#like mounds of molten gold

[illegiblehandwriting1]

Minish Cap has absolutely infested my brain. Here we go!

(companion to S&A ch 15)

[astaroth1357]

Demons in the Dark 

What if they have glow-in-the-dark eyes?

Contents: No warnings aside vague mentions of imminent danger. And bugs and snakes.

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

Seeing Lucifer in a dark room is incredibly unsettling. You know those horror movies where the protagonist sees a pair of demonic eyes from shadows? You've found the inspiration.

His eyes burn with the color and intensity of molten glass and they that just loom ominously in the darkness, usually well above people's heads!

Lucifer knows exactly how haunting his eyes can look, which is why he prefers to sneak up on Mammon when it's dark and he's up to no good… 

The mental image of Lucifer's crimson eyes have long since burned their way into the secondborn's nightmares...

He tries his best not to scare MC with them, but it's undeniably unnerving to see disks of pure hellfire roaming around the kitchen looking for a glass of water…

Mammon

His eyes glow just the prettiest shade of gold you'll ever see. Think of a mound of ancient coins glinting away under a treasure hunter's torchlight.

Mammon knows full well how attention grabbing his eyes are, which is part of why he always wears sunglasses when out stealing. People can't see'em glow if they're all tinted up behind his frames!!

He's also pretty proud that his eyes don't give people nightmares like Lucifer's, but since they glow like little sundrops when he's out, moths fly into his face… a lot…

He is far too embarrassed to admit to MC that he also wears his sunglasses outside for bug protection, so he makes up some shit about it being part of "Devildom-style" they just wouldn't understand.

Sometimes, the MC swears that if they look close, his pupils look like Grimm signs. But has to be a trick of the light… Right?

Leviathan 

Levi's eyes glow a citrine orange but weirdly, his pupils actually slit instead of dilate in the dark.

Though he will never admit it, but he actually has pretty bad night vision in his normal form. (Which isn't that surprising given all of screens he stares at.)

It's a little comical watching Levi stumble around in the dark if he needs to go grab something. The MC can just follow his eyes as he smacks into a lot of walls…

His demon form can kind of make up for it, but only so much. If things get too dark, Levi can change into it so he can see his surroundings with the help of UV light.

"Snake Vision" makes the dark more manageable, but it's not very good for gaming at all so he rarely thinks to use it. Everybody knows that past a certain brightness in the room, don't expect Levi to be of much help.

Satan

Magically enchanted his eyes to look exactly like a green-eyed cat's in the dark. I'm dead serious.

Imagine just going about your business then two grown man-sized feline eyes pop out from behind a corner. They even have nocturnal eyeshine so feels like you're being hunted!

Sometimes he can't help himself and he'll sneak up on people with his eyes closed so he can open them over their shoulders or peeking around corners.

He has given the whole House about as many heart attacks as Lucifer has pulling those shenanigans, I swear…

Belphie is the only one generally unaffected and he always gets a big laugh from when Satan scares the others. The youngest boys just be like that, unfortunately...

Asmodeus 

His eyes look like a kaleidoscope in low light. Every slight tilt of his head makes them reflect a whole new wave of fractals and colors.

Asmo is just as aware as Mammon that his eyes are gorgeous, but unlike Mammon he wouldn't DARE cover them up!! Sunglasses are for sunny days, which they don't ever get down in Hell.

Asmo's eyes are integral to his charm spells, so he takes extra care to be sure that they are as healthy and bright as they can be! He won't even accept eyebags.

Seeing Asmo's eyes in the dark kind of like seeing a trippy optical illusion just... staring at you. It's less unnerving than the others but it's equally hard to ignore.

To this day, he brags that it was his eyes that caught Solomon's attention when they first met. (Solomon actually wanted to pluck them out to use as potion ingredients, but he'll let that stay a secret.)

Beelzebub

Beel's eyes are probably the most normal of all of the family unless you look at them suuuper closely.

In his normal form, his eyes will just glow a nice shade of purple with nothing fancy happening. But in his demon form, they get that glassy, compounded film akin to insects with his iris still trapped and moving around under the surface.

Thankfully, they do not bulge out of his skull. They even give him the ability to see and track objects in fast motion, which does wonders for his reaction time.

... Somewhat unfortunately, though, his line of sight is more narrow than an inscets so it can look like he's trying to look everywhere all at once to compensate. His eyes will constantly dart around the room as if he is trying to follow the flight pattern of a coked out fly.

At least he mostly only uses this during fights or sporting events where they really come in handy. Honestly, if there's anything more jarring than red eyes, it's stumbling across bug-eyes that they can practically see right through you.

Belphegor 

Belphie's eyes glow purple, but they don't shine nearly as brightly as his brothers'. In fact, they have a steady, calming pulse when stared at which is very unnerving.

Total darkness is really when Belphie gives off his best "sleep paralysis demon" vibes. His eyes are really relaxing to look at, but only in the same way that the little light on an angler fish would be enticing to its prey. It's a trap, don't fall for it.

Belphie CAN put people to sleep this way, but he hates doing it because it means he has to somehow not blink for ages. He really has to be motivated to want to see someone zonked out.

For a couple centuries, Mammon would send Belphie to talk to Lucifer if he was working too late in order to (compassionately) knock their brother out so he could get some rest.

Lucifer's since gotten wise to this trick, but sometimes if he's really been going too long he will forget until he wakes up on the nearest couch post Belphie "convincing" him to take a nap.

[wannab-urs]

Dirt

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: A twist on a scene from saltburn with our dear boy Dieter

Warnings: alcohol and drug use, semi-public sex, dieter being a fucking freak, no use of y/n, reader is undescribed except for being AFAB and able to pull Dieter by his hair.

A/N: Thank you to @sp00kymulderr for the idea of Dieter in this scene… I hope I did it justice, love. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @pr0ximamidnight and @atinylittlepain for the beta reads 💚

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist

He’s fucking hammered. He doesn’t remember ever being this drunk before in his entire life. Everything is spinning and tilted on its axis a little, as if the world itself had shifted 20 degrees clockwise.

You’re waiting for him outside and he’s so fucked up, he doesn’t even think he can get it up. Even for you, his perfect girl. Nothing a little coke can’t fix for him, though.

Dieter grabs the gilded mirror off the wall, cresting waves and seabirds in molten gold, a bit pretentious to him. He doesn’t think they’ll even notice it’s been moved. He lays it on the bed and digs the little baggie out of his robe. He’d gotten lucky when he chose to steal this robe from Farleigh – two 8 balls and a veritable pharmacy of pills stuffed into the pockets.

Dieter dumps the whole baggie on the glass and haphazardly scrapes it into a line. He dips his nose to the cool glass and pulls the powder into his nose. Staying bent over the mirror, he watches his pupils blow wide before a line of snot falls over the image of his face. He wipes his nose on his sleeve as he stands.

Not thirty seconds later, he’s tripping over himself to get outside. To get to you, his golden idol on a pedestal. His goddess. He worships you. You’re waiting for him. Have been waiting. He’s kept you waiting. Fuck. He hopes you’re still there. Hopes you haven’t floated away in the breeze.

It’s cloudy out, but the sun pierces the haze. Everything feels like it has an aura and it all hurts his eyes so bad he can hardly see. It’s okay though. He could find you anywhere.

He stumbles across the yard, over the little stone bridge, and into the meadow beyond. And there you are. The aura around everything else dims in the face of your beauty. Your aura shines golden and glittering in the weak sunlight, bare back pressed to the stone behind you. You make everything less beautiful.

Dieter falls to his knees before you, perched on your throne of dirt and stone. He prostrates himself before you, nose digging into the freshly upturned dirt. He feels the ghost of your fingertips over his curls and tilts his head up to face you.

You smile down at him knowingly and tug him by his hair into your lap. He relishes the sting, the way you pull him to you always. He nuzzles his face into your thighs, kisses your mound, your belly, dips his tongue into your navel.

You release him and he quickly strips his robe and the boxers he’s wearing underneath, baring himself to you. You drag him back down to you, letting him bury his face in your chest. He loves the feel of your skin against his cheek, under his lips, between his teeth. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. You shift beneath him, pushing him down where you really want him.

Dieter presses his belly into the dirt and drags your legs over his shoulders. He buries his tongue in the wet heat of you. Laps up your earthy flavor. You’re better than anything his imagination could ever conjure. Perfect in every way.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls it gently between his teeth. Your fingers wrench his hair and he groans into you. He plunges his tongue back inside you, lapping up your slick, letting it coat the scruff on his jaw. He pushes a thick finger into you, his tongue drifting back up to your clit. He rolls your bundle of nerves in circles with his tongue as he strokes your inner walls. When he feels you fall apart, he draws back, sucking your juices off his knuckles as he shuffles to his knees.

Dieter grabs the meat of your thighs and wrenches your legs further apart before he drags you even further onto the dirt. Your head now pillowed in the softness of fresh soil, he drags his fingers through your wet cunt. When his hand is dripping in you again he wraps a fist around his cock and jerks himself until he’s fully hard. The coke is wearing off and he doesn’t have much time left.

He sheathes himself inside you, all the way to the end of you. To the end of him. He’s so connected to you it’s like you’re truly a part of him, an extension of him. You squeeze him so tightly he nearly comes on the spot.

His thrusts are harsh, sharp and stuttered and hurried. As if he’s afraid someone will catch him with you or as if this reality could crumble at a moment’s notice. He holds you tight to him, rutting into you like a pig ruts into the dirt. He claws at you, trying to hold you tighter. Trying to pull you completely into him.

He comes with a strangled, half feral cry. Something primal and broken and a little wrong.

He pulls out and rolls onto the grass beside your grave. There’s dirt in places he didn’t know it could even be in. Tears form in the corners of his eyes and roll in slow, hot tracks down his cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and begins to sob, rough and so raw it hurts his throat.

The drugs have long since worn off. His head hurts from the come down, from the crying, from everything. It’s all a bit too much.

He crawls on hands and knees back up to your headstone. He wraps his arms around the cold, unforgiving slab of marble. Presses his face into it the way he used to imagine pressing it into your chest. His tongue darts out to trace the engraved letters and they are rough and cold. Not anything like he’d always imagined you’d be. Soft and warm and wet.

He sits atop your body, six feet below and encased in mahogany. Loving Sister and Friend your headstone says. He doesn’t know about all that. You were quite nasty.

Only the rich could afford to be as filthy as you were.

You’re in the dirt where you belong, he thinks.

[ajscico]

Fan Joy July

Day 3–Like Mounds of Molten Gold by Illegible_Handwriting @illegiblehandwriting1

I know there’s already the amazing art of Sky’s leaving, Sky breaking, and the Chain’s vow to find him for Smoke & Ashes (seriously, it is so stuck in my brain it hurts)

I’m trying really hard to highlight fics that don’t have art already done but... also taking into account Like Mounds of Molten Gold and Sun’s letter, makes for another great mini comic of her reactions to the letter like in this chapter. The art would be Sun remembering her journey, remembering the aftermath of the journey for Sky and Groose and herself, remembering Demise’s first time destroying the surface all overlaid with the text of Four’s letter to her and Sun’s desperate reply.

