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acacia-may · 2 months

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*sheepishly pokes my head in*

If oc x cc ships are okay, then can I ask for Lyra's ships of Yuno x Neva and William x Zera, and mine Fuegoleon x Solara 🥺👉👈

Hi Laura! No need to be sheepish. 💖 Thank you so much for the ask and for indulging my ramblings. I think it's incredibly sweet that you've asked about @lyranova's pairings. They're lovely! I'm honestly a little feral about Zerilliam, and I rambled about that and about the pairings in general in this response to Lyra's ask. ^^

I would be thrilled to share my Fuelara thoughts with you here, especially since, at this point, I am so invested in this pairing that I have to constantly, consciously remind myself that Solara is not a canon character. She just exists in the world of Black Clover in my mind now, and whenever I imagine or think of Fue, she is right there by his side.

I have to be honest that before I found your blog and we became friends, I really didn't think that much about Fuegoleon. I always liked him and had a lot of respect for him, but he wasn't really a character I just sat around and thought about too much. (His brotherly relationship with Leopold is just too functional. Let's blame that lol😂 I promise I'm only joking, and I adore them! Vermillion Bros for the win!!) But you write him with such depth and such nuance that it really gave me a new appreciation for his character. That one shot you wrote about his feelings of inadequacy after his injury has stuck with me to this day and remains one of my favorite fics I've ever read about anything in any fandom. You and your incredibly powerful writing made me love Fue, and as I was coming to really love him and becoming so much more invested in his character and his story, I found your absolutely incredible Solara who is truly (and this is probably intentional on your part but needs to be said) perfect for him.

Fuelara is everything a canon character x oc relationship should be in my opinion. I hope it goes without saying that Solara is such an incredibly strong and compelling character in her own right and I love that you've given her her own story beyond just being Fue's love interest, but even beyond that, she fits so seamlessly into the world of Black Clover (and I know you shared with me in the past that that was something that was really important to you while creating her, and I think you have succeeded in that in every possible way). Like I said in the beginning of this post, I really do genuinely have to remind myself she isn't canon. She just feels like she belongs there. I can't tell you how much the way you've meticulously crafted Fuelara and weaved them into the world of BC has been a personal inspiration for me. (Apologies in advance for the tangent but) my big passion project right now is a very ambitious multi-chapter fic for another fandom which I'm co-creating with a friend of mine, and it involves an OC x CC relationship (that I'm mostly in charge of 😅) so I actually find myself thinking about and talking about Fuelara as kind of this blueprint and inspiration for everything I can only hope my own ship will ultimately be. Even though the world of that story (late 90s/early 2000s suburban America) and the world of Black Clover couldn't possibly be more different, I'm sure Sprinkles could tell you that I have specifically mentioned Fuelara (specifically their relationship's seamless integration into the existing world and story) and what an inspiration it is for me personally, so many times while working on this project. It is truly so impressive, and I want to write like that. (Side note, I have definitely been using your tips and suggestions for OC integration throughout this process, so thank you again for that!)

Beyond just how well Solara perfectly fits into the world (which I've rambled about a lot), she also perfectly fits with Fuegoleon to the point that it's actually difficult for me to imagine him with anyone else at this point. I'm honestly really surprised I have made it through these ramblings without any random, unsolicited music references, but you're about to get one. There's a song called "We Go Well Together" by Goldheart (Spotify; YouTube) and here's a few lines, "We're just like kids up on a swing/Finger and a wedding ring/We go perfectly/It's so easy." That's just Fuelara to me: It's so easy. That's not to say that it's easy for them--they've certainly had their struggles and been through so much together, but their relationship dynamic, their love for each other, and their interactions are just so effortless. Of course Embers is fantastic, but I think I love your cozy little one shots about them most of all because I just adore how they interact with each other. They're so comfortable with each other, and it feels so real and so genuine. There's really no need for me to suspend belief or to try to create some buy in into their relationship. They just talk to each other and I'm immediately convinced they're deeply in love and just perfect for each other. One of my favorite things about them is how they are both such strong people, but they can be vulnerable together, and I love these really tender moments where they encourage each other that they don't have to carry the weight of the world alone. I just can't get over how supportive they are of each other, and I just adore that.

Gah, this ship is just so good. It's canon. It's honestly better than canon in a lot of cases, and I really can't get enough of it. I think I've said this before, but I'll say this again. Thank you for this pairing! I love it. ❤️‍🔥

#fuelara for the win #they just exist in my mind forever now #what do you mean they're not canon?#fuelara #fuegoleon x solara #thanks for the ask!#acacia's ramblings #laura 🧡

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the-butter-churner · 11 months

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Lyrics from 'Blossoms' by The Amazing Devil that remind me of The Ravening War

The weight of my phone Like a tablet of stone Seems to grow with the words I just read

The scrumptious scoundrels receiving their letters from the Sanctus Putris.

So I gather up the candlelight Jangle the chimes And mop up what is left of my lungs

Colin and Amangeaux getting ready to leave after the ambush on the road.

And I climb up the ladder Had I taken more care I might havе seen all the rot in the rungs

I see this, again, as Colin and Amangeaux reacting to the violence they've perpetrated, and the horror of the world around them. Also, the use of the word rot makes me think of Karna, so maybe this is also Amangeaux realizing that she didn't know Karna as well as she thought she did.

And I pack what is needed For thе journey to come All my books, all my bracken and booze And the door shuts behind me And I breathe in the air And say "Yeah, well I'm sorry too"

I feel like Colin is taking over the song but, yeah. Him leaving Deli. Why does doing the right thing still feel so much like running away?

And I stare at the soldiers before me All my blossoms that have waited to fall

Deli in his Linkin Park era. Making peace with the violence, committing to the part.

And I walk Knowing every last one of them is painted in light As I make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right

I think this is all of them! They're all entering such different chapters of their lives, their worlds are crumbling to the ground and they're being forced to build new ones, and a lot of them are making mistakes-- or, at the very least, decisions they can't take back.

My dress is on fire And I hurl myself, I heal myself, I drag myself like a rug in the rain And my saint she is dancing As every step I choose to take begins to set the world aflame

This is so Raphaniel and Karna. "I hurl myself, I heal myself", it speaks to the dark, base nature of both of their magic, and how they're the most devout characters out of the cast. They both have a ritual obsession and understanding, which they see in one another.

And the soldiers march behind me I can hear them beat their spears And for the first time in all my life I know I'm more than what I fear

Post-breakup Deli w/ Karna at his side. Glow up. Feeling more confident than ever.

