Aaymeirah on Ao3

[aaymeirah-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Written as part of the 10 Year Promise - Pingxie Exchange, a gift for geckoholic!

Summary: "Xiaoge," whispers Wu Xie. His voice cuts through the silence like a sharp knife. It almost sounds healthy. Wu Xie gropes blindly till his cold hand finds Zhang Qiling’s gloved one. If it were anyone else he would quickly extract his hand from the hold, but this is Wu Xie: the exception to most everything in Zhang Qiling's life. So, he holds the offered hand tightly, as if his iron will alone can drag Wu Xie back from the brink of death.

Set during S2 eps 15&16.

Tags under the cut.

Relationship: Wu Xie/Zhang Qiling, Wang Pangzi & Wu Xie & Zhang Qiling

Characters: Zhang Qiling, Wu Xie, Wang Pangzi, Hei Xia Zi , Wu Xie's Thunder City crew

Additional Tags:

Angst, Terminal Illnesses, Missing Scene, More like inserting a scene in between what is shown in the show, Introspection, Competence, The Iron Triangle's top secret knocking code, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Protectiveness, Holding Hands, Casual Intimacy, Though lbr pingxie would get much more...intimate if the others weren't around, POV Zhang Qiling

[aaymeirah-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Sometimes, during the worst nights, he abandons the many handwritten journals and reports and photographs to sit on the roof and it doesn’t matter if the rain relentlessly lashes his face, or the wind threatens to blow his hood off his bowed head. In a way, it makes him feel connected: like he is part of something, affected by the forces of nature just like everyone else.

[aaymeirah-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“How are you so accepting?” Lan Jingyi shouted. “Hanguang-Jun is a baby!”

“Panicking won’t help.”

“What will?”

“We need to get them back to Cloud Recesses. Someone there will know what to do,” Lan Sizhui suggested.

------------

A night hunt goes wrong, transforming Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji into toddlers. It is up to the juniors to watch over them untill a solution can be found. They're trying their best okay.

[aaymeirah-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Qingming says, “I would have been fine if you left me, you know.”

“Did you hit you head when you fell?" Boya asks incredulously. "I wasn’t about to leave you lying there with a gut wound."

“I have a strong constitution!”

[aaymeirah-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Tacky decorations that screamed money made the large open floor plan of the house seem constrictive. Ouyang Zizhen barely managed to avoid tripping over a roomba with a plastic pumpkin on it that blasted out a remix of...monster mash? He couldn’t tell with the loud music. In the orange and yellow strobe lights, he caught sight of Jin Ling.

JUNIORS OT4! 

This was written for lunylovegoodlover on ao3.

[aaymeirah-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Demetia Xue Yang and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got part of my name) with no other colors because I’m cool that reaches my mid-back and and dark eyes like a black hole and a lot of people tell me I look hot (AN: if u don’t think so u got a problem) I’m not related to the Yilling Patriarch but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie.

[alicedrawslesmis]

my contribution to the Les Mis Big Bang - Quarantine Edition!

@thelesmisbigbang

This illustration is a companion piece to @aaymeirah-writes’s fic on AO3 of the same name, featuring the Thenardier siblings:

need against need against need

“I’m always ready to help,” Azelma said quickly, she didn’t want to lose his attention, not now when she had a chance to make him notice her. To give her more responsibilities in the family business. “I know you are,” his eyes snapped back to hers and he smirked, “in fact, I have a very special task for you today. It requires discretion and good timing.” “When am I not on time, or discreet?” she dared to ask. “You’ve been good. So far. Are you interested?” “Of course,” she pulled her ponytail tighter and sat up.

[aaymeirah-writes]

All that is gold...does glitter

(Written for rokosourobouros as part of the Lord of the Rings Secret Santa 2019)

SUMMARY: A short story offering Smaug's POV as he sacks Dale and drives the Dwarves-under-the-Mountain out of Erebor to claim the land and the treasure it offers for his own august enjoyment.Ft. sarcastic asides courtesy of your local pillaging dragon. (It's nothing personal.)

-

All that gold. Shiny, brilliant gold. Treasure, littered carelessly in the pockets of puny mortals. Going about their lives as if they mattered. (They don’t)

Smaug knew that in Erebor and its surrounding lands, there were goblets, coins of pure gold, silver and copper (Still shiny). There were gilded mirrors and jewelry. New crafted ornaments from the woodland elves and mithril armor coming from those stinking Dwarves in the Lonely Mountain. (Wasters of treasure)

These fools with their ridiculous fences and fortified ports. They were trapped on their island, would be trapped in their twisty caves. Nothing was a match for him, Smaug the undefeatable!