Maybe I could actually turn that into prose one day… (ushers thought to the plot bunny den)

[nine-blessed-hero]

A Gift

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion CW: Mention of canon-standard violence Words: 600 Context: Written for the TES Summer Fest prompt: Golden. As it's a bit more experimental, Concit is welcome on this piece. Tagging: @tes-summer-fest, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

"My champion!" cries the man imprisoned by fate as the doors to the great hall open. He pours a cup of ale, placing it in front of where his hero sits heavily, their shoulders bowed by the dusty road. Food is procured; only the crackle of the ever-present fire sounds as the hero devours the commons presented. "What news of the outside world?" asks the imprisoned man after his hero has supped, resting a chin on raised, clasped hands. His hero smiles, a tired curving of the lips. "Same as it ever was, I suppose. People are born, people die. The earth is tilled." The smile droops. "The threat against us grows worse." "And where have your travels taken you, my friend? The world cannot be overrun already. There must surely be some beauty or interest you've seen?" The hero takes another sip of ale. "No, not overrun. Not yet. I am managing to stay ahead of the daedric hordes." The hero places down their cup. "Which is why I am come from Leyawiin county, by way of Bravil." They run a weary hand over their face. "The gates are clustered thick in the Blackwood. It's as if the enemy knows there is limited manpower to stop them at the edge of the territories. But," the smile they give is more of a grimace, "you asked about what beauty there is still in the world, not the unholy beasts that terrorise it. Be fair warned, o my Emperor, I am no poet." Their grimace relaxes into a lighter thing. The man imprisoned tops off their hero's cup. "I feel sure you will do it justice. You are more eloquent than you think." "If thou sayest." The hero winks. They take a swig from the cup and settle back, thinking. From without the hall, a Blade hails another as the guard changes. The wind, whipping down from the mountains, sings in the eves. Presently, the hero begins, "I came from Leyawiin county, aye, and through Bravil. But dark was closing in before I ever reached the city. So rather than take on spriggans by night, I stopped at Bawnwatch Camp. "They say a ghost haunts that mound, but if he came that night, I never saw – a gate opening wouldn't even have roused me! But when I did awake, fully refreshed next morning, what a sight it was that greeted me. "Bawnwatch sits on a little island, no larger than this room, in Niben Bay. Meaning it is surrounded on most sides by the water. The night I rode in on was damp and foggy, but the morn I woke to was glorious! "Fluffy, dappled clouds, like a herd of sheep, raced across the lavender sky, chasing mares' tails. The shore opposite was drenched in shadow, but the water! Filled with barely lapping waves, it looked like molten gold–" The man imprisoned laughs. "You couldn't think of a less cliché description?" "Do you want to hear this or not?" the hero laughs back. "And I'm telling you! It looked like someone took the Empire's coffers and melted it all down in the Nibenay. It was glorious and stunning and…" The hero draws a breath, their mouth hanging for want of a word. Their eyes search the rafters as if for divine inspiration. "A blessing." Their eyes glitter in the sconcelight, their voice softening, "Something to make up for all the blood and death of the Deadlands." The man imprisoned reaches out to squeeze his hero's hand. "A gift, to remind you of what you fight for."

[buwheal]

(ignore this if the other anon sends their story I suppose)  I am new, not the same storyteller, but I can still give you the end you look for.

CONT.

And the stars said to the boy as his body in the dream became charred under their gaze yet, "We see all things the world upturns, and know how nothing ever returns. Your grief and despair have swayed us. We have seen you turn your head towards our domain since before you even knew what we were. We have watched you grieve and watched you yearn, for things that never were, and thus can never return. And so, we will offer you one boon, little one who mourns."

And to the stars the boy said, "I cannot bear being trapped on the ground. Please, can't you make me like you? I wish to be untethered from the cold mud and colder oceans in which I feel drowned. Let me shine and sing, hung up in the heavens with the stars and moons that dance like angels. That will be my wish, to be freed from this indifferent and sodden mound that pulls me down. If you could make me bright and gleaming like you, I could find what I grieve and what I mourn."

The sky accepted his wish to be cut away from his home and strung up, woven into the sky, but not without a warning.

"You should know: that to be a star is to be a fire that eternally burns. There are so many things that a star can never be, places that can never be visited and thus never returned to. Nor are the void of our skies Heaven, nor are they Hell. Such places exist, but both are empty. Our home however is so, so full and so, so loud. What you grieve and what you yearn are not things that your wish will earn. Though determined as you are, we will help you search and help you learn how to find a way to return to a home never built. And when you burn, we will be there, beside you in the sky."

The boy heard the stars, but did not listen to their words because the sight of his dreams blinded him. Blithely he pleaded to the heavens for instruction on becoming divine.

The stars answered in turn, "Travel to the tallest mountains where the air is thin and the rocky peaks are so sharp they could pierce the hearts of giants. Then, look for the darkest cave upon the mountain and crawl into its narrowest passage. Once you are there, gouge a small groove into the wall until from the stone gushes sticky ink that shines so brightly it hurts to look. For one year you must drink nothing but the sanguine ichor that bleeds from the carving. Through this you will be transformed, and become like us."

The boy asked the stars why the mountains bleed light.

"Long ago, a god abandoned its body and hurled the hollow vessel upon the mountains so that it may become mortal. The gilt and rotting tallow that melted from the carcass made the mountains last eternal, and now within the stone burns the same molten power that we in the sky radiate," the stars sung to him.

When he awoke, the boy obeyed the stars' orders and it twisted him, but not into a star, nor into a moon. His parents grieved his absence, and yearned for his return which would never come. The mountain blood scalded his tongue and throat and sat cold and heavy in his stomach. If from the pain he allowed rivulets to spill down his face, it melted and burnt his skin, searing lines down from the corners of his mouth to the bottom of his jaw. Still he persisted, unable to put to rest that which never was, and will never return. By year's end he felt heavy and strange, the ichor in his system like leaden weights upon his limbs and his voice, stretching and breaking his body into bizarre proportions. He did not care. He believed it would earn him everything that he grieved and everything he mourned. 

Waxen wings made of the soft and pure gold of the abandoned god's rendered tallow sit upon his back.

The stars gladly welcomed him into the sky, but upon finally meeting his heaven face to face, their light and their heat set his golden tallow wings ablaze like candles.

As his wings melted, the stars were saddened, but offered him another boon, in hopes he could be saved from such a nasty fall. The boy wished for another chance to sit in their sky. The stars thought quick, and wove ropes and cables from the tails of green comets. The boy was gifted the cables, and he gladly tied them into harnesses on his own body. The stars hung his cables from his world's moon as a pale reflection of their own light and every day they sung their songs to him as he swayed in step with the tides of the oceans he tried so hard to escape. He saw his parents, who grieved upon the muddy ground he ran from, but had no body of their child to bury. He saw all the presents and treats they left to rot at the headstone of an empty grave. He watched his parents tell the people who asked: We grieve. We yearn. For our child who could only bear to be turned towards the sky and now will never return.

- 🥩🕊

answered

[tarithenurse]

Consummation

Fandom: MCU Pairing/starring: Heimdal x fem!Asgardian!reader Content: Just pure fluff and smut. A/N: This is the followup to “Heimdal’s Question” which you technically don’t have to read in order to enjoy it, but I’d love for it to get some more attention.

Consummation

You are tired and slightly tipsy as Heimdal leads you to your temporary lodgings at the palace. The royal family had extended the courtesy, insisting that the last you should have to worry about was house-holding, cooking and tidying up the first 48 hours of your marriage. The gold and white gown drifts in the early morning breeze as you pass an open door to a balcony with a view over Asgard where the sky is growing pale – the wedding party has lasted til just before dawn. Your shoes makes your feet ache but you know you’d follow your soulmate anywhere at any time.

You’re caught off guard by the sound of a door closing behind you, too lost in thought to have realized that you’ve entered a fabulous room. A room that’s yours for the next days.

Even though the fireplace is cold, the place is bathed in a golden light from dozens of candles and flower petals are strewn upon the creamy silks of the bed making you giggle slightly at the thought of what is about to take place.

Heimdal looks at you. “It is your choice how we proceed...if you just want to sleep th-”

But you notice the flickering, hungry gaze to your body and it makes you feel warm and tingly. Wanted. “Please,” you whisper sultry, “don’t make me wait any longer.”

All night, you’ve been admiring the man of your dreams and now you’re finally alone. How could you delay any longer? Heat pools in your belly and you reach up to unfasten the veil from your shoulders. It drifts to the floor and is soon joined by the sash.

Heimdal catches the idea and he too begins to undress, revealing a firm and broad torso that further ignites your hunger. Strong arms and hands work effortlessly to remove boots and socks before hesitating on the belt buckle all while his eyes never leave you. Your own gaze roving, you notice the prominent bulge twitch as you release your dress, allowing it to pool at your feet. Stepping out of it, you walk up to your husband and reach forward, caressing his cock through the leather of the trousers.

“Please?” you whisper and he nods breathlessly.

Hands begin to move frantically, shedding the last shreds of clothes as Heimdal walks you backwards to the bed. The last thing he does before laying you down slowly, is to step out of the trousers, revealing a proud erection that takes your breath away.

He’s gentle, even as he stalks you across the mattress until you can get no further but rest against the fluffy pillows. And then, finally, his mouth find yours. A hand cups your face, lips gently brushing against lips while warm breaths fan your face softly. There’s a sweet, honeyed taste of mead. He’s hovering over you, encompassing your entire world. Candle light flickers across his beautiful skin and reflects in the gold of his eyes, making it seem like molten pools of amber.

Then his lips move to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Further down over the tops of your breasts which his hand cups and squeezes gingerly, rolling your already sensitive nipples between the fingers until your back arches and he can’t help but lower his head and take one of them in his mouth. Licking. Suckling. Biting teasingly.

Yourself are trying to breathe evenly, hands massaging his shoulders and arms when you don’t cup his head to steer him further down your body, impatient as the need builds in you, making your hips roll in search of some friction but finding nothing.

Still, he gets the point and moves further, fingers dancing to your mound before deftly tracing your folds, each stroke ending with a little circle around the bundle of nerves that is tingling with anticipation. It makes you gasp, writhing to chase his movement that so effortlessly seek out what you want.

Heimdal chuckles, planting a last kiss by your hip bone before delving between your thighs.

Heat rises within you. Throwing your head back, you can’t help but moan his name and he answers with a growl that vibrates through your pelvis. All you can do is hold on to his head, trying not to push or pull too much. You wish you could do more.

And then the idea strikes.

“Wait, hon,” you gasp, pulling away awkwardly. “Lie on your back, please.”