And I stare At the soldiers before me All my blossoms that have waited to rise

THEM MEETING AT THE BATTLE OF PANGRANOS, ALL COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY CHANGED

And I scream out to the sky You do not get to hurt me just because I asked you once If you were alright

Break in the timeline just to say this line reminds me of Amangeaux and Karna :)

And just as it's ringing I whisper aloud to my saint "Oh we, we're gonna get on"

Raphaniel and the Saprophians, or Raphaniel seeing the steel for the first time.

#is this anything?#probably not #but guys just listen to the song you'll hear what i'm saying #the ravening war #trw #trw spoilers #lady amangeaux epicée du peche #colin provolone #thane delissandro katzon #karna solara #bishop raphaniel charlock #dimension 20 #blossoms #the amazing devil #ruin the amazing devil

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generallyjl · 1 year

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the problem with having a buncha disparate niche media interests is that sometimes they seem to overlap in ways that your pattern-seeking brain is like

anyways this is why i can't stop thinking about the idea that Aabria ( @quiddie ) got the name "Karna" for her D20: Ravening War character from the witch character in Häxan (that 1922 Scandinavian silent film about the history of witchcraft) who (sorta) sells her soul to the devil for her magic and dreams of wealth and comfort and power and grandeur, all that she will never actually be given in her now (alcoholic) old age

i've connected the two dots!! Karna and her ambition is doomed by two narratives, and we are all rot!

i've connected them!!!!!!

#i didnt connect shit #i know i know!#Häxan Karna is old and not a spymaster and (in the grander narrative of the film) not *really* a witch #and D20 Karna's young age is an important part of her character PLUS we technically dont know yet where exactly her ambition is taking her #i can just so easily see Häxan Karna as what D20 Karna becomes if her ambitions fail her into futile irrelevancy (and if she doesnt die)#i hope there's at least 1 other person out there who has interected with and enjoyed these two very different bits of media #häxan 1922 #karna solara #dimension 20 #the ravening war #trw #sometimes being unemployed during a recession leads you as an adult to crafting unhinged theories about the meta of fictional characters #at 10am on Monday no less

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adaine-party-wizard · 1 year

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something about aabria characters… i’ve had karna solara for like five minutes and i’d die for her

#aabria i’m just wondering WHAT do you put in your characters that makes them all so perfect #dimension 20 #d20 #trw #d20 trw #dimension 20 trw #karna solara

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vethbrenatto · 1 year

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This was far and away my favorite episode of The Ravening War so far, and I wanted to figure out why breaking down emotional beats by character. Apologies, this might get long.

Bishop Raphaniel breaks, falling into madness. He sees through the trees of the organization he's been representing with a mindset all along that he was the one who knew something the others didn't, only to realize he had been hoodwinked all along. He looks back on the life he's lived, the things he's done, and the things he's been through/plagued by and turns to the fungi going: It has to have been meant for something, please make it all worth it- don't let this be meaningless.

Lady Amangeaux trades her title and her notoriety in for the safety of her child, accepting that she may not even be much in that life (as she turns her life to service), but knowing that the child will be protected. After the death of Pamela Rocks, the woman who in Episode 1 was so fervently clinging to her title, has finally realized there are far safer things you can be than a queen.

Delissandro Katzon loses Colin and falls desperately into individualism. With his anchor to friendship and community gone, his worst instincts of self kick in. What matters is his name, his legacy, his power. Not that of Basha Myaso, no matter how he may support him. Certainly not that of his mother. While he does swap Colin for Karna, she only encourages these instinct in him, having similar values about the importance of his power.

Karna Solara is offered the opportunity for family and turns it down. She wears armor showing that she has been everywhere, she is from every place... yet her conversation at the start of the episode with Amangeaux betrays that she's been everywhere, yet has no one. She is no daughter; she is and always has been an orphan. Yet her connection to Deli betrays one last spark of humanity (humanity in food? you know what I mean) in the form of a crush that began as a sixteen year-old girl. She may have grown up rotting, but there is some heart in there, for him.

Colin Provolone is finally revealed to be just some guy. He is some guy's son who was some other guy's son and he's been running his whole life because of it. So, when he sees Pamela Rocks killed not for anything she did, but because she is of House Rocks, he can't sit idly by anymore. He trades the most he's ever had in life; a position, a title, a true friend- for his morals. He goes from supporting a person he liked to protecting someone he doesn't for his morals. He gives away a life he could have loved for one he can feel okay living.

Woof, guys. It's a lot.

#dimension 20 #the ravening war #trw spoilers #colin provolone #karna solara #lady amangeaux #thane delissandro katzon #bishop raphaniel charlock

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teapartyprincess4two · 1 month

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—

Teaser

pairing: Queen!reader x King!Matt

classification: slight angst

warnings: none

—

Crashing waves are heard from the Eclipsum shore, a fog forming as the water slaps against the muddy sand. The sun is setting, slowly disappearing past the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful shade of purple. Matt sits alone, the old wooden dock beneath him groaning as he sways one leg back and forth in the water. His other leg is propped up, a lazy arm resting there to serve as a pillow for his head. His long hair settles just under his eyes, shielding his vision enough so that he only sees the black ocean that pushes and pulls around him. Matt’s mind is plagued with stress and worry, the only reason he’s even here is to escape the reality that awaits him back at the castle. This is meant to be his happy place, it is his happy place, yet he’s anything but.

The sudden sound of trotting hooves rings in his ears, alerting him of someone’s unexpected arrival and breaking him from his thoughts. “Matt?” a tentative voice asks, pulling on the horses’ reign hard enough for it to stop. There are only two people in this entire kingdom who refer to him by his this, everyone else opting for far more formal titles.

Reluctantly, Matt averts his eyes from the ocean, looking up to see none other than his youngest brother, Chris. The moon has replaced the sun’s place in the sky, the soft luminescence reflecting on the suit of armor that adorns Chris’s body. The white stallion Chris sits on adds to his strong, knightly demeanor, and if Matt didn’t know any better, he might’ve let himself get intimidated by the long sword that hangs on the armor’s sheath.

Matt doesn’t have to reply, or ask what Chris is here for, he already knows. Using one hand, he pushes himself off the wooden dock, a low grunt following as he dusts off dirt and debris. His attire completely juxtaposes Chris’s, a flowy, long sleeve white top flapping in the wind as he walks over to his brother. Matt places a gentle hand on the stark white stallion that stands before him, caressing its face before finally providing Chris with his full attention.

