saw how you reduced their once mighty Archon to a pouting mess. “Good boy,” you coo. You hear a deep purr rise from his chest, and you lean forward to kiss before shifting around and grabbing his shoulders. “Now, turn around and lay on the bed.”

You don’t have to repeat yourself as he quickly lifts you again – not fair – and twists around so that you’re straddling his waist while his tail curls around one of your feet. When he settles back against the headboard, watching you intently for your next command, you marvel once again at the failure of the statues to truly capture his glory.

Biting your lip, you dig your hands into the brown scales framing his shoulders, but quickly fumble around for different purchase as some of his scales jut into your hand. When you finally find a good position, you release a long sigh and Zhongli curves his lips up before pulling you close for another kiss.

“We don’t have to,” he says when you break apart.

“No, we do, we have to,” you drawl, somber expression contrasting his amused one. “It’s the law, I demand it.”

He huffs, indignant, but offers no further protest. When you look down, your thighs begin quaking as you realize how close his cock already is. You reach down and take it, giving it a firm squeeze around the head and feel him buck into your hand. Eventually, you balance yourself over the head and begin the slow descent into madness.

Because holllyyyy stars, feeling his cock spear you like that is enough to make you become dizzy with pleasure. Still, you made a promise to yourself, so you sink further and work him in deeper. The ridges brush against every nerve ending and you curl your toes, electricity shooting up your spine as you cry out in raw pleasure. Zhongli digs his claws into your hips again and leans forward, snarling at the sensation of you fluttering around him.

By the time you reach the base, you’re a quivering mess; when the god moves his hips to readjust, you openly sob at his cock resting deep and filling you so completely. “Look at you,” he coos, and you feel one hand drag to your stomach. When you look down, you gasp as you see a thick bulge pushing out, marking you in exactly all the ways that Zhongli is filling you. “Taking me so well.”

His fingers drag along your stomach, idly moving in circles. Or diamonds? They feel almost... Purposeful. Hissing, you move forward as you hear him hum something in a language foreign to you while the skin around your belly burns before slowly soothing.

You kiss him again, allowing his tongue to snake in and explore your mouth anew. Deciding to take a page out of his book, you roll your hips against his instead of moving up and down, though he doesn’t seem to mind if the noises he makes are anything to go by.

You can’t help it, you break the kiss and fall forward against his chest and keen when he grabs your hips to begin moving earnestly himself. It’s clear you’re no more than a cocksleeve, legs gone and you can only hold on for the ride. One of your hands winds up to grapple his antlers for stability, prompting greater speed from him. Your voice begins rising in pitch, and the fire within begins burning anew, quick and merciless once again. Zhongli takes one hand and claws his way down your back, marking you and tearing you apart like you’re his prey and you love it. Soon, all you can hear is your heart hammering in your head; you sink further into that dream of bliss, all sense quickly departing except for full –

“One more,” you hear somewhere distant, beckoning. “Grant me one more. Cum for me.”

And that single word yanks you back to the present, growls and moans ringing loud and clear around you as your orgasm tears through you unexpectedly. Oh, how you obey your lord, because that orgasm somehow reaches new heights the previous one didn’t, and you begin openly crying. You register a forked tongue lapping at the salty streaks down your cheeks, but you don’t care, you’re only focusing on your pleasure burning all other thoughts away and rendering you mute. The vivid energy bleeding through you compels your body to release what little wetness you have left, and just barely, Zhongli’s cock pounding away at you glides easier.

You feel nudging at your head, and you roll it to the side instinctually, bearing your throat in submission to lick a hot stripe along your jugular as his hips move faster, singular focus in seemingly rearranging your insides to make more room for him, for all of his godly power. At his final thrust, he sinks his teeth into the crook of your neck and shoulder in determination, but you long ago lost any serious feeling outside of your oversensitive core. Instead, you lift your hand to card through his hair as you feel his hips roll into your own slowly, hellbent on filling you completely.

Zhongli just keeps cumming and cumming, and a nearly unbearable warmth builds low in your stomach, but the amount is enough that it eventually gushes out of around his cock. When he feels wetness seeping out, he release your shoulder and grumbles, soothing the wound with slow licks. One hand caresses the stretched skin of your stomach around his cock again, handling it with the tender care of a doting lover.

Huh. Lover.

You giggle, stupid and dreamy, and Zhongli smiles with you. “Come on, little one,” he says and begins lifting you off. Oversensitive and raw, you both wheeze at the sensation of the ridges catching again until you’re off and empty and – oops. Mixed cum floods out of you; pink dusts your cheeks, but he merely hums and stands with you. The world spins around you as you are placed on the bed with your legs nudged apart. A few moments pass before you feel a warm, damp cloth wiping at your sensitive core and thighs – ah, there are some bite marks there too – and you sigh, perfectly content with all the stress of the day thoroughly fucked out of you.

Though your eyes are closed, you’re still lucid as you feel yourself gently manhandled and lifted. When you’re placed back down, you whine at the loss of the silky cover, left with the downy blanket underneath. “Forgive me, dear bird,” Zhongli laughs, “But I feel you would not appreciate sleeping in our mess.”

“I forgive you,” you say, and open your eyes when you feel the bed dip. Zhongli settles in next to you back in his human form, and of course, perfect as always. Smiling, you move closer to him, making a pleased sound when he takes this opportunity to begin brushing your hair with his fingers.

“We should go to the pharmacy tomorrow for your wounds.”

“Aw, and cover the marks?” You smirk when you hear his breath hitch.

“You cannot say such things to an adeptus, starlight.”

“Oops.” After some minutes, Zhongli stops and rises out of bed. Your hand shoots out to grab his and you look at him pleadingly. “Where are you going?”

“Ah, I am going to brew some tea. Something to soothe the muscles.”

“Of course you are,” you grin and release him. You’re content to let him fuss over you both. Quietly, you hear soft singing emerge from another room, the words foreign to your ears but pleasant nonetheless.

You feel soft inside.

 ---

 “Will you tell me of your friends one day?”

The former Archon stops and looks at you. “My story is a long and complicated one. Entwined with many others.” A red thread.

You nod. “That’s okay,” you hum. “I have all the time in the world.” A pause. “You remember them, yet choose to not be remembered yourself. Left to be debated and fought over. Why?”

Zhongli pulls the blanket over both of you and wraps an arm around you, whispering into your hair like some dirty confession, some dirty sin. “You remember. Is that not enough?”

“I suppose so,” you mumble. What are friends for?  “I hope, before we leave, I can tell your story again and again. Maybe I can move the heavens, make a constellation for you. Permanent and guiding. Even if you don’t want its name remembered, it will still be there.”

He laughs and closes his eyes. She would defy the heavens?

You close your eyes too. After all, that’s what friends do. They remember each other.

 ---

 (Morax’s heart flutters when he hears we. Can he join? Will Celestia allow it?

Certainly, he can collect the wealth of the heavens to pay back Childe, he muses. A practical decision, of course.

Or perhaps Childe can come collect them himself.)

 ---

 Dust is in the air, clouding his vision. The young god coughs and shuffles forward, hand calloused and tight around his stone spear.

Compassion, he muses. She always preached of love, of tenderness. Where was compassion for her?

Morax keeps walking, dust growing thicker and dark like the night. Obsidian lays around him, shimmering with promises of vengeance. He has failed. Guizhong trusted him to lead without her? They were never his people, they were hers. He was merely the guardian, the infallible stone statue.

And now, their Archon.

When he falls to his knees, he feels warm drops fall on his face, only to realize belatedly why – it is blood. The blood of the countless beings he’s slaughtered for her, as her people watched in horror as he attempted to water the earth with it.

Suddenly, he feels a cool breeze pick up. A rolling storm gathers and relentless rain replaces the blood on his face.

His hands remain stained. Cold. Godly.

The rain doesn’t seem to mind.

Before he stands, the water washes away some of the earth in front of him. Morax leans forward to grasp a shimmering stone. The sun’s warmth floods his hands, but he only grips tighter and cradles it close to his chest as he watches the rain pelt the earth.

 ---

 Zhongli’s eyes blink open, though he still feels the weight of sleep and the taste of dust in his mouth. The sun has not quite risen, but the sky turning brighter tells him the world is still asleep. You are still asleep.

His eyes soften as he looks at you hiding your face in the crook of his neck, hands tucked to his chest. However, the dream lingers in his mind, and he can only move forward to wrap tighter as he settles his arm over your body in a protective stance.

A dragon and his hoard.

He remembers Tartaglia’s question. Do you have a hoard, Rex Lapis? Do you safeguard gold? Maybe I can see it one day in your den. How insolent and forward, he thinks fondly.

Though, eventually, his mind strays to your conversation earlier, of his own misgivings about Celestia.

He remembers the last time he tried to hold something so divine – so fragile – in his mighty grip.

“Please,” he murmurs to the empty room. “Please.” Zhongli, for the first time, feels he understands the mortals on their knees before the gods. But he doesn’t pray to Celestia, he prays to her.

He tries to forget how his heart ached when the Snezhnayan ship breached the horizon, gliding on the calm ocean to take its chaos elsewhere. How the sunset took all the light and warmth from Liyue Harbor that day. How fierce and angry you were with him.

Zhongli closes his eyes, resolved in his conviction that, though you may forgive, you will never forget his manipulations of Childe back then. Tartaglia’s insistence on chipping away his stone armor both infuriated and endeared to him, so he respected the Harbinger as a deserving rival. How could the Warrior God do anything less?

You mumble, and he pulls you in closer.

Despite it all, Zhongli begs to keep this moment to himself, away from the burning and punishing gaze of Celestia. He is thankful that you returned to him, thankful you deemed his presence worthy once more, thankful that his wait for the dawn paid off. This is enough, he thinks, just to hold you. This is to protect you – something he failed to do for the last divine he cared for. It’s safer for you.

(It’s safer for him.)

As he coils tighter around you and exhales a deep breath before closing his eyes, he can only pray that this moment remains hidden.

After all, who could forgive an earthly dragon – a God of Greed  - for the sin of stealing one of heaven’s golden stars?

 ---

 In Dihua Marsh, the cresting dawn’s light dances along the earth. The wind whispers to the flora and carries the dusty earth with it, parting the grass to allow the sun to warm the previous cover. Water from a nearby creek has long since fertilized the earth, and there lies a single green sprout.

It’s a glaze lily, the first in many millennia who once belonged to that rare breed that opened only for her.

-

notes:

y'all ever see that image of a hamster eating a very large banana? yeah

1) Baijiu is a type of liquor that originates in China! Furthemore, "zu fu" is the formal term for paternal grandfather in Standard Mandarin, xiangqi is a type of Chinese chess, and feng shui is the principle of decorating one's living space to allow better harmony of all energies within.

2) Up until the past century give or take, it was traditional in ancient China for the emperor to have multiple wives or concubines in order to ensure a male heir. Since Liyue is essentially China and Zhongli was its emperor for 3700 years, I imagine the concept of monogamy to be very foreign to him whenever he desired a lover. As much as i love headcanoning Zhongli as a himbo, i'm pretty sure he's so old-school he doesn't realize his blatant courtships and desires aren't being recognized lol. old himbo?

3) The exchange of betrothal gifts between the families being married is customary before the ritualistic courtships continued, and any partnership without equal exchange (Liyue) was considered extremely dishonorable

4) I wanted to sneak a reference to the fact that zhongli’s story quest is the first one we got that’s not named after his constellation, so his constellation’s name is not important to him, but recording ancient history is

also i appreciate any tips on my writing because fun fact! this is the first time i ever wrote smut _(:3」∠)_ luv y'all

[chipsfics]

Part 3 - Discovery/Creativity

Part 3 is here! 

