#unsure if the coin is currency or some other thing. if it Is currency then lmfao @ vash being flat broke before all of this.

[orcelito]

minor details, but in chapter 68 of trimax we do see this bit:

the items that vash kept in his coat.

a "funbari doll" (which i cant find anything definite online about what that is with just a cursory look, so im going to run under the assumption that theyre some kind of collectable in-universe) & it's a red one, which is apparently rare. he still has the same pen radio that connects to his earring that's used waaay back on the sandsteamer. a swiss army knife, a random key, a used tissue (?), and...

a lighter? blow torch? i still cant tell what that last bar thing is tho. & i guess he had some kind of (normal) coin too? but Only One.

love the characterization implications for this lol. definitely the kind of pocket contents i'd expect from a silly immortal with a big coat

[cheezeybread]

Back to our regularly scheduled Alice-asking with Anon McGee.

After playing the game for a few hours and getting through some stuff, I have some thoughts. None in particular for any sort of request [although, at the time of writing this specific part, I am unsure of if I'll tack one onto the beginning of this ask [I did not]. I am also unsure of if it will be related at all], but they're still interesting and maybe can be used for this stuff going forward [for as long as I keep requesting such self indulgent things].

1. Teeth are a currency. Not a whole lot to do with that one, but it is incredibly strange to me even still.

2. Many of the enemies are made visibly of this black, ink-like ooze. Not all of them, but a good majority of them. I feel this means overblots may cause additional layers of stress because of the implications it might cause [something to do with the fact that this inky substance was what corrupted Alice's wonderland, it sounds like it COULD be taken as a physical representation of that same kind of corruption, and the overblotter going literally insane. Could be good oneshot fuel?]

3. Alice is actually SUPER chill in the environment of the wonderland aside from when it's actively trying to kill her [although the reaction does not necessarily have to apply to the reader character we've been using as a stressball for these scenarios, I think it's pretty interesting and likely means that the initial reaction to the students of Heartslaybyul would be void should I have known prior to this that wonderland was actually pretty alright and fine for the most part]

4. Another minor detail that doesn't really mean a lot, but in the Hatter's domain, there's flamingos all over the place. While I was exploring, I saw several just sort of Around. In cages, hung up on walls, some- upon entry- were on those like.. Spitroasters or whatever they are. Many were on wheels being forced to run to give power to some machinery. They all looked pretty... Not alive, though. Also, they were strangely dodo shaped, but that's neither here nor there.

That's all I have for the moment regarding that! Feel free to take it and run however you want, I can't think of any specific request I can give relating to any of these except for the overblot one

Dang, this game sounds absolutely vicious, I love it XD

I need to take your mind and put it in a little glass jar filled with water to observe it (meant in a positive way). Maybe shake it around some to see what kinda scenarios pop out.

But the best I can come up with are some *. * ·imagines*. * · to keep your brain occupied for now

Imagine an MC who- in every single fight they get dragged into (which is an awful lot in the game lmao)- stays behind for a moment to collect some of the teeth punched out by spells and fists. The broken ones that are cracked aren't worth much, they say to their friends who ask what they're doing, but the whole teeth can buy you a lot of good things. Much to the horror of the Twisted Wonderland students, it's eventually realized that MC thinks that teeth are a currency here. They don't know why, but can only speculate that it's from the same issues from before... Riddle eventually ends up begging (or as close to begging as he can get-) for Azul to tell you about Twisted Wonderland's currency. Horrified yet intrigued by your grotesque idea of money, Azul teaches you about merfolk economics, as well as the thaumarks people use on land...of course, he's going to try and get you to explain the whole "teeth currency" thing to him, and what makes one tooth worth more than others.

The inky enemies would actually make for a KILLER oneshot, I might have to write something along the lines of it one day... Maybe Twisted Wonderland (or at least, the part that held the Queen of Hearts in it) and Alice's Wonderland are two sides of the same coin...? While they're both in different dimensions (maybe even parallel to one another!), they're both similar. The main difference was that Alice's Wonderland is isolated from the rest of the world, while "Twisted Wonderland" had different cultures and societies to expand with? The isolation caused some in Alice's Wonderland to "Overblot" (or, at least, some form of it) and become enemy bosses. So maybe Overblots are slightly different in each world, but they're still present!

Imagine an MC who (after having a few breakdowns at first regarding Heartslabyul) eventually calms down...to the point where everyone gets extremely worried about them. Riddle accidentally says "Off with your head!" to an unruly student within their earshot, but MC is so chill that they look...almost zoned out, their eyes glazed over. Like they're in a completely different world. As the overblots go on throughout their stay in Twisted Wonderland, MC's calm demeanor only gets worse. They don't seem to react hardly at all to- well, anything. It's like they've just accepted where they are and the danger they're in.

Mmm short and squat dodo-like flamingos. I like to think that our poor MC, after first seeing the flamingos in Heartslabyul, didn't actually see them, but saw their not-quite-alive bodies wandering around, some being roasted over a fire, others lurking ominously behind bushes, some in cages. All some form of injured or deadish. It would most definitely take a while until MC could see the creatures as they truly were (that is, alive and well, and most definitely not so creepy), but until then, they take it in stride. No one even knows how MC sees the flamingos until they offhandedly mention it one day, and Cater's just like "....no?? Why would we be roasting flamingos???"

[blockchainx2023]

5 Ways Blockchain Technology is Going to Change the World

Many individuals are unsure about what to do with cryptocurrency and the blockchain, which witnessed an increase in interest in 2017. After all, most people still don't understand the practical use of blockchain technology until they can use their Bitcoins to purchase food at McDonald's. But given that this new technology is still in its infancy, there are a number of blockchain applications that have the potential to transform the internet as we know it. For this reason, I'm sharing a few significant trends with you right now. Look at them below:

It’s Changing New Technologies

Although the IT industry adores emerging industries, some early entrepreneurs have started investigating how the blockchain may affect these fledgling businesses. The investigation into how blockchain may play a role has been amazing, ranging from enhancing legacy infrastructure in FinTech to building decentralised markets for APIs. However, the Internet of Things (IoT) has quickly emerged as a favourite among all the fresh inventions that Silicon Valley has been drooling over.

According to Statista, the Internet of Things (IoT) accounted for an estimated $284 billion in spending in 2017. Blockchain technology may let IoT devices interact more effectively. Even though it is still early in the business, a few companies are genuinely interested in leaving their imprint on the connection between IoT and blockchain.

The German-based Next Big Thing (NBT) is devoted to boosting the growth of Internet of Things (IoT) projects, many of which depend on blockchain ledgers to share and distribute data. The IoT-to-blockchain apps NBT offers provide decentralised answers to some of our most critical health and security issues. These applications have the potential to change the way we live.

"I'm eager to see the continued decentralisation of markets through the implementation of blockchain technology," says Martin Buhl, chief financial officer of NBT. "Blockchain technology enables talented and forward-thinking innovators to swiftly build scalable solutions and watershed business models."

Buhl makes a valid argument about how blockchain is set to influence IoT growth, particularly in the security and health areas. In particular, as this link gets stronger, keep an eye out for how these implementations will be used in the upcoming years.

A New Frontier for Fundraising

This past year saw the launch of the ICO, or initial coin offering, which was one of the most fascinating blockchain innovations. Coinschedule estimates that early-stage blockchain startups raised almost $3.7 billion through ICOs, exceeding the entire amount of venture capital funded in seed/series-A ventures. Contrary to how we often think about investing, these presales are for currencies or tokens that may be used on whatever decentralised network the blockchain business is developing.

While ICOs function similarly to IPOs in that they are public sales of companies, IPOs are for ownership interests in companies, making them regarded as securities. On the other side, ICOs are selling a coin or token that will be utilised on a decentralised network, therefore it's impossible to predict whether the value of the coin will rise or fall. If you want to invest in initial coin offerings (ICOs), be very wary of fraudsters and the possibility that the project might be shut down by the SEC. Regulators are demanding greater proof from blockchain technology firms that they aren't selling securities as the laws governing this new phenomena change, therefore you should check to see whether the platform is really secure.

Keeping Information Consistent

The sharing of information among the participants in these domains will be enormous, as we said above in relation to NBT's efforts in the health and security industries. According to Get RefferalMD, as many institutions use various systems and have difficulty accurately transmitting medical information, administrative errors account for about 86 percent of errors committed in the healthcare industry. But a lot of people are expecting that the blockchain will alter that.

In terms of safety and security as well as the speed at which information may be exchanged, blockchain excels in the medical records sector. Additionally, it is absolutely feasible to have a universal identification (similar to a social security number) that can be readily moved from one care facility to the next with a unique ID for each patient. And although many are eager to start using blockchain to store financial, security, and medical data, anticipate the infrastructure to be built out over the next several years.

Faster, Cheaper Remittance

Blockchain has been a significant aid in the remittance sector, especially through the trading of Bitcoin and Litecoin, despite being an early use-case we sometimes overlook. Remittance, for those of you who are unfamiliar, is basically the transfer of funds from one party to another, which in some locations may be rather expensive (especially developing nations). Remittance fees amount to an average of 7% of the entire amount transferred, according to the World Bank, which adds up quickly for people who send money back and forth frequently. But the blockchain has already reduced costs in this area, and as cryptocurrencies gain popularity, it is expected to gain further traction.

Several factors contribute to the popularity of crypto as a method of sending money. First, the market cap, not a centralised authority, determines a coin's worth. Second, compared to more established methods like Western Union, interchange costs may be somewhat lower. Finally, the degree of protection offered guards against account fraud or theft, which may be a huge comfort in regions with subpar banking infrastructures.

The Rise of Digital Collectibles

The decentralised marketplaces for digital valuables have been among the blockchain's most fascinating uses. Digital collectibles, also known as NFTs, are one-of-a-kind works that are purchased, sold, and exchanged in NFT markets. A great illustration of this is CryptoKitties, where over 200,000 individuals trade virtual kittens (some of which go for over $50,000), according to Business Insider.

In essence, individuals breed and care for their cats to raise their worth (like a Tamagotchi, but with cryptocurrency powering it), with the goal of selling them for more money than they invested. And even though some people might think this is ridiculous, the fundamental concept of producing something with a limited supply that can only be utilised on the blockchain has been revolutionary and something to look forward to in the future.

[hopefromadoomedtimeline]

While the fact he had found himself in an unfamiliar world with a no immediate way to return to his time was unfortunate, happening to run into someone who had been willing to listen to his words was a stroke of good luck. Well, perhaps calling it good luck was a bit presumptuous when the two had only just met, but he'd hardly have any reason to assume otherwise when she had decided to lead him to a place to eat first and foremost.

He hadn't thought his poor grumbling stomach had been that loud, and would initially let out a small chuckle as she gave him a light poke, his eyes darting away momentarily with the realization his hunger was more than apparent.

"R-really, you don't have to-" He'd start with a shake of the head, though the expression from her face gave him the impression that it wasn't really a suggestion in the first place. In fact she'd continue as if he had agreed to a meal despite his interjection, and as his stomach growled once more he'd feel obligated to go along with this plan.

He surely hoped his currency would be accepted. Although, as his free hand jingled some coins in his jacket pocket, there was doubt he'd be able to cover his own order and he certainly didn't want Mizuki to spend money on him, especially with how gluttonous he could end up being after a few days with no food to speak of... Perhaps he could simply work off the cost.

As the other teen correctly pointed out how his sword would draw unnecessary attention, he would give her a nod in agreement, it was complicated enough to explain why he even wanted to carry it around all the time. Luckily, the solution was rather simple, though he remained unsure if throwing a capsule at something and making it disappear was a bit too wild to reveal at the moment; there was only so much he could reveal at once before it became overwhelming to the average person.

"...You have a point, I could put it away somewhere safe before we get there, that way no one would have to worry. You'll just have to give me a minute before we enter and I'll take care of it."

His words were a bit more confident in his statement as he spoke, silently sorting out information he was prepared to give and information he was planning on omitting for the time being. Things should be simple enough, and with any luck, it'll be a smooth process as well.

The time traveler would pause for a moment for further contemplation as the psyncer would give the two options for food, and neither of which were cuisines he had properly experienced before- something that was evident as he scratched the back of his head as he mulled over his options. But since he had to choose, the idea of discounted food would have been more convenient.

"Well, if it's my choice, I'd say the idea of your friend's omelet rice sounds pretty good." He'd finally confess, his mind made up as he adjusted the strap holding the sheathe of his sword, ready to remove it once the two were close enough to their destination.

" look , trunks. i get it. you have your own mission, blah blah. but you know what's a hell of a lot louder than your mission right now? " lightly, uncertain of his capacity to take her touch, mizuki opts for a gentle poke to his belly.

" your stomach. it's literally been going off all day." as deadpan as she begins, there is sincerity there. blunt and to the point, never one to beat around the bush would sum up the rookie detective fairly well.

she has time and the pysncer is certainly not involving him in the things that take up time. like the hb case. so for now she jerks a thumb; and begins walking; but y'know, not without lightly dragging his wrist. doing something lightly with her abilities seems to get harder and harder the more she grew up. well, she kinda always felt like she was far too ancient for her years.

" so two options for now. there's a good diner that has killer omelette rice. unfortunately for me, the chef, who also unfortunately is a good friend of mine, tends to give me discounts. ." not like i need them with two companies . . . plus, it's funny threatening ota about it. he's my friend but he's still as creepy about iris as ever. i think it's earned if y'ask me. now if only he'd cut his damn hair....

she idly fingers the loops in her braids; which, to no surprise pop right back up much akin to bunny ears. how ironic. "orrrr we do a fusion resturaunt that has all kinds of unique stuff, and is just as good. oh, but they're competing so i can't say either or. it's pretty damn weird why they're competing but. "

a shrug. " so . dunno much about how you even got here or if i should even believe you, but we can talk about that stuff over lunch. for now though . . . you.....should probably.....hide your sword?

i tapped it earlier. real thing right? see, the thing is, people around here will think you're a cosplayer. just bein' honest. you can't just carry that around or people might think it is as real as it actually is. so we gotta fix that first.

now matsushita diner or brahman? which will it be? " she isn't taking no for an answer, the guy looked damn starving. she'd even pay for it. she had no small surplus of money, enough to drown a city with her bloody inheritances from her biological father, but that crown of thorns was for another time . . .

@hopefromadoomedtimeline / as plotted .

[lazarettta]

Misthios II

Characters (Mother Miranda, Reader, Lady Alcina)

Word count (3.1k)

Rating (M)

Warning (little NSFW, language)

Did you really think that Miranda was going to let you leave so easily? Again?

Anything italicized is a flashback...this is part two to Misthios

Your time with the Vikings was fun but all good things had to come to an end. Over the years, you hadn't been too keen on letting too many people in on your secret. Your friends and makeshift family were getting older and you weren't. You were still fit for battle and as young and strong as you were twelve years ago. You knew that you'd overstayed your welcome but you weren't ready to leave until there were too many comments about you not aging a day. It had taken you a week to get your steed ready for long travel and to make sure that you had everything necessary, including the coin to purchase more supplies should you need it.

You weren't above doing odd jobs during your travels if needed. The viking children ran alongside you and your stallion as you both trotted out of the village until you were on an open road. You saluted them before taking off into a run following the lead of your war horse, allowing her to dictate your travels until she decided that she needed a break.

You had all of the time and opportunity in the land.

You traveled like that for a few days until you were coming upon a village but the path was winding and would take some time but you had plenty of daylight and were in no rush. Everything was peaceful until you came across an overturned wagon and nearly trampled over a body laying face down into the soft ground. The dark puddle around him did not indicate that the man would be rising soon.

You were quick to draw your bow and arrow, a good distance from the fight and you had an advantage in case any of them came for you. There was a black flag on the ground near the wagon but it held an insignia that you didn't recognize but you knew royalty when you saw it. The soldiers had the upper hand but there were a few of them dead as well. On the other side, you saw one of the bandits jump on the back of a horse to leave.

Without much of a thought, you raised your weapon of choice and not a second later, you felt the smooth wood of the arrow slip between your calloused fingers and you watched proudly as it found a home in the base of the man's spine, effectively halting his escape but leaving him alive for the time being but he was not without suffering.

It was at that same moment the last bandit was struck down. The remaining soldiers turned to you with their swords raised but before anything else could happen, a sharp and clear but decidedly feminine voice stopped the misunderstanding before it could happen.

A woman with light-colored long hair stepped from behind a large oak tree with two foot soldiers in tow. She didn't seem to care about the ends of her dress being sullied by the mud and blood on the trail as she made her way towards you. You climbed down from your horse when she was closer, not surprised that you were taller than she was but she wasn't that much shorter than you really.

Most other women you met that were your height or taller were fellow warriors. Her eyes were what really startled you, they were so clear they were almost white. They did not have a clear color to them, not one that you could see.

“You are a very long way from home, Viking.”

“Yes, in search of a new one.” you glanced over her shoulder briefly to the soldiers dealing with the one who tried to escape, his agonized yelling startling a nest of crows nearby.

“You don't seem like the type to miss a killing shot.”

Your gaze fell back to her unwavering one and you fought the urge to fidget under her stare even though you were the one towering over her. Her posture was none threatening and her smile had a teasing tilt to it, but her eyes...they pierced your soul, pinned you. You were unsure if you wanted to run from them or figure out how deep they went.

“I figured your King and Queen would want one alive to question.”

“The King has been dead for a long time now.” The woman tilted her head back slightly as if looking at you in a new light and you straightened your back and pushed your shoulders subconsciously and the corners of her pale lips curled a little more. “Have dinner with me tonight, viking, as a token of my gratitude. Those bandits have been quite a torn in my side for a very long time now. Thanks to you, maybe now I will find their leader.”

~~

The physical ache you felt when waking up was around your throat, well your whole neck. Your skin had long since healed over but it took the aches and bruises a while longer to go away. You don't know how long you've been unconscious but even without opening your eyes you knew that you were no longer outside on the side of a mountain which meant that she didn't kill you. But she still hurt you. You didn't know if she showed restraint because you both knew that killing you would be pointless and temporary or she truly didn't want to see you harm even if she was upset with you. You knew that it was the former.

Upset being the understatement.

You opened one eye then the other, wherever she put you it was warm if not a little moldy and it was definitely dark, you weren't quite sure if the torch on the other side of your cage helped any. Maybe it wasn't meant for you to use to see but to ensure that you wouldn't go completely insane in total darkness. It made more sense, you wouldn't want your prisoner to look around either lest they find something to use to escape.

You moved so that your back was against the stone wall, mildly surprised to find that it was a little damp. Your neck was still covered in dried blood but you didn't bother trying to scrape it off, knowing from experience that it wasn't the most pleasant feeling and one you chose not to deal with at the moment though you did pick away the random straws of hay from your skin as you'd been laying on it.

If you had to guess then you were in a basement, whether it was hers or not—you couldn't just sit there. Your backpack was long gone, you didn't have to look around your little cage to know that much. You checked for your gun not surprised to find that it was gone...she even took the damn holster.

You checked for your knife on your waist...gone. You checked the one that was hidden in your boots, or was supposed to be but it was gone too. Even after all this time, she knew you all too well. But even without weapons, a small cage like this wouldn't be enough to keep you. You just needed a plan but you had no idea where the hell you were. You reached up to feel your neck where you remembered her nails digging painfully into your flesh...