He curled closer around a large jut of rock high and far away from the men of Dale and the Dwarves-under-the-Mountain, watching for those lovely glints of gold, (Only a magnificent dragon such as himself could see so far) biding his time.

(He could be patient. For a while.)

Months passed, during which Smaug periodically watched the caravans of precious gems exit from the Mountain, saw the busiest times of day for men to exchange gold. (Horrific practice, gold was meant to be taken and hoarded, not given away for plants that were soon consumed). The gold called him by singing it’s magnificent song of hypnotic shininess and power. It took all of his considerable will to not fly and burn the place to the ground before the time was right. For the dwarven king grew greedy, amassing such wealth that the more Smaug delayed, the more Smaug would gain.

His plan was simple, fitting for a (Powerful and direct) firedrake such as himself; circle the sky above the town, let panic and flight set it, then burn it all to the ground. The Dwarves would be distracted, and while they were watching the town burn, hot enough that the water itself flamed, he would burn their holes. Smoke them out like the rats those rock dwellers were.

Smaug launched himself into the air, winging through the clouds as he stoked the fire ever simmering inside of him. His long tongue weaved in and out of many rows of teeth, popping bones and bits of fur out from between them. (Killing was always better enjoyed with a clean palette)

Smoke from chimneys rose and rested in a hazy cloud far below him.

He pursed his mouth and puffed, a small breath of hot air spiraling forcefully downwards and making a perfect circle that let a shaft of sunlight briefly shine through. That wouldn’t do. Smaug positioned himself in front of the sun, flapping his wings to hold himself in place as his shadow covered the central marketplace. He waited for the mortals to look up.

Screams. “Dragon!” Running. “To arms” Shrieks. “Watch out!” (A fitting tribute to his tremendous presence. Cower mortals!)

It was time, his lips pulled back in a devilish smile to shows rows of stained teeth.

“Fear me.”

Fire swirled up from his belly, tickling and pleasantly warming his throat. He freed it, watched it catch the wooden roofs. Lick the beams and spread its destructive beauty.

Smaug spiraled down to see the fleeing mortals. A small one (hatchling?) craned her neck up at him, he curved around mid-air in a tight loop to hang above the human hatchling.

“Boo.”

The fire engulfed her, she screamed and fell to the ground, writing as her skin peeled off to expose dried white bones. A cloth toy fell abandoned on the ground.

More.

A relatively large human compared to the human hatchling shook a sword at him. (Shaking swords does nothing, you have to poke something with them. Idiot.) Smaug laughed, deep within his throat and pierced the human’s head with a talon so that it burst like a recently killed donkey corpse, viscera, and blood splattering every which way. (He wasn’t hungry enough to eat a human)

Smaug looked up to see a phalanx of angry men advancing and angling pickaxes, swords, and spears towards him.

“Nothing can stop me!” Smaug roared and once more let loose a gout of flame that immediately incinerated the would-be-dragon slayers.

(He was just warming up.)

Dale-town was ridiculously easy to burn. (Remember, it was painful knowing some gold had melted, but this wasn’t the real prize)

Humans ran screaming through the streets.

Small ones stood alone, shivering, those he passed. (Not worth the hot air)

He had saved the large town hall for last. It had a large lookout affording a view that pitiful human eyes judged a distance that would give them a warning of impending danger. (Look where they are now, ha!)

Archers lined the sides, longbows nocked and ready to shoot at him. Besides thieves, archers were his most hated type of humans. (Pesky sticks destroyed the perfect sheen of his scales)

“Now!”

The archers released their arrows as one, Smaug laughed and let the sticks hit the underside of his wings where they bounced off the impervious scales. Time to burn this tower, watch it fall and crush the archers. Maybe he would be able to see one of them get impaled by their bow. (Irony, how he loved it)

A single man peeled off from the archers and ran below. (Coward.) He reappeared, lugging a crossbow and twisted cast-iron quarrels with him. (Fine, a fool.) Smaug caught an updraft from a nearby house that caved in, accompanied by two humans jumping out of a window clutching each other, (only he could fly) and rose higher into the air.

The first arrow went far, not even reaching a wickedly clawed foot.

“No one can beat me!”