Rated: PG-13 (heavy themes, swearing)

WARNING! this chapter contains light mentions of self harm! please do not read if this will upset you! 

~~~~ The next morning, It was surprisingly quiet- Everyone was doing their own thing, most were sleeping in due to the lazy feeling that comes with most sundays. Yinyang, of course, slept in. They were technically not allowed to leave the hotel until the game was over- But Yinyang didn't really have anywhere to go anyway. Even if he decided to go "home", he didn't have anything for him there- Everything he'd left behind didn't mean anything to him. The other contestants, though, were obviously itching for the show to finally close it's curtains. Cherries, Yinyang's roommate, spent most of their time bouncing ideas off each other and having dull conversations in almost frightening synchrony.

From what Yinyang overheard, they were getting impatient when it came to Inanimate Insanity's finale. In a way, Yinyang and Cherries were similar, but in a lot of ways they absolutely weren't. For one thing, the Cherries got along. Of course, things were okay. Yinyang was used to being cooped up, be it in his own mind, his own body- And Tissues obviously felt the same. He didn't get out much, for obvious reasons. Yinyang got up, yawning, stretching, and blinking slowly to life- It was around 1pm, and once they got up and fought for a little while over which toothbrush to use, they finally finished up their morning routine and exited their room. To their surprise, they found Tissues slumped against the wall next to their door, clutching a half full water bottle and snoring gently. Yinyang debated whether to wake him up. Eventually Yinyang nudged his shoulder gently.

"H...Wuhuh.." Tissues blinked awake and looked around.

"Tissues! What're you doing out here?" Yinyang said. "Are you alright?"

"Oh uhhh..." Tissues slowly seemed to be coming alive. "Wha.... Oh yeah, I- Sniff. Walked over here this mornin' and tried to knock on your door, but you guyse didn't answer. So i just waited," Tissues wiped his nose. "I guess i fell asleep. Was that... okay? Did i do something wrong?"

"Oh, no no, it's alright!" Yin reassured him. "Why did you come here in the first place?" Yang said plainly.

"I wanted to thank you," Tissues said, heaving himself up into a standing position. "For being so nice to me yesterday. I don't think I would be feeling so much better now if it weren't for you guyse," Tissues wobbled a bit, holding his head. "I mean... i still feel bad, but..." There was a small silence.

"O-oh. It's no problem," Yinyang answered bashfully. "Anything for a friend!" Yin added.

"A friend?" Tissues smiled, his eyes having a strange twinkle in them. Yinyang couldn't help but smile at his goofiness. 

"Are you... Alright?? Do you need help getting back to your room?" Yin said, concerned. 

"Hhuuhhh.. No. I wasn't gonna- I was gonna- uhh. ask if you wanted to uhhh. Hang out? Cause I was out of commission yesterday." Tissues stuttered.

"Well sure," Yinyang said, shrugging. "But what would we do?" 

"Thats the thing. I didn't think of anything before i fell asleep," Tissues laughed awkwardly.

"Oh." Yinyang giggled. "We could just see if there's anything on downstairs,"

"Sure thing." Tissues smiled, and grabbed Yinyang's hand.

Down the elevator, through twisting orange-yellow hallways, two friends holding hands less out of affection and more just so they don't separate. Tissues' head suddenly jolted to the side and he stopped suddenly, inertia causing Yinyang to bump into him. This time the sheer force from the collision sent Tissues face first into the hotel carpet. 

"God damnit." Yang cursed. "Be nice," Yin said, which earned him a small slap in the face. "Are you okay, Tissues?"

"HAAHH-" Tissues heaved himself up. "What is that?" Tissues pointed to a spot of orange wallpaper, near the floor in a small, slightly secluded corner of the hotel hallway.

"What is what?" Yang said, looking at where he was pointing. Upon closer inspection, the place where Tissues was pointing at looked... strange. Under the wallpaper, there seemed to be a small square imprint of something that looked a lot like a miniature door. 

"Wait, you're right. There's definitely something there," Yinyang said.

Tissues scooted up closer to it on his knees and inspected the strange imprint. "It looks like something was wallpapered over here."

"Let's rip it open," Yang said devilishly. "No!! We don't know what it is," Yin said. 

"Don't you wanna know, though?" Yang responded. "But- It might be private! Or dangerous," Yin said back. While the two were busy arguing, Tissues was already picking away at the wallpaper until he found somewhere where he could start ripping.

RRRIIIPPP... The wallpaper was surprisingly weak and yielded easily. The two halves instantly dropped their argument when they saw what was behind the wallpaper- A small wooden door made of darkly stained wood. It looked old, and the doorknob was missing. Just as they had expected- a mystery door. It was much too small for anyone to fit into, but it seemed like it could be pried open... What could possibly be inside?

"Should we open it?" Tissues said.

"No! We've seen enough. What if we get in trouble with OJ?" Yin whined. "So? Admit it, you also want to see what's behind there." Yang responded, obviously annoyed.

"We're not opening it." Yin said seriously. 

"I'm gonna open it," Tissues said.

"Not you too, Tissues!" Yin gasped. Yang laughed. "Yes, yes open it!" He said, baring his sharp teeth. 

Tissues tried to dig his fingers into the doorframe to open it up, and it came open easy as if it were magic. The inside was completely dark, an almost inky blackness- and the way the light was positioned wasn't illuminating what was inside. Tissues' jaw hung open. A small spider crawled out of the hole in a hurry, and he stumbled back in surprise.

"Woah... What do you think .... Do you have your phone..? We could use the flashlight." Yinyang said, and Tissues fumbled a bit before he reached up and plunged his hand into the top of his head, the slit where the actual tissue part of Tissues is dispensed- and he rummaged around inside himself for a couple seconds, much to Yinyang's surprise. Tissues pulled out his phone after a couple seconds, powering it on and struggling for a couple seconds before turning on the flashlight function. The beam of light cut through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Both of them peered into the doorway.

The inside was almost empty, save for a large stack of what appeared to be magazines. The walls were made of bare planks of wood with insulation peeking through the cracks- as well as a huge pipe going along the back. After a couple seconds of hushed, awed silence, Tissues reached in and pulled out the large stack. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, as if nobody had touched it in a long time. Tissues blew on it, and dust flew into the air. 

"HACK- COUGH, COUGH... HUHH.." Tissues examined the cover of the top magazine. It seemed to be very old- The paper was yellowed and it appeared to be a wildlife magazine. The cover was plastered all over with still- vibrant green flora with several small purple bugs resting on the leaves of the cover- Tissues held it up and Yinyang leaned in close to inspect the cover further. In big, black, blocky font was the name of the magazine in some kind of unfamiliar foreign language. 

"Woah.... What's this doing here?" Tissues said. "Who do you think is hiding these?" He said, moving on to the next magazine, which seemed similar, but this time it appeared to be a magazine about cars- Super old ones. The next one was almost the same, except it looked to be a modeling and makeup magazine. All of them were in the same foreign language- which looked similar to Chinese or Korean.

"What in the world..?" Yinyang said. "Who knew... Stuff like this was hiding in the hotel. It was only built a couple years ago, and..." Yinyang trailed off mid-sentence when they flipped to a magazine that appeared to be advertising the very first Melife products. Big bulky computers, old monitors, and even the very first Flip MePhone were sprawled across the cover. "Woah.. This one's super old,"

"Do you think anyone would mind if we took these?" Tissues said aloud. "I think it'd be cool if we could look at em in detail," He continued. "But I don't know how to read this. Do you know what language this is?" 

"Hmm. I don't know, actually." Yinyang said. "We don't speak anything but English and Italian." 

"Hmmm.... I'll ask OJ about them. You two wait here and guard the magazines, I'm pretty sure I know where he's at." Tissues said, getting up. Before he could leave, Yinyang grabbed his wrist with a certain forcefulness. 

"No. It's okay," Yinyang said, deadpan, without looking Tissues in the eyes.. "I really wanna read these. We'll return them later, I promise." 

Tissues seemed a bit offput. "Wha.... Well... um... uhh. Sure," Tissues laughed. He wasn't about to start to argue. He sat back down and noticed that Yinyang was staring at a particular magazine. It was at the very bottom of the pile,

and looked to be a lot newer- It was in English too. It seemed like a crafting magazine, with buttons and sewing supplies on the cover. Yinyang was seemingly fixated on another fact, though, which was that a large white piece of paper was tucked in between two of the pages. He pulled it out slowly and saw that there was handwriting scrawled hastily on it in marker- Also in English. 

"TRY MAKING A COLLAGE"

The two objects just stared at it in awe. "This thing just keeps getting weirder," Tissues said aloud. "Who do you think these are for?" 

"I have no idea," Yinyang said, "Do you think...? Maybe whoever left it here was just waiting for someone to find it," 

"Maybe." Tissues said. "I still say we ask OJ,"

"Are you kidding? He'll kill us," Yang said. "We shouldn't have opened the door in the first place. But i agree, the last thing we need is him to be mad at us." Yin continued.

"You've got a point." Tissues said. "Do you want to.... Y'know, take them? The magazines?"

"Yeah, let's hurry. It's only a little while before someone notices and asks what we're doing," Yinyang said harshly. 

"Hehe, our first mystery adventure together!" Tissues said, giggling in a hushed voice. He stacked the magazines hurriedly, giving half the stack to his partner in crime before they made a break for it. Tissues closed the small door behind him using his foot. The entire time running, Tissues was trying his best to keep up with his rushed gait that was less like a run and more like a waddle.

Up the elevator, through twisting orange-yellow hallways, and back to where they started from. The only person who caught them on the way up was Pickle- But he was absorbed in his headphones and didn't seem to really care what the two weirdos were up to. Once they got to their door- Tissues dropped the stack he was carrying and wiped the sweat off his forehead, trying to catch his breath. 

"Ok, we're here, you got it from here?" Tissues said, out of breath. “Huff, huff..” Yinyang opened the door, and the Cherries were sitting in bed and reading 2 copies of the same book. He hastily sneaked past the twins, and placed the stack next to his bed, Tissues trailing after him. Yinyang flopped onto his bed and sighed.

"That was stressful!" Yin cried. "Well we made it," Yang continued. 

"That was surely something," Tissues said, giggling. "I feel like i could take on the world... That was the most adventure i've had like, ever." Tissues climbed into Yinyang's bed and tucked himself in. "Goodnight, i'm going to bed and never getting up ever. My life is complete." Yinyang laughed and shoved him. He slipped and fell off the bed with a yelp.

"Hey! That was mean." Tissues said, laughing.

"Sorry!" Yin said, giggling and kicking the covers off so he could reach down and help Tissues crawl back up onto their bed. Tissues stumbled and ended up uncomfortably close to Yinyang's face, both of them starting to blush. Yinyang laughed, the same crystal clear, genuine laugh- Tissues couldn't help but smile as a warm feeling flooded his chest. Was this what having friends was like? 

The rest of the night was spent together with the TV on. Cherries didn't seem to mind.

~~~~

WARNING: The next part has slight mentions of self harm. Beware and don’t read if this will upset you!

~~~~

By the time Yinyang woke up, Tissues was gone. He just assumed that he'd gone back to his room- Tissues' sleep schedule was entirely unpredictable. One of the many symptoms of his condition- Wait, his condi-shawn, but Yinyang always tended to sleep in. Even when he wanted to get up early, One half always argued to sleep longer until the other half gave in. He tossed and turned in his sleep a lot. 

Yinyang woke up, cracked his knuckles, and looked over to the side of the bed. The magazines were still there, untouched, in the same haphazard skewed stack- The note kept echoing in their minds. Something so special, something so personal was living right under his nose in the hotel and he didn't even notice? The spiritual side of Yinyang couldn't help but think that the note was for him. A sign of some kind. It didn't help that it was so plainly ordering him to do something. 

"TRY MAKING A COLLAGE"

The phrase bounced around inside his head like a ping pong ball. He sighed and got up, reaching his hand in between his mattress and his box spring- Rummaging around and pulling out an old pair of metal scissors with a black plastic handle. Yinyang looked at it and frowned, looked back at his wrist, which was scarred with criss-crosses, and put the scissors on his bedside table. It'd been a long time since he had last hurt himself, and he was determined to give that old pair of scissors new life. This was the most in sync his two halves had felt in a long time. Yin and Yang tend to get along well when they decide that something is serious. He got up out of bed, went downstairs clinging to the metal handle the entire way down, and knocked on the door of OJ's office.

"What is it?" OJ's voice answered from behind the door.

"It's just us. Can we borrow something?" 

"Yinyang? What do you want?" OJ said, walking over to the door and opening it. 

"Can we borrow some paper and some glue?" Yinyang said bashfully.

"What for?" OJ said, looking Yinyang up and down inquisitively. 

"A.... collage." Yinyang said quietly.

"A what?" OJ said.

"It'sforacollage," Yinyang said again.

"Huh?"

"It's for. a. collage." Yinyang said, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh. Sure! I didn't take you as the arts and crafts type," OJ teased.

"Shut up or i'll drink you," Yang growled.

"Jeez, don't get snippy. I'll bring that out for ya, just give me a second. I've only got glue sticks, if that's okay?" OJ said. "And I don't have any magazines or pictures or anything like that. Do you have your own?"

"Yup. Sounds good," Yin said cheerily. "I'll bring everything back that I don't use,"  

OJ turned around and looked inside one of his file cabinets- His office was usually cluttered and he only spent about an hour a day in there managing the hotel. He got what he needed, and handed Yinyang a medium sized piece of posterboard and a gluestick with the seal still unbroken. Yinyang nodded and grabbed them.

"Thanks!" He said.

"No problem!" OJ said, sighing and closing the office door behind him. Yinyang made their way back to their bedroom, thinking about what they were going to make. Yin and Yang had different ideas- But in their mindscape, they seemed to coexist and mash together into something wonderful and surreal, blending together into a mash of words and sounds and pictures. Before they knew it, they were sitting down sprawled on their bedroom floor organizing magazine clippings.

Yinyang just cut out anything that caught his eye. It felt good to be holding these scissors to make something beautiful and passionate instead of using them for harm- Most of the clippings he ended up cutting out were from the first 3 that he grabbed from the pile. 

After that, it was just blur of scissors, paper and glue- He cut out every single Melife product almost surgically and filled their screens with butterflies. Cluttered imagery of thick vines twisting around scientific diagrams of the brain, monochrome intertwined with overgrown flora. His halves were working independently but smoothly communicating with one another- They had different visions, but the purpose of the collage as an art form is to combine things together into a slurry of emotions and vivid images. Once he was done, the finished collage was giant, beautiful and terrifying, a lot of the clippings hanging off of the edges of the posterboard.

Yinyang sat back and just stared at it for a while. He should make collages more often.

