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zweiginator · 2 months

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What if divorced!art gets dragged to a club one weekend by his foundation-buddies and he obviously doesn’t want to but he forces himself and then it turns out that escort!reader is also there with her friends and they see each other outside of «work» for the first time… And her friends doesn’t know about her escorting so maybe they recognize him and maybe she goes to talk to him because her friends says she should «flirt more»🤭 And then ofc he fucks her in the dirty club bathroom

divorced!art upset because he hasn't seen you in weeks. everything has been busy since he hit the ground running with tennis again. practice after practice, signing sponsorship deals, galas and charity fundraising. and you had been busy too. art didn't know this, but you're a student as well. you didn't tell him not because you didn't want to share your life with him, but because it made you feel juvenile. of course, it's university and you're almost finished with your degree after five and a half years instead of the usual four--but you still feel dumb talking about that part of your life with him. for you to bitch about group projects and essays about political science while art is upset about custody battles and petty divorce politics--it feels trivial.

but your friends want to celebrate the semester being freshly over. just a few more summer classes for you and you will finally graduate. you'll finally get to hang up your hat and say goodbye to escorting. to that taboo little secret that's been dragging your eyes into sunken purple holes for the past fourteen months.

and your friends don't know, of course. it's impossible to explain to a group of girls whose parents pay for tuition and books and groceries. gas, clothes and even the designer heels they wear to the club they're standing in right now--that you need to do this. for money. to survive.

no, it isn't ideal. but this is the real fucking world and sex sells.

so they think you're prudish. they've never seen you have a boyfriend or flirt because that's your job every other day of the week. to pretend to be in love. to fuck lonely assholes and pretend to care about their lives. to believe them when they say they aren't a bad husband. that men have needs.

they urge you to flirt with men at the bar. but like always, you're just not interested. and all the men in this shitty tavern-bar-turned-college-club are all the same. middle-aged men who shoved their wedding bands in their back pockets to pick up pussy from a doe-eyed girl in her twenties.

none of them are remotely attractive. and you're thanking your lucky stars that you don't recognize a single one of them.

your friend taps on your shoulder. "there's one hot guy here. you may recognize him. he's kinda famous."

you down the rest of your drink. "oh really? i doubt i'd be interested."

but she points to a man leaning against the bar way off in the corner. sad eyes and salt and pepper hair that was once dirty blond; you've seen his baby pictures. he's tall and in love with you and you with him and you could strangle him right now because he hasn't returned your calls or texts in over five days.

"art donaldson." your other friend sighs. "he's a tennis player and i'd fuck him if i didnt have a boyfriend."

it's then that art turns around. likely feels the eyes of six girls burning into the back of his skull. he's holding a beer bottle and he looks forlorn, his typical woe is me demeanor that makes him so fucking attractive to you. lights up that neanderthal part of your brain that makes you want to fix the unfixable.

and then he smiles. it makes you blush and your friends, not knowing the tendrils of your history together that have now become rooted in the ground beneath you, tell you to go for it.

"he's staring right at you."

you know that. art knows not to make it clear he knows you; it would open up that whole can of worms.

so he waits for you to come to him and you pretend to be nervous which isn't that hard because you are already.

when you get to him, he whispers in your ear.

"they don't know about your job, im assuming?" he wants to wrap his arms around your waist but he refrains.

"they don't. but they know you, and they're very fond of you. they want me to flirt more."

art flags down the bartender. he gets you a gin and tonic, remembering how you liked the one he made for you that first night at his hotel room. you were just trying to make him feel better.

"well im glad im the lucky man." he sits down on a stool and hooks his leg around the stool next to him to bring it closer. he motions for you to sit and your friends are all staring at you but pretending they aren't.

"me too. although i don't know how much you deserve it." you take a sip. "given how you haven't responded to my calls in awhile."

art takes your drink from your hand, sets it down. he rests his hand on your lower back.

"im sorry honey. i haven't been meaning to be an asshole. there's a lot going on with tennis and everything."

you run a hand through his hair. "i get it." you feign a frown. "you just may have to make it up to me." and when you uncross your legs, art can see your thong. he tenses his jaw.

"i do need to make it up to you, don't i?" he takes a swig from his beer. "i'll tell you what." he glances around, at the bathroom door swinging open. "why don't i go to the bathroom to freshen up and you come check on me in a few minutes, yeah?"

he's so close you can smell the beer on his breath. you nod and he goes toward the bathroom.

your friends want to come over and ask you all about it, but then you're knocking on the bathroom door with your special knock. the one that only you and art know.

he pulls you inside, and the bathroom is dingy with a flickering light and graffiti on the walls. drawings of dicks and crude words but art sits on the toilet seat.

"c'mere." he reaches out to you and you go to him. a pavlovian response that makes you so fucking wet to be near him. to be on his lap like you're supposed to be. he kisses you like he missed you because he has. he's not supposed to. his lips trail wet, hot kisses up your throat and he's greedier than usual. dragging your pussy over his throbbing erection. he's only wearing his briefs on his bottom half and you tug at his shirt because you want to see all of him. feel all of him. he does the same to you. panting into your mouth because his cock rests between your folds. nudges against your clit as you grind on him.

"fuckin' ruined pussy for me." he throws his head back and you grab his jaw to kiss him. sloppy and disgusting but you love the taste of him. how your lipstick melds into his saliva. drips down his neck like you're a vampire taking him for everything he fucking has.

"yeah?" you rake your nails down his chest and take his cock out. it's bare against your pussy, your panties pushed to the side.

"nothing turns me on anymore. nothing gets me off. only you. that tight fucking cunt."

he never talks like this. so crude. but you love drawing it out of him. milking those dirty words as you stroke his heavy cock for him. people bang on the bathroom door but neither of you fucking care.

you sink down on him. you do it all at once. you're addicted to how his hips spasm and his eyes roll back and he lets a strangled moan-groan hybrid escape him. he holds onto the flesh of your ass as you fuck him.

the porcelain of the toilet creaks unsteady below you and you're completely on top of him, your feet behind you as you fuck him harder and harder. but he asks for more because he wants you more.

"fuck me--fuck me--" he repeats it over and over. guides you up and down and up and down his cock from base to tip. "your pussy was fucking made for me. i need it, i need it--"

his mouth hangs open and you can't believe he's yours like this. you want him to cum but then again you don't because then he can't be inside you anymore. and that's precisely where you want him.

his jaw is tense and his neck pulses with his heartbeat as he presses his forehead to yours.

"i want you--" a moan. "to hit me. i want you to fucking claim me."

so you smack him, and his arms wrap tight against your waist because he's cumming and he wants it to stay like this forever. but if it can only be a few more minutes, that will do too.

#ask #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #divorced!art #escort!reader

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gentil-minou · 9 months

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Lanuary 2024 Day 2 - Yiling Wei Sect Head Disciple

"Did you know? The Yiling Laozu hadonly one disciple in his lifetime. A boy only four years of age!"

Lan Sizhui's ears perked up despite the rules against eavesdropping. There wasn't much he could do about it while sitting in a crowded tavern. Gossip traveled on whispers like dust in the howling wind.

Surely it wasn't his fault these patrons' voices were so loud? The rules were never clear about this, but better to be safe than sorry. Sizhui turned his attention towards meditative recitation, the way Ba— Hanguang-jun had taught him. When Hanguang-jun returned from the room he'd entered to confer with the inn's proprietress, he would see Sizhui sitting pin-straight and proper, not a hair out of place.

But try as he might, the ruckus from that table was impossible to ignore.

"You're kidding!" one the sectless cultivators said as they slammed their drink down, amber liquid spilling onto the table. "The fearsome Yiling Laozu tried to teach demonic cultivation to a kid???"

His friend's lips curled in disgust. "Yes, it's true. People in this very town mention it all the time. That he dragged this poor kid everywhere with him! Why else if not to teach him how to terrorize everyone."

The third cultivator leaned in to whisper, "You don't suppose he…abducted the child do you?"

Sizhui's heart started racing. He'd heard many stories about the Yiling Laozu, everyone had, of course. Especially since Jingyi had just finished this last phase where he spoke nothing, reading nothing, saw nothing if it wasn't about the Yiling Laozu.

According to Jingyi's rants, though the Yiling Laozu was indeed fearsome and utilized forbidden techniques, they were never for nefarious gains. Jingyi's theories point to him being a recluse more than anything else, a drunkard alone on the hill.

That never sat well with Sizhui. He couldnt explain why, but the thought of a lonely man dwelling on a mountain of graves with nary a living soul nearby, made something like a pit open up in his stomach.

It was sad, he thought. It was sad.

The door to a room meant for staff opened and a man dressed in pristine white robes with an embroidered forehead ribbon stepped back into the room.

Sizhui instantly stood, bowing perfectly the way he'd been taught. "Hanguang-jun," he greeted, keeping his tone level and biting back the urge to smile like a fool at his caretaker's return.

The table of cultivators' silence rang loud as a hush fell over the room. Hanguang-jun nodded his reply to Sizhui and seemed to glide across the room, while they stared after him like gaping fish.

This time their whispers were an actual attempt at discretion. "He'd know right. He'd know if—if you know who really, you know, stole a child?"

"Shh!!! Don't you know? Next to Sandu Sengshu, the one who hates the Yiling Laozu most is…"

Their words trailed off as Hanguang-jun stopped in his path, though his solemn gaze remained rooted on the empty space in front of him.

Sizhui tried valiantly to keep the shock from his face. Hanguang-jun had long ago mastered the ability to ignore gossiping, letting it slide off his person as easily as dew dripped down from a bamboo leaf. Sizhui had never seen him so affected by words. Did Hanguang-jun really hate the Yiling Laozu that much?

But only a moment later, he stepped away and reached Sizhui's side as if nothing had happened at all.

Hanguang-jun gracefully folded his legs and took his seat across the table. Sizhui hurried to pour tea into a cup, taking care to hold back his sleeve the way he'd been taught.

Choosing to ignore what had just happened, he asked, "How was your meeting, Hanguang-jun?"

He waited patiently as Hanguang-jun blew steam away from his cup, cooling his tea before taking a measured sip. Falling back into old habits, Sizhui couldn't help but admire and take note of his demeanor. If he were really shameless, stars would bleed from his eyes.

Hanguang-jun nodded, pleased with his drink. "Productive. You have poured this tea well, Sizhui."

Sizhui beamed, heat rising to his cheeks at the praise.

"And the curse? Has it been resolved?" he asked instead of squealing like Jingyi when Hanguang-jun told him his writing was legible. But only just.

Hanguang-jun hummed. "Mn. The matter has been resolved. We will head back to the Cloud Recesses tomorrow once we've rested."

Sizhui relaxed back in his seat, allowing a moment of discomposure that hopefully Hanguang-jun would ignore.

Not bad for Sizhui's first proper outing as a junior Lan disciple. He was surprised when Hanguang-jun singled him out for a nighthunt, one on one. Jingyi hadn't stopped whining about it for days.

Sometimes Sizhui thought Hanguang-jun showed him too much special favor. But he smiled into his cup all the same.

The elderly innkeeper steps out of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with food. Silver strands of hair slip from her ponytail, shining in the candlelight.

"There! I remembered all your favorites from last time you visited," she winked.

But each of the dishes she placed on the table were redder than the last. Red peppers and red chili oil, even the soup had a shiny spicy sheen on the top.

The innkeeper placed her hands on her hips as she stood up, proud.

Sizhui gaped at Hanguang-jun.

Hanguang-jun's ears flamed red as the dishes he stared down at. A shifty glance—shifty! A shifty Hanguang-jun! Jingyi would never believe this—at the proprietress waiting eagerly for him to try it. When it became clear she wouldn't leave until he took a bite, Hanguang-jun spooned a mouthful of the spicy soup.

Sizhui's jaw dropped to the floor.

In all his years living in Cloud Recesses, he'd never, ever seen Hanguang-jun eat something like this.

Pulling a small cloth from his sleeve, Hanguang-jun coughed daintily into it as he told the proprietress, "Thank you. It is delicious."

"I hope so! Soon as I saw you I knew what I had to serve you," the innkeeper babbled as the two Lans stared mournfully at food too painful to eat. Sizhui took a tentative morsel of a vegetable dish, wiping off as much of the red sauce as he could on the plate.

The innkeeper continued speaking like she hadnt noticed. "If only our Laozu was still with us, he'd have eaten it all! And the little boy that was with you! He ate so well! It's horrible what happened to them, such a terrible shame" She rested a hand against her cheek as she sighed.

For the second time that day, Hanguang-jun stiffened, his spoon held aloft.

'Laozu?' What Laozu?

They were in Yiling so it could only be one…

Sizhui stared wide-eyed at his senior, who at some point in his lifetime sat in this very tavern having a spicy meal with the fiendish Yiling Laozu.

The vegetable fell from his chopstick onto his lap.

A stream of whispers that made no attempt at being discrete erupted from the other table, these cultivators having no care for the Lan tenets.

"See! I told you! The Yiling Laozu stole a young boy to be his disciple!"

"You also said Hanguang-jun hated him! Why would they

have a meal if he hated him!"

"Maybe the Yiling Laozu brainwashed him too. Maybe he helped him kidnap the child? Maybe they're both in on it!"

"Then did Hanguang-jun betray him? He was the one who led the sects to Yiling Laozu's cave."

"He must have killed the boy too then. There's no way someone as righteous as Hanguang-jun would let a demonic child like that live—"

Chopsticks slammed onto the table, rattling the dishes as Hanguang-jun stood from his seat in a single, brusque movement.

His expression was the usual smooth, unreadable jade, so Sizhui almost assumed Hanguang-jun had stood so suddenly for some other reason, until he bowed to the proprietress and said, "My apologies for living so soon. We must return to the Cloud Recesses immediately. Thank you."

Apparently it was possible for Sizhui's jaw to circumnavigate the floor entirely, falling into the earth itself.

Lying. Hanguang-jun was lying!!!

"Come, Sizhui," he said, and without a backwards glance towards the gaping cultivators and with an exaggerated flourish of his sleeves, Hanguang-jun marched out of the tavern.

Sizhui hurriedly reached into his money pouch and placed in ingot on the table, bowing in farewell.

Forgetting to pay as well? If Sizhui didn't know any better, he'd think Hanguang-jun was possessed. Next he'd take his forehead ribbon off and strut around the inn without a care.

Sizhui hastened his steps to follow Hanguang-jun, head turning this way and that for a trace of his senior.

Finally, he spotted him standing before a market stall selling, of all things, children's toys. Wooden swords and hand-stitched dolls wearing colorful fabrics. Hanguang-jun was stroking a finger across a pair of artfully crafted grass butterflies.

Maybe he was possessed by a child after all?

"Would Gongzi like to purchase one? I weaved these two just this morning," the stallowner politely enquired.

Hanguang-jun shook his head in reply and, folding the hand that had touched the butterflies into a fist behind his back, walked off down the street.

Though Sizhui should be in a hurry to catch up to him, his feet stopped at the stall. Looking down at the pair of butterflies entwined in their stand, something in his heart ached.

"I'd like to buy these, please."

He found Hanguang-jun in a side street off the market, standing tall and proud and still as a statue. Unsure of what to say or even if he should, Sizhui took his by Hanguang-jun's side, content to simply be near as the sounds of the market faded into the background.

The grass butterflies were expertly crafted and Sizhui became mesmerized by the way the twined together as he twirled them again and again. He didn't notice Hanguang-jun was watching as well until he spoke.

"Yiling has grown since the last time I was here."

Hanguang-jun's voice held a softness that reminded Sizhui of the first time he took him to see the rabbits, all those years ago. He looked up, still twirling his butterflies, as Hanguang-jun watched with golden eyes a million miles away.

Sizhui bit his lips, wondering if he should say something. but before he can his senior plucked one of the butterflies from his hand. Fingers lined with guqin ridges spun the butterfly again and again.

"There was a similar stall back then that sold butterflies as well."

He pressed the grass butterfly against the one held in Sizhui's hands, almost like a kiss.

Sizhui's heart raced, suddenly desperate for an answer, "Did you really meet the Yiling Laozu back then? At that inn?"

A moment passed, and Sizhui thought Hanguang-jun wouldn't say anything.

Then, of all the things, Hanguang-jun smiled.

Faint, only the smallest lift at the corners, but a smile nonetheless.

He was smiling, so why did it look like he was about to cry?

"We did, yes," he replied.

"We?"

Hanguang-jun set him a mournful look.

Oh, right. The boy.

Before he could think better, Sizhui blurted, "So it's true then? The Yiling Laozu had a disciple? A little boy?"

Hanguang-jun gaze drifts off to the side. "Not quite. He was Wei Ying's, but not a disciple."

The Yiling Laozu's real name was Wei Wuxian, but he'd never heard anyone call him that. Not even Jingyi ever mentioned it.

Curiosity lit a spark in Sizhui's belly. Just what sort of relationship did Hanguang-jun have with the Yiling Laozu for him to call him so casually? For him to smile when he talked about him? For him to seem so sad?

But bravery is fickle, and Sizhui was abruptly afraid of the answer. In fact, a part of him almost wished he never asked anything.

The other part of him yearned to learn more about his most respected senior and the dead man he clung to.

How many times did Sizhui wake to the sound of guqin strings playing Inquiry? How many times did he hear the loud silence of their answer?

"The—the Yiling Laozu had a son?"

Hanguang-jun's gaze held a teasing sparkle when it settled on Sizhui. "He birthed him from his own body."

Sizhui pursed his lips with confusion. That did not make any sense, but Hanguang-jun began weaving a tale before he had a chance to think more of it.

"There was a little radish that followed him everywhere," he said, quiet and fond. "He spoke very fondly of the boy, but he would never allow any harm to him. Wei Ying cared for him."

"So that stuff about him making this kid his disciple…"

"Mn. Utterly false." A noise like a scoff escapes through Hanguang-jun nose, like even the very idea is ludicrous.

"Oh." For whatever reason, Sizhui's shoulders slumped in dejection. He supposed it would have been interesting, to meet someone trained and cared for by the Yiling Laozu himself. He wondered what kind of person they grew up to be.

He swallowed and glanced at Hanguang-jun through the corner of his eye. "Do you think he's still alive...that boy? That he's okay?"

Hanguang-jun shifted to face Sizhui head on. "Yes," he said, with a surety and conviction that dazzled. "I believe he is. He is doing well and thriving."

He took the butterflies back in hand. This time when he smiled down at them, it touched his eyes.

"Wei Ying would be proud," he told the butterflies. He turned that smile towards Sizhui and it was almost like looking at the sun.

He didn't quite understand why it felt like that warmth filled his insides too, why he felt it flowing through his veins. Why Hanguang-jun's words made him so happy.

He beamed back all the same.

As they mounted their swords to return home, Sizhui turned back for one final look at Yiling and the Burial Mounds behind it.

The sun was setting over the mountain, blues and pinks and purples splashed against a midnight sky, casting long shadows like it was waving back.

(twitter) (bluesky)

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #a-yuan #lan sizhui #lanuary #lanuary 2024 #mdzs musings #mdzs fanfiction #bushy writing

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leoonyoom-writesstuff · 3 months

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a trailblazer's trotter ┇ honkai : star rail

in which the elated one chooses a creature to become THEIR emanator. THEY repeat THEIR actions once again, but this time, with a trotter.

"HAHAHA! maybe this time it'll join the genius society!"

warning/s : possible ooc?? also this is short ngl.

