#even if he did half the goblins wouldn’t and the other half would start a riot

[spiffingbeansoup]

I mean… yeah? i guess?!?

#i just #politician?!? #like i can understand why they put it there #but we all know jareth does zero politicing #i don’t even think he knows the word #monarch would make more sense #even if he did half the goblins wouldn’t and the other half would start a riot #wait no that does sound like actual politics #jareth #jareth local politician #my rambles #labyrinth

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale #gale of waterdeep #astarion #gale dekarios #laq talks #I talk #she stares at me real hard after she makes a choice too #like squinting to see if my expression gives anything away #if it was a good or bad call #I keep my face blank as shit it’s hilarious #I have not told her I’m writing fanfic for this game #nor will I ever #jesus christ

[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, just a lot of angst (eventually there will be fluff and smut, but in later chapters)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— A/N: This fic is for a prompt by @pugsnotdrugs92, and I was also asked to write a similar fic by at least one anon.

Sadly, since she gave me that prompt, Pugs has deleted her blog. I have just learned this tonight and I am... pretty damn upset, I'll say that (not at her of course 💗, but at what caused it).

I will just say that if you get hate from anyone, block them, block indiscriminately until you have peace. I hope that Pugs (and anyone who deleted their blog as part of this mess) will make an account on this hellsite again one day <3

Anyway! On with the fic. Hope you enjoy it, my dears 🌺

Nobody had any idea who turned Sebastian in. It came so unexpectedly that they almost didn’t believe it when he happened. After all, it had been two years since Solomon’s death, and everyone in Feldcroft believed he died in his sleep.

“I know it isn’t me,” she said tearfully to Ominis one day, “and I know it isn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t Anne either,” said Ominis with a shake of his head.

“Are you sure? She still isn’t speaking to Sebastian.”

“She protected him this whole time, why would she report him to the ministry now? She might not forgive Sebastian, but she wouldn’t do this to him…”

Their suspicions fell on Leander, or the goblins, or any number of rivals Sebastian had made, but none of their suspects were likely to even know the truth about what happened that day in the catacomb. It therefore stood to reason that someone had overheard them speaking about it at some point, but that did little to narrow it down — for all they knew, one of the portraits had heard them and reported it to the Headmaster.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who told the Aurors about it. The trio rushed through their N.E.W.T.S. half-heartedly, with Sebastian unsurprisingly scoring lower than he ever had, and in their spare time they spoke of nothing but the upcoming trial.

They’d even arranged for a solicitor for Sebastian, and visited him via floo in London, but he only spoke to his client in private. And every time Sebastian walked out of the wizard’s office, he looked more discouraged than the last.

The trial took place during summer, right after their 7th year ended. Both she and Ominis attended it every day. Imelda came sometimes as well, and Poppy, and Lucan — even Garreth attended on two occasions. He’d never liked Sebastian much, but he seemed to put aside his feelings throughout all of this.

“They don’t mean to send him there, do they?” he whispered as they sat outside the courtroom one sweltering afternoon.

“Where else?” said Imelda. “They closed all the other wizarding prisons centuries ago.”

“But he’s supposed to have done it while he was still a student…”

“What d’you expect? That they’ll give him detention for murder?”

“No, but…”

“You don’t think he really did it, do you, Imelda?” asked Poppy, leaning over Garreth.

“He didn’t,” said Ominis without even glancing their way.

“That’s right,” she said from beside Ominis. “Sebastian’s done nothing wrong.”

The trial went badly almost from the start. The judge was a grey old wizard in a funny wig, and there was no jury to speak of. He seemed to treat the death of a former Auror, even one of such ill repute as Solomon, quite seriously. The Prosecution leaned into that every chance they got.

Anne was called to give testimony in the first week, and she confessed under oath what she had found when she reached the catacombs, which was enough to shock the court. Sebastian’s friends took courage from the fact that she had not actually seen what killed Solomon, but it was only a matter of the judge drawing a line between a quick succession of events.

Ominis was called to the stand as well, but lied shamelessly. Even the threat of Veritaserum from the Prosecution didn’t sway him. He knew none of them would dare submit a Gaunt to that — a rare occasion of his family name amounting to something. However, him being Sebastian’s oldest friend cast doubt upon his entire deposition…

And then, she was called to give testimony as well. Unlike Ominis, she was not sure she could afford to lie, but nothing could get her to betray Sebastian.

All that she could remember was that Solomon attacked the both of them, and both she and Sebastian felt quite threatened by him, and then somehow, between the flying curses and roving Inferi, Uncle Solomon fell dead. But that happened, after all, more than two years ago, Your Honour, and it was in a dark and gloomy cave — and oh, what were they doing there? Objection. Relevance?

Ominis and the others congratulated her on well she held her own, but deep down, she felt like she had let her best friend down — her statement didn’t put the blame on Sebastian, but neither did it exonerate him.

By the time the trial was approaching the end, their former classmates had stopped coming, and only she and Ominis were left.

“He looks so —”

“I know,” said Ominis, not wanting to hear her describe him. This was on the last day, and the judge would give the verdict.

Guilty. Six months in Azkaban.

The courtroom reverberated with murmurs from the crowd — some in approval, others in outrage.

It was a horrible sentence to hear, but it was not as bad as their worst fears — people were often given life imprisonment for the Unforgivables. Fortunately, in Sebastian’s case, there was not enough conclusive evidence either way. Still, if they were to appeal, it would take longer than six months to even have a new judge assigned to the case, so they were left with no choice but to accept it.

As the Aurors led Sebastian away, she and Ominis stood together and called out useless encouragements to their friend, telling him to have courage, to be strong, have faith that he would soon be free, but he went with the guards without looking back at them…

Most of their former classmates were shocked but seemed to think the six-month sentence would pass quickly. They knew Azkaban was pretty horrible and could remember a few things from their DADA class, but none of them was truly educated on the nature of Dementors. Ominis was. He’d been in their presence when he and his father went to visit an uncle of his who’d been sentenced for murdering a muggle. He claimed it was the worst experience he’d ever had in his life — worse than Crucio, in its own way. He still remembered how the despair lingered inside him for days.

And as time passed, she became aware of something lingering within herself as well…

By the fourth month, she had to use concealment charms around her waist when she went out in public. Ominis figured it out on his own — it was probably that echolocation spell he used to get around. He’d merely been suspicious at first, but by the fifth month…

“Can anyone else see?!”

“No, and they won’t if you just stop —”

“But this could ruin your reputation!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

“I can’t believe you! How c—”

“Ominis, shut up,” she hissed.

“But you —”

“It’s Sebastian’s!”

“… Oh. I suppose that makes it better, then.”

From then on, Ominis supported her and helped her in any way he could — which admittedly wasn’t much, as he was still getting used to living on his own after being freed from his family’s clutches. And either way, the first few months were gentle enough on her that she could cope well enough on her own. The only help she needed was preparing her small flat to host two people — and eventually three — which meant some creative furniture transfiguration to fit everything in too small a space.

Christmas arrived in the meanwhile, then the New Year. They had tried writing to him every month by then, but the authorities kept sending their letters back — none were allowed for fear of concealed enchantments, they said, and no visitations were allowed either for lower-class prisoners. It broke her heart to know him all alone throughout those rotten months and all through the holidays. Neither she nor Ominis found it in them to celebrate anything that year…

Sebastian was released in February. They wouldn’t be allowed on the island of Azkaban, but they could see him at the Ministry, where he would be transported before he was officially freed.

She and Ominis got there at sunrise, and waited for hours.

Sebastian’s assigned solicitor couldn’t be there, as he had another case, but he sent a house elf to sign the release form in his name. Anne hadn’t come either, but that was hardly a surprise…

The two of them sat alone in a busy hallway, watching witches and wizards pass through — some going in, some going out — until finally, late in the afternoon, the Auror at the front desk told them that inmate Sallow would be arriving within minutes.

“Here, here, they said this will be the exit,” she said, pulling on Ominis’ sleeve.

Two large wooden doors lay open out of which a long dark hallway extended like a neck, and on either side were doors being shut and open of ministry workers travelling through. There was constantly a small crowd of people darkening that space even further.

“I think that’s him,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes when she spotted a dark ruffled head of hair.

“Alright, stay calm,” said Ominis, taking her hand to settle her. Since he’d realised that she was pregnant, he was instinctively more protective.

“Oh, it is! It is him!” she said with tears in her happy voice.

Sebastian was led out of one of those side doors — dressed in a grey and black prisoner’s uniform, his hands and feet chained, terribly thin and tired and bent at the back, and looking as if he hadn’t slept for days…

“Sebastian!” she called out, waving to him with the hand that wasn’t in Ominis’ grasp. “Over here!”

He looked up slowly, as if doubting that he’d heard his name called. His eyes searched blearily through the crowd ahead, not really focusing anywhere, but then they fell on her. She grinned brightly when she caught his gaze.

“Y-you came?” he said, looking at the two of them like they were a dream come true.

“Of course,” she said.

“Surely you didn’t expect anything else,” grinned Ominis.

“I… I need to go somewhere, they’re taking me to… to…” He didn’t have time to explain before Aurors led him around the corner and to another room, for processing.

“We’ll be here,” she called out after him, “we’ll wait for you!”

“How does he look?” whispered Ominis. “He sounded quite weak.”

“He looks… the way he sounded,” she said, “but he’ll be alright… He has to be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Sebastian stepped back outside. He was now dressed the way he was when they arrested him: a faded green sweater and black trousers with worn old leather shoes. The clothes hung on his lanky frame, his face was all angles and shadows, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a wash in the whole six months. He was, of course, without his wand as well — they’d broken that after his sentencing.

But there was a still little light still left in his eyes, and it shone when he saw his friends again. He called out her name and Ominis’, and walked toward them with feeble brisk steps.

“I can’t believe it,” he grinned weakly, his steps growing bolder the closer he got to his friends. “I never thought —”

But then he noticed their joined hands, and her swollen stomach, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He only caught the sight for a second before she let go of Ominis and rushed to embrace him.

“Seb,” she cried out as she jumped into his arms. She clung to his neck like a lifeline. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve… missed you too,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

She buried her face in his neck while Sebastian’s eyes fell to Ominis — who embraced him too from the other side in an uncharacteristic display of affection, before he stood back timidly.

“How… erm, how are you?” he asked with a nervous smile, feeling more happy than he cared to admit, and relieved to have his friend back in one piece.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian. Gently, he dropped the girl from his arms and slowly pulled away.

“Of course,” she said, wiping her tears and stepping back, but keeping his hand clasped in hers. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say anything. We just came to take you home. It’s alright now… You’re free, you’re finally back. We’ve missed you so much…”

“Home?” said Sebastian, looking between her and Ominis coolly. “Whose home is that?”

“Well… whichever one you want,” she said. “Yours or mine or…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to see Feldcroft again,” said Sebastian. “But I wouldn’t want to… impose on either of you.”

“What?” frowned Ominis. “Don’t be stup— I mean, don’t worry about that, Sebastian.”

“Oh, is there something to worry about?” he asked.

“Well —”

“We don’t need to discuss that —”

“— here.”

“— now.”

“… I see.”

“Don’t concern yourself with anything,” she smiled, stepping up to him again and embracing him loosely. “Let’s leave this horrible place first…”

They made their way out of the ministry building and through the cold London streets toward Diagon Alley, and his friends talked to him excitedly about the things that had happened: what their former classmates were doing, what they knew about Anne, even the latest Quidditch matches.

They probably felt less cheerful than they seemed, but their enthusiasm was overflowing as they prattled on about all the normal things people their age should care about, almost as if nothing bad had happened at all. They laughed, and smiled, and rubbed his back, and all the while there was in Sebastian’s gait much of the same imprisoned and defeated look as there had been when he was led out of the courtroom at his sentencing.

“We wrote to you while you were there,” she said as they approached the Leaky Cauldron.

“But the damned guards never delivered them,” said Ominis.

Sebastian listened in silence, and they tacitly agreed it was because of what he had been through. He would open up to both of them in time, they were certain…

They decided to have lunch at the Cauldron since neither of them had eaten anything since morning — and they didn’t even wish to think of the food in Azkaban. They ordered sausages and eggs and mashed potatoes and a great big serving of pickled pumpkin.

Sebastian ate the least out of the three of them — and what he didn’t finish, she devoured. Ominis hid his chuckle behind a cough, while Sebastian could barely look at her. If she noticed it, she didn’t say. She just kept smiling and laughing along with Ominis…

More than ever in Azkaban, he wished he could dig a hole for himself through which to disappear. The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded, the smell of food made his stomach turn, and every scrape of a chair was like a scratch across his brain. Even sitting down was uncomfortable, his muscles too thin and his back too weak to hold him. He moved uncomfortably from one position to another, and let his friends prattle on to fill the emptiness between them.

After almost an hour, they decided to leave, and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“I’m seeing someone at the ministry next Wednesday about a position,” said Ominis as they walked toward the fireplace. “But I can stop by afterwards if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Do you have enough chocolate at home? I can bring some more.”

“Shelves full of it,” she laughed. “But more is always a good idea. I suspect we’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll bid you two goodbye for now, then,” said Ominis as he waved them off, blissfully oblivious to what was going through Sebastian’s mind.

“Goodbye,” she said with a tearful smile, letting go of Sebastian for a brief while to hug their friend once more.

“I’ll let you know before I arrive on Wednesday.”

“Not to worry, Ominis. We’ll be alright… Everything will be alright now.”

“I hope so…”

“And good luck with your interview!”

“Thank you… Although I’m not sure I want it.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” said Sebastian tiredly. “For… everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “I’m glad to have you back. We both are. Just focus on getting well again…”

Sebastian nodded, not feeling that any of their kind words were true. He disappeared in the green flames with her, wishing for once to not appear on the other end.

#Sebastian Sallow #Ominis Gaunt #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x reader #pugsnotdrugs92 #I miss you 😭 #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;memories

[ravenelyx]

I Love You In Every Timeline - Sebastian Sallow

I Do Not Have Any Thought That Is Not Yours

[Fic masterlist]

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance for the reader

Themes: angst, temporarily unrequited love, pining, some form of transference¹, developing relationship, slow burn, explicit (eventually)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe." In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: another chapter

AO3 / Wattpad

-

Tracey Nettlebed was boring holes into Sebastian’s skull, and he was sure it wouldn’t be long until they were deep enough for his brain to start leaking out. And, to be honest, he didn’t totally hate the idea.

It would ensure he'd stop him from thinking altogether.

In short, he did forget the prize. He had remembered that the same night, when he’d met Tracey's incensed gaze in the Common Room.

“I asked him, but he didn't have any,” he’d lied through his teeth when she’d approached, and Tracey had only narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fine,” she’d conceded brusquely. “But you better have them by tomorrow.”

She had stormed off towards the girls’ dormitories then, not leaving Sebastian any space for compromise. Not that she'd accept it, he suspected.

In his defence, he’d had other things on his mind. The picture of her had followed him in his dreams; a meandering torture of longing and sadness that only reconciled at his wake, and even more had vexed him the resemblance, like the picture had taken form in front of him. He’d dreamt of you, then, standing from your chair in the Library, and hugging him; he’d felt your heart beating against his, your arms tightly wrapped around his neck, he hadn’t even been sure if it was you, at that point. He’d wanted it to stop, yet never let that person in his arms go. He’d realised, at the same time, that you were shorter than her.

The fact that you weren't at breakfast, and the fact that you had taken the book with her picture with you were, instead, what haunted him now. You weren't in his arms and neither was she. And she was nowhere to be found.

Not that he blamed you for storming off and stealing her right from his nose, she was your family after all, but he would be lying if he hadn't thought about keeping that picture to himself. After all it was, in a twisted way, the only memory he had of his past life, of his past love, aside from you — but you had that birthmark, and that crease, and those eyes, and the red and gold reflecting on your skin tone.

Sebastian had tried to find another copy of that book, another copy of her that wasn't in flesh and bones, as much as the thought made his stomach knot in guilt at the disrespect it showed towards you, but no matter where he searched, there was nothing in any of them about the Goblin Rebellion of the 1890s. The copy you were reading was obviously a one-off.

Sebastian's luck as always, ladies and gentleman.

He had half a mind to ask you where you had got it, but the discovery seemed to affect you more than it did him. And that was saying something.

Sebastian attempted at allotting all his anger and annoyance and sympathy around that thought, like putting marmalade in jars in his brain. You deserved to have it more, as much as it hurt him.

And it did hurt him. A lot.

Keep reading

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #harry potter #sebastian sallow fanfiction #harry potter fandom #wizarding world #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy fandom #fred weasley #george weasley #ginny weasley #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic

[darknights04]

Wallpaper

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem!reader

Summary: Based on the song Wallpaper by Megan Cormwell. You and Sebastian had always been close until a new student transferred to Hogwarts. When the Yule ball arrives at Hogwarts, you seem to have no one to attend with. However, Ominis Gaunt, seeing how Sebastian has affected you, swopped in to save the day.

Warnings: None I think? Sebastian and MC being cold-hearted and straight-up rude. Fluffy/protective Ominis ❤

The Yule ball had finally come to Hogwarts with Christmas time fast approaching. Being from a pure-blooded family, you were not unfamiliar with balls. Even in the wizarding world, the social season was still in full swing when the term ended each year, leaving your parents plenty of time to throw you into ball gowns and parade you around like cattle for sale. So while the Yule ball would not be your first, it was the first you had been looking forward to. At least, that’s how you felt at the beginning of the year. When the new year started, it was no question that you and Sebastian would attend the ball together. You had not been courting in any sense of the word, but you had always been there for each other when it mattered. You had always been there to support him, and he you. But then, the new student transferred to Hogwarts. 