He does as you ask without hesitation and you crawl down his body until his face is between your legs once more and you, on the other hand, can place kisses and licks to his weeping cock head.

Heimdal begins before you get a proper grip on his cock, lapping eagerly at your folds which means that you can feel him stutter the moment your lips encircle him. Taking him as deep as you can without choking, you begin experimenting, bobbing your head up and down until you find the right angle to take him deeper. With each trip to the tip, your tongue darts around the crown and as you do that again and again, his mouth parts from your cunt and he groans deeply.

“I can’t...I can’t concentrate if you continue,” he gasps, making you smile at having such power over him right now.

Your lips let go with a soft plop. “Then just enjoy it, my love.”

Continuing, it becomes a game to distract each other the most and for you to pull the sweetest sounds from his mouth, the buzz of groans heightening your own pleasure which he stubbornly seeks to continue providing.

Still, you’re the one who’s unprepared for the moment he inserts a finger, wriggling and pumping it along to the speed you’re following. Then two and you feel your cunt clench, wanting more and yet being so close to the edge as he has found that special spot deep within.

“Let me...please, let me see you,” he growls.

He manoeuvres you easily, getting you on your back before he slots himself between your legs and lines up. You bend your legs in anticipation, wanting to grant him easy access and he smiles, equally eager and rubbing his cock between your folds to ready himself.

Kissing you, he drives in slowly, stealing away the air from your lungs with each inch. It’s quite a lot of inches and all of them adds to the growing pressure in your abdomen. Red hot desire and desperation for more. Reaching down, you grab Heimdal’s ass and pulls him further, urging him as deep as he can.

“Very well,” he too is breathless but he follows your less than subtle hints and fills you up before finding a steady rhythm back and forth.

Your body tightens automatically, overwhelmed by the fullness and the delight that’s coursing through your veins. Clenching around his cock, it’s all you can do to remember to breathe as he picks up the pace.

“Touch yourself, my love,” he pleads.

Who would you be to deny him? One hand coasts to his shoulder, feeling his muscles work under the skin, while the other delves between your bodies in search for your clit, finding it expertly. Slow at first, you begin to rub tight circles but soon you find his and your speed increasing, driving you to the edge sooner than anticipated.

You’re babbling, whining as the tension in your core is about to snap.

“Cum for me, love.”

Legs spasming, body shaking, you do as you’re told. Searing light and a rush that makes you feel like you’re flying. Your cunt grips him like a vice and you are vaguely aware that he spasms, ramming deep within you with a deep groan.

It takes a while before the two of you calm down enough to move let alone talk but when you come to your senses, Heimdal lazily kisses you.

“My beloved,” he whispers hoarsely.

“My soulmate,” you answer, legs now jelly.

[racfoam]

be proud ch 1 NSFW graveyard scene what-if snippet

I spent 8 hours wracking my brain around this and I’m still not satisfied with it. Let me know in the replies how it is. Also, should I add it into chapter 2 but change the surrounding? 🤔

Notes: Harry is paralyzed for the entirety of this scene. Some things are deliberately kept vague because Harry is emotionally exhausted and has a sort of shutdown.

Warnings: Underage, Non-Con, Smut, Explicit Content, Improper Use of the Soul Bond

Voldemort readjusted Harry’s thighs in his hands, the sharp nails of his fingers digging into Harry’s skin. Harry whimpered at the press of them, deep and rough, tearing the barrier of cloth of the trousers, leaving crescent marks on her skin. No barrier seemed good enough now. It all turned into feeble shields that shattered upon the slightest touch of his fingers. 

Upon the discomforting sound, the grip softened, skeletal fingers spreading over the flesh, holding. The pads of his fingers started rubbing soothing circles on the places where they dug too deep.

Voldemort sighed, sounding in a deep state of bliss. The hands trailed up her legs, trailing up, over the shape of her hips. The touch left sunlight in its wake.

Harry whimpered. 

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the side of her right cheek. His right hand dipped under her shirt, landing flat on Harry’s lower back. The coldness of it sent a surprised jolt over Harry. Another sob shook her body. She was so drained that she barely noticed it sliding up, the fingers gliding along her spine.

It felt like being in a trance. 

Teeth grazed at the skin of her earlobe. A hot, velvet tongue momentarily flicked out, gliding over the shell of Harry’s ear, trailing saliva, wet like poison. Harry could do nothing except take it.

The coil of fear inside her stomach was soothed and comforted by the soul bond until the cram was all but gone. The quickened heart rate was slowing down. The terrified heart melted into the embrace of comfort, calming down. 

“That’s it, Harry,” whispered Voldemort, caressing her ear with his voice. “Relax.”

Gold rushed through her blood. Something inside of Harry’s core clenched, liquified, and she felt a pulse of her heartbeat between her thighs.

Voldemort must have felt the pulse, the stutter of the mound pressed against his stomach, because the grip of his hands tightened on Harry’s back and right thigh. 

“Harry,” he hissed, dark, wanton and deep. It resounded all across Harry’s body, sending shivers down to her toes, hanging uselessly down his lower back. 

The hand on the back pulled her closer, pressing Harry’s pelvis tighter to his stomach.  The kisses turned open-mouthed, trailing down Harry’s throat, hot, touching vigorously. Teeth grazed at the skin of her neck, causing another shiver. Biting down, they dug gently — firmly — into the flesh. Then, the tongue glided over the indent shaped in the form of his teeth, soothing the little hurt away with its warmth.

Shudders juddered down Harry’s spine, heat flushing her face, and she was very glad her chin was laid on his shoulder, that he wasn’t looking at her with his piercing, red eyes. The mouth wrapped around the skin and sucked.

Harry whimpered.

It was the biggest mistake of her life.

Without warning, Harry’s back pressed against a hard, old stone. There was nowhere to go now. Fingers grasped her cheeks, dragged her unmoving head up. Momentarily, Harry made eye-contact with the cat-like, red eyes, simmering with hunger, want and fascination before the serpentine face closed the distance between their mouths. A mouth covered hers, the same velvet tongue slipping past her parted lips into the cavern of her mouth. 

Harry thought she went blind, breathing out as Voldemort kissed her. It felt like molten lava, like she was touching a star, bathing in sunlight. All Harry could feel was the sense of belonging, safety, and the strange electricity tingling everywhere Voldemort touched, flooding with the warmth of gentle sunlight. 

Somehow, Harry couldn’t process what was happening. She was incapable of feeling any emotion, having been dragged through each one in the last hour. Moving was impossible. Disgust burned inside her stomach.

Voldemort parted, nudged Harry’s head back to land atop his right shoulder, and continued kissing her neck, every inch of it, his kisses like melting snowflakes.

“Mine,” he whispered, hissing, sibilant, possessive, tightening his hold on her until it felt he would break her bones under his fingers. “You’re mine.”

The right hand slid down, out from her shirt, and Harry would have cried in relief was the hand now not sliding down her arse, four long fingers extending over the land of clothed skin before squeezing tight, and the thumb delving between her legs and pressing firm over the outline of her —

Voldemort distracted Harry with a kiss to the throat. It didn’t help. Harry felt violently ill. Suddenly, that lone finger was all Harry could feel, front to back, its end pressing against the clothed little flesh of muscle with nerves that was suddenly the most dangerous weapon against her.

Then, it started moving. Brushing against the clothed folds protected by two layers of thin fabric. Rubbing between them. Sending something unknown and pleasant to that same spot. A continous attention, an increasing burning, the length of his thumb rubbing tight across the trousers, over and over, and over again. 

The long thumb kept brushing between her thighs, up and down, up and down, gliding, pressing firmly into the thin barrier of her trousers and knickers. 

Voldemort sighed against Harry’s shoulder. He retracted his thumb and fingers, sliding his hand over Harry’s waist instead, pressing her harder into the stone.

“Do you remember, Harriet?” asked Voldemort, fingers and voice caressing reverently, preciously. “What I told you I would do once I have my body again?”

Harry’s heart beat in her ears, pounding a painful tattoo.

“I will have you,” he hisses, the promise coming back to shake the very core of Harry’s trembling body and heart. 

Voldemort pulled Harry lower, her pelvis sliding down his stomach. Lower. Lower. Lower. A short descent, but no less important.

Now, Harry’s pelvis was snug around his waist. Suddenly, Harry realized why Voldemort had kept her pelvis pressed flush to his stomach instead of his hips.

Something protruded beneath the cloth of Voldemort’s thin, black robe. Harry knew it because she felt it, pressing intimately against her pelvis, hard, upright and stiff.

Harry’s legs went numb.

It didn’t matter that they were both clothed. Voldemort made due with that, unbothered by the fabric between them. There were worse obstacles Voldemort conquered to hold Harry in his arms and taste her lips. 

All to fill his promise to her.

Then, a small rock of hips between the fleshy folds of tissue, the drag of him throbbing, powerful, across the clit, the inner skin folds. A thrilling surge shot between her thighs. Something inside her melted at the press of him, and everything up until that moment failed in comparison. 

Harry gasped into his neck.

Voldemort bucks into Harry, grabs her waist tight, and starts moving, repeating the motion, over and over again, sliding from the clit to the end, retreating the same path, thrusting forward and backward. It isn’t the entire length of him, which Harry is grateful for. 

Voldemort continued moving, a rhythm of his hips that Harry doesn’t follow. 

Voldemort continued grinding against Harry. He kept Harry safe and tucked into him, squeezing her tight and flush as he moved, stimulating more heat and friction with every stroke.

The lipless mouth hover over Harry’s lips, the red eyes pierce into her soul, half-lidded with desire, and he breathes a cold breath on the surface  before he delivers another roll of his hips, sensual and slow.

Harry closes her eyes and waits for him to be done, endures his kisses and his bites, and his tongue, trailing down her neck as he murmurs during the movement of his hips, pressing into her own, “My Harry, mine, mine.” and when Harry whimpers, he shushes her softly, the hiss resounding across her ear. “Shh, Harry. We’re almost done, darling.”

The almost done feels like another lie, because no matter how still Harry stays, no matter how she endures everything, grateful for the cloth of his robe and cursing the soft fabric of her pants, it feels like it takes forever before Voldemort hisses, “Yesss, yess…” and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, grunting louder, a guttural sound of a monster taking his prize, the rebirthed taking his gift. “Harry, Harry…”

The thrusts become uneven, hard, fast, and then he pumps a few more times, shivers and throbs between her legs, his fingers digging bruises from the deep hold on Harry’s skin, the fabric of his cloak suddenly damp.

His hot breath fans against her neck, and he continues holding her, hip to hip, breasts to chest, as he softens against her.

Harry breathes. In, out, in, out.

Voldemort readjusts Harry, relocating his hands back on her spine and under the upper thigh of her right leg.

Harry sniffles, but refuses to release another sound not to trigger Voldemort to start comforting her again. 

After a few moments, Voldemort laughs. It is a warm, delighted sound. He sounds happy, pleased.