[ a. n. ] ok so i have no idea where i was going with this, but all i had in my mind is trailblazer having their own companion, kinda like a pokemon, and that manhwa where that lady got transformed into a crow. i have no idea how those two connect but, fuck it we ball.

➶-͙˚ ༘✶

trotters. cute, interdimensional creatures lost in the stars. cowardly as well, since it spends most of its lifetime feeding and fleeing. but for some, they consider these creatures as good omens, or their companions, on their travels in the vast galaxy.

which is why THEY, the elated one, are curious about these little guys. these silly, little guys. aha chortles at THEIR words, masks and props and cards and all sorts of fun knick knacks jingling and swishing and swirling around the aeon.

and so the aeon spread out THEIR arms, masks searching for an unlucky trotter to be the victim of their fun. THEY searched and searched, high and low, casting THEIR gaze far and wide into galaxies that THEY know.

aha smiles with mischief. what if THEY gave one of these creatures sentience? give it fathomless intelligence, just like THEY did to that tiny noblesse worm. maybe this time, it can join the genius society, and then the universe will be shocked that a cowardly creature such as a trotter caught the gaze of that hunk of junk instead of a human! oh how hilarious would that be to see! aha laughs with tears in THEIR eyes as THEY get amused by THEIR mischievous thoughts.

those who follow the elation sense a change in the atmosphere, and they immediately knew that it was related to their beloved aeon. inside a tavern, many laughed in anticipation, eager to see what their elated one is about to do. “oh i do hope the laughter will use bombs and explosions!” one fool said in glee as she giggled and twirled around and around, fiery sparklers enhancing her joy even further.

hundreds of galaxies away, a lonely trotter walks on a path in an unknown planet, mind fixed on doing two things. flee and feed. but it was getting to the creature, and so with a sad, little ‘oink’, it sat down on the ground and looked up in the vast sky, shiny ears falling down in misery.

it sniffed, curling up in itself as the loneliness got to them. it doesn’t know how long it was traveling, but it knows that it was too long to count. or remember.

before the innocent trotter could continue to wallow in its pity party, the aeon of elation had finally arrived. loud noises accompanied THEIR arrival, making the creature scramble away from the eldritch being in front of it, body shaking in fear as it tried to make itself as small as possible.

aha cackles with elation. finally, THEY have found it! the perfect trotter to become THEIR emanator. with a wave of THEIR hand, the aeon gave the helpless creature the entirety of THEIR path’s power, just like THEY did to that worm. with a giggle of glee, aha ascends to the stars once more, taking the trotter with THEM as THEIR elation spreads throughout the mind and body of the creature.

let’s see if you can surpass that worm, little trotter.

with a final laugh, aha sends the trotter to the place of one genius society member, THEIR elation being felt all around the cosmos once again.

➶-͙˚ ༘✶

[ a. n. ] like, i really had no idea where i was going with this. but i do plan on making this a full fic, where trotter gains sentience, joins the express, becomes the mascot 2.0... like pokemon but trotter. and an emanator. a trotter emanator. its why i tagged this as an x reader (even though it will most likely be platonic).

anyways! enough yapping from me. what do u guys think? should i continue this or just... idk, leave it as it is?

#hsr #hsr x reader #: ̗̀➛ a trailblazer's trotter #hsr aeons #aha hsr #hsr aha #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #platonic hsr

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letters-from-dekarios · 6 months

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a blind date with a wizard

summary: you’ve been lonely, your friends noticed, and decided to drag you to a tavern in waterdeep to go on a blind date with their wizard friend who you’ve never met. what in all of faerún could happen?

or: you go on a blind date with gale of waterdeep

word count: 4k

tags: gale x implied f!reader/afab!reader, fluff, mildly medium burn, alcohol usage, astarion and shart are also there, and also wyll is your ex

Okay, you had to admit it. You were lonely. You hadn’t had a date with someone in months and your vibe was seriously bringing down the mood of your brunches with your friend Astarion. The vampire had threatened to bite you if you wouldn’t stop droning on about how sad and lonely you were.

It’s not that you were unhappy with being single. You didn’t mind it! Singleness meant late-night tavern dives and staying out until the sun rose over the hills again. Singleness was freedom, and freedom was.. well, it’s in the name: freeing. You liked being single, for a while. And then you’d become all too aware of how cold your bed was by yourself, how quiet your house was during the day, how you missed having someone— anyone there for you.

You had that with Wyll Ravengard. He was your first love in a long time. He was sweet, and caring, he listened to all your worries and anxieties whenever you became troubled. You often found yourself longing for him whenever he was away, wishing upon the stars that he’d come home safely.

And then he broke up with you. It was messy. Maybe it was the luskan wine he’d had too much of. Maybe it was his father’s cold words getting to his head. Maybe it was the stress of being connected to that family name. Whatever it was, when it went down, it wasn’t pretty. You resented him for all he said and did that night, and somehow, some part of you still longed for him.

“I’m setting you up with someone,” Astarion told you sternly one afternoon.

“What?” You couldn’t believe your pointed ears. He had no right over your love life! How dare he!

“I am so over you droning on and on, every day about Wyll. He found someplace else to sheathe his dagger, it’s about time you do the same.” Astarion replied pointedly, his sharp eyes glaring at you. He was done hearing about your ex.

“Ast-“

“No, I positively do not want to hear it. I could drain your blood to the point of death and somehow you’d find a way to make it about Wyll. You were too good for him and you should start proving that.” You weren’t going down without a fight on this, and Astarion would first rather go back to Cazador than lose to you if it came down to it. The case was open and shut, almost immediately.

A few weeks went by with little being brought up on the subject. You had hoped he’d forgotten about it and the world could move on, but you were sorely mistaken. All of a sudden you were seated in front of Astarion and Shadowheart; clothes were laid out all around you, and makeup and hair accessories were next being dumped on any table they could find.

“It really is such a pity you have to go around with this face every day,” Astarion clicked his tongue softly, crossing his arms over his chest. You had the right of mind to kick him had Shadowheart not jumped into the situation.

“Let’s not be so harsh. It’s definitely workable.” Shadowheart, though essentially equally as harsh, had a kinder inflection to her voice that comforted you. Somewhat.

Three hours and seventeen outfit changes later, you were finally (gods you hoped) done. Astarion and Shadowheart had to step back to admire their work. Your hair was done in intricate braids, flowing down your back and around your head. They put you in a form-fitting dress that came just to your knees, it was a deep, royal blue color that emphasized your features perfectly. The dress was embroidered along the sides and the deep v-neck collar in gold, twisting vines and flowers adding to your magnificence. They added simple, yet effective, gold earrings and a necklace that brought the entire thing together. And, of course, they couldn’t forget the heels.

You were an entirely different person. Visually, at least.

“Not too bad of a job, I’d say,” Shadowheart noted, confident in her and Astarion’s work.

“It’s an upgrade.” Astarion nodded in agreement.

“You guys are just downright mean, you know that?” You cocked an eyebrow at them, crossing your arms with a look of annoyance on your face.

“And yet you love us all the same,” Astarion gave a faux-sweet smile towards you, widening his eyes like a little puppy.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t,” You retorted, rolling your eyes at the two of them and their smug expressions.

About a half hour later, they were leaving you behind to go get wasted at another tavern “nearby”. Though you knew that wasn’t true, and they’d be far gone by the time you’d leave this ‘blind date’, you placed a false hope in them regardless. Besides, all you had to do was show up, talk a little, escape to the bathroom, and then shimmy your way out the window! You’d be fine. Right?

Right?

You tugged at the hem of your dress, pulling it down more, which only showed off your cleavage more so you had to pull down your dress again. It was a horrid cycle of feeling way too exposed out in the open, yet you also felt… bold. Was that right? In this skimpy outfit, so out of your own body, you felt bold. It’s crazy what the energy of a popular tavern does to a person.

“Um.. hello?” You walked up to the bartender, trying to remember the name of the man you were looking for. Gale Dekarios. Such an… interesting name, you thought to yourself. The only thing Astarion told you about him was that he was a wizard. You wondered if he meant that literally or sexually— well, you’d find out soon enough!

“What can I get for you, lady?” The bartender asked, and you became mesmerized by his flaming eyes for a moment. Gods, you were desperate to do anything other than go on this date.

“Oh, uh, nothing right now! I’m looking for a guy.. his name’s Gale? I was supposed to meet him here tonight..” You smiled awkwardly, rubbing your left thumb against your right palm to alleviate the anxiety you felt. The boldness you had walking in had quickly faded away as soon as you realized you’d actually have to interact with this man. Can you pray to all of Faerún to make you disappear? Please?

“I might’ve seen a guy come in with that name. Said he was looking for someone named y/n, that you?” The bartender asked, looking over you carefully. Was he checking you out? No… Ugh! Focus on the blind date for Faerún’s sake!

“Yes! Yes. That’s me. Can you point me in his direction?” You requested, smiling sweetly at him. Maybe you could say he didn’t show up! Then go home now! That would work, right?

“He’s over in the back corner booth. You’ll know him when you see him,” he pointed in the direction Gale was in, sending you off towards the blind date you did not want to be on.

Halfway through, your walk to the booth turned to a stride, and then soon you found yourself sauntering over, swaying your hips as the music from the band infused you with confidence. By the time you spotted the gentleman who, as the bartender said, looked like a Gale, you were fully into the swing of your old dating self. Kind of. The dating self that told people no, at least. Look, all you had to do was let him down easy, convincing him you were just too good for him. Easy!

“Gale Dekarios?” You asked, sliding into the seat across from the man.

“Y/n?” He replied, raising an eyebrow at you as you entered into his space. You studied his face, the short beard he had, the way his hair was neatly parted down the center. You listened closely to his voice, the accent, and the inflection he had in his words. You wanted to memorize him in case Astarion asked you questions later.

“It’s my pleasure,” Gale grinned at you and you could see why Astarion picked him of all people. Maybe he’d make a nice rebound.

“Look…” You began, but Gale cut you off with a raise of his hand. He shook his head slightly, a knowing smile on his face.

“Please, spare me the condolences. I don’t want to be here as much as I’m sure you don’t. But, that pale creature of a man somehow convinced me, I’m sure not by my own means, to go on what he called a date. For my own sake, and yours, I think we can keep this rather simple, can’t we?” He inquired of you, sympathetic to both of your situations.

And, despite the fact you had wanted to up and leave only moments prior, you now felt attached to him. You cursed Astarion for putting you with him.

“Oh my gods, you read my mind!” You breathed out a sigh of relief, shifting your expression to match your words. “I’m sure you’re a lovely man, but I just ended a relationship pretty roughly and I’m not sure I’m ready to do.. all of this, you know? Astarion is lovely for thinking of me to do this but I mean… really.” You trailed off, gesturing with your hands to what Gale already expected.

“Believe me, I know. Astarion can’t shut up about you. I do feel bad for your situation, but I don’t think I’m the best… fit for you,” he smiled, that sympathetic smile, and something inside you twitched. Was this a blind date only for you? What did he mean that Astarion talked about you? To him?

“Wait.. what?” You laughed awkwardly, a smile coming across your face and fading immediately. “What did Astarion tell you about me? He told you about my ex? This was supposed to be a blind date, right?” Your eyebrows furrowed together, confused and embarrassed.

“A blind date?” Gale chuckled softly, shaking his head as he took a sip from a glass you’d only just realized was there. Maybe you should’ve ordered something from that bartender. Maybe your face wouldn’t be as red as it was, and maybe you wouldn’t be visibly angry with your only friend since your breakup.

“I’m sorry, I was under the impression Astarion had given you a once-over about myself, as well?” He noticed your expression change and pursed his lips, nodding in understanding. “I see..” he sucked in a breath through his teeth, running a hand through his hair. How was he to approach this situation now?

“You mean to tell me Astarion told you all about me, my ex, and my recent situation… and then tried to set me up with you as if this was a blind date?” Annoyance laced your words, resentment creeping over them like a thief trying to steal your peace. Was this part of his plan? To trick you? You felt stupid for believing him.

“I was not informed this was a—“

“No, obviously you weren’t informed. What the hells did Astarion tell you?” You demanded to know. It wasn’t a question, you needed to save your image from Astarion’s grimy hold.

“Well, you see-“

You cut him off again, only to raise a hand to get a waiter’s attention. You ordered a drink, something strong, and then let him continue. You crossed your arms over your chest defiantly, eyebrows furrowed together with frustration. Gale paused for a moment, made sure he could continue, and then spoke once more.

“You see… Astarion spoke of a friend of.. sorts that might be to my liking. I, of course, asked some questions and he was more than willing to answer them. He spoke only good of you, I swear on my mother’s grave- which I never do, by the way. He happened to bring up exes and, well, the discussion got rolling and I asked about your case.”

Your nose turned up as you thought about being perceived in such a way that your friends would talk about you. Good or bad, it flipped your stomach to know that you were a topic of conversation for someone.

“He told me how you had just gotten out of a relationship with Wyll Ravengard. That it was rough, to say the least. There weren’t many details, but the picture was painted quite clearly.” Gale clarified, trying to soothe your mind about what Astarion spoke about you.

You could only dream of what you’d do when you saw him again… he was certainly in for it once you caught up together.

“That’s it?” You questioned, thanking the waiter who dropped your drink off.

“That’s it.”

Oh. Maybe what Astarion discussed wasn’t so alarming after all. That didn’t mean you weren’t still irate, though. He had lied to you about going on a blind date. Here you were, sat in front of a man you knew nothing about, while he practically had your whole life story! How unfair was that?

“I’m still mad at him.”

“I can tell.”

The smirk on Gale’s face was enough to break your outrage, even momentarily. You sighed heavily, pushed some hair out of your face, and took a long drink from your cup.

“I reckon we should get our stories straightened out so that we can answer any queries he’ll ask us, yes?” Gale proposed, tilting his glass to you.

“I suppose,” you replied, clinking the rim of your glass against his. You hesitated, though, once again feeling exposed- but in a different manner.

“I think it’s only fair you tell me how you ended up here on this not-so-blind date, considering how much you know about me already,” you added on, leaning back more comfortably in the booth.

Gale thought for a moment, before raising his hands in surrender. He thought the same as you, and he was willing to provide the information you pursued to feel level with you.

He went on to tell you about his life, becoming a wizard and dedicating himself to the Mother of the Weave- Mystra. Mystra sounded lovely, at first, until things went south and Gale was left, much like you, alone in the grand scheme of the world. You felt bad for him, your breakup with Wyll feeling a lot less dramatic now that it was in comparison to his. Who breaks up with a literal Goddess? Gale Dekarios, apparently. Maybe you could get along better than you thought.

“Wait wait wait-“ you paused him halfway through a sentence, waving your hand to shush him. You were three drinks in now and you could feel yourself becoming more relaxed by the moment. Time had flown by, it felt, the moon fully over the bar and shining in from any open windows.

“You’re telling me you can project yourself into the Weave and have sex with someone? But, like, not actual sex?” You asked, laughing your little head off at what the wizard was telling you. Honest to the gods, you never could quite understand wizards. You had your magic passed down to you, sure, but wizards? They were their own breed of people.

“It’s an intertwining of souls, not sex. Not entirely, that is,” he answered, laughing along with you. His smile was gorgeous, and the way he chuckled at your comments made you feel all warm inside. Or maybe it was the wine talking, you didn’t know.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You invited abruptly, pushing some hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry?” The look of confusion on his face was almost priceless, causing you to giggle softly.

“Not like that! Gods no. I’m just getting tired of sitting here,” you responded, moving away your final empty glass. If you had any more than that you might not make it home at all.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt. There’s a beautiful spot by a lake not too distant from here, would you like to go there?” He asked, sliding out of the booth and offering you his hand.

You took his hand, nodding at the question. Soon enough, you were sat on the edge of a clear lake, watching the water rush around the stones and the occasional fish swim past. Now in a quiet, secluded area, you had more room to think. What was Astarion’s purpose in setting you both up like this? It made no sense to you that he’d tell Gale one thing, and you another.

Yes, you were getting along just fine. Telling each other stories about yourselves, Astarion, your adventures. But that didn't stop you from feeling some sense of unease, not knowing Astarion’s true intentions behind this.

“I have to ask..” You looked over at Gale, leaning back on your hands in the grass. The moonlight crossed your faces here and there as a gentle breeze swayed the trees encircling you. It was soothing, almost, even if the night hadn’t gone nearly how you had anticipated it. To be next to someone you had some common ground with, and sharing a moment like this was.. nice. Nonsexual, you’d tell yourself, but nice.

“Go on,” Gale encouraged, meeting your gaze with soft recognition of your ease with him.

“You could’ve told Astarion no to meeting with me, considering all you knew. So why didn’t you?”

Gale paused, realizing the predicament he had placed himself in. He was so worried and so frightened of being hurt again that despite the fact he had agreed to meet with you, he turned you down. Astarion spoke so highly of you all the time, he had become terrified that, if anything worked out, he would do something to have it all come crashing back down. Again.

“I guess some part of me wanted to see how this would all play out in the end,” he confessed, allowing himself to be truthful with you. You could feel the anxiety, the tension in his words. He was afraid of being this vulnerable, it was clear, but he was choosing to be anyway. It was admirable in a way.

“I guess that’s why I came here, too,” You replied, nodding your head slightly as you looked up at the stars. You were glad you had been forced into it, even though you would’ve much rather stayed home and cried your heart out. “I contemplated jumping out the bathroom window at one point,” you laughed.

“Do you think he planned this all out?” Gale asked, chuckling to himself at the thought. Astarion was oftentimes wiser than he gave him credit for. He could have very well planned this out so well that you’d end up bonding over your irritation with him.

“Absolutely. I’m also definitely still mad at him, but I can’t say it didn’t work.” You laughed with Gale, moving ever so slightly closer to him. With the gentle breeze passing through, you could simply blame it on being cold.

“I didn’t anticipate it working,” Gale added, moving closer to you, too.

He smelled like a library. Earthy, woody tones stirred around you, inviting you into him. You accepted the invitation, making note of the hints of vanilla- sweet, but not overwhelming. The closer you got, the more attributes you acknowledged about him. It was more than just surface-level distinction, now, but a desire to know him- for all that he was.

He had been a gentleman the whole evening, not overlooking your frustrations or feeding into the embarrassment. He worked with you, not against you, and exchanged in meaningful conversation that wasn’t entirely about him. He already knew of you, and yet he still got to know you.

You vowed to never let Astarion know he was right.

“Y/n,” Gale called, breaking you from your thoughts about him. You realized you’d been staring at him, a stupid partial smile on your face while you indulged in the fantasy of him.

“I’d like to get to know you better before you start throwing the ‘kiss me’ eyes at me,” he joked, noting your expression that you quickly changed as you looked away.

“Oh shush, you,” You nudged him in the arm gently, your face becoming hot with his words.

“While I would love to, ‘shushing’ is not exactly my finest quality.”

“It makes more and more sense you’re a wizard with everything you say.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“You’ll find out.”

The two of you laughed softly at the banter, letting yourselves bask in the silence of the cool night. You wondered where this string would take you if you pulled on it— would it lead to him? Or would it end in a fiery disaster like both of your lasts? You almost didn’t want to try it, but this little voice inside you urged you on. It convinced you that, maybe- just maybe, there was something promising to find here. Maybe something even better than that.

“Gale…” you started, breaking the short silence you were enjoying.

“I know.” He answered softly, feeling the same as you. How could he let you go now that he had you? Astarion was right, you were everything. You were the light he had been searching for for so long, and now that he had you there was no chance in all the realms that he was going to shut it off. Why would he? He despised Astarion’s trickery but had to give him credit for leading you both to the sanctuary you each needed.