~~~~

About an hour later, Yinyang's MePhone started to vibrate and ring violently, and he jumped. Looking at the screen, it was an unsaved number- But he didn't usually get calls, so he answered it. "Hello?" "Uhhhhh Hai guyse, what's your favorite pizza topping?" It was unmistakably Tissues. "Ummm... Olives?" They said. "Ok BAI GUYSE!" Tissues said and immediately hung up the phone. Huh. Weird.

~~~~

[quirkfics]

neutral

a commission for the gosh dang fantastic @danteowesme !

wordcount: 3k warnings: sfw, mild flirtation, tension, first meetings pairing: Atsuhiro Sako | Mr. Compress x Reader (gender neutral)

A flicker of red catches your eye. It's instinct that has you turning towards the movement, instinct that has your heart speeding. The building is locked down, and no one is supposed to be moving in or out of the rooms they were in when the lock down started. 

Supposedly there's a villain inside, roaming the halls for as yet unknown reasons. So, the fact that you saw something moving out of the corner of your eye? Feels like reason enough for your heart to start pounding. When you stop and focus, a red gloved hand is less than an inch away from an expensive exhibit, frozen mid reach. Achingly slowly, your gaze travels up the attached arm, covered by a bright yellow sleeve, all the way to their neck, and then stops on their face. It's hidden by a white mask, streaked with black patterns. It’s eerie in the dim light, but the top hat they’re wearing is tilted at a jaunty angle. For some strange reason, that sight eases the sting of fear. You can feel your lips twitch and you have to clench your jaw to get them to stop.

For a few moments, you simply stare at one another, silence reigning supreme. 

"Will this be a problem?" He finally asks first, moving his fingers in a slow and dexterous wave, tilting his head to the side. Half of you waits for his top hat to tip, but it stays firmly on his head, even as he straightens from his half bent position. A slim cane comes into view, making you frown - you would have sworn he had nothing in his hands a moment ago - but all he does is rest the tip of it on the ground, curling both hands over the ornate top. “Well?” He prompts, when you don’t immediately answer. You have the feeling that he should be arching a brow, or possibly smirking - he makes no moves towards his mask though.

For many reasons, some of them terribly obvious, you shake your head. “Of course not,” you add, acutely aware of the tension in your words, in your shoulders, in every fiber of your very being. You don’t know much about him, and the announcement about the villain had been terribly vague - maybe he isn’t the one the heroes are searching for? "Should it be?"

He neatly sidesteps the question with a hum and a single tap against the chin of his mask. “You know, I wouldn’t blame you if you were to say - shout?” He rolls a shoulder, adjusting the cane so he can lean a bit of his weight against it. He rather looks like he’s waiting for a member of an audience to speak, with the way his head is still tilted. “Scream, perhaps? It would be the natural thing to do, I would imagine.”

And it would be the natural thing to do. The building is absolutely chock full of heroes at the moment. But the thing is, they’ve locked it down with all the civilians inside. From the way the heroes had come through, canvassing each room, and then each floor, from their angry mutterings and their bitingly quick reassurance - you’re fairly sure that the villain isn’t here to injure anyone, and though you’d like to keep trying to fool yourself, his statement kind of cements your initial thought. He is the villain they’re looking for. Why else would he bring up shouting?

You bite your lower lip, using the sting to keep your eyes from darting to the case he’d been about to.. Do something with. Semantics are everything in some cases, especially for some quirks. You can't even begin to guess what abilities he may or may not have, so it’s probably best to stick to technical truths.

“Why would I shout?” You decide to ask, cursing the itch of rising curiosity. “I haven’t seen anyone try anything illegal.” Which, you haven’t. A masked man reaching for a locked case isn’t illegal. Frowned upon, maybe, but plenty of people wear masks for a myriad of reasons these days. Heroes, civilians- How can you be entirely sure of his nature just by taking a single look?

The masked gentleman tilts his head back and laughs, uncaring when it echoes through the room. He taps his fingertips against the cheek of his mask when he’s finished, and you think he might still be smiling. His shoulders look a bit more relaxed anyway. 

“Oh, how delightful! Now, let me guess - you’re a villain in the making? Or-” He hums and then makes a vague gesture your way before he twirls his hand about in a circle. “Turn around if you would?”

Turn around? And give him your back? No. You don’t move, you only raise a brow, which draws a large sigh out of him, though the tone of it is still tinged with mirth.  

“Perhaps a neutral party then. In need of convincing?” He takes a few measured steps your way, and you know it’s idiotic, but you’re tempted to listen. After all, nothing about him has been truly threatening so far, and- Really, it’s likely that he’s only here to steal something. You can hold your tongue and let him entertain you until-

Well, until he gets what he wants and escapes, or the heroes show up to arrest him.  

“Try me,” you volley back, forcing yourself to loosen your limbs, to uncurl your fingers from your fists. This is nothing more than a friendly conversation, so there’s no need to be so tense, is there? You wonder how long you can lie to yourself before your brain stops accepting it. Probably the first sign of him pulling some sort of weapon- your eyes drop to the cane. No, you’re not going to think about it. He’s going to try and sway your opinion of villains, or so he’s implied.

He stops about halfway to you, drumming his fingertips over the top of his cane, watching you closely - or at least angling himself towards you that way. “Or,” he says after a moment, his voice no less smooth, though it lacks some of the pleasantness of earlier, “perhaps you’re a would-be hero? Trying to lull my poor self into a false sense of security?”

Your eyebrows pop up in surprise and then lower in concern. “I will say that I’ve no current designs to be any kind of hero, on purpose or otherwise.” You wait a moment, wondering if he’s trying to trick you into saying something incriminating. Or maybe he’s waiting for you to offer up something to prove you’re trustworthy? You lick your lips, hoping you won’t regret your decision, and offer your name. 

He walks closer at your admission, taking a single hand off of his cane and offering it to you when you’re an arm’s length away. You think he might want to shake hands, but you don’t reach out. What if his quirk has something to do with touch?

“Hmm. My compatriots generally call me Mr. Compress, or simply Compress, if you’d rather.” Compress drops his hand, apparently unbothered by your decision to withhold your touch. “Now, what exactly would it take to convince someone of your caliber that our society is.. Flawed?”

You scoff, and tense when he starts to circle around you. You turn to keep up with him, heart speeding when Compress chuckles at your antics. “It- it shouldn’t take much for most people to agree that our society is flawed. Unless someone is a hero hopeful, it’s-”

“But you’ve never been a hero hopeful?” He wonders, coming to a stop and tilting his hat back. “Not even once?”

“If someone says they haven’t even entertained the thought, they’re probably lying. Heroes have everything, and the rest of us-”

“You hardly sound like you need convincing,” Compress teases, reaching out lightning quick to tug gently on the strings of your sweatshirt. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, but nothing else happens to you. You’re still yourself, still whole, and when you flex your hands at your sides, you’re still in complete control of your own body. “Maybe you’re just enjoying the sound of my voice?”

“It is a nice voice,” you agree and then wrinkle your nose, silently horrified. That- You probably should have kept that to yourself. 

Compress, on the other hand, seems delighted. He spins to a stop, right back where he began, coat flaring out around his legs. Theatrics, at least, are very clearly part of his repertoire. “I am rather fond of it,” he muses and then turns his head towards the empty doorway and the hall beyond it. “I’m rather hoping to have an audience by the end of all this, in fact, so, seeing as you’re sympathetic, perhaps you could do me a favor?”

Your gaze finally darts to the case. The trinket inside looks expensive - and much too large to carry out. You glance back at Compress, curious about the favor, but… “That would probably make me your accomplice,” you tell him quietly, an echoing shout reaching the room from far away. 

“Neutral,” Compress says in a teasing tone. “And you’re correct, likely it would make you my accomplice if you were to agree. I suppose I’ll have to bring forth all the villainy I have stored in my bones then, yes?” He reaches for your arm, and though your heart chokes you, though adrenaline surges through you like a riptide, all he does is close his fingers carefully around your bicep. He’s gentle, though his hold is firm. Compress leads you close to the case and then turns your back to it. “Can’t have you learning my tricks, you understand?” He keeps his hold on your arm, only tightening when a soft click and then rolling noise across the floor makes you tense. “It’s quite alright, I promise you. Harmless,” he says, and then pauses, doing something else to the case. “Unless you slip on one,” he finally adds. “But I doubt you’ll need to worry about that.”  

You can hear thundering footsteps now, and with a start you realize that the heroes must have had someone watching the security camera feed. You’d even heard them talk about it when they’d made their rounds earlier. You glance up at it, unsurprised to find that the wires connecting it to the wall are- cut? And the lens has been covered, just for good measure.

“Now that that is all squared away,” he says softly, rolling his shoulder as he steps back from the case, tugging you along with him, “the favor.” Compress spins you until you’re face to face with his mask, the strange designs nearly making you cross your eyes. His cane is gone, you notice, as he places a hand on either of your shoulders. “All I’m going to ask you to do is listen to those dear heroes, the police, the medical personnel, and you will not only keep your neutrality, but earn a bit of leeway from both sides. How does that sound?”

“..Leeway?” You ask, not entirely trusting. 

“A bit of freedom from-”

“I know the definition,” you interrupt, licking at your lips again in nervousness. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Compress, if the slight downwards tick of his mask is any indication, but he doesn’t comment on it. “But I-” 

A terribly loud shout has you jumping, and then your back is to Compress’ chest and one of his gloved hands is curled carefully around your throat. Two heroes nearly burst through the empty doorway, taking some of the frame with them, but then come to a very sudden stop when they see Compress’ hand on your neck. 

“Just in time!” Compress crows. “I thought the lot of you would miss the finale - which would be such a terrible shame. I worked so hard on-”

“Release your hostage,” one of the heroes snaps, clenching their hands into fists. “And back away slowly. There’s no need for this to get any more-”

Compress laughs, tapping a single fingertip against your racing pulse. He leans in close, the brim of his hat pressing awkwardly against the side of your face. “I hardly think you’re in any position to be making demands. I’ve made- a friend here, and I make so few of them, I would hate to lose contact so quickly.”

“No one needs to get hurt,” the other hero declares, lifting her hands up in the air and taking a step back. “If you release them, there’s a good chance that-”

“They’re such bores,” Compress tells you, sighing loudly enough to stop the heroes talking. “Interrupting constantly, so worried for your safety. They’ll barely enjoy my show!”

“Barely?” You risk asking, trying to keep the trembling down to a minimum. He still doesn’t seem like he’s going to injure you, and you’re kind of distracted by the warmth of him against your back, the faint scent of soap and.. Shoe polish? You can’t quite decide how to feel.

“Barely,” he repeats. “Oh, there’ll be a moment of shock, a gasp, but this is hardly the reception I anticipated. Crowds are always terribly fickle.” He lifts a fingertip off of your throat and both the heroes tense, their eyes zeroing in on the movement. “I’ll make do though, it’s what I’ve always done.”

“I’m ordering you to-” One of the heroes starts, almost breathless, their eyes wide as they take in your face and Compress, slowly lifting another finger off of your neck. He’s slowly back up, giving himself some space, though he isn’t taking you with him.

“Please,” he says, projecting his voice so it echoes throughout the room, “a moment of quiet for the crowning achievement of the evening. I’ve slipped past you thrice, stolen priceless things right out from under your nose, and now-” Compress’ hand isn’t even truly touching your throat anymore, it’s simply hovering in front of it, close enough that the heroes aren’t willing to risk rushing him. Not yet. “A bow,” he declares, twirling his hand as he leans forward- and then the heroes are shouting. You don’t dare move, hardly able to breathe as the heroes dart across the space and take you in hand, corralling you in between them as they turn to survey the absolutely empty room.

“How did- Where-” One of the heroes mutters, and then it’s a whirlwind of an hour inside the building before the police are insisting that you go with the medics to the hospital, just in case. 

As soon as one of the nurses takes you to a private room to be checked over, she insists you ditch your sweatshirt, just to check for bruising on your arms and neck. As soon as you set it down on a chair, a soft little click reaches your ears as something falls to the ground and starts to roll away. A blue marble catches your eye, glittering in the fluorescent lights.

[harrysdimplles]

18 and 49 smutty 😈

18&49!!!!!!! plssss

warning: a bit of daddy kink, hinting of subdrop (but it doesn't really happen). enjoy!

"That was kind of hot."

"Take off your shirt."

YN liked to push. Loved it, really. Dating someone like Harry left her fully aware of how dangerous that could be. It didn't, however, mean that she would stop. 

It was fun, you see? She thrived whenever he gave her that stern, warning look, the one that meant she was too close to crossing the lines they had defined together. There was nothing that felt better than the chill running down her spine when his jaw clenched, body going stiff because he had that iron control over himself, one that he refused to let go of. Unless they were alone, of course.

Going in, YN knew she would have to accommodate. He was Harry Styles after all, finally completely comfortable in his skin, finally free. So she had to learn how to share. Part of him, anyways. The rest of the world could be in awe of him, hell they could even be in love with him but she, oh, she was the one who got to see the man letting go of the walls he had to learn to put up when his life stopped being only his.

So yeah, she liked to push and be reminded that some things were only theirs. 

