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exactlyenoughglitter · 3 years

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rules of service

AO3 Pairings: Avallac’h/Eredin/Lara Warnings: non-con, NSFW, orgy, pegging, bondage, dead dove: do not eat Summary: Lara does not take Eredin's sneering implications, suspicions, and innuendos about herself and “her place” very well. Elves are proud, vengeful creatures. Disclaimer: An experiment for exploring the darker impulses of Avallac'h & Lara, which I think they might have in some capacity due to the very simple, insane fact that they were supposed to become parents to an elven Saviour with control over all Space & Time. It's a further experiment in exploring power and the dynamics of these three characters in a three-way pairing, which I, personally, do not consider very likely in any nice capacity.

The daughter of Shiadhal receives her guest standing in the middle of a rosette mosaic, underneath a chandelier dripping with riddling light refracting through heliotrope crystals. Tiny shadows dance on her low-cut anthracite dress, slit at the side, and in her long hair of white gold gleam mint alabaster gems set in filigree; the hairpiece cascades down the side of the woman’s head in a display of unparalleled artistry.

As it should.

For Lara is the most treasured apple of Alder Wood.

‘Your grace.’

‘Captain.’

Poplars sway gently in the evening wind. The tall windows make this open drawing room almost like the winter gardens of the upper palaces of Tir ná Lia. It is half-a-day’s ride from the capital to the chateau and the valley-grounds Lara favours.

‘Thank you for coming.’

He nods. ‘It would be the height of discourtesy of me to refuse a summons from your illustrious person.’

Emerald eyes shine on him coolly, with faint curiosity. It is that ruminative glint that so mocks its recipients, hinting at the possibility of care in the distant amusement of the one who was born forever a better to everybody and second to none. He knows that look well. It’s all he has ever received, all, they believe, a knight should be content with.

Delicate fingers of a spell-caster trail along a marble balustrade which divides the decorous space in two, until they reach crystal glasses and a pitcher under the roses.

‘Do you feel hungry?’ she asks. ‘Thirsty?’

‘Neither, your grace.’

‘But you are a man of great appetite, are you not?’

By way of an answer, Eredin offers half a smile. The spotless glasses and the pitcher have been prepared, but the elf does not sense the presence of either servants or handmaidens. It would appear their meeting is a private one; he wonders about that.

‘Well? Aren’t you curious?’

‘Nobody has ever called me incurious.’

‘To your face, maybe.’

‘Maybe,’ he crosses his hands behind his back. ‘Does your grace usually concern yourself with the barking of dogs?’

Lara gives a small laugh, which is beautifully hollow.

‘Could we drop this, do you think? This artificial politeness. This prancing.’

She approaches slowly, the anthracite fabric of her dress shifting with the sway of her hips. Eredin looks openly, for there is no point in complimenting the most beautiful woman in the world unless the compliment can say something beyond itself.

‘Behind closed doors,’ the daughter of the Alders speaks, ‘I have always been “that witch” to you and you, in turn, have always been one of my father’s beloved dogs to me. Well, when I say beloved.’ A burst of light blue butterflies erupts from a bowl drowning in greenery at one end of the balustrade. ‘I think we can speak freely, don’t you?’

‘By all means,’ he sneers. ‘Let us speak freely. If it is your freethinking ideals you wish to discuss –’

‘No, I do not wish to discuss! Not like this, not today, and not with you.’

He inclines her head at her. Unlike her mother, Lara is not an imposing woman. She is an ineluctable one.

Standing close, her eyes absorb the lines of his face. ‘We have never been friends, you and I.’

‘Have we not? Astonishing.’

But Lara changes tact, and this indeed does astonish the Sparrowhawk. An elegant pale hand lays down on top of the amaranth-vermillion cloak wrapped around the dark-haired elf’s strong shoulders. Eredin looks. The priceless jewels on Lara’s priceless fingers shimmer.

‘No. We have never been friends,’ she murmurs, letting her palm slide over the large silver brooch. ‘Even so, I am not my mother, Eredin. I wish to know what you think. As you said, perhaps there is something you can say – offer me – that no one else can. Perhaps I even wish we could be... friends?’

The heavy cloak, bearing the fresh smells of the journey, falls to the floor at the elf lord’s feet as the Gull departs as lightly as she had arrived, in a soft swish of a dress from which flashes the toned line of her leg.

‘I like curious men,’ she throws over her shoulder. ‘Are you one who is curious for its own sake, or one who is curious only to experience the satisfaction of satiation?’

‘Latter, I’m afraid,’ he trails her closely with his eyes. ‘Chasing the wind does not interest me in the slightest.’

‘Is that so? You never imagine what could be?’ a hint of something plays on her lips and she shows it to him. ‘Do you lack the imagination, or the means?’

Poplars rustle outside, along the whitewashed avenue and somewhere beyond, fountain water falls. Lara sighs.

‘I am not entirely sure I believe you.’

The secret something in her demeanour does not disappear as he approaches. It holds firm, even once they stand face to face by the marble balustrade under the brilliant chandelier. Jewellery in Lara’s hair crinkles like the spring melt as she looks on him, brazenly, and he feels his blood stirring.

‘Why did you summon me?’ he asks. ‘What is it exactly,’ he glances down the lean line of her neck, ‘that the princess of the Alder Folk requires of me?’

‘Understanding,’ she replies simply. ‘Of where we stand.’

A thin, unassuming string of gold winds around her neck, leading his eyes, while she trails her fingers along the petals of a rose, not letting her guest out of her line of sight for a second. The Gull’s eyes, Eredin has to admit, can put a spell on you. So he looks elsewhere instead.

‘I have been thinking a lot about our little dance lately,’ she says. ‘About your concern for me.’

‘Have you now?’

‘I have,’ her gaze falls briefly on his lips. ‘Or do you think I lack appetite?’

Her lips part, her eyes narrow. He takes another step. Her dress brushes his knees.

‘I am at your service.’

‘Then serve me.’

He catches her wrist on its way up.

Lara does not flinch, though a shadow darts behind her eyes. It pleases him. Perfume of iris and white musk mingles with the smell of wild roses, which Eredin loves. And that pleases him too.

Slowly, at his chosen pace, he moves the delicate hand of the Gull down. Slowly, along the curve of a narrow waist and round hips. To the slit of the dress.

Their eyes meet – green that is everything in green that is not – in that cool disdainful way before people make friends. He knows a little more still: that this is the look of all women who do not want to ask. Who do not have to ask – ever!

Eredin plunges their joined hands underneath the dress between Lara’s thighs. Neither of them so much as blinks. And then – after silk parts and she parts – then he raises her hand to his lips.

‘Wet.’ He tastes her. ‘Like any woman.’

He cannot proceed entirely how he would like though; despite seeing burgeoning fury and desire breaking the cool indifference in that lovely face. Lara makes his knees go weak – literally. With those nimble spell-caster’s fingers. Fingers that the elf believes would look elegant around his cock.

‘On your knees.’ She wipes her fingers in his hair. ‘Like any man.’ And sits on the balustrade.

Eredin does not respond any more.

His experienced hands clutch the front of the anthracite dress on which light and shadows twirl in fey regalia. Silver hooks clatter weakly against marble alongside pearl-trimmed panties and a tense gasp joins the rustle of poplars in the fragrant summer eve. Grasping Lara by the sides and tugging her against his waiting mouth, he smiles; the panties were probably a gift from Crevan.

Crevan, who does not know you as well as he thinks after all.

The weakness in his knees proves surprisingly persistent but easy to ignore.

It is easy when a firm thigh trembles on his shoulder, pushing the crowning jewel of the Alders further under her “dog.” When it is his lips that nudge apart the slick petals of her, him who smothers the trembling of her core around her swollen clit, him who presses it back and forth and drags his tongue all along that very special, very warm and wet cunt. Which in the end is just another cunt – to be sated.

It is easy.

The spells of Auberon’s little girl will crumble and she will rock against him in her insatiable hunger, and then he will put her face down on the floor, where people kiss her feet, and fuck her until she is heaving full of his seed.

‘I wonder,’ he murmurs, inhaling her, ‘if your fated can imagine you like this?’

‘Oh, Eredin!’

Lara’s fingers pull at his hair as she moans. He looks what has become of those iridescent pools of green that would mock him so, releasing her with a bite and a pop.

She smiles gently, her eyes far away.

‘He knows.’

The collar snaps into place.

---//---

Wisps of lazuline smoke rise under open lattice-work ceilings and skies that are paling pink. The humid nocturnal air is erupting in chirps, chits, trills, and the distinct whirring of dusky starfrontlets who dart from flower to flower in the hanging gardens. Lara follows them with her eyes, breathing palisander and fading notes of ozone, and feels fingers playing in her hair, scattered like aurous rain on huge, plush pillows.

She squeezes her eyes shut, holds her breath. The fingers stop, wondering. Then resume in a tip-tap between her shoulder blades.

Tip-tap. Tip-tap-tip. Tap –

Lara laughs into the pillow and shoves at the warm chest hovering over her, and Crevan’s smell washes over her as he falls into the pillows. He is showing her funny images.

‘Sleep, I beg you.’

‘No.’

‘You are cruel!’

She rises on her forearms, tossing her head back and stretching, and meets the witch-lines on his body along which she has walked and left her marks, lines which lead her to the male’s triangular face in which bright eyes, as intensely awake as hers, shine at her.

‘Cruel, do you understand?’

He smiles, softly. ‘I will put the sun in you.’

Sometimes Lara tries to imagine how it would be like to hear Crevan’s words as a lesser woman to whom words are just words, not spells. To whom their lover’s desire is solely a matter of acceptance and fleshly pleasure and not... sacral rapture. Or are they somehow the same – them and her?

‘Everyone is expecting... to have you, Lara... any man would... golden children you will give... waiting with bated breath... love is very dear... “cosmic significance”... satisfying your grace... do you know your place?’

She feels herself sinking deeper into the softness around them with the male’s hips pressing against her rear, lips lulling, appeasing over the scruff of her neck as the growing girth of him is sliding languidly back and forth between her thighs. And in return, on a mean whim stoked by the memory, she does something slightly rash. Slightly... impolite.

Because in the next moment the elf’s hands squeeze her painfully and then he is gone, and the ringing of wind chimes startles away the hummingbirds and spangled cotingas, and already Lara turns after him before her Fox can sulk, though knowing he will have an explanation from her as only the first of several repayments. But frankly, Lara can no longer bring herself to care about how below her this is supposed to be – everything is anyway – and so, she simply tells Crevan – about what their “friend” allows himself in her presence...

‘It is different between you, but I do not believe you have not noticed how he is,’ she says at last. ‘The way he speaks. To me? As if I owe him anything.’

Bare feet tap on tiles of black onyx with mother of pearl inserts and diamonds. Lara finds an abandoned glass of spiked ambrosia inside a feather crown and picks up the long pale-spotted lynx fur. Perhaps as a result of the delights of their night she feels everything more intensely, including the vengeful impulse overcoming her now. Perhaps it is simply what Lara is really like – with the ethereal strappings stripped away. The promised daughter and mother of blessed blood; an elven maid – not to be slighted.

‘Just imagine,’ she leans over the mahogany table toward him, rich fur softening the impact. ‘If the golden vessel that will feed our people with endless opportunities were nothing but a mindless, manageable, pretty trinket that would fit on your hip. Sentience is so troublesome, after all.’

‘Absurd.’

‘Is it? Is the state of my womb not a matter of the vox populi? A Daughter of Dana belongs to her people. Perhaps it has even given our captain the impression I should also belong to him?’

‘You belong to me.’

A strange thrill sparks in her and she catches his eyes.

‘This? This is,’ he twiddles his long fingers in the air, ‘little piggies’ blither. They are hungry and impatient and make a lot of noise, and this annoys my beautiful Lara. I do not like it.’

How his expression has changed, from concern and indignation in the beginning to something stronger. She realises then that Crevan’s anger is indeed a slowly burning thing, sly fury under turf, that once aroused can burn until the world is ancient.

She wonders if she can push this...

‘I don’t know, Crevan, sometimes I think you are more alike than it seems.’

The elf lord rolls his eyes, letting his head drop back. It should concern her but for some reason, right now, his ire excites Lara – very much.

‘Why do we allow him so much?’ she draws nearer to where he sits in sable furs under tall open glass doors. ‘Eredin –’

‘– is nothing,’ he intones. ‘Without us.’

‘You think?’ She steps between her Fox’s legs. ‘Sometimes it seems to me he fancies himself the prime stallion. A unicorn?’ And dangles the end of the fur seductively along the male’s thigh. ‘Are you certain?’

Crevan’s lip curls mockingly. Lara slides hers along the edge of a glass flute, looking and swaying, long hair tickling the small of her back, as the wizard contemplates her naked form, his beautiful brow drawn together in a scowl. She sits down on his thigh and his hand circles her waist, stroking the lynx guarding her nudity. Aromatic wisps of smoke bend around them on their way out. She leans into the kiss.

‘The best of me,’ she murmurs, ‘belongs to you. Always.’

‘Then why are you telling me about a rude horselord, instead of lounging about my neck?’

His tongue flicks over her lips before he takes hold of her with both arms, moves her into his place, and stands.

‘Where are you going?’

He gives her half a look, a lively low fire yawning in it, and reaches for a gown as the paintings along his back stalk in dawn’s twilight. Lara reaches for his wrist.

‘Wait!’

The night air hums. He looks inquisitively, letting her stroke his hand along the serpents. The sorceress’s eyes narrow as a thought occurs to her.

‘I have a better idea.’

‘Ah?’

