#and add a tiny bit of lore to it too

[arolesbianism]

Was going to do some oni file digging but got too distracted playing the actual video game. Anyways look at her <3

[luludeluluramblings]

Bruce Wayne's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader - Revised

A/N: I honestly have no idea where this came from. I just wanted to revise it and then I spiraled. I'm just trying to keep the creative juices flowing and attempted to add dialogue. Next thing I know, I wrote this. Maybe it's the on coming fall? Fall is my time of year. Still might make some more revisions to this and other's. Especially if I keep putting off the main story.

A/N: Consider this a test of me adding more lore to Reader. It'll help Smalltown make sense when we get there in the next two parts. Or, at least I hope it will.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Link to Original

Yandere Type: Platonic Father

Reader’s Momma is Adeline

Reader’s step-father, Daddy, is Samuel

Bruce was obsessed with Reader as soon as he saw the little bitty picture of them in that tiny hospital crib. And, for a while, that single picture was all he had of them. 

Imagine the surprise he felt to come back for a six month long mission off planet to find out that the brief relationship he had with a woman from outside of Gotham had produced something. 

He’ll admit, he hadn’t been that careful with Adeline. She was a gorgeous and charming woman, with just a hint of a wild side. She had been just a bit too sweet for his taste. Sweet enough he wasn’t too concerned about any lasting consequences. She had been quite understanding when he had ended things. Perhaps a bit too understanding. 

He had to find out through court papers that sweet Adeline had actually been more his type than he expected. Bruce didn’t expect her to even have a bitter side. But, apparently, she could be petty and spiteful, and had some damn good lawyers. 

Bruce hadn’t expected to get Adeline pregnant. He understands how it happened, and he made sure to lecture both Jason and Dick about being cautious after the whole ordeal, but he hadn’t expected it. And, he most certainly hadn’t expected Adeline to keep the whole thing under wraps before filing for full custody with no child support or visitation. 

To say Bruce was pissed was an understatement. The Wayne lawyers had dropped the ball on this matter, and subsequently been fired. They had wrongly assumed this was some revenge publicity stunt, and that Reader probably wasn’t his. 

But, he saw that little picture. That sweet face laying in the hospital cradle. Those were his mother’s eyes on that little baby. His mother’s eyes. 

Of course, Bruce tried to do damage control. Claiming he hadn’t known about the court date (which was true). But, Adeline had some damn good lawyers and had made sure to do all the court procedures out of state and out of his circle of influence. 

He did manage to get one thing. The DNA test. Not because he doubted that Reader wasn’t his. But, so Adeline couldn’t win completely. She could remarry. She could leave the birth certificate blank. She could fill their child’s head with lies about him. But, that child was his. His baby. 

Naturally, the results came back with absolute certainty. Reader was his. And, he had to fight himself to not drag Adeline back to court. 

Hell, he had debated on proposing to her. Forcing her to marry him. He was willing. Adeline was sweet and gentle, and this side of her, despite how much it was pissing him off, was quite attractive. The pettiness, the cunning, the protectiveness, weren’t exactly turn offs for him. 

Luckily, Alfred had pointed out to him that he was being irrational. Sure, it wouldn’t have been the worst idea he had, but Bruce wasn’t going to give up being Batman. Not at this time. Not yet. 

Would he really be able to handle a newborn and a pissed off wife on top of Gotham’s crime? What if something happened to them in Gotham? What if history repeats itself once more? 

Reasonable and both unreasonable questions. 

That being stated, Bruce concluded it would be best to let Reader grow up outside of Gotham. He couldn’t give up being Batman for them, but he could at least let them grow up without Gotham’s smog sinking into their bones and marrow. 

Not to say Bruce didn’t just let Reader linger in the back of his mind as a spare thought. He thought about them often. But, he was always careful. 

His enemies grew bolder and more numerous every year. 

Bruce had resigned himself to one day a year to dedicate all his time to checking on Reader. One day where he would hack anything and everything for information about his child. Adeline’s phone and social media for pictures of Reader. Milestone updates for Reader’s pediatrician. Preschool footage to see his child toddle around and make friends. Researching those friends and their parents to make sure his child was safe. One single day a year.

He nearly lost it when he found out Adeline had met another man and introduced him to Reader. It enraged him further to see the wedding pictures. To see this man holding his child in his arms with such a loving smile and pressing a kiss to their cheek while holding Adeline in his arms. 

He had done background check after background check into this man, Samuel. As much as Batman and Bruce Wayne could without arousing suspicion. 

And, he was clean. A good ol’ boy. Focused on family and minding his business. And, he was good at business.

Samuel owned a massive regional construction company. Not as wealthy nor diverse as Wayne Enterprises, but stable and steady. He had a secure income, not a negative thing written about him ever. In fact, if Bruce had met the man under different circumstances he probably would appreciate Samuel’s practicality. 

But, his first introduction to this man was from watching a video that Adeline had filmed of Reader having a birthday party. Of Reader making a wish, blowing out the candles on their birthday cake. 

“What did you wish for, baby?” He could hear Adeline’s voice in his mind. A warm loving voice that was the prelude to his heartbreaking. 

“I wanna little brother!” Bruce watches as a sweet grin forms on a frosting covered face, every time. He’s watched this video over and over. Memorizing the words. Memorizing the smile. Memorizing the sprinkles on the half eaten cake.

“Oh? What if you get a little sister?” 

“Nah, it’ll be a brother. I know it.”

“And, how do you know it, sweetpea?”

“Cause last year I wished for a Daddy and now I got one.” 

Those words are what breaks Bruce every time. Every single time. 

It should have been him being called that.

That was his child. That was his baby. He loves them. He’s done so much to keep his distance. To keep them safe. 

Now, he’s resigned to watch as another man treasures his most precious thing. Probably the only innocent thing that will ever come from his existence. 

Alfred had a hard time convincing him that this was for the best. That he needed to let it go. 

Until now, he had accepted that it was necessary. Gotham needs Batman. For a moment he was ready to give it up.

But, then Jason died. (Temporarily.) Something broke when that happened. Bruce realized if Gotham could take Jason, it would’ve taken Reader, too. 

So, even though he hates it. Even though he is so bitterly jealous of Samuel, living a peaceful life with his child. Even though he would do almost anything to hear his child call him Daddy. He keeps being Batman. 

He has to at this point. Gotham took his family, and he won’t let it take anymore. Not ever again.

[misshuntereevee]

take what the water gave me. / part one.

Synopsis: You (one of the reincarnations of mc) are returning to your home on the coastline for the first time in (x) months. You end up falling into a cave at the beach, with a hidden pool that turns you into a mermaid. Not too far away -- is the God of the Sea Rafayel himself, watching it all unfold.

Notes: I basically was like: what if I took the concept of H20: Just add water, and throw in Rafayel and his lore from LADS. Like legit. That's the concept. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ I have more ideas that I want to explore, including how they get close. Hope my fellow Rafayel enjoyers have fun -`♡´- word count: 1.4k Comments, reblogs, and likes are encouraged but not mandatory. Enjoy the ride - mostly because I'm not beta read.

The lull of the bay is something you’d never thought you’d miss when you left home the first time. But right now, you kick your feet off the side of the pier, watching the water ripple underneath you.

And for a moment, just a moment, you could have sworn you saw a glowing flash of purple in the water — but you glance at the full moon and realize it’s probably just that.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life, but now I’m seeing things?” You murmur to yourself. With a shake of your head, you stand to head over to the stretch of beach you haven’t visited in years.

While you walk, you do the things you haven’t since you were younger. Back when the coastline actually felt like home. You collect seashells, count your footsteps in the stand — and you giggle when a crab peeks out at you only to pop its head back down into the sand — or scurry into the waves.

Unbeknownst to you, there were a purple set of eyes curiously watching you as you play along the shore. Finally, footsteps lead you to a secluded cave. The entrance is tiny — untouched for a while apparently. You’re not sure you’d fit.

“I almost forgot this one was here,” you murmur. “I mostly remember the ones from the islands.” But something seems off about the cove — different under the glow of the full moon. You’d never had interest in the cave before, so you almost walk away.

Go on.

Something urges you to look closer, stepping toward the entrance. Suddenly, the ground shifts — you feel your feel catch air and you’re falling into the cave. You don’t even have time to hold onto anything — only letting out a small scream as you fall in.

Once inside the area, you have no idea how the hell you’re going to get back up. The entrance is on the ceiling, and you’re not even agile to begin with.

Before losing yourself to utter panic, you begin to look around the cave. Your eyebrows furrow together as you see there is a small pool in the heart of the cave.

The water is crystal clear — unlike the beach, it doesn’t seem bogged down with signs of pollution. It’s all different shades, reflecting off the small bit of light peaking through a hole in pool. Blues, purples, greens. Tiny schools of fish playfully swim around the edges.

“Things are so much prettier when humanity doesn’t touch them,” you whisper to the water. Somewhere below the surface, a pair of purple hues seem pleased by your statements.

The moon had not been fully over the center of the pool yet, but as it did — everything as you knew it began to change. The light of the full moon illuminates the pool as it begins to bubble. The ripple of the water only interests you more as you step closer to the water’s edge.

That’s when a trance of sorts seems to fall over you. As the full light of the moon shines down, your thoughts become overtaken by the water. How beautiful it is. Your fingers reach out, touching the bubbling surface. The perfect temperature. Everything about it seems to be… calling you.

You don’t even take any clothes off before you jump in. You don’t remember even making the decision to jump in. But as you do — you realize it. No - you feel it. You’re changing.

The bubbles seem to move as an entity — moving from the surface to ghosting over every inch of your body. It’s the more fierce at your legs — it feels as if your legs are being pushed and shoved into each other.