He kisses Harry on the cheek again, smiling all the while, and squeezes her close to him.

[pitgritted]

𝐀  𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓                                                  smell  of  blood  fills  the  caverns  of  his  nostrils  ,  so  sickeningly  dry  ,  sweet  ,  &  metallic  .  the  scent  stems  into  the  receptors  of  his  nasal  cavities  ,  triggering  the  nerve  -  ending  bundles  of  his  brain  .  hard  -  wired  on  the  lustful  desire  for  more  .  his  tongue  pokes  out  [  ;  ]  breathy  &  hot  ,  lapping  up  the  dry  tasting  airs  of  ionian  summers  .  such  heat  was  irritable  &  ignited  his  fists  to  keep  thrashing  down  without  recoil  .  in  a  feverish  want  for  more  ,  hands  dolled  up  in  a  fresh  pelt  of  crimson  [  ;  ]  webbed  in  fine  sticky  strings  that  thin  the  more  he  expands  the  gaps  of  his  digits  ,  he  slowly  retracts  his  form  .

                                                   a  bit  of  it  encrusts  between  the  divots  of  his  knuckle  duster  ,  outlining  the  cracks  of  teeth  that  layer  the  jutting  maw  of  the  wolverine  .  it’s  crimson  eye  socket  hollow  &  gleaming  back  at  him  .  

                                                  ❝  BOSS  —  !  get  ‘yer  head  outta  the  clouds  !!  you’ve  finished  him  —  !!  ❞

                                                  get  my  head  outta  the  clouds  …  but  his  fists  still  throbbed  beneath  crimson  excretions  ,  it  burned  with  a  stringent  desire  [  ;  ]  𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏  𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆  .  the  pads  of  his  fingers  were  embedded  with  gold  ,  pulsating  with  what  he  assumed  were  his  old  blood’s  power  .  it  became  so  concentrated  in  matter  ,  it  sticks  to  the  bulbs  of  his  eyes  &  hair  ,  all  he  could  see  was  in  fact  white  .  his  nose  suffocated  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  fresh  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇  .  

                                                  ❝  don’t  give  me  orders  ,  boss  knows  what  he’s  doin’  .  i  ain’t  a  guy  with  a  nut  for  a  head  …  right  ?  ❞  jutting  fangs  rest  comfortably  against  his  bottom  lip  ,  hair  sprouting  chin  coated  in  saliva  .  perhaps  he  was  drooling  .  his  body  felt  hot  [  ;  ]  it  wasn’t  from  ionia’s  sweltering  hot  season  ,  no  .  he  felt  overstimulated  .  pushed  to  his  limits  .  

                                                  he  crushes  sounds  that  threaten  to  leave  his  gullet  ,  sinking  huffs  &  grunts  beneath  his  blood  soaked  molars  .  his  vision  blinks  ,  color  infusing  through  the  mask  of  white  that  glazes  over  his  eyes  .

                                                  his  sternum  felt  like  it  had  become  stretched  ,  along  with  the  seven  ridges  that  barricaded  his  vital  organs  .  it  was  a  painful  shot  that  scorched  up  his  tailbone  ,  his  expanded  fingers  gripping  at  the  air  for  anything  to  grab  onto  .  a  guttural  hiss  seethes  through  his  teeth  ,  finding  his  attempts  thwarted  .  a  pair  of  wide  hands  strapped  him  in  place  against  bodies  ,  meant  to  stop  him  .  keep  him  tamed  .  𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃  .  

                                                  ❝  snap  out  of  it  boss  .  you’ve  won  .  ❞

                                                  a  deeper  feminine  voice  touched  his  ears  &  there’s  a  stiff  shift  of  his  jaw  .  his  brain  tried  as  hard  as  it  might  to  link  this  voice  to  a  face  .  his  molten  flesh  felt  entombed  against  a  rough  surface  ,  it  was  cool  but  it  was  large  .  he  couldn’t  move  at  all  .  his  arteries  felt  clogged  as  a  hand  mounted  against  his  wide  neck  ,  stifling  his  attempts  at  even  biting  .  not  that  he  was  going  to  anyway  .  

                                                  his  vision  continues  to  blink  &  spiral  into  a  series  of  dismantling  colorful  images  .  there  was  a  mound  of  red  at  the  center  ,  surrounded  by  a  heavily  saturated  surrounding  .  his  pit  …  that’s  right  .  he  was  in  the  ring  .  he  was  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃  on  account  of  a  greater  ticket  being  cashed  in  .  awaiting  sacks  of  coin  to  spill  it’s  impregnated  canvases  over  his  desk  .  

                                                  wait  he  —-  won  ?  she  said  …  he  won  .  his  enclosed  limbs  slowly  were  dispelled  of  the  heat  ,  his  magic  ,  &  became  turmoiled  with  pain  &  exhaustion  .  ❝  wait  …  really  ?  ❞  he  rasped  out  to  her  ,  so  hushed  ,  so  ingrained  with  spent  resources  .  she  mimics  her  reply  with  a  belated  hum  .  ❝  i  got  you  ,  settrigh  .  the  bouts  have  already  dispersed  the  crowd  …  you  got  your  pay  .  nobody  seen  what  has  happened  .  ❞  

                                                  so  much  for  that  …  sett  would  delegate  his  workers  ,  making  sure  there  are  enough  big  bodies  guarding  the  profits  ,  while  he  prepares  for  a  jam  -  packed  audience  ‘  hankering  for  blood  .  ‘  who  was  he  not  to  give  his  blood  -  thirsty  customers  of  his  a  deserved  show  ?  no  matter  the  gore  behind  it  .  but  if  it  was  enough  to  draw  even  his  trusted  to  thwart  him  ,  this  won’t  be  a  pretty  sight  for  old  eyes  .  

                                                  ❝  be  honest  with  me  ,  farhozi  …  what’s  the  damage  to  that  crooked  fella  ?  ❞  

                                                  ❝  about  as  dead  as  the  croonies  you’ve  slaughtered  in  the  past  .  but  you’ve  ripped  into  him  ,  despite  his  passing  .  damn  near  unrecognizable  .  ❞  she  replies  .  ❝  well  …  more  just  a  sack  of  meat  than  recognizable  .  ❞

                                                  ❝  fuckin’  hell  …  ❞

                                                  ❝  you  might  want  to  get  ‘yerself  cleaned  up  before  filing  up  those  papers  for  the  deceased  .  ❞  she  advised  .  sett  scrunches  his  nose  &  scoffs  .  

                                                  ❝  yeah  …  just  give  me  a  sec’  ,  will  ‘ya  ?  ❞  once  he  stated  this  ,  his  body  had  finally  been  freed  .  blood  smearing  on  his  face  as  his  palms  rubbed  the  plates  of  his  rugged  face  .  his  vision  finally  gets  back  at  him  ,  reading  his  environment  &  deducing  visible  information  .  

                                                  that  red  mound  could  be  depicted  as  an  obscene  distortion  of  gore  [  ;  ]  gristle  broke  through  flesh  &  marrow  sticks  upwards  ,  completely  disregarding  it’s  original  purpose  or  shape  .  sett  couldn’t  even  make  out  what  belonged  to  what  in  the  skeleton  .  entrails  are  flattened  &  pasted  against  the  ring’s  floor  ,  thick  pink  innards  caved  in  with  shapes  of  his  brass  knuckles  .  chunks  of  the  scalp  with  specks  of  black  hair  loiter  about  with  the  flecks  of  blood  splattered  a  bit  of  a  distance  away  .  

                                                  ❝  shit  …  did  i  really  do  that  ?  ❞

                                                  farhozi  sniffs  at  him  ,  wiping  her  thumb  against  her  nose  .  ❝  in  all  my  years  of  being  a  professional  pit  contender  ,  this  is  the  most  gruesome  thing  yet  .  ❞

[storymakerdraconians]

The Bunny's Sacrifice

Under the burning sun of a medieval fantasy world, a female bunny stood on the edge of a cliff, gazing out at the vast expanse of the dragon's domain. Her fur was soft and white, streaked with red scars that told tales of battles past, and her green eyes shimmered with a mixture of determination and fear. The wind tugged at her crimson hair, making it dance wildly around her face, but her resolve was unshaken. She had come too far to turn back now.

The village she had left behind was small, nestled in a valley where the shadows of the mountains loomed large. For generations, her people had lived in peace, offering tributes to the dragon that ruled the skies above. But the dragon’s demands had grown more terrible with time, and now, it required a living sacrifice. The elders had cast lots, and it was her name that had been drawn. Rather than face her fate with despair, she had chosen to meet it head-on, hoping that in doing so, she might secure her people's safety for years to come.

The journey to the dragon’s lair had been treacherous. The path was lined with jagged rocks and twisted trees, their branches like claws reaching out to ensnare her. But she pressed on, driven by a sense of duty stronger than any fear. Each step brought her closer to the peak, where the dragon resided in a cavern of fire and smoke.

As she ascended, she thought of the stories she had heard as a child, tales of knights and heroes who had attempted to slay the beast but had all fallen to its fiery breath. She was no knight, no hero. She was but a simple villager, but in her heart burned a courage born of necessity.

Finally, she reached the summit. Before her lay the entrance to the dragon's lair, a massive cavern lined with glowing veins of molten lava. The heat was overwhelming, but she did not falter. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The cavern was vast, its ceiling disappearing into darkness above. The ground beneath her feet was hot, and the air was thick with the smell of sulfur. In the center of the cavern, atop a mound of treasure—gold, jewels, and ancient relics—lay the dragon. Its scales were the color of molten rock, and its eyes burned with a fierce, otherworldly light.

The dragon lifted its head as she approached, its massive jaws parting in a smile that revealed rows of razor-sharp teeth. "You are brave, little one," it rumbled, its voice echoing through the chamber. "Few dare to stand before me willingly."

The bunny girl dropped to her knees, bowing her head low. "I come not out of bravery, but out of duty," she replied, her voice trembling only slightly. "I offer myself to you, great dragon, in the hope that my sacrifice will bring peace to my people."

The dragon regarded her for a long moment, its gaze piercing through her. Then, it laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that shook the very walls of the cavern. "Peace? There is no peace to be had in this world, only power and the will to wield it."

The bunny girl looked up, meeting the dragon's gaze with newfound determination. "Then take my life, if that is what you desire. But know that in doing so, you only strengthen the resolve of those who remain."

The dragon's laughter died away, replaced by a contemplative silence. It studied her for a moment longer before speaking again. "You are different from the others who have come before you. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye."

With a wave of its clawed hand, the dragon beckoned her closer. "Come, let us see what fate has in store for you. Perhaps your sacrifice will bring about a change in the winds of destiny."

And with that, the bunny girl rose to her feet and stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she faced the unknown, ready to embrace whatever fate awaited her in the dragon's lair.