Initially, you wouldn’t have batted an eye at Sebatian’s interest in the new student. In fact, you had encouraged him. But then he began to change. It started with missed study dates in the library. No big deal, Sebastian hated to study anyways. Then, it was missed meals. Maybe he slept in, maybe he forgot to do the assignment from the night before and needs time to make it up. No big deal. And then, you’d see them together. When Sebastian was supposed to be with you, he was with them. Every once in a while turned into every day of the week. It was like you didn’t even exist anymore. 

Your breaking point was when he ran into you one night in your common room. After being ghosted so many times in the library, you moved your personal study session to the comfort of the Slytherin common room by the fireplace. It felt less lonely there. One day, Sebastian rushed in beside where you were sat. His tie was loosened and he was pacing back and forth, muttering incoherently to himself. 

“Has something happened?” you had asked him after watching for a few moments. Something clearly had him bothered. 

“Y/n!” he exclaimed in a tone of surprise. “What are you doing here?” 

“Studying,” you stated quite bluntly, motioning to your stack of books. “As I have every day for the last few weeks.” 

After a few more paces back and forth and a deep sigh, Sebastian spoke again. “Can I vent to you for a moment?” he asked. 

“You know you’re always welcome to.” 

“Thank you,” he said, taking a deep breath as if to gather up all of his thoughts into something coherent. “I’ve just found out that MC has been fraternizing with goblins,” he spat with disgust. Your concern dropped slightly at the mention of their name. 

“Really?” you had replied half-heartedly. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways as he didn’t seem to even hear you. 

“Goblins! I mean can you believe it? Out of all the people in the world, they just had to ask a goblin for help. After everything? With Anne? At Gringgots?” 

“Gringgots?” you interrupted. “What happened at Gringots? Did one of the workers do something?” 

Sebastian, realizing his mistake, quickly put his hand over his mouth. “Forget I said anything,” he said quickly, beginning to leave the room. 

“Sebastian!” you called after him. “Wait! Please!” He faltered for just a moment, his back still facing you as you spoke. “We used to tell each other everything. What’s changed? Have I done something?” 

He sighed but still made no move to face you. “Just… please don’t tell MC I said anything to you, okay?”

You stood in silence for a moment, questioning in your head if this was truly happening. “O- Of course,” you managed. 

“Thank you,” he said once more before going up the stairs to his dorm, leaving you alone by the fireplace. 

Not only had he come to you to vent about someone else after not speaking to you in weeks, but he didn’t even seem to notice or care about your presence until you spoke up. At that moment, the common room had never felt so lonely. 

---

It was finally time for the Yule ball and you had been dreading every second. Up until this point, you had not even thought about what was to happen now that you and Sebastian haven’t been speaking. You didn’t make the effort to secure another escort as it never crossed your mind. And no one cared to ask you since they too are used to assuming you and him did everything together. For a while, you had seriously considered not going to the ball at all. Why condemn yourself to seeing everyone else so happy? However, in the end, you decided that wallowing in your own self-pity wouldn’t do you any good either. Besides, as much as you complained about balls to your mother, you rather liked playing dress up for the night and getting to feel like a princess. Perhaps it would make you feel better in the end.  

When leaving your dorm, you felt absolutely beautiful. It had been months since you wore anything this exquisite. With your hair done and a light tint added to your lips and cheeks, you did truly feel like royalty. All these feelings left you the moment you descended the stairs to the great hall. 

The room was crowded, everyone who didn’t go home for winter break had been there, but your eyes were scanning the room for only one other. When you found him, your heart began to soar. He was looking at you with more love and adoration than you had ever seen before. You thought maybe this could be a turning point for you both. That was until his gaze moved, following another form coming down the stairs beside you. He was never looking at you, he was looking at them. You might as well not have existed at that moment, as his gaze went right through you like you were a sheet of glass. If not for your pride, you would have turned back to your dormitory at that same moment. But people were watching, and you wouldn’t let him get the best of you. Not this time. 

When the dancing started, you couldn’t help but watch the two of them together on the floor. They moved in perfect harmony like they were made for each other. And you stood to the side, seemingly invisible to them. You felt as if you were blended in with the wallpaper. This was a new feeling for you. At your parents’ balls, you were the diamond of the party. Everyone wanted a dance with you. You’d never been the wallflower before. But here, you were untouchable. Hardly anyone would even spare you a glance.

Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat beside you. “You look far too beautiful tonight to not be on the dance floor,” he said.

You turned and let out a small chuckle when you saw the voice belonged to Omins Gaunt. “And how would you know how I look tonight?” you asked him with a smirk. “It’s not as if you could see me and chose for yourself.” “No but I was standing next to Garrenth Weasly when you walked in,” he explained simply. Now it was he who sported a smirk on his face. “When he told Leander to look your way as well I could practically hear the breath leave their lungs.” At this, you weren’t sure what to say. As if he knew the effect his words had on you, Ominis simply held out his arm. “Now how about that dance?” 

He led you to the center of the floor with all the confidence that a blind man could have in a room full of people. When the music began, he took his position across from you. 

“Do you know this dance?” you asked him. He chuckled, though it sounded more like a scoff.

“You know, you’re not the only one of high social standing Ms. L/n,” he said teasingly. 

You laughed. “Well, I wasn’t sure if your parents had still forced you to learn all of these ridiculous dances. Being blind and all.” 

As the music started, you both began to move in sync with it, along with your other classmates in attendance. 

“I have to admit,” he started, “I prefer dancing to most other day-to-day activities.” 

“Is that so?” 

Ominis nodded as he took your hand, twirling you as the music commanded before pulling you back to his chest, your other hand on his shoulder and his on your waist. 

“Dancing is the one thing I don’t require guidance for, once I learned the steps. I know where I need to be at every moment in the music, and where everyone else will be at most any given moment.”

“That… actually makes sense,” you said with a small nod. “Why haven’t I seen you at any of our balls throughout the summer?” 

“My parents didn’t see a point in bringing me,” he shrugged. “They figured you’d be courted by Sebastian as soon as we came of age.”

At the mention of Sebastian, you turned to see him dancing with MC. They looked so happy together. 

“Do you think he’ll start to court them when the term ends?” you sighed. You couldn’t be upset. 

No one stole him from you. He wasn’t yours to steal. 

“Hey,” Ominis said, pulling you from your thoughts. He hooked his finger under your chin and turned your head to look at him. “Don’t think about them anymore. Not tonight. Just keep your eyes on me.” 

You took a deep breath and nodded your head, continuing to move with Ominis. As the music crescendoed, everyone in the room lifted their partners into the air, the feeling of the wind brushing the peak of your cheeks was almost euphoric. For the first time in weeks, Sebastian was not the first thought on your mind. It wasn’t until this moment that you realized he’s been clouding your thoughts for far too long. The hope that maybe something romantic would blossom between you two kept you from seeing possibility in anybody else. But the truth was, Ominis had always been here on the sidelines. Waiting for when you needed someone to fall back on. The way you were feeling right now was how he felt every day you favored Sebastian’s attention.  

When he pulled you back to his chest, you rested your head on Ominis’s shoulder and wrapped both arms around his neck, causing the boy to jum[ slightly.

“Thank you,” you said softly. 

“For what?” 

“For always being here for me. Even when I don’t notice right away. You’ve always been there for me.” 

Ominis smiled into your hair, brushing it back slightly as he continued to sway you back and forth as you simply enjoyed one another’s embrace. As the current song ended, he pulled back from you so you could look him in the eye. “I will always be here for you,” he said, taking your hands again. The next song began to start up again and Ominis smirked, taking position for the next dance. “Now, let’s give these blokes something to stare at, shall we?” 

You began to laugh as Ominis led you to the center of the floor, exaggerating each dip and stride to catch the attention of everyone in the room. You followed suit. As you both danced and twirled around the other, the rest of the room couldn’t help but stare and gawk at how well you complimented each other. Like you were made perfectly for the other. While Sebastian always seemed to outshine you, Ominis knew just how to make you shine brighter. Bright enough to catch the man in question’s attention itself. But you didn’t care. The way Ominis danced with you made any thought of Sebastian go from the back of your mind to not existent at all. A feeling that you never wanted to let go of. 

#ominis x fem #ominis #ominis gaunt #wallpaper #sebastian #sallow #yule ball #1890 #hogwarts #legacy #hogwarts legacy #harry potter #gaunt #pure-blood #ball #social season #x reader #reader #fem!reader #fanfiction #love #fluff #music #song #sad #longing #Youtube

[lulublack90]

Prompt 19 - Thumb

@jegulus-microfic March 19 Word count 460

Previous part First part

“We need to return to Grimmauld Place. It’s being watched, and if we’re away much longer, they’ll start getting suspicious.” Regulus looked at James sadly. He pulled the secret chest out from under the spare bedroom’s bed and removed the locking and notice-me-mot charms from it. He opened the thick iron latch and peered at the collection of Horcruxes. The locket, the ring, the cup and now the diadem. Four Horcruxes. It seemed like a lot. But Regulus had a niggling feeling that there was one missing, and he told James as much. “I don’t know why, but I just know we’re missing one.” 

“Well, we’ve only got three of the four founder’s items, so maybe he found the sword?” James pondered. Regulus shook his head. 

“No, everything I’ve read about the sword, not only has it been lost for hundreds of years without even the hint of a sighting, but it’s also Goblin wrought silver. I doubt it would accept a Horcrux. A Horcrux wouldn’t strengthen the sword. It would probably damage it if anything. No, I think we’re looking for something else. I’m wondering if he gave it to another of his—” Regulus was suddenly cut off by one of his brother’s loud moans from the room next door. His eyes flashed with annoyance, making James hurry to the door and cast a silencing charm on the next room over before Regulus actually did what Voldemort wanted him to do and kill Sirius. He came back and ran his thumb along Regulus’s clenched jaw as he pressed a few soft kisses to his anger-flushed cheeks. 

“What were you about to say, love?” James said between each kiss until he felt Regulus begin to relax under him. He ran the pad of his thumb over Regulus’s lips and was rewarded with a nip. 

“I was saying I bet one of the other houses has it. More than likely, it was Lucius. He’s the right-hand man after all, well, after Bella, of course.” 

“Just be careful, Reg. Don’t do anything reckless.” Regulus raised his eyebrow at James. 

“I’m not my brother.” His mouth twisted into what James liked to call a Regulus pout. James leaned in and caught Regulus’s bottom lip between his teeth. Regulus forgot what he was mad about. “I need to go, James,” He murmured against James’s mouth. 

“I’m sure you can spare a few minutes,” James grinned into their kiss. Regulus groaned in exasperation. 

“If I get killed by Voldemort for being awol for too long, I’m blaming you.” James didn’t answer, choosing instead to ignore his boyfriend’s only partially possible threats.

Regulus tugged him back towards the bed, and half an hour later, he and Remus were walking back up the steps to Number 12.      

Next part

#march 19 #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus fic #regulus black #james potter #dead gay wizards #regulus arcturus black #james fleamont potter #sirius black #remus lupin #grimmauld place #james and regulus #james x regulus #regulus x james #regulus and james #james potter x regulus black #thumb

[muuum-am-i-adohhhpted]

here comes the sun (Empires SMP)

Written for the GeminiTay focused zine. If you're interested in the other writing and art created for it, you can find it here: @hermitszine!

Summary: A young Gem has lived in the Goblands ever since she was left outside their gates as a baby. She doesn't quite fit in with the goblins, but it is her home. Then, she sees the sun.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3940

~~~

Gem remembered the first time she saw the sun.

It was right after a particularly bad rainstorm, the earth above them shifting and groaning all through the night. Even though she knew the roof of the cave over the Goblands was particularly safe, she still feared her family’s house being crushed by rocks and debris.

The next morning, she, fWhip, and the other children were told to stay indoors while the older goblins completed a safety inspection to make sure the nearby caves wouldn’t fracture and break while someone was walking beneath them.

But Gem could smell something that enthralled her. Fresh and clear, so unlike the moist dampness of the Goblands that fWhip insisted was warmth.

“Gem,” fWhip hissed, following her hastily as she stepped outside, although he didn’t go farther than the doorway. His eyes shifted back and forth through the empty streets before floating upwards to the roof of the cave. “You know it’s dangerous out here. Remember what happened to kNock last storm?”

“kNock didn’t know the caves well and got himself trapped in a dead end,” Gem said, fluttering her eyes closed, breathing in the crispness off in the distance. “You can stay here if you want.” She started towards one of the caves where the scent was strongest. 

She heard fWhip’s feet pitter-patter as he rushed to follow her. “You might need me.”

“I can navigate these caves perfectly fine, as good as any goblin,” Gem said, bristling, some sharpness in her voice. Even on regular days, when the caves were stable, her parents insisted fWhip accompany her when she went out.

Gem knew she wasn’t a goblin. She didn’t have the tough skin of them, didn’t have the enhanced hearing as they did, couldn’t eat through rocks as goblins could. She was a creature from the above world with bright orange and black wings, left at the mouth of a cave as a baby, and taken in by a goblin family. Still, she had grown up in these caves, like the other young goblins, and knew which ones were older and more prone to falling to pieces.

fWhip didn’t reply, but Gem could still hear him following her. Even if she were half-asleep and barely paying attention, she would be able to recognize her brother’s footsteps a mile away. They were quick, like he was always in a rush, and light, favouring his right foot.

They walked in silence, their echoing footsteps the only thing keeping them company.

Gem remembered being frightened of the caves when she was young. Shadowy areas were commonplace, despite the glow lichen creeping up the walls, and her overactive imagination went wild. Not only that, but the walls felt constricting and tight like, at any moment, they would move closer and closer together until they squeezed her flat. The older she got, and the more she grew, the smaller and smaller the caves seemed.

They arrived at a junction, where multiple caves converged. The ceiling was lofty, as caves solely dedicated to mining were higher up and connected by goblin-made bridges with rails along them. Lone minecarts chugged on their way to one of the many warehouses, rattling with ores and stone.

fWhip’s footsteps came to a halt, and Gem glanced behind her to see his ears twitching. “Two goblins are coming towards us,” fWhip said, pointing at the cave mouth to their left. He glanced around at the other openings, looking for a place to hide.

Gem couldn’t hear anything, only the dripping of water running down stalactites. Nonetheless, she unfurled her wings from her back and squatted down. fWhip, still getting over his fear of heights, took a moment before gently climbing on her back.

Then, as silently as she could, she shot herself upwards onto one of the many bridges above them. The usually dead air whipped around her face, rustling her hair and, for a split second, the squeeze of the cave fell away. Her wings stretched out as far as they could go after being crinkled up since the last time she had used them a couple days away while giving aChoo a little ride around the Goblands.

fWhip kept an ear out for any minecarts that might run them over while Gem waited with bated breath.

Then, two goblins entered the junction, walking leisurely across the floor and into the cave she and fWhip had just exited, likely going back to town to give the caves they had walked through the all clear.

Once fWhip nodded at her, Gem brought them both back down to the floor.

fWhip let out a puff of nervous air as soon as his feet touched the ground.

And then they were off again, into the cave next to the one the two goblins had been in.

They took a few more bends, the freshness growing stronger, and Gem’s inner compass urged her closer. As they took another right turn, fWhip’s hand immediately went to shield his eyes. “Ow,” he groaned, squinting and turning his head away. “Why is it so bright in here?”

Gem didn’t notice a difference, but knew goblins’ eyes were much more sensitive than her own. Here, the floor was at a slight incline and, up ahead, she saw a massive pile of loose rocks. The ceiling had caved in. She glanced back at fWhip, still squinting. “Stay here. I want to check this out.”

As Gem got near the pile, she was momentarily stunned by the view above her. Where the roof of the cave had collapsed, there was now a large hole. Tall birch trees reached upwards, and she heard a bird whistling nearby.

And the sky.

The bright, blue sky seemed endless. And there, amidst its beauty, sat a bright, yellow orb.

The sun.

Gem had never seen the sun before, only ever heard of it. She didn’t want to look away. It was like the ultimate chunk of gold, polished to perfection and placed in the goblin vault, only a million times better. As if in a trance, Gem climbed the large pile of rocks, fWhip’s voice sounding miles away.

She’d been above ground before with the other goblins, but only ever on cloudy nights where the moon was hidden. And she never liked it either; the darkness put her on edge. She flinched at every sound, not liking that she couldn’t see very far. After a couple of trips to the above world, she stopped asking to tag along.

Being here during the day, on a cloudless afternoon, was utterly magical. Her body thrummed, her wings fluttered, her eyes felt like they were seeing colour for the first time. 

Wet grass tickled her ankles as she walked farther away from the hole in the ground. It was chilly up here, and she was reminded that it was springtime and that the above world felt physical changes during the seasons. Down in the caves, in the Goblands, she only knew them apart from the yearly celebrations. 

Still looking skywards, Gem gently flapped her wings, then faster and faster until they were beating rhythmically like a heart. She surged upwards, blood rushing in her ears. She forced herself to stop once she was high above the tallest oak trees. She could see an empire a little ways down the mountain with colourful roofs.

The above world looked breathtaking from this perspective, the sun’s rays warming her body from the spring chill. She could’ve stayed up there forever, drinking in the way the lakes ripped like silk, how the trees’ spindly branches bristled in the light wind, the golden acres upon acres of wheat.

Something caught her eye, a brown mass of fur moving near the edge of the forest. She slowly drew nearer, descending closer to the ground, and the mass only got larger and larger until she saw his ears flick, and Gem was feet away from a brown bear still sleepy from hibernation.

His eyes were black as coal, and his fur looked so soft. Gem wanted to reach out and pet him, despite knowing the dangers. Goblins were taught from a young age to not just go about in any random caves as, during the winter months, it might be home to a bear or a family of them.

Gem kept her distance though, and watched as the bear pawed at some sweet berries on the ground. They crunched under his large jaw and then, when he lifted his head, he gazed straight into Gem’s eyes.

Some kind of energy coursed between them. An understanding, maybe. Inexplicable. Like kismet. Like her life had been leading up to this point ever since she was left at the Goblands’ gates. The world seemed larger, now. Infinite. So much more than the caves she grew up in.

Her feet carefully touched the ground, her dress fluttering in the breeze. She slowly lifted a hand, and the bear’s nose inched towards her open palm.

The soil beneath her vibrated and fell inwards, and Gem was swallowed by earth. A goblin caught her, shielding her from the falling debris. fWhip stood a little away, fidgeting with his hands.

Frantically, Gem glanced upwards, making sure the bear was safe.

All she saw was the sun nestled in the sky.

