#i feel like once you become a summoner ; once you learn the secrets of it all and of the fayth and whatnot -

[braskide]

thinking about an unsent yuna verse to cope with the horrors today.

( clinging to life because she feels like her work is never done; becoming the very essence of what she has sworn to defy. being unable to let go of the high summoner duties entrusted to her and the ones she put on herself, because she does not want anyone else to take on the heavy mantle of sacrifice. )

[ellecdc]

Hi!! Ok this is my first time doing an actual request so…I hope I do this right 😭.

Poly!marauders x transfer student reader: Reader comes from the US, where quodpot is the more popular wizarding sport (like quidditch is rugby and quodpot is football). Reader has always LOVED quidditch and is excited Hogwarts actually has a team. Maybe reader trying out for the team? Seeker would be cool bc the reader would be able to practice that by themself. Reader going to the pitch early every morning to practice leading up to tryouts, Sirius and James watching from the stands bc that’s normally THEIR time to practice. Remus sitting with a hot tea and bundled up…UGH I LOVE!

this was such a cute idea! this is actually the second fic I've ever written that involved 0 dialogue and I only realized that about either fic once I finished this one, so hopefully it's good! thanks for your request, love, I hope I did it justice!

poly!marauders x transfer student!reader who is obsessed with quidditch [900 words]

CW: .... I don't think any?? read is Gryffindor, written for a fem!reader (term that's used is witch) but could be read as gender neutral as they/them/their are used

If someone were to ask Remus why he could suddenly be spotted haunting the castle grounds before the sun rose most mornings now-a-days, he would quickly blame it on his sodding no good energetic and horribly devious boyfriends (who he loved very much). 

But the real answer was a far more selfish one.

You see, Remus (and Sirius and James) had developed a rather peculiar crush on a rather peculiar witch in their final year of Hogwarts. 

The rumour had been that a new student transferring from Ilvermory was going to be attending Hogwarts for their seventh year, and with Hogwarts (and the wizarding community in general) being as small as it was, it had created quite the buzz. 

The rumours were proven true when a witch far older than the many first years lined up for their turn at the sorting ceremony took their place below the hat only for it to shout GRYFFINDOR before their robes were decorated in red and gold.

You seemed utterly enchanted by it all; by the floating candles, by the stone walls, and by the feast itself. 

Watching you skip throughout the castle in the weeks following the Welcome Feast was nothing short of inspiring; it was as if watching a muggleborn first year see the castle and all of its secrets for the first time again. 

You seemed to be very skilled at finding the magic in, well, magic. 

Remus wondered then when magic stopped feeling so magical to the rest of the seventh year class; even children who were raised by magical parents were nothing short of ecstatic to begin honing their own skills at Hogwarts.

When did that stop feeling so exciting? When did throwing up silencing charms and summoning objects towards yourself become second nature instead of an exciting and exceptional learned skill? When did transfiguring buttons into butterflies become an arduous lesson instead of a wondrous adventure?

And that's not to say that you hadn’t seen or experienced magic before; on the contrary, you were a very talented witch. But you seemed to be awestruck by every single thing that you set your eyes on.

The fact that you were living in a castle had been particularly exciting for you, from what Remus had overheard, as was the game of quidditch. 

The popular and more commonly played sport in the magical United States was that of quodpot, and what little Remus actually understood about quidditch, he understood even less of quodpot, which is to say that he understood absolutely none of it. But even Remus had to admit there was something mesmerising about watching the way your tongue stuck out a little bit through your teeth as you drew out different drills and formations in your dedicated quidditch journal.

Though the quidditch season hadn’t started yet, every time there was a pickup game or a one-on-one, or even a few players feeling the familiar itch of flying through the air at record speeds and dodging other players and flying balls, one could be certain that you would be standing in the bleachers - often even hanging over the edge of the railing (in a way that made Remus very nervous, thank you very much) - with a wide smile on your face as you took it all in. 

And if Remus was really lucky, he’d even get a chance to watch as you balanced on the balls of your feet as if your body was just itching to join in on the fun. 

And if Sirius and James both took the piss for Remus finally enjoying ‘quidditch’ enough to put his sodding book down every once in a while, well, that was neither here nor there. 

So, the second that madame Hooch announced that tryouts for house teams would be starting in a few short weeks; you were hardly ever spotted around the common room anymore. 

Any time there was a free moment, one could bet you’d be down at the pitch - or even elsewhere on the grounds - with a broom underneath you and your eyes peeled for the wiley little snitch. And anytime you were found at the pitch? Well, one could bet James and Sirius would be too.

….

… As was Remus. 

James was all too happy to finally have (enthusiastic and consensual) company in the mornings to comment on the fact that it had been nothing short of painstaking torture to extricate Sirius from his bed for quidditch practices before you had transferred to Hogwarts, or to comment on the fact that it had been nothing short of painstaking torture to extricate Remus from his bed on any given day before you had transferred to Hogwarts.

Because it appeared that they were all in agreement that, even if it had to be at six in the bloody morning, watching you experience the unbridled joy that Hogwarts and quidditch and magic could give you was the best place to be.

Sirius leaned casually against the railing flashing you the odd wink or holler of encouragement when you happened to look over at your admirers in the stands whilst James shouted pointers and cheered you on, basically hanging over the railing in much the same way you would when the roles were reversed.

And Remus?

Well, Remus usually had about three layers on, a hot cup of tea, and a book that laid untouched as he got to enjoy the view.

[starreyblueberry]

Hiii star! I love ur Headcanons/ideas for Timmy! He’s so adorable and my whole childhood <3

I need more of em :>

WAIT HOLY SHIT UR THE ONE OMORI FAIRLY ODD PARENTS ARTIST?? BROO I LOVE UR AU SO MUCH!! I have a BUNCH of silly head canons and ideas in my heard for Timmy :D

- Timmy is actually a smart kid, he’s able to figure out stuff rather quickly and is very quick on his feet, he just deals with mildly severe ADHD ^_^ (he just like me FR)

- Timmy couldn’t decide on a major and kept switching between them during his first 2 years of college

- Timmy’s room becomes more and more decorated with memorials from his adventures that could pass as stuff he got from the store

- Timmy’s closest also had to be expanded with how much stuff Timmy had from his adventures

- Timmys Time skooter used to be one of the only ways to time travel outside of Father Time (basically it was a secret item Timmy had that he only used for emergency’s)

- Timmy LOVES skateboarding and Rollerskating when he’s a teenager, he feels like he’s flying with his fairies.

- Timmy didn’t get his license until he was 18, as he crashed the car a few times at first.

- His most common wish is usually summoning toys or gadgets for Peri/poof to play with

- Timmy always lists Peri as his little brother in assignments that tell you to make a family tree

- Timmy was the only godkid allowed to dimension-hop

- Jimmy neutron and Timmy turner stay in touch as the years go by, staying close as they valued each others friendship greatly. (until one day Timmy stops messaging Jimmy when he turns 18? What’s that all about.)

- Timmy’s considered a peace maker across the galaxy, and also has a bounty on his head for millions of dollars in whatever space currency there is

- He starts his own video game club, trixie uses her disguise to play sometimes and Timmy doesn’t mind her

- Timmy learns how to deal with fairy hair so that he can help Peri and Wanda with different hairstyles (and sometimes Cosmo but he usually just keeps it down)

- As Timmy gets older he and Jorgen actually meet outside of when he’s in trouble and offer each other advise sometimes or just hang out. And also to tell the other when the universe is ending but who gaf

- Timmy starts becoming really fond of sitcoms since most of them feature found family

- Timmy starts learning how to draw and has a dedicated sketchbook just for his adventures with his fairy fam, so that he had some way to see everything it after his memories were erased

- Timmy gave his Pink hat to peri on his 18th birthday, it’s collecting dust on Peris Bookshelf right now

- Timmy tried to play match maker with his friends as he got older which resulted in a stern talking to from Cupid

- Timmy is a horrible cook until he turns 18, and actually tries for once cause he dosent have much to do anymore

- Timmy is a bit obnoxious with his music taste sometimes (Name 5 My chemical romance songs rn 🙄) (he means well and gets over it)

- Timmy listens to a lot of Midwest emo, and hyperpop. No one likes listening to his playlists cause of the drastic whiplast the change in songs is sometimes

- Timmy wishes less and less as he gets older but he always needs Cosmo and Wanda, just for their bond. He always goes to them for advice

- Timmy sucks ass at sports, he still tries though but sometimes he will fake being sick so he can sit out of gym

- the day before Timmy turned 18 was the time he used the most wishes (aka trying to find loopholes)

- Timmy started to have an appreciation for sea creatures that never faded away as he grew up

- I MISS TIMMY TURNERRRRR 😭😭😭😭

[joaniejustwokeup]

DP x DC Prompt:

Summoning circles are more complicated than people give them credit for. They’re a bit like a mix between a thumb print, a name, a phone number, and a recipe; and at the same time, nothing like any of those things.