‘Yes.’ She smiles up at him, her sun-blessed fox, with a smile that makes Crevan hers. Soft fur brushes her mouth. ‘But first, my heart, you will have to promise me –’

---//---

Lara’s head is reeling.

Attempting in vain to control the flushing of her neck, she watches how Crevan tugs her mother’s favourite about like a scary marionette on invisible strings. For a moment both men had resembled their namesakes to her – struggling with tooth and claw – until magic had brought brute force under its control. Magic from which such brute force derives.

In fascination she watches how powerful arms belonging to a lifelong warrior stretch out like the wings of a giant bird and are nailed down in fey bondage at a soft whisper from the sorcerer’s lips. It reminds her of how Crevan whispers to his birds. To me. The spasmodic twitching in their captive’s limbs is made that much more enchanting by the visible violence trembling in the veiled chains, which still succeeds in sending one of the stone planters on its plinth shaking.

‘Give in to me.’

They stand chest to back, light and dark. Alabaster skin under the spell-sown collar is reddening dangerously quickly.

‘Or you can garrotte yourself.’

At last, the Sparrowhawk goes still.

Quiet.

Water runs merrily in the in-door fountains, magic hums in the air. Lara guesses chit-chat might be coming hard to Eredin at present. Only the leer of his burning greens persists on her. Not that it matters, because his looks will shortly follow the floor on which he had imagined taking the most precious daughter of the Alders like a common whore.

Adjusting her partly ruined dress in a makeshift arrangement, Lara looks with no small amount of pleasure at how that hard-line of a back bends over the marble balustrade under duress from the Power, like a birch rod. Something in her envies her betrothed this fun, for this simple spell gives the sensation of bending blue steel with one’s fingers. She realises she can still feel the steel of those palms on her hips as she looks how Crevan’s hand runs up the back of Eredin’s neck and across his scalp, gathering pitch black hair and pulling it carefully away from the elf’s face above the velvet-lined collar; until he can curl the dark waterfall around his fist and yanks.

‘Look, my love!’ he gazes at her fondly. ‘I have a new mount for you!’

Lara’s eyebrows rise, she hides her excitement behind crystal. The sorcerer’s aquamarines, despite adoring her, are also colder than in the dead of winter. We agreed! Her Fox is not malicious by nature just... playful. Sometimes so in evil spirits, though.

‘Shall I break him in for you?’ he smiles.

The plinth shakes again dangerously, a few light blue butterflies emerging from the flora, and an ugly wheezing sound arises out of Eredin’s throat.

Lara nods. ‘Please.’

Her eyes fall on the collar.

‘Do you think you could –?’

He sucks in air like a drowning man.

‘You fucking witch!’

Oh, his voice is raw! Mangled from the burn that scathes tissue with electrifying heat, as if skin was nothing more but thin layers on a cabbage. White pin points dance at the edges of his vision and he feels the Sage’s annoying fingers flick against the side of his face.

Lara frowns. ‘I only allowed you to breathe, spared your voice. Gratitude really means too little to you.’

‘Oh princess, pretty princess,’ he hawks, intensely furious, ‘you do not fight fair, your grace.’

‘Would you?’ she sips at a drink. ‘I thought novelty thrilled you.’

‘Did you not say you wished for a friend in me?’

‘We will be friends – afterward.’

He laughs; somehow. It does not sound pretty.

‘I have annoyed you deeply then,’ Eredin grins, still tasting the woman on his lips. ‘Is fair Lara so irate with me perhaps for implying true things which even she has not become aware of yet? But such is truth – annoying. Simple, sometimes, and annoying. More so still to the Wise.’

Emerald eyes flash. ‘Truth?’

He knows he guesses correctly – about how traitorous are Auberon’s daughter’s thoughts about her purpose that allows her everything. How she does not think twice about opportunities to go slumming with the wretched, when all she really has the duty to do is to let herself be loved until her belly grows. The hair on Eredin’s neck rises at the touch of a small blade. A quick tickling line shoots down the length of his spine and expensive fabric slides down the sides of his ribcage.

‘The truth, Eredin, is that you and we are not equal, nor will we ever be,’ she says. ‘You speak to me on behalf of our people, “us”, yet you only look after your own, while we look after everybody. We look after you too, don’t forget. I am “us”, Eredin. Me.’

He feels Crevan’s hand tugging at his hair, baring his throat, while another wanders contemplatively along the shape of his back. It slides around him, feeling up his abdominal muscles and a tingling, voiding sensation suddenly moves through his intestines. Lara’s precious eyes, which oust the hoarfrost from in-between the stars, do not meet his gaze.

‘You are curious about things which do not really concern you.’ They pass him over for another, and a blush spreads along the graceful neck before she turns away altogether. ‘You allow yourself too much.’

Something cold and vaguely heavy trickles onto the small of the elf’s back, followed by the magician’s palm. He twitches. The hand rubs methodically along the flexor muscles of his lower back, before yanking at his breeches.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Why Eredin,’ Crevan responds lowly. ‘You are the breaker of horses; you will work it out.’

Instinctively, he attempts to crane his neck, defend himself, and is crushed by aches when tearing against his tethers. His black hair falls back around his face, as fury splashes ineffectually in him like acid, finding no proper outlet.

‘How pleased you must feel,’ he sneers, trying to think, ‘with your little trap.’

‘Mine?’ oiled fingers circle slowly, and penetrate resistant flesh. ‘I am doing my dear heart’s bidding, nothing more. Please stop trying to tamper with your bonds. I am angry with you and not in the mood to do all this tidying. Understand that I will immobilize you utterly regardless of Lara’s wishes if you insist on misbehaving.’

‘Indeed I would expect nothing more from you.’

The blonde snorts. ‘This is hardly for my sake, but hers.’

‘What do you mean?’

The Sage shoves his legs apart.

‘You will pay for this, Crevan.’

‘You are mistaken,’ the Sage replies as another slender finger enters him, scissoring, stretching, while its brothers continue to massage his perineum. ‘This is not a transaction between you and me. For starters, Lara believes you deserve a lesson, not punishment. I disagree. Presumptions such as yours should be rooted out with iron and salt, even if they are but the by-product of the blessings you have received from my caste. Then again, giving a disloyal subject a taste of what they want can sometimes do the trick just as effectively.’

‘What a vixen you are making out of our Gull, Crevan.’

‘I am loathe to refuse my darling. Perhaps if you learned not to run your mouth about our games, none of which should burden her... but then again, I appreciate seeing your hand every once in a while. You see, between you and me, I know whose enjoyment should come first. Hers, not mine. Oh to be an instrument serving only noblest of purposes. Alas!’ A contemptuous snort. ‘You will be staying overnight, of course.’

‘Serve?’ Eredin feels a grim, disturbed laughter rising in his tortured throat. ‘You, who helped create this woman to love you, would pretend in this to serve only her enjoyment, and out of humility? Principle? You are enjoying this vastly more than Lara.’

‘Well, I do enjoy it a little.’ The elf flinches against his will when the fingers inside him find the special spot and feel it up. ‘For instance, I understand her anger much better now, and as they say, common dislikes tend to bring people together perhaps even stronger than preferences. Should I thank you?’ The additional digits squeezed into him almost entirely undo the work of their predecessors, no longer aspiring to any pretences of kindness. ‘You are wrong, Eredin. I serve. Unlike you, my highest purpose is to serve life, not close life’s eyes. In return for which She opens Her bosom before me – willingly. Me.’

‘Perhaps you will be happy to learn then that this life you serve is not averse to spreading for whoever she whims.’

The collar around his neck squeezes like fiery pinchers.

‘Do not be envious.’

Hands warm from magic knead his buttocks, spreading him open, and he feels the press of a warm, blunt head. Shackled and immobile, he realises then that all he is allowed to do – all he has ever really been allowed – is to wait. Seizing him by the hair as he pushes forward, the light blankets the dark.

‘You will still have the honour of serving my children for all eternity.’

The brass frame of the tiny, sealed amber horn digs into her palm. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear them, and in her mind’s eye she sees. If she opens her eyes, she will see tall poplars swaying beside the avenue leading to the chateau, but she cannot open her eyes – his aquamarines on her do not let her; when she had failed to suppress enjoyment from Eredin’s lips against her. Now he is calling to her softly through the bond they share, and Lara’s heart beats faster. She feels wet. She feels exhilarated. She feels awful, and she likes it.

She opens her eyes and turns. They are both looking at her. Moving in rhythm like a white vessel over dark waves. Will whoever ends up in the middle be torn to pieces? Lara cocks her head and approaches.

The dark one, his curtain of black hair flowing back and forth like silk with each thrust, stares at her with naked contempt and hatred for once.

‘I did not know your grace enjoyed punishment this much,’ he bites through a line of small white teeth. ‘If I had known earlier –’

‘Up!’ the light one commands, and so it goes.

Lara feels her cheeks glow as she steps lightly and comes so close she can smell them, one familiar and the other not, and sees Crevan bottoming out in their captive, again and again and again, patiently as is his manner at Alder court. Run? The impulse she suppresses, but not the hot flushing desire that pools in her stomach and shoots to her head like a tiny icicle trail in a burning desert at the small smile on her intended’s lips – he can feel it too. All of it.

‘This is not punishment,’ she leans close to Eredin, touching his warm chest through which she feels the deep thrusts in rhythm with the elf’s powerful heartbeat, before moving on to Crevan’s magical fingers on the captain’s shoulder. ‘This is... play. Novelty!’

Black hair tangles in the enchanted collar, hot breath exuding from the magnificent elf’s half-open mouth above which cold green eyes tear at the elven maid’s face.

‘Are you uncomfortable?’

Lara leans her hip against the balustrade and looks, and Crevan indicates to his waist. She knows the details, of course, but truthfully, it is still new to her, and her breath catches in her throat when she touches her Fox right then. The roughness in his hips – he never treats her to this, whatever this is, ever, even when they get carried away with each other. Why it is maddening!

Summoning the vial and refilling it with magic, Lara watches with fascination how glistening oil the shade of marmalade pours into the cleft where he moves relentlessly, coating his shaft. He helps himself with his hand, never quite leaving the captain’s body. In her mind’s eye, Lara sees what he would prefer though: to have her fingers wrap around him, lathing him in lubricant, before he continues; a kiss...

Lara hooks her fingers in Eredin’s collar, shutting Crevan out, or this will simply not work out as they want.

She tests the collar lightly, changing pressure and listening, observing how his neck works. She wonders if Crevan would, on her... he is smiling at her openly now. No, better not to wonder. But the captain too is smiling! Mockingly, knowingly. And what does he know? Lara drops her bejewelled hand completely – to Eredin’s crotch. He is hard. His grunt falls pleasantly on her ears. She unlaces him and takes him in her hand.

‘Do you not like my whims, captain?’

She strokes along the girth of him, long, until she feels her fist rest at the base, and then hard – several times – as the collar tames the groan that Crevan pushes and she pulls from him. The little brass frame of the tiny amber horn in the palm of her other hand is beginning to hurt her.

‘You will pay for this,’ the warlord rasps, the muscles in his arms straining.

‘Why?’ she leans up closer, squeezing his hard flesh in rhythm to the slap of hips. Crevan swears. ‘You are our friend, Eredin. Our very... good... friend.’

Lara kisses the elf lord on the mouth, bruisingly, with the Sparrowhawk’s teeth drawing her precious blood and the tail of his elated grunt at being given something – anything – ending up on the Gull’s own tongue. She feels Crevan’s hand in her hair, pulling her in and pressing her against Eredin’s front, bringing them all together for a moment. The sorceress flicks the lid of the amber horn in her free hand. Fairy dust spreads into her palm.

And then, raised before the puckered full lips of the treasure of the Alders, Eredin sees the magic powder, which flies in his face with a puff of her sweet breath, settling like snowflakes on his eyelashes, in his eyes, on his tongue and in his nose; and he breathes in the rest from her fingers. And roars.

Lara feels him twitch in her hand.

‘Do you know what this is, captain?’ she asks, admiring his dust-sprinkled eyes.

‘This is pure!’

‘Of course it’s pure. Who do you think I am?’ Crevan growls, holding out his palm to Lara. ‘It will make an eagle out of a sparrow. I am curious, I have never had an eagle before.’

‘Plenty of sparrows,’ he chuckles. ‘At least your taste remains refined.’

‘As you were,’ the towering form of the captain jerks forward. ‘Enough, Lara my love, enough. You are smaller, not used to –’

‘And you are? Thank you, Crevan. I know.’

‘What delicate cornflowers both of you!’ Eredin licks the dust off his lips. ‘Is that really everything, your grace?’

‘Oh, Eredin!’ Crevan laughs, pushing his light hair back over his head and delivering several extremely unpleasant thrusts in a row, after which Lara simply has to abandon the captain for the time being. ‘Give him more. Give him! He doesn’t know anything, but he wants. Yes, my darling, let him have it, I want you to have an unforgettable ride.’

‘Your servants would be unable to get you anything better,’ Lara explains, feeling her blood rushing faster in her chest as vivid clarity takes her head, ‘because no matter where you look for the one thing you will always crave, you can only ever find it with us. We must not fight, us and you. Never!’

Power, power, power. It’s always power that he wants. There is no stronger aphrodisiac.

‘How well you know, Lara,’ Eredin’s tongue licks at her fingers, his eyes laughing at her. ‘How well this role suits you, our beautiful pacifist. Women – they always know better, don’t they, Crevan? As you can see, I cannot but bow before your wisdom. I, too, wish for peace, would you believe it?’

