Hey.. are you doing okay? I just noticed my bookmark was showing "mystery work", and I couldn't figure out what fic it was until I went to the Archive Collection. You "mysteried" ALL your fics? Are you ever going to make them public again? I just recently bookmarked "take care of your brother", so this is kinda sad. I have been reading your work for a long time and I appreciate it. Hope you're okay.
hey there, no worries, I’m doing ok! Currently I’m not sure what I’m going to do with these fics. I truly enjoy sharing my work, but it also stresses me out a lot. I’ve archived my fics before when stressed, but it’s not really a sustainable way for me to manage everything. I just need some time to figure things out. I want a more permanent solution to the way I feel.
Lot was screaming over a pile of salt, screaming so loud and primal that it bounced off the hills cradling their little party, crossed over itself, and reverberated through the sky. That was what birds or dragons might hear—or bats, their little radar dish ears trembling with it—but all Lilith heard was a man, crying.
His hands kept grasping at the salt, only for it to rain back down through the gaps in his shaking fingers. It must have been like losing her again—it made his wails all the louder. He was pressing salt to his lips for one final, briny kiss. His tears were running down his face and into his hands and into the salt and clumping it up, and he was pushing it together as if he could sculpt his wife that way. Snot and spit and saltwater dripped into the ground.
“Ado,” he cried. Lilith amended her thoughts—not the wife, but Ado. She would remember that name. Quieter, “Ado,” then a cry of despair and rage ripped itself out of his throat. “Ado, please!”
One of Lot’s daughters fell upon his shoulders, clutching him, begging him to get up and go with them, away from the salt, away from the pillar of smoke rising up from Sodom. “No,” he cried. He shrugged her off and scooped a handful of salt up again. “No, get off me, girl, Ado, come back…”
“What a shame.”
Asmodeus, next to her, had his gaze fixed firmly on the cities—their still-warm corpses, the wreckage. His face looked paler for the streak of ash over his chin. His eyes met Lilith’s, and he shrugged, gesturing in the direction of Sodom. “We spend all that time on it, and then…”
Behind him, Lot retched, howled, and he flinched.
“You should leave here,” Lilith said, taking pity on him. Sweet Asmodeus, leading an entire city merrily down the road to its death, yet afraid to look at a husband crying for his wife, who he had loved. “There are angels about tonight—go home. Go to Lucifer,” she added dryly.
She wasn't afraid of angels. She had been born human, was still human, so they ought not harm her—and should they try regardless, Lucifer would come bursting out of the earth's crust, teeth bared to eat them whole.
Asmodeus smiled wanly and kissed her cheek, then with a rush of air he was gone. She didn't know it then, but she wouldn't see him for another thousand years.
Lilith shook her hair out—there were fallen embers searing her scalp—and wrapped her headscarf tighter about her shoulders and neck. Then she went and knelt by the side of Lot’s daughter, joined her in pressing her hand to his shoulders.
“Come now,” she said firmly. “Ado is gone, but you can live. Your daughters are here. I am here.” She caught the eye of the second girl, a young, trembling lamb, with a cloth bag slung around her body, and beckoned her over.
It was not Ado’s fault, Lilith thought, scooping the woman's earthly remains into a child’s satchel whilst her husband sat staring at his salt-stained hands. His little daughters were around Lilith like moths, picking up snowy white clumps of mother and laying her reverently in the bag. She had looked back. So what? Lilith often found herself thinking of Eden. Everyone had roots, and some ran deeper than others.
“To Zoar, then,” she said to the children, shaking herself out of her reverie. "That is closest, I think?"
"Yes," said one of the girls, the first. Her sister leant over and hissed furiously at her, and she blushed. "Yes, miss, I mean."
Neither of them questioned her. Smart girls, in this case... or stupid, in others. But Lilith did not want to think of them that way. She felt that they had all three formed a bond through their work, as they gathered Ado up with their hands, falling into a rhythm—one of them holding the bag open, the other two gathering, taking turns to tip the salt in. It felt good to be relied upon, and to rely on others in turn. Even if only for a few moments.