~~~

Once she had a taste of the above world, the caves of the Goblands felt even more dismal and small. It was home and would therefore always have a place in her heart, but she wanted more. She needed it. Needed to feel the expansiveness of the sky, the way the sun kissed her skin. 

“I’m not one of you,” Gem told her parents as soon as fWhip, and the other goblins who had dug the ground out from beneath her, took her back to their house. “I can’t stay down here forever.”

Her parents looked tired, like they expected that this day would eventually come. Dreaded it, even. But they had to have known she would need to leave at some point, right? She wasn’t a goblin; she couldn’t stay in the caves forever. She couldn’t thrive down here like fWhip did.

After a long pause, her mom nodded. “Let me contact a friend who lives above.” She went to the kitchen where the ink and paper were.

“You’ll visit?” her dad asked after a sigh, taking off his glasses to polish them with the end of his shirt. “We’re still your parents, after all.”

“Of course!” Gem exclaimed, surprised at how defeated he sounded. She had never known her dad to be anything but boisterous and confident, even in the direst of situations. He was a beacon in the Goblands, a constant; you knew to go to him when you needed brightening up. She couldn’t have asked for a better dad. “I wouldn’t even think to not come back. You’re my family.”

Her dad nodded as he slipped his glasses back onto his nose. He made a ‘get out of here’ motion with his hands. “Alright then, that’s enough soppiness from your old dad. Your mom has a friend from Lore Village. She’ll get in contact with her and see if you can stay over there. It’s not that far away, really, only a bit down the mountain.”

“Is that the place with the colourful roofs?” Gem asked. She wouldn’t mind living over there; it had seemed cozy and cheerful, the houses looking like they were hugging.

“Must have been Animalia, you saw.” Gem’s dad gave a shiver. “I was near there one night gathering food, and the whole place gave me the creeps.”

When Gem climbed up the stairs, fWhip was sitting on her bed and immediately began speaking quickly, not looking her in the eye. “That bear scared me. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran back into the cave and bumped into other goblins who helped me create the hole.”

Gem understood where fWhip was coming from. A bear was not usually a creature you tried to go near; how should he know that this one was different from the others?

But before she could say anything, fWhip continued. “Why do you have to leave?” he asked with a short sniff.

Gem sighed, sitting down next to him. “fWhip, I’m not a goblin. I’m not meant to be underground. But that doesn’t make us any less siblings. We’re brother and sister, and I’ll visit plenty. I just need to…” a wry smile took over her face, and she unfurled her wings so that they brushed up against the ceiling, “spread my wings.”

~~~

Lore Village wasn’t nearly the most exciting part of Stratos. Stratos itself was. The quartz reflected the sun's rays in such a way that made the floating city glow. It was ethereal. There were so many chunks of polished and raw gold embedded in the architecture that she wished fWhip was with her to see it all.

When she’d arrived, Jazza gave her a quick tour before having to go to work at the library, leaving Gem free to explore the village on her own.

She spared no time in flying up to Stratos and peering into all the buildings and shrines for godly beings she didn’t know. The floors were slippery, and the buildings were created to let the air flow through. It was a glorious feeling, running and jumping from island to island.

She was mostly left alone, too, allowed to roam on her own. No one seemed to question her or her wings that she hadn’t folded up since she left the Goblands that morning. Or maybe the people of Stratos were quietly wondering who she was, too nice to say anything.

That evening, while Jazza was making supper, she gestured to a thin book she had brought home from work. It sat on the dining table amidst a bowl of grapes. “You might find that interesting. It’s about people like you. With wings.”

Gem blinked, unsure if she heard correctly. She had never heard of others like her, although she supposed it made sense. “Like me?” she repeated, leaning forward to grab the book, laying it on her lap.

“Don’t know how accurate it is,” Jazza continued, as she continued chopping fruit for their salad. “It’s from an outside perspective; some guy did some field research on them and didn’t seem to get super close to the community. At least, that’s what I gathered from what I read when I skimmed it.”

Gem flipped to the very short introduction, which seemed to summarize most of the book.

Dawnlings have many similarities with humans, including their vast diversity. Their only physical difference appears to be their large, orange, black-lined wings. They have a penchant for the sun and daylight, while conversely disliking the night. Is it an inherent characteristic, or a learned one? This must be researched more. For more information on Dawnling characteristics, see Chapter 1.

Dawnlings are migratory people, unable to fly long distances in the cold of winter due to the fragility of their wings. It is interesting to note when Dawnlings migrate. During the winter, they travel southwest in the evening to warmer temperatures, when the sun sets. Then, in the spring, they make their way back home to the coast in the morning, just as the sun rises. This way, Dawnlings keep the sun in their vision each time they travel. For more on Dawnlings’ migratory practices, see Chapter 2.

Dawnlings do not seem to have a ruler, instead making decisions as a collective. They have some sort of religion, seemingly only understandable amongst themselves. This must also be studied more. To learn more about Dawnling society, see Chapter 3.

Gem wrinkled her nose. “What’s the point of writing a book on people you know next to nothing about? Why not wait until you learn more, or gain the trust of an inside perspective?”

Jazza shrugged. “Maybe the author was on a deadline? Or was just planning to make a quick couple of diamonds? Anything’s possible.”

~~~

The next night, Gem awoke for seemingly no particular reason. Maybe it was because she was still unused to the bed, still getting comfortable in Jazza’s guest room. It was a nice space, although larger than her room in the Goblands.

Suddenly, there was a scratching sound at her window to the right. She had decided to keep the curtains open, allowing for the glow of the village lamp posts to break up the darkness in her bedroom. Now she wished she hadn’t.

Gem sat up straight in her bed, gripping the sheets. Maybe it was the wind jostling stuff around outside? She still wasn’t used to these noises. Back in the Goblands, the only sounds she would hear as she tried to sleep were the dripping of water, the soft voices of her parents, and occasionally the snort of a boar. 

The scratching sound came again.

Gem slid off the bed and crept to the window, keeping herself low to the ground. Maybe it was nothing; maybe she was just being paranoid. Still, she had to be sure. Once she knew there was nothing there, she’d go back to bed. Taking in a quick breath, she peered up over the windowsill.

Coal-black eyes greeted her, the bear’s nose pressed up to the glass. 

Gem stifled a laugh, her previous fear now evaporated, and she pushed the window up. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, a smile on her face. How had he found her?

Of course, the bear didn’t respond.

Maybe she’d been right when they first met: something else was at play here. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this bear had found her, on the complete other side of the mountain that the Goblands was under. It was destiny; their paths were bound to cross.

The bear turned around, his fur ruffling in the night breeze. His tiny tail flicked a little. Then, he glanced back at Gem, tilting his head to the side. As if he were saying, well, are you coming or not?

“Where are we going?” Gem asked, although she was already in motion. She pulled on her dress and grabbed a coat. Then, glancing around, she bit her lip. “One second,” Gem said, rushing out of her room as quietly as she could.

Her shoes were by the front door, and she quickly slipped them on before digging around the drawers for some paper and a quill to write a note to Jazza.

Jazza,

Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back soon.

Gem

Then, she slipped out the front door and snuck around to the side where her bedroom was. The bear was pawing at the ground and looked so out of place amongst Lore Village’s wooden paths and sandstone buildings. He turned to face Gem when she got near and, suddenly, the night didn’t feel so scary.

When they stared at one another, Gem felt it again. A sense of rightness. The bear’s eyes seemed wise and all-seeing. She trusted him, and he trusted her.

“Okay, let’s go,” Gem said.

The bear bent down and then turned to look at her, tipping his head towards his back.

“Are you sure?” she asked him and, when the bear made no movement, Gem carefully crawled onto his back and sat atop him like he was a horse. His fur was thick, and he radiated warmth.

In one swift movement, the bear rose and started up a quick pace, navigating through Lore Village’s winding sheets until they were out, headed in an easterly direction. The mountain that the Goblands was under slowly and steadily grew smaller and smaller.

Gem constantly glanced back until it was nothing more but a speck.

“We’ll be back soon, right?” Gem asked the bear, worrying her bottom lip. While she trusted him fully, and knew she’d be safe as long as they were together, she didn’t want to be gone too long, or Jazza might get distressed and then contact Gem’s parents. How could she ever explain all this to them?

They travelled for a long while, and Gem dozed off, waking up every so often. Each time she awoke, the night was a little brighter.

It was nearly daybreak when Gem re-awoke and noticed they were surrounded by tall mountains. The bear was following a little, rocky path, walking slower than they had in the empty field a couple hours earlier. The mountains were snow-capped, and there was something in the air.

Was that salt? Were they near an ocean?

Gem sat a little straighter. She’d never seen an ocean before. The bear seemed to pick up on her interest, for he sped up just slightly. And then, around the last bend, sat a tall gatehouse that had a glass window in the shape of a sun.

The barricade was lifted, which Gem wasn’t sure was strange or not. Weren’t gatehouses supposed to keep outsiders away? It was early in the morning—the sun wasn’t up yet. Maybe the building was from a different time, a remnant of a violent past.

There was a sudden ringing that had Gem pressing her hands against her ears. Still, she heard someone’s voice bellow from the gatehouse. “Apollo has returned! He has brought the princess! The prophecy has been fulfilled!”

The bear’s stride didn’t falter, and they passed through the gate, the bell still ringing. 

And there, sprawled on the coastline was a quaint little town with red, orange, and yellow roofs. Then, beyond was the soft roll of waves in the dark blue ocean. A little sliver of golden yellow was beginning to peek out on the horizon.

Doors started banging open and, suddenly, winged people glided out of their houses. People with orange and black wings. People like her. A flutter of bodies surrounded her.

The words “prophecy” and “Apollo” were repeatedly thrown about. What was that about a princess?

Childrens’ hands reached out to pet the now stationary bear, who Gem assumed was named Apollo. She liked the name Apollo; it suited him.

“A prophecy?” Gem repeated, climbing off Apollo who was likely exhausted from carrying her all the way here.

A girl about twelve looked up at her, mouth slightly agape. Her wings were flapping excitedly behind her. “Welcome to Dawn. Your arrival is a part of a prophecy.” She grinned proudly before saying, “I can recite it for you.”

For three bleak years, Apollo will disappear,

On the third day of the third spring, he’ll bring the princess here.

She who has spent her life underground,

Apollo will retrieve her; she will be found.

They will travel together, haste they will make,

And arrive in Dawn at first day break.

Gem blinked, the words settling around her.

The girl floated a couple inches off the ground, her eyes sparkling, and the people around her gave her a wide breadth of space for her beating wings. “We haven’t had a ruler in ages. Prophecies don’t come around all that often, and that’s how rulers are always selected.”

A princess. Gem didn’t know what to think. The title in reference to her felt like a dress that didn’t quite fit. It wasn’t uncomfortable in a tight or constricting way, just far too big and daunting. But, really, all that meant was that she just had to grow into it. 

Her thoughts flitted to her family. She couldn’t wait to tell fWhip and her parents about all this. Maybe she could convince the Goblands to create a tunnel to Dawn. It could be her first degree, the Goblin Empire her first ally.

Gem smiled and, on the horizon, the sun rose.

#empires smp #geminitay #geminitay fanfiction #geminitay fanfic #hermits zine #geminitay hermits zine #empires smp season 2

[vixstarria]

Write your Tav (other characters' POV edition)

So I was going to do something similar to this write your Tav headcanon post by @spacebarbarianweird (hello!), but decided to postpone it until after I've actually finished the game. (Guilty of still being on Act 2 here, although much has been spoiled)

Still, I wanted to do something to flesh her out a bit, and ended up doing something entirely different, being short blurbs from the other characters' perspectives, to varying degrees of insight and self-interest, as though given sometime before the end of the game.

If anyone else wants to do this - I'd love to read it. My stuff under the cut.

Shadowheart 

Our good luck charm. I could never tell how old she is. Not just because she’s a half-elf – oftentimes she would act like an adolescent with a devil-may-care attitude, but then you would sense a profound world-weariness from her, that made you question the span and depth of her experiences... She’s gotten us out of the most perilous situations just by knowing which buttons to push, no matter whether with humans, goblins or any other assortment of abominations. Could it be just intuition? I’ve overheard her discussing books with Gale and Astarion that she had no business even knowing about. One thing is for certain: she’s no pampered court bard. I get the sense she’s been running from something. I wonder what. 

Gale 

She is the rainbow at the end of a bout of rain. A renewal of hope. Vibrant. Comforting. Refreshing. Delightful. ...Unreachable. Maybe if not for that blasted vampire... Although she’s certainly not the sort of woman I’ve ever envisaged my life with. Nor the type I would like to bring to meet my mother. Nor would she fare well within the collegiate circle. ...Come to think of it, she probably would not want the kind of life I could offer her, either. And yet being near her makes my heart sing... 

Lae’zel 

Weak. But courageous. Whelps like her do survive through sheer determination sometimes. She is lucky that Astarion took it upon himself to watch her back from day one. We all are. She is an inspirational leader. She has taught me that there are more ways out than ‘through’. To ‘think outside the box’, as the istik say. She has, truth be told, shown me the box, and rubbed my face in the fact I was in it. I am grateful and honoured to have met her.  

Wyll 

Oh she’s a good egg. Shame she never sang for us in camp. Too intimate, she said. What’s that all about? I suppose some things are more easily done before strangers... At least she played. I do hope we’ll write the story of our adventures together one day. Ballads, books... It all deserves a place in recorded history, written by her, with my assistance of course. Someone has to make sure the account is accurate. Wouldn’t want her to diminish or overinflate anyone’s role.  

Karlach 

My sister! I love her! I’m sorry I got us banned from that tavern, but I’m not one to walk away from a challenge, and ale had to be chugged, and tables had to be flipped. But she’s my best bud for all things debauchery. Skinny boy fangs, too. Him and his wine. Wait, was that wine in his goblet? Can vampires even drink wine? ...What the fuck was in the goblet and where did it come from?! I remember he was drunk... Actually, no, that was another time. SHE was drunk, and then he had her blood, yes. And then I eventually had to throw them both over my shoulders and haul them out of the tavern, because they had the bright idea to start a pickpocketing competition. And I say if you’re going to steal – steal responsibly, NOT while you’re hammered. Gods I’ll miss them both.  

Astarion  

My little dove. When I asked you why you let me bite you that night – you're not that naive and trusting after all – you said: “I had nothing to lose by agreeing to feed the strange sexy vampire – I couldn’t care less whether I lived or died anyway”. The joke fell flat. I asked whether you still felt that way. About life and death. “Not anymore,” you said, and took my hand.  

You are, perhaps, the only person worse than me at expressing their real feelings. Or at admitting them to your own self. It’s deplorable for a bard, darling. Even Lae’zel can get straight to the point, when she must. But I see you through the masks you wear. Just as you see me.  

Tav 

None of these fuckers know I’m the real princess of House Nightstar, married to a tarrasque named Johnathan.  

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #write your tav #bg3 tav #my tav #baldur's gate oc #writing

[maaszeltov]

Games

Iconduragos studied the elven man in detail. Of course, there was the telltale pale skin, red eyes, and neck marks that denoted a vampire. Yet there was something else about him that seemed most unusual, aside from the fact that the undead could stand to be in the sun. He dug into heavily modified memories, searching for tidbits of information that didn’t seem tied to whatever blighted mess his past was. Ah, yes. It was very rare, no, extremely rare, for a vampire to so vehemently hate being a vampire as this one evidently did. Draining a boar instead of a passing adventurer or even a goblin? His scaly brow cocked almost instinctively, a gesture his face must have memorized. Astarion visibly fidgeted under his gaze.

“Something caught your eye, darling?” He asked, practiced words rolling from a silvered tongue, but he did not fool him. Iconduragos could see the nerves in the tightness of his jaw and the flickering of his gaze between him and the others ahead of them. He thanked whoever he was before. Clearly the man was practiced at reading others. He reached out with one hand to Astarion, waiting to see if the man would let him get close. To his satisfaction, he did.