In reality, most summoning circles in spell books and ancient texts are incomplete, representing only a fraction of a particular spirit’s identity.

A complete circle will actually be a series of different summoning circles, with each concentric ring representing an aspect of the spirit’s identity and having individual requirements and/or offerings needed. Ghosts have an innate awareness of them and are able to draw and describe their requirements from any sort of inward reflection.

Ghosts will often give out incomplete circles as a means of communication and transportation. A single ring of the circle will only open the door, and each ring added makes the pull and connection to the summoner stronger. Ghosts will also sometimes use incomplete circles to mark and monitor their haunts and as a way of claiming territory.

A complete summoning circle will occasionally but inevitably change over time, as parts of the spirit’s identity change.

The circle will always be a closely guarded secret. This is because, much like giving your true name to the fae, giving out your full summoning circle will allow the summoner to not only capture you, but to command and control you.

After Danny was shown Dan’s future where he killed the world, he made Jazz memorize his complete circle and told her to use it if he ever turned evil. She thought he was being ridiculous, but learned the spell when she saw how frightened he had become of himself.

When the summoning circle of the Ghost King was added to his identity, he tried to make her memorize the new circle, only for her to flat out refuse, saying it’s not healthy for him to make these kind of contingencies. They get into a really bad fight and Danny flies off determined to find someone he can trust with his circle should he turn evil.

As he’s flying over his town he feels the slight tug on his consciousness indicating someone is trying to summon the Ghost King. He lets his awareness bleed through the summoning just enough to see that… yup it’s cultists again. At least there’s no sacrifices this time.

He’s about to shrug the summoning off like he has so many others when he suddenly sees someone fighting through the cultists. Oh! Make that several someones.

With a giddy sort of eagerness Danny watches Batman and his sidekicks cut through the crowd of religious fanatics, even taking down a couple that looked like they were using ghost-based magic. He’d always admired the Dark Knight, but seeing him fight in person is something else.

It’s as the hero is tying up the cultists and checking their injuries that a lightbulb goes off in Danny’s head, and, after a moment of steeling his determination, he lets himself be pulled through the summoning circle.

The Bats all tense up as the circle at the center of the room grows brighter, readying themselves for another fight. Danny tries to smile reassuringly as he feels his form materialize, though they likely can’t see it in the bright flash of light that accompanies it.

He frowns when he realizes the summoning had dressed him in his royal armor and cloak, the crown of fire burning above his head and ring of rage glaring from his right hand.

He tries raising his hands in an “I am not a threat,” pose, before realizing it looks exactly like the Box Ghost’s “Beware!” pose. He tucks his hands under his armpits, then awkwardly waves at the group of vigilantes.

“Hi there! Wow that was really cool- Thanks for taking care of these guys for me.”

The vigilantes once again tense up as Danny steps out of the circle towards them. Danny smiles sheepishly.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to talk to you, Batman.”

Batman steps forward, approaching Danny as he stands just outside the circle, a living shadow that looms larger than life. Still, Danny senses something soften in his gaze as he looks over the teenage Ghost King, stopping just out of reach of him. Danny gazes back at his childhood hero, hoping he’s making the right choice.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 16: Riddles

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The manor is mute except for the scratch of paper as you flip the page of Astarion’s sketchbook and contemplate the detailed drawing of yourself. You frown as you try to brush the name over the woman, painting her with the letters and hues of every syllable. It doesn’t matter what portrait you look at; the name still feels foreign and unrecognizable.

Whoever the woman in these drawings is, she is lost to you. She took her name to the grave, and some things cannot be exhumed. You close the book, your eyes sailing up the wall toward the ceiling.

Should you miss her? Grieve her? Forget her?

Climbing onto the bed, you hold your palm out, summoning the flames from the candles. You close your fist to extinguish them and let the black wings of darkness envelop the room. You have a strange feeling that you’re not entirely that woman any longer, which you can’t put into words. You were disassembled somewhere between life, death, and this everlasting afterlife, and your pieces weren’t arranged in quite the same pattern.

You have lost and gained so much in so little time. Would you recognize yourself even if you had a reflection?

There’s an ache in the vacant chamber where your dead heart hangs, frozen in the static state of death. The pang of discomfort doesn’t belong to you, though. Astarion has been leaving the link open more and more, and you’re learning what he meant when he said the world around him seems to move in slow motion.  

You once made the mistake of thinking Astarion could no longer feel, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. The reality is that he feels everything with an intensity you cannot begin to fathom. His emotions are like shooting stars. They streak through him, blazing bright and winking out in the blink of an eye.

His beating heart gives away Astarion's return. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle when he enters the room, hanging his formal suit coat.

You light a candle with a twitch of your finger. “You must forgive yourself, Astarion.”

Astarion sighs, rubbing his face. “What gave me away this time?”

“The same thing.” You splay your hand across your chest. This is not the first time you’ve mentioned the ache, as if your heart is in a perpetual state of being torn. “When you hurt, I hurt.”

You feel his intention to cut the coupling, to give you a break from the pain, and you fight against it.

“Don’t,” you rebuke, narrowing your eyes at the increasing pressure in your head. “Please. Stop trying to shut me out.”  

Astarion’s eyes fall to the sketchbook you left on the bedside table. “Do you not recognize your name still?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head and fidgeting with your fingers. This is the whole reason for the pain he’s been wallowing in—a bog of guilt and shame. He’s more upset over it than you are. You smile, making your voice a gentle hug. “Give me some time, and I will get used to it.”

“You should not have to get used to your own fucking name,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes closed, and the pain in your chest increases. It feels like your heart is warping itself into knots. “Not even Cazador went as far as to remove my name from my memory.”

“You are not Cazador,” you snap back sternly. “Stop comparing yourself to him. The situation is entirely different.”

“No,” Astarion growls, raising his voice, overtaken by repulsion. “I’m something much worse. At least there were limits to his power. No restrictions hinder me.”

“Good Gods! Just stop!” You yell, jumping off the bed. You’re unsure if your anger is partly due to what Astarion is feeling or your irritation at his self-loathing. At least he cannot remember taking you to the kennels. You don’t think he will ever recover. “You’re not him, and you’re not the darkness inside. You must separate the two.”

Astarion scoffs, turning away and waving dismissively, “I think it best if you rest in your room tonight.”

You deflate, anger being replaced by his disregard and the sharp sting of rejection. Astarion has been making you sleep in your room for days. At first, you thought he needed space, but he’s only become increasingly distant and withdrawn.

“Why are you doing this?” You step toward him, but he tenses and shies away, making you halt. You try to decipher his retreat through the bond, but Astarion is carefully guarding his emotions.

“Doing what?” He asks casually, keeping his blank stare on the wall.

“You show me an open door, then slam it on me and pull the rug out from under my feet!” You look up, hating that tears have begun crawling down your cheeks. “You think keeping your distance from me is keeping me safe, but you’re tearing me apart. Do you even want me here anymore, Astarion? Should I go?”

“Don’t go,” he whispers, brittle and weak. If your hearing were not so sharp, thanks to your vampirism, you wouldn’t have heard him. There’s another stab in your chest that feels like it rips the muscles right off your bones, and you whimper, clutching at your skin. “Please.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” you plead, taking another step, only to watch him tense. Your arms drop to your sides. Your heartbreak is affecting him. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, and he winces almost imperceptibly at every sob you stifle. “Why are you pushing me away?”

Astarion finally turns, wracking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I can be what you need me to be—what you deserve.”

“I know you don’t love me,” you sigh, shrugging. It always comes back to this. “You need to listen to me; let my words sink into your skin and fade into your soul. I missed you with such intensity that it felt like I died every day we were apart. You are my forever, even if I am not yours, and that’s okay.” You shake your head dismially, unsure how to get through to him. “I love you. Goodnight.”

You’re near your room when Astarion appears in front of you out of thin air, and you bump into him. He vaults you off your feet and into his arms before you can register his movement, making you yelp at the surprise of having your feet swept out.

“Shit,” He holds you firmly against him, his lips pressed to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave. Stay with me, little love. I need you.”

“Stop pushing me away.” You tangle your fingers into his hair, with your face nestled into the crook of his neck.

“I will.” His hand comes to the back of your head as he walks back to his room and places you gently on the bed with adoration in his eyes. “You are my forever, Illyria. Aeterna Amantes.”

“Lovers forever,” you finish, sidling up close to him and laying your head on his chest.

