Cupirr
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(A rewrite of my 2017 Persephone Hades AU fic)
Once long ago, sat a mountain only reachable by those deemed worthy. Gods among men. Legend says only those who could surpass her many trials or the gods themselves could rest foot upon her ground. Only those who could navigate treacherous seas, cross withered deserts, battle the mightiest monsters, and climb her rocky peak would be able to bear witness to what lay above the clouds. Mount Olympus. Home of the gods.
Bookmarked by Cupirr
28 Aug 2023
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A sweet triplet for Halloween lovers. Three unrelated stories which do not occur in the Le Toucher Doux universe. Enjoy!
Bookmarked by Cupirr
23 Apr 2023
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I've been challenged to post a work that is a) less than one thousand words and b) has not been edited for longer than a week. I worked this up today and it's at 997 words, so I win.
Collide is a one-word prompt (my shortest yet- I'm not a short story person). There are a lot of themes from the book A Hero of Our Time.
Does anyone else get nervous about posting less-edited works? I'm sweating bullets. Please enjoy!
Bookmarked by Cupirr
23 Apr 2023
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The sun had risen, but the night hadn’t ended. It had stayed with him, laid beside his marrow where the memory could creep into his foremost thoughts when he was weakest, when he was lonely, when he kicked off the sheets to the ghosts of fingers that had once bruised him. He hadn’t seen much of Ivan in over a year, and the discomfort between them was his own fault. That Russia had come to the party at all had been a gracious gesture.
The holiday-flavored continuation of the Toucher Doux storyline. Please note that from this point forward the events described deviate from cannon events; I will keep the characters as cannon as I'm able.
Bookmarked by Cupirr
23 Apr 2023
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England cannot count the number of times he and France have fallen into bed after battles, angry and biting and clawing and snapping. France is a destructive tendency himself, composed of a million of them - smoke and wine and sex. Somehow, when he puts his hands on England’s waist, it does not burn away the anger anymore. Somewhere along the way, maybe in the trenches or maybe afterwards, in that dark little room in Paris, France’s kisses turned sweet again, gentle along the lines of England’s jaw, his neck, his arms.
Or - France and England, 1066 to 1994.
Bookmarked by Cupirr
21 Apr 2023