Gold plated armor, soft leathers and the finest silk that currency could purchase found themselves haphazardly tossed about all over the floor of the room. They reflected nicely against the small flames of the candles around the room.

The room was temporary, a small stop during your travels across the sea—this was merely a supply stop, but with the weather so severe, the waves were slaves to Poseidon's wrath. The ship was safer docked but she wouldn’t spend another night on board if she didn’t have to.

And didn’t, neither of you did. You were her personal champion—you went where she went. She pointed, and you left a path of bloody boot prints. Her wish was your command.

She laid bare before you, it wasn’t a sight that many were blessed with and no matter what sin you’ve committed at this woman’s whim (hell, even your own), you always thanked the Gods for giving you sight.

The fireplace is the only thing lighting up the entire room behind you both, you could feel the heat of it drying up your sweat but not all of it. You were straddling her, knees on either side of her waist—one hand on her waist and the other by her head, fingers interlaced with the hand that wasn’t reaching back clutching you tight, nails digging into your skin but that slight pain only fueled you.

Her light hair was out of its strict confines and complicated royal hairstyle, now splayed across her blemish free back and the pillows.

This was your reward; having her. You did exactly as she asked, you brought her the heads of those who crossed her and bathed in their blood and in the blood of their loved ones. You left no stone unturned simply because it was her wish.

And in return…you got her, however you wanted. But even trapped underneath you—she was never not in command. You placed your other hand next to her head as well, feeling her cool breath ghosting over your fingers turn sharp and unsteady when your hips snapped forward without warning. Her fingers tightening around yours. She tried to push back against you to take back some control but you met her attempt with untamed energy. Miranda's breathy chuckle tapered off into a mix of a growl and a moan when you did it again and again…

Shaking your head, you let it fall back on the hard wall behind you with your eyes closed. You've longed since buried those memories but they were fresh, as if they were made yesterday. The ache in your heart felt fresh too.

Then you felt it. No you felt her. Her presence was so strong, nearly suffocating and that feeling of dread was crawling up your spine again and you suppressed a strong shudder. You reluctantly opened your eyes, knowing that those eyes you fell so hard for would be looking back at you—the same eyes that tore to shreds. Even after all this fucking time...

You exhaled slowly and heavy, content to just stare at your boots, “I didn't expect to find you here of all places...”

“Would you have come if you'd known that I would be here?”

You looked up and saw that her startling bright eyes were staring back at you, still just as clear as the day you first met, “Why am I in this cage and not dead in a ditch? Besides the fucking obvious.”

She didn't say anything to you for a moment, simply standing there staring at you—drinking you in, it made your skin crawl, both good and bad. If she was bothered about you blatantly ignoring her question, it didn't show—or at least that damn mask she was wearing hid it away from you. All those emotions you'd long since buried and thought you dealt with came bubbling back to the surface like bile in the back of your throat but you kept a tight rein on it. Your explosive temper never dulled over time but you got better at containing it.

But no matter how good you were with restraining yourself, Miranda always knew. You could see it in her eyes. You hated her for it.

“I felt you the moment you arrived.” she said instead after long minutes of unblinking silence, she edged closer to your cell, unconcerned with the fact that you could lunge forward at any point and grab her. “I'm relieved to find you're still alive...and in good health?”

“Either kill me and ditch me somewhere, or just let me go, Miranda. I'm not doing this with you.”

“I cannot and will not do either, (Y/n).” she responded coolly after another minute of silence, keeping your gaze now that you've given it to her, “I just got you back, I'm not going to let you leave me so soon. Not again.”

“You didn't really give me a choice the first time!” you snapped back despite what you told yourself earlier about keeping calm and breathing, but seeing Miranda now—even more beautiful than she was before? It was too much at once. “You made that decision for both of us.” you said, much more quieter but she was close enough to have heard you perfectly fine and you were finally able to look away from those burning eyes.

“You're different.”

“The world is different.”

“Time has made you soft.”

You scoffed, “Would you like to borrow some of it? I mean...what the fuck is this? Where am I?” She regarded you calmly as if she was assessing you, but her eyes were roaming too much to be a simple assessment and you just laughed, sharp and unforgiving, you couldn't help yourself, “Do you feel guilty? Did you ever?”

“I don't have time to feel guilty!” she answered a little too quickly and you saw how her shoulders shifted slightly beneath those feathers, always a tell sign of hers that you never failed to notice and honestly you were surprised that you still even remembered her tales. She was so obviously different, you both were but this dance? While off tune and tense, was still your dance.

“Right, I see.” you tried to ignore it, you really did, but a little piece of your heart fell away at her admission because there was still a small part of you that still longed for closure.

“(Y/n)...”

“Do you even remember what you're supposed to even feel guilty for?”

“Stop it! You're not being fair!” she growled at you, pressing closer against the bars—if she pushed anymore she'd probably break the damn things, or materialize right through them but that didn't stop you from scrambling to your feet to meet her head on, refusing to let her have the full advantage.

“Neither were you! I...” you stopped abruptly, literally choking on your words and you forced yourself to close your mouth and Miranda watched every single emotion drain from your face as if you had flipped a switch and her hands balled into even tighter fists at her sides, unsure what to say and you had nothing left to say.

You two stood staring at each other, once again. Eyes locked but not a word more was said. She reached up, one hand wrapping around an old iron bar, her engraved golden nails clinking softly against the metal.

“Mother Miranda.” a firm but sinewy voice echoed around you both, calling for your attention and it was feminine but you couldn't see who it belonged to. She was just out of range of the cell entrance and you'd have to move closer to Miranda to see who it belonged to—and that wasn't something you were interested in doing, “I apologize for the interruption...but we have a problem.”

“What.” Miranda hissed, her voice no longer soft and velvet—the only way you could describe it was deity like. Stronger, harsher and it would've been scarier if you didn't know the woman behind the mask.

“That fool Heisenberg let that man thing escape the forest and he's now roaming in the village.”

“I see.” Miranda's eyes fell to you again, radiating more power than they did earlier. You'd been so busy arguing with her, you hadn't heard the other woman approach and you wondered how much of that she actually overheard, “When you are ready to talk, I will be waiting for you, my little warrior.”

“Stop calling me that!” you spat, glaring at her irritatingly, “I'm not your anything...perhaps your enemy. You'd do better by just letting me leave, Miranda because you and I both know that killing me isn't an option.”

“And I already told you. I'm not letting you leave me, not again.” she was suddenly right in front of you, inside of the iron cage and you had no fucking idea how she did that but she was too close but the stone wall behind you didn't give away, no matter how hard you pressed. Her eyes were softer now, and you actually had to crane your neck a bit to see them, even at an even six feet, “Learn the truth then you decide if you wish to leave or to stay.”

“The truth?” you scoffed, well aware that you two still weren't alone, “The truth has long since past to be of any interest to me.” you lied straight through your teeth all the while looking into her eyes, you saw a speck of emotion but it was hard to tell when they were so alive, “I don't care about your truth anymore, Miranda.”

“You may not...but I do. Did our love mean nothing to you?” you both ignored the startled noise behind you, “All those late nights and early mornings? I think about them often when this life permits me to...I...do have regrets, (Y/n)...and wishes, most never granted.” she admitted, quietly—her deity voice gone for the moment, “One of my biggest regrets and my biggest wish was you, (Y/n).”

You didn't know how to unpack that in this moment because Miranda suddenly had both her hands on the wall, trapping you as she leaned closer—you knew what she was doing, hell she even knew what she was fucking doing? Was it working? Like the fool you were—it was.

“Allow me time to settle this issue and then we will talk, (Y/n).”

You could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and you almost told her to go fuck herself...it was on the tip of your tongue but your heart was still as stupid as it was thousands of years ago. You kept your lips firmly pressed together, but nodded curtly almost reluctantly. She didn't smile, not really, but that familiar curve of her lips made you tense a little. You were a fucking idiot, and you knew it.

“Lady Dimitrescu will house you. I will send for you when I am ready.” she lingered for a second longer, seeming to want to say more. Suddenly she pushed herself away from you and walking out of your cell with ease, pushing the heavy door out of her way leaving you bewildered.

Had it been unlocked this whole time? She hadn't even bothered to retrain you, but she knew you wouldn't make a move because now she had now something to keep you behaved long enough and you agreed to it.

Ayyye Alcinnaaaa! Idk who's playing but Donna's house scary as shit. Y'all fuck with this story?

[misterewrites]

Intro to Caitlyn 101 (Mirror’s Edge)

Summary:  Caitlyn is a thief looking for the next big score. Used to taking wristwatches and wallets from rich folk, she's aiming to take down bigger game as she discovers the hidden magical world within her hometown. Her first mark is an unassuming shopkeeper and his collect of ancient relics. All set with a plan, Caitlyn makes her move. Though plans rarely go off without a hitch.

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are all well and staying safe. So the next chapter of my little side project is here! Honestly wasn't planning on getting back to this so soon but I was having fun worldbuilding and character creating and here we are. You can blame my friend @hains-mae for enabling me.

Right so the next thing I write will probably be the part two to this then the next chapter of the Underground. Umm that's really it for me so have a great week, be safe, wear your mask, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Please feel free to reblog, share, leave kudos or leave comments with things you liked or feedback if you read it on a03. I promised I'd try to promote myself more and it feels weird haha.

E is out, have a great one everyone! and here’s the link to the doobly do 

---> https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/76014323

There was an arrogance that seemed deeply etched into every aspect of the magical world. She stood among valuable, ancient relics from throughout human history: Vases from Greece lined the shelf above her. A row of Roman gladius blades in various states of decay with only a flimsy glass case between them and Caitlyn’s pocket. Tarnished Victorian era slivered lockets left about like loose change.

Millions dollars worth of the past and she, a stranger, was left unattended with it all.

Technically she wasn’t supposed to be in here with the locked door and close sign but the fact in the 5 minutes it took her to pick the lock and scout the first floor without a single soul attempting to stop her really was a testimony to the haughtiness of the ‘shopkeeper’.

It had been only few months since she saw past the false reality that was superimposed onto hers and she was still readjusting: Magic was real. Elves, dwarves, little halfing folk? Real. People shooting bolts of lightning and flames while riding storm clouds? Real. The guy who kept awkwardly hitting on her every time she tried to get a hotdog from the cart at the corner? Just a regular creep BUT could’ve been magical.

Even their currency was a show of their excessive wealth: Sliver, gold, platinum coins Actual platinum traded away like it was nothing! People starving and helpless on the streets and these bastards just walked with some of the rarest metal on the planet in their pockets like chump change.

Anger bubbled within her stomach along with self righteousness and a bit of her breakfast but she took a deep calming breath, closing her bluish gray eyes. ‘Calm down Cait’ she scolded herself ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve seen excessive wealth squandered and wasted. You’re here for a job so do it and never come back.’

She glanced around the waiting room she found herself in. It was off to the side of the shopping front andthere were very few things of interest in the tiny room: Some old, tattered chairs that had seen better days. A very, very tacky abstract painting hung over a bricked up fireplace. There was a scattering of magazines older than her with loose stables and free roaming pages everywhere.

A place of show and very little use.

“Hello my angel.”

Caitlyn seized up. She had been so caught up in her rage she hadn’t been paying attention to anyone coming down the stairs. Three stories with a handful of people about and nary a sound could heard. Must be some sort of magic.

She shook herself out of her stupor, slowly exhaling to calm her nerves. She forced her lips to curve into the cutest, lost smile she could muster. She opened her purple jacket a bit further so the guy could get a clearer view of her tight white tank top and running shorts.

“Helpless. Remember you’re helpless.” She whispered to herself before whirling about, her long black hair with dyed purple coloring flowed behind her gracefully as if she was an actress in those stupid hair product commercials.

“Oh!” she spoke with mock surprise, scrunching her face cutely as possible “I’m so, so, so sorry! I’m lost and the door was open and sorry!”

She leaned forward, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck as she gave whoever it was a better view of her outfit.

Hook, line and sinker.

“No problem sweetie. No need to lie to me.”

Hook, line and sunk apparently.

She blinked, unsure if she heard what she thought she heard. She glanced up to find a strangely dressed man with the goofiest grin.

He was cute in a ‘I dress as an obscure, indie character for cosplay’kind of way: His messy, unkempt black hair sat under a black fedora. He wore a long black trench coat that had seen better days. At least he preferred more colors than black on black. His collared shirt was a nice baby blue with an equally nice light brown vest. Black dress pants because men’s fashion is incredibly boring and shiny loafers to completed the look. Whatever the look was.

She expected him to be taking a good look at her attire.

What she found was him staring at her.

His warm dark brown eyes were soft, gentle and he refused to break his gaze from her bluish grays even though there were more tempting sights on offer.

She was on the back foot. No wandering glances, no self pleasured smiles. Not even a creepy chuckle. Just a strangely dressed, inch shorter guy looking like he just found the love of his life in this moment.

“I…” she cleared her throat “Umm….did you hear me?”

He gave a quick nod “Yeah. You broke in and you were trying to cover your tracks.”

It wasn’t that he guessed correctly what was she up to that threw her off. It was how casually he said it. More discussing the weather than committing a felony.

She raised an eyebrow, not sure how to proceed from whatever this was. There were always some people who caught on about her intentions fairly quickly but no one had ever been so….indifferent about it.

“I don’t work here.” the man offered, slowly closing the distance between them but leaving the doorframe wide open “I really don’t care that you’re here to rob the place.”

This has to be a trap. This had to be. No one was ever this….laidback. Were the other goons on the side waiting to jump her when she bolted? Was she on camera and he was letting her go knowing full well he had all the evidence he needed to track her down?

Or maybe he really didn’t care. He seemed more interested in talking than stopping her and there was this strange presence about him. A calm she’d never felt before even when her parents were alive. It was odd and foreign to her but she felt safe. Protected.

She shook her head, slowly inching closer to the doorway. The man made no attempt stop her. He just stood there, smiling, hands in his pocket.

The rational part of her brain said to run. This whole thing was botched and it was better to cut her losses than find out first hand what magical creatures could do to her. The less rational side of her head told her to wait, to talk this guy. Lying was obviously pointless but she had a feeling he would answer any questions she’d had and she had plenty.

“So…” she rose a suspicious eyebrow “Not gonna stop me?”

He shook his head “I wish you’d stay but I understand if you don’t want to be found in Andor’s shop. He’s one of those new elves. Less honor more power.”

She blinked. He said elves right? Just threw it out there like it was an everyday matter of fact and not a deeply held secret of her hometown.

“Elves aren’t real.’ Caitlyn said matter of fact.

“We both know better than that.” The man gave a bright smile.

“What do you want?”

The words spilled out of her mouth despite her best attempts but this guy was throwing her off so badly she forgot how to function.

“Talk to you of course.”

The worst kind of people were the sincere ones. They were sappy and gooey. They just so happy it was sickening. They had to be up to something. They had to some scheme or scam or something they were waiting to drop on you. No one was that happy, that purely honest. They were the liars who were so good they convinced themselves they were good people. No one was good and everyone had a dark corner in their soul they hid from the world.

Caitlyn knew she had plenty in whatever was left of her ratty soul.

“And if we talk? Will you let me go?”

The man nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caitlyn licked her lips anxiously “Promise?”

Promise? What was she 12? No one kept their promises. Not even her.

He placed his hand over his heart “Cross my heart.”

“Let’s talk,”

He jerked his head towards the door “Outside. Don’t want you to ruin your heist.”

-----

Today was not going how she was expecting. She was thought she was going to break into an elf ran front, scout the area and come back in the middle of the night. She hadn’t been expecting to have coffee and bread with a random stranger on the street.

Well she had coffee, mystery man opted for hot chocolate.

They stood in a strangely comfortable silence a block from Andor’s. The man offered to pay for whatever she wanted and she took him up on it. Couple of baked goods, a sandwich for lunch, some water and of course her cup of wake up juice. If he was mad at her for her splurging at his expense, he hid it well. He just took his coco and some fancy elvish bread. Looked good but Caitlyn wasn’t up for trying other beings food. She didn’t know how it would sit with her stomach.

The elf who ran the cart, a few months ago human to her, waved goodbye to the pair as he counted the human cash the man gave him.

The trench coat cosplay stood patiently, sipping his drink and waited for her to break the silence.

She refused to break the silence first. Not wanting to sound too eager. Eagerness was a weakness and this guy was already throwing her off her rhythm.

“I’m Finnrick by the way.”

She turned to him, unsure if he was messing with her or not.

He gave her the same goofy smile “Finnrick Drift, private investigator.”

“Ah huh.” She nodded slowly “So you’re a magical P.I.? Like elves cheating on their wives, dwarves dodging their taxes P.I.?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged his shoulders “Ironically elves like dodging on their taxes more than dwarves.”

“Right.”

“You’re new to the whole other side of Newton Haven huh?”

She glanced at her coffee “Lived here my whole life. Really makes me wonder if I lost my mind.”

“Don’t worry, we’re all mad here Alice.”

Why was she talking to him? Why was she being honest? This was weirder and getting weirder every passing second.

Finnrick changed subject “So, robbing Andor? Any particular loot you are after?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes “Trying to fish something out of me Finny?”

“Guilty as charged” He beamed with pure happiness “Don’t want you wasting your time on shiny trinkets he cares nothing about.”

Caitlyn remained silent. She wasn’t used to such transparency. Normally this would be the point where the guy would lie or pretend to not have heard or awkwardly switch the subject but Finnrick answered openly and honestly. So far.

“So” Caitlyn straightened up, pulling her jacket wide open “What do you think? Great outfit right?”

Finnrick turned to her with a grin, his cheeks turning a pinkish hue as his eyes locked onto hers “Your body is absolutely lovely but your eyes even more so.”

Caitlyn could feel the flush coming. She coughed loudly, focusing on her drink as she willed the embarrassment away.

Finnrick chuckled lightly but returned to his drink. The silence returned, still comfortable as before.

This is was bad whatever this was. She needed to regain some level of control and stop acting like a teenage girl on her first garbage fire of a date.

“So” she cleared her throat “Mister P.I. what would you recommend taking if not all those millions of dollars of historical items he leaves about?”

Finnrick crushed the foam cup effortlessly as he gestured to the third floor of the shop “His office has a pretty simple safe. He keeps loads of paperwork. His various contracts, accounts, treasure hoards”

Caitlyn scoffed in disbelief even though her eyes shone with excitement “Treasure hoards? Elves? I thought dragons were the hoarders. Weren’t elves supposed to be above all that lovely corruption?”

“No one is above corruption.’ Finnrick answered “Elves are just like everyone else.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms and leaned back with a cocky swagger “And why, pray tell, would I care about boring paperwork?”

“Because it really hurt him in the pride.”

Damn Finnrick was good. Not only she was eager to learn more, she could already feel the smug satisfaction of bringing a powerful prick down a peg fill her cause.

Finnrick seemed to notice this because he went on “Andor is a young elf. 100 years give or take.”

“A hundred years is young?”

“When you live a thousand years every other race is a child to you. Andor’s old man is a swell guy. He’s one of those good elves you see in Tolkien.”

“Tolkien?” Caitlyn furrowed her brow “He wrote the books that those Lord of the Rings films are based on right?”