“Get on. I’ll take you back,” Chris instructs, a strong chin pointing to the rear end of the horse. Matt mulls it over, deciding whether or not to accept the invitation, before deciding that he’d rather prolong the process, “No it’s okay, thank you. I think I’ll walk.”

Chris shrugs his shoulders, steering the mare back into the forest before whipping the leather rope so that the horse picks up a steady pace. Matt watches as Chris disappears behind the treeline the further the horse trudges into the forest.

Slowly, Matt begins the long walk back to the castle, each footstep being met with the bioluminescence of the ground beneath his feet. A soft sigh escapes his lips as he takes one last look behind him, a faint, faraway kingdom coming into view.

For a second he wonders what it would be like to live there instead, but shrugs the thought off as the fog that rises from the ocean completely engulfs the view.

—

A warm tropical breeze shakes the palm trees that line the Solara shore, seagulls laughing as they circle the sky in search of an area to perch on. The sun is setting, a deep orange color colliding against the previously blue sky. You stand on the balcony of your bedroom, watching the seashells glisten under the white foam of the waves. Your palms hold a firm grip on the elegant marble balustrade, giving you the leverage necessary to peer over the edge. Small children giggle as they play on the warm beach sand, earning a small, sad smile from you. Usually a day like this would bring you nothing but happiness, but as you watch the children chase each other, you can’t help but be overwhelmed with a deep sadness.

The sound of your heavy bedroom door creaking open catches you off guard, your hands pulling away from the balustrade and clutching your chest. “Ma’am?” a soft, careful voice asks. Immediately you recognize it as Martina, your handmaid. You know she won’t enter without permission, so you take a deep breath to gather yourself before replying, “Come in, Martina.” Her hands nervously fidget with a white apron so old that it’s yellowed over the years.

“They’re waiting for you downstairs, Ma’am,” Martina whispers, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Although she’s only the messenger, she’s scared because she’s delivering news that she knows you don’t want to hear. Another breathy exhale escapes your lips, clammy hands smoothing down the front of your ruffly dress. She notices your unease, and in an attempt to help you stall, proposes an idea, “Would you like me to help you change into a new dress, Ma’am?”

You steal one last glance out the balcony, but the sun has completely set, and the sky is so dark that there’s no use. “Yes. That would be fine, Martina. Thank you,” you reply, shaky hands beginning to undo the lace of your dress. Another strong, warm breeze pushing past you, blowing your hair in front of your face. Instead of providing you with a comforting feeling, it feels like a slap to the face, reminding you that you’re quickly nearing reality.

Martina’s hands expertly weave the lace out of its constraints, and for a second you find yourself wondering what it would be like to be her instead. You dwell on the thought until Martina is instructing you to lift your arms, pulling the dress over your head.

Pitch black briefly surrounds you as the fabric swallows you whole, you wish you could stay there forever.

—

MASTERLIST, SERIES MASTERLIST

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @hearts4chris @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @mega-katya44 @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf

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polarsirens · 1 year

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five years

#dimension 20 #the ravening war #the ravening war spoilers #queen amangeaux epicée du peche #karna solara #colin provolone #thane delissandro katzon #no i’m just happy we got new even cooler portraits aha #no i’m not crying at all what do you mean. i’m fine #fanart #my art

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thepringlesofblood · 1 year

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i am SCREAMING!!!!! YESSSSSYESSSSSSSSSSSSSS ACOC is one of my FAVORITE SERIES ALL TIIIIIME!!!!!!!!

okwearebreathingwearebreathing

I’m going in-depth on the names we have thus far. Calorum is the setting that has some of the cleverest wordplay ever, period, and I want to know EVERYTHING about our new guys!!!!!

let’s get this one out of the way

Colin Provlone (Zac Oyama) - Provolone is a kind of cheese. Colin is a name of Irish/Scottish origin. It’s nice to have one simple one.

Bishop Raphaniel Charlock (Brennan Lee Mulligan) - hmmmm are we going to get an actually Bulbian cleric/warlock this season????

Anyway, the scientific name for wild radish is Raphanus raphanistrum, so that’s probably where Raphaniel came from.

wild radish has two other names - “jointed charlock” and “white charlock”. So there we go.

Your typical red radish (as Brennan described his character to look like) is a subspecies of Raphanus raphanistrum called sativus.

but!!! even MORE interesting!!!! you know what order and family radishes are in? the order BRASSICALES in the family BRASSICACEAE!!!!! Like a certain pontifex we know of??

This could be 100% unintentional, there’s a Lot of vegetables in the family Brassicaceae, but I remain optimistic.

Lady Amangeaux Epiceé du Peche (Anjali Bhimani) - so, Fructera has always been French, natch.

She is a mango! French for mango = la mangue

Amangeaux = almonds (according to google translate, I couldn’t find this word anywhere else online, it’s extremely possible that it’s just the most French-sounding way of saying “a mango”)

Epiceé = spicy (can be used as slang for y’know. spICY)

du Peche = of peach. maybe she is of house Peach?

Karna Solara (Aabria Iyengar) - this one has me kind of stumped.

there’s the obvious karn->carn->meat connection, but she’s a chili pepper. lmk if there’s some secret vegetable lore I’m missing with ‘karna’

there’s also solar -> sun, which makes sense since the crest of Brightgarden is a big sun, and we see the DM screen this season has a big sun on it.

pLUS when I looked up scientific name for chili pepper, they come from the order Solanales in the family Solanaceae.

Thane Delissandro Katzon (Lou Wilson) -

Katzon

immediately made me think of katsudon- an egg rice bowl w pork cutlet on top.

thank you @blueaerin for your post about how this is most likely a reference to Katz’s Delicatessan, a famous deli in NYC! I never would’ve know that.

Also “katson” = Finnish for “I look” - from the verb “katsoa” meaning “to look at” or “to watch over” - probably nothing.

Delissandro - deli - deli meat

Delicatessen - the double s inspired by this?

while I was looking at Finnish stuff i found out “delissa” means “at the deli” in Finnish

Thane - y’all who read Macbeth know this one.

In Anglo-Saxon culture, It’s a title of a landowner, specifically someone who was gifted land by a king.

In Scotland, it’s a feudal lord.