‘I know! It’s just the appetite, Eredin,’ her emeralds narrow evilly. ‘And you are mistaken if you think our appetites do not align. Do you want to know a secret? Do you want to know what Crevan tells me? In my little pointed ear, at night. He describes the sun to me in all its glory.’

The elven princess sits on the balustrade, next to her mother’s most talented light-douser’s half-bent form, and turns her eyes on the elf whom Dana made so he always carries the sun around his head.

‘How the sun burns with the life it gives. How big and bright and lethal it is. How it would scorch my wings if I flew too close, yet freeze me if I drifted too far. Like you fly on your Dragon – are they all Dragons, by the way? Never mind. I don’t really care.’

Lara likes how her Fox laughs, how giving he can be; they really don’t know him like she does.

‘He knows so many tricks, this lover of mine. That is why it can only be him, you understand, because I am more like you – a creature of the skies; just not as privileged to be selfish all the time,’ she caresses his bicep. ‘So anyhow, Crevan tells me – Eredin, are you listening? He tells me – because he knows I too have an appetite like you, and him, and Auberon, and all other nice elves – how he will one day slip the Sun into my hand when I am not looking. And then...’

The magician rests his hand on the other elf’s neck, pushing downward, looking at the daughter of the Alders as if he wanted to lay her down on their stallion’s sturdy back that very second, but Lara, who is smaller and cannot have as much of the fairy dust, suddenly feels the magical tethers trembling and quickly lends her partner a hand. Before, like him, losing herself – in those cool stars from faraway skies, from whence their race once emerged, which have made a home in his triangular face.

‘Then the sun in me will not burn,’ she whispers, ‘but will light up entire worlds. One after another. Sun and moon – mine and his. Do you know that song, Eredin?’

She leans over the captain’s shoulder claiming Crevan’s lips in passion as the strong body between them shudders and her Fox moans loudly, moving erratically for a while to the desirous growling of their dark and dashing captive squashed between two pieces of Alder Gold.

And then it is over and done with and Lara laughs, not even really knowing at what exactly, as she dances a few steps back with her ruined fey-woven dress of anthracite slipping a little. Before slipping back one more time in order to put her hands on this wild Sparrowhawk’s cutting cheekbones and kiss him too, because why not? They are all born under their own lucky stars.

By the stars, why not?

‘Sun and hail ‘til night becomes day, dawn and dusk hand-in-hand, he’ll whisk me stars for a song, a moon half its price; apple and sin – that’s how it’s done,’ she utters in a sing-song voice, pulling golden pins from hair of white gold which cascades over her shoulders.

‘Down the spiralling avenue of stars. Mine and his – this universe, and some other, less important paths.’ And Lara’s eyes flash like a deadly moulinette in your last moments. ‘Could you offer me that?’

More melodies appear in Lara’s head which she can taste and hum, as gold from her hair clatters on marble floors. Ruined? Maybe. So what? Fairy gold is made of dead leaves and dried dreams. The shiver begins at the back of her neck, spiralling all the way down and wrapping the elven princess in unruly delight.

She puts her arms around her to ground herself, her fingers disappearing into lush hair – to keep her quickened breath and pulse from becoming her character. World has a funny habit of appearing and disappearing when under the influence of dust. She jumps at the hasty touch on her waist.

Crevan takes her by the chin, drawing her against him and falls on her mouth greedily. His hands are slightly damp.

‘You are beautiful,’ the Sage breathes, his disarrayed hair tickling her cheeks. ‘Magnificent. Such sweet voice. My Lara.’ Her fingers tangle in the clasps of his imperial purple kaftan opened to mid-chest, desiring to run her hands over skin that tingles of their magic. ‘Say it.’

‘Yours!’ she pecks her Fox’s nose. ‘Yours, Crevan!’

‘That’s right.’ His hands move through the slit of her dress, fondling the curve of her thighs as he winds the straps around Lara’s waist. ‘Now it’s your turn, my love.’

He fastens the buckles with a harsh movement and Lara flinches, her green eyes drawing wide. They had agreed, but –

‘What is it?’ he inquires, insistently, the low fire in his dark pupils having gobbled up the bright irises, and takes her in his arms. ‘Lara? Lara, come back to me. He will not bolt. I promise you. Look, he is excited.’

So he is! Lara’s head falls slightly to one side. Oh, but what a mess!

Eredin snorts, tossing back his full head of tarry hair. The glistening alabaster skin has reddened – in one spot in particular on his shoulder – and the vein under the velvet-rimmed collar throbs to the heaving of the elf’s chiselled chest. A ruined shirt hangs forgotten around a tense forearm, tense and erect like the rest of him that persists by vigour alone under the awkward angle of perpetual bowing.

Hot lips move along her neck. ‘Like it?’

Pearly white gleams along the Sparrowhawk’s shaft; more of it still dribbling down the back of his powerful thighs. He is staring at her incredulously. Is it excitement that exudes from him, or skittishness? She cannot entirely tell.

She decides she likes it.

‘Go on,’ her beloved whispers, giving the strap-on a few tugs. He is still semi-hard himself. ‘Mount.’

Lara gently approaches her horse.

Bewildered pale green eyes roll under curling eyebrows. Observing. Measuring her up. Blinking in disbelief. She is glad her steed has such sharp eyes. Yet she is not her mother.

‘You are no rider.’

‘Am I not?’

The male chortles. Her fingers trail along the ribcage of the beast, as she slips over the balustrade, feeling the smaller muscles twitch funnily. Is he ticklish?

‘You will have to do all the work, princess!’ the Sparrowhawk hisses, craning his neck. The Gull lets him. There are so many interesting things right now in those sharp eyes that prey in the skies they share. ‘Appearances may suit you, but do you know how to use this?’

‘This?’ she takes “herself” in her hand. ‘Let’s see.’

Visible trembling passes through solid muscle as she gives him her first try. She looks up. And looks away again. Looking at her Fox right now is of absolutely no help here – she has to concentrate! It is strangely exciting.

‘How does it feel?’

‘Simply exhilarating.’

‘Don’t lie. Am I that different? How?’

‘No. You, too, talk too much.’

Gulls and foxes do chatter. Eredin, like Crevan, is notably larger than her, but the pinned position in which her Fox has left the Sparrowhawk helps. She strokes the curve of his rear.

‘I would like for you to enjoy yourself.’

‘What for?’

For him to understand that Lara does, in fact, wish for all of them to get what they want. For him to... to trust the rider. Trust her. He laughs throatily.

‘You get distracted too easily, your grace. I wager we will face lots of problems because of it one day. Call it a sagely intuition.’

He is slick, stretched, and as she brushes past the male’s prostate – she presumes by her knowledge – the muscles in his thighs contract, but Lara does not entirely understand this side of desire. Until, after several shallow movements with her hips she catches the Sparrowhawk staring at him from the corner of his eye.

‘You are no rider, your grace,’ the elf drawls dryly. ‘Let yourself be loved and leave the loving caresses to us. This is not your place.’

Indignation burns through the daughter of Shiadhal. She almost misses entirely how dark the captain’s eyes really are and, a moment later, delights inordinately in the ravening moan that escapes his lips as she thrusts deep without qualms. The trembling in the sculpted flesh under her fingers shoots up the male’s damp smeared back and the sorceress’s hands follow until they brush dark hair.

‘Play with it.’

She tickles instead.

Crevan smiles broadly, throwing the empty crystal class – it turns into light blue butterflies before crashing into countless smithereens.

Lara surges again, feeling her steed push into her in what little capacity he can. She loosens the magical bindings a little, witnessing at once how the pent up, violent energy swirling within him finds an opening to dissipate and leaves taut flesh momentarily shocked and trembling by the slack it is allowed. His graceful sigh – entirely unexpected – convinces her to loosen the bindings a little more. She is not her mother. She is spring! Not winter. All the while moving with increased confidence, as they are gradually reaching an understanding.

With the second sight that fairy dust opens, the Gull experiences the Sparrowhawk as the magnificent creature he is in his own right and it delights her. She hopes he can appreciate his own beauty in this moment, no matter their differences. For there is something beautiful and befitting in fitting. They should always move, the mount and the rider, as if entwined – each in their proper place. Only like this can they take on the stars.

We must not fight, you and us. We must not!

‘Take this.’ Appearing by her side, her Fox puts the end of his belt in her hand. ‘Then, like this.’ He reaches around her swiftly, flicks Eredin’s face with his fingers, and before the curse aimed at them can ring out in its wholesome glory, the etched buckskin belt is flexed tight and the elf’s head jerks up like sprung from a mouse trap.

‘Hold on to it. Hold it! Tightly.’ Lara pulls, her perspectives whirling, melting, changing. ‘That’s right. Around your fingers. Now, spur.’

‘What about his teeth?’

‘He will bite down. Endure.’ The familiar smell of Crevan is filling her with pleasant surety. He is restoring the binds to their former position. ‘It’s his duty. He serves you. It must never be the other way around.’

‘I do not wish for my subjects to hate me!’

‘This is a natural reaction. When you spur and whip your mount, it hates you. Sometimes whipping is necessary. Other days you groom it, feed it, and it loves you.’

He presses into her back, his hard flesh rubbing against smooth fabric, as his fingers undo the makeshift ties on her hip.

‘In the end, it must always recognise your authority because it cannot do otherwise. Because such is love between a servant and mistress. You are the Goddess, but he is not the God. Nothing but harm can arise out of confusing these rules. It would not allow either of you to get your due.’

Crevan places a footstool between them and lifts Lara, leaning her forward over their guest’s back, ensuring she neither slips out nor falls.

‘Eredin is our most magnificent master of horse. He knows these rules very well. It is his duty, once called upon, to help carry us to new worlds. And ours, to show and open the way.’

‘Crevan, what are we –’

‘Keep going,’ he breathes heavily, solid and secure against her with his heartbeat pounding in her ears; his mouth sucking on the pulse in her neck while his cock brushes back and forth along her wet folds. ‘Keep going, sweet heart. I am here.’

And then his hands dive under her dress beginning to work their tender magic before which there are no barriers. Gathering her excitement, playing with it, re-directing it – for her pleasure. Lara shudders in ecstasy. Always for her pleasure, always.

‘That’s right. With your back. You are doing beautifully.’

The belt slips out of the princess’s hands, and the elf lord spits it out, cursing. Groaning, as she buries in him encouraged by the hips of the male settling over her. They all really want the same thing at the end.

‘Do you hear it, Lara?’ the princess of the Alders moans as her Fox slides inside her. ‘He loves you. In his proper place, he cannot but love you, and will never betray you. Ever play only on your terms, my sweet heart.’

‘I am,’ she breathes, moving her hips forward to give, and back toward the increasing fullness – to receive.

He curses softly. ‘So warm. So beautiful. Keep going, my love. I’ll move with you.’

‘To where the sky’s the limit, but in-between there’s you. Always you, Lara.’

She threads her fingers in his sun-kissed hair, kissing them both breathless, and tapping into his pleasure which is her pleasure which will be the pleasure of all of them.

‘There will be a mess.’

‘A mess,’ he growls, shifting deeper and deeper inside his heavenly Gull. ‘Yes. There will be a mess.’ Her back arches. ‘What else is there for us? There is already such a... mess.’

Crevan covers her hands with his.

Lara finds her rhythm.

Between life and death.

Then the fox reaches around his gull and jerks the sparrowhawk off until he feels him buck wildly against fey tethers and choke in his friends’ giving stranglehold. Until Crevan’s mind is eaten away by trembling contractions greeting him and he slides his palm across Lara’s belly.

‘Shall I catch you a sun, Lara? Shall I hide all the stars – one, two, three – inside you? First it makes you ill, then it goes straight to your head.’

His Lara laughs.

He pours into her in pleasure that does not fade, thinking:

Let them all, one day, have their free fall up the hill.

#lara dorren #eredin #avallac'h #the witcher #wiedzmin #aen elle

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xhanisai · 4 years

Text

SALTING AROUND AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

AO3 / FFN

Summary: Introducing!!!!

The! Ultimate! Salt! Fic! Ever! IN ZA WARUDO!

Featuring Dumb Noir getting taught a lesson about boundaries, Perfectnette getting friends and love interest(s), and LILA GETTING HER ASS HANDED BACK! HOW COULD YOU RESIST SUCH A WONDERFUL FIC?