The teeth of guilt gnawing inside your chest cavity have finally relinquished your heart as their chew toy, and all that remains is the steady thrum of Astarion’s borrowed heartbeat.

“Until the world falls down, my love,” he purrs, placing a finger under your chin and his lips embracing yours.

The slow rocking rise and fall of his chest is like the sway of gentle waves; the beat of his heart is a lullaby whispering serenity into your soul, and you slip peacefully into your trance.

Upon waking, your hand meanders across the silken surf of the sheets, only to find Astarion’s side of the bed cold and void. Rolling onto your back, your eyes drag open, and you listen for the telltale susurrus of a heartbeat. A frown creases your forehead when you’re met with nothing but the anonymous creaks and groans of the manor.

Astarion doesn’t usually leave without mentioning his absence as a warning to stay indoors and away from the windows. A florid scent catches your attention, prompting you to turn your head.

On Astarion’s pillow, a red rose rests and a folded note with your name penned in his delicate, flowing hand.

“Good morning, beautiful.

I apologize for my absence, but I am not far. I’ve left blood for you in the kitchen.

Eternally yours,

Astarion.”

The promise of awaiting blood stirs you to your feet hastily. Your belly coils with anticipation, and you barely have enough restraint to dress and run a comb through your hair before you’re bounding down the stairs.

A golden goblet, elaborately etched with prismatic dragon scales that mirror yours, sits on the counter. You snatch it greedily and bring it to your lips. The blood is cool, so you allow your palms to heat slowly, warming it as it inspires your taste buds to recite their devotion to the ambrosial elixir. It’s unmistakably Astarion’s blood. It knocks you over in a wave of delirium that makes your knees weak, and you lean into the counter to keep yourself from melting into the floor.

You’re not sure if it’s your imagination or reality, but you veritably hear Astarion chuckling in your head.

The meal is finished too soon, and you groan as you clean the last traces from your lips. When you open your dreamily heavy eyes, another folded note, previously hidden by the flared base of the goblet, catches your attention. You blink rapidly to clear the insensibility glazed across your sight before you can make any sense of the words before you.

“Find me using the clues I have scattered for you, my clever Illyria.

We have much to discuss.

“Reminisce beneath the faded tapestries, where laughter once echoed; seek the embers of our stolen kiss."

Clues? What in the Hells is Astarion up to, and what the fuck do you have to discuss? An icy shock runs from your dead heart into your feet. Is it possible he found out about Mizora and knows you’ve been keeping something from him? Would he play a game of cat and mouse with you?

You would not put it past him.

He’s left the link between you open, and you cannot feel any malice vibrating in the orchestra of emotions. If he’s figured out your secret, he’s hidden it well.

You stare at the hint with a furrowed brow. Embers of your stolen kiss? Faded tapestries? The pad of your finger rubs over the fringe of scales scored into the goblet’s surface while you think, and then you realize the damn chalice itself is another tip.

This does not belong to Astarion, or it didn’t before you and he stole it after breaking into a shop one night during your adventure. Astarion caught you eyeing it while you were buying supplies. You deemed it an impractical purchase. There was a far more dire need for healing potions and other necessities than to waste coin on frivolous trinkets.

He woke you up that night, dressed entirely in black, and dragged you back to the shop for a thrilling night of thievery and resulting debauchery. Where did you two go after to celebrate?

The Blushing Mermaid.

You dress quickly in a red dress with lace sleeves and a glimmering, golden dragon that snakes up your side. The skirt hugs your hips, flares slightly, and flutters around your knees. The golden bands of the matching hairpiece and circlet wreathe your forehead and long hair.

Throwing on your sandals, you stop dead at the door. The sun still shines outside, as evidenced by the tawny luminance glowing between the cracks in the drapery.

Astarion’s voice frisks across the bond: “You needn’t fear, love. You are safe.”

“What are you up to, Ascendant?” You query back, opening the door slowly and sticking your hand in the small ray to validate his claims.

He giggles, “Solve the riddles, and all will be revealed in time.”

The sky sings of sunset in hues of fire hearths gilded with golden inlays. Despite Astarion’s assurance, your skin still flinches over your muscles as if trying to pull itself away from your figure. Your eyes keep steadily on the majesty of the horizon as you trot through the streets to the Blushing Mermaid.

With the recent meal sloshing around in your stomach, your bloodlust is easier to manage. Still, when citizens brush by with their dainty necks on display, you’re tempted to give them a nibble.

The tavern is as busy as it typically is for late afternoon, but most patrons take no notice of you, engrossed in their revelry.

“Ah, the leaking blood bag.” Captain Grisly’s voice drifts from her quarters. “Nice to see you again. I hardly recognized you without your quarterstaff and haggard, blood-soaked robe.”

When you turn and her eyes catch the cracked crimson of yours, she gasps but holds her tongue with a clenched jaw.

You smile reassuringly and taunt, “Don’t worry. I won’t bite unless you ask very nicely.” There is something about people being afraid of you that’s thrilling. You cannot explain why. Perhaps you’re learning to accept this new you instead of feeling ashamed. It’s freeing. “Was my pale companion here earlier?”

The woman eyes you skeptically and nods, “Yes, Lord Ancunin was in earlier, but he warned me not to assist you.”

“Of course he did.” You roll your eyes as Astarion chuckles in your head. “It was nice to see you.”

“Please try not to make a meal out of my patrons,” Captain Grisly smirks. “The cleaning bills are already enough of a menace.”

You chuckle while your eyes dart around, trying to remember what you and Astarion got up to that night. The memory is garbled under the lagoon of ale you must have drunk.

You drank a lot. You danced. Oh Gods. You danced on the stage.

Your eyes swing to the faded tapestries hanging above a small alcove. Astarion had dragged you off the stage when your provocative swaying earned the attention of too many ogling eyes for his comfort.

“You are a godsdamned delinquent, Illyria,” he’d purred in your ear while he ironed his body to you possessively, shielding you from the onlookers with a forearm pressed above your head. “I have half a mind to take you right here, enchantress, to show these fools you belong to me.”

A small table sits in the alcove with a single candle lit. A white rose rests on it, with a dainty silver chain wrapped around the verdant stem. Unwrapping it, you hold a locket in your hand. The edges are adorned with two exquisitely detailed dragons, one light silver and one dark, forming a heart. In the middle, a black diamond is held by the silver dragon, and a normal diamond is held by the dark one, creating a magnificent contrast.

Opening the clasp, your eyes anchor to a sketch you haven’t seen before. It’s not of the mortal woman you don’t remember. It’s of you, as you must appear now. Your eyes are the only thing in vivid colour, and your fangs peek out of your smiling lips. Even though the picture is small, it holds an impossible amount of detail.

The smooth metal of the back is engraved with Astarion’s nickname for you, Amarillis. It’s Elven, your mother tongue, for Flame-Flower.

Putting the locket on, you find another note nestled between the petals of the rose.

“Where the forgotten lay to rest under the celestial canopy, find the crimson-kissed stone where a single star shines alone.”  

If you know Astarion, he’s left another hint somewhere in plain sight, like the goblet. You scan your surroundings for anything that looks out of place, and you find an image hanging on the wall behind the stage that you don’t recall being there.

You recognize the statue, Balduran Looks Out to Sea, located in the Tumbledown district of the outer city. It’s not an area you’ve spent much time in. Astarion and you went to sit on the cliff and watch the sunrise the day before you went to kill or be killed by Cazador.

Now, you just need to get there without eating anyone.

Twilight is a tangible whisper, bruising the stretch of sky in purple and navy when you return to the streets. Alleys and paths are easiest for you to traverse, and sometimes you Misty Step and skate over the roofs when you feel bloodlust evaporating from your control.

At least Tumbledown is far less busy than the Lower City, thanks to the misty veil that never seems to disentangle from the town. The soft percussion of waves from the River Chionthar pulsing upon the cliffside is rhythmic as you walk up the quiet path leading to the statue.

You reread the note, “Where the forgotten lay.”

Cliffside Cemetery.

The large graveyard spreads before you, composed of a bafflingly complex network of headstones, tombs, and old mausoleums. You keep your eye out for anything red, which will appear brazenly against the drab background of the assorted greys and greens of the mossy tombstones.

The moonlight casts eerie shadows that stretch and disfigure the terrain. The stars ignite the velvet wreath of night as you finally come upon a headstone with a red rose draped over it.

The weather over the centuries has worn, stained, and cracked the stone. Crouching, you carefully wipe off the grime that dulls the worn epitaph.

“Astarion Ancunin,” it reads.

Rest Peacefully Beneath a Canopy of Stars.

Your fingers trace the jagged lines unconsciously as tears brim in your eyes, sinking to your knees.