"I will accompany you," she told her fellow worker-women. Their father was plainly in no condition to keep them safe. "Get him up."
The two of them rushed to their father to pull him to his feet—he leant on them heavily. Lot had been youthful the night before the city burnt, chubby and happy and bright eyed. Now he looked a century old.
Lilith saw them through the night to the village, and watched from just outside as Lot’s two girls led him past the low walls. There was a woman kneeling by a well in the centre square, who looked up, took in the soot and smoke clinging to the three of them, and rushed to them with a cry; it roused the rest of the village, who poked their heads out of windows and doors and stables, and then they all came swarming out with concern. Bread and washcloths and water came with them; new, clean clothes; a little kitten for one of the girls to hold, to calm her trembling hands as they led her inside.
They would be safe now. Lilith backed away to leave, but the remaining girl looked up as she did. Her eyes were glassy with tears—after a moment she raised a tiny hand in farewell, and Lilith raised hers back and dipped her head.
Look at me, she thought to Eve, as she walked back into the dunes. I care for your great great great granddaughters, your wretched, grieving grandsons.
nsfw extremely shameless this is for that one anon who asked + my two ao3 commenters. Don’t look at me.
Dunk kissed him roughly and messily, fisting his hand in Aerion’s hair; his princeling made a high, whining noise against his mouth, and then they descended into a mess of spit and tongues and teeth. Aerion bit down on his lip, his mouth hot against Dunk’s, his nose squashed against his, and Dunk pulled him closer so his body, too, was pressed up against him. He was smaller than Dunk, and light, easy to pick up and toss around and manoeuvre as he pleased, so Dunk did just that. Before long Aerion was rocking against his thigh, stiff and wanting and desperate. Every time he caught his breath, quiet moans would escape him, muffled in their still-devouring kisses.
“Can you be good?” Dunk asked him, his voice low, not inches from his face.
“Yes,” Aerion panted, clawing at his arm and the back of his neck, “yes, please, I will be—”
He was remarkably easy. Dunk rolled them over and pressed his thigh down between Aerion’s legs, where he wanted it, and watched his head thunk back against the ground and expose his pale neck, his mouth twisting in pleasure. His hips moved, desperate.
Dunk didn’t let him savour it for long. He pulled Aerion forward by his hair again and kissed him bruisingly, then to the side, kissing and biting his neck and making him shudder. Aerion kept moving his hips, little aborted motions that went nowhere, because he wasn’t strong enough to move Dunk an inch—they kept on like that until Aerion was gasping and his eyes were teary and full of fury. “Do it,” he kept saying, “finish it, you oaf, I need—oh, like that—”
Dunk caught his waistband and pulled his trousers down to his knees—Aerion didn’t even make a sharp comment, just lifted his hips and watched with his mouth slightly open as Dunk sat up on his knees and pulled himself out. “Please,” he said again, his voice thick.
“Please what?” Dunk asked, stroking himself once, twice, feeling his stomach drop. Aerion watched him, near salivating from what Dunk could tell, his eyes huge.
“That,” said Aerion. “Come here. Don’t just make me watch, I want that—I want you—”
“I could make you suck it,” Dunk said viciously. He didn’t know where it was coming from—he’d never spoken to anyone like this in his life, he hadn’t even known he could, it felt like some malign spirit had him in his grip but he knew that wasn’t true—it was all him. “Would you like that? My prince?”
He barely knew what he was saying, but they must be the right words, because Aerion was wiping drool from his chin with his sleeve and looking up at him like a dog begging. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, let me—no,” he snapped, regaining himself for a split second, “of course not. Come here and give me what I want.” But his pupils were blown with desire, his cock heavy and twitching and leaking a thick trail.
Dunk wasn’t going to put his mouth on him, and whatever had possessed him hadn’t told him how to fuck a man, so there was only one thing for it. He pulled Aerion up and kept going so he fell into his lap, straddling him, then spat on his palm and gripped both of them tightly with one hand so their cocks slid together, slick with spit and seed. He might have teased Aerion more, but he was close, had been close since he’d first touched himself, embarrassingly, and he could feel it, a savage, desperate thing low in his belly—so instead he set a punishing pace, so fast that the clearing was filled with slick, wet sounds and his wrist began to ache immediately.