There’s a connotation of military use in all of the descriptions I’ve found, so judging by the armor he’s wearing, it might be being used as a term for “commander”

#d20 #dimension 20 #trw #the ravening war #acoc #original post #ref

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noses-in-winter · 3 months

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Jack of All Clits (f/f, nsfw, sneezy lesbian porn cranked up SUPER high)

idk what it is but lately I have been INCAPABLE of writing anything that didn't involve a curvy girl sneezing, receiving sapphic head, and climaxing within a few hundred words of each other. This fic just happens to have all of that! Piper's my horny and perpetually stoned bisexual dumbass and Tourm is @virarushi's hot thicc girlboss gnome OC who sneezes about everything and has not yet had her bi awakening! Tourm is 4'5 and Piper's 5'6 so that's fun. :) Here's some art of her because she's hot! Anyway, to summarize: This is a 2.5k word fic in which Piper's going down on Tourm while she sneezes. They're roommates in grad school and Piper prides herself on being able to deliver bi awakenings.

To reiterate: this is nsfw so please do not interact if you're underage!! just block me!! thanks!! okay enjoooyyyyy ty

(Also to my awesome friends who read this in Discord, I DID add a few more horny details, just sayyin...okay anyway tyyy)

Piper was pretty sure Tourm had never climaxed at the hands (or dick, or mouth, or any combo of those things) of another sentient being. Based on what Piper had learned about her new roommate so far (mostly from asking Alexander), college was the first chance Tourm had ever really had to be away from her family’s rigid expectations and watchful eye. The poor bitch hadn’t ever even had her boob squeezed before! And there was a lotta boob-squeezing real estate there!

Tourm’s lack of preconceived expectations made Piper’s job all the easier. Not that she didn’t like a challenge, of course. But, now she could put all her focus into just getting Tourm to--

“Haah--! F-Fuuuuuuucking Void, Pipes…”

--moan, even if it was not done with near the amount of volume that Piper had anticipated. She expected Tourm’s--

“Mmmhhmm--!”

--sounds of pleasure to be just as loud and take-charge as her sounds of laughter, anger and annoyance. As Piper had quickly figured out, Tourm was not a throw her head back and cry out with every rock of her hips kind of girl. Would have been hot if she was! But Piper also liked Tourm’s brand of quivering through the arousal, letting out steady moans that evidently came right from the g-spot. That was…actually a lot hotter than the first option. Piper didn’t have to keep an ear out for anyone drawing closer to their room. She could just keep making Tourm squirm.

“Mmmmhfhhh, fuck. Aah--!”

And, Christ, was it fun to make her squirm.

“Mmmn…MMhmm…Fuck,” Tourm exhaled audibly in a proper English accent that could rival Solara’s. Piper didn’t tease her about it the way she normally might. She simply focused on keeping this pelvis-rolling rhythm going. Piper would have commended Tourm for figuring out the desired beat of her drum, were her tongue not occupied with the shorter coed’s labia. With Tourm’s calves draped over Piper’s shoulders and her hips angled upward, Piper went down on her in a very literal sense. Coupled with two pillows beneath the small of Tourm's back to keep her sex elevated, it made quite the memorable impact. It was Piper's go-to move when someone neeeeeded a good mouthfucking the way Tourm did. Piper prided herself on being able to get hookups to forget aaaaall about sheltered upbringings and disappointed families with the use of her nuclear-powered tongue work.

Piper’s eyes flickered over to her phone, propped up on Tourm’s bedside table. The stopwatch read: Six minutes and fifteen seconds…sixteen…seventeen…Shit! She was running out of time. Time to pull out the big guns.

Thus far, Piper had been using the tip of her tongue to tease at Tourm’s g-spot. As Tourm evidently grew closer and closer to completion, Piper opted to switch things up a bit. She eased her tongue in farther, just enough to rub the stud of her piercing against the roof of Tourm’s cunt. The warm skin of her g-spot was raised, more than already activated with sensitivity and arousal. Judging by the new way Tourm’s thighs trembled around Piper’s ears, the move felt just as good between her legs as she had hoped.

Tourm breathed heavily, one hand gripping the blankets beneath her while the other had her fingers tangled in Piper’s hair. She continued to groove against her roommate’s tongue in whatever way she could. “ohhh--ohhhFUUuuuuck, Pi---hi-hhh--?”

Piper wasn’t exactly sure what set Tourm off. Most likely, it was just the fact that Tourm was a gnome that simply existed. No matter the cause of the evident irritation in her nose, the first snag of Tourm’s breath sounded confused, as if she hadn’t realized this was coming. Her voice went a touch high with desperation as her nostrils flared, and then rested again, and then repeated the process to the same beat that she panted in.

Tourm was sure gearing up for one hell of a sneeze that didn’t seem like there was going to be any attempted cover in sight. Piper couldn’t blame her. She was sure that being eaten out was the only thought and feeling and need in Tourm’s head at the moment.

Tourm’s budding sneezes had her breath seesawing on beat with Piper’s tongue work urging her into the mattress. Finally, Tourm’s whole cunt clenched around Piper’s tongue as she sneezed at last, a cute “hh’chisshiew!” that Piper was more than used to hearing, along with the seeeeveral that always followed. The release peppered her shirt, bare thighs aaaand Piper with the results. Piper made a little noise of surprise when Tourm, fingers still wound in her hair, wound up pushing her face further against her sex. Immediately, Tourm let out a congested little moan, pelvis rising without her control in an effort to receive more and more and more of Piper’s tongue as she geared up for the next sneeze.

Piper was happy to keep up, but withdrew from Tourm’s sex for just a moment. “Bless you. Sneeze all you need, babes, okay? Just aim somewhere that’s not me,” she teased lightheartedly.

Tourm took in another fluttery sniffle with a dazed nod, unable to offer even half a joking response. She just barely managed to pull the collar of her oversized sleep shirt over her nose with clumsy fingers as she drew closer—

“hhih!”

— and closer--

“h-hehh—!”

—to sneezing again.

“hhhh!’chzsshiew!”

After several moments spent in limbo, Tourm’s hips bucked with yet another sneeze. By the sounds of things, this one came with a deluge of mess that was contained to her shirt. She let out a congested exhale that immediately turned into another heady snag of her breath that led to Tourm sneezing twice more. “sszsschiew--adt’chzsschiew!”

Piper opted to take this opportunity to use her thumbs to ease up the delicate hood that protected Tourm’s clit. Piper dipped her head down to greet it with her lips. “Good giiiiiirl,” she hummed, voice shifting into a little purr as she praised Tourm’s last-minute success of covering her nose as Piper had instructed. “Bless you…”

Tourm gave a close-mouthed little sound of pleasure that could certainly be described as a whimper. Piper couldn’t tell if that was simply out of the stimulation she had been experiencing for the past (one more glance at the stopwatch) seven minutes and thirty-four seconds, or if that praise had done something hot to her. That could be figured out later. Just a little over two minutes left for Piper to push Tourm over the edge of climax. She could so goddamn do this.