“I have not returned since I punched a hole in my coffin and dug through six feet of dirt nearly 200 years ago.” Astarion’s voice floats from behind you.

Leaping to your feet, you whirl with more agility than you’ve ever possessed and thrust yourself into his arms. Astarion is dressed in clothing reminiscent of his camp clothes, leaving the typical opulence of the Vampire Ascendant behind.

“You are not forgotten, Astarion,” you whisper against his chest.

Astarion’s arms wrap around you. His timbre is angelic and deep, vibrating through your skin and massaging your spirit. “I was. For 200 years, I was a ghost stalking the streets while whoever I was, whoever I could have been, lay dead and buried."

Taking your hand, he walks toward his grave, letting his fingers coast over the roughened stone. “Cazador was waiting for me when I surfaced, hacking up dirt and congealed blood. I was his from that day forward. Even this grave is located on lands once owned by the Szarr family. Yet another nod to his ownership of me, I suppose.”

His finger taps the headstone, but he’s smiling when he turns to look at you—a real, genuine smile that fills your heart with warmth. “Then you fell like an angel from the heavens, quite literally, and waged war on everything I thought I knew about the world. You gave me something I had been without for centuries—hope.”

“I’m no angel,” you whisper.

“You’re my angel, Illyria,” he asserts. With Astarion’s attire and the way he’s speaking, which is so entirely familiar, there’s a shot of recognition that stirs your psyche. For the first time since you relearned it, your name is not an abstract word in your head. Astarion must feel it because he smiles broadly and continues, “No one cared, no one gave me a second look, and no Gods answered my prayers. No one is like you; you’re you. You stood with me through bloodlust, pain, and misery. You trusted me. You were patient. You cared. You were the only one who never gave up on me. You still haven’t given up on me, even though it’s an objectively stupid thing to do.”

“You were being very sweet until you called me stupid.” You giggle as he wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Sweet and savoury, my dear,” he chuckles. “I’ve been free for over a year. Yet, I am just beginning to figure out who I am and what I truly want out of this newfound life.”

“What do you want, Astarion?” You lean into him. “The world is yours for the taking.”

“Not what,” he says, shaking his head, sliding an arm around your waist, and his fingers grazing over the locket on your neck. He smiles, “But you will have to finish this little quest to find the answers you seek.” He hands you another note and winks, “I’ll see you soon.”

Astarion gives you a small, playful shove and strides away with a smirk. He bows and shifts into an unnaturally large, white bat with crimson eyes you would recognize in a sea of them, soaring around you while you laugh.

“You’re adorable, but are you soft?” You ask.

He answers in your head with a lilting laugh, “Shall we find out?”

He lands, folding his wings and resting on his headstone, and cocks his head. Your fingers tremble, unfoundedly afraid you might hurt him, as they stroke down the alabaster fur.

“Soft and cute.”

“I aim to please,” he snickers, taking off to kiss the stars. “You are wasting time, my treasure.”

You giggle at his jeering and watch him streak through the sky, so beautifully free, before reading the note.

"Seek the shore’s embrace, where stars align, and ascend the steps, bathed in candlelight’s shine. There, seek the terrace above the riverside; a question to decide.” 

Shore’s embrace. Now, this you know well. When Astarion turned you he insisted on renting a villa with this name near the river in the Lower City.

The trek back to the Lower City somehow feels lengthier as nervousness hits you, ticking away in your chest, every beat of Astarion’s heart amplifying your anxiety as if the seconds were grains of sand slipping away, impossible to grasp.

You can’t entirely tell if it’s yours or his. With the bond open and uninhibited, you are entangled, a tapestry of threads entwined so seamlessly that it’s difficult to distinguish where one of you begins and the other ends.

If Astarion has figured out you’re hiding something, he’s given you no indication, but some part of you still wonders if you’re walking into a trap. It’s hard to control your thoughts so they do not transfer to him, which he’s been trying to teach you so that you can keep the bond open, but your private thoughts can remain your own.

It makes you wonder what thoughts he keeps from you.

You smell the aromatic perfume of roses before you round the corner. The villa hangs onto the wall and overlooks the River Chionthar. The silver waves sway and reflect the impending dawn’s early light, cradling the morning’s first blush. Candles light the steps covered in white and red rose petals. It almost feels wrong to step on something so wonderful.

The beat in your chest thrums with anticipation, like your extinct heartbeat has woken and risen from the grave as you ascend the staircase to the grand entrance. Your breath catches in your throat as you enter the foyer. The sparkling crystal chandelier is lit, casting scintillating rainbows across the room. Rosemary incense burns, filling the air with an aroma that reminds you of home—of Astarion.

You follow the scattered rose petals leading to the terrace as the golden crown of the sun crests the horizon. Fear typically follows such a sight, but you’re revelling in grandeur.

The heartbeat behind you is the only thing that alerts you to Astarion’s presence. The man seemingly appears out of thin air, but if you had that ability, you would take advantage of it too, you suppose.

“This is beautiful,” you say, and your words are abruptly cut off.

As your eyes fall on Astarion in his resplendent tailored suit, he descends to one knee. His crimson eyes meet yours, sparkling with a celestial constellation mirroring the infinity of his love. The newborn sun lights up the adoration in his features.

“Illyria, my love,” he begins in a soft whisper before your brain can catch up to what is happening. “You are the fire that lights up my darkness, a melody that soothes my troubled soul. After being with you, there is no doubt that I have touched the heavens.” He hesitates momentarily, and the bond surges with warmth, longing, devotion, and good Gods, love, “I love you, and I fall more in love with you every day. I do not know what tomorrow brings, but right now, with you, the world feels right.”

His hand reaches into his pocket and produces a small, velvet box. Lifting the lid, the quick breaths you didn’t realize you'd been taking catch in your throat as your eyes fall on an exquisite ring, nestled on a bed of crimson silk, intricately crafted with a dragon claw, clutching a heart-shaped diamond to match the locket.

Astarion’s warm caramel baritone holds the sweet promise of eternity: “Will you marry me?”

Your hand shoots to your mouth to stifle the sound that erupts from your throat, somewhere between a whimper and a squeak. Your knees fold, unable to hold your weight any longer, and you drop, folding your arms around his neck and draping yourself over him.

His hand comes to your back, and he kisses your cheek. “Is this happy crying, or have I made a grave miscalculation?”

“Happy crying,” you stutter through shaky breaths.

He chuckles, nuzzling you. “Is this a yes?”

“Yes!” You pull back, nodding in case he cannot understand you through your weeping. “But I need one thing from you."

"Ask, and I shall make it yours,” he purrs.

You cradle his cheek, sweeping your thumb across it. “Say it again.”

He smirks, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I love you.”

“One more time,” you choke out.

“Gods above,” he giggles. “Is this all you will have me say now?”

You smile, the tips of your fangs peeking from your lips. “It sounds very good in your mouth.”

“You know I do not repeat myself for anyone,” he taunts. “Anyone but you, my love.” Astarion takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger, looking deeply into your eyes. “I love you, Illyria, my wife, my everything.”

“I love you, too, Astarion, my husband, my shining star.”

He beams, “I do rather like that, you know,” he muses. “When you call me husband.”

His arm wraps around your waist, easing you to your feet. You clutch onto him to keep yourself upright as your knees wobble like a newborn fawn and try to watch the sunrise with your head on his chest, but your eyes keep drifting to the ring adorning your finger, reminding yourself that this did, in fact, just happen.

“Do you like it?” He murmurs, catching your eyes moored to it.

“I love it,” you whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I should hope not,” he chuckles. “I designed it. No one will ever have anything similar.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, you know me,” he shrugs. “I killed the jeweller to make sure he could never replicate it.”

Your head snaps up, wide-eyed, to look at him. He glances at you and bursts into laughter. “A jest, sweetheart.”

“I hope you at least compelled him to forget it,” you snicker. “Or I may have to drain anyone I see with anything similar.”

“Oh,” he giggles. “I do so adore it when you’re murderous. Speaking of draining someone, I’ve had you running around the city all night. You must be positively famished.”

“You fed me,” you say, arching a brow at him. “Lucky for the citizens of the Lower City. Some of them smell very tasty.”

Astarion’s hands find the back of your thighs, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you. “Not as tasty as me, I hope.”

“No one could ever be as tasty as you,” you purr. “Your blood is nearly as charming as you are.”

He chuckles, taking you into the villa and setting you on the lofty mattress. “Well, who am I to deny your hunger? I would not be a very good husband if I did not keep my lovely wife satisfied. Would I?”

“What are you saying exactly?” You sweep your fingers through his hair as he undoes the elaborate clasps of his suit jacket. He discards it and loosens the collar of his shirt. You quirk your head at him. “Speak plainly.”