Aerion was gasping and moaning, it was all Dunk could hear—he knew he was too, but he could only recognise it dimly, so focused was he on the prince in his lap—Aerion’s nails were digging into Dunk’s neck and shoulders, and then he was sobbing instead, crying out and jerking and shaking as he spilt over Dunk’s hand, making noises that could only be described as sinful.
Dunk wasn’t finished yet, but it didn’t take long, one, two, three more hard pulls, with Aerion squirming against him, and then the tension that had built in him snapped like a wire and he bucked up and shouted, trying to muffle it in Aerion’s silken hair as he came—he smelt of citrus, and beneath that smoke, and sweat. Aerion was crying, big shiny tracks down his cheeks, tears spilling from his eyes. His hands raked Dunk’s arms ineffectually. “It’s too much,” he kept saying, “it’s too much, stop—”
Dunk’s hand fell away at once. He would have been ashamed, and was in a moment, but in that second he could feel nothing but satisfied.
Aerion, spared further torment, collapsed bonelessly against him. His legs were shaking terribly, and his face pressed into Dunk’s shoulder, dampness seeping through the fabric. “Am I good?” he said deliriously. “Was I good enough?”
I’ve broken him, thought Dunk. He used one hand to prop himself up and rested the other on Aerion’s back, fingers splayed between his shoulderblades, pressed a lingering kiss to his hair. “You are,” he murmured, rough. “Good boy.” Aerion made a pleased little noise at the words. “Good boy. Come here.”
Aerion couldn’t have gotten much closer, but he did make an effort, clutching at Dunk and curling into him a bit, his breath hitching. Dunk rubbed his back. The lust filled haze was wearing off, but he didn’t feel ashamed, or even wrong—he mainly felt triumphant, having finally found a leash that Aerion wouldn’t slip, and if that involved kissing a prince, even one this disagreeable, who was he to complain?
Aerion’s sniffles tapered off eventually. Dunk kissed his hair again and he hissed like an angry cat, his usual sunny personality returning. He’d gone still and tense with embarrassment.
“Come on,” Dunk said, sparing him. “Let’s go get cleaned up, and then we can see about getting to sleep. It’s late.”
I fainted earlier and fell on my legs wrong and now one foot has a broken toe, and the other leg can't bear weight (muscles are strained I think. they didn't x-ray that one)
my job is very hands on/manual labour & patient safety and the hospital doctor told me none of that for a month. I can't even stand by myself, I have to be hauled up, so I definitely can't work 12 hour shifts without sitting down once and I can't help elderly people walk by using my arm as a crutch
so I'm out of work for a month. I can be frugal if needs be so I'm aiming to get 700ish for bills and food and such. I'll beta read for anyone who wants that - I'm going to be stuck on a chair with nothing to do for a while. please gimme a reblog, it helps!
3. Time travel isekai alternate dimension (now you’re getting a bit greedy)
4. babykuna fanfiction (kinda weird because why do I have baby fever for an evil adult man, feels almost like I’m trying to perform harmful gender roles)
5. Adorable tiger hybrid (new thing I decided I want to write. I have no idea where this compulsion comes from but imagine an adorable tiger hybrid cruelly captured by humans but don’t worry big tiger dad is coming to save the day. Similar to 4. But cute animals)
“ASMODEUS,” Lucifer said to me one day, as we stood on the edge of the abyss, staring out at the storm-swept edge of the first ring, “how far would you go, for me?”
He was the closest to unsure he had ever been, in those days after the fall—perhaps he was afraid that consequence would chase us off. Not me.
“I fell out of Heaven for you,” I said. It’s thought that demons lie, and that is true, in large part, but not to Lucifer. In the absence of God he was all we had, our chosen, self-made king. It would be blasphemy.
“Oh?” he asked, and one large red eye regarded me, one of his great draconic heads swung around to look closer. “Not for our glorious revolution? Liberté, égalité, fraternité?” His voice was full of cheer.