(All in all, a crack fic on salt fics to bring our spirits up~)

Disclaimer - I've actually only read like one sentence of a salt fic and fucked off afterwards so everything I'm basing off in this fic is purely from exaggerated rumours and gossip about the salt corner THEREFORE if anything here looks familiar or if it seems like I'm taking the piss out of a specific story, it's all just one big coincidence. >:D ~(x)~ . . . Of all locations to settle on for the beginning of this amazing, wonderful, fucking fantastic story, it's established on the Eiffel Tower. Cliched but wonderfully ironic for the phenomenal heroes of Paris. On the beams, higher than the naked eye could see, Ladybug and Chat Noir were... Arguing. The feline hero had his partner's wrist clasped in an iron hold, digging those deadly claws ever so slightly into the soft flesh, piercing the supposed indestructible suit with a creepy grin- "Wait- hold up a second. I would never, NEVER hurt My Lady! Not even unintentionally! And what's with that face I'm making!?" Oh SHUT UP Shit Noir! Let me carry on writing my fucking story jeez! Stop breaking out of character and keep following the script! Anyways~ The skinny, pasty assed hero- "This script sucks..."- -TUGGED Ladybug closer to him, grin widening like he won the lottery as his demonic looking eyes perversely drank in the sight of the clearly uncomfortable looking heroine in his grasps. His face leaned into hers, only coming closer as she tried her best to lean back with a grimace. "Just one kiss Bugaboo~ one kiss won't hurt..." His grip tightened on the appendage, making the girl wince painfully. "Come on Chat Noir...let go! I have already told you, I'm in love with someone else. You seriously need to back off!" Ladybug whimpered, tossing away all her badassery and ability to suckerpunch a fuckboy in the face because hell yeah it ain't relevant to this sexy fic- "You're right Chaton, this script does suck lmao"- IGNORING WHAT THE CANON LB JUST SAID. Ehem. Like a defenseless little shoujou manga protagonist, Ladybug felt tears sparkle in her eyes and pure sadness washed over her frail body before Fuck Noir dipped her into a romantic pose and smashed his lips against hers with soooooo much passion and tongue and teeth and- . What. On. Earth. Oi you stupid cat! Watch where you're putting your hands on the girl! Yikes! What do they teach these Europeans!? Break it up already you hormone riddled boobs! "Oh Minou~ You're so daring~" "Just for you, My Lady~" STAY ON SCRIPT YOU BRATS! Hmph! Carrying on. Suddenly, herculean strength riddled through Ladybug's blood, falcon punching Bitch Noir off her and off the tower, thus HenchBug™ was born. Panting and wiping her lip with her thumb in a really really badass way (YOU KNOW THAT EPIC WAY THAT ANIME CHARACTERS DO TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF THEIR LIP, RIGHT? RIGHT? ex deeeee), MachoBug swept towards Pussy Noir's broken twiggy body at the bottom of the tower. "You disobeyed me for the umpteenth time, Noir." BadassBug uttered cooly, keeping a blind eye to the growing crowd around her and the mangled up flesh on sticks at her feet. The black and yellow mess didn't respond. "Lo-oooool cos I'm dead!" WE'LL PRETEND WE DIDN'T HEAR THAT EITHER. Anger coursed through Ladybug's veins as all those traumatising memories and moments she had with her horrific partner flashed through her brain like an old window's movie maker AMV with Evanescence's 'Bring Me Back To Life' song blasting at full volume. The conveniently arrived Alya at the front of the crowd live streamed everything on the WadyBwog, babbling about ice cream scoops. "Every time we met up, you'd always make unwanted advances to me. You'd always force a kiss on me. You even slapped my thicc™ ass a few times- once to the beat of fucking Nyan cat!" The hive minded crowd surrounding them 'oooed' and 'aaahed', some snapped a selfie with what's left of the black cat. "Therefore," The sun auspiciously shone behind MariBug, giving her an ethereal, angelic look as she carried on her lecture. "I now deem you unworthy of the miraculous." BugBug fluttered her eyelashes with so much pain as if reciting those words killed her whole generation and their dogs and their hamsters. "Hand it over to me or else I'll force it off you." All of a sudden BuffBug™ was back, bitch slapping CryBabyBug away and menacingly placed one foot on the carcass. "Wow I think she forgot that you're dead Chat Noir," THE HIGH TENSIONED MOMENT REMAINED UNBROKEN AS FAKEBUG- oof- Ladybug rolled her eyes with annoyance at the disgusting boy's silence and immediately knelt down to yank the miraculous off his bony fingers- "Never!" The catboy sprung back to life before anyone could breathe, clutching his hand to guard his ring ferally, froth seeping out of his teeth and fangs gnashing against one another- "Looks like I'm a vampire with rabies now, Bug." "Since when did you have fangs?" "Since two seconds ago-" OH MY GOD YOU TWO! SHUT UP AND LET ME WRITE! Zombie Noir leapt back with a hiss, faux ears and tail twitching with indignation and summoned the ancient destruction power whilst BossBug spun her yoyo around in battle formation, ready to call for her lucky charm anytime soon. Cat and Bug kept up the intense eye contact as that cowboy music from the good, the bad and the fugly played in the background (cheers Lahiffe mah d00d!). "You don't want to become my enemy, do you, Chat N00b?" The heroine spat, bones clicking in place as she stretched her fingers when she and the lad in black circled each other slowly. The crowd and Alya were casually chilling in the background, the latter still narrating about an epic ice cream scoop. "Heh, I won't need to be the enemy if you don't touch MY ring... Milady~"- "MON DIEU! C'EST 'MY LADY'! C'EST N'AI PAS 'MILADY'!" THAT'S THE POINT YOU STUPID CAT! Break out of character one more time and I'll castrate you and feed your teeny tiny *censored* to the dogs! "...My Lady? Is my *censored* small? :(" "If your *censored* was small, you'd never have been able to make me scream at night, Minou~ ;3" ":D"

Regardless! The pussycat feinted to the left before dodging the razor sharp wire of his Lady's (not) yoyo, whipping out his baton (not the tiny one either) and swiftly used it to vault himself away like the coward he CLEARLY is. "You'll never get me alive, THOT!" Was the last thing that small dick energy minded cuck yowled and fled with his tail between his legs. BigBug let out a yell of rage™ and slammed her fist on the ground, branding the sloppy concrete job with a crater as the shockwaves caused the audience to let out a little 'DAYUMMMMMMMM'. "Lol I thought the geezer was dead hahaah! Yo Ladybuggy, mah homie, you and kitty cat did the shame shame already or nah?" Alya, the lil hoe, leant into the heroine's personal space with a crazed grin. She only received a middle finger from the annoyed Asian. (MMmm Mmmm yEAH YEAh trANSiTION so SEXYYYY) Now, it is conveniently time for Marinette's afternoon classes. The exhausted girl dragged her feet up those weird ass spirally steps that could break ankles JUST by looking at them and made it to her classroom, only to pause at the shouting she was hearing behind the door. "Oh boy, time to unleash the kraken..." Silence Adrien! You're not supposed to have appeared yet! Dumb ass blondes these days smh... "HEY! >:0" With a deep breath, the raven haired girl pushed the door open only to be met with what could be best described as a clusterfuck. Tears welled up in her eyes as the remains of her sketchbook (which looked like it had a trip in a paper shredder) was dumped all over the floor. She snapped her head back up only for her heart to literally shatter when she was met with a furious Alya Motherfuckin' Césaire. "Marinetti DupainGhetti. This. Is. Your. Punishment." Alya's glasses flashed sinisterly as her lips curled up into d i s g u s t . The rest of the class mirrored a similar look, acting as if poor little Cheng vored everything they loved and cherished. All except two people. That witch BITCH Lie-la smirked secretly as she cowered behind Alya and the wimp, spineless little shitty Dumbdrien whimpered on his desk, pretending that nothing was happening. "P-P-Punishment for wh-what?" Babynette sobbed, clutching her shoulders as if to hug herself and make her look smaller than she is. She darted her eyes towards the model, begging him internally to say something, anything! Alas, Bitchdrien only looked away guiltily, his thin chapped lips sealed shut. Marinette couldn't believe her bad luck. First there was an akuma attack, then she was assaulted by her shitty partner for the millionth time and now this? "Punishment for bullying our lord and saviour, Lila of course! How dare you make such a sweet girl like her suffer!?" Alya roared, using the power of the seven chaos emeralds and twenty dragonballs to go super satan and pinned Sweetienette against the wall with an elbow. Her hair fizzed with animosity and her eyes gleamed in a demonic red colour- "Dieu...you just had to drag my best friend into this too, huh?" "You'd think this writer is sane enough to know that I'd cataclysm anyone that dared to harm Ma Princesse, non?" "The writer? Sane? Good joke."- IGNORING STUPIDNETTE AND BLOODYDRIEN- Alya snarled, bruising our sweet little angel's poor skin with her brute strength whilst the rest of the class watched without a question. The sausage haired wench munched on some greasy ass popcorn as she watched the show whilst Shamedrien became one with the floor, a perfect doormat for us queens to stomp on. "You tripped her all the time when no one was watching, aggravating her shattered kneecaps. You plagerised her designs, ruining what's left of her sensitive self esteem and dammit don't even get me started on all those rumours you attempted to spread about her, smearing her celebrity status! I've never hated anyone more than you, BITCHINETTE!" Alya harrumphed and then shoved Brokenette against the wall again, possibly snapping her spine and stormed back to her new bestie. "Mon Dieu your best friend just murdered you..." "Mon Dieu my best friend just murdered me..." Tosses a knife at the duo to make them shut the fuck up. Everyone else applauded the psycho journalist for putting Poornette in her place, even Stinkdrien cos he can't handle peer pressure- BAM! . . . "HOW DARE YOU HURT MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG!" A tall, stern looking boy slammed the door open, scooping Deadinette in his arms and blew out steam through his nostrils like a bull. Everyone le gasped as the girl suddenly turned into Alivenette and embraced the stranger like he's her long lost lover (Aiyeeeeeeeeeeee mUH O-T-FUCKING-P! K Y A A A! EVEN THOUGH WE KNOW JACKSHIT ABOUT HIM). "BELIX BRAGRESTE! You saved me~ Don't hurt my homiesexuals please- they're all brainwashed by the sausage haired girl..." The blackberry haired angel begged, tugging on Belix's sleeves. "I didn't do anything-" Uglydrien was quick to defend himself only to melt back down into a doormat by Belix's dark glare, ripping out what spinal tissue the model had left. "Damn straight you didn't do SHIT." Bragreste swiftly delivered a power-kick against Assgreste, yeeting him to the moon and then turned towards the rest of the f00king class, rolling his sleeves up. "As for you nerds...I'm gonna chop you all up into mincemeat and EAT you all with my spaghetti!-" "I'm here Marinette!!!" Another lad swooped in through the door, hips swaying to the beat as 'Luka Luka Night Fever' plays in the background and then posed! Why it's none other than the obviously best written, best character, best BOY in the world: RUKA COFFEE- sorry, I mean Luka Couffaine! He strummed his guitar a few times, nodding and humming as if he was conversing with the beautiful instrument whilst bokeh dots and pink sparkly glitter floated around him. "Ah~ my guitar said that everyone's being a bitch ass motherfucker to our beautiful designer! Come with my Mari~ Take my hand and I'll take you away from this school!" The lycee student didn't wait for her answer and grabbed the star struck girl oh SO romantically~ "No! She should move schools with me!" Belix Bananagreste snatched Nettie back possessively, just like a cat. It was then that the girl decided that when she managed to snatch the black cat miraculous back from the loser that currently wielded it, she was going to give it to Belix- "Ugh don't fuck with me..." "Shhh. You're supposed to have been yeeted to the moon, Chaton," "Marinette please just throttle the writer already-" AND THEN! SUDDENLY! Erm... Errr... AHA! Suddenly all these people from some furry superhero universe came flooding in through the door, yelling insults and real truths about LIE-LA and protecting my best girl Maribear like a boss! Heroes like Gamien and Dason Bob and that guy and err, the other guy and yeah AND THEN they all began to BEAT UP that BITCH LILA and then- "Oh no she's losing it, Adrien I don't think this will last any longer..." "No kidding!" THEN JAGGED STONE CAME FLYING THROUGH THE WINDOW, JAMMING OUT HIS LATEST SONG ABOUT HOW LILA IS SUCH A LIAR AND EXPOSED EVERY SINGLE THING SHE DID TO BEST GIRL MACHONETTE! THEN ALL THESE OTHER KIDS FROM THE SCRAPPED PV UNIVERSE CAME IN VIA A CONGO LINE AND MARINETTA DECIDED TO GIVE THEM THE OTHER MIRACULOUS COS WHY NOT!? AND THEN CHLOE BECAME MARINETTE'S NEW BFF COS HELL YEAH I LOVE VIBING WITH PEOPLE WHO BULLIED ME AND MY PEERS FOR FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT AHAHAAHAH QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS- "Adrien, I'm going to kill her. She needs to stop." "Go on then~" AND THEN! AND FUCKING THEN! SCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!!!!! . . . [Error 404: The following writer has unfortunately met her demise through unknown means. We apologise for any inconveniences. Please keep scrolling as we clear up the mess. Have a good day.] . . . "Huh...that was anticlimactic...now what?" "You go off snogging my rejected predecessor and the guitar boy? >:(" "As if I'd go for anyone other than my silly kitty!" ":D" . . . ~(x)~ A/N: I am never EVER writing anything this cursed AGAIN! How can you bash anyone but the villains in this series!? Damn! I can't even say I'm sleep deprived! This is the most fucked up shit I've written and I'm super alert oof!

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thoushaltnottpass · 3 years

Text

War Takes Away Our Humanity

Teaser for Ch1 (basically a trailer.)

Excuse them if they had been a bit surprised at first. One and a half years of quiet had felt too good to be true, but after a few months of being tense and paranoid, people had begun to yearn for tranquility, slowly letting their guard down. Ol' Voldy and his merry band of Death Eaters had all disappeared underground after Harry had challenged their leader to a duel of skill, announcing that Riddle's Horcruxes had been all but demolished, so wizardkind had taken the opportunity to try and regain a semblance of the normality they had had before the war had started.

...

In just a month, Riddle had created utter chaos. His Death Eaters massacred muggleborn families left and right. They burned down the new St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the Albus Dumbledore Home for War Orphans, and the Severus Snape Trauma Center all in one. They overtook the Ministry of Magic once more. Minister Shacklebolt was ruthlessly murdered, as was every Ministry official who stood with him. They were able to destroy the wards around almost half of Wizarding Britain's homes. Hell, the only wards they couldn't take down were ones equal to the ancient family homes, such as Longbottom Hall, Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor, or Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

...

George had broken. He had fallen to his knees in anguish, his tears and promises of revenge never-ending. A day later he had been discovered in his flat's bathroom, blood oozing out of his slit wrists, a moving photograph of him, Angelina, Fred, and some of their other friends at the Yule Ball of 1994 in his hands.