But the whole time, you’re still in a trance — until the moon passes by in full, and its light leaves. As your senses start to turn back on, you realize with striking clarity that something is different.

You have a fucking mermaid tail.

You screech and fail in the water, unable to figure out how to stay a float. You grew up on the coast line, you knew how to swim but this was different! Not to mention, unexpected.

Your head falls below water as you sink with your tail, unable to figure it out. You expect to struggle to breathe — already panicking and clawing at your throat when you realize.

You can still breathe down here too.

Before you can freak out anymore, the purple eyes below you decide to no longer be a witness. A wrist shoots out, encapsulating yours and you are pulled back up to the surface.

“What’s happening?!” You scream as you flail.

“Calm down, panicking will only make you tired,” a voice comes. Strong and sure — yet innately playful. A voice you want to trust. But you can't see who it belongs to yet.

“Who-who are you?!” You manage to force out, but you let yourself be held to the surface, afraid of going under again.

“Relax, and I’ll tell you. But you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep flailing, you know,” he says. He helps you to the side of the pool, letting you hold onto until you get your bearings.

You take a few deep breaths as you grip onto the rocky surface of the edge of the pool. You steal a glance at your savior — and it takes your breath away.

Purple hair falls in his face, over blue and purple hued eyes. They look like the embodiment of the ocean itself. His features are soft -- but also as sharp as a dagger. You can't explain it. He looks like a playful young man -- but also like he's older than you could possibly guess. Mature. But your eyes trail down and down until you see his tail.

And then yours.

“You’re a mermaid,” you breathe out.

He chuckles and it sounds like pure music. Why is it such a beautiful noise? “Kind of.”

“I’m… I’m a mermaid?!” You babble out.

“Oh, yeah. You see the tail,” he points out. “My name’s Rafayel, by the way, cutie.”

You’re still processing for an extra second before you manage to spit out your name. "What the fuck is happening?"

“Wellllllll, here’s the thing. You got into the pool under the full moon. So you got the mermaid curse… oooooooh,” he says, trying to sound spooky at the end.

You look at him as if he grew an extra head. “Right. Still in shock,” he says. Under his breath he mutters:

“This would be the first time you’ve turned yourself into a mermaid, cutie.”

“Huh?” You say, unable to make out what he said.

“Nothing, nothing,” he says. “But would you like me to explain what I know?”

You turn to look at him. For a moment, you wonder why he looks so familiar. The eyes, as beautiful as the are, they are still familiar —

“You’re Rafayel the artist!” You exclaim.

“Yuppp. That’s me,” he says with a smirk you recognize him — even if it’s just the version the rest of the world knows too. (He’ll fix that though. Give him time.)

You take a deep breath. “Okay, then — explain.”

He gestures to the opening above the pool. “Legend says when the full moon passes over the opening, who ever is in the water will be transformed—.”

“So I’m stuck like this?!” You nearly shriek.

“Would you let me finish?” He says, almost amused. You huff before nodding.

“When you’re dry, you’ll be in your human form. When you touch water — you will take your mermaid form. Boom. That's the mermaid curse.” He says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Oh,” you say, absolutely dumbfounded. Because how do you respond to that? “So if I get out now and dry off…?”

“Your legs will come back. But I wouldn’t do that. I don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out that way. Your beeesst bet…” He taps his chin in faux thought, his eyes glimmering. “Would be to follow me down through the underwater passageway and to my harbor. It’s private and you can dry off.”

You look terrified, and it makes him chuckle. “Come on, trust me. I’ve been doing this wayyy longer than you.” Then a pause, and his eyes get dead serious. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

You bite your lip at the intensity of Rafayel's words. “And you can explain more?”

Rafayel grins. “Then I can explain more.” He offers you his hand, waiting before taking you under. There’s a whole new world underneath the surface, and you aren’t sure if you’re brave enough at first. But you look in his eyes.

You can tell so many things just by looking into them. There’s a promise and a dare there. “Okay -- fine, Mr. Rafayel.” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Take it away.”

“You. I’m taking you away,” he murmurs -- before plunging you both into the water below.

[spacebuggorez]

Spooky Uzi (Normal forme)

I designed her Eldritch form a while ago but I hated it so I threw it away, I will update on her Eldritch design later once I find one I like most.

I forgot to add the height of the characters. Here's it!

| Uzi - 4'6 (normal form) - 100'0 (Eldritch centipede) | V - 9'0 | N - 7'0 | J - 11'0 | Cyn - 4'4 (post-Mercyful Massacre) - 5"5 (Cynessa) - 30'0 (ANGELIC form) | The Absolute Solver - 6'0 (normal form) and 300'0 (True form) | Tessa - 4'9 (teen) and 5'6 (adult) |

Edit: someone noticed my mistake of confusing " and ', I went back and fixed it haha

A tiny bit of lore of The Yellow Eldritch Angels below here >:3c]

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Dear Father... I beg you to listen to me. They say my hands are too sharp and big for a drone. My eyes are not supposed to be red, they don't glow intensely like drones'. I don't bleed oil like worker drones, instead I bleed scarlet. I have organs and flesh instead of gears and wires. I'm sorry. I don't meant to murder my classmates. I can't stop this thing inside me. I can feel it growing inside me. Taking my program over. Slowly. I can hear its whispers, telling me to consume everything. Father, I beg that you disassemble me before it uses me as a vessel. I don't want to hurt anyone. Please. ... I can't. I can't kill my own family. I will not lose my daughter. Not to this goddamned parasite. I will find a cure for it and kill this fucking monster whose it so called itself "The God". I will insert my doors into those morons up if they decide to do anything with you. Hell, I will even fight God to just protect you. I would do anything to protect you. Everything will be okay, my child. I promise.

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Sooo how do y'all feel about my writing attempt?

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[casual-praxis]

More of the genderbent witch au doodles!

Blue and Shadow bicker whenever they cross paths, but even despite that, they seem to have fun with it.

Perhaps they have more in common than they realize. :)

Blue, Green, and Red all have placeholder designs here, but I’m working on ironing out the details. They capture the basics at least.

More rambling below the cut as per usual.

Expanding on the lore a lil, I now have an idea for a silly low stakes story involving this colorful cast! So here’s a bit of character info.

Red and Green are sisters, though they aren’t twins like Vio and Shadow. Green’s older by about a year, though this doesn’t come up very often.

The two of them grew up together in a small village with their mother—also a witch—and were visited by their father—a knight—every now and again. They have a good relationship with both, and have divided interests related to both parents paths.

Blue is their childhood friend who also comes from a lineage of witches, though unlike Red and Green, she doesn’t get along with that side of her family. She still uses magic, but doesn’t go out of her way to practice it. She actually dislikes most other witches, hence the bickering with Shadow.

The three of them all run a magic shop together on the outskirts of town, where the village folk almost regularly visit in order to receive help on various magical mishaps. Their town is very accident prone. Somehow.

Green excels with enchantments. She likes weapons and maintaining them, especially if she can put weird buffs on them. Despite this affinity, combat magic is not her strong suit. She’d rather hold a sword than rely on casting. She’ll still put on a few magic rings though. They’re shiny, and add +10 charisma.

Blue is great with dispelling hexes, as well as healing if need be. She doesn’t have strong magic reserves like some others, but that doesn’t get in her way very often. She likely would have left their town to become a knight if she weren’t so worried about the town succumbing to its own bad luck. The magic shop keeps her busy at least. Never a dull moment around there. Especially not when the forest witches come into town.

Red has the most magic potential, but the least control over it. She usually just sticks to potion brewing, since that’s easier to manage, though every now and again she’ll give casting a go. One of her more recent attempts accidentally charmed a small witch hat to her hair, and while it can be removed, it seems to magnetize to her if she gets too close again. At least that attempt didn’t blow up.

Shadow and Vio are the aforementioned forest witches. They moved into a cottage in the woods just outside the village, and are seen as competition for the trio’s magic shop.

Shadow doesn’t trust other witches, but she wouldn’t outright attack one for no reason—so aimless bickering it is. She actually looks forward to seeing Blue, if only because she’s fun to rile up. No other reason, she’d assure you. :)

Vio is Vio. She forages, she fights, she flirts with Red. A simple life is all she wants to lead, and ignoring all the romantic tension between everyone else, she’s basically got it.

I’ll see what I can do about that story idea I had. Unfortunately my adhd reaaally doesn’t want to cooperate when I’m writing, so it’ll be an uphill battle. I’ll do my best though. This AU has been a nice refresher.

Bonus:

Red and her tiny hat.

[colettebronte]

She Rings Like a Bell Through the Night: Chapter 6

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Pairing: Vampire!Anthony Bridgerton x Witch!fem Reader

Summary: The Witch takes the Protector up on his offer with intriguing results. Goodbyes are said and a spell is cast that will have repercussions throughout time

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+ for the overall fic. Specific to this chapter: a graphic (but not gross) depiction of blood drinking, a bit of sensuality, more shaky vampire lore and Anthony Bridgerton levels of sads

Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: Here we are at the longest chapter so far. Please do enjoy! Thank you as always to @fayes-fics for being the best beta reader 🫶❤️

The Witching Hour, Somewhere in Rural England, 1695

You release your pendant along with the breath you’re holding as you speak. “I’m ready to drink your blood.” 

Anthony blinks and then stares deeply into your eyes. “You are certain?”

You nod and then he lets go of your hand to stand up. You can only watch as he starts to pace across the floor. “This need not be completely unpleasant for you,” he muses, and then adds, “Perhaps I can get a goblet and put some of my blood in it.”

“Anthony, that is not necessary,” you attempt to interject, but he persists with his monologue, completely ignoring you as he continues to wind around the room.

“Surely I can mix it with some wine or mulled cider so that you will barely taste it.”