The second glanced a spike at the tip of his left wing. (No more time to toy around. Shame.) As he opened his maw to end the human and move on to the real pest delving between him and the gold, the foolish archer shot an arrow that went much to straight.

An arrow that had too much force.

It hit his underbelly, enough to knock his pattern of wing -beats off for a brief, yet all too long a moment. (Oh no he didn’t) Smaug growled and knocked the quarrel out of his underbelly. To his horror, a single, beautiful scale came off too, falling into the ruins of Dale.

They were in for it now.

The rage came and overpowered him, no more toying, no more fun. He was Smaug the impermeable, Smaug the untouchable!

He incinerated that tower, those pesky archers and the foolish one who had dared to mar his skin.

“I am fire.”

Dale was destroyed, and he would scavenge it later. Now to claim the lives of the dwarves and their treasure as his own.

“I am death.”

READ THE REST ON AO3 

[aaymeirah-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[aaymeirah-writes]

SAF Fic: Out of Control

READ IT ON AO3 

Summary: Agent Curt Mega's mission was simple: Cozy up to some Russian weapons dealers by posing as a brash American looking to make some money on the sly by providing secure transportation for the 'items'.

He didn't realize Owen Carvour would be involved. (Not that he's complaining.)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: M/M

Fandom: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers

Relationship: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega

Additional Tags:  Owen Carvour, Agent Curt Mega, Spies, Undercover Missions, Missions Gone Wrong, Weapons, Gunshot Wounds, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fist Fights, Cold War, Pre-Canon, Emotionally Repressed, Banter

Words: 3820   Chapters: 3/3

Secret Satan (as run by the Spies are forever Discord server) gift for Imi.

[ukulelekatie]

You’ve heard of one shots, now get ready for none shots! It’s when you think of an idea for a fic and then don’t write it

[calenlily]

I Came Out to Have a Good Time and I’m Honestly Feeling So Attacked Right Now

[jewishbarbies]

*passionately thinks about story instead of writing it*

[aaymeirah-writes]

Angels & Demons & Slugs

(Written as a gift fic on ao3 for thehedonistspurge as part of the good omens summer gift exchange)

Summary: A fun little fic told from Warlock Dowling’s POV as he tries to understand the peculiar relationship between Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis. Ft. a slug infestation. 

-

Sometimes, it was like living with an angel and a demon on his shoulder. Warlock knew about this concept because Brother Francis made him read a book that had old illustrations of very unrealistic angels and demons whispering into people’s ears. Not that he really knew what angels and demons looked like, but what use are wings if they aren't even attached to your body? Stupid adults.

The book talked about the angel counseling good, and the demon counseling bad, always fighting for dominance. This was exactly like Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis. Case in point; yesterday Brother Francis told him he should ignore those stupid kids mom made him visit who taunted him for still having a Nanny at nine years old while Nanny Ashtoreth grew angry and helped him devise a plan of revenge involving silly string, a few paperclips, and a leaf-blower.  

There was a problem with this theory of his though. The angel and the demon were supposed to hate each other. And while Nanny and Brother Francis sniped at each other, they never actually acted like they hated each other. Warlock knew this because he hated schoolwork, and he did anything to avoid it. On the other hand, Nanny and Brother Francis,were always glancing at each other and whispering when they thought he couldn’t see. C’mon, he was nine, not stupid!  

However, the strangest proof to his theory was that Brother Francis always seemed to say the exact opposite of what Nanny Ashtoreth told him and Nanny Ashtoreth did the same. They never even had a real chance to talk to each other, because they were both busy during the day and Warlock knew that everybody went to bed at 9 pm. He did. It was only fair.  

Maybe all gardeners and Nannies were like this.  

“Watch out for that slug my boy,” Brother Francis put a hand on his shoulder, which caused him to pull up short, break out of his musings and look with disgust at the slimy creature that was just about to be crushed under his boot.  

“Ew.”

“We must love all God’s creatures. Yes, even the ones whose outward appearance is off-putting.”

“But slugs are pests!”

“That doesn’t mean we have to kill them. Besides, you’ll get your boot all covered in guts.”

“Whatever,” Warlock muttered, continuing to walk beside Brother Francis as they toured the gardens he knew so well.

“Here is another slug. See? It’s only eating the leaf, not harming you at all,” Brother Francis smiled toothily at Warlock. Warlock decided to give him his best sullen glare. For all that Brother Francis seemed to fulfill the angelic role, he didn’t seem to trust that Warlock wouldn’t just ignore the gross and slimy thing like an angel who was supposed to see the best in people should.  