“Yeah actually.”

“Oh and the Hob…”

“We don’t talk about that.” Finnrick quickly added “But see the problem is Andor’s old man doesn’t know his son has become the small time crime lord. Thinks he’s running an antique business selling off old junk that was gathering dust in the family’s attic.”

Something clicked into place for Caitlyn “Wait. Junk from the attic? You mean all those relics on the shop floor?! THAT’S OLD JUNK!?”

Finnrick gave a casual shrug “Elves are weird. Andor don’t know shit about selling, all his money comes from his illegal business practices. That’s how he keeps the shop afloat.”

“I see” Caitlyn spoke, her bluish grays sparkling with mischievous intent “If those records disappeared, his shop sinks and he has to run back home to daddy.”

“And out of the city” Finnrick finished with a smile “And those records are pretty valuable to loads of people. Easier to fence and less messy to explain than a long lost Greek vase showing up in someone’s private collection. You’d get good prices for those hoard locations alone. Better than trying to carry tons of stolen and lost treasure back to your house.”

Caitlyn eyed Finnrick carefully “And you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Trying to do your ‘civic’ duty to our fair city?”

“Among other things” Finnrick admitted “But mostly for the greater good.”

“Pfft, greater good? Yeah sure buddy. Like you know what’s the greater good.”

“Will you do it?”

Caitlyn paused, allowing all this information sink in. It was much better than she had planned and while she wasn’t sure of Finnrick’s angle, he seemed honest enough. Of course everyone seems honest enough the first time you meet them.

“Let’s say I do” she spoke, placing her hands on her hips to play the part “What’s in it for you?”

“A favor” He replied simply.

She rose a curious eyebrow “A favor? It’s not date with me, is it?”

“No, I plan to earn that one myself.” Finnrick answered cheerfully.

Caitlyn coughed “Fine, good. Not a date. Least you’re not a creep. But a favor is pretty vague.”

“It’ll be simple I promise.”

Caitlyn narrowed her gaze suspiciously “You promise?”

Finnrick put his hand over his heart again “Cross my heart.”

Caitlyn took a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

Caitlyn offered her hand towards the trench coat cosplayer “You got yourself a deal.”

He gently took her hand in his own and gave it a firm shake. She was surprised when, as he pulled back, she felt a strange metallic item left behind.

She looked at the crystal butterfly hair clip he placed in her hand: It was a beautiful with sliver hues and multi-colored shards of glass across its wings.

“What’s this?”

“A gift.”

Caitlyn felt uneasy with the ornament in her palm: It felt cold and distant like it was feeling her out and wasn’t liking what it found.

“It’s attuning to you.” Finnrick explained “It’s syncing up to your whole aura.”

“Aura?” Caitlyn shot him a glare of disbelief “This isn’t one of those new age hippie things is it?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s a magical item. Yours specifically. Everything alive has a deep and very convoluted to explain connection to this plane. The hairclip is trying to match yours so you and only you can use it.”

“It feels wrong.”

“Because it doesn’t know you yet. It will.”

Caitlyn felt unease about whatever this was. Part of her wanted to toss it as far as she could. The worst part was she felt the item probing at her, changing temperatures as if trying find a comfortable setting for both of them. Burning one moment and too cold the next. This was magic and it made her felt like she knew nothing.

But part of her felt it slowly and subtly trying to match her, focusing on her and on her place in the universe. It felt more natural each passing moment and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious what mister detective over here was letting her borrow.

Caitlyn blew a strand of hair out of her face “How long does this usually take?”

“An hour.” Finnrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone “Oh shoot I have a meeting to get to.”

He turned to leave and suddenly Caitlyn felt alone. Awkward just standing in the street without someone to talk to.

“Wait!” She reached for him but quickly pulled back when he faced her “….any advice?”

Finnrick scratched his chin for a moment “Red tiles. Avoid them or they’ll blast you off the roof.”

“G-gotcha.” Caitlyn didn’t want to know what blast off the roof was code for “A-and the hairclip? What’s it do?”

Finnrick gave a cheeky grin and Caitlyn could feel her face flush “I guess you’ll have to find out angel. Bye for now. May we meet again soon.”

And like that, he was off. Strolling down the straight with a bounce in his step and humming a tune.

Caitlyn glanced at the ornate hairclip in her hand.

Turns out there was a lot more to this magical world than she thought.

[fishybehavior]

What happens when Nya meets Kai once Ronin is gone and the ninjas discover Kai?

When Kai meets the ninja its chill for the most part, there some back talk and they don't see exactly eye to eye, but there after similar things and its kind of a if you scratch my back I'll scratch yours. Since the soul archer is working for Morro, you find morro, you find soul archer, you find Ronin.

I'm unsure if they meet Kai in the shop when they go looking for the scroll, or when they are traveling to Stiix they happen across each other (maybe the train station??). Probably the first one, Kai saying the scroll is 1000 coins [idk what their currency is] and agrees to give them the scroll for 100 if they will help him find Ronin. And as a bonus he throws in the aeroblades. Then they probably get attacked by ghosties like in the show. Soul archer probably taunts Kai about Ronin's debt, and I'm pretty sure Morro also ends up there too, so Kai gets introduced to all the baddies. and they probably loose the scroll too

Basically everything goes well until they regroup and Nya and Kai see each other for the first time in about 8-ish years, and all hell breaks loose.

Nya hates Kai, he was the last family she had and he ran away and left her behind. He never contacted her and she was left alone in her village. Abandoned by her whole family, she left with terrible abandonment issues. But with the found family of the ninja's she doesn't feel alone or is worried they'll leave her.

Kai resents Nya, he's felt as if ever since she was born everyone compared him to her. She seemed to do everything better than him and he quickly fell under her shadow. He hated how he was pushed aside in favor of his sister, and he also believes that he is unwanted. His relationship with Ronin eased some of those fears, but when he ran away he believed that she would only want him out of her life sooner or later.

So when the two get back together they kinda explode. 90% of their conversations dissolve quickly into petty arguments. They have had some healing apart, but their anger and resentment they have for one another is very unresolved. They almost have a physical fight at one point and have to be separated by the other ninja.

And this isn't something that will be resolved by the end of the season. If I actually continue this I plan that their reconciliation would happen over several seasons and would probably resolve or they'd become at least on good terms around s7 when they find their parents. They're not super close family per-say but they understand what happened between them and there is a lot of pain, and they can work together. Even if they get on each others nerves, they're willing to work towards a better relationship.

They're still mad at their parents tho

[fieryhonesty]

The life of You

[AO3]

Words: 3619

You and the traveler accompanied by his floating friend were nearly close to your final destination. Passing through the entire Liyue, taking a short stop to relax a bit here and now. Enjoying the view at the marvelous land. It never stops to amaze you how beautiful the sunsets are when you can observe how the sun is disappearing behind the mountains.

Liking more Monds as it was a more free and easy going country. The green everywhere was easy on your eyes and overall didn't remind you all that stress tied to business. However you have to admit some parts of Liyue are way too pretty. Perhaps one day you could visit those pretty spots with your friends.

Having a nice walk and observing the never stop to amaze you lands. Some special kinds of flowers and herbs grow only here. Animals you can't see in the anemo Archon domain. Simply put, this is an experience one has to feel and see at least once in their life. 

You made sure not to wander too far away from the main road. Being pressed by time and distance was one thing. Being lost in the middle of somewhere was another. You sure knew your way in Liyue but mostly around habited areas. Not really have spare time to explore the land in detail.

Sometimes you had a short trip around here and there, in presence of other people. Those trips were mostly to bring you and your employees closer and take a break from all of that exhaustion. 

It's really sad how people in Liyue are different from people in Mondstadt. They are always in a rush, stressed out and business is always on their minds. However they are also willing to help with anything related to their field of expertise. 

Can't choose between this and that? Or not sure if this would be a good deal? Well you can be sure they will shower you with advices. However be aware of smooth talkers. They know a lot and know how to make one agree and probably buy more than they were willing at the start.

After all it is all just a part of the never ending flow of contracts. Tied to mora exchange and customer's satisfaction. You were sometimes thinking if Liyue being mostly yellow has something to do with currency. This color is so dominant here, everywhere. One would think leaves and grass is dying but it was healthy just like everywhere else. 

Mora is yellow, Liyue is land of contracts. Money is flowing in and out. This surely can't be coincidence, Morax must have been really smart back then.

You guys were close to Harbor's gates, a few more steps and you could see the entire city. One side enveloping it with azure blue sea, ships being docked in harbor. Supplies being carried out or in, depends on the ship's purpose and destination. Also there were smaller boats as well. Those were personal ones, more than for transport they were for amusement of their owners. 

You often heard about wedding proposals being made at those cute boats. Also there were people who used those boats for business, they transported people between north and south Liyue. It was sort of a trip one could say.

Hearing amazed 'wow' from your companions, turning to them with a smile on your lips.

"Just wait for the night. Then it gets super pretty but also really hectic. As that's the time where citizens are really free from their responsibilities and can enjoy free time." 

"Paimon can't wait to see all those stalls with delicious food!"

You chuckled at her remarks. Not needing to spend too much time with them to know the floating girl is easily manipulated when it comes to food. Just a mention of it and she is all yours. When you said about local specialities her eyes were beaming with excitement. 

By the look at Aether's expression, that was just a normal thing he got used to. As he had to get used to Paimon's big mouth. On your way here, to be more precise when you passed the middle part of Liyue. You came across some beggars. Asking for spare coins. You are still unsure about being glad for what Paimon said or not.

If it weren't for her you two might have got robbed. It turned out to be a bunch of treasure hoarders, not poor beggars barely living. When they found out both of you are carrying weapons and can channel elemental energy. They rather backed out of the trouble.

"Well then, let's head down. Shall we?" 

And so all of you slowly descended down, crossed the city's gate. Passing through streets and making sure the two are following you. Getting lost here is quite easy. 

As you arrived with one day spare, you could have just breathe out and rest for today. The rite will be held tomorrow. The question is what now? Turning to your companions.

"I'm hungry, fancy to get some food?" 

You didn't have to ask twice. Especially when it came to Paimon who was just excited flying around. Checking on stalls and observing various things. The street you were in was mostly for small merchants, selling their handmade goods. Be it art, jewelry, porcelain or those cute paperweight things. Often having sea and boats inside of them.

Moving to the next street which was purely dedicated to kid's enjoyment. Various toys shops and things which sometimes were too inviting even for yourself. You can just silently applaud those toys makers. If an adult like you has a hard time then what about the kids?

Quickly making your way to the small square which was dividing enjoyment shops from more practical ones. Such as herbalists, perfumes, food shops and also some kid's forbidden places. Starting with bars and ending with places you rather not want to think of ever entering. Otherwise you'd die in shame. 

Leading the way to your favorite shop. Knowing your friends probably won't know how to use chopsticks, it will be better to grab some finger food. Sweet dumplings, regular dumplings filled with various things, fried meat. Heck they even sell fries here which you thought it would be only in Mondstadt. 

Once you have all of your food, you have moved to a quieter place. A park with a lot of ponds, lotuses in, fish literally swimming under your feet as you were crossing via the small bridge. Sitting in the least busy place. It was just afternoon and there were already enough people to make you feel uncomfortable. Luckily you are used to crowds now.

With stuffed bellies you guys were barely able to move so you decided to sit around for a bit more. You explain them basics about the city. Like where to go if they'd need this or that. How to avoid being scammed. Liyue might be the land of contracts, one still has to negotiate about prices. People will always try to nudge prices in their profit.

"Paimon wonders. We have been around every major street and miss y/n told us about important places but..." 

She scratched her head.

"Where's your business?" Tilting her head to the side while making 'hmm' noise. Which immediately Aether joined in. 

You didn't plan to show them the building where your now middle sized company was residing in. For some reason you felt uneasy about showing your friends. You still didn't like the fact of inheriting it but at least it's in better shape than before.

As the previous owner was barely able to sign contracts and fulfill her duties. It was slowly fading, many employees had left the company. Also there was a debt written in its name. 

You didn't know why exactly you just didn't turn away and leave. It was none of your business. It was her mess. But somehow you decided to stay and help. It was awkward, especially meeting the dying woman. But you hold back your grudge and remarks. 

You knew it won't be an easy task especially after seeing what has happened in a very short period of time. First of all you needed to gain some trust from the remaining employees. To them you were nobody. Well. It wasn't far away from reality.

You were just a teenager who wanted to train and become a guardian of the city. Perhaps later on find somebody to get laid with and have a happy family. More happier than you had. But that all was taken away or so you thought.

However as the time passed you realized something. One can still be a guardian without having the title. When the debt collector came everyone was scared and shaken. There was no doubt about it might end up pretty bad for everyone present including you. But you played it smart, managing to convince the debt collector about giving you a bit more time.

It was the last chance you will get, he said before leaving. You were shaking and felt like vomiting. But at the same time proud of your smooth talk to get your through it. One thing you could thank to a certain bluenette. 

Since that day you got more trust from employees. It no longer being just the assistant who stood by you, willing to help. With a young mind and great ideas you managed to slowly but surely get the company back to functioning. Guided by your assistant who happens to have enough experience to actually lead the company. But for whatever reason she was not named as the next successor. 

You never felt any hateful feelings from her or desire to take the post from you. If anything she is keeping everything under control and is really modest. Admitting just half for her effort no matter what you said. 

It took over three years to fully recover for the company and be able to compete with others. Or at least partially. No longer being in debt and haunted by the Fatui agents. However to prove the company's worth you had to make a bigger showcase. Everyone was able to attend and observe. Enjoy the food and drinks. The event cost quite a bit but in the long run it turned out to be very worth it.

Eventually getting more offers for material, more interest from not only people from Liyue but also from Inazuma. However that didn't last long as it one day became completely locked away from the world. You really liked the direction where everything was going, nearly forgetting about your life in Mondstadt.

Warming up to people, growing fond of them. It was no surprise to see you spend time after work with some of your employees. Going to a tea house or dinner. Despite you being overly busy you still found some free time to hone your swordsmanship. You still wanted to be able to protect the weak. 

One night after a very long and tiresome week you found yourself staring at the clear night sky. You just finished one of your training. The sky was so nice, the stars being so bright. You wondered if they are looking at the sky right now. If you do see the same thing.

You were one of those people who were forced to grow up and become an adult quickly. Acting like a grown up despite being still pretty young and inexperienced. If it weren't for Mrs. Yue you'd be doomed. Also many others who often offered help. You liked those people but never admitted it aloud. 

When one day supplies didn't arrive in time, nor any message about delay. You got worried about what could have happened. The road which you chose was relatively safe and there were loaned guards for the cart. Something inside of you was telling you to take a look at it. 

Taking your trustworthy sword, leaving a message for Yue who happened not being present at that moment. So when she arrives at the office she would know. There was also stated if you don't return until noon, she will have to alert Millelith.

Just as if you knew. It didn't take long until you found a damaged cart and unconscious guards. However your people were missing, supplies being destroyed. Looking around and noticing tracks. 

The further you follow the more you know you are being lured into a trap. When you entered a place covered by an obvious illusion, you knew there's something really wrong and you just couldn't leave it be. Finding your way around, coming across cocoons. Hearing silent cries coming out of them.

Just when you tore through one of them and saw one of your employees. You realized what made those cocoons. Freeing them out. They were exhausted and pale. However fear allowed them to push forward and retreat from that place. But you did not. 

You knew the thing might attack again. Somebody else who won't be that lucky as your people. Giving them a reassuring smile, saying that you will be alright and they should have enough time to get back to cart. With some luck Millelith will be there already, taking care of them. 

Turning back and running deeper into the weird hive. Just then you realized how much naive and stupid you were. Risking your life just like this. Could it be bravery? Or just being a complete fool? Probably the latter. Your sword skills were impressive however facing the beast proved you were not strong enough. 

You could feel how your life energy was leaving your body during the encounter. You will die here. But you didn't care. You were devoted and wanted to protect. You got poisoned in the middle of the fight. As the poison was slowly spreading across your system. Fingers becoming numb.

You were half accepting the truth of never making it back. To never see any of the people who you consider close to you. To never see your employees' faces. Or never held a party to celebrate somebody's birthday. Or never be able to chase your dreams.

Just when you thought 'that's it I die here' you felt intense energy surging through your body. You could feel how it was encouraging and empowering you enough to rise up, avoid the fatal hit. It was like just all the fatigue has left your body. The poison was no longer effective. 

Swinging your sword, a wave of elemental energy being released. It cut through the beast's thick shell. It surprised you to see what happened but not letting it take over. You thought of channeling more of this weird yet powerful energy. It felt cold but at the same time warm. It might be because your body is getting confused over all of this elemental power, flowing through you.

As you rushed forward with cry, your blade met with the beast's arm. Cutting it off like it was a butter, following to its face. You cut through the entire thing, leaving a crystal like pattern behind. Was it ice? The beast has fallen with a loud and dull noise. 

Looking around, the place was covered in icy fragments. Surely the place didn't look like this before. Glancing down at your hand as you felt something appeared in it. A turquoise orb with a snowflake symbol, socketed into a silver frame with a pair of small wings on bottom at each side.

You knew what it was. Taking a hold on it and looking up. You never thought of ever receiving your own vision. Never feeling worthy to have one. Yet the cryo Archon thought otherwise. 

You did not remember how you got out of that place or what followed. Your body was exhausted and all you know is you will live to tell the tale. Whatever happened you just pushed it away, thinking it was the remaining strength you had, carrying you to safety.

Finger snapping brought you back to reality. Making you realize you had spaced out. Giving apologetic smiles to your already worried companions.

"Gosh. We thought you got possessed by something! We kept calling for you but you didn't respond!" 

Poor boy. His voice was worried and by the expression Paimon was making she was not feeling any better.

"Ah yes. I uh... Something crossed my mind, sorry about that, haha!"

Your eyes dropped down as you nervously fiddled with your fingers. They really want to see your workplace. Letting out a sigh. This had to come eventually. It's not like being ashamed or something, just feeling nervous.

"Alright then. I'll show you, with some luck we might catch up with my assistant so I could introduce you.~"

meeting with yue, talking about the stormterror, skip, rite and inspection, later the day meet traveler talking with tart and be not so nice cuz he fatui have some not really warm talk between you two, offering aether new clothes, then leaving after yue cuz you were going to tea house lol

The building was quite far away from the center. Hidden between two bigger ones, making it look smaller than it actually was. The receptionist was already gone. However people from security who were counting their last minutes for today greeted you with a bow. You motioned to them and kept walking with your friends right behind you.

"So this is the main hall where clothings get sewed together, the opposite doors are where all the fabric cutting happens. And the last door at the end of the corridor is the warehouse. We have another one on the upper floor, but that's for cleaning items only." 

Leading them around, letting them inside to check stuff from close distance. You even met somebody who was going home late, wishing them a nice evening. 

As the building seemed to be quite small from outside, there were many rooms inside. And even more things stuffed in.

"What's this room for?"

The blonde asked while he stood in front of the nameless door. Whilst you just chuckled.

"Some call it a relaxing room, others a sleepy room. It's just to assure nobody gets overly overworked. I know some people stay here until evening despite their work hours ends in mid afternoon." 