While moved by his care for your comfort, you would rather just get the task over with. You stand and intercept Anthony, placing one hand on his wrist and the other on his cheek. He stares at you wild-eyed before he heaves a sigh, allowing you to pull him back to sit beside you on the bed. Once he’s settled in, his back against the pillows, you take up his wrist with both hands and move it towards his mouth.

“I believe you must make the appropriate openings for me to drink,” you say softly.

His eyes widen. Slightly panicked, he asks, “You wish to drink from me like this? Right now?”

You nod again and place his wrist against his lips. Anthony heaves a deep breath and then extends his fangs to bite into his flesh. Two small, neat dots of blood well up next to his pulse point as he holds his arm out towards you. “I’ll let you know when you may stop,” he murmurs.

Taking a deep breath, you brush a hand over your pendant and then lean in to seal your mouth over Anthony’s wrist. Closing your eyes, you hear Anthony sigh as you take a first, careful lick. You expect the familiar tangy, metallic taste that comes with sucking a finger after pricking it whilst sewing, but the taste you get from Anthony’s blood is something altogether different.

His blood is sweet, like a rich, fermented fruit and as you take slow, measured sips from his wrist you start to feel muddled, just like the time you accidentally drank too much of your grandfather’s May wine.

Everything feels hazy and mellowed around you, your contact with Anthony the only thing mooring you in place. After what feels like forever, through a fog, you hear Anthony say, “That’s enough, My Heart.”

Time seems to slow down as you release his wrist and watch him brush his tongue over the tiny holes. You stare in fascination as his wrist comes away from his mouth and the blood has disappeared, the skin completely healed over. You feel a faint throbbing in your own wrist where earlier Anthony had drank from you but when you look down, there is nothing amiss.

Anthony leans in and you slowly blink to keep him in focus. He smiles gently and guides you back until you’re lying down. “I suppose you feel intoxicated, my clever little witch.”

You nod lazily and then bring your hand up over your face and giggle as you wiggle your fingers. Anthony merely shakes his head, eyes shining with amusement.

“The feeling will pass once your body adjusts to my blood. Lay down and rest for a while. When you awaken, you should feel like yourself again.”

Closing your eyes, you reach out to grasp his hand. “Don’t leave me, please.”

You feel Anthony settle in beside you. A moment later, you are ensconced in his arms. As you slide into sleep you hear him murmur, “I won’t leave you. It’s not time yet.”

**********

You awaken sometime later, still in Anthony’s warm embrace. You carefully reach up to brush an errant strand of hair off his forehead. He stirs at your touch and then he’s blinking awake, smiling when he sees you. The fond look in his eyes brings a warm flutter to your chest.

Releasing you, he stretches and asks, “How do you feel?”

You sit up and are relieved that the fuzzy, fizzy feeling from earlier is gone. In its place you feel refreshed. It’s as if you are a new person. And in a way, you suppose, you are.

“I feel very much like myself, only,” you pause to try to put a word to how you feel before landing on, “Improved.”

Anthony nods. “That makes sense. Any ailments or previous injuries you had are healed.”

Curious, you look at your left palm. When you were young, an accident with a paring knife had left you with a scar near your thumb. You huff out a small laugh as you see it’s no longer there. There are no words that come to mind that can adequately express your thanks, so you push aside the blanket to jump onto Anthony, who lets out an “Ooooooof,” in surprise.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lean in to capture his lips, sighing into his mouth as his tongue mingles with yours. Anthony puts his arms around you and then he’s rolling over so that you’re under him. He pulls back and you're struck by how young he looks in the candlelight. You think of how young he was when he was first forced to come to the cottage.

You run a hand down the exposed part of his chest and ask, “What is it you desire?”

Anthony smiles sharply. “Right now, you”.

You smile back but slide out from under him. Anthony sits up, a questioning look on his handsome face. You sit up and take his hand in yours. “What I mean is, you’ve just given me the two things I’ve wanted most. What is it that you wish for?”

Anthony scrubs his free hand down his face. “ I don’t have any wishes,” he says quietly. “I just exist here.”

His words make you incredibly sad. You reach up and cup his cheek. “You deserve so much more than that.”

Anthony heaves a world-weary sigh. “The things I would wish for, sadly, no matter how powerful you become, are not things you can give me. But if I do allow myself to think of them, well, first, I would like to see all of my family back here together again.”

You drop your hand from his face to hold his other hand, bending down to kiss his palm. “I think that’s a wonderful thing to wish for. Is there anything else?”

Anthony shakes his head but then relents, saying, “I would wish to see a sunrise again and feel its rays upon my face. It used to be my favorite sensation in the world.” He notes the puzzlement on your face and explains, “When my kind are young, we are able to move around in the daylight. The day I discovered I was too old to do it safely anymore was a sad one indeed.”

Your heart breaks for him. Perhaps there is a spell in your Book of Shadows that could help him. But to find out, you’d have to retrieve it from its hiding place. You release Anthony’s hands.

“I need to go back to the village,” you tell him.

Anthony sighs, “I suppose it’s time, isn’t it? Daybreak will be happening soon and I must end the spell that is keeping the village hidden before then.” He helps you to stand and walks over to the trousseau. “Please help yourself to anything in here. They’re clothes left behind by my sisters before they departed and I’m sure you’ll find something that fits you.”

As you sort through the chest, Anthony rummages around underneath the bed until he produces an intricately carved wooden box.  Once you pick out a lovely pale blue dress that, despite its age, is still in pristine condition and fits you perfectly, you turn to see Anthony tying up a large leather pouch.

Once finished with his task, he presses it into your hands. “There are more than enough coins in here for you to go wherever you like. If you use it wisely, you will have plenty left for food and shelter for a few years,” he says softly.

Something in your stomach drops. Trying to keep your voice even, you ask, “Why does this feel like goodbye?”

Anthony sighs. “Because it is, my sweet, clever witch. Once I lead you back to the village, you won’t be able to come back.” Anthony pauses as he notices the tears at the corners of your eyes. He reaches up to gently brush them away with his thumbs and then kisses your cheek. “It is not because I don’t want you here. I only have enough power left to break the concealment spell around the village. The one that hides the cottage will have to remain in place.”

Without a thought, you hold your wrist out to him. “Do you want more of my blood? Please, take what you need.”

Anthony smiles softly and entwines his fingers with yours. “My Heart, I have taken all the blood from you that I intend to. But I do appreciate the offer.” The finality of his tone and words brook no further argument.

You can only nod as hand in hand, he leads you out of the room and back upstairs and then, after bundling you up in his cloak and lighting a lantern, out the door and into the damp, pre-dawn air.

There is just a hint of pink leaking out of the bottom of the horizon as you walk silently. If Anthony is bothered by how tightly you’re gripping his hand, he makes no comment. When you at last reach the bridge, Anthony stops and hands you the lantern.

“Stand back please,” he murmurs and you do as he asks. He raises his hands in the air as he recites words far too quickly for you to discern what they are and then you’re staring in wonder as bright, orange light shoots out from his fingertips and arcs through the sky to land somewhere in the distance, beyond the bridge. After a moment, you can see orange flames rising high in the air.

Alarmed, you start to move toward the bridge, but Anthony holds you back from behind with a gentle arm around your shoulders. “It’s all right,” he says into your ear, his breath warm on your cheek. “The fire is merely burning the spell away, there will be no physical damage. In truth, no one other than you or I can even see the flames. Not that anyone is awake at this hour.”

And you realize, he’s right. No one will be waiting for you. None have ever returned from a visit to The Protector. You shake your head at how naive you were in your assumptions as to why that was when your evening began versus the truths you know now. It’s difficult to put into words all the things you want to say to this man who has so thoroughly changed your life over the course of just one night.

Softly, you ask, “We shall never see each other again, will we?”

Anthony sighs in your ear. “I’m afraid not. I must stay here and you have a very long and exciting life ahead of you.”

You turn in his arms and tug him down for a fierce kiss. When you break apart, you pull him down so his forehead rests against yours. “I shall never forget you Anthony Bridgerton,” you whisper.

“Nor I you, my sweet, beautiful, clever witch.”

Anthony releases you and with a kiss to your fingertips, he offers you one final regretful smile before turning and disappearing back into the darkness. You swallow a sob and take a moment to compose yourself before turning around and beginning the walk across the bridge and back to the village.

It’s not long before you reach the other side and come to the lake beside the village. You stare in awe as you can see the flames from Anthony’s spell beginning to wane. Though it appears that the trees are alight, as you walk closer you can see that the foliage is untouched as the very air shimmers in the fire. Unable to help yourself, you slip off your cloak and shoes and holding your skirt up, step into the water. It’s warm from the residual heat of the magical fire. You only wade in up to your knees, watching in fascination as the flames go from orange to blue, before fizzling out into white smoke, only for that too to disappear without a trace.

As the sun begins to peak over the horizon, you step out of the water and make your way back to the village for one purpose only: to retrieve your Book of Shadows.

You pass by the first building where you see the village through new eyes. Everything seems so much smaller and dingier than you remember from just the day before. You make your way to your book’s hiding place, safe in the knowledge that it’s still too early to encounter anyone.

And then you approach the centerpiece of the village, the statue of Lord Edmund. You run a hand over the weather-worn stone before bending down to the thick patch of lilacs that grow at the base. It’s always been strange to you that despite the season, they’re always there, forever in brilliant purple and green, always a stark contrast to the gray and brown tones of the rest of the village. You reach down into the flowers and after a moment spent searching, pull out the well-worn brown leather satchel that holds your Book of Shadows.

Unbuckling the heavy metal that keeps it secure, you sigh in relief to see the book within is safe and untouched. You gaze up at the sky and determine you have a little while longer until the village wakes so you pull open your book and begin to flip through the pages and pages of spells written down by your ancestors, searching for . . . . something. 