“Not tonight, of course, but…”

“I know.”

He always knew. You read each other like the back of your hands even though you had just met. You matched each other’s energy in a way nobody else had. It was like fate led you to one another- and who can argue with fate?

“It’s getting late— and if you say ‘I know’ one more time I’m kicking you,” you joked, beginning to stand, “I enjoyed this. Even though I didn’t want to.”

Gale stood after you, extending his arm towards you to take. You did, and he began leading you both out of the area and back to the city. “I enjoyed this as well, y/n. And, perhaps, if you’d let me…”

He trailed off, and you squeezed his arm in recognition of what he meant. He wanted to do this again. You wanted to do this again.

“I’d love to,” you answered the question he hadn’t even asked, smiling up at him.

The rest of the walk back was quiet but in a comforting kind of way. Not awkward, not weird, just a nice.. nice quiet, knowing you would see each other again soon and would have many more things to discuss.

Gale walked you all the way home, like the gentleman he was, and wished you a good night and sweet dreams.

“Ah, I must not forget..” Gale paused, extending his hand towards you. You placed one of yours in his, and he bowed his head to place a kiss against the back of it. Your face flushed, and you nearly wanted him to stay the rest of the night with you.

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, yes?” He asked, letting your hand go as he stood straight once more. His eyes had little reservation in what he meant about that, and your answer fueled the fire behind them.

“Yes.” It was a simple answer, but one he looked forward to hearing. “Thank you, by the way. For tonight,” you added on.

“It was my pleasure,” Gale replied before he was finally off for his own home.

You returned into your own, giddy from the high and excitement this new chapter brought you. That was quickly replaced with anger as you saw Astarion, smugly waiting for you by a fire he had curated.

“Astarion!”

You had a lot to discuss with him.

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boombox-fuckboy · 1 year

Text

Hey, @t0tally-n0t-3m0, figured this might be easier to read as a post. Here's 24 pods with nonbinary lead characters to get you started. There's more out there, so if anyone wants to add on, go for it.

Additional Postage Required: (Sci-Fi) Adventures of an interstellar courier who starts to get glimpses of the past from their packages.

Anamnesis (on the Tin Can Audio feed): (Mystery, Weird Fiction) Someone wakes in a temple in an empty town with no memory. Short, really nice sound design.

Badlands Cola: (Mystery, Supernatural & Horror elements) big city PI Sunny is hired to find information on a rural cult leader, and is drawn into a world of strange radio, horse enthusiasts, and dinosaur bones.

The Dead Letter Office of Somewhere, Ohio (one of two leads, you'll meet them halfway in): (Supernatural, Weird) Two workers for an Ohio dead letter office read the strange confiscated mail their organisation collects, and do some follow up investigation.

either: (Weird Fiction, Sci-Fi, Romance) An explosion at a duck factory sends a pet robot to another reality, connecting two very different (but both lonely) people.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Supernatural Horror) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods.

Inn Between: (Fantasy, Adventure) Ever wondered what the party gets up to at the tavern between D&D sessions? (Not a tabletop).

Jar of Rebuke: (Supernatural, Horror elements) An unkillable amnesiac scientist (they die, just have a hard time staying dead) investigates weird entities, makes friends, and eats a lot of tasty food in the strange town he lives in.

Khôra Podcast: (Sci-Fi, Adventure) Somewhere between inspired by and adapted from greek mythology, a space adventure following four mythological figures on their search for the golden fleece.

Less is Morgue: (Comedy, Horror elements) A ghoul and a ghost host a podcast about whatever they please in the ghoul's mom's basement, and manage to get off topic anyway.

Light Hearts: (Slice-of-Life, Supernatural elements) Three friends run a lightly haunted queer café. Upbeat and wholesome.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item. (To be clear, the nb lead is an AI with no concept of gender, but the creator is NB also and it is far from the only nb character.)

Monstrous Agonies: (Advice, Supernatural) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

ROGUEMAKER: (Sci-fi, Whodunnit) A commercial space flight explodes and passengers are left isolated in the escape pods, only connected for minutes at a time and unsure what happened, or why.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a colonist sent to a new world and her communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Sidequesting: (Fantasy) A wholesome podcast following Rion, an adventurer with a difference: they only do sidequests.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Skyjacks: Courier's Call: (Tabletop, Fantasy) Three young postal workers aboard a skyship go on various adventures. Kid-friendly but enjoyable for all ages.

The Starport Inn: (Supernatural, Mystery) An FBI agent sent to a rural town to solve a disappearance finds they've walked into something much stranger.

The Supernatural Protection Agency: (Supernatural) Call logs for a helpline that aims to solve the supernatural problems plaguing your life.

Tell No Tales: (Supernatural, Horror elements) Leo Quinn, secretary to the man in charge of the world's leading ghost removal service, interviews various ghosts in an attempt to create a device capable of actually recording them, in the hopes of taking down the company they work for.

Trial and Error: (Sci-Fi) Interviews with various AI as a scientist attempts to make sense of spontaneous machine sentience.

Under the Electric Stars: (Sci-Fi) A courier's failed heist to help their AI friend/navigator pulls them into a world of crime organisations and unethical science.

The Weird: (Tabletop, Supernatural, Comedy, Horror elements) The two staff members at The Department of the Weird travel America in their shitty Ford Fiesta to investigate various strange happenings

#audio drama #recommendations

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voidcat · 1 year

Text

– the moon will sing

characters: astarion, human bard mc (gn pronouns used)

notes & genre: slight angst, implied future mcd & hinted immortal/mortal relationship. the mc is originally my dnd character but there is no specific description of name, appearance or past (save for the family crest, implied nobility) so you can pretend this is x tav or x reader. lowkey inspired by a the crane wives song.

it takes a moment to look back, like a step taken a tad too late; not enough to create a great distance but one enough to make one stumble on the ground.

in the small yet grand distance, astarion watches as cheers and joy fill the air once more, mimicking those nights before, in taverns, under the stars, all spent celebrating, rejoicing with glory and gratitude; all heroic feats and gestures he does not care to– nor wish to understand.

another adventure comes to an end, one step closer to the end, the destination, the next step of the rest of their lives until they find themselves at a crossroads.

one part of astarion cannot wait for that day to come, the one that wishes to escape, to avoid the burning rays of sunlight that only intensify each passing minute, each day he finds himself stuck deeper than he already has, struggling more and more to break those ties which are yet to be formed and binding completely.

better to rip the sticky, bloody bandages off than to take it easy– just suck up the pain that comes with a loss of recent constants in his life, and grow into his newly lonely routine of not depending on anyone.

all good logic, all bright ideas, astarion finds himself giving the little-him in his mind a pat on the back; only for the idea to come to halt, the unspoken words stuck in his throat as you turn in your spot, meters, meters away from him, spot his distant figure with those eyes and send a warm smile his way.

maybe this is another plan that has already failed before he could realize, astarion begins to wonder, oh he is so, so fucked– especially when all it takes now is a smile, a genuine one that reaches your eyes and shines warm like the sun, for him to be rendered speechless and immobile.

your smile falters for a second when you don't receive the usual astarion treatment, be it a wink, a charming smile or an all-knowing smirk decorating his smug face with a raised eyebrow that seems to say "cannot keep your eyes off me, can you now darling?"

one step taken a tad too late but astarion is never one to stumble over his feet, so with a roll of eyes and smirk returning to his lips, he tilts his head to the side in a questioning manner– to which, you reply by raising the bottle you've been holding, as if to say "hey, this time the wine is not that bad actually."

seeing him nod, and with too many people surrounding and asking for your attention, you find yourself having to divert your eyes away from him, as the people seem to chant for something from you, most likely another round of recounting your latest heroic victory, astarion thinks.

soon the sound of strings vibrating fills the air with faint first few notes of music.

of course, a celebration is not complete until there is music, no matter what time of the day it is or how tired everyone is. drunkards, raspy voices and dry throats all join together, offering back vocals to the lucky bard of the night– or the day; with how busy the hours have been passing, astarion realizes he is at a loss of time.

another glance stolen at you, and the light surrounding you like a halo certainly does not help his case.

golden, like the branches of your family crest, it is no wonder the moon shines bright above everyone, reflecting off the light you provide; brightening the world for all to see, to walk, breathe, make it all easier to live.

he spots shadowheart by some trees, enjoying her drink alone, gale and wyll speaking with people, probably giving them some answers they so desperately needed. his eyes roam the grounds and find each member of their little group, all too endorsed in whatever it is they are doing; yet one thing in common– a sense of relief, rejoice, change; the traces of especially the latter is out in the open for careful eyes, or just eyes who have seen and known them long enough.

he wonders for a moment if the same can be said for him, but he knows better, that it has already happened.

the sound of music gets louder and soon suppresses the irregular chatter spread around.

the tune sounding too familiar, astarion makes the mistake of looking at the source and being blinded as a result.

because, of course it would be you with your adorable little lute, clapped on the back by everyone 'just one song, then, o'mighty bard, please!' and never one to miss such moments, you would go up in your imaginary stage and pick the one song you were sure to draw his attention, as if you don't do that enough with your presence already.

your eyes already locked on him, you do your little trick where you pretend your attention is divided equally, as if your eyes are roaming the crowd, committing every face you see to your memory when your sole focus is on him, as he is drawn to you.

astarion knows, it is utterly foolish and even a little dangerous of him to think like this, but he fears what is to come by the end of your noble and enthralling series of journeys, when your effect on him has been this grand already.

not a fun thought to entertain, certainly not at a joyous time such as this one, were it not for your current occupation, he is positive you'd have walked all the way back to him to give him a good smack on the arm, or maybe a fisk on his forehead, or a knock on his skull along with a scolding to inform he got quite the thick skull if he is sulking like this at a time like that.

is it the fear of what has become of him, or what is to come when too much time passes, he is uncertain. but it must be another way of gods' mocking him, and cursing you perhaps– of all those faces and races, why did it have to be a human, that selfish part of him hisses. all those elves in the bloodline and you just had to be fully human, didn't you? giving him a taste of heaven, only for it to be cut short.

it was supposed to be moths with short lifespans, the cycle of the moon; not the sun, with all its grace and sanctity.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #original character #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #bg3 drabble #astarion drabble #bg3 angst #bg3 x tav #astarion x mc #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #gender neutral character

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luna-rainbow · 2 years

Text

It was 1926.

“Look, Stevie, a shooting star!” Sarah leaned closer to shield him from the night wind. “They say that when a curious angel lifts the curtain of the night sky to peek at the human world, we see the light as a shooting star.”

“If you make a wish while they’re peeking in, Stevie, they might hear it and make it come true.”

“Look! Another star! Stevie, quick, let’s make a wish!”

“I don’t need—”

“How about, you will make a friend at your new school?”

“I don’t need a friend.” He thought about it and added, “But it would be nice if I can find someone who lets me draw them.” It was hard to find someone who had the patience to stay still long enough, and who didn’t think he was odd for staring.

“Well, if you are friends then they’re more likely to let you draw them.”

Steve was still dubious, but obeyed anyway, “Alright then. I wish for a friend, with nice eyes.” He liked drawing eyes.

“That’s a good wish,” Sarah said encouragingly.

“And a big, big smile.”

“That’s beautiful, Stevie.”

“And curls in his hair,” because he liked drawing hair too, and curls were fun to draw.

Sarah rubbed his head affectionately, “Alright—”

“And nice hands,” he liked how expressive they were and wanted to get better at drawing them.

“Certainly, Steve, now—”

“Also,” he remembered something important, “He can’t be taller than me.”

She rapped him on his forehead. “The angel won’t grant your wish if you’re too greedy. Come on, let’s get inside before you catch another cold.”

The moment he set eyes on Bucky, it was like the boy had walked straight out of his imagination. Every feature in that heart-shaped face, the mop of hair, the bright sparks in those eyes, the little curl of the corner of his lips when he smiled, made Steve wanted to draw him, and…astonishingly, Bucky loved indulging him.

Steve would marvel as they grew older, he would come to love every mark that time left on Bucky. The sharpening of those cheekbones, the crinkles as he smiled, the fuzzy stubble and the long limbs and the mop of curls that’s darkened from straw to a coffee brown.

No matter how Bucky grew and changed, he was always, always the most beautiful model Steve had taken a pencil to.

More importantly, Bucky became the friend Steve had never thought he could have.

That was when Steve began believing in angels.

(Except the minor quibble that Bucky towered over him. Maybe the angel didn’t hear that last bit.)

—

It was 1943.

Bucky was leaving to fight battles Steve had never seen.

Bucky saw his hope to join an army as a death wish. He could hear Bucky’s concern brimming in his voice.

Bucky wanted to keep him safe. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand.

Of course he did, but he wanted to keep Bucky safe too, and sometimes there was no walking away from a fight.

He just wished he could fight alongside Bucky and not have to wait in his lonely home, not knowing where Bucky was and what enemy fires he faced, not knowing if the next time he heard from Bucky would be in the form of a condolence letter.

“So you want to kill Nazis?” the bespectacled man asked.

“I don’t like bullies.”

He thought that was his opportunity, but for months afterwards he wondered if he was mistaken. He was bigger, taller, stronger, healthier, but layers of red tape stopped him from seeing Bucky, let alone fight alongside him.

And then, against all probability, he heard Bucky’s unit was not far from him. Against all odds, Bucky was still alive.

And against all his expectation, Bucky had said, “That little guy from Brooklyn who’s too dumb to walk away from a fight, I’m following him.”

Steve was sure he had a guardian angel.

(Who also heard his complaint about the height.)

—

It was 1945.

The sky was inadmissibly cloudless.

A streak of light flew across the stars.

But Steve, sitting alone in the shell shocked tavern, had stopped believing in angels.

—

It’s 2013.

“Want to join us for a drink, Cap?”

“Not today, you guys enjoy.”

“Got a better offer elsewhere, huh?” Natasha asked as the strike team walked off.

“I’m going to the observatory.”

“Oh?” Natasha arched her eyebrows, “You don’t strike me as an astronomy type. A date?”

“Kind of,” Steve grips the photo in his pocket.

“Wait, who with?” She looked affronted that she didn’t know of it beforehand, “The girl from statistics?”

“No, an angel.”

She elbowed him in the arm, “Look at you being a sap. Go get her.”

Steve wandered through the giant halls of hanging planets, stopping before every plaque, reading them slowly not because he was fascinated, but because the man whose photo he was holding in his pocket would have been.

“See Bucky, the first moon landing,” he said under his breath. “Bet you would’ve loved to watch that.”

“Hey Buck, remember how excited you were when they found Pluto? The ninth planet? Well, it’s no longer a planet.”

Steve smiled at the thought of Bucky’s indignant expression.

“Buck, look — an angel’s peeking in.”

The words came out on automatic when the light flashed across the sky.

The smile faded from his eyes, and his fingers tightened around the photo in his pocket. He drew a deep breath and sighed, “Wish you were here, Buck.”

—

It was 2016.

A trail of light cruised across the sparkling night sky.

“Look Bucky—” he had began to speak.

“An angel is peeking in,” Bucky finished for him.

They glanced at each other and smiled.

Steve turned back to watch the light slowly blink out as he held tightly onto Bucky’s hand.

“What did you wish for?” Bucky asked later.

“It’s a secret,” Steve said in his ear.

Steve believed in angels.

But the best was right next to him.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #ficlet #happy birthday to the oldest super soldier in the world #my writing #fanfiction

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runariya · 1 month

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I just found your blog and turns out, I like your writings. Infinity is so cool, I miss reading other AU like aliens. Although I'm looking forward for chp 4 of My Beloved Villain, will you ever consider writing Jungkook's POV for Infinity? Just a short drabble on how he find her (lying on the wilderness' floor; maybe a bit extra when he clean and take care of her when she's unconscious) and how he react when she ran from him in the shop. Thank you so much for sharing your writings. I'm still binge reading from your masterlist. Really looking forward to your next update. Take care and stay healthy.

Hey anon 💕

tysm for your kind words and taking the time to explore my blog! I rly feel you with Alien!AUs, it's such a weak spot for me too. And considering the infinity!couple is special to me and your suggestion sparked such a joy to me, I couldn't help but to write 3.5k for your drabble request lol

So, yeah, hope you enjoy and tysm again for your support 🥰 you take care and stay healthy as well!

• (drabble below cut) •

Jungkook had been chasing a ghost ever since the day he came of age, hurtling alone from galaxy to galaxy in the quiet solitude of his spaceship. He was a drifter among the stars, born with markings that no other Nepturian possessed, a curious anomaly. From his first breath, he was set apart, regarded with a mix of reverence and envy—a strange creature in the eyes of his people, a mystery even to himself. The elders spoke of him in hushed tones, their awe thinly veiling their curiosity, while his peers cast sideways glances tinged with bitterness.

For most of his life, he had lived with no understanding of his place in the universe. Then, as his legal age approached, everything shifted. The council of wise men summoned him and his family, revealing at last the truth that had been hidden from him: his destiny was bound to the very essence of his home planet. It was a burden he hadn’t known he was carrying, and when he reached his age of majority, there were no cheers of celebration, no revelry marking the occasion—only solemn farewells. His journey began that day, a lone traveler cast out into the stars with nothing but his ship and his mission.

The years stretched long as he wandered, his search ceaseless, his heart tethered to the elusive promise of saving. Along the way, he consumed every scrap of knowledge he could find about humans, the strange, fragile beings who had once roamed the galaxies. But the more he learned, the heavier his heart became.

It became clear, with every text, every conversation, that he had arrived too late—the human race had vanished, extinguished like a flame snuffed out in the dark. Yet, despite the overwhelming evidence, a small, stubborn hope clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t get rid off. That hope sparked to life again when, in a seedy starport tavern, he overheard a pair of Stranpy whispering about a human female. They claimed to have seen her in a brothel on a distant planet, a fading relic in a world that no longer recognised her kind.

Jungkook hadn’t hesitated. His ship roared to life, cutting through the void of space as it carried him seven galaxies away to the desolate outpost known only as Morthak. When he landed, the brothel wasn’t the dilapidated hovel he had expected—it was sleek, high-tech, a tower of hollow decadence in the midst of a barren, wild world. Yet something within him shifted, and as he stepped towards the entrance, his body recoiled. His markings, usually dormant, flared with a light of their own, casting a pale, blueish glow over his arms.

His instincts screamed at him, tugging him away from the gleaming doors, as he could feel it in his bones—a pull, an insistent force driving him away from the path he had set out on. His feet stumbled, then steadied, as he veered off into the tangled underbrush that surrounded the facility. Each step felt lighter, as though the very ground beneath him was trying to push him forwards, his breath fogging and uneven in the cold air. He didn’t understand the compulsion that gripped him, didn’t know why his chest felt tight as he fought through the dense jungle, but he could feel that he was drawing closer to something—to someone.

When the foliage parted into a small clearing, the sensation hit him all at once. His instincts snapped into focus, narrowing his vision until all he could sense was the space in front of him. A scent lingered in the air, sweet and intoxicating, as potent as sugar dissolved in flame. It curled around him, drawing him in like a whisper in the dark, a promise of something precious and everything he searched for.

And it was at the edge of the clearing, where a small, scaled creature—something wild and feral, with scales and sharp eyes—snuffled around in the dirt. It pawed at the ground as though searching for its next meal, its snout grazing a damp patch of earth.