-

“School is canceled for the day,” said Nanny Ashtoreth as she swept into the room in a swirl of black skirts. Warlock looked up from the paper he was happily drawing army tanks on, the kind he imagined his Dad used when he went into the dangerous territory of something called troubled political waters. Warlock didn’t exactly know what that meant, but he did know that it sounded really cool.  

“Why?” Warlock asked.

“We are going on a slug extermination mission. Time to get rid of those blighters,” Nanny said.

“But Brother Francis said to leave them alone, they aren’t hurting anybody,”

“Anybody being the keyword. The slugs are hurting the plants,” Nanny scowled, “Brother Francis is sometimes too nice for his own good. I’m tired of seeing that slug infestation destroy the perfectly lovely gardens out there. So come on, put on your jacket.” When Warlock continued to sit there staring at her, she sighed.  

“Or would you rather stay inside and do schoolwork?” Nanny had Warlock there.

“So, how do we kill them?” Warlock asked Nanny with interest as she led the way to the big kitchen.

“We’re going to create and set out slug removal traps, and if you see any slugs, you’ll spray them with a special slug killing solution,” Nanny replied, smiling at Warlock from behind her glasses.  

“Awesome.”

As Warlock watched Nanny commandeer the kitchen to put together saucers and containers of cornmeal or milk or beer, he decided that she looked to be filled with demonic glee. This was another example of suspiciously going directly against Brother Francis’s counsels. Maybe this was their version of fighting- through battling over slugs.  

“Warlock, get me the mister bottles,” Nanny said as she took a generous swig from the beer bottle before grimacing and glaring at it. He got up and found two nice blue-green ones.

“Will these ones work?” he asked. Nanny Ashtoreth glared at him.

“Warlock, you’re the Antichrist. Believe they will work and they will.”  Warlock looked at the bottles in his hands.  

“They do work?” To demonstrate he sprayed the one that had a small amount of tepid water in it.

“Just give me them little-demon child,” Nanny said with exasperation, somewhat ruining the effect by ruffling his hair at the same time.  

“Hey! Not the hair,” Warlock groaned.

-

“15 slugs for me!” Warlock crowed, holding up a dead one just sprayed with the ammonia mixture from his gloved hands. This was so much more fun than school!

“I’m taking the long way around by planting these traps,” Nany said as a pitiful excuse for only having killed one.

“Hey! Another one.” Warlock tossed the dead slug into the bucket and lunged to spray it. He missed and fell face-first into the dirt. Ow. This was gross. He raised his head to see a pair of muddy boots belonging to Brother Francis. Now it was embarrassing as well.

“Are you alright my boy?” he asked kindly, offering a hand to pull him up. Warlock scowled, he didn’t need any help!

“Yes. I’m fine,” brushing himself off, Warlock turned to see Nanny Ashtoreth watching him, holding a cup of beer and a shovel in the other hand, genuine smile on her face. For him or for  Brother Francis? He turned quickly to see Brother Francis looking at Nanny Ashtoreth, not at him in sympathy as he should be.

“What are you two doing in my garden?” Brother Francis asked curiously. Nanny drew herself up to address the hunched over gardener.

“Saving your garden from destruction by slug.”

“You’re killing them?” yelped Brother Francis.  

“Gotta make sure the pests don’t come back. It’s for the good of the plants.”

“So to save one thing, you’re killing another?” Brother Francis demanded. Not with anger as Warlock thought he would have, it was his garden after all, but with interest in Nanny Ashtoreth’s motivations.  

“You were the one who let the situation develop enough that hard choices had to be made.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“It’s nobody's really, but the slug infestation is a problem that needs to be dealt with.” Nanny lifted an eyebrow as she continued to stare at Brother Francis, ignoring Warlock and the new slug he had just severed with the metal head of the garden shovel.  

“I suppose I can see that.”

“You suppose! Angel I don’t-”

“Can we go inside now Nanny? My feet are all slimey,” Warlock whined. These two were spending entirely too much time in some weird unspoken conversation. Time they should be spending paying attention to him and all the slugs he had killed!  

“Of course dear,” Nanny sighed. “Brother Francis, I’ll leave the supplies here. Of course you must deal with things as you see fit, since you are the gardener”

“That sounds.. good,” Brother Francis looked disappointed for a moment before he smiled at Warlock.

“Have fun, my boy.” Warlock snorted. He was dirty and cold, killing slugs had lost its’ appeal and now he was even more confused about Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis.