It wasn't on purpose, not that day.  The couple had been jumping from one continent to the next for almost a week,  dealing with endless meetings and phone calls that couldn't be turned down because there was so much Harry had to get done now the album was finished...and YN was tired. And needy. So, when Jeff said his goodbyes after lunch and told them  H could take the afternoon off, since all they had to deal with now was paperwork he still needed their legal team to look over, she got excited, thinking about all the possibilities now that it would be just them for a couple of hours. YN hugged her friend tight, smiling when he blinked at her because he knew where her mind was going and skipped her way to the car, pretending not to listen to Harry when he told her to be careful in case paps had already spotted his next location. 

Her sudden spark of energy was short-lived, however, cause Harry joined her with his phone glued to his ear, and all she could do was sit there and pout as her boyfriend hooked it up on the dashboard, continuing his conversation as they drove away. 

xxx

"Daddy, I wanna go home"  YN usually refrained from using the term out in the world, except she had tried everything else to get his attention during the drive, Harry's only response being a quick smile whenever they hit a light. She wanted their bed and some cuddles, not to parade around looking at an expensive property when they didn't even need to.

"We'll make it quick, pet" his hand was a reassuring weight on her thigh as the man leaned his head back on the seat for a few seconds, eyes closed, basking in the warmth of the sun.

"Jeff said you were done for the day, didn't he?" she didn't even try fighting the edge on her voice when she asked it, knowing she would have to play nice once they got out of the car. "Why are we here, then?" 

"Cause I got interrupted last time I came here, so I promised the guy we'd have a raincheck. Beautiful house, innit?"  his free hand pointed to the mansion at the same time YN leaned over to the driver's side, fingers pulling at his shirt untile let her kiss him, whining needy pleas against his lips in an effort to change his mind "That's enough now, baby"  the singer pulled back when he heard another car pulling up, not keen on giving a free show to the real estate agent "Need my girl to be good, yeah?"   the ever-present rings dig into the skin of her legs when he muttered the command  against her ear, walking out of the car without giving her a chance to respond. 

If she was stomping her feet when she followed, well, Harry was too busy charming yet another person to notice. 

xxx

The place was huge. And beautiful, but she wouldn't admit to that, especially considering how long the whole thing was taking. To his credit, Harry tried to include her in the conversation but gave up soon enough when all she did was look for bad things to comment on. It was kinda rude, and he hated it when people were rude, didn't he?

He would've spanked her for it, right then and there if not for the seller, just the thought of his hands on her making YN head float a bit. It had been a while since they last had time to properly play,  and it would be a terrible lie if she said she wasn't missing it.

Getting Marco's attention was easy enough. Apparently, the only thing the blond was more interested in than making a huge commission was, well...her. So she put her game face on after deciding she wanted Harry all to herself no matter the consequences.

The relieve she could see on Harry's face once she loosened the frown washed away quicker than YN thought it would: he could be jammed and stressed, but that was the man who knew her better than he knew himself at times, he sure as hell wasn't about to misunderstand what she was trying to do when it happened right in front of his eyes. 

xxx

Harry tried ignoring it, at first. Trust me, he really did. He knew YN, knew that the scene she was putting on was just a desperate attempt to get his attention. He couldn't even blame her for it, because as much as he wanted to ignore the world and lose himself on her at any given day, that just wasn't possible sometimes. 

But like...no.

If she wanted to get under his skin, well, it was working, his mind pondered as she smiled sweetly at the Italian prick, laughing at some stupid shit he had just said. Whatever. If the musician had to stand there another second he would be making the headlines next day for something very, very stupid. 

He wouldn't even regret it, in all honesty. 

"We should really get going. I'll have someone call you when I make a decision, Marco"  the guy had the decency to step back when he moved closer to his girlfriend, that known itch starting to make his body buzz with need. 

"Oh no! You haven't even gone upstairs yet, YN's gonna love the view, mister Styles"  his voice only wavered a bit when he stared at Harry, whatever he saw in his eyes making him uneasy.

"We're leaving. Now."  he had his baby's hand on his before she could reply, walking so fast she was struggling a bit to follow once he gave her a hard look that said she absolutely didn't want to try anything else then and there.

xxx

"That was kind of hot." YN's voice was uncertain when she muttered the words after racking her brain for something that could ease the tension in the car. Harry was too quiet, damn it. She didn't mean to make him seriously mad. She hadn't even looked twice at another guy since they met, he had to know that, right? "I...I like it when you show people I'm yours"  the words came out as soft as she could make them.

He only scoffed, hands tightening against the wheel, deciding to keep driving as if she wasn't even there.

xxx

"Told yeh to be good, didn't I?"  his voice was low but harsh, bouncing off the walls as soon as they were behind closed doors, a wicked grin spreading into his lips when he saw she was watching the way he toyed with his belt, the silence spreading around them

"Sorry. I was just...I just wanted to..."

"Piss me off?" Harry provided, stepping closer to her. "You know I don't share, baby" his right hand lifted her chin, red covering her face as he stared, pondering about what came next. It was a good thing he had some bloody time off, after all. This would take time. 

"I'm yours. All yours" 

"That's right, pet." the feel of her soft lips on his was good, but he needed more. They did. "You just forget that sometimes..."

"No! Daddy, no!"

"Shh, I know, baby, I know" she took the hint when his hands landed on her shoulders, sinking down to her knees in a fluid motion that was always endearing, even with his blood boiling "We'll talk about asking for what you want in a proper manner later, now I have something else for that mouth of yours to do" she had crawled closer during his speach, nuzzling his crotch just to feel him hardening underneath the fabric of his clothes. "Take off your shirt, don't wanna mess it up" she blushed deeper as she complied, and Harry grunted, pulling himself off slowly to the sight of her boobs being freed, fighting his desire to come down and spend at least an hour worshipping them before fucking her against the floor "Open up, love" he had to look away when her lips parted, tongue peaking for a tentative leak on the head, almost as if she feared he would take it away...

Tempting, but not on the agenda for the day.

"No teasing, you've done enough of that already" Harry hissed, feeling her tongue  dip all along his shaft, getting it wet before she came back up and closed her lips around the head, whining and finally giving in to her need to touch him, trembling fingers on his hips when she sucked, relaxing her throat and sinking down slowly before coming back up and doing it again, trying to get more and more of him inside her mouth each time, forcing Harry to bite his tongue not to praise her through it. This was a bit of a punishment, even if she didn't know that for sure just yet.

Dropping his gaze to watch as she kept going, more eager and desperate with every move, big, glassy eyes paired with hollowed cheeks whenever YN had to slow it down so she could breathe through her nose without letting him go, slim fingers pumping what she couldn't fit in, Harry almost gave up: she looked so good, downright sinful, lost for anything that wasn't pleasing him, perhaps...

Then, the way Marco's hand wrapped around her arm back at the house flashed before his eyes, and Harry's own hands fisted on some of her hair, the grip strong enough for her to know he was done waiting. He let her work for it some more, feeling his hips stuttering as his climax got close.

The tears rolled down the second he pulled out, roughly wrapping his hands over his cock, YN finally catching up to what was really going on. That was for him, not them. A couple of seconds was all Harry needed before he was cumming, white streaks joining the tears on her pretty face, messing the girl up further whilst waves of pleasure reduced his brain to a blank mass.

YN didn't move. She didn't even make a sound. Was she did was stand there and watch him with wonder in her eyes, because she was pretty sure that was nothing in the face of the Earth to rival Harry when he was lost in ecstasy.

"Your fucking mouth, babe, I..." she shivered when his thumb brushed against her skin, moaning around it when the taste of his release hit her tongue, focusing on anything that wasn't the throbbing in between her legs. "Desperate, aren't we?"  his smile softened after a while, easily pulling her back to her feet "Look at yeh...daddy turned his girl  into a pretty mess, didn't he?"  H didn't mind tasting himself when he kissed her, deep and demanding as always "Too bad we can't make it worse, lovie. Yeh know the drill, bad girls don't get to cum. Next time yeh want something, just ask" he slapped her ass then, on the side of harsh: they needed to clean up, so he was thinking a long bath and some more teasing to tire her out for the evening. A good plan. 

"Yes, daddy, I will"  

[atamascolily]

Appointment in Sawarra, 1/?

First scene of a new Inheritance fic set just after the Thrawn trilogy, featuring Luke Skywalker, philosophical musings about the Jedi, and botany. You know, my usual jam.

I had a good experience serializing Desert Places on this site, so perhaps posting things here as I write them will encourage me to keep going instead of stalling out, since the chapters are long, and my need to finish something is strong.

Luke Skywalker leaned against the wrought stone balcony on the rooftop of the Imperial palace, taking in the red-streaked alpenglow of the snow-covered Maranai Mountains fifty klicks to the south. Skyscrapers lapped at the feet of the two peaks, but the mountains themselves were relatively pristine, one of the few vestiges of natural life on the entire planet, and the contrast was striking.

This wasn't to say there wasn't any development--this <i>was</i> Coruscant, after all--but none of the exclusive restaurants or vacation homes were visible at this distance without macrobinoculars. Even as artificial lights winked on and off like flickering stars as the sunlight faded, the mountains themselves plunged into shadow, cool and dark and silent in the approaching night.

Whenever his heart itched for adventure, and he was too busy to get away from Coruscant, Luke would rent a speeder and fly out to the Manarai. He'd zip over the peaks themselves, flying as low as he dared, heady on the adrenaline rush that came from life-or-death decisions and reckless instinct. Sated, he'd ditch the speeder after a few hours, and wander the winding trails through the remnant forests on the lower slopes of the mountains on foot before flying back to the Imperial Palace for yet another round of politics, bureaucracy, or an equally frustrating combination of the two.

The chaos of the last few years hadn't left much time for exploring, but the mountains remained a refuge in his own mind, if nothing else. He'd toyed with the idea of building a private retreat out there someday, but life kept pushing him in other directions, and he'd never gotten around to it.

Luke liked people, but as his rapport with the Force deepened, he found himself craving silence and stillness to fully recharge--both in short supply on the never-sleeping capital world. The Force was present in all the hustle and bustle of the billions of life-forms all going about their business, no less so than anywhere else in the galaxy. Yet sometimes he needed a break from the traffic and the crowds in order to hear <i>himself</i> think, let alone the quiet whisper of the Force's guidance--which was far more elusive than not despite his training.

A retreat in the Manarai would also put him closer to the newly constructed Orowood distric and the apartment Leia and Han had purchased there. It was part of Leia's ambitious vision to create a hub for the Alderaanian diaspora. In addition to the massive Orowood Tower, she'd supervised the planting of thousands of its namesake trees, complete with the famous iridescent lichen on their bark. Luke wasn't sure Leia would ever move out of the Imperial Palace for good, but he was glad for her to have a project to distract her when the Council was too mired in petty arguments and infighting to get anything done.

As far as Luke could tell, the success of the Orowood scheme hinged entirely on his sister's ability to persuade the skittish remaining Alderaanians that Corcuscant was no longer the Empire's target--a hard sell after Grand Admiral Thrawn's recent siege. The peace settlement with Admiral Pellaeon in the aftermath of Thrawn's assassination at the Battle of Bilbringi might yet convince them--if it held. Only time would tell.

To be honest, Luke wouldn't blame the Alderaanians for taking their chances elsewhere skepticism. Three years ago, when the Alliance had first re-taken the planet, he'd argued against setting up the new government here--or at the very least, not in the Imperial Palace. In his mind, the symbolism was all the more reason to start afresh somewhere else.

Since then, however, he'd come to appreciate the virtues of this bustling city-planet and the Palace itself--in large part thanks to the woman he sensed approaching from twenty meters away.

"Hello, Skywalker," Mara Jade said crisply, leaning against the balcony beside him. "I have to sweet-talk yet another government official into listening to the Smuggler's Alliance latest shipping proposal in...." She glanced at the chronometer on her wrist. "Thirty minutes. So make this quick."

Luke managed to hide a grin, but it was difficult. Since he'd persuaded her to accept the position of official liaison between Talon Karrde's new organization and the New Republic three months ago, there had been no shortage of meetings. To be fair, Luke had gone to plenty of those himself, despite having no official position in the New Republic's military or government since he'd resigned his commission after the Mindor campaign. There had been no shortage of press conferences, planning sessions, and mopping-up actions, and everyone wanted the Last Jedi involved, even if his role was more ceremonial than practical.

At least Mara was accomplishing something <i>useful</i> in her meetings. Even in such a short span of time, she'd managed to make quite a name for herself among the New Republic bureaucrats. They might curse her as a hard bargainer, but they respected her as much as they feared her. Both attitudes went a long way towards smoothing out the previously rocky relationship between legitimate and illegitimate--just as Luke had hoped when he nudged Mara into accepting the job.  