======================================================================

Description:

In a medieval fantasy world, a courageous bunny girl stands on the edge of a cliff, facing the domain of a fearsome dragon. Scarred by past battles, she embarks on a perilous journey, driven by a sense of duty to her people. As she confronts the dragon, her determination sparks an unexpected turn of events that may alter the course of destiny.

===============================================

Title: The Bunny's Sacrifice: A Tale of Courage and Destiny

Alt Text: A brave bunny girl with crimson hair stands on a cliff, gazing towards the dragon's lair in a medieval fantasy world.

Tags: fantasy, medieval, bunny girl, dragon, courage, sacrifice, destiny

Keywords:fantasy adventure, dragon's lair, bunny girl, medieval world, courage and sacrifice, destiny and fate

[prescitia]

Fingers pry fastidious between satin skin and still the damnable waistline of slacks, trailing its circumference until his hands steeple at the small of his back. Down they delve, pressing into the soft mounds of a supple ass filling and conforming to the shape of him as they rut. He pushes further until the fabric grows taut, outlining the desperation between Armand's thighs in vivid detail. Cruel lips upturn, taunting.

Mouth finds its offered place, blunt edges of teeth teasing blooming red into its surface, suckling.

"Now who's pathetic?" A purr into the shelter of his neck, traced to the indignant convulsion of a marked throat. Lestat chuckles, the sound a cavernous resonance between them muffled into the eager steal of a kiss.

Unwilling to relinquish his ample hold, he rises with a thought, cradling the shifted weight of his company on steady feet that carry them to the laughably empty table with it's more-than-one-seat. Here he sets his prize, a shudder releasing its tension down the length of his back as he peels himself away. Only so far as to reach out and run the tips of his fingers down the length of Armand's chest, urging him down flat.

"You are beautiful but." Said as a concession, as if the thought of it pains him; the admittance, a death sentence. Lestat's nails hook at the waistband of slacks once more, tapping their way to the loop of his belt held in the clasp, to the button, the zipper. A wolfish grin blooming across a laudatory face.

"I prefer you..." He unfastens each as if the sun would never rise again and the long millennia night would begin. The fabric loosens, perched precariously on narrow hips and he tugs inch by inch. Just below the Adonis belt vanishing beneath the fabric, he pauses to lean over and appraise them with lavish kisses, the tease of a canine, tongue lolling over the soft peach fuzz hair of his abdomen.

Locks like molten gold spill out over dark skin as he nuzzles his way to the other side leaving gifts of the gentle snapping of teeth and the apology of a kiss to follow. His hands clutched tight around the fabric pull, unveiling Armand's shame cradled in the arc of his shoulder as he moves.

Rising, he lords himself over the prone figure. Tracing the length of him in every sense with a curious eye. His hands rest on parted thighs, thumbs outstretched and brushing loving sweeping patterns into the trembling skin.

"...like this."

the violence is only second to the passion. that which armand has no business wielding, the pleasure, pours from him as if in a fount of his own euphoria. there would be no chasteness between them, nothing kind or languid, they are animals before they are men; and as they kiss they do so as animals do. their teeth open and maws gape, glistening with blood and saliva and their lips come together messily. reinvigorating the taste of their mutual pleasure's, armand kisses lestat back with every intention of waking that which has lied dormant between them.

with his knees grounding him against the floor, and lestat's hands on his hips, the vampire rolls their bodies together from cock to their mouths, humming between their mouths, groaning as the full scale of his pleasure rocks through him. armand's mouth slackens slightly, the kiss growing fainter as lestat begins to work his lips against his chin, his jaw, anywhere that he can reach before abandoning his body altogether. he pants loudly, head lolled backwards in a tantalizing display of his pale, thin neck. but it isn't his neck that's grasped between those teeth the way armand solely craves, but the mahogany button's that keep his silks together.

when the shirt falls open, armand is the first to guide his mouth to a nipple. he needs the pleasure to be anywhere but the throbbing measurement between his thighs, he needs it to be localized so that he might survive it; because as it is, as lestat's mouth moves over his tender flesh, armand fears that he might not. a peculiar wish to have possessed some soft, wet cleft for lestat comes over him as his neck is suckled at, a glowing vision of this vampire sinking into his body without the need for oil or blood and it brings the first moan from his bloodied mouth. armand moans, loud, grinding their bodies together like a beast, nothing but his raw need coming through as he wraps his arms around his lover's neck to hold him close as they move together in unison.

he could find his fill like this. it would be a most welcome pleasure, as wet and dirty as it would become. armand pushes his hips forward in a tight figure eight, using lestat's wide shoulders as an anchor. blood-sweat runs down his temple, every eager grip at the back of lestat's head punctuating the heaviness of his breathing, the need to be closer than their physical forms would allow. and amongst it all, the flame of his dissolving pain - the healing of flesh long since touched, the flecking of blood that comes away from his belly as they rub their fronts together, chest to chest, sensation's of pleasure rippling through him as he feels his nipples pass against lestat's. ' tu es pathétique - ' he pants and kisses his forehead, the imprint of his fangs just under his top lip.

[illegiblehandwriting1]

Hi there!

Hey guys, I'll admit it.

I'm not sure what I'm doing.

But I'm a writer, musician, and Zelda enthusiast! I write for Linked Universe mainly (Illegible_Handwriting on ao3) and I figured I should make a Tumblr, so here we are! I like a bunch of other things too, though (marble hornets, stormlight archive, gravity falls, unravel 2, metroid, doctor who, the owl house, rottmnt, ben drowned/awakening, generation loss, episodes 4-9of star wars, HUMAN RIGHTS DAMMIT, just to name a few) so I'll pretty much post whatever I want to.

I swear a lot, so be warned.

Nonbinary (and everyone is hella valid, homophobes/terfs/transphobes/racists/ableists/anti-Semites etc. beware >:( so be nice everyone)

I use "#illeg scribbles" for my writing, and #chicken scratch for any other rambles or posts I make. #reblog is exactly what it sounds like!

#smoke & ashes has its own tag, and so does #dear four chronicles! #the chosen and the champion also exists but I don't really use it anymore because I'm working on s&a, so if you want updates on that, use the smoke & ashes tag thx :D

And I don't know how active I'll be on here (probably not a lot) but we'll see how this goes! If I'm not active, don't be alarmed, that'll be normal probably lol.

I guess I should make a masterpost huh. Ok that's under the cut.

The Chosen and the Champion series (in progress)

The Chosen and the Champion (Switch gang tribute): Completed. A ton of Wild and Sky content because I saw Skyward Sword on Switch and went FUCK yes. This got off the rails very quickly. Just read all of them at this point, cuz I don't know what I'll bring back next. Chapter 20 and onwards is Exploring Sky's Hyrule.

Smoke & Ashes: Incomplete and in progress!! continues where C&C left off, with a huge fucking focus on Sky's adventure, specifically the end. However, unlike most fics, people are NOT very happy or forgiving with Sky. If you know, you know. VERY ANGST HEAVY. PLEASE READ ALL THE TAGS AND WARNINGS.

Like Mounds of Molten Gold: Incomplete and in progress!! Just a bunch of extra content for the C&C universe! Some are companion pieces to a specific chapter or section, while some are just random shit. There might be cut content every now and then. All of them help to give a deeper/more enjoyable experience to the main fic (in my opinion).

The Dear Four Chronicles (in progress)

Dear Four: completed. oneshot. pre-Minish Cap Four and post-LU Sky. Shenanigans ensue.

Hey Time: completed. oneshot. pre-OoT Time and post-LU Four. Shenanigans but it's 12k this time.

Hello Wind (temp title): being written! IDK when it'll come out, but it'll happen eventually. I promise.

The Groose is Loose! (temp title, in progress??? Maybe???)

A Weight Called Eternity: completed. oneshot. I asked the question "what was Groose doing during the Demise fight?" This is absolutely spliced from ch16 of S&A. Do I care? No. It's edited substantially as well, and is not LU, but SkSw instead. ALSO HEAVY ANGST

Other fics:

There it is again, that funny feeling...: Incomplete and in progress!! multi-chapter. It's a bunch of different ideas all stemming from the same base question: "what if Sky was the Fierce Deity?" Each chapter is a separate AU. Please heed the warnings on this one.

Imagine all the fun you and your future self could have, if only you had a driver's license: Completed. multi-chapter. Long-ass title because I never thought of a better one. Basically, pre-LU Wild and Sky are in Mariokart! Bunch of crack. Lots of fun.

Here lies Link: completed. oneshot. Four digs a grave for a dear friend. Also Wolfie is there for emotional support. Heed the tags.

Storybook: completed, i guess. oneshot, i guess. pre-Minish Cap Four knows about Sky and I think that's the most precious idea. If I ever come back to this, I'll let you know.

Freezing Flame: completed. oneshot. halloween from a couple years ago. Wind finds a graveyard. Heed the warnings.

All the Lights in the World (Are Slowly Going Out): completed, i guess. discontinued, really. multi-chapter. I tried Wumptober 2022 and I only got 3 prompts in. heed the tags and warnings.

Fluffy Pillows and Angsty Teens: incomplete! multi-chapter. Random shit i wrote!!

Beyond Recollection (discontinued): done, i guess. Multi-chapter. Was gonna be about a female hero after twi who people couldn't remember, but i left the idea.

As twilight fell: completed. oneshot. my first fic. don't read it. save yourselves. I might rewrite it eventually. heed the warnings in the tags.

[wangxianficfinder]

Lan Wangji leaves the Lan Sect

~*~

❤️For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by sami (E, 65k, WangXian, Time Travel, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Canon Divergence, Asexual JC, First Time, Getting Together, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ)

The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 86k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, family, not lan sect friendly, canon typical violence & gore, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, mothers who live, some people live/not everyone dies)

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Post-Canon, POV LXC)

something something, farming as a metaphor for healing by alisonlynn (G, 1k, WangXian, sort of a fix it?, farming)

A War of Stone and Silence by kitsunealyc (T, 4k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Burial Mounds, Lans Being Crappy Communicators, Wall of Discipline, Remix)

You in me, you are mine, my everything by BriaPia (M, 24k, WangXian, SongXiao, Temporary Character Death, it's WWX, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, LWJ leaves Gusu Lan, what if situation)

Love You Forever: Body, Soul and Mind by orphan_account (E, 3k, WangXian, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, PWP, Fluff and Smut, Marathon Sex)

Bones by Forever_Marie (M, 2k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Resurrection, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF NHS, Scheming NHS, Corporal Punishment, Slow To Update, Protective NHS, Hurt WWX, LWJ Has Feelings, Murder Mystery, Oblivious LXC, Pining LWJ, Kid Fic, Good Kid LSZ, Sassy LJY, Fierce Corpse NMJ, Single Parent LWJ)

Forget-me-not (don’t leave me behind) by Stelra_Etnae (T, 9k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mother-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, LXC Needs a Hug, Reconciliation, Protective Siblings, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Madam Lán Lives, LQR Tries, Twin Jades of Lán Dynamics)

All was well when you were still with me by KoHITTSujiChan (Not Rated, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Established Relationship, Canon Divergence, Fake Character Death, for LWJ, He leaves the Lan sect!)