“With what?”

“Life. The world. It won’t be around forever you know,” Brother Francis replied as he picked up the basket full of slug traps, “unless you do something about it.”  

“Okay,” shrugged Warlock “have fun with the slugs I guess.”  

“I- will.” Brother Francis said, managing to look only mildly disgusted with the brown creatures that had already congregated at a milk saucer by his feet.

-

His train-themed alarm clock said 11 pm when Warlock woke up from a deep sleep because of a sudden draft of cold air. Blearily looking around him, he saw that the window had blown open. Darn. Getting out of bed, Warlock decided to try to close it himself. After all, he was nine. He didn’t need his Nanny for every little thing. He took a moment to look out the window, then took another when he saw two familiar figures standing just beneath it talking quietly. A secret meeting, awesome! The thought that maybe Nanny had lied to him about everyone going to sleep at the same time came to him suddenly. But then again...this was the perfect time to practice his cool eavesdropping skills.

“Angel...I’ll just....oh thank you, my dear boy...miracle...slugs are little blighters...not my favorite of Her creations...actually, I think...Gabriel, really?” Disjointed words from Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth reached his ears then fell away as the two moved away from under the window and onto the path to Brother Francis’s cottage. Warlock yawned as he strained his ears to catch more. Nothing. There was really no point in listening further. He carefully closed the window and got back into bed.

As he drifted off to sleep, Warlock decided that even if Nanny called Brother Francis angel, even if they wanted him to do opposite things, even if they didn’t really seem to hate each other and quite rudely communicated silently over his head, he still liked them both. After all, the few other kids he’d played with didn’t have someone cool enough to help plan awesome revenge or someone nice enough to listen to him and never intentionally make him feel stupid. Maybe his theory was right after all.

Sleep claimed Warlock and he smiled as the musings were cast aside in favor of a dream of silly stringed revenge, crushed slugs and the comforting presence of an angel and a demon on his shoulders.

[ahotpeaceofshit]

[aaymeirah-writes]

Capri Telephone game 16 entry

(This was game #16 and played on the captive prince discord. Here is what I wrote for it. A slightly cracky AU featuring Damen and Laurent being bitter rivals and respective heirs to large Yogurt Companies. Bad pun warning.) 

It wasn’t every year that Akeilos Yogurts got to host Taste the Culture, an annual convention of yogurt and dairy lovers and makers from around the world. People came from far and wide to whichever specialty yogurt & dairy company was hosting, ready to sample new brand, blends and experimental curdling techniques. Damianos, heir to the entire company, knew that there was more to it than an exchange of yogurt recipes, he knew that this was really the opportunity for the large companies to scope out their competition and impress their competitors. Disguised by pretenses of friendship, bitter rivalries were carried on in the form of sabotage and rigged competitions.  

Damen had to admit, he didn’t quite like the whole sneaky rivalry part. Face to face challenges were more his thing. Give him an anonymous creator taste test, or some toss-the yogurt pie at your fellow heir over pulling the plug on fridges and bad mouthing your competitors any day.  

“Damen! I’ve got your sample booth now, you go scope out the competition,” Jokaste told him, swatting him playfully on the butt as she went behind the hinged counter. Her arms crossed on the table as she leaned forward, the better to display her well-endowed chest. Father insisted that even those high up in the Akeilos food chain work and interact with their customers. 

“What competition? We’re obviously the best,” Damen replied, reflecting idly that the neckline of Jokaste’s shirt had to be lower than was appropriate in some of those Union guidelines His father had him read. Not that he was complaining. 

“Darling, you know exactly what I mean,” she gestured languidly and significantly to the booths highlighted with blue awnings and flags. Much too excessive considering they were all indoors.  

“Right.” Damen sighed and put his hands in his pockets as he began to make his way through the press of people and vendors. It wasn’t easy, everybody and their cow wanted to speak to him; praising the quality of Akeilos yogurts or backhandedly insulting him under the guise of idle speculation about this year’s market prices in salted butter, all the conversations were just obstacles to his goal.  

Victorious Vere, easily their biggest competitor, was set up in a sprawl of ostentatious booths on the opposite side. Damen approached the closest one hesitantly. A folded paper sign on the corner said ‘Taste of Vere’ in fancy lettering and arrayed on the embroidered blue table cloth were paper cups of yogurt. Greek, no-fat, crunchy. The boy behind the booth looked at him suspiciously, fair enough, considering that he was the heir to Akeilos yogurt. His face was bound to be well-known to the yogurt & dairy community.  