Jungkook moved closer, his heart thrumming with an unspoken warning. There was something wrong here, as he could feel it in his marrow, a tension building under his skin. The creature’s intent was clear, but what lay beneath its paws was not prey. He shooed it away gently, his voice low and steady, his hand sweeping the creature aside, and what he found beneath its paws twisted something deep within him.

Lying in the mud, half-buried in filth, was a human. You were small, fragile, your body covered in muck and leaves, as though nature itself had tried to reclaim you. Your skin, pale and bruised, seemed barely capable of sustaining life, your breath shallow and uneven, fogging in the night. It was as though the universe had abandoned you here, forgotten and broken, as if your very value was lost. Jungkook’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the sight of you, as he knelt beside you, his hands hovering over your frail form as though afraid to touch, afraid to break whatever fragile tether still held you to this world.

“What have they done to you?” he whispered, the words a soft breath of anguish that he barely realised he had spoken. They were more for himself than for you, a bitter question aimed at the universe that had allowed such cruelty to exist. One glance at you, and he could see the scars, the suffering etched into your skin, the shadow of torment that clung to you like a second skin. It didn’t take a word from your lips to tell him the truth—your life had been hell.

Gently, he gathered you into his arms, your body light, almost weightless, as though the burdens you had carried had stripped you down to nothing but bones and breath. His markings, which had been flaring wildly only moments before, began to calm, their soft glow dimming into a shine that seemed to soothe not just him but you as well.

He didn’t care that the mud and grime smeared his clothes, didn’t care that the non-existent weight of you in his arms made him feel sick. All that mattered was getting you to safety. All that mattered was that you were no longer alone in this unforgiving world.

He would protect you now, with every breath in his body, with every beat of his heart. And nothing—no force in the galaxies—would take you from him.

Being back on his spaceship, he wasn’t sure where to place you—whether to settle you in the small, shadowed spare room of his ship or to let you rest in the white room, typically reserved for the stray hitchhikers he picked up from time to time. After a moment’s consideration, he decided the spare room, with its deep, dark colors, might overwhelm your frayed nerves too much. So instead, he opted for the white room, its soft, sterile light a break from the suffocating darkness you had surely endured up until now.

There you lay before him on a smooth surface—a table he had summoned from the blank wall with the brush of his hand. Your chest rose and fell faintly, as though each breath took more from you than it returned, your unconscious form trembling slightly as you fought the cold and exhaustion that gripped you. His movements were careful, tender, as he began to strip away the remnants of the dirty rags clinging to your skin, each piece of fabric came away, falling in a rotten heap beside him.

The act of undressing you did not stir within him any sense of awkwardness or discomfort, as for Nepturians, the body was something sacred and pure, beyond any shame. It was a vessel of life, and life itself was to be honoured, not hidden. Nudity was no more remarkable than the stars.

Once you were free of your soiled clothes, he took to washing you, his hands moving with a tenderness that belied his strength in so many ways. Warm water flowed over your body, trickling across skin that bore the stories of suffering in the form of countless scars he already noticed through the mud—pale ridges from poorly handled wounds against your otherwise smooth flesh.

He touched them lightly, his fingertips tracing their jagged paths with an almost reverent sorrow. Your bones seemed hollow beneath his touch, fragile as a bird’s, and he had to temper his strength, fearful that one wrong move would break you even more. Your skin, cold and pale with the bluish tint of chill, stirred a deep ache within him that nothing had ever managed to provoke.

The sight of you—so broken, so fragile—unraveled him, let him feel as the most powerless creature in existence. He had thought himself immune to such feelings, had survived the burden of the fall of his own planet without much more than a fleeting ache. But now, seeing you like this, something in him splintered like old battered wood.

The weight of his homeworld’s destruction had been bearable, even trivial, compared to the devastation he felt at your past suffering. The prophecy, the grand destiny he had been given without wanting to, all seemed inconsequential now. None of it mattered, not the council’s words, nor the fate of his people. His sole purpose in the universe had crystallised into one clear, unwavering truth: he had to protect you. Whatever had happened to you, whatever horrors had led you here, they would never touch you again. You were his mate, his responsibility, and the thought of anything or anyone harming you again sent a rage simmering beneath his skin.

Still, he knew his feelings, his protective urges, would not help you right now. As he gently wiped away the last remnants of the grime, revealing more of the soft, delicate flesh beneath, he debated how he would face you once you woke. If your body was this ravaged, this close to collapse, then your mind must be even worse off. Whatever torments had taken root in your spirit would likely outstrip those your body had endured, and the last thing he wanted was to overwhelm you with emotions you couldn’t yet comprehend. He would have to suppress his own instincts, stifle the fierce need to comfort you with touch, to tell you that you were safe now. You needed control more than you needed affection, and he knew it.

He pressed his feelings down, locking them away beneath a cloak of detachment he truly didn’t want but knew, that it was a necessary restraint. He could not afford to show you the depth of his connection, not yet. You needed stability, a sense of distance, of control over your surroundings. Anything less might send you into a panic, and he couldn’t risk you seeing him as a threat. You were so vulnerable now, both in body and mind, and he feared that a rash instinct of selfdefense could shatter whatever fragile connection remained between your soul and this world.

After he had dressed you in his clothes, the oversized black fabric swallowing your petite form, he draped a thick blanket over you, tucking it gently around your body to help coax warmth back into your cold limbs and watching how your shivering gradually eased.

Jungkook took one last look at you, his expression full of tender longing despite you being near, before stepping away from the room. But even after he left, he didn’t truly leave you, as he retreated to the cockpit, where he kept a watchful eye on you through the CCTV screen, his gaze never wavering as his ship flowed on autopilot through space and time. You lay there so still, so quiet, almost peaceful with the small smile grazing your lips in your slumber, yet every flicker of movement on the screen caught his full attention, every subtle shift in your breathing or twitch of your fingers quickening his pulse with a quiet anxiety he wasn’t familiar with.

He didn’t know how you would react when you woke, didn’t know if you would panic or strike out or collapse back into the depths of your broken mind. He only hoped, with a longing he had never known before, that you would remain calm—that you wouldn’t see him as a danger, hoped you wouldn’t hurt yourself in a desperate attempt to protect yourself from him. Because if you did, if you recoiled from him in fear, it would destroy him far more thoroughly than anything else ever could.

Jungkook stood by your side, as it took weeks for you to begin feeling even the faintest flicker of comfort around him, though the wariness never left your eyes completely. Always on edge, you carried yourself like a creature awaiting the next strike of inevitable doom, poised for a danger he knew would never come. Jungkook understood, though—deeply. It would take time, time measured in baby steps, in small moments where trust could be tested and proved, over and over again, and that was okay. Each small step forward, each moment you chose not to flinch away, filled him with a secret, quiet joy he had never known. Progress, however halting, was a balm to the ache that had taken root in his chest since the day he’d found you.

It was during one of these stretches of fragile peace that he noticed the rash creeping along the lower curve of your back, the angry red patch of skin making him frown with concern. You hadn’t mentioned it—probably hadn’t wanted to out reasons unknown to him—but he’d seen it. So he decided he needed to gather some herbs to help soothe the irritation. That’s when he decided to make stop at Thraxor, a planet known for its medicinal offerings. He suggested you come along, gently persuading you that the change of scenery might do you some good, offer a breath of fresh air to your mind. You hesitated but ultimately agreed, which felt like a surge of quiet triumph. It was another small victory, a moment where you chose to step out of the shadows, if only for a little while.

Jungkook’s instincts prickled the moment you entered the Silvex shop, an unshakable feeling settling low in his gut, as his eyes scanned the room warily, watching every shadow and movement with a sharpened eyes. He tried to keep his tone light as he conversed with the Silvex behind the counter, suppressing the uneasy twist in his chest. He didn’t want his nerves to ripple into you, didn’t want you picking up on his unease when you’ve clearly took a chance. So, he encouraged you to wander the shop, hoping the distraction would keep you occupied while he finished his purchase.

The Silvex, with its slick, slithering voice, made his skin crawl, but Jungkook pushed forward, asking about the herbs he needed, his nerves burning with each passing second. Then, out of nowhere, the Silvex uttered a single sentence that turned the air in the room to ice despite the heat on the planet.

"She's a nice slave," the Silvex giggled, the words slipping out carelessly amidst the discussion of roots and tonics fitting for your rash. "How much do you want for her? I could use her just perfectly for my other business."

In that instant, a deep, all-consuming red rage flared across Jungkook’s vision. It was as if a switch had been flipped, his blood boiling with an intensity he had never known he was capable of. “She’s not for sale,” he growled through clenched teeth, each word a barely contained explosion.

But it was too late. In his fury, he hadn’t noticed the shift in your stance, hadn’t seen the widening of your eyes, hadn’t felt the tremor of panic rise in you while hidden behind the shelves. You had already taken off, bolting through the door before he could stop you.

His heart shattered in a sudden vice of terror, panic flooding him as he watched you disappear from sight. "Stop!" His voice rang out loudly as he lunged after you, barely aware of the Silvex scrambling to follow. The suns above beat down mercilessly, its blinding light burning his eyes as he stumbled into the open market. He squinted against the glare, desperation coursing through him as he spun in frantic circles, trying to catch a glimpse of you, but all he could see were the different shapes of strangers, the colours and sounds of the market merging into a dizzying chaos around him.

He began asking anyone he could find, breathless, his voice rising in desperation with every question asked. "Did you see a human? A girl? Where did she go?" Some shook their heads, others pointed vaguely towards the far end of the market, but none of it was fast enough, none of it got him any closer to you. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, each beat hurting more than the other.

Then, piercing through the noise around him clogging his ears, he heard it—your scream. It echoed off the narrow walls of an alley not far from where he stood, a loud short cry that sent a wave of new icy terror crashing over him without him having time to breathe. His heart sank, a sickening dread twisting his insides as he sprinted towards where your scream disappeared.

‘She should know,’ he thought frantically, his mind racing. ‘By now she should know she’s safe with me, that I would never let anything happen to her.’ But clearly, he had been wrong. His chest aching with self-loathing, anger at himself for failing you so completely.

You clearly didn’t trust him, and it was all his fault.

Jungkook shoved his way through the crowd, desperate to reach you before it was too late. He couldn’t lose you—not like this, not after everything. His breath burned in his lungs as he finally spotted you in the distance, standing there, your terrified eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, hope surged in his chest. But then you were off again, fleeing before he could even call out. His voice broke, your name a desperate plea on his lips that fell on deaf ears.

He didn’t know what else to do—he had never expected you to be so fast and agile, so desperate in your escape. The Silvex appeared some distance before him, and for a split second, Jungkook cursed the day he had ever set foot in that forsaken shop. His mind raced, his very soul a storm of chaos and regret, until finally, in a move he would never have considered under normal circumstances, he did the unthinkable. "STOP HER!" he shouted into the crowd, the words tearing from his throat, filled with a desperation that scattered his bones.

For a brief, agonising moment, nothing happened, but to his immense relief—though it was tinged with a bitter taste of shame—a Necrovian stepped forward, his long, spindly arms reaching out to catch you as you passed. You struggled against him, but he held fast, and Jungkook’s legs nearly buckled with relief, but the anger for himself didn’t lessen any less.

The desperation that had gripped him moments before shifted, almost violently, into a burning anger, that surged through him, only directed at himself and at you. Anger at his own failure to protect you, to make you feel safe enough. And anger at you—for being so reckless, so unbelievably reckless, to run like that. Did you not understand how dangerous it was? How stupid it had been to run when you stood no chance of surviving out here alone? You would have been lost, or worse, if he hadn’t been there to chase after you.

He clenched his fists as he walked towards you, his jaw ticking with frustration, the heat of his emotions blazing through him even worse than all the suns in existence. He needed to do something, anything, to make you see—to make you finally realise that nothing could hurt you when you were with him. You needed to understand that. He needed you to understand that.

But still, you were safe now, and at the end of the day, it’s all that matters to him.

He would bring you back to the ship, and there, at last, he could breathe again and make things actually right this time.

Infinity ML • other work

#anon ask #fic: infinity #infinity bonus #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jjk x reader #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jungkook smut

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year

Text

Promises Five: The Hunt

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.

The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.

In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.

The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.

Eilwyn loved it all, of course.

But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.

“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”

Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.

“You say that every year.”

The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.

“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”

The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Of course, Lady Alder.”

Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.

“How far is the damned camp?”

Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.

The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.

“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.

The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”

The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”

Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.

“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”

“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.

“My old bones are not made for riding.”

A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.

“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”

Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”

“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”

“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”

The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.

“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”

An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”

She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”

“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”

“Such praise you give me.”

“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”

“Unfair but not untrue.”

The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.

Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush. A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.

The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.

Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.

Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.

What did the King of Dreams dream of?

Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.

The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.

But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.

From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.

“Is all well?” the bard asked.

“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”

The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.

“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”

“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”

Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.

The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.

Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.

“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.

She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”

Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.

Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.

Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.

Lord of Nightmares indeed.

“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”

As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.

“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”

Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”

This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.

They’d reached the camp.

A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.

The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.

Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.

Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.

Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.

Another fucking Endless.

Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.

The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.

“Sibling.”

The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”

#fic: promises #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x oc #female reader #morpheus x original character #dark!morpheus #fantasy!au

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shhh-secret-time · 6 months

Text

Star Park AU: Stan Marsh Edition

-> Lives on Tegridy Farms with his family. His dad sold their house and moved them out to the valley when Stan was ten. (They're essentially where Marnie is in game.)

-> Sparky is still alive but he's getting older, so he sticks to laying on the porch waiting for Stan to get back

-> Plays football with Clyde, Craig, and Tolkien! Kenny and Cartman will join in sometimes and he practically drags Kyle out to join them.

-> He works for Joja Mart with his sister. They'd both rather work there than be near their dad.

》 He's saving up to move back to the city, or so he says. Truth be told he can't leave behind Sparky or his Mom.

-> He bought his own chicken coop and has a few chickens of his own.

-> He goes to the saloon every night, most nights by himself

-> But on Fridays, after Jimmy's comedy act, him and his band will play!

-> On Sundays when everyone else is in church or doing their own thing. Stan and Kyle will go up to the summit past the railroad tracks and spend hours up there. Catching up and just unwinding.

-> He probably has a mini event that's kind of like Sam's 2 heart event, where he asks the Farmer what type of music they like.

Gift Guide:

Loves: Pizza, Survival Burger, Book of Mysteries, Frozen Tears, Beer (This changes after Heart Event 6)

Likes: Joja Cola, Apples, All Eggs, Void Esscene, Large Milk

Neutral: All Fruit (Except Apples), Coffee, Peppers

Dislikes: Fertilizer, Daffodil, Any Fish, Pink Cake

Hates: Rabbit Foot, Coleslaw, Clay, Beer (After Heart Event 6)

Loved: "Dude! Are you sure?! Man this rules!"

Liked: "Oh, uh thanks! Should I get you something back?"

Neutral: "Cool, I'll find a use for it."

Disliked: "What...is this? Why?"

Hated: "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Given any alcohol after Heart Event 6: "Why would you give me this?! You know I'm trying to stop!"

Heart Event @ 2:

Stan is throwing empty beer bottles at the passing train, they shatter just as the Farmer approaches him. He looks back at them with a grin offering one for them to throw. He mentions that he was drinking with his friend Kenny but he had to go, so now he's just passing time. He's not quite drunk yet but he's tipsy. When the Farmer takes the bottle and throws it he relaxes a little, says that he's glad they're not put off by the behavior. After a little bit of silence, he asks them why they moved to the Valley. There's not a lot of money in farming and then makes a comment about how he fucking hates it. How he feels isolated from the rest of the town sometimes.

-> Feels that way sometimes doesn't it? But at least you have your friends (+)

-> You're literally closer to town than I am, don't your friends come to visit you? (-)

If First Option: He mulls it over and decides you're right. He should he grateful he at least has them. Though lately it feels like they're drifting apart. Stan comments how you must feel lonely being new to town and all.

"Oh well. I guess we can be lonely losers together. Farmer buddies and all that."

If Second Option: Stan doesn't really appreciate the sass. He wasn't looking for a pity party, just wanted to kinda vent. He makes note not to talk about it again.

"Yeah sure. I guess, but you didn't have to be a dick about it."

Heart Event @ 4:

Stan and his friends are playing pool at the tavern, a rare instance where they're all off work and finally get to hang out. He leans over the pool table and sinks another ball, much to Kyle's annoyance. As the Farmer comes in Cartman makes a comment that Kyle is getting his ass kicked and bad. It prompts Kyle to snap at him and shake the pool cue at him. Kenny and Stan laugh a little before Stan realizes you're there. He smiles and gestures for you to come over! Now that you're here they have enough for teams. Farmer is confused because there's already four of them, they make five. Stan whispers in their ear, explaining that Cartman won't play with Kyle anymore. He lost one time and now he's convinced that Kyle cheated. Something about how there's no way Kyle would ever actually win a game fair and square. When you agree he gets excited and before anyone else gets the chance he announces that you'll be on his team!

"Awesome! We're gonna smoke these guys! Kenny wrack 'em! Farmer is with me!"

⚠️ TW: Attempted suicide ahead ⚠️

Heart Event @ 6:

Stan's drinking again. Right next to the railroad tracks but this time he's got one foot on the railroad, rocking back and forth. There's glass bottles around him, unbroken and too many to count. He almost stumbles down to the ground but he keeps himself up. Farmer approaches and that's when they hear the sound of the train coming in, and it's coming fast. Stan had no intentions on moving, in fact he looks like he's about to fall forward willingly. The dead look in his eyes tells them that much. Farmer runs across the field and tackles him into the ground, the train narrowly missing the both of them. Stan lays there having just had the wind knocked out of him. His head is spinning and he feels sick, but he also feels the Farmer on his chest and his back against the ground. He's not dead. Then it hits him, you almost died to save him. You who's kept talking to him despite everything, even when he was being an ass.

"You....you could have gotten yourself killed why would you do that?"

-> I couldn't just stand there and watch you die Stan!

-> Are you crazy?! You almost got us both killed!

-> I don't know...my legs just moved on their own.

-> (Just hug him)

If First Option: Stan starts crying and presses his palms into his eyes. He lays there and sobs, but he feels safe enough to do it.

"Hey Farmer...hic...can you help me to Kyle. I'm scared."

If Second Option: He grits his teeth and digs his hand into the dirt. Stan knows what he did was crazy, he can't be mad at you for snapping like that. You just saved his life. But he didn't ask you to.

"Fuck...I know. Look, just help me get to Kyle. I think I'm gonna be sick."

If Third Option: Stan doesn't know what to say but he thinks he gets it. He just closes his eyes and tries to stop the dizzy ride his drunken state is on. He doesn't want to move but he can't just lay here all day.

"Do you think Kyle is gonna yell at me...if I show up looking like this? Maybe if I just go to sleep I won't have to think about it."

If Fourth Option: Stan freezes he wasn't expecting the Farmer to do that. They should be angry with him, furious. But they're hugging him and clinging to him for dear life. His life. Stan wraps his arms around them and starts to cry. It's the most vulnerable he's been with anyone in a long time.

"Shit...fuck dude...just please don't let me go. I don't wanna go. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Heart Event @ 8:

It's early morning when the Farmer steps out, they're greeted with the sound of music. Stan is sitting on their porch playing his old guitar, the acoustic one that's seen better days. When the Farmer gets closer he looks up at them for a moment, unable to look them in the eye for too long. After a moment of silence, he tells them that Kyle got it out of storage for him. Says it'll help him focus on something other than the withdrawals and that Kyle put him in contact with a therapist. He thanks the Farmer for saving his life, and apologizes that they had to see that. As he plays a somber tune again he makes a comment, this is the first time he's been on their farm. First time he's been out this way since they moved into the valley. He confesses that your farm is a lot nicer than his dad's and that maybe farming isn't so bad. Farmer sits beside him and he quietly continues playing, they've never heard him play this song before.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry I've been a jerk to you. You and Kyle shouldn't have to take care of me, but you did. You care and I should remember that. Sparky would have been really upset if I never came home. So thanks...for everything."