Tourm sniffled heavily with a murmur that probably had some intelligent meaning behind it, but only sounded like horny gibberish to Piper. The self-proclaimed master of orgasms didn’t ruminate on it long. Through the blond curls between Tourm’s legs, Piper took her clit fully between her lips to suck at. She wasn’t surprised by Tourm’s immediate gasp in response, or the needy buck of her pelvis. Tourm moaned through the fabric of her sleep shirt that she had less and less of a hold on as Piper rocked against her rhythmically with every sneeze…

“chissch!”

And sneeze.

“ischhoo!”

And a few more sneezes after that.

“iht’chisshiew! F-fucki’g shi--hihh!—kisschiew! hadt’DJISHiew!”

Each time she geared up for a new sneeze, Tourm’s back arched up from the bed in a desperate squirm before making her buckle again in what looked like the world’s most effective ab workout. Those sneezes were rapidly starting to get away from her.

“I’m…” Tourm trailed off, dropping her hand from its place of holding her sleep shirt. She instead used both hands to grip the blankets beneath her. Her shirt remained tented, held up only by her nose. That would be changing once she got a few more sneezes out, Piper was sure. Tourm was no longer capable of giving a fuck about a single thing other than her body’s powerful and simultaneous urges to climax and sneeze, sneeze and climax. “I’m g—gonna …hohhhh, fuuuuck….”

“Gonna what, babe?” Piper hummed during a brief pause in her stimulating efforts. “Cum? Or sneeze?”

Tourm gave one shallow nod, evidently an answer to both. Even though the bottom half of her face was covered by her sleep shirt, Piper could see that next sneeze coming from a mile away. Canted eyebrows, a shuddering inhale, the brief, sudden stillness of Tourm’s legs draped over Piper’s shoulders--

Haaaht--?!”

Oh, this was gonna be messy--

“CHIZSCCHhoo!”

Tourm sneezed. Productively, if the sudden splatter of wetness from the inside of her top gave any indication. Dampness bled through the cotton, turning the plain heather gray t-shirt into more of a slate color in several spots. Tourm snuffled and got a fistful of the shirt, drawing it up to scrub at her itchy nostrils. Piper could only see the underside of Tourm’s tits shifting, quivering along to the movement of the rest of her body, as well as the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. Piper didn’t bless her this time, simply choosing to hum as she tended to Tourm’s clit. This felt nice, apparently, judging by the shivering clench of Tourm’s thighs. Piper needed no further encouragement to keep humming and teasing and sucking until Tourm’s head pressed back into her pillow. The tip of her nose was perfectly perpendicular with the ceiling, reddened nostrils flaring as she came--

“OhhHHHHFFFffuuucuuuccckkkk….”

--hard with a shuddering moan that squeezed Piper’s ears between her thighs. Fuck yeah! She was so gonna win---

Nope. Ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Fuck! So close! Piper had nothing to complain about, though. That was fun. And hot. Super, actually fucking hot.

Unable to properly tend to her clit anymore with how tightly Tourm’s thighs held her, Piper instead moved back down to Tourm’s labia. She delivered a few finalizing strokes with her tongue to Tourm’s heated sex as it pulsed rhythmically with the highs of orgasm. Tourm was quiet for several moments as she collected herself, save for heavy inhales and exhales, before she let out a little noise that sounded like a cross between a moan and a laugh once Piper’s tongue piercing massaged along her…shit, what was that part called? Her fourchette? Something French, Piper remembered, but she didn’t spend long on remembering the name. She simply continued with her tongue’s easy kneading of this evidently pleasurable (and ticklish) spot.

Tourm slowly untensed, legs remaining draped over Piper’s shoulders. Her hips continued to move lazily in response to the stimulation of her fourchette, but in a more relaxed way that suggested she was simply enjoying this little pleasure, even if she was still too sensitive to achieve orgasm again. She sniffled, palming the underside of her overstimulated nose. “Okay…Fuck. I gotta give it to you, Twintails. That…wasn’t bad,” Tourm chuckled, her accent slowly shifting back to that Cockney she always aimed for. She sniffled again, reaching for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand. She drew it closer to her, setting the box on the comforter as she plucked out several tissues. “Guess you’re--sdf! Good at more than just settin’ shit on fire and annoyin’ Moseley with me.”

Tourm buried her nose into the tissues and delivered the first few seconds of a hardy blow before she was interrupted by another sneeze. Ope--and then two more. Piper gave Tourm’s sex one last parting little lick before easing back, wiping her mouth (and cheeks…and chin...and nose…Jesus, Tourm had been soaked) on her sleeve. She stood, easing Tourm’s legs down from their resting place on her shoulders to retrieve her phone from the nightstand.

Tourm sniffled into her now-useless tissues, looking up at Piper with cracked, teary eyes. “I win?” she asked with a smirk that promptly collapsed into a sneezy snarl--

“adt'IZSSCHSHuh!”

-- that resulted in another heavy sneeze all down her shirt. Tourm grimaced, making a little noise of disgust as she moved to a sitting position and saw just how thoroughly peppered with sneezes both the inside and outside of her shirt were. “Eugh. Gross.”

Piper snorted with a little smirk of her own as she started for Tourm’s dresser. “Bless y--”

“’chzsshiew!”

Piper gave an impressed whistle as she opened the top drawer, rifling through Tourm’s various shirts. She didn’t look at Tourm just yet, but it was audible in that grumbled snuffling that that sneeze hadn’t been pretty. Piper couldn’t help an amused little smile to herself as she picked out a new top for Tourm. She unfolded it, giving the garment only a brief look before shaking her head and beginning to fold it again. Way too tight for comfortable sleep. Piper did like this shirt, though. If her tits were half as impressive as Tourm’s, she would have been wearing it every other day. “Bless you, infinity. Get ‘em out, babe.”

Tourm snorted ticklishly, knuckling at one nostril through her bundle of tissues. She blew her nose and actually managed to finish without being interrupted by a sneeze. “So?” she asked with an amused smirk in her voice. “I won, right?”

Piper rolled her eyes fondly, examining another shirt. Nope. Fabric was way too thin for a chilly April night like this. “Fiiiine. Yeah. Just by, like, twenty seconds, though. I’m sure I would have made it without those several sneezy disruptions, but I’m no sore loser.”