Both Aether and Paimon's lips are curling into an 'o'. Probably they did not expect to come across such a room like this. They followed you to your office. Well the office you shared with your assistant.

When you opened the door you found the lady sitting behind the table. She looked up and her eyes sparkled with joy. Getting up and coming closer to embrace you as always.

"Welcome back Lady y/n! I did not expect you to come this week!" 

You returned the embrace as it was something you always do with her. She was like a close friend to you despite the age difference between the two of you. She might have two kids around age of 10 but she is still looking so young and pretty. Also she loves to spoil you like you are one of hers.

"Mrs. Yue this is Aether and his friend Paimon I told you about during my last visit. Aether, Paimon this is Mrs. Yuefeng, my assistant and probably the main pillar of this company."

It was hilarious to observe how the two of them didn't know the greeting here. Trying to mimic what Yue did. 

"Welcome at Qingshan Clothing! You are indeed very cute as Lady y/n said, hmm maybe too much."

Your eyes glancing between her and Aether, mouth partially opened to say something. Coughing away the awkwardness. 

"Please don't mind it. Everyone's cute in her eyes. At least everyone who is younger, which is practically all of us."

"Mmmh! Indeed! You are cute kiddies. I can't believe you are the ones who saved Mondstadt from the Stormterror. You look so innocent but you know what they say. Don't judge a book by its cover."

Yue giggled at her own remark. She was always like this, it was hard to believe such a nice lady like herself can deal with rough business so flawlessly. You glanced over at the table, noticing the mountain of paperwork.

"Well it's getting late. How about you go home my friend? I told you several times not to stay overtime." 

It felt weird to actually lecture a woman who could be acting as your mother but you had no choice. She smiled at you with a tired face.

"I hate to break it to you but this is urgent and has to be done by tomorrow morning. We were stressing about finishing the order in ti-"

"And that's exactly why I order you now to pack your stuff and go home. Relax. Enjoy kiddies and your husband. I'll finish it."

You gave up on having the entire evening free but oh boy you hated people working overtime. Why people can't just chill out. Always in stress and rush.

"But Lady..." She didn't finish her sentence. Your expression was more than serious. 

"Very well. Thank you, I'll treat you tomorrow for some tea. Oh! The rite! We could go there together and after it ends we will crash at our usual spot!" 

Well not like you had something against it. You came here mainly because of the rite. Everything else was just convenient enough, happening along the way. Entrusting Aether with Paimon to Yue's care. As she could take them to an inn. Observing how they disappeared behind a corner. 'I hate this work so much... I wonder if Diluc also has to deal with stuff like this or has people for it.’

Previous ✨ Next

[anthuriumtoken]

Learn from the Experts the Key Differences Between Crypto Coins & Crypto Tokens in India

The spectacular rise of cryptocurrencies over the last two years has drawn a large number of investors from all around the world. Many people, however, are unfamiliar with the new phrases used in this profession. Some people are unsure whether they are purchasing tokens or coins.

Because cryptocurrency is such a new business, there are many new terminologies to refer to digital assets. They are frequently used interchangeably by investors.

Many individuals mistakenly believe that cryptocurrency coins like Anthurium coins and tokens are the same thing. It's important to note that these two are not the same. According to industry experts, all coins are considered tokens, but at a fundamental level, all tokens are not coins in the crypto sector.

Anthurium crypto coin is typically native to a blockchain and is used to trade currency and store value, whereas a token typically uses the blockchain of another coin. Anthurium coins, for example, are a blockchain. Ether is the local currency. Many coins, like BAT and Loopring, do, however, run on this network.

Anthurium Coins are a proposed medium of exchange that is directly represented by coins. Tokens, on the other hand, are a type of asset. The tokens can be kept for their intrinsic value or sold and staked for interest. Tokens include Uniswap, Chainlink, and Polygon, to name a few. Blockchain is used to conduct crypto coin transactions, whilst smart contracts are used to trade tokens.

When an Anthurium crypto token is used, it is transferred from one location to another. Because NFTs are one-of-a-kind things, ownership changes must be managed manually. It is not necessary to move an Anthurium coin from one location to another. On blockchains, all transactions are recorded.

Even if it wasn't in this form, everyone has used a token at some point in their lives. The title to your car, for example, is an Anthurium token. When you sell an automobile, you transfer the title's worth to another person. However, you won't be able to purchase anything else with your surname while with tokens you can. Experts say that if an investor wants to buy a product, coins are the greatest option, whereas utility tokens can be used for services.

Therefore, according to industry analysts, all coins are considered tokens, however not all tokens are coins in the crypto sector. Simply explained, a token represents what a person possesses, but an Anthurium crypto coin represents what they are capable of possessing. Furthermore, even if not in this form, everyone has used a token at some point in their lives. Your car title, for example, is a token. When you sell an automobile, you transfer the title's worth to someone else.

Also Read: Anthurium takes a greater leap in the history of Cryptocurrency with the ‘First Utility Coin’

[hj-creates]

A Possible Scandal

So, I wrote a little Laurens/Madison fic. I’ve never attempted this ship before, but @layaisdaboss requested it and it’s honestly adorable.  The link to the fic on Ao3 is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359851 but feel free to read it here as well.

Pennsylvania, Fall of 1780

John stared out the window of the carriage as it rumbled over the cobblestones. His father, Henry, noticed his son’s dour expression and heaved a sigh. “You don’t have to pout you know, I promise you only have to stay a week or so.”

“I should be back with my men on the front lines.”

“There are many ways to fight for your country, my boy. Not all of them involve risking your life on the battlefield.”

“It suits me better then pontificating in stuffy chambers or arguing over fancy dinners.”

“The war won’t last forever, John. When it’s over, the colonies will need well-spoken, well-educated men to lead our new nation. As my son, you are in a good position to help shape the laws and create what this country can become.”

John turned quickly back to his father. “Doubtful. They don’t listen to me now. How many times have I begged them to create a militia of slaves and ensure their freedom once the fighting is over? We rail against the unjustness of the British, but they have given the enslaved that same opportunity. If for no other reason then we are losing thousands of smart, strong men to the other side should we do this, but no. People like Jefferson and even Washington himself refuse to see the hypocrisy of fighting for independence while keeping human beings in chains.” He gave his father a fiery stare.

Henry exhaled and turned away. “I did support your effort. I am sorry it didn’t pass the house.”

“And when, exactly, were you planning on freeing the slaves in your own home?” John said coldly.

“It’s not that simple, John. There are economic and societal-“

“With all due respect, father, stuff it.” John clenched his jaw. “I’ve heard all these arguments before.” He sat back and Henry tersely obliged, happy to see the State House finally coming into view.

John suffered through the numerous introductions and polite exchanges before he and his father finally took their seats in one of the many rows of benches that gave the Great Room the feeling of a church. Most of the discussions seemed to be more about accounting than the high-minded discourses on the birth of a republic that Henry had promised. As the older, fat statesmen argued over the budget of the Continental Army and how they simply couldn’t spare another dollar for those fighting on the front lines, John had had enough and stood up.

“We’re starving out there!” His impassioned voice filled the cavernous hall. “Do you have any idea how many men died during the winter at Valley Forge? How many soldiers perished not due to British muskets but hunger and frostbite? You ask these brave souls to fight for you and then you make them march over frozen fields without even socks on their feet! And that’s not even the worst part. These patriots are getting sick and dying. Forced to live in squalor and drink filthy water because we have no money for a decent shelter or proper sanitation. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Quibbling over a few coins for the army while you dine on fine china and drink from crystal goblets. As an aide of General Washington, I can attest that all in his house were forced to share the same plate at every meal. Militiamen are forced to steal from local farmers, even under penalty of death, just for a scrap of meat.” He felt his father’s hand on his arm. “But go ahead and debate the merits of fulfilling the latest request from the quartermaster. I hope your lavish feasts are worth the suffering of the men you claim to hold in such high regard.” He sat down and his nostrils flared, his anger apparent as Henry looked quickly at the faces around the room.

“Yes.” Henry loudly cleared his throat, obviously flustered and desperately trying to redirect. “We can certainly take into account what my spirited son has so passionately described for us. The well-being of those on the front lines should of course be considered when we deliberate how best to distribute our funds.”

John rolled his eyes. He glanced across the room and he noted most faces set in a frown as they regarded him with equal parts shock and disdain. Except for one. He looked at a face, younger than most of the other men there, who was actually smirking and seemed almost delighted. John gave him a little smile and the other man grinned in return. When his father was once again seated, ceding the floor to another delegate, John elbowed him softly and gestured across the room. “Who is that?”

“That is James Madison. A smart, young man from Virginia.”

John noted the name and let his gaze linger for a moment. Had he just found an ally?

As the day’s proceedings came to an end, John pushed through the throng of well-dressed men until he found who he was looking for. He stepped in front of the short, plump man and offered his hand. “Mister Madison? I am John Laurens. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The other man smiled. “The pleasure is mine. That was quite the diatribe you gave today. It’s nice to have someone who has actually seen the atrocities of battle speak for our poor men out there fighting.”

Laurens scoffed. “All the impassioned words will mean nothing if we are not helped soon. Winter will be here soon enough and our soldiers still lack coats and boots and blankets. There is not enough food to eat since the locals have all decided to sell to the British now that American currency is worthless. These are dire times, my friend. I am sure you know as well as I. What regiment do you serve in? The Virginian Militia?”

“Oh.” Madison’s voice was soft. “I am unfortunately too unwell to serve in the field. I am second-in-command to my father though. A colonel in the Orange County militia. Since being elected to the Continental Congress, I have spent most of my time here. Your argument is something I have been pleading myself. The financial issues that plague us are quite a thorny mess but I am trying to amend the Articles of Confederation to let us impose a tariff on imports that we can use to support the army’s efforts.”

“You are?” John’s face softened and he smiled wide.

James nodded and he felt his cheeks grow warm, “I am trying. There is much resistance.”

“I will talk to Washington and Hamilton. Between the General’s sway and Alex’s persuasive writing, we can work to make this a reality.” John was talking faster, his enthusiasm growing.

“I would appreciate that very much.” James smiled.

“John!” The younger Laurens heard his father’s voice calling to him. Madison saw the change in John’s expression and recognized what it meant immediately.

“Lieutenant Colonel.” James nodded to Henry. “I was hoping your son and I could enjoy a hearty dinner and a robust exchange of ideas tonight. I am friends with the owner of the Orchid Inn. He can give John and I a lavish meal and some much deserved wine.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, knowing his son too well. “Oh, that’s not necessary. You can dine with us tonight. I’m staying at a lovely little home off Main St.”

John grimaced and James looked unsure of what to do. “I.. uh… that’s very kind of you sir.”

“Very well.” Henry seemed proud of himself. “See you at seven. I’ll send a coach.”

After an awkward dinner, John finally tossed his napkin on the table when he finished his dessert. “Well then father, if I may be excused, James and I would like to take our leave and relax a bit at the tavern across the street.”

Henry peered up at his son with an almost imperceptible scowl on his face. “We have plenty of brandy and cordials here, but I suppose you are hoping for a moment with Mr. Madison that isn’t under the watchful eye of your father.” John didn’t respond but pleaded with his eyes. “Fine. I can assume you will have the utmost respect for Mr. Madison’s stature… and dignity.”

John knew exactly what his father was hinting at. “Am I not always the pinnacle of honor and manners?”

His father arched an eyebrow. “Remember you are a married man, Jackie.” The fact seemed to take James by surprise.

John forced a smile. “How could I forget? I’m haunted every day by it.” With that he grabbed the coats that were hanging by the door and handed Madison’s to him.

They wasted no time hurrying to the tavern and finding a small, corner table near the fire. After the bottle of burgundy had been uncorked and their glasses filled, Madison eagerly started in.

“I must say, Colonel Laurens, your stories of action on the battlefield are most exciting.”

John shrugged. “There is much chance for glory while fighting. Me and my friends seem to be always narrowly escaping death.”

“Is that so?” James leaned in closer. “You must be very lucky then. I see no scars and detected no injuries.”

“Lucky, perhaps. But not injury free. There are mementos from the war all over my flesh, a slight ache in my leg from when my horse was shot out from under me and a mighty scar on my shoulder from where a musket ball went straight through.”

James’s eyes were wide. “Are you serious? How did your arm not get blown clean off?”

John smirked. “Didn’t let it. I had more important things to do than whine about being hurt. We were trying to ambush the Brits. I was leading a company of men. I got shot, tore off my sash, wrapped it around the hole to stop the bleeding and kept marching.”

Madison sat there in rapt attention. “That can’t be true.”

John drained his glass and set it down hard. “You don’t believe me?” He grinned and kept his eyes focused on James. He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. James felt his jaw grow slack and quickly looked around the bar to see if anyone was watching this spectacle. John didn’t stop staring at James and yanked his shirt open, sliding one of the sleeves down his arm and revealing a circular-shaped scar, bumpy red skin, and stripes of white where the wound tried to heal itself.

James sat back and exhaled. He knew such an injury would have been the end of him. “That’s… impressive.”

John finally looked away and redressed. “That’s nothing.” He said nonchalantly. “I have scars like that all over.”

James didn’t know what to say and he certainly didn’t want to picture where exactly those scars would be.

After a few more drinks, Madison grew bold. “Why did your father have to remind you about being married?”

John snorted. “Oh that’s just Henry. He probably thought I was going to seduce you.”

“What?” James felt his heart race and he mildly started to panic. “Seduce me? What? Why would he think that? I’m- I’m a.. umm..”

“It’s not you. He’s caught me with men before.”

James felt as if the entire earth had shifted underneath him. “He what?”

John sighed. “If you want to leave because of that, I understand.” He looked at James who showed no signs of going anywhere. “Yes. I occasionally engage in ‘unacceptable’ affections with men. My father found me once with Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Hamilton.”

“Hamil-“ James gasped and slapped his hand in front of his mouth.

John rolled his eyes and poured another large glass of wine. “Aye. But he is engaged now. Set to marry in a few weeks. So, it appears our romance, or whatever you want to call it, has come to an end.” He took a long sip. “Which is better for him, I suppose. All his ambitions.” He emphasized that last word, like it was something he and Alex had fought over many times. “Better for him to secure a spot in an illustrious household headed by one of the most powerful men in New York.” He gulped more wine. “I mean, this fucking orphan is now going to be the son-in-law of General Schuyler. All because he wrote a few well-crafted love letters to the man’s daughter. I mean, you should see the things he wrote to me.” He laughed, a bit too loud. “Imagine being tossed aside by some simpering girl. To know that the letters he wrote to you weren’t anything special at all. It’s just how he talks to anyone he wants something from. To know that something you thought was monumental was just pedestrian to the person you loved. At least with Lafayette he is already married. He is open with how much he loves Adrienne and I know I will never compare to her. We just like having fun. But Alex…” His voice trailed off. “I just thought…” He sat back and let his head fall to his chest.

James watched him and a small smile crept over his face. “I understand.”

Laurens scoffed. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to be-“

“Jefferson.” James cut him off.

“I’m sorry?” John quickly looked up at him in confusion.

“Four years ago.  I first met him at the Virginia Constitutional Convention. I could barely speak. He’s very tall, you know, and quite handsome. He’s only eight years older than me but it felt like he had lived an entire lifetime more. Then last year, he became Governor of Virginia and I was on the Council of State. We worked closely almost every day and I thought…” he sighed. “We started working late into the night, just the two of us and we grew close. I didn’t dare initiate anything but eventually he did. I thought we could develop something, entirely in secret of course, but when I mentioned it, he laughed in my face. He asked if I really thought he give up all his other partners. He said he was sorry if I had gotten the wrong idea.” Madison swallowed hard. “But he didn’t seem sorry. He seemed… I don’t know. His smile was almost victorious. Like he had won something. I felt like an idiot of course. I haven’t even thought about a relationship with anyone since then.”

“Jefferson?” John looked deep in thought.

“Yes. I work with him every day still. It’s torture.”

“Jefferson…” Laurens still had a faraway look in his eyes. “You’re right. He is handsome.”

Madison’s shoulders slumped. “That. Was not the point of the story.”

Laurens laughed. “I’m teasing. But you know the best remedy for a broken heart.”

“More wine?” James smiled back.

“Not when there’s two of us.” John had a mischievous gleam in his eye and took Madison’s hand. He threw some coins on the table and led him to the door. “Come on. What do you say we get out of here? Find somewhere private and not think about Alex or Thomas or anyone else for an hour or so.”

“I’m not sure. It gets cold so quickly now. I really should be headed home.”

“Oh, don’t be a ninny.” He pulled the other man into the street. “Hmm... We could go down to the docks.”

“The salt water makes my asthma flare up.”

John looked up at the top floor of the tavern. “I suppose we could just sneak up into the attic. It’s just storage. No one ever goes up there.”

“With all that dust? Are you mad? I’ll be sneezing for hours.”

“What about the barn at my father’s house?”

“I’m allergic to hay.” John spun around in frustration and pushed Madison against the outside wall of the tavern. “What are you doing?” James whispered.

“Well, if we can’t go anywhere. Then I shall take you right here.”

“But what if someone sees?”

“I’ll say you were having trouble breathing. I was merely trying to keep your airways open.”

“With our clothes off?”

“Of course! Let that fresh air really get into your pores.” John grinned and James couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re as tenacious as you are charming.”

“Is that a yes?”

James took John’s hand and directed it to the growing bulge in his breeches. “What do you think?”

John sauntered back into the house and hung up his coat. He quietly crept up the stairs, trying to not make any noise.

“Must have been quite the conversation between you two.” Henry’s voice stopped him in his tracks. John turned and saw his father in the study. He sat in a chair by the window, smoking his pipe and facing the hallway.

“It was.” John said simply, without a trace of guilt in his voice.

“I assume you stuck with discussing policy and compromises between military and state?”

“Oh father, please. Of course not. That sounds dreadfully boring. We also talked about our families, what living in the trenches is like, and the different places we have visited in Europe.”

“I see.” Henry seemed to relax a little. “Well it seems like you two are building quite a friendship. I encourage you to get more acquainted with someone who comes from such a well-regarded family as Madison. That boy has a sharp mind and his father is quite wealthy. Well connected too. I think he is even mentoring under Jefferson.” John snorted at that. “What?” His father asked. “It’s true. I’ve seen them travel to and from Virginia together.”

“I’m not doubting you. James himself said he and Thomas are very close.”

Henry nodded and then started to pick up on John’s subtle comment. “Just understand there is much to be mined from a cordial relationship with Madison. He has already done so much at such a young age. He has the ambition and pedigree to really make it far. The two of you could be the future leaders of this nation. Taking after your fathers. I hope you plan on seeing him again.”

“Oh, I definitely do, father.” He sneered down at Henry triumphantly. “We have A LOT in common.” With that, he turned his back and went up to bed.

[emeraldtawny]

My Ikemen Vampire OCs

Been a while since I’ve done anything with OCs and I’m not sure if I’ll be using these boyos in fics or the like. I just wanted to add my own suitors based on some historical figures that caught my attention and thought would be cool to bring back as sexy vampires uwu~

Picrew used can be found here.