“Just some rubble from our… fortunate landing.” With that, he brushed off imaginary dust from Astarion’s shoulder. His voice sounded casual, light. “I believe you have some in your hair as well.” He turned back towards Shadowheart and Lae’zel walking ahead of them in frigid silence, and saw Astarion preen himself out of the corner of his eye. A thought bubbled to the surface; This would be all too easy. What would? Iconduragos pondered to himself as they continued deeper into the forest.

It took longer than he thought it would for Astarion to show his true self. It had been somewhere around five or six days since they had met, and despite Iconduragos’s multiple magical alarms, they hadn’t been set off once. This time though, he felt the pinging just before he felt the hungry presence above him. Time to sell it. He “stirred,” blinking back sleep before looking up and starting at the man in front of him. Astarion jumped back, mouth still agape, fangs glinting in the moonlight. Half of him seemed wont to run, if not for the buffet Iconduragos had just denied him.

“Shit,” he started, “No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear.” The man started to breathe quicker, panic setting it. “I- I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed, well… blood.”

“Wait,” Iconduragos’s voice was measured. Controlled. “I knew what you were from the start, but I didn’t want to reveal it to the others. I’m not going to rat you out or drive a stake into your heart, believe me.” This seemed to shock Astarion’s system. His expression slowly turned into a small frown as he straightened up, fists now curling at his sides.

“You- you knew?!” He hissed.

“I’m a necromancer, Astarion. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“You make a fair point.” He relaxed, if barely. “Still, why didn’t you tell me?”

Iconduragos groaned internally at the man. Charismatic, silvered tongued vampire and yet still knew so little of social interaction. “And scare you off? We both know why you didn’t tell anyone sooner. I’m not going to risk someone overhearing us!” It was getting a bit hard for him to keep his voice down. A quick glance at the others showed that he didn’t wake any of them. Astarion followed his gaze, dropping instinctively down into a crouch and whispering.

“Well, I would love to keep chatting, darling, but I really do need a pick-me-up.”

Iconduragos knew what he was suggesting. He had been looking forward to having this moment since that first interaction. Having a vampire at full strength by his side would prove immeasurably useful. Especially one that felt indebted to him. Iconduragos paused for a moment and let trepidation enter his voice. It was not very difficult.

“Promise me you’ll only have a taste?”

“I swear. One quick little nibble and I’ll be done.”

He nodded. “Then yes, you can drink from me.” This was likely the riskiest gamble he was going to take in all of this. Astarion seemed a slight man with little physical strength, but so was he. He swallowed hard and laid back down, pulling upon his shirt collar to expose to the undead a prime target on his neck to sink into. Astarion kneeled down over him, breath cold upon his skin, before Iconduragos felt him bite down. It was as if needles had been slammed into his skin, injecting icy alcohol that burned his veins. Not the first time. The thought flickered across his mind despite him never recalling anything like this. And certainly not the last. Then the horrid drinking began, his blood rushing out from his body with enthusiasm, sprinting to be drunk by the vampire. Astarion grunted and moaned in ecstasy, lost in the moment. The Kiss. They call it the Kiss. Again, unbidden thoughts rose to the forefront of Iconduragos’s mind. So much familiarity behind it all. Where did this all come from? What past did he have that led him down this road? But he must not lose focus. How many seconds had passed? Five? Ten? His hands scrabbled against the undead’s shoulders before finding purchase, peeling the man away from the puncture wounds on his neck. Astarion let go with a sickening pop! before leaning back in contentment, a blissful smile settled across his face.

“Ah, yes. That was delectable.” The syllables rolled off of his tongue lazily, almost sensually. Iconduragos bit back bile and disgust, forcing the next words out through gritted teeth and pain, “Satisfied?”

“Quite. Although something as tasty as that could only serve as an appetizer…” Astarion’s eyes flashed, a predator staring down prey. Iconduragos felt a stab of fear he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He surely had the means to defend himself, even now. That resolution must have shown on his face, as Astarion shook his head and stood up, that primordial hunger gone.

“And while I would love to partake in such a lovely neck again tonight, I’ll find something else to snack on.” He smiled at him before whirling about and stalking off into the night. Iconduragos could see the newfound power and confidence this had instilled in him. He could only hope that favor was mixed in.

#writing #fic #fanfic #bg #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #astarion x dark urge #iconduragos

[themadlu]

Of Songs and Stars

Valentine's gift for @spin-birdie - I hope you like it, and that Thorn's portrayal is up to standard!

TW: None

It felt too good to be true. The sun shining, the birds chirping and all of ‘nature’s creation’ (boy, Halsin was contagious) teeming with renewed, incredulous optimism. The battle won, goblins sent packing, suddenly the refugee’s hope to reach Baldur’s Gate didn’t seem that far-fetched. 

Take that, Astarion. 

Thorn glanced the vampire’s way, only to see him besieged by a horde of little tieflings, all eager for him to teach his unparalleled sharpshooting skills. If the look on his face was any indication, he was a pixie hair’s breadth away from using one of the little rascals as a target for demonstration. Thorn started heading their way (best not to kill the people they just saved), when a voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“Hero! I for one don’t know how we could ever repay you for what you did today.” Zevlor grasped at the bard’s shoulders with the vigour of someone who cheated death. In a way they all had. “I can scarcely believe it,” he continued, “the threat is gone and the road awaits. Baldur’s Gate awaits! And all thanks to you.” The friendly pat he gave on Thorn’s back almost had him spit out his lungs. 

“Well, ehghem,” he coughed as he tried to regain some sort of composure, “I appreciate it, truthfully, but it was hardly a solo effort. I couldn’t have done it without my companions and your people. You all deserve a chance at freedom.” A scoff resonated in the air, signalling Astarion’s disapproval, and Thorn rolled his eyes affectionately. 

Bloody eavesdropper. 

“Although, if you were amenable to sharing a drink when we meet in the city, I wouldn’t refuse. Gods know wine tastes foul when one has death or worse on his mind.” The bard exhaled dramatically and craned his neck heavenwards, yelping when a fit of pain jolted through him. The battle adrenaline was fading and his body was sorely complaining for its misuse. Suddenly the prospect of lounging with a glass of good wine seemed ideal.

“That can, and should, be arranged, my friend! We’ll join you at your camp tonight for a well-deserved celebration!” A smile graced Zevlor’s bruised face. “Still, I wish we could do more to show our gratitude. I’m afraid this is all we could find,” he said, offering a half-full backpack of rations. 

Thorn offered a sympathetic smile.“A night surrounded by friendly faces and wine—what more could I ask? Plus, I can already hear stories of our indomitable spirit being told for centuries on end!” he added with a flourish of the hands.  

Zevlor had just set off to inform the others of the celebration plans when a shiver ran down Thorn’s spine. 

“Well darling, don’t tell me you actually believe half the gibberish you said,” Astarion’s smooth voice closed in, his cool breath in his ear. “I understand your call is to entertain, but even you must know these refugees would have been useless without us. And we wouldn’t have bothered in the first place if not for all your sweet yapping.”

“W-well—” 

The vampire often managed to leave Thorn speechless, and that was a feat in and of itself. It also annoyed the bard to no end. He was a good flirter! He knew he was! One doesn’t become a bard without a propensity for sweet talking, but Astarion’s charm was otherworldly and it would have put most seasoned poets to shame. The memories of the first (and only) night they shared together also had a tendency to pop up in Thorn’s mind whenever Astarion was near, and that didn’t help his already tied tongue. 

A chuckle left the vampire’s mouth. “Worry not dear, I see tiredness must be getting to you. Why don’t you take a rest before the big event, and I will see you tonight.”

Astarion brushed a lithe finger on Thorn’s shoulder and he shuddered. 

A sultry whisper, “You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?” 

And he left. 

Fuck me. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The party was surprisingly good. Thorn ate, chatted, danced and now he was singing along with Alfira, composing woes and tadpoles forgotten for a moment. 

It was when a familiar shiver ran down his spine that he spotted ruby eyes studying him from afar. Thorn made sure to sing a verse in honour of his vampiric ardour in battle and was rewarded with an uncharacteristically unattractive look of disgust. He simply raised his wine glass in response. Gods, he missed the stage. 

Tune finished, the bard beelined for the familiar red tent.

A blood-sucking elf with a penchant for red—ah, how on the nose. 

“Hello,” he bowed a little when he got close and flopped on the pillow next to his beau, “here’s a sight for sore eyes. How is my favourite vampire doing?” 

Astarion frowned in jest and Thorn internally celebrated. He had the upper hand for now. He managed not to make a fool of himself on the spot. 

“I’m the only vampire you know, darling,” Astarion huffed. “Wait, am I?”

Thorn couldn’t contain his chuckle. Surprising, how his undead companion—lover?—could switch from seductor extraordinaire to wet kitten in the blink of an eye. He looked younger, lighter, so unlike the skilled but conflicted lover of their first tryst. He felt a pang of affection. 

“Of course you are, and even if I knew others, you’d always be my favourite.”

Was that a light blush gracing those pale cheeks? 

The thought it was his own blood making it visible did something to Thorn. He survived a deadly fight after days of toiling after goblins and other monstrosities and was now standing side by side with a marvellous person he was getting rapidly fond of. Inspirational might it all be for his bardic career, exhaustion burrowed deep in his bones. 

“What is my attention-loving treat thinking, mh?” Astraion slithered towards Thorn, gracefully pushing him down on the fluffy pillows. He placed his lips over recently-healed bite marks, licking the area with his tongue. 

A strangled noise escaped the bard’s mouth. If this were just a one-time romp he would gladly let him continue with his ministrations and burn into the mind-blowing sex that would follow, but Thorn cared for Astarion. Cared enough to know he was deflecting the hint of genuine affection with practised seduction. The realisation flashed through his mind and heart at the same time, and Thorn’s hand cupped the vampire’s cheek, gently lifting his head from his neck. 

Confused eyes stared, and another wave of affection surged through him and he giggled, causing even more confusion in the vampire on top of him. 

“I don’t reckon I want that tonight, dеаrest,” Thorn smiled, nuzzling into Astarion’s clavicle. 

“What? Oh—I wasn’t going to bite, darling. On my honour, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.”  

Astarion’s purr was very convincing, but recent near-death experiences and the wine had made Thorn crave more meaningful connections. Especially with someone he cared about. 

He had a hunch the vampire wouldn't be easily convinced with words—he didn’t trust artists by default—so he resorted to gingerly lowering the head of curls on his chest. He smiled into them dreamily while wrapping his arms around a slim torso. 

Astarion was frozen in place, a fearsome predator trapped by his prey. “What are you—oh”

Thorn’s fingers started carding through white locks and the vampire became almost putty in his care. 

“Your hair is so majestic,” he mumbled sleepily, “it looks like the snowy peaks of the Neverwinter mountains.”

A little scoff puffed on his skin. “Bards,” grumbled Astarion, but it had no bite. “If you must be so unbearably cliche, keep my name out of your ballads, thank you very much.”

“You don’t mean it. You love being flattered.”

“Mhm, I’ll settle for shallow praise when it’s decent.” 

The lull of sleep was becoming irresistible for Thorn, comforted as he was by the lithe wait and familiar chatter of the elf on top him.

He cleared his throat dramatically.

“Oh Star, light of lights, thou who shinest brighter than sun itself, how I long to caress your snowy tresses and sing of your rose-red eyes—ghgh!”

A hand shot to the bard’s mouth paired with a disjointed grumble. “Years of torture, and I don’t remember the last time my ears suffered this much. Gods, how did you make a living—ah!” 

Thorn’s tongue licked his hand and Astarion couldn’t contain a very undignified shriek. 

“What the hells?!” Another lick and a giggle. The bard was now sporting a shit-eating grin, not even a hint of repentance on his features. Astarion thought him beautiful. And annoying. A lethal combination.

“C’mon mister vampire,” yawned Thorn, “this most excellent artist needs some beauty sleep. Not everyone is as lucky as you, perfect looks and all…” His voice was already muddled with sleep, eyes drifting shut and body nestled into the pale elf’s. “Night night, splendour.”

Within seconds, light teasing turned to steady snoring. Astarion let out a chuckle, mask slipping slightly now his companion’s attention was wandering the dreams plane. 

“Good night, my questionable, splendid artist.”

#astarion fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 valentines #oc tav

[ravencromwell]

This is the worst story I know about hocuses. And it’s true. Four Great Septads ago, back in the reign of Claudius Cordelius, there was a hocus named Porphyria Levant. The hocuses back then had this thing they could do, called the binding-by-forms, the obligation d’âme. It happened between a hocus and an annemer, an ordinary person, and it was like an oath of loyalty, only a septad times more. The hocus promised to protect the annemer from everything, including kings and other hocuses and basically anybody else who had an interest. The annemer promised to be the hocus’s servant and do what they said and no backchat, neither. And they renounced their family and all their other connections, so it was like the only thing in the world that mattered to them was the hocus. And then there was a spell to stick it in place and make sure, you know, that nobody tried to back out after it was too late. You can see the problem, right? Most half-bright folks can. But some hocuses were so powerful and so nasty that I guess it seemed like it was better to go ahead and do the obligation d’âme with a hocus you sort of trusted than to go wandering around waiting for a different hocus to get the drop on you. So there was Porphyria Levant. And there was Silas Altamont. Silas Altamont was annemer, a guy who’d been the favorite of Lord Creon Malvinius, and then when Lord Creon got married, Silas Altamont was out on his ear, and scared shitless of Lord Creon’s wife, who was way better connected than him, and was rumored to have three or four hocuses on her string to boot. And she was poison-green with jealousy, because she loved Lord Creon like a mad thing, and everybody knew he didn’t give a rat’s ass about her. So Silas Altamont goes to Porphyria Levant—who was powerful enough to protect him from Lisette Malvinia, no matter who she had running her errands—and begs Porphyria Levant to do the obligation d’âme. And Porphyria Levant smiles and says okay. Now, the thing about the binding-by-forms, the way my friend Zephyr explained it to me, is that it lets the hocus make you do what they want. Except for kill yourself. They can’t make you do that. But what Porphyria Levant tells Silas Altamont to do is fuck her. I’ve heard it different ways. Some people say Silas Altamont was beautiful as daylight, and Porphyria Levant had been hot for him for indictions. Some say Porphyria Levant didn’t know he was molly, thought he was janus and wouldn’t mind. And some say—and I got to admit, this is what I think—that she knew he was molly and that was why she did it. There are other stories about Porphyria Levant, and it’s the kind of thing she would do. Anyway, there’s Silas Altamont. He’s molly, and he’s still in love with Creon Malvinius, but he has to do what the obligation d’âme says, and it says, You got to fuck Porphyria Levant and make her happy. And after a while he goes to her and says, “ can’t stand this no more, please, let me stop or I’m going to go out and slit my wrists.” And Porphyria Levant says, “Silas,” and smiles her little smile, “I forbid you to kill yourself.” That’s what hocuses are like, and that’s why, if you live in the Lower City of Mélusine, you keep one eye on the Mirador all the time, same way you would with a swamp adder. It’s just common sense.

I forget when I first heard rumblings about a book series called the Doctrine of Labyrinth by an up-and-coming writer named Sarah Monette. It was undoubtedly before 2014, because when she published Goblin Emperor as Katherine Addison, I bought it without even reading the synopsis I was that ecstatic to finally get a taste of her writing. You see, Monette had a string of publishing woes, notoriously leading to at least one of the books being out of print before the series was even finished despite having amazing critical press and quite good initial sales. And one of the books just _vanishing from shelves was pretty much the series' death knell; new readers wouldn't start something they knew they couldn't get their hands on half of; and if readers weren't buying, neither were libraries.

It was this unicorn series: dark (dealing extensively with the aftermath of abuse and mind-control), inventive as hell, all about found family and the juxtaposition of brothers: one a high-class sorcerer with a stick up his ass and the other a slum-dwelling lord of cat burgling. With, from what tiny, glorious tidbits I could weasel from the internet the cat burglar acquiring a physical disability later in the series that was not! magically cured; queerness _everywhere; redemption and betrayal and invented languages. And magic absolutely _dripping off every page.

Anyone who's followed me for more than five minutes understands why this was a great white whale, over which I would eternally envy those fortunate few who had glimpsed its splendor.

But then! late last year, joy and jubilation poured forth from nowhere when Open Road Media re-published the whole kit and caboodle. ^^ (Monette/Addison had been low-key promising for a while there was good news in the pipe-line, but she's been very busy with her Tor ventures, including the magnificent Angel of the Crows, and I of little faith thought this news a very pretty mirage).

And then I got scared shitless. What if I'd poured inordinate amounts of the last decade into finding a copy of the whale someone could scan into text for me (cause the Open Road debut is its first in an accessible E-form), failing again and again only for it to be decidedly meh? ^^ But it's spring break and if I don't read at least the first one now, it aint happening 'till May. So, I girded my loins and y'all: just swoon with me over the brilliance of Melusine's prologue.