“Hah!” came Tourm’s little snicker. “You owe me fift--sdff! Ugh…F-fihh--hihh! I--”

Tourm sneezed behind Piper’s back, another productive sound that had her groaning again in the aftermath. Once Piper turned back around, a perfect sleep shirt in hand, Tourm was already pulling her messy top off. She removed her shirt the way a guy might, Piper noticed, pulling it up from the back. She wiped her nose with it before giving it a lazy toss to the carpet. Tourm leaned back slightly in bed, supporting herself with both hands as she sniffled. Piper, the slut she was, could do absolutely nothing but stare at the way the evidence of all of those sneezes just made Tourm’s tits shimmer in the lamplight. And then how they--

“Hhh--! hadt’DJISHiew!”

--bounced with another heady, uncovered sneeze that simply provided the same glitter-esque shine to her chest. She let out a stuffy exhale in the aftermath that sent a bolt of horny lightning down Piper’s spine. That…really had sounded like another moan, hadn’t it?

Damn it. She wanted to make her moan again.

“Double or nothing.”

Tourm looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, tits settling after that shivery sneeze. “Huh?” Piper didn’t even hand Tourm the new top, simply tossing it to a cluttered desk. She made her way back to Tourm’s bed and took her by the bicep with one hand lightly enough that Tourm could move away if she wasn’t into it. “Lemme try again,” she said, more of a command than a request. “Double or nothing if I can do it in eight.”

Judging by Tourm’s expression, she very much was into this. Piper took this as a cue to ease her free hand to cup Tourm’s warm, damp tit. Tourm evidently couldn’t help a quivering little exhale, lashes fluttering as Piper thumbed her nipple. Just as Piper would expect her to, though, Tourm immediately shifted her look into one of cockiness rather than the evident need that was there. “You’re on.”

#sneeze kink #sneeze fic #not sneeze for work #oc piper #friendsocs #pls go follow vira!! her art and characters are the best and inspire me so

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bookshelf-in-progress · 5 months

Text

A Song of Starlight: A Starfall Story

For the 2023 Inklings Christmas Challenge at @inklings-challenge, he's a story set and posted on December 28th--the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

A Song of Starlight

Johannes had once considered Oskar Abel a friend. The bright young manager who ran the theater, concert hall, and opera house funded by the Diriks starfall had secured Johannes the audition with the symphony orchestra, where he'd risen to first chair and featured violinist in this Christmas season's concerts. Now, as the slim, balding young man sat stiff and stone-faced behind the paper-strewn desk in his wood-paneled office, he looked like nothing but a toadying, soulless businessman.

Through the cracked-open window, Johannes could hear the daily rumble of the city street--the rattle of carriages, the distant chime of church bells, the shouts of girls selling stardust and boys selling newspapers. An entire world unaware that this supposed friend had just sent Johannes' world crashing down.

In a low voice, Johannes asked, "What do you mean, dismissed?"

Abel straightened a stack of papers against the top of his desk. "Lady Diriks has ordered that your employment with the Diriks Symphony Orchestra come to an end."

"Now? Three days after Christmas? In the middle of concert season?"

"Our patroness saw no other alternative." Abel pushed up his wire-rimmed spectacles. "I'm certain you're aware of the theft of one of the stars from the chandelier."

"Aware? The entire orchestra's been talking about nothing else since Christmas Eve!"

"I'm afraid suspicion has fallen on you."

Johannes' blood ran cold.

The star chandelier had been planned as the crowning glory of the Diriks family's new concert hall. Their mountain starfall was the prime landing place for solara stars--the largest and brightest stars that gave off the purest white light--and the intricate silver chandelier would hold a thousand of them. Lady Diriks' own son had supervised the construction, cutting every facet of every star himself. The day before its grand unveiling, one whole star had gone missing. Lady Diriks was out for blood.

Johannes had never dreamed it would be his blood.

After the shock passed, Johannes' temper rose. "What does that have to do with me? I've never seen the star! I barely walk past the workroom!"

The manager polished his glasses. "I'm afraid the circumstantial evidence against you is strong."

"What circumstantial evidence?"

"Several witnesses maintain that you were the last one in the building before the star was stolen."

"I stay late every night. I'm the featured violinist! This could make my career! I can't practice at home when I've got two sleeping daughters."

"You have recently purchased notably more expensive clothing."

"One suit! That I've been saving up for since July! I can't play for an audience of starfall elites in my old Sunday clothes."

"Stardust has been found in your dressing room."

"Cufflinks!" As the manager's face twisted in confusion, Johannes explained, "I can't afford real star fragments. I bought glass beads filled with stardust. They look almost like the real thing, but they shattered the first time I fastened them."

None of his explanations had any effect on the manager's placid face. "Nevertheless," Abel said, putting his glasses back on his face, "until a more thorough investigation can determine the star's whereabouts, Lady Diriks has deemed it best that you not be allowed on the premises."

"And how do they plan to give the Christmas concerts? Who else is supposed to play my solos?"

"Lars Henning is quite familiar with the music."

"Henning!" Johannes spat. "He's the one who accused me, isn't he?"

The manager blinked and did not speak.

The delay, the hesitation--he might as well have said it aloud.

Henning had hated Johannes since the day he had been given first chair. Johannes had seen the contempt and envy in his eyes every moment of every day. Henning couldn't accept that a starcatcher's son could rise above a scion of one of the city's wealthiest houses.

Johannes snarled, "And he's believed because his father owns a starfall while mine only gathered the stars that fell on it!"

Abel straightened his spectacles. "I assure you that no individual witness had any effect on our patroness' decision."

It would have made all the difference in the world. Starfall stock held fast to their own.

Johannes felt like the floor was falling out from under him. His anger turned into desperation. He leaned over the desk looked into the manager's eyes. "Oskar," he said, man to man, friend to friend, "you have to help me. I've worked for years to get here. I have a wife at home. Children. They need me to bring in--"

The manager's face softened. "A man of your talent will find employment in another company."

Johannes barked a humorless laugh. "A suspected star thief? Accused by Lady Diriks herself? They won't let me near the footlights!"

The manager sighed, and for a moment, he looked almost human. "I'm very sorry, Vinter, but the decision is out of my hands."

If he were sorry, he would have done something. Instead he'd caved to their patroness' demands without question. The odious, spineless, toadying pencil-pusher. A man of business in a house of art. If Johannes shook him, his brains would probably clink like coins.