When given the bouquet:

"!! I don't understand why you'd choose me, but...I'm selfish and I want you all to myself. So I accept!"

Heart Event @ 10:

Stan is leading Farmer past the railroad tracks, he doesn't even seem bothered much anymore to be here. He leads them up the path that he's taken a thousand times. There he leads them to the summit, his favorite spot to be at. They sit together at the edge if the cliff with their legs dangling off the side. He admits to them that he liked coming up here a lot as a kid, when his dad and him would fight it was his little hiding spot. Then he brought Kyle and it became special. The days where he'd get stupid drunk he'd think about just falling forward like that day with the train. But it's because of those amazing memories with his best friend, he could never bring himself to do it. They're special and he wouldn't want to ruin them for Kyle. It's things like that, that remind him why he's alive. Things like you. He smiles at the Farmer and tells you this. Tells Farmer he wants to continue to make more memories with them so he has a reason. His hand inches closer to theirs, not quite touching. Before he can pull away, Farmer takes his hand and slides closer to him. They rest their head on his shoulder and look up towards the big illuminated moon that's in front of them. Stan wraps his arm around them and lays his cheek on top of their head.

"Every moment with you reminds me why I'm here. I'm not...perfect and I don't think I'll ever understand why you choose to stick around. But I meant what I said, I want you around me always. I can breath with you around."

Heart Event @ 14:

Stan's outside playing with Sparky and Farmer's pet, when he moved in he brought his beloved dog with him. Sparky seems to be getting better every day he's here and Stan couldn't be happier. Farmer walks up with hearts in their eyes, making him a little bashful. He rubs the back of his neck just as Sparky brings the ball back. He mentions that he really loved animals, and that he's always had a soft spot for them. Farmer questions him about his love for Survival Burgers, which he quickly points out that they're made of Cave Carrot NOT beef! After a little while of playing with the pets he sits in the field with them, looking over their hardwork. Stan turns red and starts ranting about how the last time he went to visit his dad, he started nagging him about grandkids. He's embarrassed because Randy has never mentioned it before and it makes him uncomfortable.

"He's such an ass! You'd think he'd stop trying to tell me how to live my life after I moved out. Why doesn't he bother Shelly with this?!"

-> He probably does. We don't have to have kids if you don't want them! I'm just happy you're here with me! Don't let him get to you!

-> Don't let your dad pressure you into anything you're not ready for. It's our relationship and we'll decide when and if we want kids. But if you're anything like you are with Sparky towards kids, I think you'd be a great dad!

If First Option: Stan grins and tells them they're right as always. He leans down and kisses the top of their head. Sparky walks over with the Farmer's pet and lays in their lap. Stan smirks and makes a comment about how they could just get another dog.

"Our farm is big enough for another one right? We could get one or two more puppies. They could help with the sheep and chickens! Help dig holes!"

If Second Option: Stan says he'll think on it. Later that night while Farmer is cleaning up the dishes and putting them away. Stan walks up behind them and wraps his arms around them. He murmurs in their ear that he's been doing nothing but thinking about what they said. The thought of starting a family with them is starting to sound appealing, plus it could be fun raising a mini them. He presses a kiss into their temple.

"You really think I'll make a good dad? I just don't wanna end up like mine...but if you're with me I think I could do it. And if they're anything like you, they'll be an amazing kid."

Random Marriage Quotes!!

"You looked really adorable asleep last night...you also drooled on my arm."

"Having a bad thought day...I might be a little off today. I'm sorry."

"Babe, you got dirt on your face. C'mere, let me clean it. Just let me take care of you butthead!"

"Sparky and I watered the crops today! How do you know how much to give them? I feel like I'm drowning them."

"Fed the animals! They're doing great! Would...you judge me if I took a nap out in the field with them?"

"Hey...real quick...I uh- I love you. I know I don't say it enough and I'm sorry, but I really do."

"Morning. Made you some pancakes! I stole the recipe from my mom! Why do you look scared?"

"Hey babe, I'm going to visit my parents today. Please feel free to come save me when you're done doing what you need to do."

"Are you coming to the tavern tonight? We're playing a new song tonight, I wrote it for you."

"You know, when I was a kid, when I got nervous, I'd throw up. You make me nervous sometimes but I- hey! I'm not going to puke on you, I'm not twelve. Get back here!"

Tag List: @hunnysnoops

#south park #sp fanfiction #south park fanfiction #reader insert #south park x reader #x reader #Stan Marsh #Stan Marsh x reader #Stan Marsh x Farmer #Stardew Valley #Star Park AU #headcanons #drabbles #shhh its a secret

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smolvenger · 9 months

Text

A Court of Mischief and Purpose, Chapter Seventeen (Loki x fem! Reader Hiddlesverse Crossover Miniseries)

Series Summary: Based on Sarah J Mass's A Court of Thorns and Roses series with the Tom Hiddleston characters. You are a woman of 1880's in Aldwinter in Essex, England, dying of tuberculosis. Never to be married to the local Lusty Vicar. When Loki appears to you and offers to heal you...if you spend a week of every month with him

Chapter Summary: You have returned to Aldwinter. And begin to set plans for your revenge on Will.

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: Some spicy stuff but no actual smut (please forgive me, the chapters in this fic are long enough), mentions of cheating and portraying Will's cheating as bad I am very blatantly against the Will/Cora pairing in The Essex Serpent and it shows so if you like either character or the pairing, you have been warned. Mentions of sex and religion and violence and abandonment. Supporting Women's Wrongs.

A/N: Thanks to @muddyorbsblr for the brilliant ideas about how Reader could get her long due revenge and the great suggestions!

Also,

Happy New Years Eve! Instead of going to clubs and drinking and partying or being invited to a party, I'm spending it editing fanfiction. So this is to all of you out there who too feel a little lonely like me and like you should be out there doing partying and "normal" things...you aren't the only one, and I'm sending you a hug.

I hope you enjoy the start of the "next" season of Court after that cliffhanger! Leave a comment or reblog or send me an ask or dm if you especially liked it! Happy 2024!

Series Masterlist

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

You could still recall your wedding with Loki.

It was night. The moons shone above. Stars sprinkled across the sky as people laughed and went out to restaurants and taverns. They weren’t the ones about to find a cauldron. They could go on in ignorance and always in safety.

But your own pulse was picking up as you held Loki’s hand. Excitement and nervousness.

You both walked into a temple, a building with a garland of roses over the door. For even gods still needed worshippers. Inside, there were two priests going about. An old man and a younger man in fine golden robes swept the floors. The younger one turned and gasped, tugging the sleeve of his sage.

They recognized Loki and both bowed.

“Ah, great prince and god of mischief, what brings you here?” the older one asked.

“I want you to marry us!” Loki announced.

Their jaws dropped, and the brown eyes of the old man grew large.

“Without the…the consent of the AllFather?” the older priest asked.

“No- I do not need it. I am not a child anymore. I am a man grown and this is the woman I want to marry.” Loki said, gesturing to you.

You walked over and placed a hand on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you.

“This is one order I give you, both as god and prince- Perform a marriage between me and Y/N. The Jotun Prophet says she is my True Love- always shall be. Don’t break the True Love Bond. Perform a marriage ceremony. I’ll reward you handsomely if you do.”

They relented. The Older Priest led you both to the large altar in the next room. It had a tall statue of Frigga smiling with outstretched hands from her gown’s sleeves. Firewood was brought to make a nice kindling blaze in the fireplace from the younger priest to the fireplace in the room.

The older priest gestured you both to You walked around it to the wooden table placed right before the statue. It was covered in runes in its tan wood. There was a small dagger, a cornucopia, and a tall, white candle that the elder priest lit with fire from the fireplace. The younger priest stood to bear witness, as well as holding a spare marriage contract for you both.

“The AllMother might feel a slight twinge in the air tomorrow, for marriage is part of her realm. But yet…if you are certain, then you are certain. Any last things you would like before we begin?” asked the older priest.

“It feels a little more like a lamb is about to be sacrificed than a wedding,” you shyly commented, for the Christian weddings of home were more what you were used to.

“The AllMother doesn’t like offerings of lamb!!” laughed the older priest.

“Here- let me make it more decorated, then,” Loki offered.

With a flick of his hand, there were flowers everywhere. Soft roses in bloom, their perfume a gentle caress in the air. They decorated the statue and the altar. Flower crowns were placed on the two priests, much to their amusement.

��Should I go back home and get that lacy bustle dress then? I know it’s your favorite” you teased Loki.

He gave you a small laugh, then lifted his hand and flicked it in the air.

Golden light came down from over your heads, he gave himself rich green robes with gold armor plates over his shoulders Both a prince and a groom.

You looked as the magic went over you and your clothes transformed on your body. You were given a long dress that was a soft blush pink to compliment his green. It shimmered when light touched it. It showed your shoulders but the sleeves were so long they draped to the floor, the way that a few of the queen’s dresses did. For that was what a woman of royalty wore. The bodice made a heart shape over your chest. On your head was a long veil that went down your back and onto the floor of sheer material, forming a beautiful train melting into a lacelike pattern. It made you look like you floated.

You smiled up at him.

“It’s beautiful, thank you!” you gasped.

Loki smiled, then nodded at the priest for him to begin.

You clasped hands. There was a prayer and some milk poured into a bowl and placed at the feet of the statue as an offering to Frigga..Loki conjured daggers for you both to trade, symbolizing how you would protect each other.

“Now, make your vows to each other,” signaled the Priest.

Loki held your hands. Though the priest whispered the words in his ear, he repeated it with sincerity.

"I, Loki, do swear before the AllFather and AllMother, take you to be my wife, my friend, my lover, and my companion. From this day until only death do us part. I pledge you my fidelity, refusing all others as long as we live. My softest words and tenderest embraces. I shall choose to respect you and choose to love you. In my bed and on my table. In battle and in peace. In sickness and in health. In joy and in sorrow. Day and night. From this hour, as long as we both live."

You took his hands and repeated what the priest whispered into your ear.

“I, Y/N, do swear before the AllFather and AllMother, to take you to be my husband, My friend, my lover, and my companion. From this day until death do us part. I pledge you my fidelity, refusing all others as long as we live. My softest words and tenderest embraces. I shall choose to respect you and choose to love you. In my bed and on my table. In battle and in peace. In sickness and in health. In joy and in sorrow. Day and night. From this hour, as long as we both live."

Then Loki’s magic brought up the ring- the very one you won from the Weaver’s cottage.

“That was why the Weaver thought I earned it…even she knew…” you wondered.

“She’s a matchmaker then, who knew,” Loki teased.

Loki placed it gently around your finger. He conjured a ring that you slipped through his finger.

There was a final prayer and chant. The younger priest brought forth the document which you both signed.

“Now seal it with a kiss- and all the nine realms shall consider you husband and wife,” announced The Older Priest.

You did, happily. Embracing each other and locking lips. They both smiled and applauded. Loki paid them generously with a conjured bag of coin.

You both were still holding hands as you hurried home. Your wedding gown and his shoulder plates glowing in the moonlight.

With the crowds around Asgard, you could slip by unnoticed. But you were smiling. He was red-cheeked, almost running and pulling you with him until you picked up your skirt and met his pace. You ran together back home at an equal speed. The thrill of being married at last soaring in your hearts.

You got home in your finery, clutching hands happily. At the entrance, no one came to meet you. The guards simply allowed you through, never asking questions.

“Husband…” you teased, tasting the word. Placing a hand on his warm chest. His eyes went big.

“In the older times, a marriage isn’t considered legal until it is consummated. Is Asgard…like that?” you asked with a slight giggle in your voice.

Loki took his hands around your waist.

“Better safe than sorry, then,” he agreed.

He scooped you easily into his arms and carried you right into his chambers. Taking you onto his green bed and laying you down.

He crawled on top of you and kissed you. Desire burned between your legs as he let in some of his tongue and touched your face, pulling you close. Hands greedily running down your body. Giggling you rolled over so he laid down and you were on top. The veil shimmered as it fell from your head into a melted, sparkly puddle on the floor. He let out a small gasp of surprise but laughed it off, his ivory face below you, his beautiful black curls splayed across the bed.

‘Now that we are wed, I’m going to make my wife scream with pleasure on our wedding night. And every night after that.”

His hands went to your hips, gripping the flesh beneath the cloth. You set yours on his broad shoulders.

“First I’ll have to spare your stallion and ride you instead!” you whispered.

“I love you, my wife… and princess,” he voiced.

“I love you too- prince and husband,” you said.

You began to grind him as he undid his own leather trousers. Then you pulled up your long skirts and began to sink onto his-

“O God, whose blessed Son was manifested that He might destroy the works of the devil and make us the children of God and heirs of eternal life:...”

The vicar’s voice broke you out of your memories.

That was just the past. And here you were in a familiar scene. The memory is still warm in your body though you were back in that sterile church.

“Grant us, we beseech thee, that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves even as he is pure…’ Will continued to intone, signaling the beginning of the service.

You were sitting dutifully on the front row next to your parents. Just as you did for a long time. You were back home in Aldwinter, but you did not feel like the same lovesick girl counting down the days to her wedding and smiling up at the vicar with love and even restrained lust.

No, you kept your eyes down to the checkered floor, hands positioned to pray. You wore a dark-colored dress, but you were not in mourning. You would paint the picture of piety and repentance here. Still aware of the eyes still on you. Of the gossip.

“She left our respectable rector for that god. Yet she’s back here and - bless him, he loves her! He’s going to marry Y/N anyway despite all of that! Despite her being ruined. Despite her betrayal,” was what they were whispering in their pews and parlors.

‘They got it wrong as to who ultimately betrayed who. Twice.’ you thought. But you held back that part of you in your head. It was rather talkative lately, but you knew better than to utter a word of your true thoughts.

You looked about. There was the old chandelier that hung up with unlit candles. You wondered how they stayed on. What would happen if one were to fall? Would it hit someone?

To your amusement, you realized one hung over where Will was standing. You wished you could make a candle fall to hit him on the curly auburn head. It would have been funny, even the congregation would laugh. But you didn’t.

It deserved to be a knife aimed at his skull instead.

Everyone kept their heads down, though sometimes a pair of eyes would meet yours.

You were back. You told them- your family, old friends, and neighbors- little of what happened. As far as they knew, you were enchanted. But the spell was broken. Yhat you were returned safely- to pray, repent, and process all that happened with Loki…

And sometimes you did. The things you never imagined you would see or do when you went to Asgard. You thought you would live a plain little life in a plain little town and that you were content to do so. Did they know that you learned how to wield swords and daggers? That you were blessed with magic? Of the people you met from other worlds and timelines and planets? Stole belongings or helped in their stealing? Escaped death multiple times? Fought? Even killed? That you found new friendships with queens, princes, and warrior women? Seen aliens? Been to a ball? Met gods and learned to love one and was even married to him?

Now- here you were. In your old clothes and old church. Did those grand adventures even happen at all?

You knew they did.

There were a few extra faces in the pews. For some in town were surprised by an influx of men who built small houses and stayed nearby. Some women were thrilled for a bunch of new bachelors and hoped for marriage with one of them. They all said they were part of a construction company and factory that was nearby…when really they were of Grendel’s army. Bullies and monsters, all of them. And it was none other than Will who agreed with Grendel to let them stay in the town…if Grendel got you back here to him.

Will’s sermon continued as normal. He seemed happy as he began to discuss Paul’s book of Romans. Once you would have sat up in rapt attention. But you could hardly pay attention to it anymore. He seemed like a ghost in his long white robes. He wore a long blue sash draping down his shoulders trimmed with gold with symbols on the ends. He smiled brightly as he stood before the congregation, folding his hands so they disappeared from his robe’s sleeves.

You heard the voice of your husband through the bond.

'I’m going to kill him,' Loki said clearly in your head.

'Not yet,' you replied.

'I’m going to get out my dagger, and stab him right where he is.'

'Loki, please, don't'

'Then I’m ripping a portal to this church, slinging you over my shoulder, and carrying my wife out of this place. Right. Now.'

'Loki, I wish you could- but consider: they're watching. The whole town is watching and not just now! Everyone is obsessed and looking for you. My parents keep the doors to the house locked except for when I go on my daily walk. Everyone has purchased a weapon. They’re searching like madmen for you in Aldwinter. It’s not safe for you to just barge in.'

Now people discussed the Trickster god who kidnapped and ravished women more than the Serpent that was just a dead whale. They searched everywhere. Children played games and whispered about him. One thought they saw him in the woods. Another thought they saw him in the marshes. People kept close eyes on their daughters- he took first you, then Stella twice, and who knew which lady would be next?

One day, there was a rowboat on the river in town. It nearly ran into another rowboat. And no fishing nets were inside.

“What are you out here for?” one rowman asked.

“Lookin’ for the Trickster god! He was sighted here, wasn’t he?” answered the other boat’s first rowman.

“Blast it, not if I find and shoot him first!” said another rowman from the other boat.

‘But, my dear pet-’ Loki continued to sigh.

‘No- I don’t want you to. Besides, even if you could quickly get me out, I don’t want to leave yet…not without seeing to it that Will is punished’ you sent to him.

'You do deserve revenge, Loki agreed “So I should turn into a cat again, trot up to him purring, and then jump out and stab him.'

'Loki, it is a habit of men to avenge women they love who were wronged. It is in many stories- it is always the woman who suffers and dies horribly because of a villain’s sins and it is not her, but the man who is allowed to live to avenge her. Those writers don’t understand we ladies are perfectly capable of exacting our own revenges. I would like to do it. I am the person Reverend Ransome has wronged most of all. If anyone should do the stabbing, it should be me.'

'Then get a knife and throw it towards him in church!' Loki suggested.

'No! He will duck and it shall be me who goes into jail and shall be killed, not him. I can’t just murder him willy-nilly and with no certain escape or sanctuary. I must be careful with this if I am to get away with it.'

Part of you was impressed by him. Making a deal for your safe return at least, done by a man whose heart couldn’t be settled on one woman. You were keeping your simmering rage at bay. You took a look at the church, you noticed the walls that seemed blue-green in the overcast sky when they were really white. The light brown pews and the table with a tall wooden cross on it with two candles between. The three chandeliers. The two windows that overlooked everyone were like eyes.

When you burned Aldwinter to the ground, the church would be first.

No, no you couldn’t. Why should so many innocent people suffer because of one man’s decisions? You had to figure out how to exact revenge on the reverend Will Ransome, in a way that would affect him and only him. And in a way that no one would suspect it was you.

The service continued on as normal. Though you were always in a half-sleepy, silent daze now instead of at attention, doing every repetition of prayers and singing each hymn and crossing yourself soberly.

Sunday evening, as always, a nice dinner was made for Will, your fiancee and guest. It was as if the letter you wrote to him ending things was never sent.

It was the same picture. Everyone sitting down in your house. Napkins draped across laps as forks and knives clinked with plates. The smell of the meal wafting- your mother’s roast with salad and bread and potatoes. Laughter and chatter.

You would make a smile appear on your face, eating politely and quietly.

Then your father made one clap and rubbed his hands, looking at you and Will.

“Now- let us discuss the wedding! Do you have a date selected, my dears?” he asked.