Marco Polo

Thomas Jefferson

Sigmund Freud

~Details under the cut~

Marco Polo

The Wide-Eyed Explorer

Adventurous x Oblivious

“Life's all about finding something out there in this great wide world that hasn't been discovered yet. How about it, Signorina? Want to take the risk with me?”

An explorer renowned for his treks from Europe to Asia, his documentation of his travels are known the world over. Yearning for knowledge yet grounded in his ideals, he enjoys exploring this “distant future” of 19th century France and pauses to marvel at every detail and moment he can. He accepted the taste of immortality so he could further explore the world. However, the dynamic, rocky expanse of love is one journey even the great Marco Polo wasn’t prepared for.

Birthday: September 15th

Height: 177cm (5’9”)

Occupation: Merchant

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Exploring, Collecting trinkets (hoarding), Taking notes

Dislikes: Staying indoors

Specialty: Storytelling, Charisma

Weaknesses: Lying

Favourite Food: Pasta

Hated Food: Ginger

Pet: Monkey named Viaggio

Random Tidbits

Wears two dangling coin earrings, as a symbol of the currency he knew before learning of and introducing paper money to Europe.

Responsible for bringing noodles - and consequently, pasta - back to Italy. One of his proudest accomplishments, he says.

Gets incredibly pouty when people doubt his memoirs or if he even made it to China at all.

Is endlessly fascinated by the different culture of this “new world” and will ask endless questions to gain knowledge.

Gets flustered and oddly prideful over how many other important figures of history looked to his experiences to guide them (Of course, he is most proud of the children’s game named after him).

Most of his memoirs were written in prison and by his cellmate. *A/N: hmmm, I wonder who comes back to smite him :3*

Is uncharacteristically frugal and likes to hoard any “unique” treasures he finds (most of them are commonplace items, but rare to Marco).

Favourite Place To Bite: Shoulder. He just gets incredible pleasure sinking his teeth into the flesh of the shoulder, and it works in tandem to muffle the groans that threaten to slip through his lips as he feeds. And if they bite him back on his shoulder, he is gone. His arms will always be snaked around their waist and whether he’s pressed against their back or front, he’s absorbed in his feeding so fully that sometimes he doesn’t know when to pull back until it’s too much.

Associates With:

Leonardo - The pureblood quite enjoys the boundless vibrant energy of his fellow Italian, and is more than happy to show him around the city and listen to the younger man’s detailed recounts of what he’s seen. They fuel each other’s insatiable need for new things to learn.

Dazai - Enjoys teasing him for his cluelessness about the world. The mansion’s residents don’t know whether to intervene, as both seem oblivious to the other’s intentions in their odd conversations.

Sebastian - Usually on the butler’s bad side for the constant clutter of “souvenirs” he always returns with. However, is rewarded with the whimsical story recounting of THE Marco Polo, so it isn’t all bad.

How He Met MC

After MC had attended dinner and was making her way to Comte’s room, she almost gets knocked off her feet as she collides with someone whilst lost in thought. Things fall to the floor and she quickly apologises and kneels down to help pick up the fallen items. As she lifts her head, she’s met with a head of white wispy locks and kind ice-blue eyes staring back at her behind his round spectacles. He takes the things back from her and they both return to their feet. “Grazie Mille, Signorina.” He says through a grin. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. You must be new around here.”

“Oh, um--”

(Is he a famous figure of history too? He looks nice enough.)

Her thoughts are cut off as Sebas comes into the hallway and seems ready to scold the young man for bringing in another assortment of useless trinkets. He pouts a little and says that these are unique and a brand new discovery that he must look into for their use. Sebas sighs, notices MC and asks if he has introduced himself to her yet. He blinks and exclaims in realisation before turning back to MC with a sheepish, boyish grin.

“It seems I forgot to introduce myself to you, Signorina. My name is Marco Polo. I’m a merchant and an explorer.”

(M-Marco Polo?!)

After MC learns the truth about the mansion and its residents, she’s on her guard as she walks aimlessly around the mansion, avoiding everyone she can for fear of them biting her. She stops as she passes the archive at the sound of a happy tune being hummed. She peeks in to see Marco cross-legged on the floor with a pile of junk in front of him. Yet the way he’s observing each piece makes her believe every single one is an irreplaceable treasure. He adjusts his glasses and inspects the map in his hands with an inquisitive gaze, his excitement of a new discovery at his fingertips vibrant and infectious. 

She’s so lost watching him that she hardly realises that she’s entered the archive, her feet naturally bringing her towards him. He stops humming and turns to meet her curious eyes with a wink.

“Oh! Perfecto! Just the woman I was hoping to see!”

He says it so heartfeltly that she feels her heart leap.

“Would you happen to know what these are? Since you’re from the future, you’d likely have a better idea than me.”

She hesitantly sits down across from him, still unsure yet compelled to help him, the kind, yearning aura surrounding him too strong to resist. [First CG of them looking over the pile of junk. Marco gesturing wide as he imagines the uses of a simple silver spoon and MC staring at him like “...it’s a spoon, not a lightning rod.”]

As she listens to him, she asks him why he finds joy in collecting these everyday items. He blinks at her...before bursting out laughing.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious!”

“Ah, I’m sorry. Really I am. It’s just I never get tired of hearing that question. To me, that question means that there are people out there who have grown accustomed to what’s around them. So much so that something they see every day has lost its beauty to their eyes. I truly believe that everything out there - discovered or not - has a story, a meaning. No matter how mundane it may be, everything has a unique beauty in this world.”

(That’s...such a wonderful outlook on life.)

...

Thomas Jefferson

The Repentant Sinner

Awkward x Earnest

“I cannot see the merits of wanting to get to know me. So, why can’t I stop you from doing so?”

A diplomat and a scholar, the one thing Thomas Jefferson cannot say he is versed in is the art of conversation. Despite this, he isn’t shy. He simply prefers to observe and document what is around him. Intelligent and soft-spoken, he seems to be more driven in his immortal life despite his tremendous accomplishments in his human life. What so greatly motivated him to be reborn as a vampire?

Birthday: April 13th

Height: 190cm (6'2")

Occupation: Diplomat don't mention the P-word

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Writing, Violin

Dislikes: Public speaking

Specialty: Writing documents (in silence)

Weaknesses: Conversation, His reputation

Favourite Food: Vegetables (selective vegetarian)

Hated Food: Liver

Pet: Mockingbird named Quill

Random Tidbits

Can speak 4 languages (English, Latin, French and Italian) and can communicate through writing in a further two languages (Greek and Spanish).

Wears multiple rings and a wrist cuff on his right hand, as he had dislocated his wrist in his human life yet the bones failed to set right when healing. The discomfort continues as a vampire, though less painful.

His voice is quiet, mellow and of a tenor pitch. He can barely string more than three sentences together unless speaking in private and about a topic he is knowledgeable in.

Developed mild insomnia since becoming a vampire. Coupled with his periodic headaches, some days he will be completely inconsolable.

Enjoys writing and listening to his mockingbird sing in the comfort of his room.

Completely freezes and nearly breaks down when reminded of the dark underbelly of his legacy.

Has no less than four feather quills on his person wherever he goes.

Favourite Place To Bite: Fingers. Feeding on a body part with a smaller surface area helps him pace himself and prevent more harm than necessary. But he truly enjoys piercing his fangs into the tip of the index and middle fingers, giving a cursory suck before withdrawing and taking the fingers into his mouth to suck them that way; he doesn’t wish to harm anyone with his bites if he can help it. Of course, sometimes he can’t help it when he’s lost in bloodlust.

Associates With:

Isaac - Enjoys his quiet companionship. They usually sit in the archive together, working on their different projects in complete silence.

Napoleon - Occasionally goes to the Frenchman requesting a feather from his eagle to make into a new quill. Napoleon agrees under the condition he helps him teach the schoolchildren, something he begrudgingly agrees to.

How He Met MC

The first time she meets Thomas is at her welcoming dinner. She baulks slightly at the height of him and the broad set of his shoulders being accentuated by his perfectly fitted dress shirt. He meets her gaze and nods politely towards her before taking his seat and idly staring down at and fiddling with his rings. She whispers to Napo if she somehow offended him, but he assures her that that’s just how Thomas is; not the best at striking up a conversation. 

When introductions come up, he’s one of the last to speak and definitely the least enthusiastic. He clears his throat softly and makes eye contact with MC, his gaze oddly intense as if forcing himself to meet her eye.

“Thomas Jefferson. Diplomat. A pleasure.”

(Thomas Jefferson. He was important in American history if I remember correctly. Can’t say I know much more than that.)

When Sebas (and Arthur) get it through MC’s head that she’s now in a mansion of vampires, she immediately runs out of the kitchen and just panic runs. She ends up in the foyer and almost collapses with relief because she can finally escape this place. Before she can reach the door, however, she realises there’s someone else right in front of the door, pacing back and forth as if in a trance.

(Oh great. They have someone on guard as well? Even more reason to get out of here!)

She tries to slip by, but the man notices her and stops his pacing to stare at her, saying nothing. MC feels overwhelmed by his gaze and starts to shake. His eyes widen and he goes to reach for her.

“Are you--?”

“Get away from me! Vampire! Monster! Don’t touch me!!”

She swats his hand away and makes a break for the door, but Thomas grabs her around the waist, pinning her arms down. She thrashes and begins to feel tears pricking her eyes when Sebas emerges. Thomas turns to him and asks him to take the young lady to her room. He immediately releases her from his hold and whispers a soft “I apologise for scaring you.” before walking back to his room with long strides.

Back in her room, she reflects on what happened and realises that his grip on her wasn’t tight enough to harm her and instead, he was likely as panicked as she was.

(Even if he is a vampire, it was clear he was trying to protect me. And I called him a monster…)

The next day, she asks Sebas to show her where Thomas’ room is so she can apologise to him. Sebas says to try the archive instead and shows her the way. She knocks on the door and peeks inside. 

Sitting at a desk and brandishing a feather quill, Thomas writes like his life depends on it, his eyes - while still heavy and tired with dark circles - seem focused with an intensity that leaves MC dumbfounded. [First CG of him deep in his scribing, unaware of the pretty lady who watches him with her attention rapt.]

(He writes as if he’s possessed. I feel like if I interrupted him now, I’d be ruining the very nature of his being.)

She waits until he lets out a soft sigh and sets down his quill. When he finally notices her presence, he blinks, a deer in the headlights. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“Um...can I help you?”

...

Sigmund Freud

The Cold Elitist

Analytical x Insatiable

“Such honest eyes. Yet such boring simplicity in your actions and thoughts.”

An Austrian neurologist whose work helped to shape modern psychology. His work with brains and how they shape our conscious and unconscious mind - his book The Interpretation of Dreams using his own brain as the study - made him observant and insightful; in a holier-than-thou way in most cases. He is private and distancing, yet fiercely loyal to those he deems worthy enough to be close to him. His own findings concluded that personality and unconscious thoughts cannot be so easily swayed. Until he meets you...

Birthday: May 6th

Height: 180cm (5’10”)

Occupation: Neurologist (despises the term psychologist being attributed to him)

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Smoking cigars, People watching, Reading

Dislikes: Being referred to by his first name (Call him Freud or you’ll get one hell of a death stare)

Specialty: Psychoanalysis, Picking apart people’s thoughts

Weaknesses: Accepting defeat or wrongdoing, Smiling through his eyes

Favourite Food: Artichoke

Hated Food: Anything American

Pet: Frog named Ego

Random Tidbits

He has a pet frog because of his early work as a medical student, where he studied frog brains to determine the difference between vertebrate and invertebrate brains. And named his pet after one of the terms he coined of the human psyche, representing the balance of our desires and morality.

Used to smoke cigars heavily, so much so that he developed mouth cancer which led to his eventual human death. Picked the habit back up again after being revived as a vampire.

Had a therapy dog when he was human. Sneaks pets to Vic and King whenever he can.

Was quoted saying “The goal of all life is death.”, yet accepted the offer to be granted eternal life (he chuckles bitterly at himself over this fact).

Was a firm Shakespeare sceptic and remains so into his vampire life. Any conversation he has with Shakespeare usually ends with him bad-mouthing him in German and proclaiming that the Earl of Oxford was the true writer of his plays.

Continues to write books about his discoveries, yet keeps them unpublished.

Is joked as being sex-obsessed (by Arthur of all people), but stands by his claims that sexual wishes and desires play into how a person’s mentality is shaped.

Favourite Place To Bite: Stomach. The way the muscles flex and spasm around his fangs is exquisite in every meaning of the word. He enjoys slowly sliding the blouse up, letting his hands trail slowly to feel the goosebumps that prickle on the skin, before biting right on the curve of the waist.

Associates With:

Comte - The one man who may call him by his first name. Feels indebted to him for another chance at life.

Mozart - Short yet calm conversations between the two Austrians happen every so often; about what, who can say?

Arthur - Pesters Freud for psychoanalytical techniques he can incorporate into his Holmes novels. Gives him the bare minimum to leave him alone. Absolutely loathes the nickname the Brit gives him (“Siggy”).

How He Met MC

When MC first encounters him, Freud is at the dining table with Mozart, Theo, Vincent and Isaac. As soon as he hears the commotion and she enters for dinner, he abruptly stands and leaves without a word, only sparing a cold stare that she feels in the pit of her stomach.

Her first true encounter with him is after Sebas tries to tell her that her housemates are vampires and she runs into him in the hallway. She notes that his eyes of metal run just as cold as the first time she met his gaze, but she still tries to greet him (Comte told her about him briefly at dinner, saying his name is Sigmund). When she addresses him as such, his lips twitch in distaste and harshly tells her not to call him that.

Being MC, she bites back a little, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

”For a meek little thing, you certainly try to bark, don’t you?”

“Hey, I don’t need another person in this mansion referring to me as a dog!”

“Hm. Very well then, Rotznase.”

(Did....did he just call me a brat?!) *A/N: no, MC. He called you a snot-nosed brat*

She goes to bite back again, but something in his eyes stops her dead. Like they can see into her soul, see the exact way her brain ticks. He exudes a harsh aura that makes her want to run, but the power of his eyes on her has her paralysed, like a predator staring down its defenceless prey. He scoffs at her before asking if she knows what he is. When she doesn’t respond, he sighs in annoyance before grabbing her by the throat and pushing her against the wall, hard. [First CG of this kabedon-strangling hybrid. 2/10, not sexy and probably hurts too much.]

”You’re a foolish little girl. And unfortunate in your luck. If you had crossed paths with any of the other beasts in these halls, you may have gotten away with nothing more than nightmares.”

His hand on her throat tightens, constricting her windpipe and cutting off her air supply, the petrified horror in her eyes only increasing as he bares his fangs to her.

”I am not a lenient man, I never have been. And this is no dream. You’re just an unlucky human. No offence intended.”

Just as his hand tightens further and he leans over her, Arthur of all people is the one to save her. He grabs Freud’s collar and yanks him back, barking at him not to scare the bird. Freud only gives an annoyed huff before strolling away as if he never had any part in it. MC loses strength in her knees and passes out from fear, and Arthur brings her to her room before heading to Comte to tell him what occurred.

The following day, Comte invites MC out to the garden for a chat. He confirms that the residents are all men of history brought back from death as vampires, and he apologises for Freud’s less than savoury approach at drilling the message in.

”Listen well, ma Cherie. The men in this mansion may be vampires, but they all show restraint. Sigmund, however, is an unusual case. He is prone to frenzies, where he’s so consumed with bloodlust that he cannot control himself. For your own safety, I would suggest having as little contact with him as possible.”

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 20: Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore... [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19]

They’d been on a stroll, like so many others, around the lake in St. James’, when it happened. 

It wasn’t the first time, exactly; Aziraphale knew of several other accounts, most of them dismissed as fiction or poppycock, but it had never happened to him before, and, judging by Crowley’s alarmed sounding squawk, which he would certainly not admit to emitting, later-- he was surprised as well. 

One moment, they had been in present day, Aziraphale’s hand in a bag of crumbs, on the lookout for any hungry or friendly looking wildlife, the next, they had taken a step forward and found themselves in a populated square, the grounds paved in wood and stone and dirt, the people decidedly confused by their appearances.

“Well!” Aziraphale exclaimed, albeit under his breath. 

Crowley took a step backwards, as though he expected to be able to reverse his way into the future. 

For the place they were was instantly familiar; they’d been here, only not for hundreds of years. Well, they’d been here the entire time, but the when was hundreds of years prior to the moment they’d just been in. 

Aziraphale couldn’t explain how he could tell. It was like a taste, almost. The Earth hadn’t aged yet. He couldn’t pin down the exact year, but the vintage was younger than the one he was used to. 

“It’s so long ago!” Aziraphale said, then clapped delightedly, bouncing on his toes. “Oh, Crowley, our own Moberly-Jourdain incident! Oh, we shall call it the Crowley-Fell Adventure.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale huffed. 

“Well it sounds better in alphabetical order, but if you insist we can call it the Fell-Crowley Incident. It does have a certain ring to it.”

“Aziraphale, one- Crowley-Fell sounds better, yeah. Two, you can’t write about this at all, we’re keeping a low profile, and three, which side do you suppose is responsible for this, and why do they want us now instead of back home?”

That did serve to deflate Aziraphale’s glee a bit. 

“Well.” He said. “I suppose perhaps to make a point. They mightn’t have succeeded in their hopes of killing us or forcing me to fall, but they still have power over our lives.” 

“Right. But why now, of all times? And when is now, anyway?” 

Aziraphale shrugged. “I imagine it was Heaven’s doing. They can’t conceive of a worse time than a dirty one. Let’s just hope we’ve landed between plagues.”

Aziraphale looked around. 

“Pardon me,” He said to the first person he saw who didn’t avert their eyes and hurry past. It was a boy, probably close to being thought of as a man in these days, likely only beginning to breach teen-hood. 

“Milord?” The boy asked, eyeing his clothing uncomfortably and doing a half bob of a bow, clearly unsure what to make of him. 

“Oh none of that,” Aziraphale said, waving off the formality. “My apologies, I think we’ve gotten a little lost. Ah-- our ship, you see, a rough voyage. What year is it? And who is King?” 

The boy looked a good deal more suspicious, of a sudden, and responded with the same incredulous snideness of teenagers everywhere. “It is 1204 in the year of our Lord, and King John rules England.” Aziraphale could almost hear the duh that would not be forthcoming for some time yet. 

“1204, Crowley!” He exclaimed. “We have been away far longer than I thought!” He shook his head. “Thank you, lad, and if you can, start saving grains for your family now. The… uh… church says it is to be an especially cold winter.” 

The boy looked, if anything, even more distrusting, but knuckled his brow and took off, glancing back at them as he went. 

“Come on Angel, let’s go get some clothes that won’t stand out so much. We need to blend in til we can figure out how to get back.”

“You know… it mightn’t be so bad, if we can’t ‘get back’.” Aziraphale said ponderously as they walked.

“What are you talking about?” Crowley sounded disgruntled, to say the least. 

“Well, you see, in all the fictitious accounts of time travel, the people doing the traveling have finite lifespans. They all want to go back for their families, their loved ones, to be with them. We don’t have that problem.” 

Crowley looked askance at him. 

“Sure, but do you really want to live through all this all over again? And isn’t there the fear of running into ourselves? I don’t know about you, but if I ran into me, I wouldn’t wait to ask questions.” 