Johannes picked up his violin and stormed toward the office door. "That'll be a comfort to me when my children are in the poorhouse, I'm sure."

Johannes refused to slink out of the theater like a disgraced criminal, so he put on his hat, overcoat, scarf, and gloves with professional precision, took up his violin case, and strode through the main lobby of the Diriks Concert Hall. The silver chandelier sprawled overhead, its million arms curling like ocean waves. In the light of day, its thousand stars were shuttered in closed lanterns that could be opened with the turning of a single lever. The masterpiece of Lord Bastiaan Diriks himself. Johannes hoped he'd go blind from it.

A single star missing out of a thousand, and Johannes' life was destroyed--his dreams, his hopes, an entire lifetime of work. Johannes' father had nurtured his talent for music, working double shifts to pay for his music lessons and later, to cover the costs that came even to students who went to the music schools on a full scholarship.

You're made for more than the starfields, his father had said. Find a job where they don't search your pockets for stars at sunrise like you're a common thief.

Now here Johannes was, a rising violinist in a prestigious symphony orchestra, cast out for the theft of a star. He could have laughed at the irony if he'd had any heart for it.

Outside, the sky was bright but overcast, sending down a light shower of snowflakes. Carriages rattled past, horses' hooves clattering on the cobblestones. The sidewalks were crowded with the skirts of window-shopping ladies, their children gazing in awe upon the the beautiful theaters. Johannes had hoped to bring his children here someday to see him play. Clara was almost old enough to come. She and Dorit would stay home this year, but his wife Agathe had tickets for the front row on New Year's Eve.

He couldn't face them yet. Couldn't come home in the afternoon when they wouldn't expect him until after midnight. He couldn't go into a tavern or cafe. He didn't dare to waste money on dining or drinking, and had no wish for company who'd know his face and want his story.

So he walked. Up and down the streets of the cruel stone city that had once been the fulfillment of all his hopes. Past markets filled with the luxuries he'd never be able to buy his children. Past houses owned by people who didn't know what it was to struggle and scrimp and have all your dreams destroyed. Past towering churches that seemed to laugh at all his prayers.

Night came early this time of year, and soon the city was darkening to match his mood. The lampkeepers emerged to uncover the streetlamps and unveil the common yellow star fragments within. High above in the clear, cold sky, a million stars, white and distant, seemed to mock him. Johannes knew the old tales of stars falling down to make the fortune of the penniless, virtuous hero who stumbled upon the treasure. If those stories had ever had any truth to them, they were only fantasy now. Should the largest, brightest star in all the heavens fall at his feet, Lady Diriks and her like would see him thrown in prison for touching it.

Ragged urchins came out of the shadows to gather stardust that had fallen from the lamps, or to offer it as heat or light to passersby. Johannes took a pinch of warming dust offered by a dirty-faced girl, placed it in his gloves, and immediately regretted the eighth-krenin he tossed her. He was like her now--always had been, he supposed--living off whatever scraps the rich saw fit to spare him, and he could spare few coins now.

Children shouted as a carriage sped through the streets--large and glossy, with gilded scrollwork and four of its very own star lamps. Through an open curtain, Johannes glimpsed a woman in a red silk gown who wore a dozen colored star fragments as jewels in her hair. Late to the theater, no doubt.

Were Johannes still with the orchestra, he'd be tuning up now. About to play one of the finest symphonies ever written for a crowd of the city's elite--people who'd paid hundreds of krenins to hear him play.

Johannes' temper rose. Lady Diriks had money enough to keep the world's finest musicians as trained pets, and keep the music they played as a luxury for the rich. All these people in the streets around him--good-hearted housewives, grocers, seamstresses, lampkeepers, even dustgirls--could not dream of such wonders.

Johannes could give them the symphony--his part of it, at least. His violin was tuned, his fingers were trained. He could give these people music that the wealthy of the city spent hundreds to hear. If Lady Diriks didn't want him, he would give her music away.

Johannes strode into the pool of yellow light cast by the nearest star lamp. With brisk motions, he set down his case, removed his gloves, picked up his violin, and began to play.

Birgit rushed toward the shining pile of stardust near the lamp post. She knelt on the frozen walkway and tried to gather the glowing treasure into Mama's little clay jar. Mama said falling stardust was the cleanest--Birgit should have been here when the lampkeeper uncovered and cleaned the lamp--but maybe Birgit could wash it in the fountain near the church. She'd watched Mama do it a hundred times. Stardust floated, and she could skim it up with her cloak. Then she could take it to the glassmaker on 42nd Street. He was kindest and gave the most coins.

Birgit had to sell all the stardust she could. Stardust meant coins, which meant clothes and bread and maybe a bed. There was no Mama to get these things. Mama was cold and white and stiff, and Birgit was too afraid to go in the room with those open, frozen eyes.

The memory of this morning put tears in Birgit's eyes. She wasn't crying. She was too big to cry--nearly six years old. But with no Mama--there was no Mama--Birgit felt very small, and the world felt very big and dark and cold. The icy wind sent cold knives through Birgit's threadbare cloak. She huddled against the lamp post and felt too sad and afraid to move.

In the light of the next lamp, a man stopped. He wore a thick brown coat and had shiny black boots. The lamplight made him glow, like the angels holding stars in the big church. Birgit sat up and watched.

The man set a case on the ground and pulled out a fiddle. Then he began to play.

Birgit had heard fiddles before, in taverns and on street corners, but this fiddle sang as those fiddles never had. Its voice was sweet and soft, rich and pure, like angels or lullabies. It sang to the stars, its voice reaching, stretching, quavering, making Birgit think of being warm in Mama's arms.

The song became louder, faster, richer, warmer. It made Birgit think of dancing, of candles, of the big church on Copper Hill. The cold, dark world fell away. Birgit forgot who and where she was. She knew only the music, beautiful and bright, so real that everything else seemed like shadows. Her spirit swam, soared, and danced, following the song high and low, happy and sad, joy and sorrow and so many feelings that Birgit thought she might burst. Stars surrounded her, all sizes and colors, coming down from heaven to hear the music with her.

After eternity had come and gone, the song slowed and faded away, and Birgit was herself again--cold and alone, but no longer afraid.

The music was a warm and glowing treasure in her heart, a bright, beautiful secret that no one could take away from her. And on the ground, in the lamplight, was money. Big silver coins and little copper ones, sitting in and around the man's black case. The stars had brought it, Birgit knew. She knew the stories, had seen it herself. They had come to the call of the music and turned into money. Money that meant clothes and fire and bread for sad and lonely girls.