“We have discussed about the wedding a little more…” Will began.

‘But I’m already married,’ you thought, glancing down at the emerald ring always on your finger.

Then again, Will wasn’t known for respecting the boundaries of marriage.

The Lusty Vicar placed a hand over yours and held it.

“We will reschedule the wedding for next month,” Will suggested. His blue eyes shined to you. “Then, my angel, I shall finally call you my wife.”

‘I would rather the Serpent become real and devour me,’ you thought.

“It shall be lovely,” you replied with a small smile.

“We shall have a wedding- free of interruptions and no sickness and no spells. It shall be simpler, mind you- we all know how much the first one cost,” your mother added.

“A big wedding doesn’t matter as long as it’s with a good man who truly loves you,” you commented.

Will again looked at you softly. He spoke with a smoothness, almost a seductive tone, like when he proposed to you. Not caring the others were there. In fact, they enjoyed it.

“It was God who told me you were to be my bride, Y/N.”

‘But God didn’t tell me.’ you thought. You only looked up at him and smiled.

“And we shall spend our lives fulfilling His word together,” he continued.

‘Did God also tell you to stick your fingers up Cora’s-’

“Oh, how beautiful! To see you finally married off to this godly, lovely man!” your mother sighed out loud.

“I am the happiest woman in Essex, ” you replied.

He kissed your hands and left back home.

“Y/N, now that you are a parsonage bride, be sure to attend to your duties at the church tomorrow. You must become used to them,” your mother reminded you.

One idea hit you. A small step.

Revenge you realized, was similar to cooking or baking. When one has a recipe, there are all sorts of small ingredients to gather, steps to take, and things to measure and mix. Small steps. They don’t seem like much at first, but bit by bit, they became something bigger, grander.

“Yes, mother. I shall,” you replied dutifully.

The next afternoon, the church was empty. Only Will and a few others planning out events in the meeting room. You had to help keep it tidy and check plans for Sunday School, for you were now going to join as another volunteer teacher for the children. As you looked over the lesson plans with the other teachers, you reached out your powers through your gifts. Searching. Would they be where they were last…

They reached his office. To what was under his desk.

No box. And no personal mail.

The letters from Cora were not in his office, you realized. That would take some searching.

But another thing was near his office- the church treasury kept in a safe in the next room.

Another step to your revenge.

One of the benefits of being a vicar was that while a clergyman received some of the tithes, a vicar got all of them.

Of course, some of it went to support his own church and ministry as well as put bread on the table. Will was probably discussing the budget with them from the Sunday tithes.

Finishing the Sunday School lesson planning was done.

Your senses told you the room with the safe was empty.

The old woman who taught the children’s Sunday school chattered on. Usually, women could teach children and other women. It was rare for a woman to teach a Sunday School class that included men. You got up. Saying you were going to get a glass of water and to wait for the Reverend, excuse me.

No one was in the hall. You quickly hurried in, your steps soft. To not click on the floors. Your powers unlocked the door and you stepped in. The plain brown room with a plain grey safe.

Quickly, your senses managed to unlock it. Opening up to numerous checks and huge wads of cash and coins in baskets.

You got out a few things of cash. Taking off your shoe, you slipped it beneath your foot and then retied it on. You then locked it back. Quickly walking away. You went over to the church kitchens to get your glass of water and sip on it in one of the parlors, your eyes down in innocence.

When you got home, you sat down in your chair, claiming you were tired and needed to rest. You looked at the blue gloves you had been knitting recently. Your eyes focused, your powers embracing it. You let it rip open and then reattach, sewn back together easily.

You removed your shoes and got out the cash.

You took the money and placed it in a blank envelope. Oh, how you wished you could recreate handwriting! Then you would forge Will signing it! But you could not, as much as you practiced. That would have given you away.

So at night, when no one was around, no one walking the streets, you briefly slipped the letter under your door. Then you went back to continue to knit more gloves as your parents read.

'Move' you commanded the letter silently.

And it did- it began to drift through the dirt road. You sensed where Mrs. Seaborne resided and directed the letter there as it floated through the ground as if a breeze moved it.

'Go to her house, slip it under the door,' you commanded it.

Quietly as a firefly. It located the house of a certain widow and slipped it under the door.

Your parents then said you would have to read the Bible more, to prepare for your marriage, and gave you a new copy they had bought. You turned to the Old Testament book of Judges and silently read some as they continued their own post-dinner activities by candlelight.

You poured over one story in that book. There was once a tyrant named Sisera who had long oppressed the Hebrew people. After his army lost a decisive battle with the Hebrew forces, he fled like a coward. He discovered a tent where who should be there, but only an ordinary housewife named Jael. She knew what he had done. She let Sisera have her food and sleep there as a guest, promising him that he was safe. Then as he slept, she got out a tent peg and killed him by hammering it through his skull.

You wondered why there weren’t more sermons discussing Jael. Why many never even spoke of her. Or perhaps even knew of her.

So every day you sat, sewed, obeyed your parents and fiancee, and prayed and bided your time. You had to seem like Jael- an innocent, dutiful, pleasant woman who would only do what was asked of her. Then, when the time was right, you would drive the peg through the skull of your Sisera.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── Will loved to take long walks in the mornings. Especially through the fields, the forests, and by the sea. You realized each day you sensed him. They were like clockwork-mid morning after breakfast. Then he would go out for at least an hour. If not two.

That would be the perfect time to find the letters.

The next morning, you said you were out to walk and take care of some errands. Your parents thought nothing of it but wished you well. You walked out.

You walked into the town and through. Careful that none were watching you. You knew where it was. You had been there one night before.

There it was- the tall white house, the vicarage. There was a large, plain backyard save for the little house made of sticks for the dog to sometimes rest in.

The dog was already outside, leased to the house for safety as his keeper was out. The sweet, brown terrier. He went up to you, wagging his tail, for he knew you. You got him little treats of bread from your pocket that you fed to him, so he would be happy and not bark up a storm. No more than what would alert any passerbyes. After petting him for some time, you got back up to go to the vicarage.

Your powers unlocked the door and you went inside. Now you weren’t as clouded with emotion, you could look about the place.

It was light tan wood on the inside. There was a kitchen with an empty table and vase. A little fireplace. A parlor by the windows with cushions where one could watch the outside.

It was a large house. The right size for a man who was expected to start a family.

You turned past one door, peeking inside, and you saw a bedroom. A large blue bed, neatly made.

To think, that was where the wedding night that never happened would have taken place…

Then you continued, you felt odd. Nostalgic for something you never experienced…a life you never lived, had wanted to live, and in a way, still wanted to live.

There was his study. The wallpaper on it was green, full of vines, leaves, flowers, and even birds all over. Beautiful and elaborate. There was a window where sunlight poured through the window over his desk sat. Looking out to the countryside outside. There was an oil lamp where one just turned and there it was. So many papers and journals on his desk, yet in neat piles. But most impressive in his room were the bookshelves. His study was almost a library in itself- tall bookshelves. Full of books, more than you could name. It was likely they all were books of theology or even history or anything having to do with his ministry and studies.

You looked about, pausing and smelling the musk of the place. The beautiful wallpaper. The impressive collection of books.

You could almost feel it like wearing an old shirt- the life you once had. A life that was also within your grasp again. A life where you would live in this house as Mrs. Ransome.

To sit in that bed knitting next to him as he read. To sleep beside him and with him. To fulfill your marital duties at night with quiet passion. A life where you planned the activities the children would do in Sunday school on your kitchen table. Sew up white angel costumes for the Christmas pageant every year. To go and stand by his side helping to bring out alms on a day of charity.

Sweeping and scrubbing all day instead of intense physical training. No worries about Grendel, but of making sure the dinner would be warm when he got home.

One where you would gather flowers from your garden to plop into that vase, making them look nice. A life where you would fix tea and lemon biscuits, and deliver them on a tray to him in his study as he wrote his next sermon. To give it to him and he would smile up from his papers. A life where you would sit by the fire sewing, discussing whatever sermon was coming up next with him as he made notes. Plan recipes for the newest church dinner or picnic coming up and talk to him about who was making what. Picking pastel wallpaper for a certain special room in the future for both of you. Holding hands in the middle of services.

No quests, adventures, or fighting. A quiet life, a domestic, peaceful life. A life you could no longer have. A life no longer accessible -and a life you knew you could no longer let yourself want.

Your powers reached and you found you were correct in your suspicions.

The second desk drawer on the left side. The locked one.

Your powers unlocked it and it jiggled open. There inside were letters. The love letters from Cora to the Lusty Vicar.

Because he wasn’t known as the Faithful Vicar.

Though it made your heart race and your stomach turn, you picked up the letters and began to skim through some of them. You couldn’t take all of them or he would be immediately suspicious. You had to select only a limited number of them- so they had to be the most damning ones.

You turned past one discussing the Serpent to a piece of paper with Will’s handwriting on it. A draft of a letter to respond to her.

“I apologize for not writing, there was too much to say. I cannot think straight around you. I love you, Cora.”

Love- Love! He was sure it was love! You noticed the rest of it was full of scribbled-out words.

Then you found the next one from Cora. Two words in it stood out to you and nearly made you drop the paper.

“Come quickly.”

She was asking Will to leave you for her! The shock made the letter tremble in your hands and your vision went dizzy at the edges.

“Come quickly.”

Your mind then raced, imagined, as minds do… spiraling further in its self-destructive cycle of imagination. Will told you he wouldn’t leave you…he also said he loved you. Said that he still loved you…

“Come quickly.”

What if you already married Will…and he ran off with Cora?

You imagined the scene.

You could see it already in this house. You would be doing your daily duties humming a cheerful song. Refreshing the vase in the kitchen with flowers. Planning ingredients for dinner.

The day turned to evening…and realizing he was taking longer with his church duties than normal. Wondering if something happened. Already missing him as you dusted off the countertops. Full of happy memories of him in your earlier days of marriage. The light brown kitchen where he’d lay a gentle hand on your shoulder in fondness as you stirred the soup. The doorways you teased that he was too tall for. Looking through the dinner you were going to make that night.

Panic bubbled lightly as the sun dipped down and the day became night.

You would finally wander into his study. The light shining orange from his lamp…. There, on the table was a letter addressed to you from him. You would reach for it and read it.

“My dear wife, I am in love with Cora Seaborne. I cannot think straight around her…with her, there is too much to say. I am going with her. I ask for your blessing. I will make sure you are taken care of. Thank you, for your dear blessing on us and for our love.” Will.”

And enclosed were several bills of cash money.

For he knew a married woman could not submit a check at the bank, then the money would go to her husband.

And now, your husband was gone.

The utter shock. Rereading it to make sure it was real, that this nightmare was real. The rage. The tears. The brokenness washing over you. How you would shake. Holding onto his desk for support. Until your legs gave out- how you would collapse, sobbing. Those three little words that would feel like a kick over and over: “for our love.”

Then, you would wander into another room—the pastel one. For by now, there would likely be an occupant.

A little baby in a cradle.

A nursery decorated with the theme of Noah’s Ark. A painting of the wooden boat and of doves with twigs in their beaks on the wall. Full of little animal toys going two by two. Specially decorated for this child’s arrival.

To look down at the little infant in its cradle. So lovingly swaddled safe and warm. A child who was half you and half Will.

On one hand, perhaps it would be worse if he took the child with him. A child you would never know if you would see again, for a husband could deny his wife access to their children. The law saw the child as Will’s, not yours.

And he already found a new replacement, a new wife for him, and a new mother to this child.

It was as if you never mattered in the first place.

But now, the child would be babbling and looking around. Then it would burst into tears, for it missed the cradling arms of its father. You would shush it and try to rock it. Call their name, sing a lullaby in a broken, crying voice, and kiss their forehead- the last reminder of Will you’d always have by you.

To think, once this child was old enough, you would have to look them in the eye and explain why Papa wasn’t around like the other Papas were with their children, even if Papa was a priest. That Papa loved Mama…but he wasn’t in love with Mama.

How you would cradle that child to your chest, walking through the rain, the letter in your pocket. Trudging to your parents home in the middle of a rainstorm in the night. Knocking on the door. They’d open. Seeing a sobbing baby and a sobbing mother.

To tell them what happened. You couldn’t imagine what they would say, would do. They wouldn’t have the heart to even turn you down. But perhaps people would talk.

Maybe you didn’t cook as well. Maybe you were mad and had to be sent to an asylum. Maybe you weren’t as pretty as Cora. Or as interesting or clever. Maybe you didn’t pleasure Will enough in his bed and the Lusty Vicar had to be satiated somehow.

You would not be able to file a divorce. A husband who had an affair and now abandoned you was not the legal grounds for a wife to divorce a husband.

In the eyes of both God and the Law, you were still William Ransome’s wife.

Now…you had to stay married to him until only Death did you part or he decided to initiate a divorce. Even though you were the upright, godly, proper vicar’s wife…the law would not be on your side. Not as a woman.

To wait. For envelopes that had letters- and especially money. To live at the mercy of those envelopes. Hoping the cash would be enough. For food, for warm clothes for your child- no his child, for by the law, the child belonged to the father, not the mother. The humiliation, the pain, the loneliness.

All because Will and Cora were in love.

And all because a stupid whale carcass was what brought them together in the first place!

You wanted to take that lamp that sat at his desk and throw it at the wall until it shattered into a million pieces. You wanted to tear at that letter. Topple the bookshelves and rip apart every last book that belonged to Father William Ransome. Do every violent thing to destroy that room in a rage. To run to Cora’s house armed with a cane like what men and old people used to walk with. For it was she who wrote that letter in the first place. Ready to beat the tar out of her until she-

But no…that wasn’t real. That didn’t happen. This was real, you reminded yourself. You were just sitting in his office with shaking hands.

‘I am not the Unwanted Wife of Aldwinter…I am the Princess of Asgard. Loki loves me, he says I’m beautiful, that I am enough for him- that I am great and awe-inspiring…he is who matters now. I am. Beautiful, powerful, and dangerous. I have the Aesir people, the servants of the palace, the warriors, and the army and legion of Asgard at my disposal- and I shall strike into Will and Cora until they plead for the mercy I will never give them,’ you reminded yourself.

Your senses reached out again and you found old documents from when Will was granted the vicarage and position. You memorized the names of those who appointed him. You searched thoroughly until you found papers with the address of the seminary that appointed him. Taking a scrap piece of paper on the desk and his pen, you wrote their names, as well name of their building and its address. You wrote it down and then hid it in your stocking.

And you had to hurry- what if he decided to return soon? Your senses told you he was still walking outside…but you would not tempt fate.

Taking in a shaky breath, you returned the draft of his letter- you could take it. But if it was missing, he would suspect something was afoot. You set the draft down.

You planned to take two to damn Will. Instead, you took three love letters- including the “come quickly” letter. For she was going to be punished already as harshly as he.

You stuffed them into the pockets of your skirt.

You promptly left the vicarage back to town, taking a path that made it less suspicious you came directly from there.

You did a little grocery shopping, and returned, saying you had to walk to clear your head- you had a nightmare last night. About Loki. You poured a few tears and they fixed you some tea in consolation, telling you that your enchantment and the dreadful act of warming his bed was all over.

Then, once you were alone in your room, You took out the letters from your clothes and hid them your copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, which you kept firmly in your personal bookshelf.

They were ingredients left to simmer until boiling. You had the evidence and the first address to send one to. You now had to figure out where to send the other two to bring them down.

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argisthebulwark · 2 years

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How do we feel about the “one bed trope” with tld/Brynjolf….because like it lives rent free in my head- like especially if it’s happening in a part of Skyrim that gets super cold so they like *have* to cuddle…

oh this is so good. i'm a complete sucker for the one bed trope honestly and we don't talk about it enough. sfw, gn!ldb/brynjolf. edit: ao3 link here!

"Sorry." The woman behind the counter sighed and flipped through her ledger again. "We only have one room left."

"That's alright." He tossed a few septims onto the desk and watched her fingers trace along the messy bookkeeping. They'd shared a room before, changing was the only awkward part. "We're only here for one night. We'll manage."

The woman's anxiety seemed to ease when she pointed them down the hall, last door on the left. Brynjolf heard his recruit chattering away at his side and hummed along in agreement. He unlocked the door, comforted by the low noise of the tavern upstairs.

"Where's the second bed?"

There had to be some misunderstanding. The room was cozy enough, a desk tucked into one corner and a small wardrobe near the back. The only problem was the large, lone bed sitting in the center of the room where two smaller ones should've been.

As soon as they'd flopped onto the bed Brynjolf hurried back to the front desk. His heart was in his throat and he was gripping the counter to keep his voice low, not wanting to give anything away.

"I told you we only had the one left." The woman sighed, clearly trying to finish three separate tasks at once.

"There isn't another bed in the whole place? We aren't exactly," he paused, trying to talk his way out of the situation, "together."

"All booked up I'm afraid. Snow always brings 'em in."

When he returned he was just in time to see them curl up under the covers. Their hair was loose and curled over the pillow, pack thrown lazily onto the desk. Their eyes fluttered a bit when they looked up at him, a sleepy smile on their face that drove him mad.

"Nothing else?"

"Looks like we're sharin'." Brynjolf grunted when he kicked off his icy boots. Hanging his armor on the coatrack he felt oddly naked in front of them - he couldn't remember the last time someone had seen him in just a shirt and loose trousers. Their eyes traced shamelessly over his body and for the briefest moment Brynjolf wanted to ask if they liked what they saw.

"I'll stay on my side." They mumbled, curling deeper into the stack of pillows. "I can go ask for more blankets if you don't wanna share."

"I doubt you're goin' anywhere." They already looked half asleep when Brynjolf clambered onto his side of the bed. His heart was racing when he felt them shift a tiny bit closer to him. There was no armor or separate beds to keep his mind from wandering.

They stayed quiet for a long while. He watched stars twinkle through the blizzard out the tiny window and prayed it would be clear by morning. Sleep evaded him for hours, every tiny movement from his bedmate stealing all his attention. He had nothing to distract him from the sheer temptation snoozing beside him.

It didn't take too long for them to start shivering. Despite the mountain of blankets he knew it was chilly - the stone walls didn't seem to protect them from the overwhelming cold of Windhelm. Brynjolf told himself to tune it out. He needed sleep more than he needed to worry about them.

"You freezin'?" He finally mumbled, reaching a hand out. "I told you not to spend so much time runnin' around out there. You don't even have a coat."

"You're so warm." They practically moaned the words and Brynjolf couldn't form a coherent thought. He wanted to hear it again. They rolled closer, cheek pressed to his arm and greedy hands on his chest. "Do you mind if I -"

"C'mere."

He pulled them across the bed until every inch of them was pressed tight to him. He felt their chill seeping into his bones but couldn't be bothered. Cold toes pressed to his legs and their fingers slowly spread across his back, face flat against his chest. The little sigh they let out was enough to drive him mad. Their thin shirt left little to the imagination and gods, he needed something to stop his train of thought.

He hated how good it felt. Sleeping alone again would be hell but Brynjolf relished every moment of their body snug against his, every relieved sigh into his shirt. Their hair tickled at his nose when they shifted impossibly closer, one leg thrown over his hip.

"Bryn." They hummed his name in thanks and he knew. He'd belonged to them for far longer than he cared to admit but this was the last nail in his coffin. Slowly he raised a hand, tucking some of the messy hair away from their face as they looked up at him. He could feel them studying him in the dark. The moonlight provided little light but he felt every movement. They stretched, frozen nose bumping against his before their lips found his.