After a few moments, you find something that may just work and smile, turning to look up at Lord Edmund. “I hope you won’t mind, Sir,” you tell his faded, stone features. You grasp your pendant with one hand as you hold the heavy book in the other, taking care to recite the words written down before you with care. It’s a fairly long spell and you can only hope you’re powerful enough to cast it. A thought occurs to you and releasing your pendant, you take hold of Lord Edmund’s boot and something flows through you, seeming to amplify your power. Glancing up at him, you add the final words to mark the spell as yours. “I humbly call upon the Lady of Light to aid me in bringing together the Bridgerton family. Please allow them to reunite in love and peace.” Closing your eyes, you slowly breathe in and out, putting your intent out into the ether.

After a moment, you open your eyes and after securing your Book of Shadows back into the satchel, along with the sack of coins from Anthony, you take one last look at the village and the statue of Lord Edmund before turning and heading back to the bridge and out into the great wide world.

 Anthony Bridgerton gave you a great number of things the night before, chief among them, the gift of a long life. It’s time to start living it.

Next Chapter

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @hottytoddyhistory @laniec03 @sky0401 @queenofmean14 @jtheteenagewitch

[dearest-painter]

Great! Could you do Yandere Headcanons for Lion from R6?

ARFARFARFARFARAFATFARFARFARFARF! YESYWYSYWSYEYZYEYS! I love Lion and Doc (who I call Medic because I’m fucking stupid! :P) plus some others!!!

somewhat gorey things, Purposely ambiguous relationship so you pick, unhealthy behavior, abusive behavior, toxic behavior, Tried not to make any lore for Y/N so you can insert your oc into it!, tell me if I need to add anything else

- Lion first tries to refuse it at first, hide it, and even deny it. He refuses to believe that he’s obsessing over another operator yet..the more he spends time with you, the more he can’t deny it

- Protective. He becomes protective quick. Going on a mission? Lion is coming. Going into town? What a coincidence, he needs more toothpaste! You’re never alone again

- Paranoid of others, doesn’t trust them and believes they’re going to take you away from him

- On missions, oh he’s hella protective. Checking in on you and even beating the shit out of the enemy if they aim a weapon at you!

- Tries to seem normal around you so you don’t distant yourself from him

- He isn’t sure to introduce you to Alexis because of their awkward relationship…but he does ask Claire for help (platonic or romantic advice) so that he doesn’t mess this up

- Will he attack the other operators for you?…maybe…probably…depends. We’ll see!

- You’re not allowed near Doc, fully fucking believes that if he does Doc will poison you against him so he HAS to be near

- Pretty tame Yandere…IF you don’t figure out and just go with the flow, if you figure out he’s breaking your legs and locking you up in his room because he refuses to lose you

- A tiny bit delusional but in the ‘they’re wearing my favorite colors! It’s a sign we’re meant to be lovers/family’ type of shit, nothing too serious

[rockybloo]

Could you expand a bit on how Jack and Nana's interactions with Romulus and Remus involve social commentary? Really curious to hear about that.

Heads up because this is a long one

Jack has a big fat crush on Nana, who is basically a Lupine (specifically she is half human and half Lupine) which is among many magical races on Lore that have a messy history with humans (because humans have bad history starting shit with any race that ain't the mundane in Lore)

Lore isn't the same hostile place it was eons ago BUT there are still some humans out there who feel uneasy with nonhuman beings.

Nana's mother doesn't see Jack as a good fit for her daughter and views him as a bad influence since, after they became friends, Nana has become somewhat more adventurous. Nana's mother is slightly paranoid about the world and the dangers it contains for the more magically inclined. And she doesn't think Jack is careful enough in how he navigates it for him to be around her daughter.

Romulus and Remus have encountered many of hostile humans in their lives. Way more than Nana, because they are VISIBLY Lupines (and they also are older and have traveled many different places). They don't have cloaks to hide their ears and they are not small at all. They are actually among two of the tallest OCs in Beanstalked since Lupines are naturally very tall. It's just that Nana lost the gamble of life and came out tiny.

It's partially because of her small size that the Big Bad Wolf Brothers are worried about her wondering around with the Fabled Five. She thankfully hasn't encountered much hostility save for when her father died protecting her. Her dad was also VISIBLY a Lupine.

Romulus is the biggest voice of concern and he also isn't too fond of Jack, believing him too weak to protect Nana. And as far as Romulus cares, Jack is just a human. Yeah he's Bookmarked, and Bookmarked face some scrutiny from some that believe they are bad omens, and he has fangs, and his eyes go green sometimes, but he's human compared to Nana.

He's magically inclined but he's not immediately VISIBLE like Nana when she takes her cloak off. And he definitely ain't as visible as Romulus and Remus.

Remus doesn't mind Jack and is willing to help him when it comes to learning more about Lupines. He tends to bump heads with his brother about Jack...which adds on to Romulus not completely vibing with Jack.

Jack does his best because he loves Nana and wants to keep her safe and happy. He works to learn more about her and Lupines in general as well as other magical races in Lore.

He is Bookmarked and a Slayer, but these are things he is learning in real time throughout the entirety of Beanstalked. He lived a relatively sheltered life on a farm in an area where there isn't any fear of magically inclined beings, so he doesn't know the danger or hostility that Nana, Romulus and Remus know. And he probably wouldn't have ever learned it if he stayed put on the farm even after revealing he's Bookmarked because, AGAIN, the area he lives in is chill when it comes to magical beings.

And boy didn't even grow up knowing he was a Slayer, which LITERALLY ran on his dad's side of the family, so that's a whole magically inclined side of him he has to reconnect to that will be a wee bit of a struggle for...reasons (spoiler reasons). It's also a side that his mother purposely hid from him because she wanted to keep him safe.

So he's much more optimistic about Lore compared to those three. Remus is also an optimist but it's more so just because of his personality and not a lack of experience. Jack is optimistic because he came in late to the game.

SO YEAH -- I accidentally did something here. I might have sprinkled a little bit of personal experience in there because I tend to prefer writing from what I myself know.

But there's def something there. 👁️👁️

[cruyuu]

It's actually crazy how I keep getting more and more convinced Yuuji and Sukuna are in love, when I first started shipping them I just thought their hatred for each other was interesting and could potentially lead to love but I figured I'd have to stick to fanfictions for that, but Gege just keeps making their relationship more and more sus?

This week alone with the Wasuke as the twin reveal (which might not change the actually plot but it definitely changes my reading of the story by a lot) and then dropping the Sukuita dance art, where they're holding hands while Yuuji looks so overjoyed to be in his arms and Sukuna, the tsundere that he is, looks upset but continues to hold Yuuji close anyway AND the "abominable righteousness. a steadfast anchor for the soul" quote right next to them??? That's clearly meant to be Sukuna's true feelings about Yuuji since the other cards were all words spoken to Yuuji by Gojo, Nanami, and Choso respectively. But- I have no words, this is as close to canon Sukuita as I think Shounen Jump would ever allow lmfao.

This is the most unexpected ship of mine that's received so much canon content, I'd expect this from some of my more vanilla ships but Sukuita??? Insane.

Hi anon!

The effect of Sukuna and Yuuji is the more you pay attention to them, the more you'll grow to like them (and start shipping them). These two have an interesting relationship no matter how you look at it (or them in general). It's true that they're subtle but then, they're also extremely loud (what the fuck was Shinjuku arc even about like they've spent more time caressing each other than fighting) and it's true that, in the beginning, there was little content but good content nonetheless. If you ask me, it was extremely sus even back then because why was Sukuna so amused by Yuuji? Why was he out there making Binding Vows's not to hurt people (someone who enjoys killing, mind you) just to get control of his body? The same Sukuna who slices people to bits if they raise their head in his presence (what he did to Jogo and those girls)... ?? Just what.

But now that we've reached the end... we have enough content to last us a lifetime and convince us that these two are certainly not in a platonic relationship. I, too, found them interesting at the beginning (more about all of that in a different post! I have to answer one anon.) but wasn't expecting anything even if I realized, as we kept progressing further and further into the plot, just how valuable these two are to it and how tied in are to the entirety of the story. Sure, jjk has a lot of other characters, but Sukuna and Yuuji stole the show in the end and went out with a bang. Not only did Yuuji change the unchangable but Sukuna and him! Danced! This is even funnier when you know what the epilogue was trying to hint at which puts even more emphasis on how their relationship is clearly not one of enemies and neither of friends.

Gege always had something more to say when it comes to these two, which also adds to the whole "hey I do think these two are... definitely something". They won't add just a tiny piece of content, but would rather drop some mind-numbing, plot-changing lore about them. The fact that they first dropped the Wasuke and Sukuna sharing souls plot point and then dropped official art of them dancing is hilarious to me. Like it's always something big, something huge! Whenever it's something about these two, you know damn well it won't be insignificant and that Gege will deliver.

"abominable righteousness. a steadfast anchor for the soul" quote right next to them??? That's clearly meant to be Sukuna's true feelings about Yuuji since the other cards were all words spoken to Yuuji by Gojo, Nanami, and Choso respectively.

Oh, don't even get me started on that, anon. I already ranted my friends' ears off about how that quote is insane. Yuuji is somebody who Sukuna used to see as insignificant but now he's finally not stubborn enough to admit that yes... all that hate wasn't really hate. There's admiration there. There's "I'll always have you".

I mean, it's pretty clear to anyone who followed this manga that Sukuna doesn't really hate Yuuji. If he did, all of this wouldn't have happened and would've been different lmfao. What we did lack tho was his opinion on him. His actual, truthful opinion. Sukuna loves to lie after all and loves to pretend he doesn't care when in fact he does... very much so.