Mildmay, our lord o' the cat burgle: clearly educated, for all he's in the worst part of the city, but not bothering to sand off the patina of the slums either. An absolute mélange! of expressions, from the Georgian English "Molly" for gay men to the Latin "indiction" for calendric cycles (I'm assuming in this world they're as close as you can get to its original meaning of the five-year Roman Republic lustrum because there are also septets--clearly based off the Latin seven which seem to be the largest counting group so far within the city. Which wouldn't be the case if the indiction were the later fourteen- or fifteen-year length--unless of course indictions are meant to be multiples of seven and septads are a way of breaking that down into more manageable units damn now I can't wait to find out which theory is correct even the fucking prologue is crammed with world-building mysteries). Not to mention the slyest introduction of "Jaus" my beloved god of gates and duality as the perfect bisexual slang my GOD. And I know the linguistic pallet only gets richer, having caught a glimpse of Demi-Monde to explain the circumstances of an unfortunate courtesan Mildmay will be assisting.

Somehow, Monette weaves this mishmash of languages into something entirely comprehensible, giving the city a rich flavor you don't find in ninety-nine percent of fantasy, stuck on its castles and knights and feudalism. Fuck, this is gonna be so good. @dr-dendritic-trees this might be up your alley (not sure how dark you tolerate your fiction and this goes some pretty dark places from reviews, but know you were a huge Crow fan) ^ Open Road has a penchant for collecting out-of-print titles that become my heart's beloveds ala Elizabeth Wein's Aksumite cycle (opening in Winter Prince with an Arthurian-esque re-telling, but steeped in ancient Ethiopian culture and proceeding into…how the hell does one even describe Telemakos? Mixed-race child prodigy of thievery and diplomacy, simultaneously clever and mischievous as any trickster should be who will make you cry six times in every book is about the best I can do. These are absolutely as good as! Megan Whalen Turner's Queen's Thief and even more underappreciated. ^^ Having grown up shamelessly queer in a landscape that only in the last decade has made significant strides towards making queer books accessible to the blind, I have so many white whales. Heather Gladney's Song of Naga Teot y'all. Sometimes, I just quietly keen over how much I wanna read this trope-filled book I don't even care if it's good people could probably make me accomplice to terrible deeds if they just promised to read aloud all the pulpy queer books, I still can't get my hands on after all was said and done.

#Sarah Monette #Katherine Addison #Doctrine Of Labyrinth #Melusine #lit geekery #book babbling

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 5

We investigated the glassworks.

Things…didn’t go the way we expected them to. Not at all.

Lonjiku was innocent. He was an ass, but he was innocent. Now he’s dead. We didn’t put two and two together in time.

There was another Kaijitsu behind the goblin attacks all along.

Let me start from the beginning. This morning. When we went downstairs, Bethana was in a tizzy. No one had lit the stoves or started making breakfast. Ameiko always got up first thing and did that. So Bethana had gone looking around to make sure she was okay. Ameiko was nowhere to be found, but she found a note. Addressed to Ameiko, from her brother Tsuto.

We’d heard a little about Tsudo in passing. He’s a half-elf, Ameiko’s older half-brother, and a bastard child seeing as Ameiko’s parents are both very much human. It was his birth that caused Lonjiku to declare Ameiko’s mother dead to him—although he apparently remained married to her and had a daughter with her, so what exactly that meant is unclear.

Tsudo had apparently been sent away to some school, never visited by any family except for Ameiko for most of his life. Until they, too, had a falling out. Then at their mother’s funeral he’d accused his father of killing his mother, and when Lonjitsu struck him, the boy left Sandpoint.

Apparently now he’s returned.

The letter said what we’d expected: that Tsuto had discovered that their father was connected to the attacks on the town, but he believed if they went to the authorities he would get himself off easy. So he wanted Ameiko to meet him at the glassworks at midnight, do a secret knock so he’d know it was her, and then they’d handle things together.

Seeing as Ameiko hadn’t returned, it seemed something had gone horribly wrong.

We decided to check the Glassworks first, as it was the closest between it and the Kaijistu estate.

Before we left, Nanel pulled us aside, saying he had something important to discuss before we left. He showed us the boxspring of his bed in the inn, upon which a name was carved—over and over. He told us he had a deity of sorts, which granted him his power. And this being had granted him a new form to take in combat. But to his understanding, taking this form would affect his mind somewhat—he said he might say some strange things.

I shrugged it off at the time. I don’t think I took it as seriously as perhaps I should have.

Having an ally not in their right mind in battle is dangerous.

Anyways. When we arrived to the Glassworks, the curtains were all drawn shut. The doors were all locked. There was smoke coming from the smokestack, but it smelled…off. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time.

Krysa solved the problem of the door being locked, clever little rat they are. They picked the lock and we all slipped inside.

We heard sounds coming from a door to our left. Suspiciously goblin-y sounds. We burst in, and found a number of goblins playing with broken glass—and throwing human remains into the glassworks fires.

That’s what the smell had been. Burning flesh and hair.

And by one of the windows, their masterpiece—Lonjitsu Kaijitsu, propped up in a chair, encased in glass. Quite likely burned alive in hot liquid glass. Even for a man like that…what a horrific fate.

There was no time to linger on it, however, as we has a swarm of goblins to contend with. Our little gang worked together well, clearing out the first few goblins who were nearest us. It seemed like it would be another easy fight.

Then he showed up.

A half-elf with a bow and a passing resemblance to Ameiko. He spoke in goblin to the little bastards, giving them tactical commands so they wouldn’t just throw themselves at us blindly like the others.

Krysa was the first to realize that shooting him would be a bad idea—his stance indicated monk training, and likely the speed and practice to deflect projectiles. That meant my bombs were out of the question, too.

Getting to him to engage in close combat was easier said than done, though. He was shooting arrows at us, and there were still his remaining goblins to contend with. And even when we did finally engage him, he was incredibly fast. And he knew right where to hit you to make it hurt. Right where it would do the most damage.

When I engaged him, he stepped around me like liquid fire, until suddenly one of his goblin cronies was at my back and he was flying at me with precise punches that snapped bone and tore muscle.

At about the same time, whatever that plant form is that Nanel took shot thorns out everywhere—missing Tsuto, but empaling me. I snapped something at him that he brushed off, but I could only really hear the sound of my own heart pounding.

I could taste blood. Smell blood. Everything was tinged in red, like I was drowning in it. I could barely keep my balance—and I felt as though I was standing at the precipice of a black hole. If I fell in there would be no coming back.

Then all at once the pounding in my ears eased. The red in my vision faded. I could breath freely again. Tabot was at my side now, and had used his utterly impossible paladin abilities to stitch my wounds back together. If I couldn’t still taste the metallic tang in my mouth I’d think I’d only been imagining nearly dying a moment before—he’d healed me as effectively as any potion, if not more-so.

I hesitate to call it miraculous, but what else can you call a man pulling someone from the bring of death in the name of a god who is also, by all accounts, dead?

Tsuto saw the way the wind was blowing, as his last goblin flunkies fell, leaving him alone and outnumbered. He darted around my blade and out the nearest door. I ran after him, just close enough behind to see him disappear down a stairwell. The others were in hot pursuit.

As I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Tsuto trying to bring down a door at the end of the hall. He stopped and turned when he heard us. He stood his ground, ready to fight round two—there would be no surrender from him.

Tabot ran in and got a swing at him. Blood coated the ground. Krysa tried to get a shot at him to make an opening for me, but it went wide and he didn’t let his guard down. So instead of wasting a bomb, I darted around Tabot and skewered the man with my blade.

In his last moments he laughed at me. He said I’d made someone very upset, and that’s why I had a target on my back. Then he told me ‘she’s going to burn you, and then eat you alive’.

Then he slumped, his final breath used in cryptic threats.

I don’t understand. I still don’t. Who could I have possibly made so angry?

I think I know who this ‘her’ is though. Tsuto had sketches on his person, and writings. About an aasimar who wanted to burn away her divinity. The pictures depicted this aasimar with some kind of twisted demonic appendage, and spoke of her undergoing some kind of ritual to be reborn in a fiendish form. Tsuto seemed to have hopes that she would become something akin to a succubus—deceptive beauty masking the monster within—as he found her current demonic arm repulsive compared to her original angelic beauty.

I’d never met her—the fire happened before I’d come to town—but I’d heard enough to put her name to the face and the scraps of information in the journal. I think it is Nualia.

#journal entry #pathfinder #rise of the runelords #rotrl

[pxison]

Went and grabbed this from @chatcambrioleur with my goblin hands.

The euphoria of climax was leaving his body too soon for comfort. That one moment in which he could replace the void where happiness once lay with the chemical responses of dopamine and oxytocin leaving him feeling empty once more.

He can tell too that the shift in him was starting to make her uncomfortable where she lay against him in all her glory. And yet, he could not to bring himself to truly care, not quite. But instead of letting this fester and ruin their afterglow he spoke up, boldly offering to speak of romantic ways he was not nearly as verse to as the ways of killing and waging war.

His hair was useless to hide half his expression behind as it had been thoroughly stroked back by a certain someone’s amorous fingers. Exposed as he felt, he did nothing to shove her off of him even as the thought lingered, a questing hand reaching down from the pillows to trace a whimsical pattern into the skin of her supple back as he took to concentrating.

So lost in thought he was about coming up with what to say he was unaware of the intensely scrunched expression he was making as he looked up at the ceiling. There wasn’t much he could think to say that wouldn’t appear totally out of context in the moment, nor did he have much in the ways of experience or knowledge to pull from. Whatever he said was bound to be all his and after what felt like an eternity, he had his words.

“Well, it might not be up to the sort of thing you probably hear but here goes nothing: At first all I thought I wanted was your body, but I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re lovelier than that, more deserving than that kind of treatment.” Something he did not believe he could give her emotions or not.

The hand idly stroking at her back moves to cup her face and keep her looking at him even as he appears constipated from saying any of this soft crap out loud.

“You’re special in that I would never think to do any of this with any other girl, I wouldn’t even still be here speaking to you now if I had done this my usual way.” He was still tempted to grab up his clothing and run out the door, but he started this didn’t he? And he intended to finish.

The last words though seem to hiss out of his mouth as though agonizing to even be heard. It was spoken in a different language, one the Germa had used in the past that was of an older North Blue dialect he was sure she couldn’t translate for herself. Good thing too, because if she questioned it, he was going to keep his lips sealed having already spoken too much of his peace already.

“...Du machst mich zu einem besseren Menschen.“

...You make me want to be a better man.

And that notion genuinely terrifies him.

#chatcambrioleur #This is clearly veering sharply unto the path of a good ending #and I'm all here for it

[namixart]

Crossing lines, hand in hand, ch. 8

Read on AO3!

The one good thing about being stuck in the Gold Saucer was the Ghost Hotel. Not the general aesthetic of it, or the many cheap scares hidden in its halls—Cloud had never particularly cared for horror or generally spooky stuff, and he wasn’t about to start now—but the free apology stay in single rooms was nothing short of a blessing after months on the road.

As Cloud let himself fall heavily on his bed, he almost had to remind himself that he was supposed to be annoyed at the time they were wasting. But then he thought about Barret’s snoring and Yuffie’s constant tossing and turning, and remembered there were actual walls between him and them, not to mention an actual bed instead of a sleeping bag under him, and the annoyance melted away completely. He sighed deeply.

He so needed the rest.

He was more tired than he had been in months, with his limbs heavy and his brain foggy and slow. Dio’s arena had been rough: Cloud had been sent flying through the air more times than he could count, been badly burned all over his arms, and narrowly avoided getting skewered by a tiny green… goblin thing holding a kitchen knife. He’d even missed Dio finally forking over the Keystone because, after he’d cleared all eight rounds, he’d had to sit down with Aerith in a side room so she could heal all his burns, bruises, and cuts.

It was odd: more than once, he’d found himself looking around for his friends as he fought, only to remember he was the only one there. He couldn’t trust Barret to keep the enemies at bay while Cloud backed down for a second to catch his breath; there was no Tifa to help him keep the pressure on the monsters; Aerith couldn’t clear out the battlefield with a flick of her hand or keep Cloud safe from where she sat up in the stands. It had been just him down there.

A few months earlier, he wouldn’t have batted an eye at the prospect of facing down a slew of monsters alone. But things were different. So many things were different. Cloud furrowed his brows as he took a deep breath. Was it a good thing, that he’d started to rely so much on his friends in battle? Or would it eventually come back to bite him while fighting alone?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, a rhythmic and cheerful rapping that could only be coming from one person. Cloud smiled as he sat up. “Door’s open.”

After a beat, Aerith entered the room accompanied by a creepy screech that was for sure a feature of every hinge in the Ghost Hotel. She took a few steps forward and linked her hands behind her back with a smile. “Heya,” she said.

“Heya.” Cloud stood up, ignoring his sore… well, everything. “Need something?”

Aerith hummed. “Sorta. First, I wanted to check on you. Feeling okay?”

“Sorta,” he parroted with a half smile, slowly rotating his shoulder. “Still feels like I got run over by a truck after I ran a marathon.”

She winced sympathetically. “Ouch. Well, I guess… The other thing’s probably a no-go, huh?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking a little crestfallen. “Another time.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “What other thing?”

Aerith nodded towards the door. “Well, I just figured… We’re stuck here anyway, right? Might as well go have some fun and check out the park.”

“Oh.” Cloud bit his lip. He’d really been looking forward to an early night in a real bed, but… “I’m not that tired,” he said slowly.

She looked at him for a moment, then huffed out a laugh. “You don’t have to do that. Just rest up, okay? You don’t need to force yourself to go out for my sake. I probably shouldn’t have asked, anyway. I’ll just turn in early as well.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “What? What about the others? Did everyone say no?”

“Oh.” Aerith giggled. “I haven’t told anyone else. As much as I love our friends, I was kinda asking youout on a date.”

Cloud stared at her. She calmly held his stunned gaze with an amused smile on her face.

He blinked. She waited.

“Huh?” he said eloquently.

“A date,” she repeated.

Cloud looked away. “Yeah, I—uh—I heard that.” Although he’d thought he’d heard wrong because what!? “It’s just—a date? Y-You? With me?”

Aerith hummed as she rocked on the balls of her feet. “Yup.”

“…Why?”

Aerith burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. Cloud took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his ears burn. “Hey, don’t—”

“Sorry, sorry,” she wheezed, waving a hand in the air. But she was still giggling. “It’s just—why?” She covered her mouth as another chuckle spilled out. “Sorry, gimme—gimme a second here. I swear I’m trying to—why!”

Cloud waited for her laugh attack to pass, drumming his fingers over his arms. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he muttered. “I’m an idiot.”

Aerith straightened up with a deep, shaky breath. She was slightly red in the face and her eyes were still full of mirth “Whew. Wow, I’m sorry about that,” she said, panting a little bit. “You just caught me by surprise. No one’s ever asked me why I wanted to go on a date with them. Though I guess there were a couple of jerks who asked why I thought they would want to go on a date with me. So, like, screw them, right?”

Cloud nodded slowly. “Right.”

“Anyway,” she continued, putting her hands on her hips. “To answer your question: first off, I still owe you for your bodyguard services.”

Oh. Right. Cloud hummed, hoping the disappointment didn’t show on his face or in his voice.

“Second, I like spending time with you,” said Aerith. Her expression softened into the fond smile Cloud had discovered in Cosmo Canyon, and his heart skipped a beat. “You talk more, when it’s just us. About stuff other than the mission, I mean. And you smile more too. I like that Cloud.” She giggled. “And maybe I wanna keep him all to myself for a while.”

Cloud nodded slowly, then blinked twice and shook his head. Shit, he was supposed to reply. And also breathe. “I—uh, I mean—” What was he even supposed to say? To pinch him because there was no way this was real? That he needed several moments to process the fact that she wanted to go on a date with him? That he was completely, desperately, and embarrassingly in love with her? How could he tell her any of that without coming off as the creepiest weirdo to ever walk the Planet? He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Like I said. Not that tired,” he muttered. His face was on fire. Damnit. “We can go out, if you want.”

Aerith tilted her head to the side. “You sure?”

He nodded.

She didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, so Cloud hazarded a look at her. She was smiling softly, eyes gleaming with affection. “You’re so sweet,” she said. She reached out to take one of his hands out of its nervous arms-crossed-knot and squeezed it. “It’ll be fun, I promise. What say you we grab a late-night dinner?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” said Cloud, and let her lead him by the hand out of his room and into a date.

The park was as crowded at almost-midnight as it had been in the afternoon. Aerith caught Cloud’s perplexed expression and giggled. “It’s Enchantment Night,” she said, dangling their joined hands between them. “All the rides are free.”

Cloud hummed. “So that’s why you picked tonight to pay your bill,” he said. It was a bit easier to talk about the fact that they were on a date if he was teasing her.

Aerith laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “Unlike some people, I’m not a cheapskate. It’s just a coincidence.”

 “Uh-huh.”

She pulled a faux-offended face and let his hand go to cross her arms. “Well then, maybe I’ll just call the whole thing off. That’ll teach you.” But she was trying to stifle a smile.

“You wouldn’t,” said Cloud, looking away from her. “You have a debt to settle.”

Aerith hummed. “I wouldn’t, and I do. And I’m a woman of my word. Hey, I think that over there is a diner. Sound good?”

Cloud nodded and followed her as she walked ahead towards the diner, her braid swishing behind her. He kind of missed the contact of her holding his hand, but he couldn’t very well just reach out and take hers back. Aerith led them to a small table at the back of the diner, which was right by a large window overlooking a big arena with a stage to the side. It was slowly filling with people, and someone was on stage talking into a microphone, but Cloud couldn’t make out a word they were saying from behind the glass.