It lasted only a moment but it awakened a hunger he'd never felt before. He wanted to kiss them, to touch them, to know every inch of them. When they pulled away his fingers caught in their hair. He didn't want it to end.

"Sorry." They murmured and Brynjolf swore he heard his heart trying to beat out of his chest. He allowed himself to rest a hand on their waist and draw them closer. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

"Do it again." He swallowed past the nervousness in his throat, every bit of him tingling where it touched them. He knew it was easy to get addicted but he was desperate.

They kissed him again. They kissed him over and over until the blankets were kicked aside, warm hands clutching each other close. Their head was on his chest and legs tangled together when he finally felt sleep creeping up on him.

"It'll save money." They mumbled, half asleep. "If we keep sharing a bed. Overhead costs and all that."

"Yeah." He kissed the top of their head, thrilled by the content noises they made in response. "Gotta save money somehow."

#asks #anon #writing #skyrim #brynjolf #brynjolf/ldb

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nicklloydnow · 1 year

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“See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves. His folk are known for hewers of wood and drawers of water but in truth his father has been a schoolmaster. He lies in drink, he quotes from poets whose names are now lost. The boy crouches by the fire and watches him.

Night of your birth. Thirty-three. The Leonids they were called. God how the stars did fall. I looked for blackness, holes in the heavens. The Dipper stove.

The mother dead these fourteen years did incubate in her own bosom the creature who would carry her off. The father never speaks her name, the child does not know it. He has a sister in this world that he will not see again. He watches, pale and unwashed. He can neither read nor write and in him broods already a taste for mindless violence. All history present in that visage, the child the father of the man.

At fourteen he runs away. He will not see again the freezing kitchenhouse in the predawn dark. The firewood, the washpots. He wanders west as far as Memphis, a solitary migrant upon that flat and pastoral landscape. Blacks in the fields, lank and stooped, their fingers spiderlike among the bolls of cotton. A shadowed agony in the garden. Against the sun's declining figures moving in the slower dusk across a paper skyline. A lone dark husbandman pursuing mule and harow down the rainblown bottomland toward night.

A year later he is in Saint Louis. He is taken on for New Orleans aboard a flatboat. Forty-two days on the river. At night the steamboats hoot and trudge past through the black waters all alight like cities adrift. They break up the float and sell the lumber and he walks in the streets and hears tongues he has not heard before. He lives in a room above a courtyard behind a tavern and he comes down at night like some fairybook beast to fight with the sailors. He is not big but he has big wrists, big hands. His shoulders are set close. The child's face is curiously untouched behind the scars, the eyes oddly innocent. They fight with fists, with feet, with bottles or knives. All races, all breeds. Men whose speech sounds like the grunting of apes. Men from lands so far and queer that standing over them where they lie bleeding in the mud he feels mankind itself vindicated.”

#blood meridian #mccarthy #cormac mccarthy #reading

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masked-fools · 1 year

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❝ your old buddy sampo is a model citizen these days. y'know the guards on sentry duty in the restricted zone? i deliver their breakfast every day! ❞

— Sampo Koski, ancient relic specialist

Tavern Notice Board

14th of August — 20th of August

(1) coming home beaten and bruised [blade] — @milksnake-tea

platonic!blade x teen!reader where they come home battered. mentions of physical violence, bruises and blood

(2) an enchanting white day [jing yuan, dan heng, gepard, march] — @cnnmairoll

spending white day with them

(3) analysis of art & names in the simulated universe [aha] — @ahaclownery

post reviews the blessings in the SU, what they reference, and what it could mean for aha

(4) a book club for two [dan heng] — @cnnmairoll

in the intimate haven of dan heng's room, you both share a stack of books on his bed, the warmth of a cozy blanket draping over your legs as you enjoy each other's presence.

(5) seeing you wearing his clothes for the first time [blade] — @milksnake-tea

blade seeing you wear his clothes for the first time + prompt "you're so cute"

(6) lady fu's matchmaking service [jing yuan] — @eggluverz

fu xuan thinks the lonely general needs to go on a date, and you are just the person she wants to set him up with.

(7) first flower [gepard] — @cnnmairoll

amidst the blooming flowers of their shared home garden, you and gepard's love blossomed, nurturing not only the vibrant petals but also a profound and enduring connection between two hearts.

(8) a new history [welt] — @bladesmuse

ever since becoming a history professor at the city's university, Welt has been coming to the coffee shop where you work at the exact same time every single day without fail. coffee shop au.

(9) when they want attention [blade, dan heng, sampo, yaoshi] — @pyroxeene

what they do when they crave your affection and attention.

(10) a voice unheard [jing yuan] — @generalsmemories

if you're given the chance to meet someone you thought you wouldn't meet again, what would you tell them? almost lovers to strangers. hurt/comfort

(11) what their lips taste like [genshin men + aeons] — @pyroxeene

short headcanon post about what their lips taste like.

(12) napping with the dozing general [jing yuan] — @cnnmairoll

the "dozing general" jing yuan's legendary laziness transforms into heartwarming domesticity as you both find solace and love in shared naps, their tranquility echoing the depth of your affection within the bustling world of xianzhou.

(13) captured moments beyond the stars [luocha] — @cnnmairoll

in a world of boundless wonder, the foreign traveller luocha and you embark on interstellar journeys, capturing the essence of your shared love through photographs that become the foundation of a treasured album, a testament to the extraordinary adventures and the deep bond you nurture together.

(14) a rose for the ferryman [blade] — @pyroxeene

it is said that some people see the other side when they die even for just a brief moment. those near-death experiences often change them for good... blade wonders when the moment will come that he'll finally get to see you again. angst; open ending; near-death experience.

(15) culinary love knockout [luka] — @cnnmairoll

in the warmth of your shared domesticity, luka's request for your homemade lunchboxes becomes a cherished ritual that strengthens your bond and fills your hearts with love and laughter.

(16) blind dates & hidden feelings [dan heng] — @eggluverz

march 7th sets you up on a blind date with gepard and dan heng finds himself feeling jealous when he sees the two of you together.

(17) the entire fluff alphabet [jing yuan] — @pyroxeene

elaborate fluff alphabet for jing yuan. 7.2k words.

(18) sunday mornings & cookies [sampo] — @cnnmairoll

on a lazy sunday filled with flour-dusted laughter and affectionate banter, you and sampo create a batch of imperfectly perfect cookies, turning a simple baking session into a cherished memory of sweet delights and tender love.

(19) coming home beaten and bruised [nanook] — @milksnake-tea

you got hurt and nanook is ready to take revenge. hurt/comfort.

(20) late night conversations [dan heng] — @pyroxeene

you wake up to dan heng having a nightmare in the room next to you and decide to check up on him over text only to find that your fellow crew member seems to be a lot more open when sleep-deprived. confessions ensue.

#hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #nanook x reader #yaoshi x reader #dan heng x reader #march x reader #march 7th x reader #sampo koski x reader #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #jing yuan x reader #luka x reader #luocha x reader #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail fluff

122 notes · View notes

haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll · 2 months

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Spotify Tracklist below the cut due to length.

0.002 • Nobody Makes Money Anymore • Stephen Chicken • How Many Friends Have You Bought In Your Unsigned Band • 2 be or not to be • I'm In With The Soundcloud • 2 noble kinsmen • Johnny Ramone Joins The Beatles • Mojo Mojo Why Don't You Go And Review This Album Instead Of Another REM Blowjo • Noel Gallagher Is Jealous Of My Studio • My Royalty Statement • YouTube Are Fleecing You • I Wanna Be The New Ed Sheeran • Happy (Un) • Drop That Bridge Like Taylor Swift • The Great Sync Deal In The Sky • Liam Gallagher Is Jealous Of My Clever Turn Of Phrase • Dappy Versus Zombies vs The Pocket Gods • NME NME You're History • Nobody Makes Any Money Anymore • Adele • EMI • Synch • Steve Blacknell's Near Fatal Asthma Attack • Best Of Joe Rogan • Rock N Roll • Modern Music Is Boring Me • Mariah The Pariah • All About The Bass & Not Being Paid A Fair Amount • Neil • We Love Gideon Coe • 0.007 • the bbc will introduce you as long as you're under 25 • this is the end of the music business • Nowhere Left To Play • The Orchard Versus Sony • 6 Music Is The New Radio 1 • youtube are fleecing you outro • we don't need another nero • tory wet dream • Stars On MP3 • Racist Seaside Town They Forgot To Close Down • Starbuckers • Corporation Lax • Grotify • Brexiteers of The World Unite (ironically) • Penny Arcade Jukebox Scam • The Weak Spine Of Mr Cameron • Exit Brexit For Xmas • I Hate Hipsters • Ballad Of The Lonely Fruit Picker • Absent Smelly Stick Your Pay To Play Up Your Bottom • Shazam Kazam It's All A Mystery To Me • Peter Doherty's Quest For A Mythical Albion • Deezer Geezer • Brown Nose Brexit • A&R Pervert Man • Steve Jobs • Why Did I Write This Album With 1000 Songs On Now I have No Social Life • Shoddy Waddy • Best Of Boris Johnson • Pusher • Disinformate the Disinformators • Radio 2 Is Cool • It's The Brits • Lawyer V Liar • blah blah the music industry ceo goes • Folsom Prison Jism • The Forumla To Work Out My Royalties Is More Complicated Than The Superstring Theory Of Everything • Country Chaos • 45 Rip • John Peel's On The Phone • Another Generic Pop Song • Cesspool Karaoke • Bait Oven • Lucy Fux Cowell • Precious Electro Pop Indie Band Change The World • Minceyments • Zx Spectrum Soundtrack • Why Did I Write This Album With 1000 Songs On Now I have No Wife • Alan Mghee and the Pink Raincoat • The Monkees Gave Good Head • Michael Jackson Vs The illumati • The Sound Of The Future AI Bot • Mac Book Ho • Shabby Road • I.will.Iam Shakespeare • Feed Me Seymour • Auto Tune Loon • Reality TV Killed The Video Star • Madame Jo Jo's • Modern Music Is Boring Me • Small Town Musos • Medusa • Pledge • Ex Tractor • Jarvis Said Send Me Your Christmas Album • I'm A D List St Albans' Musician Get ME Out Of Here • Santasucker • Who Knows Who The F*ck Is Number 1? • Joe Meek • Pay To Play • Dodgy London Promoter • He's A Local Music Star • You Can't Shoplift MP3s • 2nd Biggest Band In The Village • Tedious day Job Rescue me me universe • The End Of The Mean Times )LOA) • The End Of The Pocket Gods? • Odd one out (just for the cd remember them?) • Premier • 2016 • 2379 • A Fool On The chill • Ac • Ag • Living On Top Of A Porno Cinema • ahura mazda • Al • White Noise Christmas • Albany • Alexi (not Sanchez) Put The Grunge Into Soccer! • all in all it's just another prick in the wall • All Things Must Pass • all you need is love and money • Always Look On The Norman Whiteside Of Life • Am • And Your Bird Can Sing • ANOTHER BLING FOOTBALLER • Another Blue Plaque • Another clown on the ground rolling around • APOCRYPHA • A&R Talking • Watch Out Lockdown is Coming • As • When BJ Apologies All I Hear Is This • Au • AVATAR • Sue's Redacted Report • Silence (sound of lockdown) with Tinnitus • ballad of blackfriars tavern • ballad of the lonely people again • Banksies dodgy beer • Bard For Life • Bard Rock Cafe • Bardify • Be • Beatles Wives Can't Sing • Beatles On A Tinny Tannoy (Ode to Shay) • Beatles On Spotify • BEST player not have played at a World Cup

Best Tattoo • better part of valour • Better Than The Stones • Beware The IDS of March • Bi • Big Willie Style • Bigger Than Jesus…but Jesus Never Toured (the US) • Bight the Apple That Feeds • billy fury • Billy Preston (was the 5th beatle) • Spent Too Long Watching Get Back • Blind Hope • blisters on my fingers • Bond Girl • Bono Is Bigger Than The Beatles • Br • dead tod • bring me the head of francis bacon • Bud Miser • Had Enougth Of Politics • C • Ca • Cardenio • Cathrine • What Party? • I wasn't there honest guv • Deffo A Work Event • Christ as Stoichkov • christmas in cricklewood • chuck berry we stole his riffs • Church Of Merch • Nothing to See here • Cm • Co • CONTE VERDE • Cornwall • Cr • Crap World Cup Mascot • Cs • cu night twelfth • Cu • Cygnus • Cynthia v Yoko • David Bowie v Shakespeare • day 1 of lockdown oh my god • day 2 of lockdown be good to get our • day 3 of lockdown wtf? • day 4 of lockdown jim jams • day 5 of lockdown call docs • day 6 of lockdown bed head • day 7 of lockdown not getting out of bed • day 8 of lockdown st albans' wine & cheese extravaganza • day 9 of lockdown grateful we don't live in a flat in london • day 10 of lockdown another day • day 11 of lockdown locked out of the playground • day 12 of lockdown thank god for nomansland • day 13 of lockdown project fear being ramped up • day 14 of lockdown 3 word phrases • day 15 of lockdown take away take away • day 16 of lockdown blah • day 17 of lockdown it's like picadilly circus outside my house • day 18 of lockdown slobs days • day 19 of lockdown knock more tracks off • day 20 of lockdown still waiting for my EMDR treatment god what is going on? • day 21 of lockdown phoned the mental health emergency helpline and got cut off after an hour on hold it's pretty desperate • day 22 of lockdown need my freedom need to escape need to get out can't stand being trapped inside (childhood memories) • day 23 of lockdown at least I don't drink anymore though quite tempted to start again • day 24 of lockdown I'm certain that when we look back after the pandemic has finished we will see that lockdowns caused more harm than good • day 25 of lockdown driving to the next village will we get arrested? • day 26 of lockdown another day another walk so glad we live in the country • day 27 of lockdown working at home zoom freak out • day 28 of lockdown not much to say today • day 29 of lockdown got another idea for a world record • day 30 of lockdown is this the right person to be leading us and what is it all really about, still no word on EMDR • day 32 of lockdown not sure what day it is • day 33 of lockdown just keep going and still waiting for Psychiatrist to call • day 34 of lockdown spring is here shall I have an alcohol free beer? • day 35 of lockdown so many 3 word phrases quite frightening • day 36 of lockdown life is now all online what a drag • day 37 of lockdown right said fred are speaking out against lockdown what does it mean • day 38 of lockdown is more tedious than this album • day 39 of lockdown cheese and toast is the new rock n roll • day 40 of lockdown one day hats will be eaten • day 41 of lockdown survived the wicker man • day 42 of lockdown long way to go when will it end • day 43 of lockdown life is an online barbie fashion show • day 44 of lockdown run run run fat boy • day 45 of lockdown May 6th 2020 • day 46 of lockdown I bet they're having parties in Downing Street • day 47 of lockdown there's a reason why this is played in morse code • day 48 of lockdown this is morse code for why don't Spotify and Apple pay us more money • day 49 of lockdown If I Can Get Through Lockdown and finish this album of 1000 tracks then that would mean something • day 50 of lockdown May 11th 2020 • day 51 of lockdown bet there's been another party in Downing Street • day 52 of lockdown anyone still listening? • day 53 of lockdown we're all in this together? • day 54 of lockdown I can't wear a mask it triggers my PTSD what am i to do?

day 55 of lockdown cross it off my bedroom wall and the walrus was paul • day 56 of lockdown gonna have to go off sick can't cope with lockdown and having no treatment • day 57 of lockdown gp signed me off still no sign of EMDR oh well let's go for a walk • day 58 of lockdown no comment today • day 59 of lockdown we are putting our trust in a corrupt government let's all focus on making our own world a better place • day 60 of lockdown hospitality hospitality they've all got it in for hospitality • day 61 of lockdown The Rose And Crown • day 62 of lockdown longing to be back in Kessingland • day 63 of lockdown toast toast toast • day 64 of lockdown taking up metal detecting shame it's illegal in lockdown • day 65 of lockdown does Ed Sheeran fancy a track on this album? • day 66 of lockdown yeah that kind of sucks • day 67 of lockdown Our cat Minty has Pohms and he likes you to smell dem • day 68 of lockdown this album is like a musical filibuster • day 69 of lockdown i used to be a socialist now i just prefer colouring in • day 70 of lockdown ah might be starting my EMDR soon online of course would be nice to do it in person but there you go • day 71 of lockdown spell dem • day 72 of lockdown that's me in the corner • day 73 of lockdown smile and be happy • day 74 of lockdown amazon and on • day 75 of lockdown boot noot • day 76 of lockdown can i just sit it out this great reset thing • day 77 of lockdown june 7th • day 78 of lockdown june 8th 2020 • day 79 of lockdown june 9th 2020 • day 80 of lockdown june 10th 2020. • day 81 of lockdown june 11th 2020 • day 82 of lockdown june 12th 2020 • day 83 of lockdown june 13th 2020 • day 84 of lockdown june 14th 2020 • day 85 of lockdown june 15th 2020 • day 86 of lockdown june 16th 2020 • day 87 of lockdown june 17th 2020 • day 88 of lockdown june 18th 2020 • day 89 of lockdown june 19th 2020 • day 90 of lockdown june 20th 2020 is there another party? • day 91 of lockdown june 21st 2020 i quit! • day 92 of lockdown june 22nd 2020 • day 93 of lockdown june 23rd 2020 • day 94 of lockdown june 24th 2020 i'm 50 should have been playing the 100 club but i'm having fun in the garden pook with the family • day 95 of lockdown june 25th 2020 • day 96 of lockdown june 26th 2020 • day 97 of lockdown june 27th 2020 • day 98 of lockdown june 28th 2020 • day 99 of lockdown june 29th 2020 • day 100 of lockdown june 30th 2020 • day 101 of lockdown july 1st 2020 12 weeks my arse • day 102 of lockdown july 2nd 2020 summer mask implosion • day 103 of lockdown july 3rd 2020 • day 104 of lockdown july 4th 2020 independence day ha! • day 105 of lockdown july 5th 2020 • day 106 of lockdown july 6th 2020 ooh i need your maths babe • day 107 of lockdown july 7th 2020 • day 108 of lockdown july 8th 2020 the cues watch the queues • day 109 of lockdown july 9th 2020 • day 110 of lockdown july 10th 2020 • day 111 of lockdown july 11th 2020 pants • day 112 of lockdown july 12th 2020 • day 113 of lockdown july 13th 2020 only 1/3 way through yikes • day 114 of lockdown july 14th 2020 • day 115 of lockdown july 15th 2020 • day 116 of lockdown july 16th 2020 • day 117 of lockdown july 17th 2020 • day 118 of lockdown july 18th 2020 • day 119 of lockdown july 19th 2020 • day 120 of lockdown july 20th 2020 • day 121 of lockdown july 21st 2020 • day 122 of lockdown july 22nd 2020 • day 123 of lockdown july 23rd 2020 • day 124 of lockdown july 24th 2020 • day 125 of lockdown july 25th 2020 • day 126 of lockdown july 26th 2020.wav • day 127 of lockdown july 27th 2020 • day 128 of lockdown july 28th 2020 • day 129 of lockdown july 29th 2020 • day 130 of lockdown july 30th 2020 • day 131 of lockdown july 31st 2020 • day 132 of lockdown August 1st 2020 • day 133 of lockdown August 2nd 2020 • day 134 of lockdown August 3rd 2020 • day 135 of lockdown August 4th 2020.wav • day 136 of lockdown August 5th 2020 • day 137 of lockdown August 6th 2020 • day 138 of lockdown August 7th 2020 • day 139 of lockdown August 8th 2020