...

In another seven months, over a third of Britain had been demolished. The words You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were gone from everyone's vocabulary; everyone knew very well who. As well as The Dark Lord, fearful whispers on the streets referred to Riddle as the 'Cold One'. There were Death Eater revels almost every week, stated either in Diagon Alley, or various Muggle towns and cities.

...

Despite all of it, Voldemort had not appeared, not once. No-one, wizard or Muggle, had seen him in the flesh and lived to tell the tale. His inner circle members handled most of the revels, raids, and general killings, while he relished in the safety of his hideouts, torturing and/or killing wizards and the occasional muggle. What a way to live.

...

"No, Draco, just keep looking. There's at least another half of this library that we haven't seen. It's all Dark, we're bound to find something."

"Hermione, Harry, please. Just hear me-"

"No, Draco. There has to be another way."

...

"They found Ted Tonks. They're moving in on him, but it'll take them a minute to get through his wards. That's all the time you get before they kill him. Approximately seventy of them. He is there. They expect you to fight, bring as many as possible. High Street, Marlborough. Go, quickly." (A.N: That's a real place. I searched it up- it's in England)

...

Andromeda was the first to fall. She had broken when she had seen the house her husband had resided- and died in, apparently, as the house was now just a pile of ashes surrounded by a lovely fence. Her attention -and shield- wavered just for a second, but that was all that her opponents had needed to take her down. A quick flash of green light, and she had crumpled to the ground, an agonised expression forever on her face. After her, it had been Neville. The brave, yet foolish, man had been battling five Death Eaters by himself -and winning, it seemed- when someone had shot an emerald green jet of light to his back. Seeing him fall had been tragic for all around him, especially Augusta, who had sunk to the ground in despair, clutching her daughter-in-law. Those had been a sad few moments- before Augusta and Hannah had, too, sadly met their ends. Molly Weasley had launched herself into a duel with Bellatrix, and she fought like a vicious lioness. Even lionesses died, however, and that was what had happened to Molly. Percy and Bill, who were briefly distracted from their own duels when her body had tumbled to the floor, had all joined her in the afterlife after being hit by some very Dark curses. Percy had killed Dolohov and jumped in for his mother, grieving but level-headed, though he was no match for the serpent that was Bellatrix. Soon, the only remaining Weasley was Ron, not that he had had much time to register it, as he was battling three very dangerous Dark wix.

...

"My dear Death Eaters, would you look at this," Voldemort drawled in his snake's hiss, drawing out the 's' at the end. "The only members of the Light we have not yet defeated."

...

"Ronald Weasley," Ron looked repulsed at hearing the bald snake say his name. "You could have been great, my dear boy. You could have brought the Prewetts and Weasleys back to their former glory, but you chose not to. You are a disgrace to the pureblood name.”

If anything, Ron looked proud at that.

"Draco Malfoy," he announced, his eyes straying to the blond man. "You are a traitor to our cause, Draco. You didn't think I knew about that measly code, that spelled parchment, those private little Charms lessons? Your mother died as soon as I made her send that Patronus, boy. Your father must be rolling in his grave. Filthy blood-traitor," Draco's mask flickered for a second at the news of his mother's death, but he determinedly put it back into place, strengthening his shields.

The Death Eaters gleefully snickered at the mention of the deceased woman. Bellatrix outright cackled madly. A look from her beloved Lord quietened her immediately.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione looked ready to spit in his face and stomp on his non-nose. "You are the brightest witch of your age. A Mudblood, yes, but bright nonetheless. I would gladly excuse your unfortunate heritage. Join me, my dear, and bask in the praise and glory Lord Voldemort will give you. Join me, and be rewarded greatly," he purred. "Hermione."

"Rot in hell, Riddle," Hermione spat, seeming beyond revolted.

"Very well. And Harry Potter," Riddle sneered. "The Chosen One. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Saviour of the World. Where have you been as the world needed you, Mr Potter? You once took everything from me, Harry. And now," Voldemort smiled a sickening smile, and Hermione's shield faltered. "I shall take all from you." He raised his wand, and a jet of green light rushed toward Harry's best and only female friend.

Hermione didn't panic. Her life didn't flash before her eyes. She just felt numb. She dropped her arm and closed her eyes, ready to meet her fate. But apparently, fate had other ideas. Because she didn't see the black abyss she had thought would absorb her, she didn't feel the spell she thought would hit her, and she didn't die. No, instead, she heard a shout of her name, and as she opened her eyes, she saw a mop of bright, orange hair, followed by a thump on the ground in front of her.

"No!" she cried in sorrow.

...

Ron... Ginny... Molly... Andy...

...

“We have no other choice.”

“Draco-”

“No, Hermione, please listen to me,” Draco pleaded. “If we had another option, I would gladly choose it, but there isn’t another option. Please know that I would never ask you to do this unless it was the only way. But, don’t you see? This isn’t Dark magic, because I’m willing.”

...

“O cara mors vetus noster animos habere pudicos, et nostri bonis magicae. Rogamus te ut nos back: reversusque est in tempore. Obsecro mi mors sanguis nostras quaesumus ut nos salvos et mundo. Mortem, et dabo te in sanguinem et vitam draco malfoy, et in reditu ad nos a vobis et nobis bonum passagium praeterita, ita non potest prohibere mala et beatitudo omnibus!”

...

Tears streaming down their cheeks, they both thrust their knives into his gut. Draco cried out at the unimaginable pain. He slumped to the floor, writhing in agony.

They repeated the words once more as he bled out in front of them.

...

Hermione turned to Harry, and saw that his face was also twisted in pain, as though he could feel what Draco was feeling.

“We're monsters.” she said numbly. “We killed someone pure.”

“This is what war does, Mione,” he muttered numbly. “It takes everything from you until the only thing you have left is your humanity. Then it takes that, too.”

Draco gave one last twitch, one last whimper, before he became still, his pain still on his face. At that very moment, Hermione and Harry stumbled feeling a pull in their stomachs not unlike what one felt mid-Apparition. The wind around them spun quickly in a circle, and the two friends let go of each other's hands.

...

That had been her last thought before she had stopped flying and landed on her two feet; the world went dark, and she slumped to the shining floor of the abyss. And for the first time in a long time, Hermione Granger rested, no bad dreams or dark memories plaguing her. Little did she know, she would have quite the same fright when she woke up.

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dungeons-bat · 3 years

Text

Not Just a Little Party (6th Chap)

Warnings: Cursing;

The complete fic

———————————————

‘Shit’, is the only thing that I can actually think about when I wake up. It takes me a while to realize where I am, and when I do, I feel a pair of hands hugging me by my waistline. And I had my face buried in his chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Oh, good morning, darling.” - I hear him saying. Lord, his port-sleep voice is gorgeous. “Good morning, slept well?” - Because I certainly did. “Incredibly well. If I knew that was the solution to the problem, I would have done it sooner.” - He said. Well Thomas, me too. “How did you know I was awake?” - I mean, he said good morning ten seconds after I woke up. “Your breathing changed.” - He simply said. That means that he was at least paying a bit of attention, so why didn’t he move. I mean, we were sleeping like a teenage couple. And we’re not any of those things. “And what time is it?” - Because it was five thirty when we went to bed. “It is nine thirty, darling.” - Usually, I’m completely okay with the fact that he calls me darling, but now I’m blushing. Maybe it is the position that we are in. “Four hours sleep, that’s not bad.” - I don’t like sleeping that much, but we need it, don’t we? “Do you wanna go out to have breakfast? Or we can bake some pancakes here.” - Thomas’ pancakes are probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten, but I don't know what he feels like doing today. “I don’t have a preference.” - He hates when I do that. “Little one, you have three seconds to tell me what you want.” - But I’m the last person you should ask when you want to make a decision. “I love your pancakes, but it takes time, and we have to clean everything after. I also love to eat out, but we have to look presentable to go out of this house. So, as I said, I have no preference.” - Really, I’m fine with anything. “Out it is, but just because I’m craving Jenny’s waffles”

We're at Jen, which is a restaurant specialized in breakfast, and probably the love of Tom's life. Jenny, the chef and owner of the place, is a 57-year-old lady, who cooks better than anyone I’ve ever met. I was eating a croissant with strawberry jelly, and a cup of coffee with vanilla extract. Tom was eating his waffles, and tea. We were talking to Jenny when out of nowhere she says. “So, what does the cute couple has planned for today?” - Oh, Jenny, my dream, but not reality. “We’re not…” - Both Tom and I said at the same time. “Oh sure, still at the denying feelings phase.” - She simply said, and left. I look at tom and see that his face is as red as the ketchup bottle at the table. I also felt my face burning, so I was sure I was blushing too. I mean, I know that I'm into him, but I won't fool myself thinking that TWH was into me too. So we just kept eating, no words coming from none of our mouths.

“Ready to go?” - Now, we were at my house, I needed to get ready for the party. Tom was waiting for me in the living room, but I had to lock Hades in a bathroom because he was leaving his fur all over Tom’s suit. I decided to go for an all black dress, black heels. My hair was down, and as I let it dry naturally, beautiful wavy locks covered my chest. I put some make up, but I wanted my face to look as natural as possible. Then it was the hardest part, in my opinion, jewellery. I decided that I was wearing my favourite colour, green, so everything I put on, rings, necklaces, earrings, all white gold and emeralds. When I stepped out of the room, Tom looked shocked and said, “Lord, you look gorgeous, loyally breathtaking.” - Well, I have to agree with him, I do look gorgeous now. “You don’t look bad yourself, Tom. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again, the suits suit you.”

Sebastian had some stuff to do in London, he had rented a giant house, where he was going to satay for two more weeks. Since he paid a huge amount of money on this, he had to have fun, so he decided to throw a party.

When we arrived at Sebastian’s house, I could not help but notice how big it was. Compared to the other actors houses, it wasn’t that huge, but lord, I was not used to this lifestyle. “Hello miss, you must be Isabela, am I correct?” - My god in a shining armour and purple pants. That is Sebastian bloody Stan. Asking me my name. Sebastian bloody Stan. “Hi, yeah, Isabela Grey sir. Thank you very much for welcoming me to the party, your house is lovely, mister.” - I say. I mean, I know his name is Sebastian, not mister Stan, but I’ve just met him, what am I supposed to cal him? “Well, I thank you for coming, it is a pleasure to finally meet my new colleague. And please, no need for “sir” or “mister”, Sebastian is just fine.” - Well, that answers my question. After greeting me, Sebastian starts to talk to Thomas, they chat a bit, then we go to the living room, where the party is actually happening. The other actors are there. Scarlet freaking Johanson is there, what surprises me a bit, I mean, that woman is my idol. I can also see Anthony Mackie, Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Tom Holland, wait, I thought Seb hated Tom. I can also see Mark Ruffalo, Benedict Cumberbatch, Elizabeth Olsen, Paul Rudd and Jeremy Renner. Also, I see RDJ, who’s not a Marvel Actor any more, but apparently he’s still pretty close to the others. They all greet me, say that it is ‘so nice to see you’ or that ‘your dress is marvellous’. But I was almost dizzy, all this people that I’ve been seeing in the cinema since I was eight, are now here, in front of me, talking to me. Lord. Thomas noticed that I was going crazy, excused both of us and took me to the yard. “Honey, are you okay?” - He asked me. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry to worry you. I’m just surprised. I mean, wow, I’m an actress, you know. That was my dream since ever. And more, I’m a Marvel freaking actress. I grew up watching Marvel, Tom. And look at where I’m now. I literally have a plastic figure of every single one of those people that said ‘hi’ to me. That’s crazy. If you told the twenty-year-old Isa that this was happening, she would tell you to stop lying and giving her expectations. This is ten hundred times bigger than anything I had ever thought I could accomplish.” - I think I talk too much. “Well, darling, that's amazing. I just did not know that you had figures of them. Do you have a Loki one? But anyway, I’m happy that I could be a small part on all of that.” - Is he crazy? A SMALL part? He got me my life. “TWH, you’re not a small part, if it was not you, none of that would have happened. Really, thank you.” - I say, and he leads the way back inside. “And by the way, I do have some figures o Loki. He is my favourite character, and I thought you had noticed it by now.” - He has been to my house, I have tons of Loki merch.

After some hours of party, the guests started to leave, but I discovered that it was like a rule that we, the ones I named in the previous chapter, should stay. Since they work with him, and I'm going to do the same later, we stay a bit longer for chatting and playing something. Like a friends' reunion. Both Chris Evens and Hemsworth were getting more beer, I believe today was the day that I had more alcohol in my whole life, but unlike most of them, I'm not drunk. They were controlled until the other guests left, but after that, they drank three litres of beer in an hour and a half. They were not crazy drunk, but you could see that sober was something that they were not. Thomas, Hemsworth, Scarlet, and Benedict were as sober as I, but the rest of them were stoned as a rock.

We were telling embarrassing stories that happened to us, when Lizzie says, “But no funny stuff about you two?” - While pointing a finger at Tom and I. “Oh, come on. A cute couple, like the two of you, had never walked through something you could not solve and ended up embarrassing yourselves?” - Shit Lizzie. “We are not…” - I said, while Thomas just said, “Not dating.” - Well now I have an embarrassing story to tell, when Elizabeth Olsen asked me if I was dating Tom Hiddleston. “Oh come on, I can smell the sexual tension from miles. You’re lying. Either to us or to yourselves.” - RDJ is visibly drunk, so I’ll just ignore that. “Let's change the subject, shall we?” - My saviour, Ben, says. I look at Thomas’ direction and can see that he’s trying, but failing, to hide a blush.