“Dinner and a show, huh?” said Aerith, gathering her skirt under her knees as she sat down. “Shame we can’t hear any of it.”

Cloud hummed. “Maybe there’s a later showing? Um, if you want to go.”

Aerith tapped her lips in thought. “I think I saw posters about the show, but I don’t remember the times. Oh, well. Are you hungry? Now that there’s food around me, I’m kinda starving.”

“I could eat,” said Cloud, eyeing a server weaving through the crowd while carrying two large pizzas. A low grumble came from his stomach, and Aerith giggled. “A lot. I could eat a lot,” he amended, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I actually don’t think I had anything after Dio’s Battle Square.”

Aerith clicked her tongue. “Well, that won’t do.” She waved to a waiter to get their attention. “Just hang in there.”

Only a few minutes later, the waiter returned with their food—a pizza for Cloud and a very well stacked burger for Aerith, plus a large plate of fries to share. She squealed happily when the server set the plates down in front of her. “Oh, I love food,” she said, clasping her hands together.

Cloud chuckled as he took off his gloves and grabbed the very blunt pizza cutter from the cutlery box. “Who doesn’t?”

She giggled. “Fair enough. By the way,” she said, grabbing two fries from their sharer plate, “this is familiar, isn’t it?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Cloud hummed. It seemed so long ago. “You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” said Aerith, popping the fries into her mouth. “Dates aren’t for passing out. Which, shame about that time in Wall Market, ‘cause other than the dizzy spell it almost was a date.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “It was a rescue op.”

She shrugged. “As I said. Almost.”

He rolled his eyes and Aerith giggled. “Come to think of it,” she said with a sly smile, “last time we were here, too. Very date-like.”

Cloud frowned. “Last time…?” He shook his head. “I was trying to cheer you up.”

“And you did. With date-like activities.” She waved a fry in the air. “We went to see a Chocobo race, we went to a fair… you even won me a plushie! Very romantic, I must say.”

He planted his eyes on his pizza. What is she saying? “That’s not—”

“Of course,” continued Aerith, with a mischievous glint in her eye, “we could say the same about Wutai too.”

“Wutai?” Cloud crossed his arms. “You wanted to teach me gardening!”

Aerith waved a hand in the air. “But I didn’t! We just hung out in a lovely flower field and talked while I turned you into a human bouquet. It totally counts! Remember what I said in Wall Market?”

He pursed his lips. “You said… a lot of things.”

She laughed. “It’s not a trick question.”

“I just mean that you talk a lot.” He gave a half laugh at Aerith’s faux-offended gasp. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Meanie. I was talking about the date I promised you.”

“You mean this one?”

“Yeah—well, no, not at the time.” She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “I said I’d take you somewhere nice and surprising. Like… a pretty meadow in a foreign country? And that there’d be lots and lots of flowers.”

Realisation dawned on Cloud. “…Maybe a pocket flower,” he said, echoing her words from so long ago.

Aerith hummed, satisfied, and sat back in her seat. “See? Totally lines up!”

“I, uh… I didn’t know those were… dates.” He inwardly cringed.His clinical awkwardness would be the death of him.

She shrugged. “Well, neither did I. But they could’ve been. We could just say they were.”

He looked up again and furrowed his brows. “We could?”

“Sure.” She winked. “Who’s keeping count, anyway? The dating police?”

That got a laugh out of him. “That’s a thing?”

Aerith winked. “Let’s not tell them, just in case. So?”

“So what?”

“So… were those dates?”

“Oh, um…” Cloud scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh…”

Aerith pouted. “Oh, no, don’t do that. You were doing so well. You forget to get flustered when you’re being argumentative.”

Cloud frowned, but only to suppress a smile. “So what, you want to fight?”

She laughed. “Yep, just like that.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. When he looked at Aerith again, she had her hands linked under her chin and her elbows resting on the table. She was still waiting for an answer. He swallowed. “I, uh,” he started, “I don’t think they count. As dates.”

Aerith lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

He averted his gaze. “Well, neither of us knew they were.”

She giggled. “Why does that matter?”

“Because if they were, we’d have been dating for, what, months? Without realising?” Cloud huffed. “That’s dumb.”

Aerith burst out laughing. “It really is. And yet.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. “No. Absolutely not. This is our first date.”

Her smile widened. “First? You mean you want more? My, how direct.”

It was like she’d stolen the air out of his lungs and then taken a lighter to his face. He ran a hand over it, vaguely wishing he could wipe off the flush. “I—I, uh…”

Aerith laughed again. “You know,” she started, reaching out to gently pry his hand from his face, “in all of this very normal conversation, we’ve never once asked the one thing that matters.”

Cloud hazarded a look at her. “What’s that?”

“If we want to be dating. Do you?”

It was a point of no return. He could lie, and save himself the rejection. Or he could be brave.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

He wasn’t brave enough to trust his voice.

Aerith giggled and let go of his hand after giving it a final squeeze. “Great! Me too. Now, finish your pizza before it gets cold—I’ve got an idea for later.”

“H-huh?” Cloud blinked dumbly at her. “That’s it?”

Aerith hummed as she took a bite out of her burger. “Sure. Sometimes things are that simple. You ask someone out, and they say yes. What were you expecting?”

Rejection. Barring that… More coherent words out of my mouth. Telling you I’m in love with you. Kissing you.

Cloud shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, picking up a slice of pizza. It was going kinda cold.

Aerith levelled him with an amused look, but didn’t tease him any further.

They ate more or less in silence for a little while after that. Aerith would make little comments about what was apparently going on in the play—some kind of fairy tale? There was a dragon and someone dressed as a wizard—or about the people around them, light-hearted and casual. She was smiling the entire time, though, even when they were just eating in comfortable silence, so maybe Cloud wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about their conversation.

It was astonishing how much and how little seemed to have changed with the simple change in status of their relationship—from “friends” to “dating.” Aerith wasn’t acting any differently, and yet there was a shift in her tone, her eyes, her smile—little changes that all added up to… not much of a change after all. Or maybe it was just Cloud being hyper-aware and over-analysing everything. It got him wondering if maybe she’d been onto something with her claim that they’d been dating for a while.

They were dating. In a relationship. And it had happened with only an awkward conversation and a simple question. There had to be a catch. But, glancing at Aerith, he couldn’t help but think that it was safe to trust her and everything she said. He was safe with her. He silently vowed that she would always be safe with him as well. And, maybe, someday he would find the words to tell her.

He shook his head, and found her looking at him.

“What?” he asked.

Aerith smiled. “I know you were tired tonight,” she said. “But thank you. I’m really glad I’m here with you.”

Cloud nodded slowly. “Uh, sure. I told you, I—”

“Wasn’t that tired—I know.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Still, thanks. Hey, you done?” She shoved the last two fries in her mouth. “If we hurry, we should make it just in time.”

Cloud had finished his pizza a little while earlier—his mom’s complaints that he ate too fast were still fresh in his mind after all those years—so he nodded. “Where’re we going?”

Aerith stood up and held out her hand. “Surprise!”

Cloud took it and followed her—only stopping to pay for the dinner.

Once out of the diner, Aerith pulled Cloud through the crowd, weaving between families and couples like a woman on a mission.

“You sure you know where we’re going?” he asked, ducking to avoid a man’s enthusiastic gesticulating. “This place is a labyrinth.”

Aerith nodded without looking back. “Don’t worry! We’re almost there.”

Suddenly, she pulled him in front of her, pushed him into one of the chutes—he didn’t see which one—and got in after him. They stood close to each other in the small space, panting slightly from the run. Aerith was smiling and her face was flushed, and Cloud was hit by the almost overwhelming need to kiss her, to run his hands through her hair, to hold her—but the chute arrived at its destination and both of them stumbled out onto a small platform. A woman in uniform standing by a wooden kiosk eyed them disapprovingly.

“The chutes are single-person only unless you’re accompanying children,” she recited, frowning.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Aerith, straightening up. “We didn’t mean to. It was crowded at the Terminal and I kinda got pushed in too,” she lied casually and, judging from the woman’s unimpressed glare, unconvincingly.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “You here for the gondola? We close in ten minutes.”

Finally, Cloud realised where they were. Just beyond the kiosk was a small cabin suspended from a rail whose path Cloud couldn’t make out past the first bend, as it looped back around the main body of the Gold Saucer.

Aerith rocked on the balls of her feet. “Did we make it in time?”

The woman shrugged. “Barely. Get on.”

Aerith beamed and grabbed Cloud’s hand again to drag him to the cabin. The inside was even more cramped than it looked from the platform and, with the two of them sitting on opposite sides, there was barely any room between their knees. The attendant secured the door and then headed back to the kiosk. A second later, the cabin shook slightly and began to move.

Aerith gave a soft squeal and peered out of the window to her left. “I saw the gondola ride above the theatre, earlier. It goes over the whole park!”

Cloud hummed. “How did you know we were cutting it close?”

She shrugged. “Guessed. It is getting pretty late.”

Cloud vaguely remembered spotting a clock in the Terminal Station. It had read one in the morning. “So much for our early night, huh?”

Aerith giggled and leaned back. “Yeah. Still, I’m glad I’m here.”

“Me too.” He smiled.

The gondola rose higher and higher up in the sky while they sat in comfortable silence for a little bit. Cloud had half expected to have to hide the nausea, but for some reason the ride didn’t bother him at all. Maybe it was because his stomach was way too tied up in knots already to even think about getting sick.

Aerith was leaning with her elbow on the windowsill, watching the view. Fireworks had started to go off, and the light they shone on her was colourful and gorgeous—like the flowers she loved so much. Like her.

She sighed, and Cloud realised he’d been staring. “Thank you for tonight,” she said. “This is… so beautiful. I’m glad I’m sharing it with you.” But she didn’t look glad. She was smiling, yes, but with a sad tilt to her lips, a wistful air in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” asked Cloud. He thought about reaching for her hand, resting on the windowsill, then thought better of it.

Aerith shook her head. “Yeah. No… Yes—it’s complicated. Ah, it’s nothing. Don’t mind me.”

He furrowed his brows in a silent question. Aerith sighed again. “I’m so, so happy I’m here with you,” she repeated. “It’s just… at first, you reminded me a lot of someone. Someone who’s… not in my life anymore. It bothered me a lot, at first.”

“Someone?”

Aerith waved a hand in the air. “Someone. You had all these little things in common—in the way you move, or talk…”

Cloud looked away. “That bad?”

She smiled a bit. “Not bad or good. At first, I thought maybe…” She shook her head. “But no. Things are different. You’re different. And I’m happy I’m here with you. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She reached out to take Cloud’s hand, and gave it a little squeeze. He squeezed back, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit. They smiled at each other, but hers was still stained with sadness. “But…?” he asked.

Aerith huffed a bit. “When did you get so observant?”

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” said Cloud, shrugging. “Something’s still bothering you. You, uh, don’t have to tell me, though. If you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t know if any of this’ll make sense, though.”

He gave a half smile. “Try me.”

Aerith sighed. “It’s just… Sometimes, I look at you, and it’s like I can’t focus my eyes right. You’re here, but I can’t find you.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “But… I am here.” I’m with you. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. What does she mean?

She giggled. “I know, I know. I told you it didn’t make sense. Don’t worry about it, I’m just being weird.”

He hummed after a second of hesitation, then leaned back in his seat. Aerith sighed, shook her head, and turned to look at the fireworks again. “Tonight isn’t for sad memories or vague premonitions. It’s for appreciating all the wonderful things happening right now.” She glanced at him. “Like the fireworks, like our friends. Like you.” She took his hand again.

Cloud hesitantly entwined their fingers. “Like you.”

Aerith didn’t turn to look at him, but she smiled softly as she stared up at the sky, at the fireworks dancing across the stars and painting pictures of light. Cloud wanted to keep that image in his memory for the rest of his life.

I could kiss her right now. She’s right here, we’re on a date. I could…

He pressed his lips together. “Aerith…”

She turned. “Hm?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His resolve had evaporated the moment she’d turned her big, curious eyes on him. He shook his head. “Uh, never mind.”

Aerith cocked her head to the side, then gave a perplexed smile. “Okay? Oh, no, look.” She pointed out of the window. “I think the ride’s almost done.”

She was right. They were right back in front of the rollercoaster they had started from. Cloud swallowed his disappointment and regret. If only he wasn’t such a lovesick idiot. A bell rang as the gondola wobbled to a stop. The attendant from before hastily opened the door and motioned for Cloud and Aerith to get out of the cabin.

“Looks like our magical ride is over,” said Aerith. “That was really special. Thank you,” she said to the attendant.

Her sour expression softened a bit. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy the rest of your stay at the Gold Saucer.” She waved her hand in a shooing motion. “Now scram. I gotta lock this place up.”

Aerith giggled and took Cloud’s hand again as she made for the chutes.

“Only one person per chute!” yelled the attendant.

“We know, we know!” laughed Aerith.

She trailed to a stop in front of the doors to the chutes, still holding Cloud’s hand. “See you at the Terminal Station?” he said.

Aerith hummed. “Can’t wait.” Neither of them let go of the other.

“Can you two take the flirting somewhere else?” called the attendant. “Some of us wanna go to sleep.”

Aerith giggled and finally let go of Cloud’s hand. “Sorry, sorry.” She waved at Cloud. “See you in a minute.”

Then she stepped inside the chute. Cloud watched the door close behind her and took a deep sigh.

“Whipped, huh?” said the woman behind him.

He turned around and shot her an annoyed glance. She shrugged. “I calls it like I sees it, Blondie. Go on now, don’t make her wait. Be disgusting somewhere I don’t have to see it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Roger that.”

When he stumbled out of it at the almost-empty Terminal Station, Aerith was right there waiting for him, rocking on the balls of her feet with her hands linked behind her back.

“Missed you!” she said with a smile.

Cloud huffed good-naturedly. “It’s been thirty seconds.”

Aerith put a hand on her chest. “Longest thirty seconds of my life.” She giggled, then cleared her throat and smiled fondly. “I loved tonight. Really. Thank you.”

He nodded, then frowned a bit.

Aerith cocked her head to the side. “What’s wrong? You didn’t have fun?”

“No, no. That’s not it.” Cloud looked away. “I was just… thinking about what you said.”

“Which part? I talk a lot, remember?” She winked.

Cloud rolled his eyes. “On the gondola. About… not being able to find me.”

Her eyes went a bit wide, and she waved a hand in the air. “Oh, that. Really, ignore everything I said. It’s nothing.”

But Cloud shook his head. “It’s not nothing. It’s bothering you.”

Aerith was silent. Cloud pressed on. “I… don’t really know what you mean. I don’t know how I can be here and far away at the same time.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I wanna fix it. I wanna try. I… I don’t wanna be far away from you.” He swallowed a knot in his throat. “You’ll always find me right here. Whenever you need me, wherever you need me.”

A long moment passed. Aerith was looking at him, eyes wide and full of wonder and surprise. Cloud held his breath.

Then she laughed. “Oh my god, Cloud… How do you always know what to say?”

He let out a huff. “What are you talking about? Have you met me?” He felt the tips of his ears burning.

“Okay, fair, maybe you don't.” She slipped her hand in his and looked up at him. “Maybe you're a flustered hot mess who stumbles over his words when he’s trying to be nice. But it's okay. I can hear what you're really saying.”

“Oh?” Cloud swallowed a knot in his throat. “What am I saying?”

Aerith smiled and stepped right up into his personal space. “You're saying, ‘I wanna make you feel better,’” she said. “You're saying, ‘I care about you.’” She leaned up until their faces were just a breath apart. “I wanna kiss you.”

Cloud was glued to the floor, pinned in place by her gentle hold on his hand and the pull of her eyes, so close that he could count the specks of brown and gold in them. “I—I'm saying that?” he stammered, like an idiot.

Aerith giggled, but she didn't step away. “You tell me, mister,” she whispered. “Are you?”

Thankfully, the answer was simple and short—no chances of messing it up. “...Yeah,” he breathed.

“Awesome.” Aerith's smile widened. “Me too.” And then she finally closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

It still caught him by surprise. If not for Aerith’s warm hands cupping his face, he would have instinctively recoiled back and regretted it for the rest of his life. Instead, he tentatively brought his hands to her waist to nudge her closer as he kissed her back.

Gently. Softly. Afraid to mess up.

Aerith giggled quietly on his lips, and the vibrations shot down to his chest like electric shocks.

“Been wanting to do that,” she whispered, stepping back just enough to speak.

Cloud nodded a bit shakily. “Yeah. Me too,” he said, and kissed her again.

Finally.

He kissed her until, in a display of pure evil and poetic parallels, a loud boing sound effect played and the two of them sprung apart to spot Cait Sith standing at the other end of the Terminal Station, holding something that greatly resembled the Keystone Cloud had just fought so hard to get from Dio.

#final fantasy vii #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough #clerith #my fics #my writing #my stuff

[milady-pink]

Bride of the Living Corpse

Summary: Christine reflects and finally admits to herself the feelings she has been harboring for her teacher, but is it too late to tell him? As they say, true love never dies.

Word Count: 4482 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: Graphic depictions of death/ corpse, another character death, post-mortem, necrophelia if you squint

Part 1 Part 3

Nothing could compare to the agony that Christine currently felt.