And yes, anon. This is as close to canon we can get. They're tied to each other, forever in love and Yuuji even promised his forever to him, to be there even if the world wouldn't accept him. That's fucking insane genuinely. It awfully sounds like a marriage proposal because saying that to someone you lowkey used to ignore and despise *checks notes* a couple of months ago is baffling. Why would you promise someone to walk by their side forever, even if the entire world is against them? Come on now. There's no platonic explanation for that.

[coeursye]

The strange union of Lucerys Velaryon and Aemond Targaryen resulted in the birth of a brood of perfectly handsome sons and perfectly beautiful daughters.

You can read the fic about them on ao3

Meet them down below ⬇️

Aemion is the dependable, friendly and oblivious eldest child of Lucerys and Aemond. He deeply loves all of his siblings and has a tendency to acts as if he was their mother. Aemion is sweet, always cheerful and rather charming.

Contrary to his eldest twin, Aeryn is shy and melancholic, he seems to always be in the clouds and likes to isolate himself. He’s pretty reserved unless he’s with Aemion, who he adores perhaps just a little bit too much.

Valaena is a rather calm and collected young girl although she is quite cold, judgemental and sardonic. She is fiercely protective of Lucerys and will not tolerate any kind of disrespect toward him. There’s no one who could be more proud to be a Targaryen than Valaena.

Unlike her sisters, Calyx is not known for being a great beauty but rather for her remarkable intelligence and prowess in archery. Adventurous, she loves to explore news horizons with her dragon. She has little regard for her youngest twin, Baelon, and mostly ignores him.

Prideful, fearful, arrogant and short-tempered, his personality doesn’t make Baelon particularly popular among his siblings. Despite his overall unpleasant demeanor, Baelon’s intelligence is undeniable and extremely praised, though it seems to only add to his already inflated ego.

Maegelle is sweet, at least that’s what she wants everyone to think. She is delighted whenever she gets to tease her older brother Baelon and more often than not gets into arguments with him. Maegelle enjoys singing the songs she wrote as Baelon and Valaena play the lute and the harp for her. She admires and is way more than fond of Valaena but unfortunately for her, it doesn’t seems to be reciprocal.

Saelyna is the eldest triplet of Osferth and Rhaegar. She is quite rubbish, clumsy and overall a very funny little girl but she’s unfortunately not the smartest. For there is absolutely nothing going on inside her head.

Calm and docile, Osferth is a sweet kid with a sweet tooth. While he doesn’t have a dragon himself, he loves takings care of the dragons of his siblings. He is very fond of his sickly little brother Maelor and often sneak in his chambers to take care of him and keep him company.

(Will add the portrait later)

Rhaegar was the youngest triplet of Saelyna and Osferth. He was the only child who looked exactly like Lucerys. The babe unfortunately passed away before his first moon, which deeply devastated Aemond and Luke.

Lucerys and Aemond were blessed with Maelor a few years after the loss of their babe, Rhaegar, and after multiple miscarriages. Sadly, he was born weak, tiny and very sickly with dragon scales on different part of his body. Rarely allowed to go outside, he spend most of his time alone in his chambers with his little dragon, Pythios.

Gael is a little girl who despite her very young age is quite energetic. She likes to run around and cause mischief.

And that’s it, for now. I hope you guys will enjoy all the pics, fics and lores about them that I’ll post in the future!!

[kingtheghast]

Hi!

Where's a good place to start reading through the Space Opera au posts? Is chronological order through the tag on your blog alright/is there a masterpost? (from what I've seen it looks super interesting!!)

Also! What inspired it? I'm curious

thanks!

Hi! I'm so sorry for the late ask but- Well. We (and by that I mean all the people involved in the au) got a bit too excited over your ask and just decided to make an entire power point presentation, idea of @riacte (thank you Ria I adore you).

This will be our masterpost too so hopefully we're able to keep up to date and gather more of the countless documents we've got with lore and such, and arrange them into here. The posts in my blog are not really in chronological order, and most of the recent art I've got are meant to be like random screenshot of random boring scenes, which intentionally adds nothing to the perception of chronological order- but that's where the story part of the power point comes in, that one's definetly in order!

In the spopera power point aka the spowerpoint, we go in depth into the story of the au, each main character and a few of the other ones, the space racing sport made up for the story, planets and alien species, a few written publications in AO3, and the in-universe social media aspects.

Here's a very small preview of what's in the presentation; this is just a tiny snippet of the written premise we've got, so I absolutely recommend checking out the actual slide presentation. We're like, ridiculously proud of it and had a lot of fun.

As for what inspired this au, literally this single message sent by @jazzyjesse. It sort of sparked that "I love space" part of everyone's brain in the server and we just started to brainstorm immediately on top of it.

Thank you for the patience on this answer, hope you enjoy the presentation! As you can see from the message above this au is a few years old and it's quite beloved by all of the people involved, and having people ask about it makes us very happy. So thank you for the ask!

[cupcraft]

Ranboo rebrand stream important stuff in one single post!:

if anything i missed pls rb and add on!

chat etiquette! They are going to be more strict with this (but not for new chatters honest mistakes).

Ban 101 -> the number 1 rule:

racism, antisemitism, homophobia, transphobia, discrimination. Instant ban, no excuse. Even bigoted jokes! 0 tolerance! you will be banned from even viewing the streams. This even counts on doing it on other streamer's chats/platforms if found out!

More rules: be funny (please!) and chill and kind and use emotes (including BTTV), dont spam chat (will be fixed/enforced bc of past issues),

other tidbits/news:

the vtuber/stuff will evolve over time, there are different vtuber outfits/costumes planned (ex they have an mcc outfit already!), the room in the background will change, they will be reaching out to ppl for collabs (feel free to recommend people but do not spam their chats!), planning to do more irl streams (will be weird/experimental and they will go wild! They will be making weird stuff!), they also have plans that they are excited to tell and its been a long time coming (this may be the cake video but i couldnt tell in stream), ranboo bakes a cake 2 will be coming TOMORROW on youtube (23 mins and incredible! they laughed at themself), ranboo plans to do experimental stuff on youtube (they have gotten into film lately!), founder's cut of gen 1 of genloss will be coming out 2-3 months ?? date/end of year, the vtuber ranjacket will be a part of the merch drop prototype at vidcon (physical jacket!), will be doing competitive/events with people (like organized little thing) (content/what it is undetermined) and he wants it to be obscure and random, ranboowaslive will start to ramp up a bit (more clips/compilations to come esp if you dont enjoy long vod watching), ranboo will be eating a nintendo DS cartridge live on stream (a joke!), MORE SURPRISES KEPT AS A SECRET + tiny plans in the works, they are moving into the new place/still have boxes to unpack (vtuber lore), he may finish the last of us part 2, subathon (really like back to back fun streams/long streams/playthrough of long games like omori) in january probably, splatoon may return,

What does the new era mean/qna stuff?

talking about old content is fine as long as you recognize that it is the PAST and not the kind of content ranboo makes now. Do not "put them back in the box".

Vtuber: will not be used all the time. They will do facecam streams too. Depends on how he feels.

why the r800: the 8 looks like a b LMAO

this is just the start of rebrand. He will re-establish a lot, things will be easier to find/reorganized, slowly over the weeks things will be changing.

what will happen tothe alt twitter (ranaltboo)?: new pfp, same energy (see below my shitty sc). art creds to mochi!

not only just a rebrand for him and the look of the content. But also it is a rebrand of how they act around and view their own content. they may not be as in the community as he has been (liking fanart/in chat/etc.) out of recommendation from people! If ranboo needs to be aware of something THEY HAVE PEOPLE to make him aware of important issues/emergencies and they will be focusing more on themself and the content overall. they are thankful to be allowed to do this, as they dont want to keep seeing things they dont want to see/have that anxiety. Less scrolling = more content!

They will probably have longer streams again!

will move to more mature jokes/phrases and may have content labels on the streams. Overall, streams will be pg-13 mostly.

TITS stands for twitch integrated throwing system [insert ranboo's giggle here]

All proceeds donated to ranboo's channel only go to charity! Not to them at all! They have a list of charities that he supports and will be changed 1-3 months at a time like usual!

Please make stuff. This is how he gets ppl who edit and the emote makers/artists. Not forced. Just encouraging ppl who make stuff to make stuff and he appreciates it and loves it! Even if it is not about him just make it! AND SUPPORT ARTISTS BOOBERS!

[flare-the-drawer]

AWWW I LOVE METEOR THE CAT SO MUCH 🥺🥺 Le miao miao!!! 💖 what is meteor's relationship/feelings on the whole crew?

I also hate to ask this but given the cruek fates of everyone on the ship... how does Meteor.... yknow 💔

Hi! Firstly omg, first ask related to Meteor :0

I'm truly happy it could eventually reach some people who liked the concept ✨️

Secondly, regarding relationships, I made two little charts to simplify it but will still add some things (i also attributed lilac to him, as each character is associated with a color in the game):

AU Doodles link:

Pre-crash:

He basically loves every member of the ship INCLUDING Jimmy, despite him not being that friendly to Meteor. He favors Daisuke of them all because he is the first human he met on the Tulpar :D

Some little facts:

- Despite not being allowed to come in the cockpit for security reasons, Curly allows Meteor to come during his shifts. The cat simply snuggles on his lap and purrs when Curly is in the pilot seat. He likes it because the purring soothes him and helps him focus. Jimmy on the other hand, is not pleased with this arrangement and never misses the occasion to remind it to Curly.

- They all talk a lot to Meteor. He doesn't understand human language but simply meows or purrs back to show his acknowledgement

- He often visits Anya at the medbay. The place is usually very calm and empty during the day, so they just vibe peacefully together

- You can find him most of the time with Daisuke who is completely fond of him. He likes to sit on his shoulder, like some kind of pokemon, and even sometimes goes on the vents to help Daisuke grab something.