“I want you to bite me,” he purrs, pushing your legs to part for him with his knee and leaning over you. His lips mould to yours in a reverential kiss as his hands wander your body and ignite your desire.

“Bite you?” You breathe. “You said I couldn’t.”

“No.” Astarion removes his shirt, and your palms skim over his chest. “I said you can’t unless I permit you. You are as close to a True Vampire as you can get, my consort. It will not change you.”

“I don’t want to change,” you murmur, your fingers pressing firmly into his sculpted muscles. The offer of blood is tempting your hunger. “You’re giving me permission?”

He smirks, “Go on then. I’ll allow it.”

“Where?” Astarion cranes his neck to the side in an invitation. It takes everything you have not to leap for that magnificently pulsing vein. “Your neck?”

“Is there something wrong with my neck, my dear?”

“No. Of course not,” you giggle. “You have a very lovely neck. This is just new, that’s all. I didn’t think you would want to be, uh, well, bitten.”

“Your bite, my sweet,” he purrs, pressing his chest against yours and pinning you between him and the mattress. “Is divine. Only you will ever get the great honour of biting the Vampire Ascendant.”

“I godsdamned better be!” You huff, “I don’t share, Astarion. Not your body, not your blood, and definitely not your heart. You are mine and only mine. ”

He giggles, “Possessive little thing. Aren’t you? Not to worry, my love. I do not intend to share. I am yours. Wholly, and completely yours.”

You trace your lips down the shell of his ear. Your heart frolics at the ardent shudder that courses through his body and how the breath hitches in his throat. Kissing his neck until you feel the vein pulsing against your lips, you wait until he whispers his shaky, anticipatory approval.

The razor-sharp points of your fangs kiss his skin, and you wait for your body to seize up, but it doesn’t. You bite quick and sure, trying your best to be gentle. You feel the pop of your fangs puncturing his skin. His blood erupts into your mouth, caressing your tongue with heavenly heat that cascades through the channels of your veins and nestles between your thighs. You drink from him slowly but deeply, and your body trembles.

Astarion groans, deep and rich, his hot breath fanning the cool skin of your neck, and you feel the icy pinch of his fangs sink into you. You wash through him, and he passes through you in a paradisiacal torrent. The pleasure that harmonizes over the bond is transcendent. You swear you could come undone for this alone, and you ease your fangs from his neck and moan.

He kisses you with a bruising intensity. His tongue parts your lips so you can taste the essence of each other, and he bucks his hips into your aching sex, sending you spiralling into that frisson of pure delirium.

The clothes on your body feel much too restricting, and you whimper. The barrier of fabric between you feels unbearable. Astarion’s fingers go to his trousers, but his usual adroitness is nowhere to be seen as his fingers fumble with the laces.

He stares at his fingers dumbfounded for a moment and then looks at you with an arched brow and giggles gleefully, “Do you by any chance feel absurdly intoxicated?”

You writhe on the bed, unable to contain your ardent lust, as your brain awkwardly processes his question.

“Entirely,” you laugh. Gods. You thought you were high on him last time, but you are almost senseless in your need. You’re not even sure if you’re walking on the planes of reality or in some delightful hallucination, and you cannot find it within you to care. “Is this not normal?”

Astarion throws his trousers to the side, rucks up your dress clumsily, and tosses it away. “I’m not entirely sure. I may have read something about it, but I cannot quite remember where or when.” He shrugs. “We will have to experiment.”

Precum glistens, dripping from the head of his swollen cock. You are overcome with the absolute need for his salty, heady taste on your tongue. You lunge at him, bowling him over. Your movements are somehow swift and equally ungainly.

You lick up his shaft with a long, broad tongue stroke, feeling the ridges of his distended veins, before you engulf him in the wet heat of your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the blunt head of his cock. He sucks in sharp, shuddering breaths, fingers in your hair as you worship him, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, taking him deeper and deeper until his cock tickles the back of your throat.

“Illyria,” he moans breathlessly. “Hells. You’ve got to stop before I lose my composure.”

But you’re not entirely sure you could stop, even if you wanted to. No. You want to feel his cock twitching on your tongue and his seed shooting into your throat. You want to drink his essence like a fine wine.

“Illyria,” he warns, trembling fingers curling into your hair. You feel the telltale pulse, hear the way his breath becomes ragged and uneven, and you take him over the edge in a few bobs of your head. He cries out, your name a sweet litany in his voice.

His seed bursts into your mouth, and you moan at the salt of him, swallowing every drop he gives you like a thirsty traveller. He is candied like heaven, wicked like hell, and, oh, so fucking delicious.

He pulls your head back by your hair and stares at you like he has found an oasis in an arid desert. You lick your swollen, red lips, determined to get every last drop of him that you can.

“Bad girl,” he purrs, shoving you flat on your back and pressing his lips to yours. He explores your mouth. “I taste exultant on your tongue.”

His fingers run through the seam of your dripping folds, coating them in the sleek of your arousal and easing into your fluttering channel. Astarion presses the pads firmly into that sweet spot inside that blinds you with pleasure, the heel of his palm caressing your clit with mind-numbing friction.

It does not take him long to settle into a rhythm that throws you somersaulting over the cusp of your own release with a lewd, wild cry, and he does not stop until he’s lured every possible shockwave from your body.

Astarion grabs your waist, tugging you down the bed as he settles between your thighs, sliding his length through your folds, his head teasing your overstimulated pearl. He guides himself into you, working your sex open inch by inch as you stretch to accommodate his girth.

Where everything before this was wild, almost savage, and borderline uncivilized, this is slow, passionate, and unhurried. He rocks his hips in languid pumps, coming to his forearm with his forehead pressed against yours. He is not fucking you. He is making love to you.

“You are mine,” he rasps through shaky gasps. It is not a proclamation of his ownership of you. It is not a command. It’s more of a plea for reassurance. “Yes?”

“Yours,” you confirm breathlessly, your eyes squeezed closed in pure rapture as he massages every one of your ridges poetically. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you cling to him as if you might float away on this cloud. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Gods. I love you,” he shudders between uneven breaths.

You will never tire of hearing those words, tasting them as they hinge off his tongue, and feeling them as they dally over the bond.

You clench around him, expelling a sighing groan from his mouth that you catch on your lips, determined to taste his ecstasy. His arm folds around your waist, forcing you to arch into him with his other hand at the back of your head. Astarion changes the angle of his thrusts but keeps the easy tempo. The blunt head of his cock waves over the sensitive pad of nerves inside you with every roll of his hips, and his groin grinds against your needy clit.

Astarion purposefully brings you close to your climax and then eases you away from it until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to take this withholding any longer. From his taut muscles and the way Astarion shakes, you know he cannot either. “Gods.”

“Open your eyes and come with me, my love.” Astarion increases the sensual pace rhythmically. The building pleasure pools in your abdomen, coiling tighter and tighter with every snap of his hips.

You open your eyes, blinking away the daze of passion, and cradle his cheek as he gazes at you affectionately. You’ve never seen his eyes so vividly crimson, as if his love for you itself was shining through the scarlet depths.

He knows the moment you begin to tread the fine edge of euphoria, gripping his girth and begging him to flood you with his pleasure. You shatter, spasms and white-hot pleasure ripping through you so intensely that the candles in the room go out and reignite with every contraction of your walls.

“F-fuck,” he moans loudly, a roll of purring thunder echoing in his chest. With one last pump, Astarion tremors, cock pulsing, and spilling into you. His hips stutter, pulsing deeply within you with every twitch of his cock.

He pushes the sweaty strands of hair from your face as you both struggle to catch your breath. You may never get used to his new speedy movements because, before you even realize you’re moving, he’s rolled you so that your limp body blankets his.

His fingers caress up and down the valley of your spine as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, heaving a sigh of pure happiness while you are once again captivated by the ring wreathing your finger.

Astarion kisses your palm, placing it on his chest, and plays with the ring on your finger. “Will you tell your friends?”

“Our friends,” you correct, even though many don’t fancy him. “Of course. I am not ashamed.”

Astarion nods with a lopsided grin. “Even Gale?”

“Especially Gale,” you giggle.

“I simply must be there when you do,” he snickers. “The look on his face is sure to be exquisite.”

“I am positive he will have choice words for me,” you laugh.

Astarion bristles, “He best watch his words when I am near. I will not tolerate him speaking down to you.”

“Easy, Ascendant,” you tut, clicking your tongue at him. “I am capable of dealing with Gale and his words. I am not a maiden in need of saving.”

Astarion relaxes, chuckling, “A maiden you most certainly are not. I am going to have to field noise complaints.”