“Oh!” Aziraphale brightened at that. “I should quite like to have a cup of tea with myself, actually-- what a grand way to catch up on the goings on of the time.” 

“Aziraphale, focus.” Crowley snapped. “There is a reason we have been sent back here and I suspect it’s to do with what’s coming in the future-- near to when we’re from. We need to find a way to get abc and stop whatever it is from happening.” 

“But if we don’t hurry the process, we’ll have an awful lot more time to stop whatever it is,” Aziraphale pointed out, sensibly, he thought. 

Crowley was silent for a long moment. 

“We won’t have your books to reference about it, though.” He said finally. “And no lovely takeout to eat while we work. No private plumbing, or gas lines, no central heating and cooling…” 

Aziraphale felt his face fall. 

“I have grown… accustomed, I suppose, to those little creature comforts.” 

“Like you said, that cold winter’s coming… food shortages and famine to follow. And all the sickness that’s to come-- 1204, we were at war with France, weren’t we? And England will be re-seizing church land soon, when John fights with the pope. You want to go through all of that nonsense again? You remember how conflicted you were about all of it, the first go round.” 

Aziraphale sighed. 

“Yes, of course, you’re right. The romance of it really is all in the nostalgia, isn’t it?” 

“It really is.” Crowley agreed. “Now come on, if I recall there’s a tailor up here somewhere.” 

It was odd, the echoes of familiarity and the utter strangeness existing together in this place. They found the tailor that Crowley remembered-- and he was, as Crowley remembered, really rather good. They left looking much more with the times, though Crowley insisted on keeping their other clothes with them, just in case. 

“So what’s next?” Aziraphale asked, actually privately enjoying letting Crowley be the hero of this little misadventure. 

“Next, we find somewhere to stay; a home base.” Crowley spoke authoritatively, as if he’d had a plan for a while now. And, given how long it’d taken to get hose made for his incredibly long legs, perhaps he’d done his planning then. 

“Did you make enough money for it?” Aziraphale asked, more than willing to pull his own weight, but Crowley reached down and nudged his coin purse, the currency within clinking softly together. 

“We’ll have enough for a while. Don’t want to attract too much attention.”

He’d said that frequently at the tailor’s, even as Aziraphale recalled the fashions of a mere few hundred years into the future with great fondness. 

He’d ended up with a loose fitting long tabard-like-thing over a longer linen robe-- comfortable enough, and stylish enough, though he couldn’t for the life of him recall the actual names of this style. No matter; it did its job well enough. 

They found an inn, fortunately located near several food stalls and a proper bar, insomuch as such a thing existed these days.

But there was wine, and ale, and water that looked mostly clear, and Aziraphale counted himself grateful. 

“So, what is your plan from here?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, once they were settled in their single shared room. Wouldn’t want to attract attention by spending too much, nor risk being separated into different lodgings. And so they had their wine bottle and the honeyed figs Crowley had bought, despite his admonitions of being careful with their coin, for Aziraphale to enjoy. 

“Now… we figure out how we got here, and why, if possible, and most importantly, how to get back.” 

“It’s been a very long time since I was lost.” Aziraphale mused, speaking to the fig he was considering in his hand. “In fact, when I have been, usually I would simply pop up to heaven, and come back down where I intended to be.” 

He bit into the treat, and Crowley stared at him. 

“You mean we’ve spent the entire day in 1204, and we could have just… gone home at any time?” 

Aziraphale shrugged and swallowed his mouthful. 

“Well, I don’t know that it will work, based on your fear that it’s heaven who’s sent us here-- and if it does, then we can do it at any time. Think of it as a… a work sponsored holiday.”

“A work spons-- Aziraphale are you mad? We’re in the medieval times! One look at my eyes, and I’m up on a flaming stake or off with my head, or--”

Aziraphale blotted at his mouth with a napkin. 

“Do you honestly think I’d let them do that to you?” 

“Well you sure didn’t stop Gabriel doing it, did you?” Crowley snapped back, and then his expression shifted, and Aziraphale could tell he regretted it as soon as it was said. Even so, he recoiled. 

“Alright. I’m sorry. Let’s… let’s go home.” He stood and made his way to a clear spot on the floor to begin drawing the correct sigils he’d need for transport. 

“Aziraphale, I’m sorry.” Crowley had stood and followed him, but Aziraphale ignored him in favor of his work. 

“So what, you aren’t talking to me now?” 

“I am trying to concentrate, Crowley. Certainly wouldn’t want to keep you where you don’t feel safe any longer than necessary.” He kept his tone even and his eyes on the symbols on the floor. 

“It’s not that-- I-- I have been so scared, all day, that they did this as a way to try and force us apart, or keep us away, and you… I don’t know how you can be so calm about all of this.” 

At that, Aziraphale did look up at him. “I can be calm because you seemed to have a plan, and I trust you and feel safe around you. I’m sorry that I can’t do the same for you, but I understand.” 

Crowley stared down at him for a moment. “That’s not what you mean to say at all, is it?” He asked. “You sound like them, shifting the blame, making it about-- about loyalty and faith. Why didn’t you tell me about your plan til just now?”

Aziraphale stopped drawing and sat back on his heels, dropping his head til his chin hit his chest. “Ever since the arrangement began…” He started, then paused to lick his lips. “I have been growing more and more afraid to use miracles for the things that matter. Useless miracles, frivolous ones-- making tea and the like? That’s not a problem, but… The important ones. I’m always afraid they’ll find out, about us, about me, and they’ll find a way to cut me off, with or without me falling, and… and so I avoid it.” 

Crowley tilted his head, then looked down at the floor, at Aziraphale’s half finished sigil. 

“But you would, because you realized how scared I am. You care about me more than you care about your own fear.” 

“Well, at least I can do one tiny angelic thing right.” Aziraphale spat back bitterly. “Now please-- let me finish this, and we will be on our way.” 

Crowley opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and sat back down to wait. 

Aziraphale nodded and got back to work. 

It was several silent minutes later when he heard, faintly, Crowley say, “Thank you.” 

He pretended he hadn’t.

[ilivelikeimtrying]

GreekGodsAU

Here are some sketches I made for it.

Sorry if it's a little wanky, but I tried.

-

He had finally gotten a moment of peace from his mother and everyone else.

From Astraea and his constint nagging. From the other Gods always looking down on him. From... Apollo, blech.

He just needed a break.

But as he was picking some beautiful Anemone for their garden tabel at home, he heard a voice.

It was small and weak, but it's words made his heart drop:

... help...

He grabbed his things and started walking away from the place. His mother had warned him of the world outside of their garden, and the dangers that could befall him.

'JustgohomeJustgohomeJustgohomeJustgohome'

And then he heard it louder,

"SOMEONE HELP US PLEASE!"

He turned his head to where he was sure it came from, and then just stood there... unsure.

He should go home...

but... the person... the people... they could be hurt...

Maybe... no, he should just... he has to go home.

But then he heard them give a fearful sob, the sound echoing through the forest, "P-please! Someone, h-help us please... "

And his choice was made then and there.

Someone had to help them.

He searched around the patch and then heard it again- "please" -and he snapped his head in the direction of the soft plea.

The Lake!

He ran to the edge of the lake and stopped in his tracks when he saw what was in the center it...

It looked like a portal, right in the middle of the lake. It was big, and dark, using the water to hold it's form.

His anxiety and fear picked up and he turned to run, but then the voice came back, smaller, weaker and softer then before.

"Someone? Anyome? Please... ? "

He took a deep breath and turned back to the lake, it's waters deathly still despite the fact that the portal itself seemed inraged.

"Ok... let's do this."

As he walked through the death still water he felt a tug in his chest to leave, but he ignored it as he reached the center, and when he crossed through the portal there was but a moment of regret when he made it to the other side.

The place was dark and he felt cold the moment he fell through. It felt like… sadness.

It felt Lonely.

An oh, did he know that feeling all to well.

He stood and looked around for any signs of life and saw a tunnel with dim light coming through. He heard voices and saw shadows illuminating from every corner of its wall's, creating horrific forms of monsters and Gorgans.

Before he could think better of it though he walked slowly through the dark tunnel, being careful not to make a noise, and made it to the other side where he saw some sort of beach.

It had dark-grey sandy shores and one single black-wooden Pier, where a small dark boat drifted at the end. It was pitch black of color, with beautiful carvings on the sides and skulls decorating the front.

And standing on it was a dark cloaked figure with a row. They were tall, and by the looks of the hands holding the row, hadn't seen the sun in a long while.

He looks off further onto the beach and was shocked to see hundreds upon thousands of Mortal- no, not mortals- they were a glowing cerulean and almost completely see through.

"Spirits." His mind supplied for him. “I’m in the underworld.”

He lifted the hood of his own cloak over his head and slowly walked towards the beach, keeping a firm grip on his basket as he did.

He kept his head down as he went, listening for the voice he was looking for, searching for it’s owner in need, but all he heard was the moaning and cries from the wandering spirits. He looked up a little and saw the faces of these… phantoms.

They looked mournful and in grief, pain and exhaustion evident on their faces.

Fearfully he wondered to himself “why?”

“Because they cannot cross through.”

A strange voice echoing in his mind suddenly answered.

He whipped his head around in fear, searching for the new patron and landed on the cloaked figure, noticing how its features were now facing him. "Shhhh." it hushed him and, with a grey slim finger, beckoned him forward.

He approached them cautiously, looking around him as he crossed the soul filled beach.

He politely (never forgetting his manners) greeted them, nervously twisting his cloak in his hands and whispered:

“I’m sorry for asking this, but, what do you mean ‘they cannot cross over ’ ?”

The dark cloak looked passed him to the crowds of souls “They do not carry payment. Without pay they cannot cross.”

“Payment?” His question brought back the figures attention, who nodded slowly at him. He looked around at the spirits before looking back at the cloaked rower. “What sort of payment do they need?”

The person reached inside their cloak and pulled out a gold pence. AnOlympian coin gold pence. “If one wishes to cross they must pay the currency. They who do not carry payment cannot cross. They must then wait for their time, only then may they leave for judgment.”

He looked down in thought. He knew he shouldn’t ask any more questions, that would be very rude… but…

“Judgment by whom?”

The figure stayed quiet for a moment. “. . . I. . . cannot answer. . .”

He nodded in understanding and bit his bottom lip.

“… May I ask then, how long must they wait?”

The figure once again turned to him with consideration before they answered:

“100 years and more.”

"100!-" he started loudly before remembering himself, and lowered his voice. "But... why?... that.... I..."

He was baffled and his heart ached for them.

He turned back to the souls and made another choice that day before hearing the figure ask him: "Why are you here then? You do not look departed..."

He couldn’t lie, he was raised with manners like that, and was always taught to tell the truth.

“Pardon my intrusion, sir Rower, but I was called upon-” he was suddenly interrupted by a shriveled voice.

“h-h-help… us...”

Now that he was down there he heard it more clearly and realized that it wasn’t just one single voice, but multiple voices at once, begging for help.

It was also much easier to hear where the cries were coming from.

“There!” He told the cloaked figure, pointing to the other side of the lake. “I need to be there!”

He noticed that the figure was just staring at him, not moving.

He awkwardly lowered his arm and shyly looked down.

“…Please.”

The figure considered him for a moment. It seemed for a moment that the person was going to turn him away before they leaned in close and he saw their dark, glowing eyes staring him down.

The figure then abruptly stood up and asked him. “Do you have riches darling? ”

He just stood there and blinked up at them.

“P-pardon me?” he asked confused.

“Do you have any riches darling? Any payment? If you wish to go somewhere upon the rivers of Styx, Lethe, Archeron, Phlegethon, or Cocytus, you must give currency like everyone else. So, do. you. have. payment? ”

“Uhm…” he looked around himself and noticed he still held his basket, lifting it up for them to see it. “You wouldn’t happen to take flowers, would you?” He asked with a nervous smile. The figure politely shook it’s head. "Though as beautiful as they are, they are not payment."

He lowered his basket and stayed quiet for a moment. He went to shake his head to say no when he suddenly remembered something.

“Wait!” He reached into his Chiton and pulled out a golden medallion, engraved with the symbol of Demeter.

When all Gods grow to a certain age their bodies stop aging and they look like that for all eternity.

When his day came his mother had given him the medallion, saying that as long as he carried it, he’d know where he came from.

He looked at the figure and showed them it. “Will this do?”

The figure reached out and gently took it from him.

They inspected it for a second and nodded. “Yes.” And proceeded to stuff it in there robe. “This will do just beautifully dear.” They extended a grey (and kinda boney) hand to him and, after a moments hesitation, he took it, letting the rower help him on the boat, almost in a way that seemed like it should only be used for royalty.

They even helped him sit down!

'How chivalrous.'

“Careful now, last thing we want is for you to get hurt.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed with surprise and gave him a bright smile, “well how nice of you, thank you.”

The figure bowed their head and then started rowing the boat away from the pier and the shore.

He couldn’t help but look back to the spirits still trapped there, forever to roam only because they didn’t carry riches or payment.

Poor things.

‘Don’t worry ’, he thought to them silently, ‘I’ll be back for you, all of you, I promise.’

“Well? ” he heard the figurr ask and turned to look at them.

“Huh? Oh! Please forgive me, I didn’t quite catch that.” He shamefully admitted.

The figure chuckled and shook their head.

“Fear not young one,” they said, turning their sights back to the waters ahead, “I simply announced my name to you, nothing important.”

He quickly shook his head. “Of course it’s important! Oh do forgive me! Please tell me again, I’m listening now, I promise!”

He heard the figure start to laugh at him. “Calm yourself small one, it is nothing to fret about, but if you wish to know I will say once more.”

They made a soft turn in the river and he noticed another cavern tunnel on the other side.

“help us- help me- someone, anyone- please! ” He heard their cries grow louder.

‘ I’m almost there,’ he thought softly to them, ‘please hang on.’

“Yes,” he told the cloaked figure, “I’d like that.”

With a light, joyful tone, the figure told him:

“Charon, dear floral one, I am Charon.”

Charon half turned to him.

“And you? What should I call you oh fair louloúdi? ”

It was quiet for a moment as he thought.

He continued to open and closed his mouth all the while.

He opened his mouth to say 'Tadashi', but thought better of it.

His mother warned him about using the name his father gave him.

He opened it again to say 'Kore', but stopped himself.

He didn’t want to say it, say the name that all the other Gods called him. He loved his given name, but it just felt like a suffocating lable now. It had already been ruined by the ones who have used it.

He just sat there for a while, not knowing his own name.

He then suddenly looked up at the figure with bright, determined eyes.

“. . . Per- Persephone." He told Charon.

This name, this title, he had now bestowed upon himself, felt so right as it roled of his tongue.

He didn't know, however, that this name would follow him from this moment on, for the rest of his immortal life.

"Please, call me Persephone.”

[kyogre-blue]

Nano follow up 1

Notes: This is another interlude, taking place after they leave Imuchakk. After this, there should be just one final chapter. 

~.~ 

Interlude 2: Trust

The Imuchakk respected warriors above all others, and for an outsider, it was easy to assume that strength in battle was all they respected. Especially for Rametoto, a towering figure covered in battle scars, who carried the air of someone perpetually ready to turn any meeting into a duel. 

However, just from Rurumu, that was clearly not the case. She was a trained warrior, of course, who had passed her adulthood trial years prior. But she was also well mannered and extremely well educated. Economy, diplomacy, administration, even political scheming were among the many fields Rametoto had made part of his children’s upbringing. 

Among their group, only Alibaba could match her, as became quickly obvious when Rurumu began to test them on non-physical skills. 

Not that Ja’far’s attempts to turn it into a physical test went any better. Assassination techniques were not a match for sheer Imuchakk power, wielded with great precision. Rurumu needed only one foot to pin him to the deck while continuing to explain, in a calm, gentle voice, that as merchants, they needed the skills of trade and money. 

“Do you even know how to buy things in a store?” Alibaba wondered, in the test, unhappy atmosphere. “I mean… I can’t imagine you guys shopping.” 

“I’ve bought things!” Sinbad declared happily. 

“With actual money? With more money than three coppers?” 

Sinbad laughed -- more or less admitting that, no, he had barely seen money all his life. His father had fished and then trade those fish for other goods in the village. By the time Sinbad himself was old enough to seek other work outside Tison, mostly directing ships in and out of Contastia, the national currency was in shambles, so he had also been ‘paid’ through goods. 

And after Baal, Alibaba had handled all actual “paying” -- even the first time getting a doctor for Esra. 

“I’m good at haggling though,” he said without a hint of shame. 

“That’s a start, but it works differently from the other side,” Alibaba said. 

“Indeed,” Rurumu agreed. “For a merchant, the most important expression is a smile. This is both your shield and your spear.” 

A shield and a spear, I see, I see, Sinbad nodded along with a smile. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ja’far grumbled, scowling. Unfortunately, even his most fearsome look of disgust only looked cute on his small pale face. It was no wonder he’d covered himself up like a mummy -- otherwise, there was no way he’d be taken seriously as an assassin. 

Very gently, Rurumu swatted him across the head. “Use polite language,” she instructed. Glaring in outrage, Ja’far darted a look at Sinbad, the one he had actually sworn to follow, but Sinbad only looked back. He didn’t necessarily think a few swears were the worst thing ever, but Rurumu probably knew more about training someone than he did. 

“Well, to start with, it’s harder to hit someone who is smiling at you,” Alibaba said. “That goes for being rude or pushy too. Nice customers react better to smiles, and difficult customers will have a harder time pressing you. That’s how a smile is your best defense. As for how to attack… that’s a bit advanced, although I think Sinbad is already a natural at it.” 

It was decided they would demonstrate. 

Dragging over a random assortment of barrels, crates and other objects lying around, they set up a makeshift “storefront” on the deck of their Imuchakk vessel. Moving into position in front of it, Alibaba spun around and… smiled. 

It was kind of creepy. Sinbad, who had been with Alibaba for several months already, knew what his actual smiles looked like, and it was not like that. His expression had changed in a blink too. 

Rurumu gestured to Ja’far, acting as Difficult Customer #1. 

“Hmph! Hmph!” Sticking his nose in the air, Ja’far made overemphasized sounds of disgust as he swaggered up to Alibaba’s… stall. This kid had definitely never shopped before. 

“Welcome, sir!” Alibaba greeted him a bright, sugary tone. “What are you looking for today? Could I interest you in some of our exciting new merchandize? Straight from the extreme north, Imuchakk itself! We have anything for anyone, I assure you that you’ll be satisfied!” 

Ja’far had opened his mouth, teeth bared, to retort something immediately after the first sentence, but Alibaba’s quick, loud offers interrupted him one after another, giving him no room to say anything. By the end, the assassin was left glaring mutely, too unsure whether it was his turn to talk yet. 

Just when he thought that it was safe, Alibaba cut him off yet again. 

“This way, this way, sir!” he beamed, gesturing emphatically toward the storefront of crates. “Take a look at these wares! This carving, isn’t it particularly exceptional?” It was actually a broken plank. “What about this weapon? Doesn’t it just radiate fierce strength?” It was a bent hook. “And this--! And this--! And this--!” 

Ja’far did try to talk at several points, but his voice was completely drowned out. Since Alibaba was still smiling happily at him, the assassin looked increasingly at a loss, frozen in place. 