- Despite despising Meteor, Jimmy still thinks in the back of his mind that he is somewhat cute. He'll never admit it

- Swansea started to appreciate Meteor when he saw how much of a positive impact, and especially on Daisuke, he had on the crew. He sees him as Daisuke's tiny guardian.

- (thanks to @cookiemunches for this one) Daisuke keeps some of the 'meat' on the ship to feed him. While Curly purposely lets it slide, Jimmy isn't so kind and reprimands Daisuke every time he catches him.

Post-crash:

His relation with the crew members is quite similar, except that Jimmy's attitude towards him has gotten worse. It's the reason why Meteor fears him, (though he can't bring himself to hate him), while he is only afraid of Curly because of how severe his injuries are.

A few facts:

- He alternates sleeping with Daisuke and Anya as he knows they are the two weakest crew members emotionally speaking

- Though he's not authorised because of bacterian reasons, Meteor still comes often to the medbay to curl up on Curly's chest and purr. Curly appreciates these attempts of comforting him despite the hurt that his weight causes him.

- Meteor's blue eyes terrify Jimmy and worsen his paranoia, because they remind him of Curly's. This is why his hatred for him grew much bigger.

- Meteor never held a grudge against Swansea when it comes to Daisuke's death. He smelled the infection and how severe it was, and knew nothing more could be done.

And regarding your second question...

I'd like to first specify that his arrival doesn't change the fate of any of the characters, if it doesn't worsens the tensions a bit. A few elements there and there vary, but most of it stays the same.

Regarding his lore, I couldn't settle on one ending because kof kof I love him too much. So I planned two that vary depending on your choices:

I don't want to reveal too much, but I'll explain the common context of both: during the death of Swansea, Meteor is standing on top of the scene, on a piece of furniture. He is directly looking at Jimmy during the whole monologue, which only helps him diving deeper into insanity.

Once the scene is done, Jimmy sets himself a new kind of objective: catching Meteor once and for all. The two endings I'm talking about vary depending on whether he achieves this goal or not.

I will only say that one of the endings, in which he gets caught, is pretty gruesome and I hate my mind for coming to such a conclusion (but it is what would likely happen in that case because of how things are settled; it's linked with the way jimmy copes with the lack of supplies...), and the other one, in which he isn't, is here for comfort and mercy and counterbalances the other one. I called them normal and true endings

I have way more but honestly it wouldn't be very interesting to reveal everything at once; I'm even wondering if this isn't already too much :D

I would like to make some comic pages out of this au, so stay tuned! And if you have other questions, my ask box is always open ✨️

Thank you so so much again!!

[baronvontribble]

the thing about writing ted in a thing is that everything about him ends up being just a tiny bit more fleshed out than it is with other characters. even his swords have lore

the crystal sword was grown and then polished and shaped to act as a casting focus, with every facet and flaw of the crystalline matrix used to bend and shape the magic that flows through it. it adds +1 to spell attack rolls and can be enhanced by a skilled enough mage NPC to add +2 or even +3 depending on level (wielding a too-powerfully enchanted version while too low of a level damages the wielder with every spell cast). on critical spell failure, there is a chance that the blade will absorb the backlash of the failed/fizzled spell and shatter; subsequent casts with it will add an effect from the wild magic table.

the rose blade, however, is all about melee combat. the closer a player character gets to lawful evil, the heavier it gets and the more the rose and vines seem to wilt and wither even though they appear to be made out of the same steel as the blade itself. the closer a player character gets to chaotic good, the lighter it gets and the more vibrant the rose becomes. it adds a +1 to melee attack rolls if you're neutral good, chaotic neutral, or true neutral, and +2 if you're chaotic good. lawful and evil players get no bonuses from it and the rose would be blackened and diseased-looking for them generally, but lawful evil players will see it get the ugliest of all and it'll feel like it's made of lead for them.

if a DM feels like using these, then go ahead! i designed these months ago to go with bladesinger ted and couldn't decide which i liked better so i painted both of them. i tried not to make them too mechanically overbalanced :>

[namazunomegami]

Into the Void

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: Geto is so succumbed to his ideals that you have no choice but to run. But the hunt for you is more than a simple chase. It's resurrection. It's repentance. Just like in the parable of the lost sheep.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, predator/prey, injuries, blood, toxic dynamics, heavy religious symbolism, emotional distress, dissociation, tiny bit of hurt/comfort, yandere behavior, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising

WC: 5.2k whoops

Credits: my dear @notveryrussian for proofreading but tbh I should start calling you my editor from now on lmao. I'm glad you enjoyed my sneak peeks so much 💕

Song rec: since I can't control myself, I picked 3 songs by Nine Inch Nails that gives the perfect vibes to the story. For the exposition, I recommend Heresy, mostly because the lyrics resonates with the reader's thoughts about Geto. For the escape/chase part, I picked Eraser for the creepy vibes and reader's slowly deterioriating sanity. For the closing part, I picked A warm place because it's a comforting yet a bit gloomy track

A/N: Saying that this idea possessed me is an understatement. Initially I only wanted to put effort into the whole chase scene but obviously I started to add lore into the whole thing. And since they grew on me and I simply love their dynamic, a part 2 is on the way yaaay.

Minors shall not interact unless they wanna get punched.

And a usual warning for dark content. I wanted to keep it mild but I couldn't. Maybe I'm a lil bit too skilled when it comes to writing about fear.

It’s all too painful to think that maybe running away with Geto wasn’t the best idea.

Of course you loved him, you loved the twins too and the makeshift family you created, it really healed some of the wounds you received in the past. But you wished it would’ve stayed that way. Living together, somewhere far away, isolated, in peace. Have a fresh start, build a nest for the four of you and fill it up with love.

But he had other plans.

There were a lot of improvements in the initial phase of your plans. Building community, uniting the herd. You enjoyed some reverence from the followers too. Eventually the initial number of breakthroughs began to stagnate, despite all the effort. It became routine, like you were being dragged through the same day for years and years without end. When you were faced with even more setbacks, you started to realize that you basically never left the temple and it soon began to feel like a cage. Golden and holy. It was draining to see people lose their sense of individuality and how he became their only source of validation. It was torment. Living life as an idol of worship tucked into a forgotten corner of a church. Praised like a twisted Gothic Madonna with a blue cloth over your head, but in reality you weep, you’re their Mater Dolorosa, with swords piercing your sorrowful heart.

The most devastating thing about realizing you’re not fit to run a cult, is the fact that you lack the most understated yet important aspect of it: believing in the agenda you want to spread. How could you guide all those helpless, simple-minded sheep while questioning whether your destination is real or not? Maybe that Canaan has nothing to do with milk and honey, instead it’s just a pile of rubble.

You soon got tired of it all. His drive, his goal, all too impossible to achieve. Maybe he knew he could never make it happen, but it consumed him regardless. You’ve lost the most cherished parts of him to his hatred, his deeply repressed rage against any injustices he had to deal with after the infamous Star Plasma incident.

You weren’t sure about your feelings towards Geto anymore. Were you afraid of him? Angry at him? Bitter? Disappointed? Worried? It all turned into mush, a grotesque, black liquid as the thin walls of the temple slowly made you feel like they were closing in on you. You had no idea how much time you had, until your unresolved feelings will taint the whole place.

You always circled back to the worst possible action to protect your soft, aching heart… When you thought that nothing will change for the better, you wanted to run away. You wanted to hide. The ambivalence of your feelings towards him weighed on your heart and conscience, like a thousand stones. You loved him, yet you loathed what has become of him. Despite that you trusted him with the map of your soul, made it through all the highs and lows of your relationship so far, all the deep abysses of pain and suffering.

Maybe you should run, just for the sake of it. To test how it will make you feel. Will it make you feel freed? At ease? Will it lift the weights on your chest? Will this sense of incoming doom vanish?

Maybe you should find Gojo. He wouldn’t condemn you, but he would be disappointed. If you set your judgement and resentment to aside, he’s the only one who can talk with the higher ups to scratch your name off the list of curse users who are on death row.

How much time did you need to forge your plan? Not even a single minute. It was only natural for you to memorize everybody’s routine, how to distinguish the sound of their steps, to pick a timeframe when nobody is lurking around the halls. The first (and probably last) time you were glad those who have hurt you gave you a skill, besides the ability to harness cursed energy of course. They made you stealthy, alert, observant.

And when Geto left you to cater to his followers, you decided to put your plan into action.

Your body is strung tight with the tension of waiting, agitation making you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams - but something deep inside of your mind pleaded for you to stay. Agony and anxiety were plaguing you until you’ve found enough courage to get up and sneak out. Now, you had the chance to show off everything you’ve learned: sliding the doors shut so slowly that they don’t make a noise, walking down the corridors with socked feet, carefully putting the middle parts of your feet on the floor, instead of your heels, easily avoiding those parts that creak.

Sometimes, when he was immersed in his thoughts, he was amused by how faint your steps sounded.

An involuntary instinct warns you. It’s trying to convince you that he can see you through the eyes of bodhisattvas residing in the thangka paintings decorating the walls. You almost give up your quest as you glance at the depiction of Vajrabhairava. In all its anger, with its six faces and twelve limbs. A dreadful beast that defies death itself.

You don’t want to do this to him, do you?

You look away from the painting, focusing on getting your shoes on and climbing out through the window. As you’re squatting on the windowpane, you can see all of Tokyo stretched out beneath you. You’re a little bit annoyed that all temples are built on a mountain. A long way to go, but you can never know when this place will turn into a funeral pyre.