Yet somehow the two of them had managed to carve time out to train together at regular intervals--even if she groused about her workload every time they met.  

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," he said, gesturing to the fading sun. "I used to watch the sunset all the time when I was a kid, wishing I was somewhere--anywhere--else. Now here I am decades later, right where I always wanted to be, and I don't know what comes next."

Mara snorted and shifted her weight. The lightsaber clipped to her belt--that had once belonged to Anakin Skywalker--shifted against the balcony as she moved. She had taken to wearing the weapon openly these days, which could only make the bureaucrats even more nervous than they already were. Seeing it visible made Luke's heart beat faster, even if he couldn't articulate why.

Gifting it to her hadn't been Luke's most subtle gesture. But it had been a way for him to honor and thank her for saving his life several times over--as well as an invitation to continue her Jedi training in the future.

Mara Jade's relationship with the Jedi Order--and Luke himself--was... complex, to say the least. She had grown up in the Imperial Palace, trained since childhood to be the Emperor's Hand, the silent, subtle executioner of his will against enemies and traitors alike. Palpatine had channeled her fledgling abilities to mold her into a perfect servant, one who could hear his voice anywhere in the galaxy and respond accordingly. The Emperor's dying wish had been for her to murder the man he'd claimed was responsible for his death--Luke Skywalker, last of the old Jedi and first of the new.

Suffice to say things had not gone according to plan.

"Spare me your existential angst," she said, turning back to the sunset. "As far as I can tell, there's nothing to complain about. C'baoth and Thrawn are gone, and the war is over. The peace treaty with the Empire might actually last. What's left to figure out?"

Luke extracted a black velvet bag hanging from his belt and held it out to her. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

She accepted the offering gingerly. "What is it?"

"You tell me."

She opened the bag and squinted inside before spilling its contents onto her palm. A knobbly brown lump emerged, along with half a dozen smaller black orbs jammed neatly into its indentations.

"It's organic, whatever it is," she said at last, shoving it back into the bag and handing it back to Luke. "Looks a cone off of some sort of tree, but not a species I recognize. And seeds, perhaps?"

"You're right, it <i>is</i> from a tree," Luke said. He carefully re-attached the bag to special pouch across from his own lightsaber. "Are you sure you haven't seen it before?"

"Positive. Why?"

"The Jedi Order planted these trees at all of their temples," Luke said. "As far as I know, they were wiped out along with the Jedi as part of the Emperor's purge. There was at least one here on Coruscant and I thought maybe you--"

Mara shook her head. "Must have been before my time. I never saw or heard anything about them. But Palpatine and Vader must not have been as thorough as they thought if you have seeds. Where did you get them, anyway? "

"There's a tree on Dagobah that Yoda took me to see before he died," Luke said softly. "I went back to visit it again before facing Vader. This time, there were seeds, so I took some. And I promised... I promised to plant these seeds, to bring them back along with the Jedi Order."

His voice trailed off, lost in the memory of that encounter, of all the possible futures he'd witnessed in the moment he'd accepted the seeds.

Mara's voice cut abruptly into his meditation, drawing him back to the present. "I fail to see what the problem is, Skywalker."

Luke gathered himself together. "I grew up on a desert world; I don't know anything about plants. If I screw this up, it might be a long time before I can get seeds again--there can be decades, centuries even, between harvests. I--I was hoping that you might know something that would help me."

A long pause. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I don't know who else to ask," he said at last.

Silence stretched out between them as they pondered this admission and its implications. Finally, Mara stirred. "What about Karrde?"

"I thought he dealt more in people than plants."

"He doesn't know everything, but's worth a shot," Mara said. "Information <i>is</i> his business, after all. He has access to all kinds of sources that you don't get if you follow legal channels. And he's full of surprises."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose he might know something about botany--he built his base on Myrkr around a giant tree, after all. But can I afford his services?"

"You get what you pay for with Karrde," she said. "Besides, I think he owes you a favor after you rescued him from Imperial interrogation."

"I had help."

"So let's say you bring the trees back," Mara said, turning away from him. Her role in Karrde's rescue was still a touchy subject, given that she'd been coerced into betraying her boss to the Empire in the first place. "What then? Do the Jedi just start popping out of the woodwork?"

"I don't know," Luke admitted. "The two go together in ways I don't fully understand yet. There's an old saying that when the student is ready, the master appears. But I'm not even close to being a master yet. I don't even know if I'm <i>ready</i> to take on students yet."

She shot him a puzzled look. "You're not such a bad teacher."

From Mara, this was high praise and he took a moment to savor it before plunging ahead. "But you already know so much. In some ways, you have more formal training than I do. It's more like I'm just... reminding you of what you already know than teaching anything new."

Mara winced, and Luke didn't need the Force to know what she was thinking. The four years between Palpatine's death at Endor and joining Karrde's organization had been brutal for her, not in the least because her Force abilities had gone haywire in the trauma. It was only in the last year--the last few months, really, after their victory at Wayland--that she'd been able to find any kind of peace.  

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself," she said at last. "We can keep working until you build your confidence back up--and since I don't see a queue of eager students lining up, you might as well work on this tree business. Take my advice and talk to Karrde. See what he says about it."

"How do I sign up for an appointment? I hear he's pretty busy these days."

"Aren't we all." Mara rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll get you in."

"Thank you," Luke said, and meant it.

"And if you're worried about money, I don't think he'll set too high a price," she added as she turned away, off to the next meeting. "He doesn't even want credits from you, anyway.  More likely he'll ask you for a favor he can call on later the next time he's in a jam, assuming he asks for anything at all."

He winced. Karrde's favors tended to be... interesting. "I was afraid of that."

"Oh, come <i>on</i>. You tried to bargain with him for your freedom back when you had <i>nothing</i> but the clothes on your back and he was contemplating whether to sell you to the Empire. How could this be any more awkward than <i>that</i>?"

Luke had to admit she had a point.

[sfgooglebooks]

Worth the Wait by Synithia Williams

Tasha dropped her purse in her hall and slumped against the front door. She pinched her nose and willed the stuffiness to go away. Usually she was long gone from the Rec Commission before the monthly pet adoption drive, but today she'd had to stick around and complete the budget. She'd been so wrapped up she'd forgotten today was the day the center would be overrun with shelter animals from the two-county area. Even though the animals had been outside, she'd had to walk through the various penned dogs and cats, while being stopped by employees who wanted her to "ooh" and "ahh" over the cute puppies and kittens. The itching and sneezing had started in less than five minutes.

She slowly rolled her head toward the mirror in her entryway and shook her head at the reflection. Red rimmed eyes, swollen nose, and flushed skin. She stood closer to the mirror and groaned. The rash was starting. Sneezing, she turned away and dragged her feet across the floor to her bathroom. She frantically searched the medicine cabinet until she found the Benadryl. Cupping water from the sink, she swallowed two of the pills and prayed they worked fast.

Of course, everyone had understood when she'd sneezed and ran off, but the damage was done. She'd be good for nothing for the rest of the night as she waited for the reaction to pass. Hopefully she'd make it to work the next morning.

"So you only called to see if I was coming over?" As soon as she asked, she realized she sounded like an irritated girlfriend.

"You know the rules, Tasha."

She sneezed. "Forget I even asked, all right? I've got to go." She hung up the phone and reached for a tissue on the coffee table to wipe her nose.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why else would he call? They were not together. Over the past two weeks he'd only called or texted to see if she was coming over. She'd insisted they not do anything to cause the other one to get more involved than necessary. So why now was she upset that he only wanted to know if she was available for another booty call?

Throwing the tissue to the floor in disgust, Tasha took a gulp of her tea and gasped as it burned her tongue. With a curse, she put the cup back down and lay on the couch. She focused on every word spoken on the television so she wouldn't think about Jared, or if her unavailability meant he was going to find someone else tonight.

After an hour of television, a slight calming of her sneezing but an increase in itching, Tasha was prepared to take two more Benadryl and will sleep to overtake her. No matter how hard she tried, she still imagined Jared wrapped up in some other woman's arms. And each time the picture filled her mind she got mad at herself for even caring. She knew who Jared was and he wasn't monogamous. Especially after she'd insisted she couldn't possibly care about him.

She got up from the couch with the blanket still wrapped around her and was heading for the kitchen when her doorbell rang. She pulled the blanket tighter as she shuffled to the door and jerked it open.

"What are you doing here anyway? Did you come here just to boss me around?"

Jared took her arm and led her into the living room. "No. You didn't sound good on the phone so I came to check on you."

"Oh."

What else was there to say? She should say he didn't have to because it was beyond the boundaries of their arrangement. But she welcomed the warming around her heart because he wanted to check on her.

He sat her on the couch and touched her forehead. Tasha laughed and pushed his hand away. "It's an allergic reaction, not a fever."

He smiled. "Look, it's my first time playing nursemaid, all right? So just sit down and let me figure this out."

She shook her head but agreed. "Okay, boss."

Jared winked at her and went into the kitchen. Tasha curled back up on the couch and flipped the TV to the basketball game. She watched the game while Jared heated the soup in the kitchen. She'd eaten a few crackers with her tea earlier, but that was all. Whenever she had an allergic reaction, she wasn't very hungry, but as the smell of chicken noodle soup filled her house her stomach growled.

A few minutes later, Jared came out of the kitchen carrying two bowls of soup. He handed one to Tasha and sat beside her with the other.

Tasha breathed in the smell of the soup and sighed. "This smells great. Did it come from a can?"

He scowled. "I don't eat out of a can. It's a soup that I made and froze. Try it and you'll stop eating canned soup."

Tasha took a spoonful and blew it off before tasting. "Oh my, this is good."

He smiled at her. "I know. Now eat."

They watched the game while they ate. Miami was playing Boston. They both cheered for Miami, although Tasha wasn't too upset whenever Boston scored. She'd always had a crush on Kevin Garnett.

She put her bowl down and scratched her arm. Jared watched her with a frown. He'd frowned every time she scratched or sneezed. She must look like a freak, scratching and sneezing every five seconds, but she'd been through this before.

Jared reached over and took her hand. He stretched his arm out and ran his hand over her irritated skin. Tasha sighed as his gentle touch relieved the itch, if only temporarily.

"Do you have something to put on this?" he asked.

"There's hydrocortisone in my medicine cabinet, but it's not that bad."

He jumped up from the sofa. "I'll get it." He went into her bathroom and came back a few seconds later with the cream. He took her arm and smoothed the medicine on the rough patches.

When he finished with her arms, he slid closer and put some on her face. It was impossible to ignore the lighting flashes of desire running through her with each rub of his fingers against her face. The muscles in his arms, exposed by the sleeveless t-shirt he wore, flexed with each movement, and Tasha watched as the eagle tattoo on his arm stirred with each play of muscle.

Her breathing hitched and she prayed she didn't sneeze in his face. When he finished he looked in her eyes and cupped her face with his hand. "You don't look awful."

"No, I don't."

He smiled. "I like you, Tasha."

There her heart went, doing a silly flip-flop. But Jared was not the guy for her. "Jared..."

"Don't tell me not to say that. I've always liked you, even when we were just starting out at the Rec Commission. You say what you feel, but you're also compassionate. I respect you for that. I'm not trying to blur the lines of what we're doing, we both know this will end soon, but don't ever forget that I like you."

Tasha nodded. "I like you too, Jared."

"Good." He leaned over and kissed her quickly before sitting back. "Feel better?"

"Yes, the itching is getting better."

They sat on the couch and stared at the television, ignoring the game. Just that quick, he was ready to end things. His agreement hurt more than it should have. She didn't want to stop sleeping with him, but she needed to. What was supposed to be one night had lasted long past its expiration date. It was better to cut things off now, before she became too accustomed to being with him every night.

She opened her mouth to tell him but sneezed instead. Luckily, she was quick enough to sneeze into the crook of her elbow instead of on him. He jumped up and reached for a tissue. She took it and wiped her nose and he smiled.

"I never do the right thing," he said. "We'll stop next week."

She lay back on the couch and he pulled her feet onto his lap. "That sounds good."

He began to rub her feet and she snuggled into the cushions. Yes, they were blurring the lines of their relationship. Yes, she was beginning to care about him. But right now she was achy and tired and didn't want to think about how minutes before she'd been lost at the thought of ending their arrangement. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy the fact he was there and was content to rub her feet and watch the game.

[businessbusy-love]

SA gaming top online Baccarat

The Baccarat/ บาคาร่า game, sometimes known as the Punto Banco, has always had a reputation for being the richest gambler and that often scares the average player, but these days more and more people find Baccarat a really good game for young players because