Answer the song of my heart by Artemis_Z_Stark (orphan_account) (G, 2k, LWJ/CWN, Started as a crack ship but now here it is, kinda character death, please no hate, stole a bit from Airplane bro, some svsss stuff)

From the beyond Series by apathyinreverie (T, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Some angst, Ghost WWX, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX, Domestic WangXian, rogue cultivators wangxian, of sorts, Ghostly Sunshine Husbands: A Guide on Accidental Sect Creation by Hanguang-Jun, Cultivation World Critical, Fix-It, Oblivious WWX, Smitten LWJ, Time Skips)

All Exits Look The Same by Ahlai (T, 14k, WangXian, LWJ & MDM Lan, Canon Divergence, MDM Lan Lives, Family Feels, Healing, Grief/Mourning)

Home isn't Where the Heart is. by Hauntcats (Not Rated, 7k, WangXian)

The Sun Sets Like a Whispered Regret by OrdinaryRealities (T, 41k, JC & LWJ, WangXian, Resurrect Your Gays, LWJ and JC enemies to brothers, MDZS Big Bang 2020, Minor Character Death, discussion of characters who have died, And the trauma of that, Kidfic, Sort Of, characters working through trauma together, Give MXY some GD agency, Happy Ending)

Let It All Burn by makebelieveanything (T, 3k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Feral LWJ, just a little bit, warprize LWJ, YL WWX, Happily Ever After)

What Comes After Love by Rainbow_Horizon (T, 17k, WangXian, POV LWJ, Protective LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, POV WWX, Sad WWX, Jealous WWX, Módào Zǔshī & The Untamed Combination, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Break Up, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, marriage issues, Marriage Proposal)

Molten Gold by jesso (M, 17k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, LWJ loses his core, madam lan lives, pining, WX meet as children, character death, family feels, time jumps, dub con, WIP)

Volume 1: Less Than Dead by QueenieWithABeenie (T, 90k, WangXian, 3Zun, Canon Divergence, Demonic Cultivator LWJ, mentions of wwx's canon death, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Angst and Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Explicit Language, Unreliable Narrator, Implied Sexual Content, Getting Together, haunted lwj, Rape/Non-con Elements, If You Squint)

the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 77k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days)

❤️love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YL WWX, Arranged Marriage, political scheming, Gratuitous Domesticity, Mutual Pining, EXTREME SLOWBURN, the inherent eroticism of the forehead ribbon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, neither wwx nor lwj want to be Perceived, bottom lwj in chapter 20 and 27)

my life's journey is far from over by thelastdboy (E, 147k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Post-Sunshot Campaign, PTSD, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, POV WWX, Slow Burn, Anxiety, Situational Mutism, YL WWX, Case Fic, Sentient Burial Mounds, Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Healing Is a Slow Process, therapy is good actually, All women deserve better, Modern AU but not too modern™, mlm/wlw solidarity, Mild Smut, Non-Verbal Safewords, Dom/sub, Kink Negotiation, Kink Exploration)

Patriarch by WithBroomBefore (T, 26k, WangXian, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, WWX Lives, JYL Lives, WQ Lives, YL LWJ, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, Injury Recovery, Healing, Minor Character Death, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, QS Lives, Minor MingSu, NMJ Lives, Good Uncle LQR, POV Multiple, MXY Lives, queerplatonic ZhanQing, Happy Ending, Domestic)

❤️And Miles To Go Before I Sleep by Glitterbombshell (T, 23k, WIP, WangXian, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, LXC is not really a good brother in this sorry, Canon Divergence, rogue cultivator!lwj)

the wild hunt Series by antebunny (G, 18k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, JL and his many many uncles, jgy is morally ambiguous but okay, BAMF WWX, JYL Lives, Non-Graphic Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Domestic Fluff)

The Best I Can by Zephyr (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 26k, WangXian, Little Apple, WWX talking to his donkey, Canon Divergence, Light Angst, Drama, Recovery, Coming of Age, Secret Identity Fail, Friendship, Rogue Cultivator LWJ, Road Trips, Sort Of, POV Multiple, Happy Ending)

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 623k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, slow burn, getting together, first time, pining, pining while fucking, angst w/ happy ending, WIP)

Evermore Series by devinokaze (T/E, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YL WWX, Fluff, Smut, Marriage, courting, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Marriage Proposal, Older WWX, Just By Few Years, Post-Sunshot Campaign)

Fragments by devinokaze (T, 13k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YL WWX, Domestic Fluff, Married Life, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Older WWX, Just By Few Years, Post-Sunshot Campaign)

Home and the Heartland by Witch_Nova221 (T, 210k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Slow Romance, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self-Discovery, Golden Core Reveal)

the exception proves the rule by defractum (nyargles) (T, 5k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Character Study)

The Promises We Make by Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane) (G, 34k, WangXian, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, Gratuitous Bed Sharing, Rabbits)

The Trouble With Politics: a Treatise on Jiang Sect Deputies Gone Rogue by Sect Leader Wei Wuxian by stiltonbasket (G, 40k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect, or: the one where yu zhenhong is a wild card, Smitten LWJ, Domestic Fluff, Politics, Happy Ending, Sect Leader WWX, Fix-It of Sorts, JZX still dies though)

Diverge Series by WithBroomBefore (T, 13k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending, Golden Core Reveal, POV LWJ, Established Relationship, Sickfic, lwj stays in the burial mounds, Siblings, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

for you, i'd bleed myself dry by Evil_laughter (T, 1k, WangXian, Minor XiYao, Minor Character Death, Canon Divergence, Chance Meetings, Pining, POV LWJ, Reunions, Single Parent LWJ)

The Rogue Jade by SereneSorrow (M, 7k, WangXian, Rogue Cultivator LWJ, Family Drama)

[sheep-from-rad]

I have a request but it’s stupid and idk if you do silly stuff if not totally understand and wish you a nice day.

If you do which 18+ Genshin characters would find it fun or react in a silly playful way if their s/o or just female friend (and the characters established they were okay with it) liked to put their boobs ontop of their head like a hat like they are sitting down and just bam boob hat

Thank you if you do this for dealing with my stupidity

Genshin x Reader: Boob Hat Note: Yes I do write 18+ fics and welcome to my inbox! This is long so I might go make part 2 or even 3. Warnings: I did my best to make this gender neutral but I don’t think I’m done right. Also Suggestive themes. Claustrophobia on Kaeya’s part. Masterlists

Zhongli Zhongli being admired by people is not an unusual event. He somehow always finds himself surrounded by people either wanting to learn about a history of something or simply someone who just wanted someone to talk to. Today however is one of those days. A young woman bats her eyelashes owlishly as she pretends to listen to Zhongli's tales. The woman has her collar dangerously low, arms crossing the boundaries of what people knew as personal space. It’s not the first time that this has happened. I mean, who doesn’t get attracted? Amber eyes that look molten gold when hit by gentle sunrays, silky hair falling like ribbons at his back, not to mention the rare smile. 

While you love that he’s being admired by people, you just hate the way the woman is basically draping herself on him. You placed down the lotus roots that you gathered in the nearby lake before quietly running behind them. “Darling!” Zhongli was momentarily stopped from drinking his tea as he felt your arms around his form, warmth enveloping him slowly. But it wasn’t your arms or your warmth that made him stop but rather the soft mounds that were placed on his head by the way you’re positioned behind him. 

“Who is this woman?” the woman said, batting her eyelashes once more. Zhongli burrows his head further to your chest discreetly but the smirk on his lips gives it off anyway. “I’m his partner. Who are you?” The woman gasped, looking scandalised. “Could you repeat that for me?” She looked at Zhongli for confirmation but he only leaned on your chest even more.  “I’m his partner. Who are you?” you pressed on the word ‘partner’. The woman gave you a glare before leaving. 

Zhongli placed the teacup down and gently looked up. “You know if you’re jealous you could have just said so”, he said in which you replied. “You know if you like my chest on your head so much and then you could just ask me.” You gently hit his shoulder as he laughed at the statement, removing yourself on him as you collected the lotus roots that will be cooked for later. 

Kaeya When he said he wants to take you out for a date, you don’t think that this is the one that he has in mind. The two of you were on your way for a trip but stopped by Jean for an emergency mission. The domain looks normal at first until you two reach the last room and there you two are: pressed against each other with the walls slowly closing in and suffocating you both. “When we get out of here, I’ll take you on a better date”, he teased. His forehead is starting to sweat because of the air slowly becoming thin. 

You remembered the last domain that you and Amber explored. It was just like this one but the puzzles of it are more on the open which made it easy for the two of you to get out. You let out the sharp gasp as the wall pressed you further together. You looked left and right to find whatever can help until you saw it glow bright. “Kaeya lift me up”, you said, earning a confused look from the male. “If you move right now that will immediately make us pancakes!” 

You looked up to his eyes and he sighed. “I’ll use my sword as a buffer for the walls. Climb up immediately.” Kaeya struck his sword in between the walls. He trusts that the sword will be strong enough to make the compression slower. Kaeya placed his arms on your thighs lifting you up but trying not to move much as he tries his best as well to make the wall compress slower. 

Your hand reached for the metal lever that looks glittering in low light. It’s either going to compress you both or stop the walls from doing so but what other choice do you have? As your fingers tugged it down, the sound of the walls closing into each other stopped. Kaeya let out a breath of relief before his hand reached for his sword, not remembering that you are positioned on top of him. 

He looked up as you let out a yelp, arms immediately catching your form. Kaeya’s vision immediately was covered when soft mounds hit his face. You open your eyes and find yourself still up but your companion is not responding nor making any move. “Kaeya?” You looked down and your face rose in temperature. You guess that he was supposed to look up but stopped midway when you fell on him, well, on top of him. Your bosom rested comfortably on his face and he hasn’t said any word since. “This is a bad date to begin with but that’s not a bad reward.” Diluc     You’re bored. Well, it’s an understatement considering that boredom is already eating all the logical cells in your brain. Kaeya is off to Liyue for a mission. He was supposed to be there a month ago but he got grounded after he accidentally lost sight of Klee who made the oven at Good Hunter explode. Amber’s replacing the missing posters that was messed up by the rain and Eula is not an option because she has the habit of just appearing and disappearing like Rosaria. Hillie and Moco are fun but you really don’t want to intrude on their business which means… Diluc is the last one you can bother with. 

    You got up from your bed from the second floor but didn’t leave the room without giving a nod to the traveller and Paimon. You volunteered on coming with them as a companion because the chasm exploration left them struggling to go back to Mondstadt. As you go down the staircase, you find Diluc talking to Elzer . “Diluc!” you called softly. 

    Diluc paused on talking upon hearing you call but only to continue discussing things with Elzer. You silently hopped behind him and continued on calling but he gave you no response. You poked him but there was no avail. You blew air on his ear but no avail. Elzer gave you a sympathetic look but Diluc only continued on discussing the papers. 