It’s a little bit too easy. There’s no sign of surveillance curses nearby, you only need to slide down on the wet tiles, jump up high, land in the mud and let yourself be swallowed by the darkness of the forest. You specifically picked your least conspicuous clothes to blend into your surroundings perfectly. And the cold and murky night will let you go safely. The leaves will conceal your tracks.

So many things are working in your favor tonight.

You know there’s no need to rush. You can only draw attention to yourself if you are running around, creating noise and disturbing the wildlife. You don’t even use a flashlight, you have to get used to the darkness, the full Moon will guide you with all her dazzling light. And after that, Tokyo will do the same, with its crowded streets and all its places to hide.

There’s a weird kind of tranquility in your heart. How the cold prickles your skin, the moisture in the air, the faint noise of the creatures dwelling under the leaves, up in the trees, singing, chirping, crawling. The scent of wet soil, the gentle caress of the wind…

Now, you feel free.

As you walk deeper and deeper into the woods, you feel lighter, you feel like you could fly away, like you could dance all the way towards your destination. You’re thinking about actually doing that, as if you got possessed by a strange spirit…

But the uneven, slippery ground makes you fall right into the mud. You squirmed a little, trying to get hold of a tree trunk and then…

Silence, dead silence.

Your heart sinks deep in your chest.

You know what it means. When nature falls silent. There’s…

There’s a threat nearby.

A primal instinct tells you to run.

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way that he already noticed you were gone.

Twigs whip at your skin as you’re running mindlessly. Wherever you end up, it will be fine, as long as you can enter the outskirts of the city. The cold night air stings your throat, your heaving breath leaves your mouth in puffy clouds. You feel the urge to cough, deep from your bone-dry lungs.

The ground beneath you turns soft and steep. You lose your poise, stumbling and rolling all the way down until you fall from a high clod of rain-washed soil. Your body collides with a cold, wet, yet incredibly hard and flat surface, fraying the skin on your palm and face. Your back and shoulders will be bruised by tomorrow, painting your body with black and blue spots. The pain ripples through your entire being, paralyzing you for a couple of moments.

As you slowly gathered your battered self from the ground with a grunt, you realize you landed on a road. It’s a good sign, you’re not so far from civilization. But instead of following the road, cutting through the forest is the wiser decision.

Your relief is short-lived, just like a may fly.

A sinister feeling takes hold on you. It makes you freeze, squeezing your insides. Like you’re sitting in the jaw of an eldritch beast. You slowly turn back to the direction of your fall.

The lights are flickering.

You grab on the guardrail for dear life. You try to fill your lungs with shaky breaths, your heart desperately beating against your ribcage. Your trembling knees barely keep you upright, yet nothing can make you move. You have been found, you’re defeated, there’s no point in running away from him. The injuries, the already forming bruises will only deplete your strength.

How could you fight him? You’re aware that if he wanted to, he could break your bones and twist your body at the joints with an arm behind his back.

How could you outrun him? He’s capable of summonning a swarm of curses before you even take a step.

How could you make war with him?

Three of the lamp lights were already out, you stared into the darkness, the boundless abyss right before your eyes. You can’t even force yourself to blink.

And when the lights came back on, he was just standing there. Without breaking a sweat. Your pulse feels non-existent.

What infuriated you even more was that he wasn’t wearing his gojo-kesa. The motherfucker even gave you a head start by changing into something comfortable before he came to fetch you. Or simply he noticed your absence later than you expected.

Whatever, both is bad news for you.

He doesn’t utter a single word, he merely walks towards you. Slowly cornering you. Feasting on the terror on your face. Meanwhile you can’t unravel what could possibly be going on in his mind. The only thing you notice is that those violet sparks in his eyes are so sharp they could cut yours out of their sockets.

Should you give up? Should you beg for forgiveness?

But then, an idea blooms inside your mind.

You don’t hide your fear, you let your body tremble freely, fingers desperately clinging onto the metal, with your shoulders hunched to protect your neck and your wide, frightened eyes stare back at him. Letting him believe that you won’t fight back. That he can take you back to the temple and throw you back into your cage.

And when his foot hits the bisector, you jump. Right into the nothingness behind your back.

You fall on leaves and broken twigs again. You roll and roll with such speed you can’t comprehend the growing distance. Not even having an idea of how far you’re from him. Small rocks, branches, hardened roots of trees, bones all cut, scratch and pierce you. But you endure it, you’ll undergo any torture if it meant you’ll be freed. Your only hope is that the adrenaline will deal with the pain.

Suddenly, you violently crash into a tree, the ridged texture imprints deeply into your stomach. Acid bursts from your throat. Your diaphragm didn’t avoid the hit either, breathing is not unlike Sisyphean task as you try to get your shaking limbs to stand. Your mind is disturbed by the lack of air and your desperate attempts at getting yourself together. You’re wheezing like a dog. You must look pathetic, you think.

It takes almost all of your mental strength to calm down and slowly breathe through your nose, your lungs finally opening. But Geto won’t let you recover, you hear the fallen leaves getting crushed under his feet. You take a few sharp, ragged breaths, like it’s the last drag of a cigarette before the train comes and then, you move.

You hide behind a thick pine tree, palms covering your mouth and nose. The lack of oxygen is just another frustrating hindrance to your successful escape plan. Dizziness fills your head like a thick fog and sucks the strength out of your shins, needing to lean against the trunk to keep yourself standing. You try to conceal your cursed energy with all your might. A tracker who’s untraceable is a useful pawn in the hands of the higher ups, this skill made you a cherished student back in the day. Back when everything was so… no, it’s only the nostalgia making you wistful, it wasn’t any better.

The rustling gets quieter, you wait until the sound eventually dies. An almost muted sigh of relief leaves your lips in a thick cloud, dancing in the cold air.

From the corner of your eye, a floating form cuts through the pale moonlight.

Looking closely at its shape, you realize what kind of curse it is. The beetle looking one that attacks instantly once it senses movement. You can’t believe it, you’re going to -

The curse drags itself into your aura, scanning your form that is fused with the pine. Every muscle is tensed, you’re stiff as a board, you suppress every reflex in your eye and empty chest. You’re just like a statue, a corpse, showing no signs of life. Only an agonizing scream echoes inside your skull. A scream that puts mental breakdowns to shame.

It’s like an eternity until the curse finally disappears from your sight.

You definitely look exhausted, your body is limp and heavy like lead. But you must keep going at all costs, even if you have no idea how many curses are sent after you. You walk around the mountain instead of going down like he’d expect it.

Slowly yet surely, you calm yourself down. You know that you’re still in his grasp, but you still have a chance to outsmart him. You go deeper and deeper, you’re near the heart of the forest now. The moonlight barely crawls through the leaves, it’s easier to navigate according to what you hear rather than to what you see. The surroundings are growing eerie, you ache for light and warmth. And the longing sucks a bit of spirit out of you.

Before you can start questioning yourself, the sound of running water fills your ears.

A narrow, yet fast running stream plowed through the forest. Though you were unsure of staying close to the stream, going through it and getting to the other side sounds like a smart idea. As you take a reluctant step, you realize the water is ice cold. And when you dive into it further, enduring the strong current, it’s not as shallow as you believed. You’re submerged all the way up to your thighs. At its deepest point, the stream hugs your waist. The cold makes your movements slow and rigid, your teeth clang together in a frenzy. The bottom is filled with smooth, flat pebbles, they make it easy to - 

You slip on the rounded, polished stones and fall into the stream. The freezing temperature makes your skin shrink, it prickles you like a thousand needles. Scared, you crawl around the bottom, trying to get a hold of something and emerge back to the surface. A sharp, burning pain wakes in your palm, tears streaming down your cheeks. You try to swallow your scream, but it wants to burst from your lungs, you grunt and whimper until you can bite down on your sweatshirt, letting the material muffle your shout. Your gaze fixates on your hand and even in the darkness of the night, you see blood oozing from the deep cut, from your own torn flesh. The urge to retch is strong.

You palm is plunged back into the cool water, in hope of easing the pain.

He calls out your name right behind you.

You crawl out of the water, running from him, just as before. It doesn't matter how many times you trip, fall, stumble. It doesn’t matter how your fresh wounds end up in the mud, you don’t have it in you care about the pain or the looming threat of an infection. You hear him trying to reason with you. You must come back home, you’re injured, you’re bleeding. He must take care of you.

Why are you running? Where could you go? Who’s going to help you recover?

No, you mustn’t let your determination crumble. But oh… it sounds so easy. Giving in to your hopelessness.

An evergreen bush becomes your shelter to collect yourself and check on your wound, which is aching from all the dirt and is still bleeding. Water is dripping from your hair, your clothes are soaked, makes it easier for the cold night air to bite into you, to shake the whole length of your body. Your fingers are hardly moving and have no strength in them. The adrenaline is starting to wear off. You feel alone, small, and vulnerable. You’re freezing, scarred and aching. All the things you see in the dark twist into creepy, threatening forms. Everything that surrounds you is suddenly dangerous. As a lonely spider crawls within your field of vision, you flinch. The world around you is evil and everything is after your flesh.

And the only person who can save you is the one you’re running away from.

What are you going to do now? Fight, flight, or freeze? Which instinct is going to win this time? Because comprehensible thoughts won’t work on you. Every little layer of a fully-fledged human with a conscience has been stripped from you. You left them scattered everywhere in the woods. You’re nothing more than a primordial shell of a being.

Ceremonial horns wake in the distance, soon followed by howling. They let the dogs out to hunt you down. Poor, little hare. Your own stupidity has woken up the beast.

Who is like unto the beast?

You defeat the paralyzing dread and decide on flight. You dash out from the bushes, but - Oh… your eye. Your soft doe eye. There’s something in it. And your tears have an oddly metallic taste on your tongue.