1. It has a small advantage compared to the thecasino and

2. Very easy to play. Some popular casinos, such as CaesarPalace, or Bellagio, will offer large baccarat tables that can accommodate up to 14 players, but most casinos will only offer a mini-Baccarat table.

It can seat up to eight players and the game is played the same way, except in a small version all handmade made by the dealer and the players do not touch the cards. Besides, the rules are almost the same. Yes, the other difference you will find is that the minimum bet will always be lower in mini-Baccarat and it is usually much easier to find a table with a minimum of $ 10.

Now, as noted earlier, the Baccaratis game is much easier to play : player, bank or tie. After the players make their bet the game begins and two hands of two cards are taken from a shoe that usually contains eight cards. One hand is made for the bank and the other hand is for the player. The numbers of two cards in each hand are stacked together and the object of the game is to have as much as 9 as much as possible. After the numbers of the first two cards are entered into each person, the third card can be drawn by the player, the bank orboth.

However, the decision whether to issue a third card or not is not determined by the dealer or by the players - it is determined only by the rules of the game. All 10 and all face cards are counted as zeros, while all other cards appear in ace even though 9 are counted on their face value. So, Jack's hand, 6 has a total of 6; 10.4 has a total of 4; 10.7 has a total of 7; and the ace, the queen of what could be a great blackjack hand, has a total of 1 value. Another thing about adding cards together is that there is no value greater than 9. So, if the value is 10 or more you have a tusubtract 10 to find its value.

For example, the sum of 8 and 8 is the sum of 16 but you subtract 10 and your total is 6; 9.5 has a total of 4; 8.3 has a total of 1; and 5.5 has a total value of 0. Once again, the sa gaming / Baccaratis game item has about 9 as much value as possible, so after the first two cards are dealt that the player or the bank hand has a value of 9 at a term called "natural" and that hand is the winner. If no hand has a total value of 9 then the next best hand will be 8, also called "natural," and that hand will be the winner.

 If both the player and the banks end up with the same value it means it is a tire and no hand has won. Now, if there is no 8 or 9 hand it will be necessary to negotiate the game symbols to decide whether the third card is drawn or not. Once that is completed, the cardsare values ​​are reset and any hand near number 9 is the winner. If both hands end up at the same price it means the tie and no hand wins. If you want to bet on the player's hand just put your money in the "marked" area and if you win you will be paid even, or $ 1 for every $ 1 you bet. The casino's profit on player betting is 1.24%. If you want to bet on a bank you will place your bet on the "banker" label and if you win, you will be charged a meal fee, but you will have to pay a 5% commission on the winnings.

 So, if you win $ 10 on your bet, you will be depositing 50 in the house. A 5% commission is only required if you win and not if you lose. The vendor will save you money by placing an equal amount in a small space on the table that matches your seat number on the table. So, if you sit in seat # 3 and earn 10 dollars in the bank the seller will pay you $ 10 and put 50 in box # 3. This lets him know how much you owe the casino commissions and when you get up to leave the table you will have to pay seller anything in this box. After paying the 5% commission the interest rate of the casino on bank betting is 1.06% Finally, if you want to bet on a tie you can put your bet on a "tie" and if you win you will be paid 8- to 1, or $ 8 in total - $ 1 bet.

 The big profit sounds good but in reality this is a bad bet because the casino profit is very high by 14.36% and this bet should be avoided. As you can see, the profitability of the casino in Baccaratis is very low, without betting the tie, and the rules are set in advance so no decision has been made by the players or the dealer about how the cards can be played. This means that, unlike blackjack where you have to decide whether you want another card or not, you have no decisions to make and noskill is involved. This also means that Baccarat is a stressful game, so even if you have never played this game before sitting at the table play on par with anyone who has played this game for 20 years! This is the only casino game where possible and that is why I tell people that Baccarat is the best game for the first player because you do not need special knowledge to take advantage of it. of those low-level betting items.

 The only part of Baccarat that gets a little confusing The third-party is trying to understand the rules about debit cards, but remember, the rules are always the same on each table and they will have a printed copy of the rules on the table and if you request you will get a copy Have to give. After playing the game for a while you will start memorizing the rules on your own, but until then here are instructions on how it works: Like we said earlier, if I gave the first two cards an 8 or 9 Hmm, the game is over and a complete victory. If the total is 8 or both 9, then game remedies should be consulted to decide whether the third card has been drawn. Once this is done, the values ​​of the Cárdair are added together again and whoever is closer to the total of 9 is the winner.

 If both hands end up with the same total, neither Tit's hand nor the hand wins. If you want to dispute your money in a field marked as "player", you will be paid if you win, even paying you $ 1 for every $ 1 Will go. The casino profit on the player bet is 1.24%. If you want to place a bet on the banker's hand, place your bet in the area marked "banker" and if you win, you will also be paid the atonement amount, but you will have to pay a 5% commission on the amount. You won. Therefore, if you win $ 10 on your wager, you will pay a $ 50 commission at home. A 5% commission is required if you lose. The dealer will keep track of the amount that corresponds to the number on the table, by placing an equal amount in a small area on the table.

 So, if you are sitting on seat # 3 and have won at $ 10, the bank will pay you $ 10 and then put 50 at box # 3. This lets him know how much you owe the casein commission and when you get up to leave the table you have to pay the dealer whoever is in that box. That 5% commission on the banker bet is 1.06% after adjusting for thecasino profit. Finally, if you want to bet on a tie you will place your bet in an area marked as "tie" and if you win So you will be paid from 8-8. 1 for every 1 bet, or $ 8. The big payout sounds good, but in reality it is a terrible bet because the casino profit is very high at 14.36% and this bet should be avoided. As you have seen, the casino advantage in Baccaratis is very low, except for the tie bet, and the rules are pre-determined so no decision has been made by the players or the dealer about how to play the card. This means that, unlike blackjack, where you want to decide whether you want a second card or not, you have no decision to make and Noskill is involved.

 It also means that Baccarat is a purely agreeable game, so even if you have never played the game before you can sit at a table andplay just as well as anyone who's played the game For 20 years! This is the only game in the casino that can be Horethis and that's why I tell people that Baccarat is a particularly good game for a beginner player because you don't need any special knowledge to take advantage of those low casino bets. The only part of baccarat that gets bit by bit is trying to understand the rules of the draw of the third card, but remember, the rules are always the same on every table and they usually have a copy of the rules printed on the table. Happens and will give you a copy if you ask for it.

 After playing the game for a while you will remember the rules on your own, but until then here is a smack on how it works: As we said before, if the first two cardins are either 8 or 9 hands in total. If done, the game is over and the highest total wins. If the sum is 8 or both 9 then ita tie and neither hand wins. For any other total rules one has to consult that it is always the player's hand that goes first. If the player has a total of 6 or 7 in his hand, he should stand. Only other totals can make it possible 0,1,2,3,4 or 5 heavy and for all those totals it has to be made a card. There, it was not very difficult to understand? If the player has a total of 6 or 7 itches in his hand and has to make a card for anything. Well, that was the easy part because now it gets a bit complicated. The bankerhand must take his turn after the player has finished his hand and must make one card if his first two cards are 0,1 or 2 in total.

If its two cards are 7 in total then it must stand. The only other possible totals are the bank canvas 3,4,5 or 6 and it is decided whether a 3 card is drawn or not, depending on whom the player card is drawn from. These rules are rather complicated and they are shown here on the screen if you want to see what they are for any situation. There you have it - those are the rules of bachat concerning the draw of a third card. As you noticed they were a bit complicated, but remember that you don't have to remember the rules because the dealers will tell them and play with each hand according to those rules, but you always have a copy of the table to follow the rules. Can ask for with. You can also register here for play  sa gamingสมัคร .

 Now let's try some sample hands: the player has a queen for a total of 9, and a banker has 10,8 in hand for a total of 9. Which hand wins? Both hands are natural, but the player handlot of 9 is the total of the banker's hand over 8, so the player's hand is the winner. If the player has a queen in his hand, then 6 for a total of 6 and the ace in the banker's hand is Jack, which is equal to 1, what happens? The player's hand should stand on its 6 and when the bank's hand is 0,1 or 2. Overall, the bank's hand should always be drawn, if the bank's hand draws 10, The player then wins 6 to 1. What happens when the player has 10,5 in his hand and 6,10 in the bank's hand? The player's hand must be drawn and assume that it forgets 7 for a total of 2. The banker has a total of 6 in his hand and wins if he stands on it because it has 6 more than the 2 that the player has. Of course, if you were to bet the banker exactly what you want to do but, unfortunately for you, the rules require the bank's hand to draw the second card whenever its first two cards total 6 more players.

 The third card is withdrawn by a 7. So now, instead of being a winning hand, you hope that the card you drew is not 4 or 5, which will make you both losers. You also do not want to draw a 6 because the bisectate will give you a total of 2 which will give you a tie. In this case the hand of the bank goes to draw 4 which gives it a total of 0 and it loses 0 to 2. Okay, now you know how important questions come to play Bacartway - how do you live? Well, as I said before, if you bet on playeryou will only give the casino a 1.24% edge and if you bet on the banker you will only give the casino an even more modest edge of 1.06%. While these two casinos have little edge to toggle, you're still clinging to the fact that the casino will always have an edge on you and that Bacart's game is unbeatable in the long run. So, if so how will you win?

 Well, the answer is very simple - You have to get lucky! And this is the only way you can win on Baccarat. Of course, this is easy to be done, but luckily, in the game of Baccarat, you have the option of making two bets, no skill and both offer very little edge to the casino, especially when you compare roulette. Where there is one at home, 5.26% gain on a double-zero wheel and slot machines where the edge is around 5% to 15%. I always emphasize that when you play a casino gamble you have to play the games that have the lowest casino edge to have the best chance of winning, and with that you can see that Baccarat is the game. Not a recreational gambler for whom there is a game to play. Now let's take a look at one of the common systems for placing bets on Baccarat. One thing that many Baccarat players feel is a belief in stripes and the casino adjusts these players by making predictions on the table, which can be used to track the results of each hand. Many players believe that whoever wants to win will like to wager on it and expect a long streak. The thinking for these players is that since Bacart is purely a guessing game, it is just like guessing the outcome of a coin. The same result will come for a while, where the streaks then, is this a good system?

 Well, really, this is no better and no mess and no other system because what you do is you will have the same casino on every wager you make: 1.24% on the player and the banker. At 1.06%. One good thing about this kind of system is that you don't have to sit there and guess what you want to play every time. Instead, you go into the game of how you're going to play and you don't have to blame yourself if your guess is wrong, instead you blame it on your system! You all need to know how to win in Baccarat.

[smartcookie727]

More Than Memories

Hey peeps! Today is a lovely day for a birthday fic for my dear @bluuesparrow /@moineau-bleu . Happy birthday darling! You deserve all the love and happiness. *Falls from the sky into your arms with hugs, dessert, and booze* I hope today has been wonderful and you get some chilling time. You are an amazing artist, so talented, and a wonderful friend. How have I not known you my entire life? I can’t wait to see you grow as a person and in your work....so I got ya something. Fic, feels, smut. It’s time to get to the saucy part of bday fun. In true cookie fashion I made sure the thermostat got turned wayyy up. NSFW peeps. I decided to indulge for her sake :) This is based on her awesome art! Go check her out. She's doing commissions now, and for $1 extra you can get a fic by me (there are some other awesome writers participating too) on top of your art! Go commission her! Especially if ya like the fic. You could be getting one soon :) Alrighty, time for the fun stuff ;)

Pairing: Gajevy

Prompt: reading a book on the balcony

Length: 2.6k

More than Memories

Soft morning light illuminated the pages in Levy's hand. The world was just waking up outside the balcony in the little seaside town. A crisp breeze had roused her from a restful sleep, and the bookmark in her novel beckoned Levy to lose herself in its words instead of dreams. She rested against a pillow, propped up into a makeshift window seat on the intricate framing of their room. Warmth from the hazy sun knocked off the chill from the ocean wind. Levy was perfectly content. She would stretch this moment to encompass days if she could. However, her picture wasn't complete until her husband walked over with a steaming mug of coffee. Gajeel sat down next to his little wife. Her eyes flew over the pages, seeming to not register his presence. He took a sip from the cup; it was sweet, just like her. Gajeel's taste had slowly adjusted to the way Levy enjoyed her coffee over their years together. It made their morning routine much more manageable when he only needed to make one large cup instead of two. Gajeel had accidentally given her his mug one morning, just after they'd gotten engaged, and he'd swear he'd never had to move faster in any battle to dodge her disapproving spray. Bitter, black coffee and Levy did not mix. He looked down at the novel, but her fingers kept flipping through the pages, completely unaware. "So into yer books ya don't even smell the coffee or notice yer in a nightie out here. I hope you didn't give anyone a show," he teased, breath warm on her neck, "I thought I was supposed to be the only one with a ticket." Levy didn't look up. "At least I put something on before coming over here to read."