    You sighed before leaning on the red head, your chest resting on his crown. “What are you doing?” Diluc finally spoke. He tried to focus back on the papers but you only leaned more and now resting your whole body weight on your chest. His face was slowly becoming the colour of Jueyen peppers and Elzer could only smile. “It’s best if I show the proposal to Charles first, sir. I will report back before night falls.” 

    Elzer took the papers back to the brown folder and left the premises. “What do you think you’re doing?” Diluc asked once again, his face hidden but bears the same colour as his hair. “Do I have your attention now?”

Taglist: @chihawari / @zuri-feather / @tinandabin @eccedentesiast-sapphic /

[lady-o-ren]

The Dig

You can read this on ao3 // HERE //

Suffolk, England

1939

“What's going on in Sutton Hoo, then that has you in such a hurry?”

James Fsaser reluctantly looked up from where his head had been braced on his leather satchel, clutched atop his knees, and gave the old ferryman a one-eyed stare.

“I've a job. Digging,” he swallowed, trying mightily to keep himself from retching as the wee boat he was in bobbed up and down like a mad carousel.

“You came all the way from Scotland to dig like a dog?” He laughed hoarsely, hawking up a wad of phlegm into the murky river water as he swung his oars.

“Ipswich,” Fraser muttered, turning a bit more green.

Ipswich Museum to be exact.

He'd been hired to help excavate a centuries old burial site located at a rural estate in Sutton Hoo, overseen by the archeologist, Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. A woman much admired (or envied depending on the man) for her keen mind and boundless curiosity (and unrivaled stubbornness that often spiraled into outright defiance according to those same particular men) that had her uprooting half of Great Britain in pursuit of the secrets hidden beneath the mossy plains. And more often than not her instincts were right and another antiquity would be dusted off to be reborn again.

Fraser wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the right to work by her side but Christ, he wouldn't question how lucky he was.

The boat then suddenly coasted to an abrupt stop against the rivers side.

“Here we are, Mr. Fraser. All in one piece. And I thank you for keeping me boat and boots tidy,” said the old ferryman with a wink.

Fraser didn't bother with a retort, he was just happy that the world had blessedly stopped spinning and hopped onto wonderfully solid land.

Smoothing the wrinkles from his attire and fixing his father's old grey cap atop his head (taking special care to tuck in his dark ginger curls that always peeked out from just under the rim), he made his way down the brambled path that the old man said led to the big house. After a brief introduction with the owner of the estate, he was then directed to where he'd be working, and trotted past the trees and sprawling country green to an open field.

From afar, Fraser could see three burial mounds jutting from the earth, grassy topped with yellow dandelions sprouting all over.

But what made his breath catch was the sight of the woman he'd been so eager to meet.

She was surveying the site with her hands on her trousered waist looking like a general on the cusp of conquest. Sensing his approach, she turned away from her prize and future glory, her short curls bouncing and gleaming a rich shade of earth in the dewy sunlight, and met his gaze with her own.

Sharp with intelligence. Kindled with mirth. Shimmering like molten gold.

"A Dhia," Fraser whispered to the fragrant spring air, and took off his cap, twisting it between his hands that ached to trace and memorize every curve of the archeologist's face.

She waved him over seeing him linger and a terrible heat sprang to the young lad's face at having been caught staring at the beauty like a halfwit, and forced his legs to move. Prayed he didn't fall flat on his face.

"Hullo there," she greeted, and clasped her small hand to his, but there was nothing dainty about its grasp. Fraser could feel the years of hard-earned experience chiseled in her palm that held his hand firmly, letting him know exactly who he'd be working for.

It sent a thrill down his spine.

"I'm Dr. Claire Beauchamp. And you must be the very late Mr. Fraser I've been waiting for."

"Aye, and I beg yer pardon for that, ma’am," Fraser replied in earnest, detecting a subtle spike of irritation in her voice, seeing the annoyed flick of her brow. "The morning train was running late.” By three hours! “ Then I had to wait for the ferryman to take me across the river -" He'd been taking his "tea" in the pub " - all a lousy excuse, I ken, but I promise ye it willna happen again."

Beauchamp crossed her arms and tipped her head to the side giving Fraser a scrutinizing once over that made his throat bob and the blood in his heart to palpitate.

"Good," she smirked, nodding her approval from his noticeable discomfort. "If you're anything like how the stiffs at Ipswich Museum described we'll get along well."

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the museum, the cantankerous men who worked there. Especially a certain Dr. Randall, who valued a good cigar over the work of a “farm boy”.

"And what do they say of me, if I may ask?"

Beauchamp bit her full bottom lip (wonderfully pink Fraser bashfully noted), quirking wryly.

“Quite a lot depending on who you ask. From what I've gathered you're hardworking, painfully intelligent and have an innate knack for reading the earth. But that you're also highly unorthodox, difficult and the most insufferable Scotsman ever to step foot in Ipswich. So naturally I had to work with you."

He let out a tightly held breath and chuckled softly.

"Weel, who am I to argue wi' a reference like that. I'm passionate about my work and little else, apart from food and kin. And while I've never been disrespectful to reason, I haven't the patience for men who think a title is deserving of my unquestionable fealty."

"And why should you? The conviction of a Viking is something to be admired not belittled,” she praised, making Fraser glow. "I only wish I could've been there to witness how you earned the ire of half the museum.”

“I'm merely in the right and they the wrong, more often than not,” he shrugged.

“I'm just as terrible,” she proudly grinned. ”But I know we'll make a good team. We'll have to if we want to tackle this lot.”

She motioned her head at the site looming tall, brimming with excitement that spoke to Fraser's own spirit.

"If that's so then it'll be an honor working wi' ye, ma'am."

He shook her hand once more and thought he felt her thumb move against his knuckle, light and curious as a brush stroke.

//

Working with two assistants from her previous digs (the studious Jeremy Foster and the wide-eyed youth Elias Pound), Fraser and Beauchamp made great strides in plowing the core of the mound that was the larger of the three, even when logic argued that the dip in the middle meant thieves of the past had already plundered it's horde.

But Fraser's gut and bones told him that there was something different about this one.

Beauchamp had thought so too.

"There's something grand and marvelous here begging to be found. Don't you think? Can't you feel it?"

The deeper they dug only intensified that feeling.

As had his attraction to the irrepressibly brilliant Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

However, after a fortuitous streak of good weather, the air started to blow with the sweet scent of rain and the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the lush clearing turned toward the skies, parched and longing.

"We have some time, I think, before the rain comes," said Beauchamp, gauging the skies westward still clear of thunderclouds.

Fraser leaned against his shovel in the hollow of earth he stood in, his dirt stained sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and could see the mad impulse to defy mother nature flash in her eyes.

"Usually I'd agree wi' ye, ma’am, but yer hair -" his mouth flicked upward in unbridled appreciation. "Is curling like a tumbleweed."

She pressed a dirt-flecked hand near her temple and felt the wild frizzy pushback of flyaway curls fallen loose from her twisted bun, springing around her face like a mane.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she huffed. “Have I been like this all morning, Fraser?”

"Pretty much," he grinned, enjoying how her usual regal self pinked across her freckled cheeks and the wee scrunch of her nose.

But Fraser's smile faltered, catching himself for a fool, and averted his attention down to the soil where his heart had fallen. Writhed. Burrowed with the worms and roots.

For what use was it for a man like him to yearn for a woman like her?

He swallowed the hopeless lump in his throat.

"Shall we go for lunch then, wait for the weather to clear?"

Hearing the word lunch, Foster and Pound looked up from their own end of the excavation with hunger in their eyes.

"Did that on purpose did you?" said Beauchamp, throwing an accusatory glance at the ginger lad while trying to gather her wayward curls back to partial respectability.

He gave her a half smile.

"The Almighty is the one making it rain, ma’am. Take it up wi' him."

She sighed and her hands fell to her waist as she took one last disappointing glance above.

"I would if He ever bothered to listen,” she frowned, then gave the other men a nod that made them hoot and holler.

“Numpties,” she mumbled, though did so fondly, and puffed at a rebellious forelock flirting with the wind.

After covering the ditch with a tarp secured to the ground, the men headed for the local pub raucously singing an old drinking song with a few choice words changed.

Our Lady must have been an Admiral, a Sultan or a Queen

And to her praises we shall always sing

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp who fills us up with cheer

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp . . .

Their lady laughed and rolled her eyes, before waving the lads off with a promise to catch up to gather her things, and headed to the shepherd's hut that had been provided by the estate.

Fraser glanced back watching her go, and after a moment's hesitation where he reasoned it would be rude to leave without her, he too told the others he'd forgotten something and went after Beauchamp.

Cursing himself an "EEJIT!" every step of the way.

//

Inside the hut was a small curtained window softly lighting the room from the back and two wooden scuffed chairs positioned along the side wall with a table snugly fit between them. Beauchamp herself was crouched by the table legs where Fraser had left his satchel but it was now laid open on its side, contents spilled over.

At his unexpected appearance that shadowed the doorway, she turned his way with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, I was just grabbing my bag when I tipped yours over and . . ."

She held up his small green fieldbook opened at the first page.

And white-hot panic flooded Fraser's veins.

"The writing caught my eye," she continued on, seemingly unaware that the poor lad was gripping the doorway for support. "I didn't know you spoke gaelic beyond the odd phrase here and there. That you can even write it too is something of a feat,” she said, impressed by the words secreted on the page.

“Aye,” he managed to breathe, relieved that she hadn't seen a thing. Not a thing! “I don't get much practice living away from home so I speak it in my mind and heart, write letters to my family when I can.”

“You've spoken of a sister, if I'm not mistaken. Older or younger?" She prodded, as if he were a new discovery, and he answered in hopes to distract her from what she still held in her hands.

Felt a fluttering warmth overtake him that she recalled him having a sister.

"Jenny,” he said, as he moved to kneel down beside her to stuff his scant belongings back in his bag. “She's older and feels the need to remind me of that fact whenever we see one another.”

“And you're the brat aren't you?”

Despite his predicament, Fraser couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

"I was the devil's spawn, aye, but Jen was no angel. We once got into a terrible stramash about our chores on the farm, the way wee bairns do, and I ended up telling her she had a face uglier than a coo, smelled worse than one too. Next I knew, I was being tackled to the ground wi' my face shoved into a ripe pile of coo shite and my sister above me laughing her wicked wee arse off.”

Beauchamp broke into laughter and it made his stomach do a flip.

“I'm sorry, that must've been awful for you, but I think I may love your sister for that.”

“Everybody says so. Not sure it was worth it in the end myself . . .” said Fraser, his voice suddenly trailing off at the end seeing her attention turn back to the page.

His mind spiraled into action.

"But we really should get going before the rain catches us. It looks to be a downpour, a terrible one.”