And power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.

You wish you could see yourself from the outside, but you’re probably nowhere near as majestic as you think you are. Right now you feel like you’re the fastest, stealthiest creature who’s ever lived, even if your muscles are almost torn, weak, and tensed. This is the last crumb of your strength, this is your all.

And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him.

You don’t dare to look back. You know he’s there. He’s so close, he’s orbiting around you like a moon does with its planet. As if all of this is a dance. A hunt is a dance with a coital rhythm. And mother nature is the audience to your deadly waltz.

And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men.

He takes your hand in his. Gentle and kind. To not scare you any further. You snap like an electric current under his touch, but you break free and zigzag between the trees.

He grabs your waist. Forcefully. It scares you this time. You escape from his embrace before he can swallow you whole. But he might have bit your throat during the process, you feel something trailing down your collarbones. You hear your bones crack.

It was all a mistake. You are a mistake. But mistakes can be forgiven, right? He has forgiven you so many times, you can’t even think of a number.

You slide down on a slope, leaves stick to your clothes, and you drop onto a thick trunk of a fallen oak. Tensive pain ripples in your side. You should stand up and run, but you can’t move. You won’t move. What’s wrong with you? What kind of prey gives the fight up before its last breath? But you think about your frozen limbs, the pain in your palm, your back, your shoulder blades, everywhere. You think about home… you want to go home or be left here to die. But the thought of dying here, alone, makes your heart palpitate rapidly, like there’s not enough air to fill your lungs. Your breathing becomes desperate, panicked even. Your chest hurts, your ribcage is ready to break apart by your racing heartbeat. You press your palms against your head, clawing into your hair. Every little morsel of you is bursting into a tremor. The connection between your mind, your body and the world cease to exist. And that lovely, unlimited stretch of space inside your consciousness is shaken, it’s in utter chaos. Breaking into tiny little pieces, like glass, like porcelain. Tears and plucks like paper and fabric. Shrieks and wails, rejecting the only thing that makes all creatures on this plane of existence agitated over their own mortality.

You’re doomed.

Unconsciously, your limbs curl into the very same position you took when you saw the world for the first time, protecting your belly and face, making you seem small. Geto knows you only do that when you fear what might happen to you, despite being unaware of the kind of terror your brain had subjected you to. That’s why he approaches you slowly, making no sudden movements as he picks you up gently, like one would lift a porcelain figure from the ground. When you open your eyes, he had already settled you into his lap as the manta ray curse lifts the two of you up to mount the skies.

You have no idea if he hunted you down or saved you from your own demise.

What a defiant, ungrateful creature you are, you think. You tried so viciously to run away from your burden, and now you feel safe with him again, you dare clinging to him, you dare seek his warmth. The contradicting thoughts and desires torture you on the way back. There’s only one faint voice inside your head that’s capable of calming you down, able to keep your sanity intact…

You’re the lost sheep, and he’s the shepherd who searched all over the world to find you. And he’ll bring you back to the flock, and he’ll love you more than the rest of them.

Your false god. Your fallacious savior. Will he forgive you if you repent on your knees? Until they get bloody and bruised?

Back at the temple, he refuses to let you take even a step on your own. You weren’t born to run, to soil your soles with the ground that filthy monkeys walk on. You’re meant to be worshipped, to claim the whole world as yours beneath dainty, soft feet.

The warm lamplight and the comfort of your shared room helps you unwind. To shift back into a much more civilized, humanlike state. And as you practically glue yourself to the heater, you notice more dirt, more cuts, more blood marring your flesh than you expected.

When you take off your grimy sweatshirt, shoes, and socks, Geto is towering over you. There’s nothing imposing about him, he looks rather troubled as he sighs.

“What do I do with you?”

You roll your eyes. Oh, the good old rhetorical question. He has no idea if he should treat your wounds first, bathe you or break your leg just like the Gospel says.

“Come, let me take a look at your hand.”

You see your reflection in the mirror, and you’re horrified. Your right eye is bloodshot, a deep cut is splitting through your lower lip. You’re drenched in mud, already dried on your face along with some patches of wine dark blood. Together they seal the scraped skin on your cheek, makes your hair stick together into thick strands, accessorized with pine leaves and other remains from your little hike. You’re blistered and torn, you can barely recognize yourself.

It's pleasant to rinse your hands with warm water at the sink, but the sight makes your stomach twist. That nasty wound is too deep, it has to be sewn shut. A shiver races down on your spine when you see the first aid kit. He soaks a fresh gauze pad with wound solution and guides it towards the gaping cut with a pair of tweezers. The sting is horrible, the burning sensation rivals acid being poured straight into your flesh, it makes you grunt and hiss. He gives you a moment to breathe and collect yourself then he continues, despite your whimpers and twitching, tensed fingers. But the pain pales in comparison to when he swipes a new, clean pad inside your wound, cleaning it of all the filth. A pathetic cry erupts from your throat.

“Stop.” you sob, pulling your hand away to hug it close to your chest. You’re too distressed to realize that the temporary discomfort is necessary. But maybe this whole act is nothing but another one of his silly little games.

He places a finger under your eye, close to your lashes and collects your tears. The sight of you crying is somehow not worth of savoring to him. Before any little drop of your sorrow and regret can roll down your cheek like diamonds, he smears them, as if they could make your misery vanish. Well, they can’t. It frustrates you that you can’t let your feelings manifest because he’s ready to devour them just like his curses.

He doesn’t care that your face is caked in dirt, blood and tears, he lifts your chin up to kiss you. Deeply. You’re not reprimanded for not kissing him back.

You were right, he’s definitely toying with you. He makes it hurt before he soothes the ache. He creates a connection in your mind. Like you’re the dog of Pavlov, slowly conditioned to associate him with anything that makes the human heart fill with delight.

The tiles attract your attention much more than watching how the curved needle dives into your skin, how the thread closes the wound proficiently. Your features soften for a moment. Shoko would be so proud of him... Not for the reason he got so good at it though. He learnt to treat his wounds for the sole purpose of not letting a non-sorcerer doctor ever touch him.

He’s crazy. Vile. Petty. And delusional. It drives you crazy too.

But when your stitched hand is wrapped up in bandages, you seriously think about thanking him for putting up with you. For not being angry at you.

“Maybe this will make you reconsider your actions next time.” he remarks in a flat tone, concealing what’s going on in his mind.

You keep your gratitude to yourself.

But it’s not an easy task when he continues spoiling you, with so much care that it rivals motherly love. How he rinses all the grime out of your hair, how he gives you a moment of peace in a tub filled with plain, warm water, no bubbles or scented oils to irritate your scarred, sensitive skin. He dries you, brushes your hair and fills the whole bedroom with the calming notes of lavender and cedarwood coming from the incense burners. But he’s just so fixated on your injuries… every scratch, every surface level cut is thoroughly sanitized. It’s still humiliating, even when you’re the one sitting comfortably on the bed and he’s kneeling on the floor.

You’re afraid the extra pampering will twist your reasoning and resolve. That’s all part of the mind games he plays. You know he’ll go out on his way to prove that the world outside is cruel, that this is the only place where you’re safe, loved. In his proximity, under his hand.

And somewhere, deep down, you admit that he’s close to convincing you.

It makes you mad, you want to tear him to shreds, you want to weep for him just like Mary did under the cross. There’s still care, there’s still love under all those layers of burning hatred. What remains is twisted though, but it is there.

After you’re patched up, he glances up at you, thumb brushing your lip right next to that nasty cut. His other hand is resting where your thigh and knee meet. It’s a sign, a warning.

“Was it worth it, little lamb?” his tone is soothing and playful. So close to being outright mockery.

You reflect in silence, averting your gaze from him. All those scars and discolored skin, your disturbed mind, and the ache in your bones - you realize that your stupid little plan was futile. Totally unnecessary, it’s no achievement you can be proud of. At least if you’re not as masochistic as to pride yourself on your injuries. But the fact that he can recognize the parallels coats your answer with bile.

“No.”

Because you know that you can be so much more… There’re unlimited possibilities to a repented non-believer. And now you know that being his doubting Thomas has no benefits.

Maybe you did lose your faith in him, like the lamb in that story, to eventually realize how much you need him and vice versa. But you’re not satisfied with being a lost sheep. You just haven’t decided on your role in his Gospel yet. This is your call, you don’t know exactly which part of him calls out to you, but you’re satisfied with either of them. Whether it’s a prophet, a messiah, a beast, or the devil itself. The fallen Morningstar who used to be the favorite.

This can be your true Genesis.

“Go on, break my leg if you want to. There’s meaning in that, at least.” you dare echo his last words to Gojo, clean and low.

And your bones remain whole.

You’re relieved. Though you’re sick of his maneuvers with your mind, you’re aware their purpose is not to hurt you or punish you. These aching limbs of yours go limp as he crawls into bed next to you. The arm you were scared of coils around your waist. Viciously tight, much like a snake. The snake that corrupted Eve in the garden. The one that made her sin, got her cast out of paradise, the one that turned her whole world upside down. And maybe Eve did fall in love with the serpent, the worst creature that God had ever created. But even though he caused the fall of mankind, the serpent freed you from the clutches of a jealous, ungrateful god who denied knowledge from his own creations. Now you have the passion to rebel, to prove your creator wrong, to avenge his mistreatment. Give in to the temptation of your snake, believe his honeyed words, accept the fruit for a second time. Because you still remember the taste, oh so sweet and luscious. And with all the power he wields, you can win back your lost Eden or re-build it on earth, the home you’re both yearning for. It’s a promise between the two of you, silent, because words are not needed, only closure.

Something warm blooms inside your chest. Yes, that’s it! You can finally feel it now…

The very first ounce of belief.