This was basically bullying. 

“F-fine! Fine, I’ll take it! Just shut up!” Ja’far roared, snatching the… short loop of ragged rope… that Alibaba had been showing in his face with enthusiastic praise of its craftsmanship. Ja’far held it up like he was going to strangle Alibaba with it, but he once again had no chance. 

“That will be twenty silvers! Quite a steal, wouldn’t you say?” Alibaba said brightly, crowding in with his hand outstretched and no sense of self-preservation. “Will you pay with coin or bank credit? We, of course, have a close relationship with all the major banks in the city. Please choose whichever method is most convenient, sir!” 

His smile widened. “Of course, if you are unable to pay at this time… We understand! How can you resist such a fine item! We offer a range of very fair credit options.” 

In rural Parthevia, there were no loan sharks, since no one had anything left to loan. However, Sinbad still felt a sudden, instinctive chill go down his spine. Ja’far, who had survived and made his way to the top of Sham Lash at the tender age of 13, felt the same. Without thinking, he hastily fumbled for something to pay with. 

Finding nothing, he leaned away, sweat beginning to stand out across his brow. He didn’t seem to dare to look away from Alibaba’s unchanging smile. When his blindly searching hands closed around a pouch at his waist, he thrust it out. 

It was, in fact, full of chalk from the slate they used for their writing lessons. However, Alibaba accepted it as if it was the promised twenty silvers. 

“Thank you, good sir! We look forward to seeing you again!” he said, already waving. Of course, Ja’far was already jumping three steps back, one hand clutching a metal dart... while the other still held his newly purchased rope. 

“Very aggressive,” Rurumu commented in a praising tone. 

Wasn’t that... too aggressive, actually? 

Alibaba’s aggressive sales smile dropped as quickly as he’d assumed it to begin with, leaving a far more natural, neutral expression. “Every sale is a battle,” he said very seriously. “Your voice, your expression, your words are all your weapons, and you have to use them well. That’s what it means to be a merchant!” 

The reactions were varied -- Rurumu continued to smile, Sinbad nodded along earnestly, Ja’far just looked disgusted and disbelieving. Hinahoho had managed to excuse himself to mind the ship’s course, and Mahad did his utmost to fade into the background as another piece of the ship. Vittel stroked his chin in thought. 

“Alright, I think I see,” he said. “Let me try?” 

Alibaba gestured him forward. As Difficult Customer #2 stepped up, the salesman of the makeshift stall turned away and back -- and revealed a bright, creepy smile again. 

“Welcome, good sir! Could I interest you in some of our exciting new merchandize...?” 

~.~ 

Vittel was also soundly defeated, despite his best approximation of someone with beady eyes and an upturned nose, picking and needling at every small detail -- someone real, it seemed, from Ja’far’s disgusted expression and Mahad’s shaking shoulders. In the end, he was forced to depart with several broken seashells, looking not entirely sure where and how he’d been outmaneuvered. 

After that, Rurumu began her lessons. Unfortunately, it was immediately obvious that most of them did not have a head for broader theory, whether of buying and selling or broader social behaviors. But Rurumu was an Imuchakk, and she knew how to handle people who did not like to think too deeply. 

Instead, they drilled. 

How to call out to passersby, how to greet a potential customer, how to introduce themselves, even. Repeating the same phrases over and over as they were corrected on their tone, expression and posture. 

The results were naturally mixed. Mahad slowly but steadily adjusted from his trained body language of looming and intimidation to the opposite, practicing faithfully even though he would not be expected to handle sales alone. Vittel progressed well too, having a good head on his shoulders. Ja’far was good when he tried, but only had the patience to try twice before losing his temper and beginning to swear or threaten, or both. 

Sinbad was, of course, a natural. 

After walking him through the basics and having him repeat them back with impressive sparkle and passion, Rurumu dismissed him to focus on her other pupils, leaving Sinbad free to drift over to the sidelines, where Alibaba was watching their progress. 

“How did I do? Any pointers?” Sinbad immediately fished for compliments and advice. 

“You’re amazing,” Alibaba said frankly. “You could probably earn a fortune within a day with just your charisma. If there’s anything… don’t flirt.” 

Sinbad made a face. “Why? It works.” 

“Sometimes. And then sometimes it really backfires,” Alibaba said. “You can get good results without the flirting, but the bad results will be a total failure. It’s safer not to do it at all.” 

“What’s the point of choosing just the safe way? I want to change the world,” Sinbad shot back, shrugging. He waved a hand flippantly. “Besides, I have good instincts. I can tell the direction of the flow. I’ll know if I’m about to make a big mistake.” 

...At least, he thought so. He had never misstepped in a way serious enough that he couldn’t recover from it. But given all the dangerous situations he’d been in, including two dungeons capable of killing entire armies, wasn’t that proof in its own way? 

He was a special person, chosen by destiny. 

“I don’t know if you’re confident or just arrogant,” Alibaba sighed. 

“What’s wrong with being confident?” Sinbad laughed. “You could be more confident yourself. You’re so good at everything, and you always know what to do. You have treasure and a djinn’s power. What are you worrying so much for?” 

He kept his tone light and casual, but it was a question he sometimes wondered about. 

“W-wha--?” Choking, Alibaba stared at him with an expression of comical shock. “What?!” 

What was that reaction? Sinbad’s eyebrows rose and his smile curled with amusement. 

“I’m good at everything? I always know what to do? Me?” Alibaba pointed at himself, full of disbelief. He huffed. “Are you making fun of me?” 

“Well, aren’t you?” Sinbad wondered. 

“No way,” Alibaba replied immediately. 

Making a thoughtful sound, Sinbad didn’t protest although he still didn’t really understand. From his perspective, Alibaba was very capable. 

Obviously, he was a king vessel and a dungeon conqueror. He could use the djinn’s power exceptionally well, and even without that, his swordwork was exceptional. He could think on his feet when in danger and was obviously not inexperienced with combat. From Sinbad’s observations, he didn’t lose out by much to Drakon, an actual soldier and officer in the Parthevian army. 

But even more than that, Alibaba had been able to adjust to every situation they’d been through. He could manage money, he could even make more, he knew how to read and write, he could negotiate and trade and talk to even Rurumu as an equal. Even when he spent some time worrying and pacing first, he had always settled on something and proceeded with it eventually. 

It wasn’t like Sinbad felt he couldn’t match him. But Sinbad was aware that he often had to rely on his intuition and luck for opportunities that he didn’t always understand and couldn’t replicate purposefully. It worked out for him, and he had confidence that it would continue to do so, but wasn’t there something impressive about doing the same without his gift? 

In a way, it was no surprise that Sinbad couldn’t pull him along the way he had with all the others. Probably, Alibaba had his own path that he wouldn’t bend so easily to Sinbad’s will. 

He just wondered… What kind of path was it? 

Alibaba had a goal of some kind and a purpose. He had his reasons for going to Valefor and now to Reim. He had probably had a reason for going into Amon’s dungeon in the first place as well, although it wasn’t possible to tell whether the two were one and the same. 

He didn’t seem to care much about a djinn’s power, so perhaps his goal had been the treasure. Sinbad hadn’t missed Alibaba’s concern for ensuring Miss Anise’s livelihood and residence. Of course, he hadn’t missed their resemblance either, or the fact that Alibaba -- poorly -- tried to hide the name he shared with her young son. 

It was easy to guess something like siblings, maybe close cousins, separated after the sister had a child out of wedlock and was chased out of the family, and the brother than helping her in secret. 

It fit. 

But it also didn’t. 

It was probably… only part of the story. 

Because Valefor’s dungeon had only appeared days before they arrived, long after they’d sent out from Balbadd specifically aiming for a dungeon in the extreme north. Because Alibaba had tried to ask the djinn about “the gate between worlds,” which was a thing there was no reason for even kings to care about. Because even Rametoto, so far from Parthevia, had heard of Baal’s dungeon and Sinbad’s conquest of it, but no one ever mentioned a dungeon in Qishan. 

Because Alibaba had looked so shocked when he heard Baal’s name. What was it that he’d been expecting? Sometimes, Sinbad wondered. 

Was that why he felt he wasn’t doing well -- a difference in expectations? By the standards of a village boy, they had already been successful beyond all belief. But maybe by the standards of a king vessel… 

They had only just gotten started. 

But it was a good beginning, of this Sinbad was certain. 

Grinning, he slapped Alibaba across the back and draped an arm over his shoulders. They were almost the same height now, and the extra weight made Alibaba stoop so they were evenly face to face. “Anyway, you’re pretty great, you know,” Sinbad said, lightly knocking their foreheads together as he leaned in. “So don’t worry so much! It’ll be fine! I guarantee it!” 

Alibaba’s entire expression twitched into a squiggly line, too many vivid emotions blurring into a general feeling of ‘why are you like this’ that was very familiar to Sinbad. 

“Well,” he said finally, his tone dry and crumbling. “Thanks.” 

Sinbad burst out laughing. 

~.~ 

From Imuchakk to Reim was somewhere around a month or two of sailing, depending on the weather and the skill of the crew. With Sinbad’s ability to read the waves and the wind, it was possible they’d make it even faster. The only concern might have been keeping an accurate heading, but Rametoto had provided some old navigation charts for them, from the days where the Imuchakk were feared as unstoppable raiders, before they isolated themselves from the rest of the world. 

Although both Alibaba and Rurumu could read them, their knowledge of sailing was mostly theoretical, so Sinbad preferred to take care of navigation himself. He didn’t mind -- there was something very peaceful about studying the night sky and matching up the constellations to mark their way, alone except for the sound of the waves and the wind. 

Well, maybe not entirely alone. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sinbad asked, smiling. 

Scowling a little, Ja’far stepped out of the shadows of the cabin, his footsteps finally making sound again. He hadn’t been trying to hide, precisely, but it was annoying having even his minor efforts to remain quiet seen through by a bumpkin from the seaside. 

His frustration was amusing, so Sinbad would never tell him that he hadn’t actually been able to tell who was there or the precise location. He had just known there was someone nearby, instinctively. That was why he had continued to watch the sky and the sea, instead of turning around. 

It was tempting to offer a bedtime story, but the atmosphere wasn’t quite right. Silently, Sinbad waited. 

“We need to talk,” Ja’far said, grim and rough. He glared at Sinbad, as if daring him to make some quip. 

Sinbad only raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said, turning to give Ja’far his full attention. “Let’s talk.” 

Pursing his lips, Ja’far nodded sharply. “Who is that guy? And how much do you trust him?” he said, direct and uncompromising. He scowled. “And don’t you dare ask me who I mean! That guy is too weird, you can’t have missed it! Where did he come from? How can he have a djinn? It doesn’t make any sense!” 

“Yeah, it doesn’t,” Sinbad agreed. “But I kind of like that.” 

“Like…? Are you stupid?” Ja’far wondered. 

Sinbad laughed. “Come on, isn’t it fascinating? Trying to figure out what’s going on with Alibaba is such a great mystery. I’ve been turning it over in my head, but I can’t imagine what his deal might be. It has to be something amazing, right?” 

This approach was incredibly lackadaisy, and Ja’far wasn’t wrong to give Sinbad a look full of disbelief and disgust. Part of it was that Sinbad had always wanted to remain someone who would be open to others, even after everything that happened with Darius. He hadn’t turned away Yunan, no matter how suspicious the self-proclaimed ‘wanderer’ was. And he hadn’t turned away Alibaba either, no matter how inexplicable his circumstances. 

And hadn’t both of them ended up being a great help to Sinbad? 

“He’s a djinn-user you don’t know anything about!” Ja’far protested. “He’s dangerous!” 

Leaning back against the mast, Sinbad tilted his head back to look at the stars again. “Hm... do you really think that? I don’t. That Alibaba? What part of him is threatening?” 

There wasn’t any part, of course. Alibaba was incredibly un-threatening, in fact. When interacting with him, he simply felt like an ordinary person, without any pretense or hidden side. Even Ja’far hadn’t been able to find anything concrete to latch on to. 

Except for the mystery of his origins, anyway. 

“It’s just that you think he’s dangerous, it’s that you don’t know anything about him and you can’t trust him,” Sinbad judged. “So how about this? Trust in me instead. And I trust him.” 

Ja’far’s face scrunched up in frustration, but he didn’t refuse. He couldn’t. After all, he had agreed to become one of Sinbad’s comrades, and even a former assassin like him could understand that this required a certain trust. But he had never trusted anyone, not since his parents. Not since their blood on his hands... 

“...And me?” he muttered, looking away, his lips pressed together tightly. “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course,” Sinbad answered without hesitation. 

A complicated expression creased Ja’far’s face, but before Sinbad could begin to make sense of it, he looked away with a huff. “Stupid,” Ja’far berated. “Trusting an assassin? It would serve you right if I was just getting close to stab you in the back later.” 

“But you’re not going to,” Sinbad said with absolute confidence. 

He could no longer resist, seeing the way Ja’far’s back hunched and his hair puffed up like an angry cat. Reaching out, he clamped a hand on the boy’s head and began to rub vigorously -- all while laughing in the obnoxious way that would have gotten him pushed into a barrel by Alibaba, if he had been present. 

A shudder of horror went through Ja’far, and he began to hiss and splutter, flailing at Sinbad, who only chortoled. 

Although he pretended to wince at the small fists hitting his chest haphazardly, Sinbad knew Ja’far wouldn’t put up more than token protest, much less actually hurt him. It was ‘trust’, but also his instincts, the same ones that had guided him to offer to make Ja’far his comrade in the first place. And those instincts, that ability to see the flow, had never steered him wrong. 

Alibaba was the one person he could never get a precise read on, as if he did not belong in the flow at all. Maybe Ja’far was right and that should have made him wary, but Sinbad felt only curious, more and more so. 

After all, he had always dreamed of finding the new and unexplored, beyond his knowledge and the horizon. 

To him, first and foremost, Alibaba was fascinating. But also -- even if he walked a path separate from Sindria -- a friend. 

~.~

[turtle-steverogers]

Whatever it Takes

hey guys so i’ve been in a wiggy place lately, which means my brain is doing some wiggy things and i keep starting fics and not finishing cuz i guess i’m just waiting for something that clicks, ya know? 

anyway bear with me, here’s something else! but it feels like it’s clicking more than other things recently so we’ll see lolololol

(plus its a really fun concept)

relationship: sprace

warnings: mentions of death, but no one, like, is dead...

editing: no

word count: 2853

Chap 1

Spot awoke with an overcompensating gasp, eyes flying open as the world came crashing back.  He remained still, slowly taking note of his current condition.  His right cheek was pressed to the ground, the musty smell of the wet, grimy dirt suffocating him.  His head hurt dully, but not nearly enough to concern him to any alarming extent.  Just a simple, tension headache- probably from staying face down for so long.

He was shivering, belatedly realizing how stiff his limbs were.  They were splayed at awkward angles, twisting in ways that couldn’t be healthy.  He could hear the sound of rushing water, creating a cacophony of white noise around him.  He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his vision.  Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing when his joint cracked painfully.  He rolled his neck a few times, groaning as his body gradually loosened.

Stretching his arms above him, he looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings.  He was in what appeared to be a park.  Stretches of trimmed green grass surrounded him, encompassed only by small clusters of hedges and mini trees.  To his left, a wide river flowed magnificently.  Manhattan stood proudly on the other side of the river and Spot started, turning around hastily to see the Brooklyn Bridge standing hauntingly behind him.

When the hell did he get to Brooklyn?  Where the hell was he?  What happened?

He wracked his memory, trying to recall any details that would clue him in to his current situation, but nothing jumped out.  All he could remember was excruciating pain giving way to loud voices, insufferable heat, numbing cold, then silence.  And darkness.  So much darkness.

He shuddered, unsure of what exactly had put him off.  Though given the little he could remember, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

He looked down at himself, frowning at his outfit.  He was wearing a pair of simple, straight legged, grey sweatpants and no shoes.  A loose fitting black shirt hung limply on his frame.  Suddenly, fleeting images of something white hot being pressed to his chest flew through his mind and he gasped, lifting his shirt hastily.  He wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for- a scar perhaps- but his torso was completely unscathed.  In fact, as he assessed himself mentally, nothing seemed out of the ordinary externally.

He pat his pockets, looking for a phone, maybe.  Anything really that could assist him in gathering his bearings.  But all he found was a coin.  He squinted at it, running his fingers over the cool copper.  It didn’t look like currency.  Rather, it looked like an emblem of some sort.  There was a slew of indiscernible etchings on either side and as he turned it over in his hands, he noticed that it was significantly thicker than any coin he’d ever seen before.  It was more of a medallion than anything.

He took a breath, steeling himself as he stood up.  His legs shook violently and he pitched to the side, stumbling for a moment before finding his footing.  He walked on wobbly legs towards the street, wondering distantly what time it was.  The sun was fairly high in the sky, casting a warm glow throughout Brooklyn.  Not many people were at the park, but as he neared the main road, he could make out voices chattering mildly to one another.  The air was cool, but fair, raising another question about what time of year it was.  Spring?  Early Summer?  Somewhere around there.  

He paused, swallowing around a dry throat as he stepped onto the sidewalk, looking out towards the shops that lined the street across from him.  People crowded outside coffee shops, dining pleasantly in the outdoor seating.  

Must be breakfast time, Spot thought to himself, biting his lip as hunger rumbled through his stomach.  If only he had some actual money.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Spot startled, breathing in sharply as he looked to the side.  A short, young woman stood beside him, gentle concern written on her face.  She had a kind demeanor radiating off of her, putting Spot at ease.  

“You don’t look so good,” She said delicately, “Is there anyone I can call for you?  A cab?”

Spot blinked, shifting his jaw as he tried to decide where to go from the confusing shitshow he was already in.  He wanted to go...home.  Wherever that meant.  He had an address in mind, but he wasn’t entirely sure where it lead to.  It just felt right.

“Uh,” his voice was hoarse, cracking from lack of use.  He cleared his throat, intending to ask for directions, but instead blurting, “What’s the date?”

The woman’s eyes flicked imperceptibly and she cocked her head, “It’s June 4.”

Spot nodded slowly, “And the year?”

The woman pursed her lips, “2019,” she said skeptically.

Spot felt the air leave his lungs.  2019!?  The last New Years he remembered celebrating was 2015.  What the fuck was going on?

He quickly masked his internal dilemma, opting instead to finally figure out where the hell he was going and how the hell he was going to get there.

He flicked a finger under his nose, clearing his throat again, “Yeah, uh, where is...uh….1365 Saint Nicholas Avenue?”

The woman hummed, pulling out her phone hastily and putting the address into Google Maps, “Uh, looks like that’s over in Washington Heights.  Bit of a ways, do you want me to get you that cab?”

“Yeah, please,” Spot said distractedly, much too preoccupied with whatever could be waiting for him in Washington Heights to show the gratitude he felt.  Why would he feel inclined to go there?  His home was in Brooklyn, wasn’t it?  

“Alright, gimme a sec,” The woman paced away from Spot a few steps, waiting at the edge of the sidewalk for a few minutes before flagging down a taxi.  She leaned through the window, conversing with the taxi driver for a few minutes before pulling a credit card from her purse and swiftly swiping it across the E-payer.