“Do you want a sample?” the boy asked, gesturing to the cups.  

“Sure.” Damen did need a reason to be here after all. “Aren’t you a bit young to be working here?” he asked.  

“I’m practically an adult. Besides, I’m doing this as a favor to Laurent.” 

“Laurent!” Damen exclaimed, all the intel channels said that Victorious Vere’s best up and coming business manner was sick and unable to make it.  

“That’s me. And Nicaise, don’t make yourself out to be some great altruist. I’m paying you ridiculously to man my booth,” A familiar, clear voice came from behind Damen’s back. 

“Ah, but you are doing so so that I don’t cause trouble, which means that as long as I stay here, I'm doing you a nicely rewarded favor,” Nicaise retorted. Damen could only stand to the side and turn around in shock as his mind tried to process this turn of events. This beautiful, familiar face, turning to look at him indifferently. Shit. 

“Hello love,” Laurent smirked, “long time no see.” 

“Yes well, we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” Damen raised his hands and backed up against the booth, hating that his body language displayed so much nervousness, that he couldn't control his reaction to seeing Laurent once again. 

“We? You were the one who hospitalized my brother in a bar fight.” 

“Your lot started it when you used me to get the plans for the automatic churner.” 

“Just business Damen,” despite the cool tones his name was said in, Damen couldn't help but remember other, more pleasant circumstances in which Laurent said his name. Not the thing to be thinking about right now. 

“Hey guys? If you’re going to have some sort of drawn out ex-lover's quarrel, can you not do it in front of my booth. It’s bad for business,” Nicaise complained, not too subtly nudging the full tip jar he had set out. 

“Lovers?” Laurent demanded, affronted.  

“You’ve got it wrong,” Damen told Nicaise. The boy smirked when he saw the two of them suddenly united in their anger against him.  

“See? Already falling back into old ways.”  

“Just shut up and do your job. Or else- I won’t pay you,” Laurent threatened.  

“Exploiting a child? Laurent, how could you?” Damen asked dryly. Laurent’s cool and indifferent mask slipped just a bit to reveal a flash of genuine anger. Oops. 

“Watch your step Akeilos, you never know what can happen at a Yogurt convention,” Laurent snapped. 

“How very cultured of you Vere,” Damen retorted. With those ever so witty last words, he turned and walked away towards his side of the convention. Back at the booth, his phone vibrated with a notification for a text. 

10: 49 am Nikandros: WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM. LAURENT OF VICTORIOUS VERE IS HERE!  

10:50 am Damen: I KNOW.  

[aaymeirah-writes]

Capri Telephone game 15 entry

(This game was #15: Switcharoo and played on the captive prince discord where one member would write/draw something within an hour then pass it on the next to write/draw something based off of that prompt. Figured I might as well post my written part of the game.)

1st official Unification day-

“It’s tacky,” Laurent announced, standing at Damen’s side and observing the new commemorative statue of Damen and him, silver and golden, holding intertwined hands high and each planting a sword in the ground and to the side. Raised on a stone platform, it sparkled in the sun.

“Well, it obviously doesn’t do you justice,” Damen eyed Laurent significantly then gestured to the slim silver statue of him.

“Obviously.”

“Do you like it your Highnesses?” The master crafter who oversaw the production of this statue approached them cautiously.

“It’s lovely,” Damen told him, resisting the urge to elbow Laurent in the side when he snickered.

3rd official Unification day-

“When I told Vannes that she could arrange some celebration to commemorate the joining of Akeilos and Vere, I didn’t realize it would become a tradition,” Laurent grumbled good naturedly. Damen laughed fondly.

“Vannes and Nikandros pushed for this, in near complete agreement. How could we withstand?”

“Fair enough.” Hand in hand, they stepped before the silver and gold statue to officially open the celebrations.

5th official Unification day-

“It’s odd seeing so much celebration on a former battlefield,” Damen said cautiously. Over the years, the events at Marlas had hardened into a comfortable scar between them, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t still pull at odd moments.

“Indeed, but look at what we’ve done! Vere and Akeilos blending, slowly rejoining!” Laurent replied, for once slightly drunk. Whether it was from the free-flowing drink or the mad, festive atmosphere was open to debate.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“That horrid statue just got knocked over!”

“What, how?” Damen asked, puzzled. It was solid gold and silver, welded firmly to a stone base in turn planted in the hard-packed earth. Laurent merely smirked.