Let it not be said that I was a cynic. I had believed in our lèse-majesté as much as any of us. There was always something about Heaven that was uncomfortable, that made me feel like a cat being stroked the wrong way—it stuck my hair on end. It was too bright for me. But would I have thrown my lot in with the rebels so instantly if they had instead been led by Michael, Raphael, or Gabriel, Ramiel or Uriel, Sariel or Raguel?
I knew what the answer was. It had always been Lucifer’s inflaming speeches and arresting beauty, his simmering unhappiness, the way the light refracted from his wings; his smile, turned up mischievously at the corners like a cat; the way he remembered everyones name, even the lowliest principality; his stories and songs and bright voice, his gentleness when alone and easy confidence before a crowd. He had looked at me, and seen me, and whispered, close to my ear, “join me.”
I was entranced, ensnared, enchanted. Even before we fell, I had committed a cardinal sin: I loved him more than God.
I didn’t want to tell him this. His regard was everything to me, as I said. The thought of his cheerful mouth turning to a sneer or his eyes filling with disinterest as I revealed the depths of my reverence was a thought so painful I could feel it. It was my secret, that I loved him in a way the rest of his legions didn’t, that I had said yes to him because I wanted to see his eyes light up with joy and triumph, that I wanted to stick it to Heaven less than I wanted to be by his side forever, and ever, and after that too.
“I would do it all again,” I replied, dragging my words out hesitantly. I didn’t want to lie to him—and besides, he was king of lies, and would hear it—so this had to be phrased delicately. Threaded down the middle.
Eventually I decided how. He hadn’t looked away, but had waited patiently for me, watching in silence. “You were our revolution,” I answered. “I couldn’t have fallen if it were any other in your place, because they would never have been there. I would go to the depths of this place for you, I would go back to heaven if you so pleased, I would petrify myself here for a thousand years. I would even go to Earth.”
Earth was currently marching in the final, triumphant years of the great Jurassic parade. It was filled with vast deserts of dust, lush rainforests, fathomless oceans, the future Jurassic coast of Britain waiting for fossils to sink into the silt. Somewhere on earth packs of compsognathus chittered to each other over the sound of the rain. Janenschia bellowed trees down. A pair of plesiosaurs twined their necks together. An allosaurus raised its head and lightning split the sky behind it.
Man had not yet been placed in Eden, but that would come later.
“All I ask,” I said to Lucifer, on that cliff, “is that you don’t send me from your side.”
The king of all demons did not answer for a long time. He stretched languidly, part snake part lion, and arched all his many necks. Eventually he said, “Heaven is lost to us, by Their decree and the taint of this place. We—you—would burn. I would not ask you to go back there.”
“But you would ask me to go elsewhere.”
“I would ask that you join my counsel,” said Lucifer idly, examining one claw with sixty six smoldering eyes. “Mammon, Beelzebub, Leviathan, Astaroth, Belphegor, myself—Astarte did not survive the flames.”
One in three of us had. I bowed my heads, all eight. Astarte had been bright and rigid, a solid bulwark of light, and as we began to pitch from Heaven he had struck out with his spear and cleaved one of Raphael’s wings in two. He had not been someone of many words, but he had drawn last blood, and that commanded respect.
“Seven of us,” I realised, “for seven circles.”
“Or seven archangels,” Lucifer replied darkly. “But you have the shape of it. Claim one as your own—I would not ask you to stay there. Only oversee it, when you must, and then return to Pandemonium.” Part of his lip lifted in a sly grin, exposing thousands of teeth. “By my side.”
He rapped his wing finger against the bedrock.
“I mean to alight on earth soon,” he continued. “Once bitten, but we will not be twice shy. I mean to take my piece of Eden. Get my claws into the grand plan, rummage around a bit, if you will. I need those I can trust to rule in my name. You are one of them.”
He had never needed to persuade me. He had never needed to offer me anything at all—I was his man then, and now, and always. But he held out his esteem and trust, and as it washed over me it felt almost like the light of Heaven.
