Silly crack idea
The Book Of Life threat is a half empty one. Yes they absolutely would LOVE to write people out of that book don’t get me wrong, they just,,,,cant find it.
You see someone or other misplaced it somewhere around The Beginning and it’s not like the angels are just going to tell people that their Big Bad Threat doesn’t exist, so they don’t. At this point it’s been so long since anyone saw The Book Of Life that if they did happen to see it, well they probably wouldn’t realise they did at all and instead think “oh what an extra large book with all these blank pages! This could really be useful.”
So you may be wondering where The Book Of Life has ended up.
At his desk, Aziraphale opens up a book he’s had for well…however long he’s known Crowley he supposes.
“Dear Diary, last week Crowley and I…”
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I hope the Anon who put the “Sirius and James raise Teddy” thought in my inbox earlier is happy with themselves, I have thought of literally nothing else all afternoon. And I have actual writing deadlines I’m supposed to be working on tonight, but nooooooooooo, I guess I’m just gonna stare at a wall and think about Sirius and James bringing up their dead friend’s baby.
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source of my joy
Relationship: Astarion/Lae'zel
Length: 394 words
read on ao3 / part of my zhak (source) collection of astarion/lae'zel fics
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In thousands of years she will return, on a red dragon, her people free, their voices rising up against the tide of the Astral Sea to sing her as liberator, savior, Mother.
And in thousands of years he will kiss her again, and it will all be worth it.
She will return in thousands of years. And in those years kingdoms will fall and rise, holy wars and civil disputes alike, and yet Baldur’s Gate will stand, welcoming to adventurers and scoundrels all.
In thousands of years he will explore every inch of Faerûn, read every book, learn every language, and still there will be years where there is nothing for him to do but wait. Remember her eyes, her touch, the way that the sunrise over the Gate’s harbor washed her face in happiness. In thousands of years his companions - his friends , all illithid touched at one point and all yet saved by her Prince’s hand - will die. He will bury their bodies, and mourn their memories, and write memoirs about their lives, no matter how boring they came to be after defeating the Absolute. He will re-read them to remember a bit of himself, when he feels lost in wine and darkness, and he feels the cold of his heart all the more for it.
But in thousands of years she will return, on a red dragon, her people free, their voices rising up against the tide of the Astral Sea to sing her as liberator, savior, Mother.
And when she returns, she comes at night, slipping through the Astral Sea down to the plains surrounding Baldur’s Gate on her fearsome wyrm. The stars are bright as they welcome her back to Faerûn, Astarion watching as she lands gracefully, no different than she was thousands of years ago. But her eyes are older, and he thinks his probably are too.
She is monumental, silver sword glinting against her hip, her back straight and tall, her full regalia reminding him he is in the presence of a demigod.
She runs to him across the grassy plain, and he catches her in his arms. She is so warm, and he feels a deep, longing ache and thudding in his chest at the sight of her. He puts her down only so he can cup her cheeks with his hands and look at her face, drink in every feature, every scrape and scar and new wrinkle.
“ Zhak vo’n’fynh duj ,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from disuse and the foreign sounds.
And then, she smiles , “You have been practicing.”
In thousands of years he will kiss her again, and it will all be worth it.
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