50th official Unification day-

“It is with bittersweet sadness, yet complete confidence in Our Heir that we officially abdicate and pass the throne to him. After his transition into power, we shall retire, confident that this Kingdom is in good hands.” The Kings of this Unified Kingdom announced. Silver haired and crinkle-skinned, they were still hale and clear-minded, so this decision came as a shock to those not in the know.

51st official Unification day-

“Do you think we made the right decision, giving the throne to August?” Damen asked, reclining with Laurent on a couch behind a curtain, giving them the illusion of privacy.

“He is a good man; he’ll lead the Kingdom well. Considering the sheer number of children you sired, this prevents a succession war. He’ll continue our good work.”

“You’re right of course,” Damen said, pulling Laurent into a one-armed hug. “Besides, this gives us more time to just be together.”

“And that was your main motivation to agreeing to this.”

“We most certainly aren't young anymore. And think of this, you only have to see that tacky statue of us once a year when we visit the capitol.” Laurent went silent in thought.

“I lied.”

“Oh?”

“I quite like that statue.”

“Really,” Damen stated, skeptical.

“I had a reputation to maintain!” Laurent protested. Damen laughed;

“Fair enough.” Laurent turned to look at Damen, this man who, against all expectations and fights in their early years, had found a lasting place in his heart.

“It doesn’t do you justice though.”

Damen kissed him. “Obviously,” he replied once they separated, “I think we’ve shown our faces enough for tonight, I can think of a few other things I’d rather be doing.”

“Things?” Laurent asked archly.

“You know exactly what I mean lover.”

600th official Unification day-

“Welcome to the long-standing tradition of Unification day. Today we celebrate the joining of two Kingdoms, Akeilos and Vere over six hundred years ago by King Damianos and King Laurent.  Their decision for peace between these two ancient nations has paved the way for Our glorious kingdom to become the strong, independent nation it is today.

“In honor of this milestone, this statue, made in the days of the Kings themselves, has been recovered and restored to its former glory. And as your Queen, I am proud to reveal it here at New Marlas Pavillion.” A cheer went up from the crowd of thousands as she pulled off a tarp to reveal a statue of two young mean in period clothing, silver and golden, holding intertwined hands high and each planting a sword in the ground and to the side. A cloth banner was draped over their arms, proclaiming the special, 600th celebration of Unification day.

“Let the celebrations begin!” the Queen said proudly. 

[aaymeirah-writes]

DO NOT LICK THE WALLS (honestly)

Summary: “Hey, Crowley, I dare you to lick the walls,” he said, just loud enough for the two file demons to hear and turn to look at him with interest. Crowley lowered his sunglasses just enough for his snake eyes to glare intimidatingly at the impudent Marquis. The damned soul merely continued to smile challengingly, uncowed.

Or, Crowley was the first to lick the walls of Hell. In his defense, the Marquis de Sade dared him to do so.

-

When it came down to it, Crowley found Hell rather boring. Sure, the dammed currently slated for torture wouldn’t think so, nor those demons tasked with doing the torturing. And the Princes of Hell certainly seemed to be if not content, then able to amuse themselves. But here in Hell, there were no susceptible humans to subvert through clever suggestions and ordinary frustrations. None of his favored possessions were here, and to top it off, the whole place was simply filthy.

Under usual circumstances, Crowley would have given his report on demonic affairs through the Hell-Earth communication channels or miracled a memo Below. This time was different, this time, his orders were to give his report on the new M25 in person. As such, he was left cooling his heels waiting for the demonic council of human temptations and enticements to convene and hear a report that would just leave the dark-age demons even more peeved than usual at him.

“Greetings Crowley,” a voice called. Crowley turned around from the crack in the wall he was staring at, trying to decide whether it looked like an ape or a nebula, to see one of the damned souls ambling towards him.

“Marquis de Sade,” Crowley acknowledged. He was a strange soul, that Marquis, and Crowley did not quite know what to think of him. They had met once when he was still alive. As per the Arrangement, Crowley was off to cure some inmate in the Asylum de Bicêtre of madness and had gotten sidetracked by the interesting conversation the Marquis provided.

“How are things up above?” the Marquis asked casually.

“The usual. Shouldn’t you be getting punished for your sins or something?”

“I am. The demons of Lust saw I was enjoying things too much and sent me away, just when their animal pets were getting into it!”

“I see.” The two of them stood side by side, staring at the moldy, filthy wall. Two lower-ranking file demons shuffled by. The Marquis de Sade smiled suddenly.