day 140 of lockdown August 9th 2020 • day 141 of lockdown August 10th 2020 • day 142 of lockdown August 11th 2020 • day 143 of lockdown August 12th 2020 • day 144 of lockdown August 13th 2020 • day 145 of lockdown August 14th 2020 • day 146 of lockdown August 15th 2020 • day 147 of lockdown August 16th 2020 time for a pizza party • day 148 of lockdown August 17th 2020 • day 149 of lockdown August 18th 2020.wav • day 150 of lockdown August 19th 2020 ya ya • day 151 of lockdown August 20th 2020 • day 152 of lockdown August 21st 2020 • day 153 of lockdown August 22nd 2020 pass me the port • day 154 of lockdown August 23rd 2020 • day 155 of lockdown August 24th 2020 • day 156 of lockdown August 25th 2020 • day 157 of lockdown August 26th 2020 • day 158 of lockdown August 27th 2020 • day 159 of lockdown August 28th 2020 • day 160 of lockdown August 29th 2020 • day 161 of lockdown August 30th 2020 • day 162 of lockdown August 31st 2020 • day 163 of lockdown September 1st 2020 • day 164 of lockdown September 2nd 2020 • day 165 of lockdown September 3rd 2020 • day 166 of lockdown September 4th 2020 • day 167 of lockdown September 5th 2020 • day 168 of lockdown September 6th 2020 • day 169 of lockdown September 7th 2020 • day 170 of lockdown September 8th 2020 • day 171 of lockdown September 9th 2020 • day 172 of lockdown September 10th 2020 • day 173 of lockdown September 11th 2020 • day 174 of lockdown September 12th 2020 • day 175 of lockdown September 13th 2020 • day 176 of lockdown September 14th 2020 • day 177 of lockdown September 15th 2020 • day 178 of lockdown September 16th 2020 • day 179 of lockdown September 17th 2020 • day 180 of lockdown September 18th 2020 • day 181 of lockdown September 19th 2020 • day 182 of lockdown September 20th 2020 • day 183 of lockdown September 21st 2020 • salami danger man • napoleon hill • joey ramone • john altman was in star wars • the trumpton diets • bono was quite good in that kids film • dave spud is the new rock and roll • bj is trump lite or NWO • blaze tv • Howard Hughes And The Unexplained • the mighty terriers (god loves) • hogan v rogan • i'd cancel myself but no-one would notice • i always preferred bonehead • holiday inn syncs • day job knobhead • qi • If I Get Back On H&J I Will Buy Them Cake • NFT NFT they've all got an NFT • Ricky Gervais Is My Hero • This Album Is Sponsored By….. • Let's Dance Is The Best Bowie Album • Can't Get A GIG in our own town (st Albans) • we don't talk about bruno (fernandes) not scoring anymore • Frank • one day I will duet with dua lipa • help me rhondda witht he LOA • private eye knows the truth about prince andrew • you can advertise here • the science of getting rich is just get people to buy your books • putin never misses a trick • i'm visualising going on the one show to talk about this album • graham norton guest yes that would be fine • i feel real change coming and people will start to value music more imagine life without it • imagine if that $100 million that rogan was paid was instead invested in new music just imagine • since napster and the wild west days of the internet people expect to get it for free - musicians, songwriters and artists all deseve to be paid a fair amount • all we are asking for is a level playing field and transparency • the music industry is eveloving record companies must embrace change and respect the music creators • we all need to come toegther • da doo ron ron aldo • middle of the road all musicians are walking down at the moment expand your minds • the masked singer • should i change my name to elvis • my god the hollies were crap • clement stone • is instagram just for shallow people • the mind can achieve whatever it can conceive • 52 and still wearing my old band t shirts is that ok Mr Robert Crampton? • looking foward to playing this song on Jool Holland • rolling stone are going to do a feature on this album • frank skinner go on give this track a play it's only 30 seconds long and it's for a good cause

attitude of gratitude • are the DSPs having a competition to see who can get away with paying the least amount of royalties • day 237 of lockdown November 14th 2020 • day 238 of lockdown November 15th 2020 • day 239 of lockdown November 16th 2020 • day 240 of lockdown November 17th 2020 • day 241 of lockdown November 18th 2020 • day 242 of lockdown November 19th 2020 • day 243 of lockdown November 20th 2020 • day 244 of lockdown November 21st 2020 • day 245 of lockdown November 22nd 2020 • day 246 of lockdown November 23rd 2020 • day 247 of lockdown November 24th 2020.wav • day 248 of lockdown November 25th 2020 • day 249 of lockdown November 26th 2020 • day 250 of lockdown November 27th 2020 • day 251 of lockdown November 28th 2020 • day 252 of lockdown November 29th 2020 • day 253 of lockdown November 30th 2020 • day 254 of lockdown December 1st 2020 • day 255 of lockdown December 2nd 2020 • day 256 of lockdown December 3rd 2020 • day 257 of lockdown December 4th 2020 • day 258 of lockdown December 5th 2020 • day 259 of lockdown December 6th 2020 • day 260 of lockdown December 7th 2020 • day 261 of lockdown December 8th 2020 • day 262 of lockdown December 9th 2020 • day 263 of lockdown December 10th 2020 • day 264 of lockdown December 11th 2020 • day 265 of lockdown December 12th 2020 • day 266 of lockdown December 13th 2020 • day 267 of lockdown December 14th 2020 • day 268 of lockdown December 15th 2020 • day 269 of lockdown December 16th 2020 • day 270 of lockdown December 17th 2020 • day 271 of lockdown December 18th 2020 • day 272 of lockdown December 19th 2020 • day 273 of lockdown December 20th 2020 • day 274 of lockdown December 21st 2020 • day 275 of lockdown December 22nd 2020 • day 276 of lockdown December 23rd 2020 • day 277 of lockdown December 24th 2020 xmas is cancelled well probably not for BJ and crew • day 278 of lockdown December 25th 2020 • day 279 of lockdown December 26th 2020 • day 280 of lockdown December 27th 2020 • day 281 of lockdown December 28th 2020 • day 282 of lockdown December 29th 2020 • day 283 of lockdown December 30th 2020 • day 284 of lockdown December 31st 2020 • day 285 of lockdown January 1st 2021 • day 286 of lockdown January 2nd 2021 • day 287 of lockdown January 3rd 2021 • day 288 of lockdown January 4th 2021 • day 289 of lockdown January 5th 2021 • day 290 of lockdown January 6th 2021 • day 291 of lockdown January 7th 2021 • day 292 of lockdown January 8th 2021 • day 293 of lockdown January 9th 2021 • day 294 of lockdown January 10th 2021 • day 295 of lockdown January 11th 2021 • day 296 of lockdown January 12th 2021 • zero hours hero • i'm going to sell this album for $48 million • day 299 of lockdown January 15th 2021. • penistone • heaven • fleximusicarian • uri made me do it • ey up it's the hispanic atmosphere of huddersfield town centre • holiday chalet • pleasure beach • i am banksy • no i am banksy • day 309 of lockdown January 25th 2021 • i think there's more than 1 banksy • bad mj style • encanto v frozen • i got invited to join the priory of sion once • beanie boo • gary neville and his moral high ground • paris st germain • day 317 of lockdown February 2nd 202 • day 318 of lockdown February 3rd 2021 • day 319 of lockdown February 4th 2021.wav • davos • what shall we do with the drunken norman mailer • ernie • yvette fielding • total dramrama • wooj • sandi on qi • st albans' people • stream queen • david wagner • my tps reports are wrong again • ctr alt del • ai bot but • Jay Z • LMFAO • Omari West • shawn carter • chicken soup for my rock n roll soul • i thought i was the best rapper in the world • day 339 of lockdown February 24th 2021 • vision it first • thoughts become things • vegasversary • let's gor crazy beep beep • loa part 2 • mystery pohms • coked up interns in the bog • nme • protest too much • another miracle • galaxy quest • chris warburton is a decent chap • under the surface • IT man Noel • badminton iggy pop style • day 355 of lockdown March 12th 2021

day 356 of lockdown March 13th 2021.wav • just chopsing • caiman show • thank you to all our fans • karma • day 361 of lockdown March 18th 2021 • day 362 of lockdown March 19th 2021 • day 363 of lockdown March 20th 2021 • day 364 of lockdown March 21st 2021 • my god get back is longer than this album • day 366 of lockdown March 23rd 2021 • day 367 of lockdown March 24th 2021 • the family madrigal • day 369 of lockdown March 26th 2021 • day 370 of lockdown March 27th 2021 • day 371 of lockdown March 28th 2021 • day 372 of lockdown March 29th 2021 • day 373 of lockdown March 30th 2021 • day 374 of lockdown March 31st 2021 • day 375 of lockdown April 1st 2021 • day 376 of lockdown April 2nd 2021 • day 377 of lockdown April 3rd 2021 • day 378 of lockdown April 4th 2021 • day 379 of lockdown April 5th 2021 • day 380 of lockdown April 6th 2021 • day 381 of lockdown April 7th 2021 • day 382 of lockdown April 8th 2021 • day 383 of lockdown April 9th 2021 • day 384 of lockdown April 10th 2021 • day 385 of lockdown April 11th 2021 • day 386 of lockdown April 12th 2021 • we love haulix • We love hotpress! • Rodney Of The Rock • Daniel Ek The Visionary • day 391 of lockdown April 17th 2021 • one falls they all fall • day 393 of lockdown April 19th 2021 • Lazar 111 • day 395 of lockdown April 21st 2021 • guess that official spotify playlist isn't going to happen now • day 397 of lockdown April 23rd 2021 • day 398 of lockdown April 24th 2021 • day 399 of lockdown April 25th 2021.wav • day 400 of lockdown April 26th 2021 • day 401 of lockdown April 27th 2021 • day 402 of lockdown April 28th 2021 • day 403 of lockdown April 29th 2021 • day 404 of lockdown April 30th 2021 • day 405 of lockdown May 1st 2021 • day 406 of lockdown May 2nd 2021 • day 407 of lockdown May 3rd 2021 • day 408 of lockdown May 4th 2021 • time walker • are we there yet • day 411 of lockdown May 7th 2021.wav • day 412 of lockdown May 8th 2021 • day 413 of lockdown May 9th 2021 • day 414 of lockdown May 10th 2021 • day 415 of lockdown May 11th 2021 • day 416 of lockdown May 12th 2021 • peace piece • talk about the nice time • define • froota • going viral • theses • munching carrots • new gwr • the beatles used the law of attraction • new machine • tct • more plinky guff • anyone bored yet? • fatman jogging (me) • urgent letter • mike errico thank you • day 433 of lockdown May 29th 2021 • columbo • bbq • bar mexe • may your dreams come • rolling atone baby baby • arts and dafts • afters • v is for • misquote • day 443 of lockdown June 8th 2021.wav • hungary • french fries • yo t l • level 42 met mark king in a pub • dinosaur • dance youself dizzy • no score • gritter splitta • jools • bombs • penalty • spurs • day 456 of lockdown June 21st 2021 • db • dear losers • Dear Losers still on repeat sorry • demons • dg • Dino Zoff • Dreaming Of THat Perfect Goal • Drowsy • DUA LIPA • Dull & Bottom • Dy • el mundo gira • elegy • Er • Es • Eu • noel ed • EVERY CRAP INDIE BAND SHOULD RECORD AT LEAST ONE FOOTY SONG • Every Nation Has It's Golden Generation • Exit (pursued by a bear) • F • Facist Football Hater • Faerie Queen • farewell part 1 • farewell part 2 • Farewell parts 1 and 2 • FAST RED MAN • Fe • feedback at the start of i feel fine • FIFA Sutherland • Food of Love • Fr • Franz • french got the funk on • from russia with hetero love • FUELLED UP ON ENERGY DRINKS • Full Fathom 5 Live • Full Time • Ga • Gaberdines And Pantaloons • Garincha Stryder • Gary Lineker • Gazza'a tears • Gd • Ge • george harrison didn't write his 2 biggest hits • gethsamane • give ringo another crap country song • glass onion • glitter on my carpet • GROTESQUE • H • Half Time • Hamlet • Happy Camper • Happy Dagger • have love will louis louis • He • He's A Sticker Licker • Heart's Content • HELL MONEY • helter skelter pissed in the bus shelter • Henry IV part 3 • Henry V's Doorbell • Her Majesty Was The First 30 second song • here come's the sun • HERRENVOLK • Hey Ho Nonny Nonny • Hf • Hg • High Time

Ho • Holographic Beatles On Tour • home • Homeward Bound • Hungary 10 El Salvador 1 • I don't give a flying folio malvolio • I Feel Fine • I got 3 years solitary for bringing my own beer • I ME ME RONALDO! • I ONCE AUDITIONED FOR A BAND CALLED MEXICO 70 • i wanna hold your hand but I'll ask you first • I wanna Hold Your Hand While YOu Sign My A Cheque For a million pound • I Wish The World Cup Was In Brazil Again says lonely sports reporter • I WROTE AND RECORDED 100 SONGS ABOUT THE WORLD CUP IN 2 DAYS, CAN'T YOU TELL • i.am will.i.am shakespeare. • I • I'm a Pal a Salah • I'm Going TO Make you A VAR • I'm Leaving On an standard class Aer Lingus. • I'M SUPPORTING PUSSY RIOT • I'm The Only Person Who Wants Iceland To Get Knocked Out Early.wav • If Prince had written a World Cup song it wouldn't sound like this • If Shakespeare Was Alive Today He'd Be Writing For Youtube • if the beatles were an 80s band • If this album doesn't get me an interview on Hawksbee & Jacobs I'm Going to stop listening to Talksport • If you Listen To The beatles backwards it says thyhtnkks • If You Play THis Song Backwards It Will Sound Crap. • Inv • INTER STELLAR CUP. • introducing the beatles • Ir • It gets a bit messy when you try to rhyme with Messi. • It is music with her silver sound • it's juck a fucking xebra crossing • It's Not even a realy country anyway • Jeremy Corbyn As Julius Ceasar • john lennon v the fbi • joey ramone joins the beatles • jose chungs from outer space. • Josimar comeback • Jules Rimming. • Julian Lennon PLayed THis Piano Once. • JUMPERS FOR GOAL POSTS. • Just Don't Let Spain Win Again • K • KADDISH. • KGB V FBI WORLD WAR 3 COMING SOON • King James 46 • King John's Rant • Kingdom For A Stage. • Kr • La • Lark • Larry O • leonard betts. • Let Music Sound • Letchkov not Letcho • Li. • live and let die is the best bond theme. • Living On Top Of A Porno Cinema • Love Is Blind. • Lr • Lu. • magic alex • man from the motor trade. • Manna • Marying A Punk. • MAX. • mcartney's ego trip part 2 • McCartney's Ego Trip • MEMENTO MORI • Mg • Mn. • Mo • MOOY JOY • Motley Coat • mr kite • Mr Trump • Much Ado • musings of a csm • N • Na • Nb • Nd • Ne. • nems • NEVER AGAIN. • Ni. • NO SCORE…NO DRAW. • none more white. • Not Many Beatles Songs Start in A Minor Key • Not Many Foootball Players Like Punk! • Np. • Oberon Kenobi. • On Shakespeare's Grave • on the field where i died • Ophelia • Os. • Oyster. • P. • Pa • paper hearts • Patti • paul's first acid trip • Pb • Pd. • PELE • Pet Sounds • Pete Best • Pick (ford) Of The Pops - Numba 1 • pickles the dog • PIPER • Play On. • Playing For Penalties. • Pm • Po • Pr • Pt • Putin hot • Pursued By A Bear • Pusher • QUAGMIRE • Hall Of fame • Quickly • ra ra poohtin • Ra • Rain • Ray Wilson • Rb. • Re • Redux 1. • Redux 2. • Revolution number 9 was way ahed of its time • rf. • Rh • Ringo's Replacement • Ripping Off The Beach Boys • Rn • Rocky Racoon as a Trump Type tycoon • Rome • Romeo & Juliet • ronnie scott • Ru • rubber soul was the greatest • Russian Bear • S • sanguinarium • Sb • Sc. • scrambled eggs. • scurvy politician • Se. • sergeant pepper seeks lady madonna to form lonely hearts club band • Second Best Bed (In Da House) • Shake It Off • All Over? • Shakespeare In Time • Shakespeare The Commuter • Shakespeare v Aliens. • Shakespeare v Spotify • Shaking Speare Stevens • Shaquiri V Shakira • She's A Woman • shitter's full. • Si • silent night • Slave Labour Stadiums • Sm • Sm1 • SMALLPOTATOES • Sn. • Sonic Youth Play The Beatles • world cup widows • Sounds Of Music • Spot the player on Coke • Sr • Stadium Inferno • Stage Craft Beer. • Star Of England • Stop Calling It The White Album - It's The Beatles! • Suicide In Shakespeare. • corned beef curry (not my idea) • Larry O • SYNCHRONY • SZYGY 4 • Ta • TALITHA • TAX CHEATS • tb or not tb • Tb • Tc. • when does art become pretension? • Teliko • TEMPUS FUGIT • TERMA • TEsos dos bichos 2 • the very best of Boris Johnson

The Ballad Of The Poisened Referee • The Beatles Gave Us Backwards Guitar • The Beatles Meet Elvis and Play Bass. • The Beatles Meet The Queen • THE BEST ONE YET • The Blue Samurai • the catcher in the rye. • The Charnocks. • The Curse Of WS • The Day I Met George Martin • the death of good duke humphrey • the doors took more drugs than the beatles • The First Twitter World Cup • The Globe • the hamburg days • The Life Of Brian • the long and winding road to get this album finished • The Maradona OF The Carpathians • The Middle Class Wives Of Windsor • The Miracle Of Bern • the missing chord • The Old Boys Of Panama • the people that don't get the beatles. • The Ringo Button • The Seven Moons • the trembling wilburrys • the usual suspects • The Water Carrier • THe White Album • There are 3 Gary Stevens But Only one of them caught a glimpse of Maradonna flying by • japan • this is a northern song • when does sound become music • Time Doth Waste Me • soundaries • white noise symphony • to die to sleep no more. • Tomorrow Never Knows Is The First Techno Track. • Tongue In Your Tail. • TOO MANY WHITE LINES • Tosspots. • Trident Studio Jam • Trump Town • TUNGUSKA • Turn Turn Turn in a Cruyf Style • U • unbeaten keepers • UNREQUITED • UNRUHE • V is for Vacumn • W • Was it Bobby or Roger Moore that was the towel thief. • WE ALL HATE WHEN ITV HAS THE MATCHES • We All Know Sexie Sadie Was About The Maharishi.wav • We All Live In A Yellow Submarine • We All Love Football Guff. • WETWIRED • WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO HALF TIME ORANGES • whatever happened to 442 • When i'm Pissed I'll Shout • When Shall We 3 Meet Again • when we were fab. • While THey Play The Bombs Keep Dropping • why were wings so • will anyone get close to Klose • Willow Willow Willow • World Cup Snacks • WORLD CUP WIDOWS • World Cup Winners Aftershow Party • World Cup Winners Hangover • World In Motion Was So Over Rated • World Of Leather • Xe • summer jesus • Y • Yb • you can't burn streams • zero sum • didn't think I would make it to 1000 • ok thanks to all involved and peace and love • 3000 streams just for a pint • time to go it's chicken time

#hyltta-polls #polls #artist: the pocket gods #language: english #decade: 2020s #Novelty #Alternative Rock

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