You pat his chest, smirking, “All in a day’s work, husband. Our neighbours are going to hate us.”

“We will simply purchase all the houses in the neighbourhood if they become too bothersome,” Astarion chimes, jostling you. “Think of all the places I could make you scream for me.”

You both break into laughter together, still immersed in the intoxication of each other’s blood.

But your bliss doesn’t last long as reality grips its claws into your rapture and bleeds it dry.

You cannot possibly continue to keep what you know for him. How can you expect your love to thrive where secrets sleep? He has to know he can trust you to be honest with him, even when that honesty frightens you. You would want him to tell you if the roles were reversed.

Guilt and fear tangle together and ball in your throat. Astarion jolts at the sudden change in your mood as it resonates over the union, sinking into him as if it were his own. His brows furrow and his eyes dart around aimlessly as he tries to understand the trouble he feels.

“What is wrong, little love?” He coos, taking your hand in his. You can feel his anxiety and the quickened pace of his heart in his palm. “You are frightened. You needn’t be afraid. I am getting better at controlling it. You can tell me anything.”

You steel yourself against the panic. His. Yours. Your combined dread.

You swallow and force the words out of your mouth. “I know what ails you.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going, and I appreciate each of you!

As always, please enjoy.

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

-We finally got Astarion to say he loves her, multiple times, and a lot more than that. ❤️💍

How is he going to react when she finally comes clean? 🫣

[radiocrypt-id]

Gerrard is painful in a way I didn't really understand at first. He's like, 30. He's grown. A handsome prince, married to a wonderful woman that's trying to do her job and prevent the deaths of her people. But all he thinks about is the ball. he offers to look through a sword form book as a way of "helping", or to appear to be helping anyway. He's a coward. He hides with the children and escapes through a secret tunnel and runs away. He's desperate to convince anyone, including himself, that he's a handsome prince who is in love with his wife and their marriage is going great.

And I didn't get it, at first. I thought he was funny and probably more like the average person in a terrible time, not a hero. He's a grumpy adult that feels like the world he was promised got taken away from him when he did nothing to hold onto that world in the first place.

And then they played through his story. He was 9 when he was turned into a frog. 9. A baby, unable to understand what it was he'd done wrong. He was a spoiled little prince with absent parents that was 9 and didn't want to interact with a random strange old woman at his door asking for stuff. An adult could have been gotten. His parents could have been summoned by a servant and brought to the door or a higher servant could have handled the talk but no, no they let a 9 year old boy open that massive door to a random stranger asking to come inside out of the rain. Any child would have said no. Any child. Because an old woman he'd never met was asking to go inside his home. I would have said no, any of the other characters at the table would have said no. She's a scary old lady on his doorstep! And yeah maybe he said it in a dickish way. Maybe he called her a peasant or said 'how dare you' to her face, but he was 9 years old, what 9 year old isn't a weird little dick? Especially when they don't know what's going on? Stranger danger is literally a thing taught to children as soon as they can walk! Any one would have said no. But Gerrard said no, and was turned into a frog for it.

But you know what's worse then being turned into a frog and dropped in a pond a bit away from your home? Never being looked for. Not once. He was out there, he could see hunters and soldiers. A tiny Gerrard must have waited months, just staring out into the woods, straining his ears, listening for his mother or father calling his name. And then just listening for his name at all. And then just listening for any sign of humans at all. No one was looking for him. For all the servants charged with taking care of a young prince, not one saw what happened to him and not one went looking. It's hard to be small and scared and alone, waiting for someone to come get you but no one ever comes to get you. It's hard to learn that the people that are supposed to love you just... don't.

And later on, after becoming a handsome man and marrying Elody, Gerrard spent more years of his life as a frog in a pond than a prince. Day dreaming about balls and gossip and feasts and all the fun things about being a prince because it's all he can remember about his time as a prince. He didn't have the classes he should have had. He missed out on etiquette, and sword play, and politics, and war. He missed those lessons, because he was just a little frog in a pond during the years he would have learned all that. But he's expected to know. Elody loves him, but she expects him to know how to be a prince. She expects him to understand war and strife and taxes and all those important things and doesn't once stop to ask if he actually knows these things. Of course he didn't want to talk about the war effort. Of course he asked about the ball and offered to read a book about sword play. It's not that he could give more and chose not to, he genuinely didn't know how to do more than that. He was taking what initiative he could. He could teach himself how to fight, sure! but he can't teach himself how to be a general. All he wants is to be safe, and for the person he loves to be safe. And he assumes that anyone would run away from a losing battle because he would. He grew up a frog that had to survive by running away and letting someone else die so he could live. But even once he ran, he went looking for Elody. Because although Elody is falling out of love with Gerrard, he loves her fiercely. And as he goes on his adventure and fights and dies and fights more, he gets it. He gets what Elody wanted from him and what she needed him to be and that he failed to do that.

So he's learning better now. He learning to accept personal sacrifice, like with the glass shard. He's learning to be diplomatic, like with the pig. He's learning to be dangerous and capable, like in the fight against muffet. He's learning what it means to rely on people and be honest with them about his failings so they can cover his ass, like with the party. It's hard to learn these things. It's hard to try and sus out who is helpful and who isn't. It's hard to not hand off his problems again for someone else to fix. Because even though he's 30 now, he spent an unknown number of years as a frog, and he's desperately trying to catch up without letting anyone know he's behind because they might not like him anymore if they know how far behind them he is. He's doing his very best and, terrifyingly, the person that's supposed to love him is loving him less because his best isn't good enough for her. Once again, he's missing and no one is looking for him.

But that's okay, because this time, Gerrard can do the looking.

[homulilythemagicalgirl]

Everything I know about magical girls/magical heros/magis

What magis are, what they do, and how to become one

Magis have many names, magical girls, magical heros, puella magis, etc. A magi is someone who uses magic and fights evil to protect people. I will be focusing on puella magis because they are the ones I know most about. Puella magis work with incubators like Kyubey, and they fight witches. They have soul gems, which are where their magic comes from.

Magic and combat for fighting witches basics

When you become a magi, you get magic and a weapon. Your natural magic will be based on your wish, like how Sayaka Miki wished to heal someone and therefore has healing magic. All other magic is learned. Your weapon will be what you prefer/what's easiest for you to fight with, so don't worry. You can choose your weapon by creating it with magic or by bringing a non magical weapon as well. It's best to use a weapon you're comfortable with. If you use a bow, but you hate how precise the aiming is, it would not be a comfortable weapon for combat. Remember that you will have to make a lot of quick decisions in a fight, so don't make it harder by using a weapon that's doesn't feel right to you.

Transformations and outfits

When you become a magi, you will gain the ability to transform. Transformations can be purely cosmetic, or they can let you use your magic more easily. A lot of people worry that their magical girl outfit will be something they don't like, but that is just a myth. You're outfit forms based on what you like and want, even if you aren't able to decide consciously. You are able to transform by choosing to. It won't happen when you don't want it to.

Astral magis

Astral magis are a type of magi that do work in the astral realm. They have their real soul gem in the astral realm, but they also have something in the physical realm that is connected to their soul gem, just not as strongly. These magis might have jewelry or items they often carry with them that are connected to their soul gems. They might patrol in the physical realm to find the location of witches and collect their sigils, which they will memorize the look of in order to find the witch again once they go into the astral realm. The typical magi stuff all happens in the astral realm, but it can still have effects on the physical realm as well.

Physical magis

Physical magis are magis that do work in the physical realm. They have their soul gems in the physical realm, so it is not connected to jewelry or objects, but they can transform into a ring or something similar. However, this makes their job more dangerous. If an astral magi turns into a witch, their physical form will not be one, but if a physical magi turns into a witch, they don't have another body to rely on. I don't think they use sigils to find witches, I think they use the glow of their soul gems to find them. The typical magi stuff all happens in the physical realm.

Other magis and civilians

Once you are a magi, you will meet fellow magis, and you will also see civilians, which is just what you call non magis. Some magis might want to fight alongside you, and some might want to fight you. Since you both have magic, the difference between friends and enemies is much more extreme, so try not to make enemies if you are new to magic. As a magi, you might want to keep your identity secret from civilians. Some magi do so by never transforming near civilians, and some do so by having a good disguise. If you want to tell someone about your magical life, make sure they are trustworthy. Don't stress over trying to hide it, most people don't even know about magic, so they will dismiss any magical thing they accidentally see as something regular.

Doppels

I don't know if doppels are real or a myth, but from what I've heard, if a magi is able to control their despair, they will be able to summon a doppel, which is like the witch they would become, but on the good side instead of evil. It can be hard to control them at first, but over time, you will learn how to stay yourself and use them to help you at the same time.