“Hey, Crowley, I dare you to lick the walls,” he said, just loud enough for the two file demons to hear and turn to look at him with interest. Crowley lowered his sunglasses just enough for his snake eyes to glare intimidatingly at the impudent Marquis. The damned soul merely continued to smile challengingly, uncowed.

“What’s the matter? You scared?” he taunted. Crowley made a noise of disgust.

“Of course not, I am, however, disgusted. Who the hell knows what is caked on the walls?”

“You’re a demon, you all love gross and base things! I have the experience,” the Marquis said with a hint of suggestiveness. What was Crowley supposed to do? Refuse a dare in front of witnesses? That would just be un-cool. Resolving to get it over with quickly, he walked to the wall and with a thought changed his human tongue to a long, forked one. With it, Crowley licked the wall. It was horrible, absolutely disgusting. The stench of unwashed bodies, dirt, mold, blood, and other substances combined and merged into a gut-twisting sensation of revulsion. He allowed himself a brief grimace before turning around casually and with hands opened wide said;

“That was easy. Why don’t you try?”

“Fair enough. I’ll even make my tongue solid.” The Marquis licked the wall as if he couldn’t taste anything at all on his temporarily corporal tongue. By this time a crowd of demons had gathered to watch the proceedings with curiosity. A perfectly demonic idea occurred to Crowley, and he turned to grin at the Marquis.

“I dare you all to lick the walls,” he told the watching demons challengingly. As even the demons who lived in their filth shied away from the suggestion, the Marquis caught on and laughed.

“What’s the matter, not demon enough to do it?” he said scornfully, echoing his previously effective taunt to Crowley. The fifty or so demons looked at one another. They had flocked here to be entertained, a rare thing in Hell, and they weren't so keen on being the entertainment themselves. A pig-snouted demon stepped forward.

“I’m not about to let some worthless damned human beat me.” He licked the wall, squealing with disgust a moment later. This was the straw that broke the camel's back, the chink in the dam, the crack in the ice, for all the demons began to fight for space to lick the walls of Hell. Crowley gave the Marquis a significant look and they distanced themselves from the violent mob.

“Good going with the taunt there,” said Crowley. He could acknowledge effective methods maturely!

“Nice idea to get the demons to lick the walls.”

“Misery loves company.” Crowley thought Aziraphale had said that once when they were both deep in their cups.

“Look at that one, with the ants crawling out of her eye sockets,” the Marquis pointed and Crowley saw that a demon was crawling on all fours to try to reach the wall. He snickered despite himself.

“I think that cat-eared one is rather enjoying it,” Crowley gestured to him as he licked the wall with relish, nearly plastered flat by others who wanted his spot. That was all it took for the Marquis to break out in helpless laughter, Crowley followed suit. This was certainly more interesting than staring at cracks in a wall.

“Crowley! What is the meaning of this?” Beelzebub came storming out of a conference room with flies buzzing in an angry cloud, and their small corporation quivering with anger. He stopped laughing abruptly.

“Got to run, I’ve got a flagellation session to attend,” the Marquis muttered before slipping through the crack in the wall that Crowley could now see was a pineapple.

“Um, they wanted to see what the walls tasted like?” he hazarded.

“Those idiots can barely file a request to punish of their own volition. Someone put the idea in their puny little brains.”

“Not me.”

“Right,” Beelzebub crossed their arms and started flatly at Crowley, “I’ll deal with you later.”

“Everybody! Do not lick the walls! I repeat, do not lick the walls!” The Power of a high-ranking demon imbued their words and the demons stopped as one.

“Leave now! Your shit-show of stupidity is over.” Crowley was decidedly not laughing now. As the demons dispersed, Beelzebub turned back to Crowley, who smiled sheepishly.

“Conference room. Now,” they commanded.

“What? I’m not in trouble? By the way, the Marquis de Sade started it.”

“Oh you are certainly in trouble, I am quite annoyed at you.

“Oops?”

“You are going to make posters for every wall in Hell and they will say; DO NOT LICK THE WALLS.” Internally, Crowley smirked. He had gotten off easy and had some fun! The proverbial smirk was wiped off his face when, as if reading his mind and determined to counter it, Beelzebub continued.

“Furthermore, you will have to hang them up yourself," they paused to let the embarrassing prospect sink in. "Are we clear?”

Already planning how to rope the Marquis de Sade into his punishment, Crowley nodded morosely.