“Well it's a good thing we're under a roof then isn't it?” She countered, eyes sparkling through her long lashes. “ Besides I'd rather have an impromptu lesson in gaelic on what,” she paused, squinting down at the book opened on her knees. “Baa-mia-’bruu -” means.”

“Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr,” he begrudgingly corrected, wondering how rude it would be to just snatch his own fieldbook away. But then Beauchamp smiled as if charmed by his voice and echoed back his words with near perfect silky inflections, looking pleased as punch as she did so.

Endearing herself even more to the young Scot's already smitten heart.

“Verra good,” he hummed softly.

“Absolute luck,” she grinned, tapping her fingers atop his writing. “Now tell me what does it all mean?”

He shook his head embarrassed. "You'll think me daft, ma’am."

"I promise I won't."

She said it in such an earnest way, Jamie knew she spoke true. But then a deep rumble of thunder sliced through the air, enough to give Beauchamp a jolt that made her forefinger on the page slip and Fraser's stomach to rip and plummet to the old wood floor.

There, drawn on the page, was Beauchamp's face staring back at her.

“It’s nothing but some wee scribbles,” he stammered to explain, reaching for the book only for her to angle it away.

“You're right about that,” she agreed, her fine brows furrowing as she traced a slim finger to her pencil drawn cheek. “You've made one of my eyes bigger than the other, my nose a dash too long and -"

Her eyes went comically round as she pressed the pages to her chest, a sudden thought coming to her.

"You don't have anyone posed in the nude here do you?"

"O-Of course not! I'd never. I- I'd -"

"Breathe Fraser, I was only teasing you," she nearly giggled, but then her face softened with regret seeing his own face take on the horrible color of a split beet left to shrivel in the sun.

“But really, why bother with me?”

He had no answer but the one that pounded from his heart, a noise like a thousand drums that all struck the same adoring note. She could see it beaming from his face and a hushed silence fell between them as the rain finally came down, hitting the rooftop in a pitter-patter that enveloped her quietly spoken -

“Oh.”

That single utterance had Jamie wishing the rain would flood and swallow him up but it was now or never to speak his heart. No matter that hers would never be his to cherish.

Looking down at his hands, anxiously wringing the strap of his satchel, he spoke.

“There was never any helping it, me liking you. I'd never seen a sight sae fair as you, stubborn as you, nor wonderful as you. And I could never get ye out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried, but ye were always there like the sun and air."

He lifted his gaze to her likeness on the page.

"And then I just started filling my fieldbook wi' pictures of you if only to have something to remind me of you for when the job ends and we part ways. But I'm none so good as ye can see. I never could capture the grit and fire of yer spirit, the way yer curls bristle in excitement or the way yer eyes glow like a match to a candlewick . . . "

His heart tightened as his words faltered while Beauchamp remained quiet. Then like a blow to his chest she flipped through the small book once more, her face unreadable as stone. She looked through his sketches, one of her curls drawn like the ripples of the tide, another of her hands digging through the earth, and of her lush determined mouth curved into a beaming smile, bitten with impatience, beneath a perfect speckled nose.

And threaded between her gestures, her features were more bits of gaelic.

 A bòidhchead . . .

Tha pian orm . . .

Tha cho teann sa tha a ’bhriogais gam iomain

"I told you I was no good. I ken I should just rip up the pages -” Fraser began to miserably say, but Beauchamp hushed him by taking his hand in hers and softly stroked her thumb against the work-hardened skin. 

"You have a fine hand, Fraser. Especially for making my nose look as delicate as Garbo’s,” she smiled, cheeks touched lovely in pink.

Then in a moment that made it hard for Fraser to breathe, she simply said . . .

“Ask me for a drink.”

He blinked, thinking he misheard her, mouth agape. But there was no mistaking what brightened her eyes to shine like whisky.

“Ask me,” she repeated impatiently, almost laughing, as she squeezed his hand. 

Fraser inhaled sharply and tentatively squeezed her small hand back.

“Will ye join me for a pint, ma’am?”

“Claire,” she grinned, and coyly tilted her head . “And of course I will. Took you long enough to ask,” she winked, making Fraser stare at her in charmed disbelief.

And then Beauchamp closed the distance between them, hand light as a feather against his chest.

“But first you ought to kiss me, Fraser. It's still raining and I might catch a chill from all this waiting."

Still staring at her mesmerized, with questions that could wait another day flitting through his mind, Fraser wove an errant bonnie curl around his fingers and smoothed it behind her ear. Letting his thumb drag against her cheek.

“It's Jamie,” he murmured, in a brush of his lips to hers. 

And on and on it went.

//

Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . .

I dreamt about the mourning. The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us. They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave. But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

//

A/N: This had a ton of notes and explanations so you can read all those on ao3. But for sure I’ll say here this is very loosely based on the movie The Dig.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Missing MK11 Koncepts: Tremor.

Bio:

Discovery. Having left the black dragon to embark on a journey of discovery, Tremor found a powerful artefact: the heart of an elemental. It bonded with him, and awakened his innermost power. He is now on a journey to understand what this new strength means, and to eliminate all who stand in his way.

Gear:

Mask: (Select animation: The camera pans up to his face.) Designs include classic cloth, a few hoods and masks, his MKX metal mask, a few made of rocks, and a maskless one.

Boulder: (Select animation: Tremor scoops up a boulder from the ground and tosses it.) Designs include a spiked boulder with a smiley face painted on.

Elemental heart: (Select animation: The camera zooms in on Tremor’s chest) Designs include various forms of earth. A crystal with leaking energy, an obsidian stone with magma.

Skins:

Elemental Awakened: A new design with rock formations all around his body, like he is made of the earth itself. Stone surrounds the elemental heart.

Aftershock: His MKX default.

Young stone: A modified ninja outfit with a torn centrepiece to expose the heart.

Wandering Rock: A shirtless design, exposing his entire upper body.

Universal moves:

(Some moves have different properties depending on what form he’s in)

Earthquake: Tremor emits a pulse on the ground, can be directed. Amplify for the pulse to knock the opponent down.

Rock throw: Tremor summons a spiked rock and tosses across the screen as a projectile.

Metallic form: The projectile will destroy opponent projectiles, leading to a krushing blow.

Rock punch: Tremor encases his fist in stone and punches the opponent. Amplify for a launching uppercut.

Magma form: The uppercut launches higher and does a short damage over time.

Rock wall: Tremor stomps the ground and creates a wall of stone that destroys projectiles. Amplifying to have him force it towards the opponent.

Crystal form: The wall reflects projectiles.

Kustom moves:

(Most of Tremor’s moves are divided from his variations in MKX with a few new twists.

Crystalline: Tremor turns his body into crystal rather than rock. While in this state, he gains new moves. Can switch back to stone form at anytime.

Emerald Shatter: Tremor creates a crystal in his palm and shatters it with his fist. Can reflect projectiles and do decent damage on its own.

Sapphire spike: Tremor punches the ground, making a crystal spike burst from the floor. Amplify for a second spike to launch.

Metallic: While in this state, he gains new moves. Can switch back to stone form at anytime.

Golden parry: Tremor flexes as his chest turns solid gold. If the opponent hits him during this, they hurt their hand and are open for follow up attacks.

Magma: While in this state, he gains new moves. Can switch back to stone form at anytime.

Hot shoulder: Tremor shoulder charges the opponent as he slides on magma. Amplify to either launch or slam the opponent down.

Raining fire: Tremor raises his hand and a mound of molten rock rises from the ground and drops either close, far, or very far.

Fatal Blow:

Let’s Rock: Tremor summons a field of small but sharp crystal shards from the ground, which assault the opponent from behind. The opponent looks around for further attacks before a pebble strikes the back of their head and a large boulder sends them flying across the field when they turn around (SLO MO 1) They land against a golden statue of themselves, which performs a double handed axe slam that slams the opponent to the ground. (SLO MO 2) Tremor grabs the opponent by the neck, forms a stone fist, and punches the opponent in the face at full force (SLO MO 3)

Fatalities:

Stone cold: Tremor makes a ground pulse to knock the opponent on their back. Four stalagmites burst from the ground, impaling the opponent’s hands and legs to keep them held down. Tremor slowly walks over to then, makes a boulder in his hands, and smashes their head with it.

Tossing rocks: Tremor uses his powers to encase the opponent’s feet in gold. Tremor scoops a boulder up from the ground and tosses it at the opponent’s face, splattering it.

Friendship:

Guilty pleasure: Tremor walks away and sits down in front of a TV. The Ninja Mime opening credits play as he opens a bag of popcorn.

Intro animations:

From the earth: A pile of boulders form themselves in the shape of a man before Tremor bursts from them.

Ready for action: Side shot of Tremor making a stone fist before the camera moves to his head.

Impolite: A diamond replica of the opponent’s head is crushed underfoot, panning up to reveal Tremor with his arms crossed.

Rude awakening: Tremor is meditating before his eyes shoot open, glowing with elemental power.

Outro animations:

Inner peace: Tremor chuckles before walking away. The camera fades to Tremor meditating atop a mountain.

Shattered: Tremor creates a diamond in his palm before crushing it with a single hand.

Lava rain: Tremor rains magma down from the sky, which becomes slow motion as it hits his body.

Stone-Cold: Tremor makes two stone pillars before flexing his arms.

Intro dialogue:

Vs Kano:

Tremor: I’m not rejoining the clan.

Kano: Come on, think of the good times.

Tremor: The best is yet to come.

Kano: What’s all this about?

Tremor: I won’t be your attack dog any longer.

Kano: Time to put you down.

Vs Cetrion:

Tremor: Why face me, Elder God?

Cetrion: You are not the only one to control the earth.

Tremor: You control, but I command.

Cetrion: Your power should not be used selfishly.

Tremor: It is my decision.

Cetrion: Such a simple mind.

Ending:

“I have changed much since joining the black dragon. Once a mere assassin who could shake the earth, I have now become an avatar of the earth.”

(Shot of Tremor in the past as a ninja facing off against Jax and the SF, which transitions to Tremor’s present form as he stands triumphant over Kronika.)

“Kronika fell before my strength, and her hourglass became mine to wield.”

(Kronika’s essence washes over Tremor, changing his clothes to reflect as such.)

“This elemental heart belonged to an earth god. A protector of earthrealm.”

(Shot of Tremor looking into the past, where he sees the Earth God from MK mythologies.)

“Ever since I was imbued with its power, I have felt a change in my mind. This power is too much to use on selfish desires, it must be used for good.”

(Tremor’s hand goes up to the heart, as though feeling something.)

“While I am no hero, I will stay here to guard the hourglass. No being will manipulate time to their whims.”

“And if anyone dares to think otherwise, I welcome the opportunity to bring them back to earth.”

(Shot of Tremor meditating as stone constructs guard him and the hourglass.)

Mid fight quotes:

“Let’s rock.”

Character specific:

Vs Black Dragon:

“How did I work with you?”

Vs Kabal:

“Fast, but frail.”