Coordinators

Not all magis are made for battle, some are able to help other magis as their main job. A coordinator is typically weak in battle, but they are able to adjust other magis soul gems. They are able to keep their own soul gem pure by asking for grief seeds in exchange for their work. I have heard coordinators are created when someone makes a wish from despair instead of from hope.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Twenty Six}

Alastor x (Fem)Reader

It had been a few weeks after that wonderful day. Alastor and I had decided to keep our new relationship just between us for now. This all happened so suddenly, we were still trying to catch up ourselves. We didn't think we wanted everyone to know so soon.

Or anyone else at that, especially the overlords of Hell. If they knew, it could bring trouble to both me and Alastor. So for now until further notice, this relationship would be our little secret.

Though, Alastor found it hard to contain himself. He was around me before, but now, he was practically tied to my hip. He would always stand so close to me around the other, and when no one was paying attention, he'd let his hand rest on my lower back comfortingly. Aside from little things like that, we wouldn't make much effort to be so publicly affectionate.

However, when it was just the two of us. Things couldn't have been sweeter. Alastor would always have his hands on mine, holding me close, which would turn into a slow dance between us.

Alastor would have loved nothing more to announce to all of Hell, his love for me proudly. But knew better than to do something so impulsive. So he kept his love private, and just for me.

I wasn't any better. I slowly grew more and more use to being in a relationship again, and I couldn't be happier. I had hoped I didn't come off as too clingy whenever I was around Alastor, though, he's never said anything about it. If anything, he welcomed it.

I was so touched to know he trusted me enough to be so intimate with him. He never once rejected my touch, as he would for a stranger.

I trusted him as well. To never betray my love, to never hurt me. And so far, he's been nothing but loyal and true to his word.

"Y/n? I have a question for you." Alastor says as he turns away from his radio set up. "Yes?" I ask, approaching him. Alastor rests his hands on my hips, a kind smiling forming on his lips. "I know this might come off as sudden or improper but...How would you feel about moving in with me?"

"Move in with you?" I repeat. "You want me to move in with you?" I couldn't help but smile. "I do." Alastor hums swaying me slightly, in an almost waltz fashion. I giggle. "If you wouldn't mind it, I would be happy to."

"Oh, my darling." Alastor pulls me closer to him. "Of course I don't mind. I'll have whatever you need moved right away."

"I just have one request." I tell him. "What's that?" Alastor asks. "Make sure your shadow friends respect my privacy." I say jokingly. I had gotten the chance to become familiar with Alastor's shadow, and learning there were plenty more shadows and minions creeping around unseen. Ready to be summoned at any moment by their master.

Alastor chuckles. "Noted."

"Good." I say before resting my head on his chest. I then let out a light sigh. "Is something the matter?" Alastor gazed down at me with a questioning look. "Just thinking..." I mutter. "About what?" Asked Alastor. I take a moment before answering.

"How I wished it was you I met when I was alive, instead of him..."

Alastor hums. "I don't think you'd want that. I wasn't a good man, you know. I believe I've told you of my hobbies in my living days."

"I guess." I shrug. "Would I have been one of those unfortunate souls you enjoyed hunting?" Alastor takes my chin with his fingers, and gently made me face up at him. "I would have perused you, yes...But not for the reasons you're thinking." I let out an airy laugh. "How romantic."

"I am an expert at it, after all." Alastor says jokingly. "You're not too bad." I start. "You're treating me quite well, for someone who's never been in a relationship before."

"Well, I feel it's common sense to treat your partner with love and respect." Alastor chuckles.

"A lot of people don't know that." I say. "Thankfully, I managed to find someone who does. Even if he is a murderous, cannibalistic, demon from hell."

"It can't get much better than that." Alastor adds with a smirk. I laugh. "No, I don't think it does."

Later that day, Alastor had did as he promised and moved my stuff to his home. It was rather easy, considering he could do it with just a snap of his fingers. I was happy to start living with Alastor. I'd always be with him now, I'd get to see him everyday. And I didn't have to hide my true appearance anymore.

At least not while I was staying there. Leaving the house and going to the hotel was a different story.

I removed my necklace and looked into the mirror. It's been a minute since I've seen my real self. As I transformed, a few of my feathers fell from my wings. "Again?" I ask myself. I run my hands through my wings, a few more fell out into my grasp. "What is going on?" I mutter.

Alastor then walked into the room. "Hello, my baby!" He greeted me in a sing-song fashion. He then noticed the confused, and slightly concerned, look on my face. "Is something wrong?" He asks, approaching me.

"My feathers are falling out." I answer, showing him the few feathers in my hand. He took one and examined it. "How odd. Do angels molt?" He asks. I shake my head. "No. Maybe...it's stress? But, what could I be stressed about?"

"Well, this is a big step in our relationship. Perhaps you're a little anxious, moving from one place to another." Alastor suggests. "I guess?" I say with a shrug. "I'm not going to worry about this. It might make it worse if I do." I sigh.

"It's probably best if you didn't. For now at least. But in the meantime..." A mischievous grin formed on Alastor's face. Before I knew what was going on, I was being lifted up and carried to a near by love seat. I was sat on his lap, as he held me close.

"I demand affection!"

"But I need to finish unpacking." I protest. "Later." Alastor said simply before gently pressing my head to his chest. I roll my eyes playfully before snuggling into him. "You're lucky I love you."

When I felt Alastor tense is when I realized what I had just said. My eyes went wide and my heart stopped a second before picking up. I open my mouth to say something, but Alastor beat me to it.

"You love me?"

His tone of voice when he asked that, was one I never heard from him before. Quiet and unsure, as if he heard me wrong, or that I didn't mean it.

My face was hot, my heart racing. Guess there was no taking it back now. Not that I would. I did mean it after all.

"I do." I say softly, looking up at him. "I know that might be sudden, but, I really do love you Alastor. You make me so happy."

Alastor leaned down to plant a kiss onto my head. "I love you too." He says quietly. I smile brightly before taking his face with my hands. "Then kiss me properly." I laugh. Alastor didn't hesitate to do just that.

After a minute or two, we parted. Alastor just stared at me for a while, his eyes held mine in a soft gaze. "I'd love you in just about any form my dear, but the real you..." He took my hand and kissed it. "You take my breath away."

"Alastor, you flirt." I say jokingly, trying to ignore the heat pooling in my cheeks. "It's true." Alastor says, kissing my wrist next. He then left a trail of kisses up my arm, to my shoulder. "Anyone would be a blind fool to disagree." I was sure my face was red now, steam might as well have been spouting from my ears.

He kissed up my shoulder to my collar bones, then to my neck. It wasn't a sexual gesture, Alastor has made his feelings clear about things like that. No, this was a gentle and loving gesture. Just as passionate, just as intimate.

"Alastor..." I sigh softly. "Mon chér." Alastor whispers.

The moment was suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door. Alastor drew away from me, alert, as he held me tight. His shadow then formed next to him. "Go see who it is, and come right back to tell me." Alastor instructed. The shadow nodded before sinking into the floor once again.

"Alastor? What is it?" I ask in a hushed tone. "No one should know how to reach this place..." He answered, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Within seconds, his shadow returned. "Well?" Alastor prompts.

His shadow spoke, I couldn't understand what it was saying. Though Alastor knew, as his expression turned from cautious to slightly annoyed. "I see." He mutters. He then sets me aside on the love seat before standing.

"Apologies, my love. I'll be right back." Before he left, he summoned my necklace and handed it to me. "Just in case." He says before walking away. I put the necklace on, and watched in confusion as he made his way out of the room.

Alastor walked to the front door and opened it, he looked down to see a familiar face. "Hiya Al!" Standing before him, was his oldest friend. "Mimzy." He greets simply. "How did you get here?" He asks. Mimzy raises an eyebrow before sighing. "Figures, you wouldn't remember." She says with a roll of her eyes. "You brought me here after getting drunk off your keester. Remember? You tried teleporting three different times, before you came back to my lounge and whined for me to help you home?"

Alastor's grin strained, his eye twitched slightly. "Ah...I see..."

"And speaking of getting drunk, I brought your favorite!" Mimzy takes a bottle of liquor from her purse and handed it to Alastor. She then walks past him into the house. "You would not believe the night I had." She starts to ramble. Alastor accepted the situation and closed the front door, following and listening to the shorter woman.

"This bum thought he could pull a fast one on me, and not pay for his drinks. Well, I told him otherwise and and had Vinny and Johnny take care of him. Got my money alright, and even a hefty tip."

She goes on. "Al, I just don't understand it. Where did all the gentlemen go? Huh? It seems like you're the only one with any class! All these losers down here ain't got nothing better to do than to try and scam and disrespect a poor little lady, such as my self!"