#tom hiddleston #hiddlestoners #hiddlestan #thomas william hiddleston #fanfic #fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston series #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x ofc #hiddlesfic

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catsintei · 4 years

Text

I can't believe it's the year of our Lord and Saviour 2020, and some people still don't understand that what Mercury said to Emerald in v6c9 wasn't meant to belittle her or her trauma.

#mercury black #emerald sustrai #rwde #rwby

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years

Note

Since both Villain Deku and regualar Deku seem to have a natural talent to make friends with everyone and inspire people for his cause, I'd like to request a Fantasy AU where Villain! Deku or Delusional! Hero Deku manages to convince his people that their queen is actually a tyrant who belongs to be locked away and he is their saviour.

Alright, I’ll admit, I got way too into this. But, I am nothing if not devoted. And for the sake of clarity, the Reader-Insert is All Might’s (the king’s) heir, and Izuku is a knight, albeit a persuasive one.

It revolted you, how natural this all seemed for him.

Every day, as the sun began to set but just before the light had faded from the small sliver of sky visible from your prison, Izuku would find his way to the tower you were trapped in. Tonight, he was still wearing his armor, an emerald-encrusted sword still strapped to his waist, your crown handing from a chain at his side. He’d sworn never to wear it, despite being the ‘Regent’ King.

You could only imagine how he must’ve cried, how his voice must’ve trembled as he announced the tragic disappearance of All Might’s heir and his own childhood friend, and so soon after the beloved King’s death. There hadn’t been time to plan a coronation, let alone marry a suitable leader. Of course, as All Might’s successor and most trusted knight, Izuku just had to take the thrown, at least until you were found. It was his duty, a burden he had to take on for the good of his kingdom, his homeland.

Izuku had always been dramatic, like that. You could only pity those who had been standing in the audience.

You forced your eyes to remain on the stone floor as he kneeled in front of you, a patient smile pressed into his features. It was a regal feature, one he’s taken on a few days after he was declared that temporary ruler. That didn’t surprise you. Izuku was always one to take the shape of his container, or in this case, the shape of his thone. This was just a new challenge, a new costume for him to wear.

A ways to an end.

“How is my darling doing today?” He asked, his voice sickeningly sweet. You didn’t respond, fighting not to shift. Letting him hear the rattle of your cuffs would only add to his satisfaction. With a click of his tongue, Izuku leaned down, cupping your chin with a gloved hand, tilting your head up to face him. “You know, a few lords and ladies have been urging me to announce your death…” He trailed off, his fingers moving to twirl a strand of your hair. “Throw a funeral, mourn, move on and crown myself formerly. Maybe they’ve grown tired of sending out search parties.”

You sighed, attempting to ignore the fingers now working the knots out of your hair. Izuku had refused to give you a comb, unless he would be the one brushing your hair. If that policy had not extended to clothes as well, maybe your imprisonment would be more tolerable. “What do you want, Midoriya? Is seeing me suffer beginning to bore you?”

“Never, love,” He reassured, moving to sit in front of you, if only to better stare your crumpled form down. “I want the same thing I’ve always wanted. Give me your hand, admit that you love me, and we can put this all behind us,” He paused, something dark glinting over in his eyes. A bright spark in an otherwise dark gaze. “We’ll say it was a bloodless coup, a group of knights and soldiers who were trying to seduce me onto their side by offering me a kingship, but they couldn’t stand to kill the child they had seen grown-up. Trapping you in an abandoned prison, cut off from the rest of the castle, was how they chose to save you.”

You shook your head, his sense of ‘loyalty’ leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. “You’re the one who-”

He interrupted you swiftly, his voice lowering once again. “We’ll have the very guards watching over your room executed, a lifetime in the dungeon would be too merciful. It’ll be so romantic, you can watch from my lap, and I’ll give the command. You’ll be too traumatized, but your king will be more than happy to prove his strength. We’ll make it into a national holiday, and throw a party every year! It’ll be the biggest celebration in the kingdom, only second to our anniversary, of course.”

He looked back towards you, grinning, and you could only stare. He was like a child, one who thought he was going something clever rather than despicable. A month ago, you may have yelled. You may have screamed and fought and explained why this was mad. But, weeks of not drinking, not eating full meals, not moving left you weak, your will not broken, but numb to the misery Izuku was prepared to force upon you. You longed to see your subjects, to claim the life you were supposed to have, but you knew you couldn’t.

Izuku was smart. He was strategic, and charming, and you were sure he hadn’t burnt down your kingdom in the few weeks he’s had the power to. But, he didn’t care. He hadn’t cared about your father when All Might was on his deathbed, he didn’t care about the people he’d had to cut down to get to where he was, and if you were being honest with yourself, he didn’t care about you. And you were smart enough to know you could never be able to live with yourself if you were the reason Izuku had a crown.

All you could do was frown, avoid his eyes. “I don’t know what my father ever saw in you.” You watched as he twitched, his fingers tightening around your chin, a nail digging into your skin through thin fabric. But, you had long since stopped feeling Izuku’s idle threats. “You’ve always been a monster. He was just too kind to see it.”

Briefly, you thought he was going to slap you, his hand drawing back from your head, but only fallingly limply to his side. Still, you held your breath as he scanned over you, taking in the torn silk of formerly fine cloth, the bruises blooming from around your cuffed wrists. His gaze shifted to the sword on his belt, but the thought was dismissed as quickly as it’d formed. But, that didn’t stop you from flinching as he reached out, snaking a hand around your neck, tugging you forward with a sharp jerk.

The kiss was quick, chaste, your lips barely touching his but lingering nevertheless. Izuku was always innocent, always so delicate, barely touching you before he pulled away, his smile gone and replaced with a light, passive line. He didn’t look particularly happy, nor was he disappointed.

If anything, Izuku looked determined.

“You will marry me,” He declared, more to himself than to you. You could see his posture changing, shoulders squaring, muscles going tense. He was preparing for a fight, a war. One you two were already well into. “You will love me, or you’ll rot in this cell until I believe you’re dead and this tower has buckled under its own weight. Then, I’ll have their forest burned down and a memorial built for the end of a dynasty.”

Izuku stood, turning to leave, and all you could do was hope that he was true to his word.

At this point, death would be more bearable than a life spent with such a tyrant.

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politics-notmything · 5 years

Text

I can't pretend that it's okay when it's not. (Part II)

This is Part II in the series. Reading Part I is recommended, let me know if you enjoyed and if you want more! Love you all!

TW- bad language, talk about rape and religion, talk about abortion. (let me know if there’s anything else I should add.)

Anne woke up with Parr beside her. What did she do to deserve her? Cathy's leg was dangling over the bed and her laptop was nearly falling off. Anne grabbed the laptop and was craving some Netflix. (When their relationship started becoming serious Cathy said that there should be no secrets between them and Anne happily told Cathy her password and figured she could do anything secret like plan an engagement on Kitty's MacBook.)

She punched into her girlfriend's passcode and the screen revealed a small word document. Pinterest was open beside it and the search was titled 'Baby rooms.' Anne diverted her eyes to the word document beside the tab. Each page was colour coded, pastel green, pastel blue, pastel yellow, pastel pink. Anne realised that Cathy had been getting inspiration for the baby's room. Anne closed the laptop slowly and smiled at her sleeping girlfriend, she looked so peaceful.

"Where have you been all my life?" Anne muttered before wrapping an arm around her girlfriend and snuggling down beside her.

"Babe? Annie? Wake up, baby." Cathy tapped on Anne's arm as she opened her eyes with a moan. "Anna's making pancakes, she wants everyone down to see her land the flip," Cathy explained. Anne closed her eyes again and rolled onto her back,

'I don't want to." She moaned.

"Cathy rolled her eyes and got into bed with her, "Let me rephrase that." She wriggled her arm around Anne's shoulder and pulled her in tightly, "Both of you need to get up." Cathy placed a hand on Anne's stomach and Anne snuggled into Cathy's chest.

"I don't know what to do." She mumbled so only Cathy could hear, "I want to keep it, I really do but I feel like I can't. It isn't really mine and it isn't ours. we still need to tell everyone and I don't think I can face that." Anne confessed not looking Cathy in the eyes,

"Annie, im not going to lie to you, this is going to be hard and im going to help you get through this, every second of it and anyone who says you were wrong I will kill them." Cathy defended and Anne buried her head into Cathy's shoulder for support and comfort.

She felt safe in Cathy's arms with her warm breaths against the back of her pale neck,"This is why I want to marry you." Anne yawned before snuggling back up to Cathy to sleep again.

Marry? She wants to marry me? Cathy was shocked, Anne Boleyn actually wants to be my wife? A small snore came from Anne's pale pink lips that Cathy had found comfort in so often and she arose from the bed. She walked softly over to her cabinet being careful where she stepped and opened the top drawer. She picked up a pair of fluffy cyan socks and shook them so a small black box with a green trim fell into her hand. She placed the socks back into the drawer and opened the box, taking out a beautiful ring. The ring was solid 14K yellow gold with an assorted pattern of emerald and diamond.

It sparkled in the light and Cathy couldn't help but awe at its beauty. It was wonderous, the way it shone in the light, the 6 emerald gems reminded her of Anne and that's why she bought it.

Two weeks from now, Jane had booked a trip for them to all go to Disneyland in Orlando and Anne had always romanced about kissing Cathy under cinderella's castle and that's where Cathy is going to propose. It would start as normal, Anne would drag Cathy towards the photographer, scan their cards and ask for 100 photos and she wouldn't care about the price. Then, halfway through the photoshoot, Cathy would pull the ring from her pocket and Anne would be too busy posing to know what was going on. Cathy would get down on one knee and-

"I swear to our lord and saviour Jesus Christ! You two are up here and the-" Aragon stopped when she saw Anne sleeping soundly and Cathy holding the ring. Her tone softened, "Shit, im so sorry, that could've really backfired!” Aragon apologised before walking over Cathy holding the ring. "So, your actually gonna do it?"

"Yea, when we go to Disneyland." Cathy gulped and looked at the other Catherine for support.

"If you looking at me for confirmation-"

"Well, yes." Cathy interjected, "Your Catholic, isn't this whole thing against your religion? It might also mess up our relationships with the other queens and I don't want that." Cathy explained before putting the ring back in it's bok and then back in the sock.

"Look, im not going to judge or stop you. I've seen you two together sometimes and the bond you two have is unbreakable! I'm not gonna stop true love." Aragon then continued, "it was only a matter of time anyway. People have been putting bets on you two."

"wait, what?"

"Oh yea, Kitty bet me 10 that Anne was gonna propose first, I countered that in saying Anne wouldn't be ready and you would make the first move. Jane told us to stop arguing and that you'll do it in your own time and Cleves said that you're both desperately in love and will probably end up proposing at the same time anyway." Aragon explained and Cathy couldn't help but laugh at the statement and then letting the queen continue, "Like I said, people are betting, it's only a matter of time! You two are made for each other and nothing should keep you apart."

"Thank you, Catherine." Cathy enveloped her in a hug as the smell of pancakes crept through the door.

"I'll let you wake the gremlin up. I hate dealing with a tired Anne." Aragon gave Cathy one last supportive smile and left the room.

"Okay sleeping beauty!' Cathy walked over to the bed and gave Anne a little peck on the nose, "It's time to wake up, for real this time!"

Cathy held Anne's hand as they walked down the stairs,

"I think I'm gonna tell them, Cathy, they need to know," Anne explained

"I'm not going to stop you, Annie, you should know that by now, I'm with you all the way!" Cathy rubbed circles on the back on Anne's hand and she turned around to face her girlfriend.and

"Thank you, babe' Anne said and Cathy could see it in her eyes as they interlocked their lips, she was genuinely grateful for everything and Cathy was going to keep it that way.

"I found them!" Anna's voice boomed in the hallway that leads to the kitchen,

"Honestly! It's been 2 hours since I knocked on your door this morning Anne, you need to eat!" Jane fused,

"She's probably already eaten." Cleves mocked and 'not-so-subtly winked at Parr who still had her hands-on Anne's waist.

"I hate you Cleves," Cathy remarked before lading Anne to her seat. Cathy could feel Anne's pulse racing and helped her sit down onto a chair for fear that she might fall, Kitty (who knew about Anne's 'big secret') gave her a reassuring smile from across the table. She'd been in Anne's position before. She’d also had her life and freedom taken away by a man who just wanted to use her for her body, to please only himself and having known what that felt like, Kitty would be there for her cousin without a second thought.

Cathy soon arrived back with two plates, one with 3 pancakes for herself and another plate of 6 for Anne all covered in Nutella and cream, just how she likes them. Anne thanked Cathy with a kiss on the cheek and picked up her fork before dropping it back onto the table. The queens looked up from their breakfast and Cathy put a warm hand on Anne's thy.

'We have something to tell you all." Anne mumbled.

"Annie. I can say it, it's fine." Cathy whispered in her ear,

"thank you." Anne said loud enough for only Cathy to hear.

"Last night, I found out something very important about my girlfriend. And as a disclaimer, before we start if any of you give her any kind of shit for it I will personally murder and then Tumblr shame you all. Understand?" Cathy stood up and put a defensive hand on Anne's shoulder as the queens nodded.

"why Cathy whats happened?' jane interrupted.

"Anne was-"

"Anne is pregnant." Kitty confessed and her quick comment was met with speechless faces and a look of death from Catherine, "I'm sorry Cathy but I couldn't keep lying to you all. I heard Anne crying a few weeks ago and sand brought her a pregnancy test. She needed support and I was there, she hadn't even told Parr at that point!"

The queens stayed silent as to process the information

"Whos the father then?" Cleves asked upfront.