“Alright,” She said, waving Spot over, “He knows where you’re headed and you’re all paid for.”

“Whoa, you didn’t have to pay-”

“It’s fine, honestly,” The woman assured him, “You looked like you could use a little more than just a helping hand.”

“Thank you so much,” Spot said, still feeling dazed and confused.

The woman gave him a reassuring smile, waving lightly as Spot climbed into the cab.  He waved back, barely remembering to buckle himself as they sped away from the curb.  Spot sat back in his seat leaning his head against the cool glass of the window as they traveled through the city.  The sun seemed to rise higher as they went, warming the inside of the car to a comfortable temperature.  Spot felt his eyes drooping closed and he allowed himself to slip into a uneasy doze.

“We’re here,” The cab driver grunted some time later, pulling Spot from his sleep.  

Spot opened his eyes reluctantly, scrubbing a hand down his face and grimacing when it came away dirty.  Apparently he was still grungy from whatever stint he’d had near the East River.

“Uh, thanks,” Spot grumbled, climbing unceremoniously from the car and peering up at the apartment complex in front of him.  

A strange sense of familiarity washed over him and he felt an inadvertent lump rise in his throat.  He hadn’t felt safety like this in ages.  Pure will drove his legs to take him inside and he only just remembered to ask what floor the address what on.

A short elevator ride later, he was walking on shaky legs down a narrow hallway on the fourth floor, his heart in his throat.  He arrived at the apartment, nostalgia gripping him like a vice as he stared at the heavy, wooden door.  The door wasn’t at all different from the other doors in the hall, but something about it seemed routine- as if he’d knocked on this door thousands of times before.  Perhaps once, he owned a key to this door.  Walked over its threshold day after greeting...greeting someone.  Someone was waiting for him on the other side of that door.  Someone had been waiting for him on the other side of that door.

He lifted his fist and rapped his knuckles against the dark wood, waiting with baited breath as a voice sounded from the other side.

“Just a sec!”  

Spot gasped, heart clenching.  He’d heard that voice before.  It was part of him.  That voice had bombarded his life, its jarring loudness charming him in a way he couldn’t explain.  He’d missed that voice.

Less than a minute later, the door opened and on the other side stood a man.  He was taller than Spot by a good amount, with a mop of blonde curly hair mussed carelessly on his head.  His bright blue eyes were accentuated by dark circles and he was dressed in a pair of old jeans and a ratty sweatshirt.  He looked unkempt, but it was evident that he’d seen worse times.  The longer Spot stared at him, not wavering under the awed stare that watched him back, the more he longed to reach out and touch him.  God had he missed that face.

The guy let out a shaky breath, mouth hanging slightly agape as he looked Spot up and down.  His eyes were shadowed by something, shock outweighing any other emotion.

Something seemed to build in the guy and he let out a little whimper, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt- something Spot knew he did when he was overwhelmed or anxious.

“Sean,” He breathed, utter disbelief dripping in his words.

Spot smiled a little, overwhelmed energy building in him as well, “Hi, Racer.”

Race huffed out what could have been a laugh, though his face remained stunned, “You- I- how?”

Spot shook his head, running a hand through his dirty hair, “I don’t know.”

“No, like...I- you,” Race sucked in a breath, glimmering eyes searching Spot.  He hadn’t moved from his place in the doorway, stance pensive- as if he were afraid that he was being tricked, “you’re dead, Spot.  You died three years ago, I saw-”  He cut himself off, choking a little as he lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, trying in vain, not to breakdown, “How?”  He repeated.

Spot took a small step back, wavering a little where he stood as Race’s words sunk in, “What?”

Race cocked his head, “What’s what?”

“I...I what?”

“You...died,” Race said again, softening slightly, “Do you not remember?”

The world seemed to rush away from Spot and suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself up.

“No,” He said, his own words sounding miles away, “I don’t remember...anything really.”

“Jesus,” Race sighed, finally removing his hand from the doorknob and reaching out towards Spot.  

Spot closed his eyes as Race’s palm found his cheek, relishing in the feeling of human contact.  Kind human contact.  He reached up his own hand, placing it over Race’s and squeezing it.  He felt his own tears well up in his eyes and he moved Race’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them fiercely.  Then, he was being pulled into a hug.  Warmth and intimacy enveloped him as he melted into the embrace, taking hold of the back of Race’s shirt in tight fists.

“I thought,” Race forced through clenched teeth, “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

Spot burrowed his nose in the crook of Race’s neck, drinking in his presence, “I’m so lost, Race,”  He admitted, pulling back, “I have no idea what’s going on and I don’t know why I can remember you and where you fucking live, but not what the hell happened to me and-” he dropped his head against Race’s chest, “I’m fucking scared.”

Race gently coaxed his head up.  They studied each other for a moment, both at a loss of what to say.  How do you handle seeing your lover after fuck knows how long?  Especially when you apparently died.

Race opened and closed his mouth a few times, then he reached down and carefully took both of Spot’s hands, “Let’s go inside.”

“Yeah,” Spot agreed, relieved that they weren’t attempting to piece through the daunting puzzle right away.

Race took a measured breath, keeping one of his hands intertwined with Spot’s as he lead him into the apartment.  Spot couldn’t remember much of what it looked like last time he was there, but it seemed to be dimmer now- more sullen.  The living room was strewn with various sheets of paper.  Some were crumpled, some were in perfect shape, but none of them looked organize.  Spot could see Race’s messy scrawl on each sheet, noting how the font on some of them looked larger and angrier than others.  The carpet beneath them had a few questionable looking stains on them, the scariest being the small, rust red one near the couch.  The others simply looked like old beer stains, which wasn’t much more comforting.

From what Spot could see, the rest of the apartment didn’t look much happier.  All of it seemed dim.  Places where Spot was sure pictures had once been mounted were bare, showcasing instead the dilapidated wallpaper and rotting wood.  It didn’t seem to be a pleasant environment to live in.

“Oof, sorry ‘bout all this,” Race said, hurriedly picking up an armful of paper from the couch and dropping it bluntly on the floor.

Spot carefully avoided stepping on any of the papers as he made his way to the couch, sinking into the cushions, “What is all this anyway?” He asked, gesturing to the mess that surrounded them.

Race flushed, eyes casting downwards as he sat next to Spot, “Oh, uh, after you, like, died...I kinda didn’t handle things too well,” Spot’s brain immediately flashed to the alcohol stains that painted the carpet, “so after a few months of...that, Jack forced me to wade through my shit a different way.  So, I, uh, I started writing.” He finished sheepishly, still avoiding Spot’s gaze.

Spot looked down at the mound of papers next to him, curiosity driving him to reach out towards one.

“No!” Race’s voice froze Spot in his actions, “Uh, I kinda don’t let anyone read them.  They’re kinda...well, I just don’t like people reading them.”

Spot nodded slowly, receiving the signal to change the subject, “Jack, huh?  How is he?  How is everyone?  Just how much did I fucking miss?”

Race chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “So much, but uh, everyone’s...fine.  No one’s great per say.  Haven’t really been since...yeah, but we’ve all managed.  Some better than others…”

They were quiet for a moment, both lost in separate memories.  Spot couldn’t recall much of his friends, but it was all slowly ebbing its way back into his mind.  It was as if Race’s apartment were a catalyst to all the experiences he’d lost when he’d allegedly passed away.

“So…” Spot started weakly, fearing what his question might bring, but the thirst for any kind of answers outweighed his uncertainty, “I died?”

Race nodded solemnly and Spot plowed on, “How?”

Race squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing the heels of his palms to his forehead, “Fifteen gunshots to the chest.  Right through your heart.  That’s what the autopsy determined anyway.”

“I was...shot?  Multiple times?” Spot asked, dumbfounded, “Are you sure?”

“I mean, no,” Race said, leaning back against the arm of the couch, “It’s not like I saw it happen, but I did see your body at the morgue and there was a gaping fucking hole in your chest, so…” he trailed off for a moment, frustrated energy emanating off of him, “I don’t fucking get it!” He burst out suddenly, “You were dead! I watched them bury you!”

Spot stared dazedly at his hands, “I don’t get it either, because,” he worried his lip between his teeth, lifting his shirt to reveal his chest, “There’s no gunshot wound, not even any evidence that there ever was one.”

Race’s eyes widened and leaned forwards, ghosting his fingers over Spot’s left pec, right above his heart.

“That’s impossible,” Race murmured, “You were shot clean through.”

Spot hunched away from him, allowing his shirt to drop back down, “Yeah, well, apparently I wasn’t.”

Race dropped his head into his hands, “None of this makes sense.”

Spot idly picked at the dried dirt on his cheek, at a loss for words, “No, it doesn’t,” He said after a pregnant pause.

Race looked at him again, the previous grievance giving way to adoration, “It’s really fucking good to have you back,” he shifted so that he was leaning into Spot’s side.

Spot ran a hand through Race’s curls, working his fingers through the tangles and knots.  How hard had Race taken his death?  If this was still him after three years, how bad had he been in the beginning?

Spot dropped a kiss onto the top of his head, “It’s really fucking good to be back.”

-

hi yah so i popped this on ao3 the other night so chap 2 is almost done but yah dont yell at me 

also fun fact remember the scary teaser i posted earlier? thats from chap 2 so yeehaw brothers

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[wardencommanderrodimiss]

@sundayswiththeilluminati replied to your photoset 

“Accidentally came up with two separate Good Omens fanfic concepts...”

Here's the real question though: does anyone ever try to sell/buy magical books at Aziraphale's bookshop, and what does he do with them if they do? Are magical books Not Allowed as per heaven, or does he end up running a sideline in magical texts since all of them are hilariously basic to him and he can part with them without guilt?

Your answer is provided in the form of a fanfic in which only the latter half relates to the question, but all of which I had far, far too much fun writing.

--

There is a disagreement between Heaven and Hell, as there are wont to be, about which side is responsible for unleashing magic among humanity. The suggestion that it was part of God’s design from the start - that it was in fact of neither angelic nor demonic origins - has been made exactly once, by Aziraphale, who only made this suggestion as a counter to Crowley’s suggestion that magic came about in humans for a reason to do with that flaming sword which Adam and Eve spent so much time about. Crowley then mockingly dismissed Aziraphale’s suggestion by hissing “ineffable” a few dozen times, as they were both a few bottles deep at that point and actually more concerned with heckling each other (and, more simply, with each other) than they were with unlocking the great secrets of Godly intent and Her design. 

This is not to say that Heaven and Hell, and of course more specifically Aziraphale and Crowley, have not meddled prolifically in the affairs of wizardry. It would be easy to blame Crowley for the existence of the Chamber of Secrets, for instance; and he may have taken credit for it but it pressed might confess that a basilisk is quite a bit too nasty for his tastes, that castle is full of children, and he just thought it would be nice for one of the Founders to appreciate snakes - they get such a bad rap, snakes, so undeservedly, and wouldn’t it be nice if they got to be the mascot of one of these Houses too? A bit of appreciation for snakes, really, is all he swayed Salazar Slytherin toward. How was he to know that the bastard would take it so far? And it ended with snakes getting a worse rap because of Slytherin himself, too. This last matter is how you are assured that Crowley had any hand in it at all, because the undercutting of his own intent is a typical Crowley design feature. 

(Crowley would also like to make the assurance that he had nothing in any way to do with Gilderoy Lockhart, even though Gilderoy Lockhart’s habit of claiming credit for things he did not do is also typical Crowley. Gilderoy Lockhart did not have Hell breathing down his neck demanding temptations be done, and frankly it is Hell itself who ascribes credit to Crowley for human inventions and he who simply nods and agrees and then goes to see what humanity has done to itself this time. Gilderoy Lockhart is no demon; he is, by Crowley’s standard of demonic, which is a very mild standard of demonic, much worse.)

Hogwarts’ moving staircases are to Crowley’s actual credit, however. That the sweets shop Honeydukes is built atop a direct secret passage to Hogwarts, allowing discerning students to eat their fill any time, is to Aziraphale’s.

-

To back up for a moment to the broadest scale - setting aside, for a moment, a particular angel and demon - neither Heaven nor Hell sees magic as an affront to themselves. Both know what they do is miracles, not magic, a subtle distinction in that magic has many more limitations than miracles. And even then, Heaven and Hell often conflate the two terms anyway. No one ever accused either of them of holding to strict logical consistency. 

Heaven is unsure whether magic was meant to end up in human hands, given the difficulty they often have over wielding it and the way it spills out of magical children like their bodies cannot contain the power they hold, but God’s intelligent design also includes both wisdom teeth and the intricate and delicate bones of the shoulder, so by that reasoning magic cannot be refuted as something that was part of Her original drafts. Hell does not care, because humans are easily tempted in their most basic forms, and the ones who carry small wooden sticks that assist them in thinking they can channel the full power of magic can even more easily be swayed to catastrophic choices, by virtue of how they are almost never found without those sticks upon them, ready and willing to attempt something that will likely go wrong. Demons are very fond of wizardry. 

Most of the wizarding side of British society is thus of demonic (read: Crowley’s) influence. This includes the rates of magical currency (29 knuts to a sickle, 17 sickles to a galleon) while Hogwarts does not teach any kind of maths courses (Arithmancy is absolutely not maths); rats becoming a popular pet in a society that to function is required to be full of owls; the practice of storing sole copies of prophecies in glass orbs on unstable shelves (Agnes Nutter was an innovator simply by writing hers down on paper); the given name of Harry Potter’s middle child; the entire sport of Quidditch; and some pervasive erroneous beliefs about unicorns.

(Crowley very much likes unicorns, ever since he watched one, survival and God’s plan be damned, book it as far from Noah’s boat as it could. He was thrilled to find that more than the one left on the boat had survived the flood, because they are beautiful and stupid and that is a combination that Crowley holds certain affection for. They are also quite soft and drool a little less than horses and have the added capacity to gore someone with a headbutt. The value of their hair, horns, and blood - though not drool, which is a shame, because Crowley could do a bustling business trading in unicorn drool - means that wizards seek them out, and that means that Crowley seeks to vex them. It is very wily and evil of him to keep the humans from those powerful magic healing properties, of course.) 

(One of his methods of diverting the casual unicorn-seeker was through the creation and spread of falsehoods about the kind of people whose presence unicorns tolerate. A few stray remarks, some influence applied to make sure it is believed, about “purity” being required to approach unicorns, and the wizards did the rest, deciding it seemed like girls were more able to approach unicorns. Thus already roughly half of the populace is discouraged from attempting, and the rest given weird hang-ups about it. Of course, this is all ridiculous, because Crowley, as a demon, ascribes to gender only when he wants to, and would be described by no one as “pure” in any way. Crowley did once attempt to describe himself as “pure evil, and unicorns only sense purity, so that counts” but he was promptly called a bitch by Newt Scamander and banned from the Leaky Cauldron again. He did not care, because drinking is only really fun with Aziraphale, and the fact of the matter remained that he still gets to cuddle unicorns when no one else does.)

-

There is a mild, subtle war fought between Heaven and Hell over most instructive books on magic. That is if “mild” and “subtle” could be taken to mean that there is one generally book-loving angel who very much disdains these particular books, and one generally book-agnostic demon who very much loves them. 

Wizarding Britain does not have a robust publishing industry. Wizarding Britain does not have robust anything, excepting their robustly ineffectual and expansive bureaucracy, but Aziraphale finds their literature particularly shameful. Surely some of this is owing to the limits of the courses offered at Hogwarts, where language and spelling is whatever of the form of your homework essays, as opposed to the much more valued content of said essays, that a professor chooses to comment on. (In a certain era, much of the spelling tutelage for a generation of Hogwarts students came from their Potions essays, because Severus Snape took a certain glee in marking up as much as he possibly could and watching the faces of students as they found their parchment returned to them covered in red ink even though the substance of their essays was sound.) 

This may also be a consequence of the way British wizarding society has a certain cultural stagnancy. The way things are done is the way things are done. (In this manner it reminds of Heaven and Hell and their inability to keep with the times on Earth. This is also another reason that demons like wizards, because they don’t have to keep up with new technology like “personal phones” and “computers”.) Hogwarts curriculum does not update with any regularity and looks much the same as it did 400 years ago, variation arriving mostly with the competency of the professors. 

And magic is what is valued, so magic is what books are written on. And while wizarding Britain has its innovators - it has humans, so inevitably it has innovators creating new spells, potions, and devices - they are not so encouraged and valued. And often they do not bother to write books. 

As a result, the bulk of the book movement through wizarding Britain is Hogwarts textbooks, which are rarely updated. The edition numbers occasionally change, as do a sentence or two of the interior, but Aziraphale lacks interest in any of it. He lacks an interest in all of this sort of magic. He cannot perform it - as a celestial being he can do far more anyway - and it cannot be learned - unlike coin tricks and sleights-of-hand and rabbits - and there is nothing exceptional in the writing or rarity of any of it. The wizarding books that Aziraphale has interest in are settled firmly in the great library of Hogwarts, and not for sale, though Aziraphale has made offers. He had then considered theft but decided that theft from a school was a certain step too far. 

(The one wizarding book that Aziraphale both cares about and possesses is a first-edition The Tales of Beedle the Bard, who is not Aziraphale’s favorite bard. However, Aziraphale does find “The Tale of the Three Brothers” to be an interesting look at the wizarding perspective on death. It is an inaccurate one, of course; Death does not grant boons, not even ones that will become curses to sooner send their holders into his hands. That is the parlance of demonic temptations, and Crowley will freely admit, though he has gotten numerous commendations for the Elder Wand over the centuries, that like Slytherin’s basilisk, the humans took the whole thing a bit too far.)

At any rate, Aziraphale’s bookshop was prominently placed on the map of wizarding London when he offered to purchase some certain unique volumes from Hogwarts, and this has been a curse of his own making, as more usually happens to Crowley. The wizarding population of London had, since the opening of A.Z. Fell and Co., admittedly always considered it one of theirs, in the same way that the Muggle population eventually came to consider it a front for the mafia, but the uptick of attempts to sell wizarding books back to the shop, or wizarding books just being left amidst the stacks, definitely corresponded with the one time Aziraphale made official contact with wizarding Britain. These magical books are a blight upon his bookshop and he would have miracled himself into being forgotten by Britain’s wizardry some time in 1847 were it not for the Arrangement.

That being, Crowley likes the books dropped at Aziraphale’s shop, often books on Hogwarts’ reading list, which are the most often sold, because it is very easy to accomplish simultaneously temptations and miracles with them.

Since the mid 1800s, it is known, amongst the poorer population of wizarding Britain, that there is a particular drop point in Diagon Alley where, if you are in need enough, you can find almost any relatively-common book that you were not able to afford but was necessary for your education. “In need enough” and “necessary” are miracles with much wiggle room. For instance, in 1992, the Weasley twins did not strictly need NEWT-level Charms and Transfiguration textbooks for their courses at Hogwarts, but they needed them to properly innovate on their pranks. 

Providing magical knowledge for free is, of course, very demonic, given the capacity for destruction by the untrained wizard, especially if that knowledge is far above their years. It is in fact incredibly necessary that it be for free, else parents or guardians would stop them. 

Truly, another genius ploy from the wily serpent. 

Almost as good as the bit with the unicorns.