Birgit forgot to be tired and rushed toward the money. It had fallen from heaven, so it was free to take, just like stardust. She gathered handfuls of coins, holding them close against her dress.

And then a shadow blocked the starlamp, and Birgit remembered to be afraid again.

Johannes saw the stars surround him as he played. At Christmastime, everyone who owned anything with the faintest claim toward being a piece of star jewelry--whether it was a fragment in a necklace, a shard in a ring, or even just some stardust on a hair comb--would wear it on the street. The people that surrounded him wore stars in all colors and sizes, but he could barely do more than glance at them, because the music had him in its thrall.

When Johannes emerged from the song, he was surprised to see the coins at his feet. At first, he was ashamed--he, classically trained, being thrown coins like a common beggar. But that was what he was now, or would be. Once the story spread, respectable people might refuse to give him even coins.

A small, ragged form darted out of the shadows started swiping coins from his case. Johannes' blood rose. The dirty little urchin! Were the creatures everywhere? A plague, an infestation on this city, stealing food from his children's mouths.

Johannes lunged for the coins, prepared to fight off the thief.

The thief looked up, and they met, face-to-face. She was young. A child. As young as his little Clara--no, younger. With sunken cheeks, unbrushed brown hair, bony hands, fingers and nails blue from the cold. Her little gray cloak was thinner than his shirt. Her shoes, scuffed and tattered, barely fit on her feet.

She had nothing, this tiny girl, fighting for her life in the cold, hard city. And he, with a thick overcoat, new shoes, a warm house, and a violin worth a small fortune, had been prepared to fight her for a handful of krenin. Johannes was ashamed of himself.

As the child stared at him, frozen with terror, Johannes gathered a handful of coins and dumped them into the girl's lap. He placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder.

"Little girl," he asked. "Do you have somewhere to get out of the cold?"

Agathe, bless her, understood everything. She gave the child--Birgit--a warm bath and a clean set of clothes--Clara's smallest were still too large on her--while Johannes told her what he had gathered of the girl's history. Her mother dead just this morning--frozen to death, by the sound of it. She had no lice, thank goodness, nor signs of any catching disease, so they gave her a cot near the kitchen stove, after feeding her what they thought she could safely stomach of thin porridge and plain bread.

As Birgit curled up beneath a pink-and-white patchwork quilt, she looked something like a kitten snuggling before a fire, not so different from Clara at that age. She clutched the cloth bag full of coins--she insisted on calling it "star money"--to her chest like a rag doll

"We could take her to the sisters in the morning," Agathe said. "They'll know what to do with her."

"She may have family still living. I could make inquiries."

He'd have time to, now that he was not needed at the concert hall.

"I should have been playing onstage just then," Johannes said. "If I hadn't been there, what would have become of her?" He had a sudden vision of that little face, white and frozen in an alleyway, unseen by dozens of comfortably prosperous people passing by.

Agathe took his hand. "You had far more important places to play tonight."

Johannes looked down upon his wife, the lamplight giving her brown hair an angelic glow. He'd been so concerned for himself--his loss of status, the death of dreams--and so afraid of disappointing his wife and children. Yet his saintly little wife saw only the good this disaster had brought.

"What about tomorrow?" Johannes asked softly. "And all the days after? The story will spread. I may not get work with another orchestra."

"People know you," Agathe said firmly. "They ought to know that the man who'd take in a starving child would never steal a star. If they don't know it, you don't want to play for them."

"Who else can I play for?" Johannes asked. "We can't raise two girls off of coins from the street. I have no other trade."

"Talent like yours will find release. On another city's stage. As a teacher. Even if you only play at home, it will do some good in the world. Whatever happens, God will provide." She squeezed his hand. "It is nice to have you home at Christmastime for a change."

In the distance, church bells chimed the hour. Snowflakes fell softly outside the window. The white walls of the kitchen were bright and clean, the room warm and cozy. This was more pleasant than a practice room.

Boards creaked heavily in the hall, and two small, bleary-eyed girls in white nightdresses peered into the kitchen.

"Girls," Agathe cried, moving toward them. "What are you doing up?"

Clara and Dorit raced past her, their faces alight with joy. "Papa!" Clara shrieked, throwing her arms around his waist. Dorit pressed her face against his legs. Johannes crouched to gather them in his arms.

"You're home early!" Clara said as Johannes pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I couldn't spend another night away from my girls," Johannes said.

Birgit started awake, sitting upright and wide-eyed as she goggled at the riotous little intruders.

Dorit tugged at Johannes' sleeve. "Who's that?"

How to explain a dustgirl--unimaginable poverty and desperation--to such innocents? "She's a little friend who needed a place to sleep. I met her when I was playing my violin on the street."

Clara seized one of her Johannes' wrists and tried to drag him toward where his violin case sat on the kitchen table. "Can you play for us, Papa? We haven't had any Christmas music yet! You give it all to everyone else."

Johannes was startled. When was the last time he'd played for the girls? He'd spent so much time practicing at the concert hall lately, living deep within the symphony, that he hadn't considered how little music they had in their lives.

On the cot, little Birgit sat with tangled hair and dark circles under her eyes. Johannes told his daughters, "Maybe tomorrow. Our guest needs to sleep."

The girls broke into an outcry of, "No!" and "Please, Papa!"

To his surprise, one of the voices was a small, raspy one from the cot.

Johannes crouched beside the little dustgirl. "Would you like to hear some music?"

The little girl's eyes glowed with wonder, as if he'd just offered to do magic. "Please," she whispered.

Johannes clapped his hands against his knees. "Very well." He sprang to his feet and removed his violin from its case with a flourish. It glowed golden-brown in the lamplight, and seemed to be quivering--almost alive--beneath his fingers. He placed the rest between his chin and held the bow over the strings.

He basked in the glow of in his warm little kitchen, with snowflakes falling outside, surrounded by the shining eyes of his wife and daughters and one adoring little dustgirl. He was home with his family instead of hidden away in a practice room. A child who might not have survived the night was now warm and safe. What were concerts, accusations, and even Lars Henning's jealousy, compared to that? All troubles could wait until morning. For now, Johannes would be grateful.

With a smile, Johannes touched his bow to the strings and played a song about a Christmas star.

#the bookshelf progresses #starfall #inklingschallenge #inklingschristmaschallenge #inklings christmas challenge 2023

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