"I don't know," Anne answered to have confused looks thrown her way.

"Like she said, we don't know. He took advantage of her on the street when she was walking back from the theatre." Cathy explained to the now shocked but somewhat understanding queens.

"Are you gonna keep it?" Cleves continued to push Anne for answers.

"Who cares what she does with it!" Aragon shouted, "You have to take this to court, the man has to be punished!"

"I don't know who he is." Anne shrank into her chair

"Fuck that! You've been raped, Anne!" Aragon shouted and Anne flinched at the word, " Christ! That's worse than being beheaded, Anne!"

One of Anne's problems with the situation was that she'd been the vulnerable one. She hated being overpowered or beaten. She was a strong and powerful woman and this thing had broken her into thousands of pieces.

"Catherine!" Jane hushed.

"No! I may not like you but this is bullshit!"

"Aragon-" Kitty tried to reason but the older Catherine continued,

"You've been put through a lot Anne but at least Henry got consent! We need to know these things! How could you be so fucking stupid?" Aragon stood up and slammed her hands on the table,

"It wasn't her fault!" Cathy defended. "Do you think she chose this? Do you think she wanted this?" Aragon moved back a little, "or does your 'bible' say it's okay to use women like that-"

"I'm going to abort it!" Anne spoke up,

"What?" The two said in unison.

"I'm going to abort the baby. It's not really mine but this doesn't mean I don't want to have kids." Anne glanced at Cathy and she smiled,

"If it's what you want." Cathy accepted and Aragon sat down with a huff.

"I'll call the hospital," Jane suggested. "I don't think we'll be going out today," she looked at Kitty, "can you and Anna go put on a film?" Kitty nodded and dragged Cleves out to the living room with a giggle! "Come join us when you're ready." Jane addressed the final 3.

Once Jane had left the air transformed into an uncomfortable silence. Cathy sat back down and wrapped an arm around Anne. Anne snuggled back into Cathy and when she hummed, Aragon suddenly realised. Cathy was going to propose to Anne. The two had bonded so strongly over their traumatic pasts to become this force of nature that's stronger than the universe. This combination of love and happiness that they found in each other is why they can get through this without a court case and will be able to put their pasts behind them, marry and have a family with children of their own that will bring them so much happiness and the cycle will carry on. They can get through this, who was Aragon to say they couldn't.

"I'm sorry." She said, "it's your choice and you two can overcome this, you've done it before." Aragon smiled at the queens, Anne whispered a small "thank you." and she left the two alone together.

#parrlyn #six the musical #six #anne boleyn #Catherine Parr #anne boleyn x catherin parr #six fanfiction #i cant pretend that its okay when its not

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nestaarcheronwillkillme · 5 years

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Empires Fall- Saviour, Captor. What’s the difference?

Cassian hated himself for caring. Hated himself for thinking he hated himself for caring. He should care, it was right and noble. He should. It was difficult though, a torment to which he was unfamiliar with his past lovers. He suspected it was the cauldron’s bidding but would never voice the thought.

His chest felt as though it was concaving when he heard no frustrated reply to his frantic calling of her name.

It had been three days since his last visit, almost immediately after he had broken the news to Nesta about her new lodgings. Three days which were spent contemplating asking the Inner Circle if they might reconsider. It felt so wrong, so wrong to be wrenching her away from what little life she had created for herself.

This is the way he saw it: everyone has their own way of coping. Rhys and the others should know that, they should recognise trauma when they see it and try to help her through it personally. A detox only works for so long.

So, he stood before the bolted door of Nesta’s shack. Breaking the door down seemed extreme but what if she’d hurt herself? As selfish as it was he decided he couldn’t handle the eternal guilt.

The door came crashing down the moment his shoulder hit it.

He called her name. His reply came in the form of a squeak and a scuttle. Rats. He should never have let it get to this.

Again “Nesta” sounded throughout the building, each syllable more frantic than the last.

The realisation hit him like a blast from Hybern. She was gone. Nesta had left him.

...

He spent little time debating whether or not to report back to Rhys because his wings took flight before his brain really even engaged- another nudge from the cauldron no doubt.

He flew throughout Velaris, stopping at each tavern and asking drunken dwellers when the last time they saw her was. Most said just over three days ago. The panic rose within him so it was quite literally impossible for him to stand still.

There would not be a repeat of Hybern. Never, he promised himself- promised her. His nerves itched at him, sending a shiver down his back until his wings twitched. He had to search everywhere. Every nook of every court.

Cassian took flight once more, his only comfort that Nesta was stubborn enough that she wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to.

…

After two days of scouring the whole of Prythian, two days of continuous flying with no reward, he began to feel the ache and otherwise imperceptible muscle spasms in his wings.

He could not give up, he would check each court again- maybe she was still on the move.

It was true agony unlike any other to not know where she was. His wings cursed her name whilst his heart sang it- casting it out as a beacon.

As he flew over the seas which connected the Summer mountain range to the Winter coast a more notable spasm occured in his right wing. Then a tendon near his back. Involuntarily he dipped down sharply, recovering only seven feet from the surface of the water.

Adrenaline allowed him to regain a little height before the next wave of spasms. In both wings this time.

One moment he was struggling to right himself, the next he was plummeting into the obsidian depths beneath him.

Only he wasn’t.

He should have been. He should be dead by now really, frozen or drowned. But he wasn’t.

He was suspended in the air, a half foot away from the nipping sea. He seemed to be resting on a crimson-tinted raincloud.

Cassian looked around him tentatively, afraid to scare off the magic suspending him. He saw an island in the distance, getting bigger every second.

Or ever closer. Yes, he was moving towards it. Was he being kidnapped? He tried to remain alert, his heart beating at ten times its normal rate. Perhaps his captors would be the same as Nesta’s? He knew he was clutching at straws but it was all he could do to stay focused and conscious.

Tendrils of the blue-red smoke indruded, seemingly examining his wings. They had a frantic energy, only resting when they snaked around his wrists and feet.

The cloud he rested on came to the coast of the island, tipping him abruptly onto the muddy edge. He landed so that his wing was bent under him and a hiss escaped his throat. Those wisps rushed to him again before being seemingly yanked backwards as if on a leesh.

Cassian lifted his head to survey the grounds of his captor and came face to face with a small emerald pair of eyes. He surveyed the rest of its form with disbelief. It had sap green skin which seemed to be the texture of leather and was that a mushroom growing out of its shoulder? He was torn between awe and terror. It was grotesque in an ordinary sense but was truly remarkable to any other mindset.

“I am Lord of Bloodshed, Commander of the Night Court’s Armies. You are?” He tried to engage conversation, maybe this was a misunderstanding.

Whatever response he thought he might get went out the window when the cold voice of his true captor answered.

“How dare you overestimate our hospitality by questioning my court when they chose to save you from a fate much like the one from which you failed to protect their queen?”

Nesta.

Tag list:

@saltydreamcollector @starlightheir @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights @firemadeofgirl @sannelovesreading @blackfyrres @my-fan-side @elle-crys @rairrai @acotar-feels @nestacherons @crimziedrawings @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @shimmerglimmerandsparkle

(if i missed you please let me know)

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #never really written in cassians perspective before #I think I did ok?#I thought id redeem him a bit #nesta #cass is great #please let this become cannon #sarah j maas #sjm #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #Empires Fall #nesta archeron will kill me #NestaDefenceSquad

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aamccarthy · 5 years

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Lucifer and Thomas - The Pet

Wattpad Link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/186855778-lucifer-and-thomas

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Astaroth stood in front of the mirror and frowned. She hated that her Father never accepted her for her true self. When she was created, she was created in the form of man, but she hated her body and the way it looked. She prayed each night that her Father make her a woman, but her prayers were unanswered. She wanted to change her form but could never go against her Father as His will was right. It wasn’t until she spent time with Lucifer, that he caused Astaroth to question their Father’s teachings. Was He always right? What if He made mistakes too? Did Astaroth truly have to stay as a man? What was wrong with being a woman? Lucifer asked these questions, not wanting to follow the path their Father set for them.

When they were cast from Heaven, Astaroth had wept. She hadn’t realised that by agreeing with Lucifer, she too would be cast aside. She had only wanted her Father to accept her for the gender that her heart was, but He discarded her, saying she went against his teachings.

She fought as a man alongside her brothers in the War against Belial and helped her brother claim the title of Satan. She took out her rage and her anger against her Father against Hell, destroying well over 200 Legions, but even after all the destruction, even after the war, her heart still shook in anger. It was that day, the day Lucifer took the throne of Hell, that she finally felt her heart still. Lucifer had just been proclaimed the new Satan and after the ceremony, he visited her in her chambers. It was then that he encouraged her to take the form that she was most comfortable with and presented her with a green and black dress.

She closed her eyes, remembering his words as she ran her hands over same green and black dress she wore today, looking at herself in the mirror.

“Your brothers don’t mind having a younger sister. Be what makes you happy, and know that this is your home. Your brothers, your family, will support whatever decision you make.”

Smiling at Lucifer’s words, she gazed at her reflection. The top was a sweetheart neckline with accentuated her breasts, with black lace running along the top and off her shoulders. The top half was black, flowing down her waist before changing into the colour of forest green, dotted with emeralds at her waist. She looked into the mirror and smiled, although her heart was now calm, she was patient, one day, one day, she would have the strength to raise a hand to her Father. She would convince him that he was wrong. That he should accept her for the daughter she is. Her thoughts were jolted to a stop when she heard a knock at her door. “Enter.”

“Are you ready?” She looked up at the voice and saw Asmodeus standing at her door.

“Not really.” She frowned, gazing back at her reflection, not at all prepared to enter Heaven. What if she met her Father? Surely He would know.

Asmodeus leaned over, placing a kiss on her cheek. “No matter what Father thinks, you are always our sister.”

She nodded then took a step back and a green glow encircled her form, before shattering and a black haired man with green eyes emerged in her place. The brown haired man took a step forward, and touched the glass, “Although this isn’t me, I hate the male form.”

Asmodeus nodded in understanding and stepped back as yellow flame consumed his form, burning his hair short and changing his facial features. “Let us hope that non recognise us. Come.” He held out his hand and Astaroth took it, causing both of them to vanish.

Berith looked across the horizon in thought. The Human World was interesting, but he could never understand Father’s obsession with watching over it. Was it because he was the creator? Was it like a child, obsessed with a sandcastle they just built?

Berith had taken on the full form of an Eagle and was perched in a large tree, his golden eyes surveying the environment around him. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. He mentally counted each of the Summon Circles around him. There had been hundreds recently, but he had destroyed most of them. Despite his Cataclysm, they were still appearing. His eyes narrowed, looking around as demons of various forms slinked in and out of shadows, some were humanoid, others animalistic, while the remainder were grotesques mixes of the two. His eyes narrowed as he saw four demons walking down a pathway, stalking a human child.

The child was oblivious, of course. He was walking towards a park, his brown hair ruffling in the wind, completely unaware of the danger behind him. Suddenly a man with long black hair appeared behind the boy. Was that Leviathan?

‘Do your job properly.’ Berith stiffened as Leviathan’s voice filled his head. Leviathan looked back, his cool blue eyes locking with Berith’s form. He ruffled his feathers in response and dropped to the ground below, landing in his lion form between the four demons. He lashed out, striking them down as they each disappeared into a black mist. He stood up, flexing his paw and stared at Leviathan. He had glamoured himself, rendering himself invisible to humans. He turned to give the finger to Leviathan, but stopped when brown eyes locked on him. He raised an eyebrow in question at the child, wondering just what it was he was looking at.

The boy took a step towards Leviathan, gripping his pant leg, staring with his mouth wide open. “Mr Levi, who is that?”

Berith froze. His eyes darkened and he leaned forward and growled. If a human saw him, then he must destroy it. He leapt forward and Leviathan shouted, shoving the child behind him, “Berith, no!”

Berith stopped as a wall of purple flame erupted between him and Leviathan. “Leviathan!” He roared, pacing on the other side of the flame wall, “What is the meaning of this?”

Leviathan glared, his blue eyes had turned dark blue. “You are not to harm humans.”

“That child can see me.” He hissed.

“Mr Levi!” The boy’s eyes were wide as he gripped Leviathan’s pant leg. Reaching around, Leviathan placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s OK. Lucifer asked me to protect you.”

“What?!” Berith’s eyes bulged. Since when? Why was Leviathan, Lucifer’s second-in-command, a General of Hell, protecting a human child? What was the child to Lucifer?

“Our Lord Satan formed a,” Leviathan paused, trying to work out the best way to explain it, “a contract with the child. Lucifer has tasked me with his protection while he is absent.” He acknowledged each of Berith’s thoughts.

He hated it when people read his mind. Leviathan was just like Asmodeus. “That still doesn’t explain how he can see me.” Berith hissed in response. He didn’t like it. Humans were not supposed to see Fallen or Demons, particularly under the guise of a glamour. It was how the dominions of Hell could move around. How is it, that the boy didn’t even notice the demons, yet could see him? Only Angels had that ability to see through a glamour, yet this boy, this human boy could see him.

His eyes narrowed and glowed momentarily as he stared at the boy, peering into his soul. He was human. Definitely human and very pure. Not a single mark of tainment. Was this one of his Father’s tricks? Could this child be the next saviour?

“Let it go, Berith.” Leviathan stepped forward, raising his hand as blue scales formed across his arm. Purple lightning danced around his fingertips, causing Berith to take a step back. The last time Berith had seen that ability was in the Battle against Belial. It was an all powerful Cataclysm that caused lightning to rain down from the sky, burning enemies from the inside out. Leviathan had destroyed 350 Legions of Hell with that single attack.