For the past two and a half hours she has been sitting on an elegant chaise lounge in the DeChagny’s parlor room. As much as she wanted to listen to whatever Raoul was droning on about, she found the swirls of the floral pattern on the chaise far more interesting. Unfortunately Christine has wanted to leave the decadent manor the second she left the comfort of her carriage and stepped foot into the grand foyer.

When she first got up in the morning all she could think of was getting to reconnect with her dear childhood friend. Christine couldn’t stop talking her dresser’s ear off about how much fun the two of them used to have on the beaches of Perros-Guirec, about the joy they had during his violin lessons with her late father, hearing tales of the dark north, Little Lottie, and the goblins that lived in the grassy hills. The poor carriage driver could barely hear her joyous ranting about how she thought reuniting with her old friend seemed like a sign that their souls were meant to cross from the whistling of the chilling October wind.

All of the happiness left Christine when the dashing young Viscount started to talk. Slowly, like a dying oil lamp losing its light, Christine started to grow increasingly bored with the topic of conversation. It wouldn’t be fair to say she wanted to leave immediately he parted his mustache from his bottom lip, but it certainly struck Christine within the first hour that the carriage was most likely no longer waiting for her to make an escape. After the formalities of greetings and friendly, yet chaste, hugs, the river of conversation seemed to have suffered a drought. They sat awkwardly by, Christine on her chaise lounge and Raoul on a loveseat opposite her, staring anywhere but at the other person and trying to find something to talk about.

They had tried the weather, how the night was so cold and if sleep was able to come for easily; which fizzled out quickly when both parties stated the cold was indeed frightful, but a warm bed is the best remedy. Christine asked about his sisters, leading to Raoul stating that they were married and living their lives happily with their families. Raoul tried asking about Christine’s father, which ended quickly when she revealed he had passed away. By that point there was little to no hope in saving the afternoon, at least until a servant brought out a tray of tea and finger foods for the pair. Somehow, invigorated by the cucumber sandwiches and sugary black tea, Raoul started on about the Games of the VI Olympiad that had started in April and its 22 nations, 2,008 participants, 110 events, and countless other numbers and facts that Christine tried desperately to block out.

If she was to be honest should he ask, which he never did, Christine would have to say she didn’t even know there was an international sports competition happening as they spoke in England. Although she loved ballet and getting her heart rate up, Christinefound no interest in talking about other people participating in a sport you don’t even know how to play.

So here they sat, Raoul going on about France’s two gold medals in fencing and how Eugène Grisot is to be one of the best archers in history, all while Christine picked dead skin from her fingers in desperate search for something entertaining. While her partner kept yapping on about technique and sports drama, it gave Christine the proper amount of time to regard the two men in her life.

First there was Raoul, sweet, dependable, boring Raoul. When they were young all time spent together was fun and glee; even on the gloomiest of days, Raoul’s head of blonde hair acted as a halo of what the day was to bring. He had always been her sunshine, even when they moved apart, Christine would think back on those days spent on the beach playing with the boy who had rescued her red scarf from the frozen ocean. Now, however, Christine thought she was going to go insane from boredom if she had to listen to his ramblings about France winning a gold medal in “water motorsports” despite only being added to the games since 1900. It seems like that adventurous young boy from childhood has grown up into the sport enthusiast sitting before her.

This made Christine think even more, about her future to be specific; if she could barely stand thirty minutes without losing her mind with Raoul, how was she supposed to spend the rest of her life with him? Although a young woman, Christine knows the position she was given in today’s society having grown up struggling for money with her father. It was a common wish for many of the ballet rats and chorus girls, including herself, to dream of a rich sweetheart to take them away from the city and marry into a life of luxury, regardless if they loved their partner or not. At least for Christine, the idea of marrying a man whom she did not love was a terribly hard thing to wrap her head around; lucky for her she was awarded a visit from two opposing suitors. One was the blonde headed boy previously mentioned, someone Christine certainly saw herself happy to marry even if it meant marrying a friend rather than the love of her life. Now, she didn’t even think she could enjoy a life of luxury with her dear friend Raoul given how little they enjoy the same things.

Which brings us to suitor number two: Erik.

Oh sweet, tempered, and beautifully talented Erik. Their first meeting and subsequent deception was less than admirable, but once Christine was given a chance to think about his actions and his apology for lying to the heartbroken girl, she found herself drawn even more to him. No longer the mysterious angel heaven sent to her by a deceased father, rather a disturbingly thin man in a dark suit who wore half a mask to hide his facial deformity. She wanted to know more about him, how he came to be living underneath the opera house, and especially how he learned to write and play such beautiful music. It felt like he truly was an angel despite not having the facial features of one. Ah, yes, his face. Now that Christine has seen it numerous times, even suggesting during lessons that he remove it for comfort's sake, Erik is still ashamed of his biggest sin and insecurity but at the time she ripped his mask from his face, she saw the real monster encompassed within him. A red hot anger, one so terrible she feared for her very life that night, arose through his tall frame and sprung from his mouth spewing insults and threats at her all the while stomping around his home like a child.

Looking back, knowing what she knows about his life, Christine would have reacted the same way. She really was lucky that the Persian, Nadir, had stopped by to surprise his friend and stumbled upon the scene; without him she wouldn’t have been able to escape from the house and row herself across the underground lake. It took weeks before Christine was able to look Erik in the eye again, after what he had called her. Even after that their lessons never were the same, not until she asked him to take off the mask, assuring him she was not frightened of his face; that it was his anger she feared. To this day she remembers the way his amber eyes, bright and shining from the candle light, softened when he realized the true reason for her distance. He apologized profusely, but Christine maintained she would only accept his apology if he took his mask off; which he did, with great trepidation. To his great surprise, however, Christine merely smiled at him and dared to bring a hand up to his ruing cheek, gently stroking her thumb across. So overcome with emotion was he that the poor suffering man dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed at her skirts, bringing them to his deformed face and crying, wailing about how perfect she was and that he didn’t deserve her.

She thought she had killed him when she kissed his forehead.

Their lessons were never the same after that, having grown so much closer than ever thought possible. These thoughts of her maestro and how special he made her feel, his music that he wrote and played just for her, the feelings he evoked in her, made her grow sad knowing their last words had been those of anger and quite, possibly jealousy.

After spending great time lost in thought about the men in her life, Christine knew; she could never spend the rest of her life with Raoul, they had grown too far apart. He would always have a special place in her heart, but as of right now, she couldn’t envision a very happy future together if they couldn’t enjoy ten minutes alone together. Yet with Erik, she could spend everyday for the rest of her life with that curious man, not a word exchanged, their home only filled with music and the sounds of the crackling fire. They talked of everything from music to architecture, philosophy and different cultures and religions. Christine truly has been enlightened that the feelings he made her feel were those of love and longing.

And that is exactly what she told Raoul.

Running from the carriage to the Rue Scribe entrance, Christine had to pick up her skirts so as not to trip over them. She was a woman on a mission; to express all of the love she has found within herself for Erik to the man himself. For not another moment could she bear to think of him wallowing away down in the depths thinking she did not return the affections he showered her in every day.

Poor Erik, who never felt such a basic human kindness as a kiss to the forehead, the mere thought of his beloved student rejecting his love would surely kill him.

Making her way across the underground lake, Christine was so caught up in her thoughts and feelings for her true heart's desire, it didn’t come to her attention that she wasn’t breaking out in her usual sweat around her collar from the musty air that usually permeated under the earth. So caught up for fear that her favored maestro would be so distraught he wouldn’t even spare a glance towards her direction, Christine also failed to notice the chill that greeted her, or the bits of frost that decorated the crust of the lake.

Finally having reached the shoreline, Christine didn’t even take the time to ensure the boat would stay put, carding little is the two of them were stuck together in the little house, forced to spend every day in each others company and every night cuddled up beside the fire in the Louis-Phillippe sitting room. Upon entering the house however, Christine had the sinking feeling that those nights spent beside a fire would be a distant memory.

For starters, the door had been left wide open, very bizarre since Christine’s dearest maestro hates any and all possibilities for the outside world to make contact with his own. The next thing Christine noticed was the complete and utter disarray of his most beloved possessions; staff paper ripped to shreds and thrown about haphazard, ink spilled and soaked into the authentic Persian rug, having watched the woman who’d woven it for the Shah, or the broken plaster and canvas paintings that he himself had made in all of his artistic talent. Ruined. Everything was ruined, rendered completely useless.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Sitting in the center of the mess, in all of its disfigured glory, was his most cherished possession; the organ. Wood, splintered and rubbed raw of its lacquer, lay all over the mess of papers and broken plaster. The plush velvet bench that Christine dreamed countless times of sitting next to her teacher, resting her head against his bony shoulder, ripped down the middle with its feathered guts strewn across the sitting room; so much so that a few feathers had stuck and dried to the once wet ink splattered on the floral wallpaper. Stepping over the larger pieces of wreckage, Christine looked around at what destruction her seemingly gentle and soft-spoken love was capable of. Under her boot, a piece of paper caught her eye, having found the needle in the haystack considering the surrounding area. Reaching down to pick up the paper, Christine realized what it was the second it came into view. Written in spindly and intricate red lettering were the words;

Don Juan Triumphant

All of those sleepless nights, hours spent writing blindlessly by candlelight, years of working on the one thing he hoped to be remembered by, destroyed. Carrying the page close to her chest, Christine made her way once more through the destruction, stopping just before the ripped bench and shattered organ. Staring down at the gash, feathers peering out in a great contrast of white against blood red, Christine’s eyes started to well up. For reasons she cannot name, looking at this scene of complete chaos from hours passed, she felt an immense sadness towards her teacher. No matter how hard he tried to make himself, and Christine, believe that he was more than mortal, claiming he needed less sleep and food than the average man, that was all he really was. A man. A man who craved nothing more from life and God than to be welcomed into a space where others could appreciate his talent and personality for what it was, not asking to change anything. To love a woman and take her out for walks in public without anyone batting an eye. But because he was denied and denounced so much from so many people for so many years, an anger took solace within him, planting itself when he was a child, growing as he did into the fury that lives there now, feeding off of his deep fear of resentment and loneliness that encompassed his frail body.

Christine, far wiser beyond her years than anyone would give her credit for, knew that he was but a scared, scarred man who wanted nothing but to feel secure in knowing not everyone was out to harm him, physically or emotionally. Overcome with the sadness she felt for the man who so desperately wanted to be an angel, she wept softly into the destruction a broken whisper.

“Oh, Erik”

Uncomfortable and unnerved by the silence, Christine reached a shaking hand, the chill of the room finally setting in, and pressed her delicate index finger on a key, yearning to hear the music that happily haunts her on the surface and in her dreams. The note, remarkably still working but sadly far from in tune, rang out loudly into the house’s cold void.

Just as she was ready to leave the poor man to his peace, not wanting to hurt him more than she has, a low noise could be heard. Recalling the sound, Christine had good reason to think it came from the hallway that led to the two bedrooms and grande bathroom. Deciding to investigate, she followed the sounds to the dark hall, wrapping her arms around her torso to find some sort of warmth in this frozen land. The darkness made Christine fear she might have simply imagined the sound, so she decided to call out, hoping for a reply.

“Erik?”

Nothing.

But then.

“Mmmm…”

Surprise swept across Christine’s face, knowing for certain that her mind did not lie to her about the first noise. It was muffled and mumbled, but it was a sign and she had no idea for what. Again not wanting to over step her welcome in such a private man’s home, she called out yet again, seeking something more to urge her into the depths of his domain.

“Erik…are you alright?”

Again the muffled voice subtly hummed, but for Christine it was as loud as sirens. She urgently feared that he had gotten sick or caught a cold from the chill that drifted through, and his lack of response was his way of asking, begging her to nurse him back to health. With hurried steps she made her way down the lightless hall, ghosting her hand against the wall to ensure she was going in the right direction, making her way to his private bedroom. Christine’s hand hesitated to grasp the door handle, fearful thoughts handicapping her movements.

What if he believes her to be Monsieur Khan and demands she leave his home the second his eyes land on her? What if he is sick and would rather suffer than face her again? What if he never wants to see her again? With all of these thoughts, and many more, swimming around her head Christine had to find the strength within her to alleviate these worries. If she entered his most private domain and told her to leave, she would harden her nerves and help the man regardless if he wanted it or not. She would nurse and warm him up, all the while saying that he can refuse her company for the rest of his life after he was better; no matter how much that would pain her. So, with nerves steeled and shoulders squared, Christine grasped the handle tightly, turned, and pushed open the door.

The room was darker than the hallway, darker than the back of Christine’s eyelids, what little light seeped into the room illuminated a small path that stopped at the box in the center of the room. The coffin. That dreaded wooden contraption that her dear unfortunate maestro insisted he sleep in instead of a warm, soft bed so he could live the life appropriate for a living corpse. As she searched for a candle to light, Christine promised herself that she would make him change his ways and live a life for a proper man with all of the indulgences that he deserves.

After a few moments of searching, Christine found a single candle that was melted to an old end table, one of the few items of furniture in the makeshift catacomb. Finding a match beside the candle, she grasped it with nimble fingers and struck it against the table, evidently giving the room the much needed light it longed for to scare away the monsters from the dark corners. With some illumination, Christine made her way over to the coffin and began the arduous task of lifting the lid. The heavy wood made the job hard, but not impossible, for a young woman of Christine’s size and strength. Why her masked love chose to encapsulate himself entirely from the outside world, she would have to ask later.

Finally shoving the wooden lid off of the box, a loud thud rang out as it slammed onto the floor. Before getting to reunite with her beloved teacher, the most rancid smell, like that of rotted meat, hit her harshly and caused her to stumble backwards with her hands covering her nose. Taking a minute to clear her lungs and coffin of the dreadful air, she was left wondering for the umpteenth time why such an intelligent man would disparage himself and force his body to sleep in a wooden box made for the dead. The sounds of pained groans caught her attention, looking back at the box itself. Unfortunately for Christine, so caught up in her pitying thought for Erik she failed to notice the scratch marks left on the inside of the coffin’s lid.

Turning her attention to her maestro, Christine knew she had guessed correctly after seeing him for the first time since the bone chilling night. The poor man had indeed caught an illness, and a terrible one at that. His usually thin and grayish skin had become a ghoulish blue-green colour, spreading from his forehead to his collarbone before being covered up by his suit. The skin on his hands, the same sickening colour as his face, had developed sores of dark purple, almost black. And his face, though hard to see through the tears the offensive smell caused, was worse than what the stagehands described to scared chorus girls. His usual sunken eyes and thin lips had exaggerated through the night, the gaping hole that served as a nose had dark red substance around the nostrils, presumably to be dried blood. His lack of hydration has caused prominent lines and wrinkles to form all over his now leathery skin; Christine could almost count every muscle and ligament.

“Oh, Erik! You poor thing, we must get you some food and drink. Maybe a fire to warm you too.”

The sweet young thing told all of this to the being that used to be Erik, now nothing more than what most people feared he was; a living corpse.

Too disillusioned was she to believe that the dead could rise again, Christine reached her hand towards his forehead to try and determine if he had a fever and if so how far along it was. As she searched for any warmth, made harder with Erik’s persistence of his hands trying to push her away, all she could feel was the same icy chill that reminded Christine of cold marble.

“Erik please, we must get you to a fire.” She tried to explain, but was soon dismayed when his skeletal hands came to her shoulders, grasping at her, trying to bring her closer. The only thought Christine could make out was that he was no longer mad at her; indeed, he must have come to the same conclusion she had and wishes to make up for lost time. Flustered, with her cheeks burning and heart racing, Christine wanted nothing more than to close the gap between their lips and seal their love for good, to ease the hunger she saw growing in her dearest’s eyes. The only problem was the nagging feeling that she should wait, get him healthy again, or at least out of the blasted coffin first. But emotions ruled the kingdom of both male and female bodies, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Christine braced herself, gasping from arousal, before ending the distance and melding her lips to his. For months she had imagined what they would feel like against her own; thin yet soft and palatable for her own. The reality was a bit different, but not unwanted to her daydreams; although it was in haste, he certainly had a life inside of him that surfaced, moving his lips every which way across her own, seemingly wanting to taste every inch of her he could reach.

Too enthralled by the soaring kiss that she was receiving from her uniquely gifted maestro, Christine chose to ignore some of the more disturbing aspects of the kiss. For example, the unearthly taste that came when he opened his mouth poking out his gummy tongue in search of her own. The metallic taste and muddy texture would be enough for any young woman to start running the other way; but the lack of experience for the soprano caused her to believe this was the normal reaction. What she could not ignore, however, was the sharp sting that came from her lover, tugging and pulling on her bottom lip in a determined effort of making her his.

Christine was starting to get startlingly excited over the idea that her teacher might continue things further, with his hands grasping her shoulders and waist with such intensity that she feared he might rip the dress right off of her. The only sound she could hear, and was positive he did too, was the rushing of blood in her ears and the constant pounding of her heart, not to mention the thumping pulse between her legs. Not the various groans of pleasure coming from the ruined mouth of the thing holding her. So caught up in the rush of the moment, Christine pulled her head back so as to gasp in a breath of fresh air that was lacking from their kiss. As she gasped in breast after breath, her inamorato continued his path of love bites and careless kisses across her neck, décolletage, and stopped to affectionately nibble on her shoulder; which his greedy hands exposed. Stirring within Christine was a hunger she knew only his expertise could extinguish, having been the one to ignite the rivinous flame, she could still taste his dribble that had made its way into her mouth; mixed with the bits of blood that seeped out from his bite. All of his ministrations, combined with the emotions running rampant through Christine’s virginal veins, caused tears to well up in her eyes; the sheer amount of love she felt for this man and his desires for her was too much to handle.