"True," he laughed, squeezing in behind her. Levy nuzzled appreciatively against his chest. Gajeel twirled a lock of blue hair around his finger and purred, "Last night was fun. I'm surprised you even found this." He tugged her chemise just a tad lower, exposing more of her breasts. Gajeel placed a long kiss against her skin, nearly melting into her, before taking another sip of coffee.

Levy sighed sweetly; her neck was one of her favorite places to be kissed. It never failed to send tingles through her body. "Found it in the bathroom next to the tub." "I don't remember losing it there." "Neither did I, but there it was." "Ya know," Gajeel said softly, "if we still wanna go check out that hidden part of the beach we heard about last night, we're gonna have to get ready soon. The man said the tide will come back in a little after noon." Levy groaned, tossing her head back to hit his chest. "But Gajeel," she whined, "we're on vacation, and it's too early to do anything but read." She flipped another page. "Too early for coffee then?" he teased, lifting the mug high into the air. Levy's eyes perked up at the mention of her favorite beverage. One hand held her page as the other reached for the mug, but Gajeel kept it moving out of her reach. She reached higher, exposing part of her hip. He gave the spot a quick tickle before releasing the mug into her grasp. "Never too early for coffee." Levy took a long, relaxing drink, inhaling the fragrant aroma, and returned the mug to her husband. "Yer the one who suggested we come to this little town. Ya said," Gajeel coughed and did his best to imitate her high voice, " 'There's so much fun stuff to do together there. We could spend the whole day exploring and going wherever we want. You know what I'd love? To play in the ocean and collect a bunch of shells from the sand'. " He shook his head. Levy would stay in bed reading all day if he didn't force her to put on clothes and go outside. She would forever be a dreamer who loved adventure, but the adventure between the pages of her novel was just as enticing as the one outside her door. "Well, right now I just want to relax and hang around here with you," she paused, sadness creeping into her voice, "We've both been on such long jobs these days —it doesn't feel like we've had much time to just be together." Gajeel winced, they'd both felt the pain of being apart, and it killed him that they ever let it get so far. "I know," he said, gently stroking her hair, "That's why we decided to have our little get away." Gajeel squeezed his arms around her in a warm hug and kissed her softly on the lips. "It's been great so far. Lazy morning it is." Levy smiled back at him for a long moment then returned to her book.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Levy reading and Gajeel finishing their coffee. With a sigh, he placed the mug on the floor and his chin on her shoulder. His fingers itched. He needed something to do. Gajeel couldn’t just sit. Slowly, he rubbed his jaw around the top of her shoulder, putting pressure on the muscles. Levy's shoulder jerked slightly, and Gajeel worked his chin around until he found a knot. Pressing around the tight tissue, he probed for size. The knot was large; it had probably grown unchecked over the countless late nights Levy spent hunched over her desk working on translations. There had been so many jobs lately. She’d likely grown used to the pain. In the beginning, he'd rubbed her shoulders every night, working out the tension while she talked about her day. Back then, he'd never let her pull all nighters. He'd hoist her up from her chair, and she’d flail and kick to no avail, jabbering that she had to finish her work. Then he’d turn off the light, insisting she rest and take her to bed. How many nights lately had she not slept? He didn't even know. Levy never even mentioned having a knot, not to mention one this big. She used to ask him for a massage even when she wasn’t in pain; Levy just loved the feeling of his hands on her skin. Well, it was a good place to start making up for lost time, and it would give him something to do while she read. Gajeel leaned back and eased Levy forward a bit, giving himself room to work. She grumbled at being moved but knew he wouldn't do so without good reason. Starting close to her neck, he worked his fingers over the muscle out towards her arms. Heavy thumbs pressed the spot he'd found, easing the tension. Levy groaned happily, addressing her shoulder hadn't crossed her mind in so long, but now that Gajeel was, she could feel a tight lump under this fingers. Gajeel used circular motions to run over the rest of her upper back. A mix of release and soreness filled Levy as he worked. Little groans escaped her lips each time he found a sore spot, and there were nearly too many to count. Levy felt herself focusing more on his hands than her novel; it felt so good to not hurt anymore. She'd missed this sweet kind of spoiling. She'd missed him. Levy let her head roll side to side as he worked, her hands barely able to hold the book in place.

Setting the novel on a nearby chair, Levy sighed, "You know the only thing that gets me to stop reading." She curled her back, offering more area for him to rub. "It's called being yer husband." Gajeel lifted her left hand, placing a kiss on her ring. The one he'd made for her when they'd gotten married. The one she adored. Levy smiled at the gesture; Gajeel loved to play with their rings. It was the best piece he’d ever crafted and a symbol of their love. Levy exhaled low as he continued to rub her skin, and each time she made a noise, Gajeel’s pants grew tighter. She let herself lean forward, resting on the pillow beneath her chest. Another moan escaped as Gajeel continued to press on her back. Heat between them increased with every inch he moved closer. Familiar wetness touched her legs as her moans grew deeper. She pulled him flush with her ankles, knees locking them together and toes curling into his back. Gajeel could read his wife like a book. The way she arched into his touch, how her nightgown had slipped up her skin, exposing her underwear, urging him to touch her more intimately without saying so. He snickered. And Shrimp said he wasn't subtle. Leaning over so he could better massage, Gajeel kissed her neck, swiping a finger over the little fabric that covered her core. It came out damp. "Sure it's too early for anything but coffee and reading?" Gajeel asked as her lower back arched further into him. "I can think of one other thing we could do at this hour," Levy mused. "I think yer more than thinking about it, love." His laugh sent goosebumps down her arms. "What did you call it yesterday when I woke up…excited? Morning madness?" Levy giggled, that was the vocabulary she'd used. "Shut up and carry me back in already my strong, sexy dragon slayer." "That's some saucy dirty talking, and trust me I appreciate the compliments, but," Gajeel tucked a bookmark into her book, gently closing the cover, "I also know what's important to my wife." Levy rolled to face him, smiling as he lifted her into the air by her legs. She draped her arms over his shoulders and kissed his cheek. "You know me so well." Gajeel gave her ass squeeze. "That I do." He dropped them both on the bed, careful not to squish her. Their lips never left each other's for a second. Levy inhaled sharply and tossed her head back as Gajeel planted fervid kisses on her neck. He grabbed at her chemise clumsily, and she helped him lift it off. "I love you so much, Lev," he breathed, anger and regret coating his words, "I'm sorry we haven't had more time together lately." Levy wiped a tear from his eye, holding back a sniffle of her own. "I am too. I've missed you." Gajeel kissed the drops that trickled down her cheeks. "But sometimes work and life happen, and things don’t go as we’d like." Her voice was shaky as she pulled down his pants, "But I plan on making up that time now." They kissed for a long minute, feeling the warmth of skin on skin and letting their tears dry. Comfort soon turned to lust, and Gajeel’s tongue explored her mouth while her hips ground against him.

Gajeel growled low, fingers roaming her legs. "I wanna make you feel so damn amazing, Levy. My wife deserves nothing less." "Only if I can do the same for you," she crooned. His kisses trailed to her neck and her moans filled his ear. "I'm never letting us spend so much time apart again." "Good," Levy grunted, her face a mere breath away. "Gajeel, I want you to make me forget that we were ever apart that long." He searched her cheeks, but there was no blush. He'd only seen her more serious a handful of times in his life. "I want it deep and carnal right now. Show me how much you missed me." Gajeel's eyes went wide. "So it's this side of my Shrimp today? You got it, Lev." Gajeel let his usual barriers down, the ones that kept his touches soft and teasing. He let the part of himself that craved their mutual satisfaction take over. His lips were on her slit in a second, tasting her lust. He rolled her clit, eliciting the moans he so eagerly desired. Levy's head was set swimming. He was giving her every ounce of carnal pleasure she’d asked for. Her fingers grasped at his hair, waves of ecstasy coursed through her with each flick of his tongue. Her moaning grew louder, harder, until her hips thrust wildly against him, barreling towards release. Gajeel wet his finger against her slit. Levy needed him, and her body showed it. The digit slid easily into her core. He pumped her deep, sliding along her walls, until he found what he was looking for. Levy nearly screamed when he touched the spot, taking his time to cover the entire length. All the while his teeth and lips remained firmly on her pearl, sucking and rolling as it pulsed. Her back arched, forcing her closer into him, gasping for more. She was drunk on his touch, moaning his name over and over. Every move he made sent her keening under waves of electricity. Gajeel was relentless as he pleasured her.

Levy’s legs spread wide, toes curling, fingers digging into the bed. She was close, and Gajeel knew it. He could feel her body tensing with impending release, and he was going to give it to her in her favorite way. As his right finger and tongue continued their work, his other hand reached into her mouth, rubbing around her lip until it was coated with saliva. She sucked his finger, wanting to reciprocate the pleasure he gave her, but it was all her body could do to keep up with him. Gajeel palmed her breast, then circled her nipple with the barest touch of his pad. He pinched the hardened bud softly. His tongue twirled her clit and his other finger ran along her sweet spot. Levy groaned with force as she came, feet wrapping around him fiercely and pulling him close. Her hands kept them locked together as she rode out her high, Gajeel prolonging it as long as he could. When she finally stilled, he climbed over and kissed her, hand cradling her head while her breathing calmed. She could taste her desire on his lips. Levy moaned softly once again as her eyes fluttered shut. She was already tired from the intensity of what they'd done. Gajeel's hands roamed over the rest of her body, taking in every inch of his wife. She beamed back at him and tilted her head up for another kiss. "Don't fall asleep on me now, Lev. We've only just gotten started." Guttural moans escaped them both as they climaxed together, hearts pounding furiously. Gajeel was barely able to remove himself before he collapsed next to Levy on the bed, his energy blissfully spent. He held her close as they lay there, panting side by side. Gajeel kissed her damp forehead, and she curled into him. The ability to use words slowly came back as the heat ebbed from their intertwined bodies. "So hun," he sighed, "You ever recall a time we were apart?" "Not anymore." Levy smiled, kissing him deeply. "And it won't happen again. I'm not making that mistake ever again." He stretched for a moment and nosed her ear as he settled on his pillow. "Now, how about a little nap before we hit the beach?" "Sounds perfect, dear,” she mumbled, drifting off to sleep. Their time in the seaside town seemed like a dream. Sun, sand, and never-ending places to explore during the day; moonlit walks, sweet treats, and time to be alone at night. Vacation turned into a renewed connection. They vowed to do better by each other and to not let time pass so fast. Each morning Gajeel would greet her with coffee, and Levy would greet him back just as sweetly. Their memories in that little town would last a lifetime, and the jar of seashells they brought home wouldn't be their only souvenir.

[aswithasunbeam]

Finding Forgiveness, Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Rating:  Teen and Up

Summary: Eliza Hamilton can't keep punishing her husband forever. If she didn't intend to leave him, she would need to find a way to forgive him. But how? The Reynolds Pamphlet aftermath

April 1798

The little flower stand on the corner had returned about a week ago with the warm spring weather, though he’d been arriving home too late in the evenings to actually purchase anything. He’d frequented it often last year, bringing Eliza home a fresh bouquet on an almost weekly basis. When his court hearing had ended hours earlier than he’d expected, and with James more than capable of running the office alone until the end of the day, he decided to take the rest of the afternoon off. He made his way jauntily along Broadway, soaking in the spring sunshine, and paused at the cart.

“Good day, Mr. Hamilton,” the young woman plumping a display of pink roses greeted.

“Good day, Mrs. Lane,” he replied, casting his eye over the colorful displays. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned for business. What would you recommend for me today?”

“My lilacs bloomed a little early this year. I know Mrs. Hamilton has quite a fondness for the scent,” Mrs. Lane gestured to the long stems of small purple flowers on the other side of the cart.

“Perfect,” he smiled. “Would you prepare a small bouquet for me?”

“Of course, sir,” she agreed, smiling brightly in return.

She arranged the lilacs for him, tying them together with a blue ribbon and adding a few extra stems more than he’d paid for, he noticed. He gave her a significant look as he accepted the flowers, but she merely shrugged. “You’re one of my best customers,” she informed him. “Give Mrs. Hamilton my compliments.”

“Thank you, I will,” he agreed.

He inhaled the scent of the lilacs as he set off down the street, a new lightness in his step. Things between he and Eliza seemed better, lately. She seemed to be thawing towards him; the unexpected bouts of silence and distance, though still very much present, seemed to be growing fewer and father in between. He ached to return to the beautiful simplicity of their early love. In the bright sunshine of spring, with Eliza’s tenderness and affection towards him increasing, he was beginning to have hope again.

“Betsey?” he called as he closed the front door of their townhouse gently behind him.