Berith took a another step back, feeling Leviathan’s bloodlust wash over him He knew he wouldn’t survive that attack. He lowered his paws and breathed out a sigh, dropping from his lion form to his human form.

Leviathan lowered his hand and the wall of flame disappeared.

“If that child betrays us,” Berith looked at the boy and turned, walking away, “I will destroy him with my own two hands.”

Leviathan pursed his lips and grabbed Thomas’ hand, “C’mon kid, let’s go somewhere else.”

He lead Thomas back to his house, inviting the boy inside. “Take a seat.” He gestured to the table and Thomas sat at the table, quietly.

“That man was scary.” Thomas whispered.

Pulling out a chair opposite him, Leviathan took a seat and sighed, “You’ll have to forgive my younger brother. He has a bit of a temper.”

Thomas looked up, his brown eyes staring at him in question, “You have a brother?”

“Seven, actually. Plus a sister. I’m not sure if Lucifer told you, but he is my older brother.”

The boy shook his head, placing both hands on the table and stared up at him, “Is that why you all feel the same?”

“What?”

“You feel,” Thomas raised both his hands up, holding them in the air, “different. My hands feel like hands, but I can tell which is my left hand, and which is my right hand. You feel like my left hand.”

Berith’s thoughts and observations passed through his head. Although Berith hadn’t said anything out loud, Leviathan could clearly hear each thought that passed through Berith’s mind. He rubbed at his chin, troubled by the analogy. If was often said that the Angels of Heaven were within the right hand of God, whereas Hell was seen as the left hand. Why had the boy used that precise analogy.

“When is Luce back?” Thomas sighed, stretching out across the table blowing a raspberry. “I’m bored.”

“A few days still.” Leviathan mused. He hoped that Lucifer returned sooner, he needed to let him know what this child had done. He looked over at the boy who was scratching his nail on the table in boredom, he didn’t think the child was the next Saviour. Surely not. His Father was arrogant, and liked to make a show of things. Last time a Saviour was born on Earth, He had sent his Angels to announce the birth and guide the child through his life. Looking at this boy though, he just appeared to be any normal child.

“I think Mr Lion hates me.” Thomas mumbled, sliding down in his chair. “I don’t want Luce’s brother to hate me.”

Mr… Lion? A smirk crossed Leviathan’s face at Berith’s new name. Oh, that was gold. He was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a sniffle. Thomas had started crying.

Leviathan balked, completely unsure of what to do. He stood up and awkwardly petted the boy on his back, offering him words of comfort, “Look, I’m sure it’s a mistake. I’ll talk to Berith. He doesn’t like people in general, so don’t feel bad.”

A small hiccup and sob escaped Thomas and he rubbed at his eyes, “Okay.” He whispered, looking down at the ground, “I think I should go home.”

Frowning, Leviathan knelt down in front of the child. He couldn’t trust that Berith would leave him be. Placing a hand on Thomas’ head, he spoke gently to the boy, “I’m going to cast a spell, is that OK?”

“What kind of spell?”

“A Protection spell. It might be scary when it happens, but it won’t hurt. I promise.”

Thomas nodded and Leviathan concentrated his energy into his palm, small flicks of lightning danced around and flame ran down the boy’s skin. Thomas tried to pull back, but Leviathan held him in place, his blue eyes had turned red as he held the boy still. Leviathan felt his Essence surge through the boy, exploring as the Protection Enchantment was cast.

A few minutes passed and finally, he was done. His eyes returned to their normal blue and he released his hold over the boy. Thomas nearly collapsed but Leviathan propped him him, “How do you feel?”

“Fuzzy.” Thomas held his head, squinting his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Watch.” Leviathan summoned a purple fireball and threw it at the boy. Before Thomas could even react, lightning lashed out, destroying the ball of flame.

“That’s soo cooooool.” Thomas stared wide-eyed as twisted around, looking at his hands, arms and body. “Am I a superhero now?”

“Er, no.” Leviathan didn’t even know what a superhero was, but was pretty sure he didn’t make this boy one. “I’ve covered you in a layer of my defense Essence, so if anything or anyone attempts to attack you, it will protect you. However, it’s only strong enough to protect you from an attack of a Cherub or lower. And only once, got it?”

“What’s a Cherub?”

“Someone like Berith.”

“I thought he’s a lion.”

Leviathan sighed, how do you even talk to children? “Look, if you happen to come across Berith again, just run away. If he attacks you, I will feel it, so I’ll deal with him.”

“...Is he going to attack me?”

“I’ll talk to him. Hopefully he won’t, but I can’t be certain.”

Thomas stared down at his feet and he opened his mouth to speak, “Luce said he trusts you.” He looked up, his brown eyes holding Leviathan’s blue, “He said that he trusts you the most. Luce is my friend, and if he trusts you, then I trust you.”

Leviathan blinked in surprise, he didn’t know that Lucifer talked about him to the boy. He felt oddly flattered at the statement; he knew he was his second-in-command, but that he trusted him the most? It was comforting. A smile formed on Leviathan’s lips and he ruffled the boy’s hair, “Thanks for that kid. Now, go on home.”

“Okay. Bye Mr Levi!” Thomas opened the door, waved and ran outside.

Closing the door, Leviathan leaned against the frame and stared at his hand. He had cast that Enchantment for two reasons, one was to protect the kid from Berith, but the other was to work out what the child was.

His Essence had reached all through the child’s body, but he had no answers, only more questions. He felt his soul, it was pure and golden, like that of an Angel from Heaven, and yet, human, but there was something else that he couldn’t quite place. It was familiar, and yet not familiar.

Chuckling, he curled up his hand into a fist, Lucifer had definitely found an interesting pet.

Continue to Chapter 11

#Lucifer and Thomas #Adventures with Lucifer and a Boy Named Thomas #LuciferAndThomas #Lucifer #Lucifer Fiction #Fiction #Writeblr #Berith #Leviathan

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araitsume · 4 years

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The Desire of Ages, pp. 552-556: Chapter (61) Zacchaeus

This chapter is based on Luke 19:1-10.

On the way to Jerusalem “Jesus entered and passed through Jericho.” A few miles from the Jordan, on the western edge of the valley that here spread out into a plain, the city lay in the midst of tropic verdure and luxuriance of beauty. With its palm trees and rich gardens watered by living springs, it gleamed like an emerald in the setting of limestone hills and desolate ravines that interposed between Jerusalem and the city of the plain.

Many caravans on their way to the feast passed through Jericho. Their arrival was always a festive season, but now a deeper interest stirred the people. It was known that the Galilean Rabbi who had so lately brought Lazarus to life was in the throng; and though whispers were rife as to the plottings of the priests, the multitudes were eager to do Him homage.

Jericho was one of the cities anciently set apart for the priests, and at this time large numbers of priests had their residence there. But the city had also a population of a widely different character. It was a great center of traffic, and Roman officials and soldiers, with strangers from different quarters, were found there, while the collection of customs made it the home of many publicans.

“The chief among the publicans,” Zacchaeus, was a Jew, and detested by his countrymen. His rank and wealth were the reward of a calling they abhorred, and which was regarded as another name for injustice and extortion. Yet the wealthy customs officer was not altogether the hardened man of the world that he seemed. Beneath the appearance of worldliness and pride was a heart susceptible to divine influences. Zacchaeus had heard of Jesus. The report of One who had borne Himself with kindness and courtesy toward the proscribed classes had spread far and wide. In this chief of the publicans was awakened a longing for a better life. Only a few miles from Jericho, John the Baptist had preached at the Jordan, and Zacchaeus had heard of the call to repentance. The instruction to the publicans, “Exact no more than that which is appointed you” (Luke 3:13), though outwardly disregarded, had impressed his mind. He knew the Scriptures, and was convicted that his practice was wrong. Now, hearing the words reported to have come from the Great Teacher, he felt that he was a sinner in the sight of God. Yet what he had heard of Jesus kindled hope in his heart. Repentance, reformation of life, was possible, even to him; was not one of the new Teacher's most trusted disciples a publican? Zacchaeus began at once to follow the conviction that had taken hold upon him, and to make restitution to those whom he had wronged.

Already he had begun thus to retrace his steps, when the news sounded through Jericho that Jesus was entering the town. Zacchaeus determined to see Him. He was beginning to realize how bitter are the fruits of sin, and how difficult the path of him who tries to return from a course of wrong. To be misunderstood, to be met with suspicion and distrust in the effort to correct his errors, was hard to bear. The chief publican longed to look upon the face of Him whose words had brought hope to his heart.

The streets were crowded, and Zacchaeus, who was small of stature, could see nothing over the heads of the people. None would give way for him; so, running a little in advance of the multitude, to where a wide-branching fig tree hung over the way, the rich tax collector climbed to a seat among the boughs, whence he could survey the procession as it passed below. The crowd comes near, it is going by, and Zacchaeus scans with eager eyes to discern the one figure he longs to see.

Above the clamor of priests and rabbis and the shouts of welcome from the multitude, that unuttered desire of the chief publican spoke to the heart of Jesus. Suddenly, just beneath the fig tree, a group halts, the company before and behind come to a standstill, and One looks upward whose glance seems to read the soul. Almost doubting his senses, the man in the tree hears the words, “Zacchaeus, make haste, and come down; for today I must abide at thy house.”

The multitude give way, and Zacchaeus, walking as in a dream, leads the way toward his own home. But the rabbis look on with scowling faces, and murmur in discontent and scorn, “that He was gone to be guest with a man that is a sinner.”

Zacchaeus had been overwhelmed, amazed, and silenced at the love and condescension of Christ in stooping to him, so unworthy. Now love and loyalty to his new-found Master unseal his lips. He will make public his confession and his repentance.

In the presence of the multitude, “Zacchaeus stood, and said unto the Lord; Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have taken anything from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold.

“And Jesus said unto him, This day is salvation come to this house, forsomuch as he also is a son of Abraham.”

When the rich young ruler had turned away from Jesus, the disciples had marveled at their Master's saying, “How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God!” They had exclaimed one to another, “Who then can be saved?” Now they had a demonstration of the truth of Christ's words, “The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.” Mark 10:24, 26; Luke 18:27. They saw how, through the grace of God, a rich man could enter into the kingdom.

Before Zacchaeus had looked upon the face of Christ, he had begun the work that made him manifest as a true penitent. Before being accused by man, he had confessed his sin. He had yielded to the conviction of the Holy Spirit, and had begun to carry out the teaching of the words written for ancient Israel as well as for ourselves. The Lord had said long before, “If thy brother be waxen poor, and fallen in decay with thee; then thou shalt relieve him: yea, though he be a stranger, or a sojourner; that he may live with thee. Take thou no usury of him, or increase: but fear thy God; that thy brother may live with thee. Thou shalt not give him thy money upon usury, nor lend him thy victuals for increase.” “Ye shall not therefore oppress one another; but thou shalt fear thy God.” Leviticus 25:35-37, 17. These words had been spoken by Christ Himself when He was enshrouded in the pillar of cloud, and the very first response of Zacchaeus to the love of Christ was in manifesting compassion toward the poor and suffering.

Among the publicans there was a confederacy, so that they could oppress the people, and sustain one another in their fraudulent practices. In their extortion they were but carrying out what had become an almost universal custom. Even the priests and rabbis who despised them were guilty of enriching themselves by dishonest practices under cover of their sacred calling. But no sooner did Zacchaeus yield to the influence of the Holy Spirit than he cast aside every practice contrary to integrity.

No repentance is genuine that does not work reformation. The righteousness of Christ is not a cloak to cover unconfessed and unforsaken sin; it is a principle of life that transforms the character and controls the conduct. Holiness is wholeness for God; it is the entire surrender of heart and life to the indwelling of the principles of heaven.

The Christian in his business life is to represent to the world the manner in which our Lord would conduct business enterprises. In every transaction he is to make it manifest that God is his teacher. “Holiness unto the Lord” is to be written upon daybooks and ledgers, on deeds, receipts, and bills of exchange. Those who profess to be followers of Christ, and who deal in an unrighteous manner, are bearing false witness against the character of a holy, just, and merciful God. Every converted soul will, like Zacchaeus, signalize the entrance of Christ into his heart by an abandonment of the unrighteous practices that have marked his life. Like the chief publican, he will give proof of his sincerity by making restitution. The Lord says, “If the wicked restore the pledge, give again that he had robbed, walk in the statutes of life, without committing iniquity; ... none of his sins that he hath committed shall be mentioned unto him: ... He shall surely live.” Ezekiel 33:15, 16.

If we have injured others through any unjust business transaction, if we have overreached in trade, or defrauded any man, even though it be within the pale of the law, we should confess our wrong, and make restitution as far as lies in our power. It is right for us to restore not only that which we have taken, but all that it would have accumulated if put to a right and wise use during the time it has been in our possession.

To Zacchaeus the Saviour said, “This day is salvation come to this house.” Not only was Zacchaeus himself blessed, but all his household with him. Christ went to his home to give him lessons of truth, and to instruct his household in the things of the kingdom. They had been shut out from the synagogues by the contempt of rabbis and worshipers; but now, the most favored household in all Jericho, they gathered in their own home about the divine Teacher, and heard for themselves the words of life.

It is when Christ is received as a personal Saviour that salvation comes to the soul. Zacchaeus had received Jesus, not merely as a passing guest in his home, but as One to abide in the soul temple. The scribes and Pharisees accused him as a sinner, they murmured against Christ for becoming his guest, but the Lord recognized him as a son of Abraham. For “they which are of faith, the same are the children of Abraham.” Galatians 3:7.

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