All too suddenly however, the seemingly loving bites he was leaving on her shoulder soon started to hurt more than she thought they should have. Whenever she would converse with the older girls, more experienced than the young chorus girls like herself, they told stories of lovers soothing bites with laps of their tongue on the offended skin. Erik, it seems, is a rather aggressive lover leaving no room for Christine to escape his onslaught of nibbles. Which soon changed as, having found himself in need of the supple flesh under him, the blunt force of his teeth broke through the unblemished skin and tore away a piece to chew on as if it was merely a piece of undercooked mutton. The scream that emitted from her lips sounded and echoed into the air, so loud and so pained, it was to be the last note the soprano ever made. Blood immediately started to run down Christine’s shoulder and onto her dress, staining it a deep crimson almost reaching her knees with the steady flow.

The pain was so great that she started to sway on her feet, having lost an entire crater of skin that only left exposed arteries, muscle, and some tendons free for viewing. As Christine started to realize her mistake her pupils dilated, her vision overcome with a warm light and the most beautiful music she had ever heard reached her ears, reminding her of her father’s violin, music that she only ever heard when she was in the company of the living corpse. Her last thoughts were how she would finally be with her love, her dear maestro and true angel, Erik.

Eternally.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #erik x christine #andrew lloyd webber #halloween #fictober23 #fanfic #zombies

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 1: The Violet Snail

Kinktober Day 1 Prompts: Cum Inflation (fantasy)~Gang-bang~Prostitution (actual)

Fandom: Warcraft

Tags: Prostitution, Gang Bang, Cum Inflation, Size Difference, weird dicks,  slight m/m, anal sex,

Pairing:  OrcM/GoblinM/DwarfF/WorgenM/NagaM

[Author's Note: I don’t really play Hearthstone anymore and do not have anything from the Mean Streets of Gadgetzan collection, but I like the idea of the premise. I see it as a sort of semi modernized noir sort of setting within Warcraft, so that is where this little story is going to be based. If I get anything wrong about the setting it is not intentional, I just haven’t read everything from the wiki on it yet.]

Nestled back on a dark street surrounded by bars and shops was a large almost unassuming building with a bright glowing purple sign. The Violet Snail was a popular tavern, mostly because it was also a brothel and had some of the best brews and entertainment to be had this side of Gadgetzan. The owners of the the tavern were a goblin and a dwarf. The goblin ran the brothel side of things, and the dwarf kept the tavern running and always stocked with brew.

Tonight's crowd was rowdy as always, but it was rare for fights to start here. There were strict rules and no one wanted to get banned, not even on a temporary basis. If they weren’t addicted to the entertainment, then it was the unique brews and snacks the bar offered. Tulvir, the dwarven owner, went out of his way to source unique brews from all over Azeroth, having many imported from far away isles. Standard dwarven brews were a staple on the menu, but the exotic brews were what kept people coming back. Always curious what would be new on the menu.

Tulvir did the same with food. Sourcing recipes from all over and working with the cooks to determine what would work and what wouldn’t. Not all food made good bar food and even some of the most delicious recipes didn’t make the cut just because they were too complicated to serve to drunk people. It also came down to ingredients, if it wasn’t something that could be reliably sourced, it wasn’t considered. 

Maggie, on the other hand, dealt with the entertainment and ran the brothel portion of the tavern. The whole upstairs was dedicated to it and she had her work cut out for her most nights. The set up was clever. A patron could put in their requests downstairs, pick from a book if they were inclined to something specific. Prices were negotiated, and when the room was available they were escorted up. No one got upstairs without an escort. This kept the talent and the patrons safe. 

Business was good, the crowd was a bit loud but joyful. They were being entertained by some dancers as booze was sold in bulk. The kitchen was not quite overwhelmed but working at a steady pace. It was nice to see, and Maggie knew it would be a profitable night. She eyed a couple of the tables, wondering which groups would end up looking to buy some company and head upstairs. If she were a betting woman she would be certain the table of orcs would be the first to ask for the book. To her surprise, it was the mixed table that requested it. An odd group to be sure, but there really wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen here in Gadgetzan. The naga was a little different, but he wasn’t the first she had seen in their tavern, it was just a rare occurrence. 

Stepping over to the table she addressed them “Finding anything you like, we are running a couple of specials this week. We have a deal where if you book two girls the second is half rate, and we have a 25% discount on group scenes. Let me know what you are interested in.” Maggie stepped away to let them converse amongst themselves. The specials never impacted the talent, anything taken off came from the house side and rarely did it affect profits. 

Glyx glanced sideways at Corbin while Vosh continued to flip through the book. "So, just wanna get two girls to double team?" he said to what was a near uncomfortably long silence. It was a stark contrast to how they were in the tavern a few hours prior.

"I'm fine with whatever. One gal, a couple, one for each." Corbin finally answered to break the pregnant pause, looking over to the orc who still thumbed through the pages. He went through it twice, and now was on his third. If there was ever a more selective person than Vosh, Corbin hadn't met them yet.

"It would be easier if I was paired with someone less… easy to unnerve." Nalzas said, his eyes sitting on Corbin with a not so subtle implication. "Will you be staying as a human, or shifting?" The naga asked curiously. Corbin was probably the most relaxed individual Zas had ever known. A very go with the flow type, but he was dangerous when his mood shifted, as rare as the situation was.

"Vosh. Vosh, pal, buddy, Vosh. Dude. Pick. Please. We don't have all night, I definitely don't got all night, and I'm pretty sure we don't have the coin for one of each." Glyx' large green ear flicked, annoyance clear on him as he was about ready to to swipe the book from their very picky friend, and pick at random.

The orc glared at the goblin, and as his hands lifted, the book was shoved over into the hands of Corbin. "Here, you can choose. We aren't exactly a normal group, and I doubt you could ask some gnome to take what we have going on."

Corbin just took it with little more than a hum, flipping pages faster than Vosh was doing. Unlike Vosh, he actually had considered their differences, and what would be exciting for them. It was easy enough to pass over several options, and with a few details to look through the profiles, it took him a great deal quicker to settle on a woman that looked interesting to him. "So." He finally said looking up. "How do you all feel about a dwarf?"

Glyx got a little gleam in his eye “Oh, I do like dwarves. They fit the whole ‘taller’n me’ thing without bein so tall that it’s a pain in the ass. She cute?” The goblin tugged the book away from Corbin and glanced at the picture. Oh yeah, she was cute. Just the kind of girl he would have hit on naturally. Clearly his friend knew what he liked. It was Vosh, the ever picky one, that needed to agree. 

“What say you Vosh, ya like?” Glyx pushed the book towards the orc and glanced over to Zas. “you good with a dwarf lady, not gonna be a problem fer, eh, yer junk?” Nalzas narrowed his slitted eyes at Glyx. “Oh honestly Glyx, so crass. I am fine as long as they are. Dwarvish women tend to be rather sturdy, so I haven’t really had any issues, though it was only the one time. I am sure we can all make it work as long as Vosh is interested.”

“Yeah, it works. She looks fun, profile fits our needs. Nothing popping out at me that could be an issue. I like her red hair.” Sometimes being picky paid off, and sometimes it caused situations like this. Vosh knew it drove his friends nuts, but it was just how he was. When it came to non orcish women, he was exceedingly picky and refused to apologize for it. 

Turning around he waved the goblin lady over, it would suck if they went through all this and she wasn’t even available. “Her, uh, Branwen? Yeah, her name shows as Branwen. She free? It would be all four of us.”

Maggie took the book back and nodded.  “Yes, Branwen is available. I will have security take you up to the room and she will be brought in after you read over the rules for the room. Enjoy your time gentlemen.” Maggie gestured for them to follow the large serious looking orcs standing near the stairs. 

Corbin picked up the little booklet with the rules and began reviewing them as the others got settled, reading aloud anything that he thought the others needed to know. It was standard stuff really. Mostly to protect the talent and to prevent harm to everyone involved. “Seems basic, I mean if I was looking for some of the more extreme stuff I certainly would not have come here. Glyx, that means you are going to have to reign it in a bit until we know how much this girl can handle your mouth.”

“I am hurt and offended Cor, that you would besmirch my very character with such slander.” Glyx stated in the most clear and enunciated speech they had ever heard, his accent completely gone for that moment. He was, of course, being sarcastic, but it did hit home as the others began laughing.

“Just, tone down the dirty talk until we know she is into it ok?” Corbin rolled his eyes and got comfortable with the others as they waited for the woman to arrive, which she did in short order, and she was far more beautiful than her picture had shown. 

“Well, look at this lot. I’m Branwen, looks like I have quite the selection tonight.” She smiled at the men and was intrigued to see such an unusual group. The orc and goblin she expected, but the human and naga were curious. Still, you got all types here and she wasn’t going to question it. As long as they followed the rules, this was going to be fun. “So, who’s first, or all at once?”

Corbin stepped up, wanting to take the lead to make sure everyone got what they wanted from the evening. “Whatever is going to be easier to start with for you. I know Glyx is quite excited, but Nalzas here is a little nervous.” He gestured to the goblin and naga in turn. “Also, full disclosure, but I am a worgen. I can stay in human form if that is less strange for you. I know not everyone is, well, into it.”

Branwen looked a bit confused. Worgen were rare in these parts. They showed up, but tended not to be seen much on this side of town, so this would be a first. She wasn’t sure what he was getting at until something tickled at her thoughts. “Strange? I, hmm, ye wouldn’t mean that somethin is different?” She had heard rumors that some worgen not only were incredibly hung, but had odd shaped or knotted dicks. When the man flushed she smirked and decided to test the waters with how playful she could get with this group. “Are ye insinuatin that yer a bit… knotty?”

At this, Corbin was bright red, his face in his hands, and both Vosh and Glyx were howling with laughter. “Oh, oh I like her, she is a keeper!” Glyx chimed in and sauntered up to the dwarf. “Sweetie, I promise we are gonna make yer night it ya let us. With humor like that, this was meant to be. So, who first?”

“Why don’t we start on the bed. All holes are available as long as yer willin to use lube. No slidin in the back door dry loves, we’ll have none of that.” Branwen stripped off her simple dress. She hadn’t worn anything underneath, she assumed with a group session they would want to get to it and not waste too much time.

Hopping up on the bed she waited for them to finish talking amongst themselves and was not shocked that the goblin crawled up on the bed first. He was quite handsome. Dark hair, bright eyes, light green skin, and more well hung than she was expecting. He winked at her as he grabbed the lube. “Hope ya don’t mind me knockin on the back door ta start?” 

“What position would make this easier?” Branwen paused as the orc slid onto the bed and lifted her in the air, turning her to face him and placing her on his lap. 

“Ride me? That way Glyx can stand up and we don’t have to worry about hurting you.” Vosh pushed some loose strands of hair from her face, stroking her cheek with a knuckle. “That, and I want to see your face. Condom or no?”

Branwen flushed at the attention, she was not expecting this. The orc was the one she was worried about. He looked so angry, but now, there was this tenderness in his eyes she had not expected and she found herself feeling some sort of way about it. She shook her head. Condoms would not be needed. She had taken her preventatives so pregnancy shouldn’t be an issue and they had a healer on staff just in case someone caught something. She had charms as well to help prevent anything unwanted getting into her system.

“Beautiful. We’ll start slow, but you never answered our friend Corbin over there. Human form or full worgen?” Vosh wanted to make sure that consent was clear before things started and the heat of the moment could change minds. He wanted her clear headed for this choice.

“I’m curious, so let's go worgen.” Branwen smiled over at Corbin who was still flushed. Though, she had not expected for him to shift right then, and oh was he quite large. Though his blue eyes still seemed so kind even if his face was now a little more frightening. 

Vosh ended up distracting her when she felt herself lifted into the air and something nudged at her entrance. She locked eyes with his as he pushed in, her’s closing first. The stretch was something, it burned just a bit, but in a good way. That good feeling just kept coming as she slowly took more and more of him in. She wasn’t sure it would fit at first, and now she was hoping to take all of him. That stretch started to feel a little too good and it was taking a lot of will power for her to sit still.

Branwen opened her eyes when she felt the bed move and saw that the worgen had joined them, off to the side a bit. It was a good thing all the furniture had been double reinforced last year. After a selection of furniture had broken, the bosses paid more to have better stuff built. Hopefully it would hold up with this group. “You ok there lovely?” Vosh asked in a deep rumbly voice, it was quiet, not quite a whisper, but close. He had turned her face to his and was looking at her with concern.

“Yes, just staying relaxed. You are bigger than I thought, trying not to get too excited. Wouldn’t want this to be over before it starts.” She smirked at the orc as she felt large hands on her hips and a warm slick nudge between her cheeks, glancing back over her shoulder she nodded at Glyx, letting him know he could go ahead. She wasn’t sure if he was hesitating for any particular reason, but sometimes reaffirming her consent helped.

“Ya got a great ass beautiful, just want ta make sure yer ready for it.” Glyx pushed his hips forward carefully, keeping the lube nearby to add more as needed. He wasn’t all that into causing pain. Yeah he was kinky, but this wasn’t really the time for it. Adding a bit more lube the goblin pushed just a bit more til he felt her relax a bit as was able to get a couple inches in. Biting back a groan and forcing himself to pause he just stood there for a moment to center himself and calm just a bit. 

Corbin and Nalzas watched as their friends found a nice rhythm. Zas slithered over to the bed pushing up on his coils to be taller. Both of his cocks were out, slick with arousal and he caught Branwens curious eyes. Smiling gently at her shocked expression. He wasn’t sure how this would work out for him, but even just watching was enough sometimes. 

Branwen glanced towards Corbin and saw that he too was erect and he indeed did have a rather large dick with a noticeable knot in it. It wasn’t too large one she was certain she could take if she tried, but she was curious how he tasted. “If’n ya lean up here, I could suck ye off.” She offered and caught the glances between the orc and worgen. If they were communicating she was unaware but something must have been agreed upon as she felt a gentle hand on the back of her head as he lifted up on his knees. 

“Only take as much as you feel safe doing. Trust me, it will feel good regardless.” Corbin teased her lips with the tip of his cock and sucked in a sharp breath as she eagerly took him into her mouth. He had anticipated that she would be nervous, hesitant even, but no, she was already almost to the knot and he was finding it difficult to keep control.

Nalzas watched as the group found their rhythm, moving as one. It was strange and beautiful at the same time. His friends knew his proclivities and had not expressed any problems with them in the past, so he helped himself. Leaning down he wiggled closer, his long tongue flicking out to tease Branwen’s clit. He tasted both her and Vosh, it was delightful. Snaking his tongue out farther he teased and flicked along her slit and back to her clit. Vosh didn’t indicate any discomfort so he continued, his tongue teasing both on occasion, but mostly focusing on Branwen. She tasted lovely and he considered paying for a private session with her if she would allow it.

Branwen was almost delirious with pleasure. She felt incredible. Every part of her body was tingling. She was almost overwhelmed with it all. The snake tongue had been a surprise, but a welcome one and she had all intentions of exploring that more later. For now she was getting close to that edge, the only thing helping her stave off an orgasm was her focus. The cock in her mouth was just a little too big and she had to concentrate on her breathing to make sure she didn’t get too light headed, oh it was glorious though. So thick and musky, she wanted to take that knot, but simply wasn’t able to. Not yet, maybe she could convince this group to become regulars. 

Glyx was the first to reach orgasm. Crying out sharply as he fought the urge to bite Branwen. She felt so good, so tight, and he continued to thrust through his orgasm, drawing out every bit of pleasure he could. They were going to go broke, he just knew it. She had enchanted the whole group, he was certain of it, and honestly wasn’t going to complain, at least not yet. 

Corbin followed with a sharp moan that started to transition into a howl. He pulled back, not wanting to accidentally choke or drown Branwen with his cum. He barely managed to miss her face and his friends, who would have been annoyed but most likely would have forgiven him. Stroking himself the rest of the way through his orgasm, squeezing his knot in a way that made his toes curl. If she was up for more, he very much wanted a ride. Panting he backed off a bit to give the others space. 

Branwen came hard, her core clenching around Vosh’s cock, as the orc followed close after. Nalzas pulled back allowing them to cum together. It was almost sweet, they looked like they belonged. He was a softy and a bit of a romantic at times, but there was something about this woman that seemed to have enchanted all of them. He helped brace her and pulled her gently off of Vosh, settling her safely in his coils to rest. 

It took Branwen a few minutes to come back to her senses and she found herself enjoying the feeling of scales against her skin. She looked up at the naga curiously. “Ye know, yer the only one that didn’t get a happy endin, it would be a damn shame ta leave it like that.”

Zas laughed, a slight hiss in his voice. “Only, if you are certain. One or both?”

“Oh, it had better be both ye sweet serpent. I got two holes.” She glanced at the bed, “Oi, be a sport and toss us the lube will ye?”

Glyx chuckled heartily and shrugged before tossing the lube. “A’ight. Lemme get my pants on, I’ll go pay fer another hour. Eh, lets make it two.”

#warcraft fanfic #orc #goblin #naga #worgen #dwarf #exophilia