Wailing greeted him. William sounded quite displeased about something, he thought with a smile. Observing the time, he realized the baby had likely just awakened from a nap.

“I’ll be just a minute,” his wife’s voice called over the cries.

He smelled the flowers again and wandered towards the parlor. The room was empty; Johnny and Angelica must both be studying upstairs, he presumed. He knelt down by the cabinet on the far side of the room and retrieved a vase for the bouquet.

Once he’d arranged the flowers properly, he looked up only to find the place where Eliza typically displayed fresh flowers taken already by the silver wine cooler President Washington had sent last summer. He frowned at the gift. Not that he didn’t appreciated Washington’s generosity, or the gesture of support that lay behind it, but having the ornate decoration displayed so prominently felt like a constant reminder of his shame.

“You’re home early,” Eliza remarked. He turned to see her leaning against the door jamb, bouncing William on her hip. The baby appeared much calmer now as he sucked on his fingers with his head against his mother’s shoulder.

“My hearing took much less time than I’d expected,” he explained.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good,” he assured her. “The defense attorney didn’t raise any of the issues that would have actually turned it into a close contest. I left James to see to the office work and seized the opportunity to enjoy a few hours of daylight at home.”

“Are those for me?” she asked him, her eyes landing on the vase of lilacs on the floor before him. The corners of her lips lifted slightly.

“Mrs. Lane’s lilacs bloomed early this year. She sends her compliments, by the way,” he said, pushing up from the floor with the flowers in hand.

“She’s a sweetheart.” She stepped closer, leaning in to inhale the scent of the flowers. “Mm, there is no sweeter smell than fresh lilacs in spring.”

He reached out with his free hand to tug on William’s chubby leg. “Was someone grumpy when they woke up from their nap?” he cooed.

“Grumpy is a polite term for that performance,” Eliza quipped lightly. He laughed, hesitated a moment, then leaned in to kiss her.  She kissed him back sweetly and added, “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“Where should I set them?” he asked.

Her gaze turned to the silver wine cooler. “Perhaps we could move that into the dining room, if you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind? It was a gift for you.”

She raised a brow at him. “It really wasn’t.”

He sighed, reluctant to start an argument over such a trivial point. “Then to the dining room it shall move,” he declared, lifting it from the table by the window and gingerly setting the flowers down in their rightful place.

“Lovely,” she said when he’d finished.

He stepped back to admire them also. William babbled around the hand still shoved in his mouth, and Hamilton glanced over at his son. “Do you approve, my darling boy?”

William’s big eyes turned to him. He smiled and held out his arms. Eliza easily passed the child over, and he heaved the boy onto his own hip, pressing a kiss to his wispy curls. “You are getting so big. Can you say Papa? Hm? Papa?”

“Puh,” the boy breathed out, pursing his lips.

“Papa,” he repeated slowly.

His son stared at him a long moment and muttered something that sounded like ‘Ditma.’ “Not quite,” he laughed and looked at his wife. “He’s so close, I can feel it.”

Eliza soothed a hand over the baby’s back lightly. “He started trying to pull himself up in his crib recently, too,” she reported. “He’ll be chattering and racing around the house before we know it.”

He cuddled the baby closer. They all grew up so quickly, and seemed to sprout up on him most especially when he was working long hours. Which was always, he supposed. William began to squirm in his arms at the confining hug, so he kissed the boy’s head again and lowered him onto the rug with his toys. Pulling his knees up under him, William crawled with purpose towards the blocks stacked on the other end of the carpet.

Keen to avoid any incident resulting from an eight month old and the very expensive silver cooler sharing floor space, Hamilton collected the item and carried it to the dining room. It made more sense it that room anyway, really, or it would have if they’d ever used it for its proper purpose. So far it had sat in their parlor as a decorative item.

“Oh, honey?” Eliza called to him as he crossed into the dining room.

“Mm?”

“Two letters were delivered for you today from Governor Jay. One came a minute after you left for work this morning. They’re sitting on the front table in the foyer.”

His brow furrowed at the news. He pushed some knickknacks over on a lower shelf of the sideboard and shoved the wine cooler into place. While it may have fit on the top, or even on the mantle of the fireplace, he had no desire to gaze at it while he ate. Task completed, he stepped out into the foyer to find the two letters sitting on the table.

His eyes widened as he read Jay’s first letter, and he sucked in an audible breath. Eliza paced over to the parlor entryway, where she could still to keep an eye on the baby as she reached out to place a hand on his back. Dropping the letter back onto the table, he tore open the second with bated breath.

“Is something wrong?” Eliza asked.

He released a relieved sigh as he scanned the words on the more recent letter. “No, no everything’s fine,” he said, distracted. She waited a beat for him to finish reading the letter, though he could sense she wanted him to elaborate. When he reached the end of the short note, he turned and pressed another kiss to her lips. “Apparently Judge Hobart is resigning from the senate. Jay wants me to take the open senate seat.”

She went very still beside him. “And? Are you going to?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“No?”

“No,” he reiterated. “I was a little alarmed by his first message, because he said only that he was sending me a commission for the seat. Thankfully, he realized he should wait for me to give an answer before making anything official.”

“And you’re going to refuse?” she asked again.

He frowned. “Do you think I should accept?”

She shook her head quickly. “I’m just surprised. You seemed like you were starting to get that itch.”

“That itch?” he repeated with an amused smile.

“You know, the itch to return to public life. You’ve been spending so much time of late sending letters and writing those newspaper essays. I just thought you might consider the offer more.”

He considered carefully how to answer. In truth, he was feeling the itch, as Eliza phrased it. But the senate seat was far from where he wanted to expend his energy. Soon, very soon if things continued as they were, Adams would need to start building an army. When that happened, he wanted to be involved. Perhaps, at last, he’d get the promotion for which he’d campaigned all through the war.

“Things are in motion now that may necessitate my returning to public life. If relations with France don’t normalize soon, we will need to take decisive action. But the time is not now. I intend to avoid returning for as long as possible.”1

Eliza wrapped her arms around his waist.

He cuddled her close and kissed the top of her head. “Surely you must know how dear you and the children are to me. I have no desire to be apart from you any more than I already am. Not to mention how our finances would suffer if I stepped away from my practice again.”

She nodded against him. To his shock, he heard her sniffle lightly. He tried to look at her face, but she’d buried it against his jacket, facing away.

“Eliza?” he asked, easing her away slightly. Her eyes were wet and shining with tears. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, wiping at her eyes with an embarrassed, watery smile. “I’m being silly.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her.

She accepted the handkerchief and blew her nose lightly. “Thank you.”

He pulled her in to another embrace. “What’s wrong?”

Her arms wrapped around him again. “Nothing. That’s just…that’s exactly what I wanted to you say. And I know…I know how brilliant and important you are, how vital your involvement will be if war comes again. I know I should be a better republican, a better patriot, like Angelica says. But I just hate when you take these public positions and appointments. You feel so far away from me.”

A queasy feeling began in his stomach as he held her to him.

“When you chose us over the Treasury, chose me over the Treasury…the more I’ve thought about it the past several months, that’s how I knew you were still… you. How I knew there was still hope for us.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m making sense.”

“No, you are,” he assured her. Terrible, painful sense. “And I…I’ll always choose you, Betsey. Always. Even if I do go back to public service, you’re still the most important thing in my life.”

“But you’re not, right?” she asked, pushing away to look at him. “You said you weren’t.”

“I’m not,” he promised. “At least, not right now. I’ll write to Jay as soon as I’ve considered who else to suggest in my place.”

She smiled weakly. “Good.”

He smiled back, still sick inside. Did she mean she didn’t want him to take any public position again? How could he make her see that everything, all he’d done in the past year, had been for the chance to redeem himself in the public eye? How could he explain it to her without her retreating again? He’d paid such a high cost to be able to lead the country again with a clear conscience. He had to make it mean something.

“Come sit down, sweetheart. You must be tired after being in court all afternoon,” Eliza interrupted his whirling thoughts. Her hand clasped his warmly as she tugged him into the parlor. He sat heavily on the sofa at her insistence, looking down at his little son trying to pull himself up using the table as support. “Do you want some tea? Something to eat?”

He shook his head. “Just, sit with me?” he requested.

“Of course.” She sat directly beside him, their legs pressed close to each other.

Her sudden nearness felt false and unearned. If her faith in him depended on his willingness to choose her over his own ambition, did that mean he would he lose her entirely if he accepted a position in the government in the coming months? The hopeful feeling he’d experienced on his way home disappeared like smoke carried away on the wind.

Later that night, after dinner and time with the children, he excused himself from the parlor to work on the seventh and last installment of his newspaper series. Writing overwhelmed him like a fever: isolating, selectively clarifying, and all consuming, rendering time meaningless. He worked a cramp out of his hand as he considered his next lines. “To disguise the poison, misrepresentation is combined with sophistry,” he continued, nodding to himself as the words flowed through him.2

A knock on his office door jolted him up from the page.

“Alexander? Am I disturbing you?”  Eliza held a lamp and a basket of sewing in her hands as she hovered uncertainly on the threshold of his office.

“Of course not. Come in,” he invited. “Do you need something?”

She shook her head as she entered, walking over to the big armchair in the corner and placing the lamp on the side table. “The children are all in bed. I was going to darn some socks in the parlor, but then I thought perhaps instead I’d keep you company while you write. If you don’t mind, that is?”

“I love when you sit with me,” he told her honestly.

She smiled as she settled into the chair. The sick feeling from the afternoon began to creep over him again. He should have told her about his intention to accept the first position that presented itself with the army. After all these months, he’d finally found the right words, the ones that she had needed to hear from him to truly begin to move forward in their marriage, and they’d been insincere.

Well, partially insincere. Being a husband and a father were two of the most valuable and worthwhile positions he’d ever had the honor of holding. His private life was a source of immense happiness and fulfillment for him. For most men, perhaps that would be enough. But he wanted more than that.

He’d already sacrificed his private reputation for his public when he published the pamphlet. If he never again held public office, what would have been the point? He could have let the public slur against him stand and lived happily at home with Eliza and the children. He’d come too far to turn back now.

His ambition, his desire to make his mark on the world, still thrived within him, like a spark that refused to burn out no matter how long he starved it of oxygen. When the right opportunity presented itself, when the chance for honor and glory was offered, he knew what he would say. He yearned to leave a legacy that would echo through the ages like the great warriors and statesmen of old. He could no more refuse it than he could stop himself writing, or thinking, or breathing. That spark was a part of him: a part he’d thought Eliza knew and accepted when she’d agreed to marry him.

“What are you writing?” she asked as she skillfully maneuvered the darning needles around a massive hole in one of Pip’s socks.

He glanced down at the messy papers before him. “The last part of my essay series about the latest outrage from France. We cannot show weakness in the face of shameless disrespect. To do so will mean a return to the yoke of tyranny, mark my words.”

He looked back at his wife, who seemed to turn the answer over in her mind as she worked. Would she see, he wondered, would she understand how much this meant to him? That he would need to fight again to keep America free from the specter of French despotism?

“Why was it so bad, what they did?” Eliza asked. He recognized the question as an invitation to lay out his arguments, one of his favorite writing techniques. How many times had he sat his brilliant, politically disengaged wife down and forced her to listen to him debate the topic of the moment? When she was firmly convinced of his reasoning, he knew his piece was ready for publication.

He smiled weakly as he turned his attention back to the top of the essay. “Well, this piece is specifically refuting some of the recent arguments that have surfaced since France’s latest treachery became public knowledge. The first I consider was that the foreign minister was acting without the knowledge of the Directory,” he began.

Eliza nodded thoughtfully. “And you don’t believe that’s possible?”

“The heart of a nation, however noble, cannot negotiate with foreign powers. To allow France to claim that their foreign minister does not speak for her would shield every government from responsibility for its positions.”3

He watched her to see how the words landed, a pang forming in his chest as the moment washed over him.The scene was achingly familiar: Eliza sitting in the chair with her sewing as she let him talk himself through his argument. He could remember countless other nights that looked exactly like this one, stretching all the way back to the earliest days of the marriage. Tonight, though, it felt like nothing more than a mirage. Still, like a man dying of thirst in the desert, he stumbled onward towards the illusion of paradise, clinging desperately to the false hope that things could be as they once were.

1: Paraphrase from Alexander Hamilton to John Jay, 24 April 1798, in response to Jay’s two letters of 19 April 1798 2: Quote from The Stand VII, published 21 April 1798 3: Again, a paraphrase of Hamilton’s arguments in The Stand VII, published 21 April 1798