Alastor hummed, barely paying much attention as he walked with her.

"Alastor? Is everything alright?"

Alastor and Mimzy turned their attention to me. I was standing in the doorway of the living room, when my eyes landed on the small flapper girl. Who was this?

"My, my Al!" Mimzy looks to me then to Alastor. "And here I thought you weren't about this kind of thing." She approaches me. "Hiya, the name's Mimzy. Who might you be, doll?"

"Y/n." I answer. "Y/n, what a pretty name. Now tell me, what in hell have you been doing hiding from me all this time? The the first I hear Alastor's found himself a woman, and I'm only just now finding out." She then turns to Alastor.

"And you Al, how could you not introduce me sooner?"

"Y/n." Alastor starts. "This is Mimzy, I believe I've told you about her." Ah. So this was that Mimzy.

"You have, have ya?" Mimzy smirks. "Better be all good things." I nod my head. "Yes, all good things." I confirm. "And, things that the police wouldn't like hearing." Mimzy's eyebrows shot up. "You told her?" She asks. "I want no secrets between us, of course I told her." Said Alastor.

"I can't say I'm fine with it, but, I know better than to worry about Alastor hurting me. And, really he's done nothing but help me since I arrived in Hell. He's even protected me against someone that shall not be mentioned." I tell her.

"Mhm." Alastor hums lightly. "Y/nhas been rather pleasant to be around. As you might imagine, we didn't click at first. But now, there is no separating us."

"I dare anyone to try..." He says with a static filled growl.

"I never thought I'd see the day." Mimzy murmurs. "Alright Al, you better take good care of her. You too missy. Al is a good friend of mine, I don't want his heart getting broken." Alastor walks to my side and wraps an arm around my waist. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Same here." I say, leaning into him.

"Oh, aren't you two just the cutest!?" Mimzy squeals. "Oh, we have got to get together some time! Maybe at my lounge?" She suggests. "That sounds lovely, however, we are keeping our relationship as private as we can. I wouldn't want any attention drawn to us, and create a potential problem." Alastor tells her. But Mimzy waves it off like nothing.

"I have private rooms just for that. Come on, you won't have anything to worry about!" She says, then looks at me. "What do you think, Y/n?" She asks. I give it some thought. "Well, it does sound nice. As long as you promise we won't be seen."

"Then it's a date! Consider everything taken care of, ya lovebirds!"

Tag List-

@krak-jj

@martinys-world

@cherry-cola-100

@wonderlandangelsposts

[wakacreations]

Author's Note:

My contribution to the Doni fandom. Thanks to @falcatamandarina for inspiring the piece.

Doni: I Will See You Again Soon!

Word Count: 1703

Summary:

Doni writes a letter to his father recapping of all that has happened to him so far.

Dad,

It's been awhile since I wrote to you. A lot has happened in just a short amount of time but I just wanted to let you know I'm safe and sound. I made it to Baldur’s Gate just like we promised to each other. The other tieflings from Elturel took me in as a part of their family. You know how I wished for a big brother or sister? I got both! 

There is Rolan who is a famous wizard. Can you believe a tiefling could own a big tower? There is Lia who is the head of a team of flaming fists. She could beat all the fists in an archery match! I once saw her run after a thief on the roof tops and caught them midair. There is Cal who runs a fun orphanage. Everytime I visit the other kids he's planning a secret surprise. Last time the secret surprise was fireworks from Rolan’s tower and we got to eat some yummy food Cal made.

Alfira has been helping me learn how to sing again. I know how much you loved watching and hearing me sing back in Elturel. It's been hard because sometimes my voice doesn't want to come out when I want it to. Lakrissa has been cheering for me everytime during practice. I feel shy sometimes when she does it because I don't feel like I'm doing a good job. I know I can sing really good like you've told me. I just don't sing as good as I used to now. Alfira believes I'm still a good singer but it just takes time to sing like before. She said that I'm a better singer than Lakrissa. She once summoned a pack of worgs to come using her voice alone. I believed her because when Lakrissa started singing we heard howling in the distance. Our lessons had to end early that day. I got to eat some nice cinnamon rolls that Lakrissa paid for. 

Sometimes I visited Dammon’s forge even when I'm not supposed to. He said that I should send him a letter first so he can finish his work early. I try to write to him ahead of time but I would forget. He would be too busy to talk but I liked watching him work on the forge. Mama K would take me on an outing if that was the case. I would help her with the groceries and we would go around visiting the new shops that just opened. I helped her pick out a new shirt for Dammon to wear. Mama K said he can always use some more. It'll eventually become a rag with how many shirts he goes through, she joked. Dammon has a lot of neat projects he's working on. A customer requested to make them a giant warhammer! The hammer was bigger than I was! Dammon, let me wrap the handle with leather. He gave me a lollipop for a job well done. He asked me if I would like to work at the desk while he worked on the forge. I told him I would love to but only when I visit. 

So, Dad when you come to Baldur’s Gate I can treat you to a meal. I have two jobs that pay well. I work at Dammon’s and Rolan’s shops. Don't worry, they said I can stop working for the day when I get tired. I can come into work whenever I want to. I can go restock the shelves or work the desk for the day, it was up to me. You don't have to worry about me spending my earned money on you. Zevlor gives me an allowance and extra pocket money to spend on myself. I sometimes use that money to give him flowers. The Commander would always smile when I handed them to him. It's nice to see him smile because he used to not smile often but I think that's changing now. Tilses said Zevlor’s been making more friends and opening up to people. Hearing that makes me happy. I sometimes worry that he would be lonely in his garden.

He has a big garden with flowers, vegetables and fruit trees. Zevlor even has those fancy hedges that look like little animals. He asked me what animal he should make. I watched him make a cute bunny. They were called “topiary artwork” , he said. Sometimes we would have a picnic in the garden for just the two of us. Other times, which is most of the time, Cal would bring the kids over to have lunch there. 

Zevlor was the host for the outdoor parties whenever there was a celebration for a tiefling from Elturel. The last party was for Lia's promotion. Everyone was so happy it was nice. Even grumpy Rolan smiled. When I went inside to use the toilet, I heard Rolan crying alone. He said he was so proud of his sister and something about the suffering he endured was worth it. I didn't know what he meant by that. I did give him a hug after I found him again. He asked me why I was hugging him. I kept on hugging him. He didn't push me away but hugged back tighter. When he let go, I walked off. Lia noticed the hug and made a comment about if he was crying. Rolan said it was his allergies. His sister said that my hugs were tear worthy and wished that I would hug her too. I gave her the biggest of hugs and then everyone wanted a hug too.

Dad, I'm not as lonely as I used to be back in Elturel. I've been making more friends. Today, I got to play with Arabella, Umi and Xan. Arabella showed me the new powers she got from studying the weave. She said she wanted to be peepaw Wither's apprentice but he kept telling her no. So, Rolan and Gale became her wizard teachers instead. Gale told her she could enroll at Blackstaff Academy and he would put in a good word in for her should she accept. 

Arabella said she didn't want to be far away from everyone again. "Who knows how rude those kids would be there anyways”, she told us. So, she is staying in Baldur’s Gate. Rolan and Gale had set up a portal that connects the two towers just for her lessons. They tried using a scrying eyes for their shared lessons but creating the portals was a better solution. They showed her the new set up for her lessons. The scrying eye would accidentally broadcast whatever the other was doing, Rolan explains to her why the sudden change. Arabella said she saw Rolan and Gale shiver but he didn't explain what they had seen through the eye. 

Umi and Xan described what it was like to live at Wyrm's Rock Fortress with the Duke and Wyll. Umi said it was strange having so many people waiting for you to say something. You had servants that would bring you everything you needed. He felt bad asking them for anything. Umi didn't want to be a bother to them. Wyll said the staff liked him and always mentioned how adorable he was. Umi was happy he didn't need to learn how to wield a sword anymore. He got to learn how to ballroom dance instead. Wyll said the next best thing to dancing in battle would be dancing on the dance floor. Umi said I could join in their dance lessons with Wyll.

Xan explained how Sa'Varsh Lae'zel (his mother) was away on her campaign to tackle the crèche strongholds that still pledged allegiance to Vlaakith. His Sa'Varsh insisted he was to stay at the fortress till she summoned for him. In the meantime he should diligently complete his combat training and learn all he could about Faerun. He enjoyed speaking with the guards that patrolled the fortress. Seeing all the nobles that entered the premises bewildered him. All the flashy jewelry, layered furs and silks looked cumbersome to move. Xan made a face when he mentioned all the perfumes that assaulted his lungs that made him cough and the smells that made his nose hurt from sneezing. As part of his training Xan had insisted to Varsh Wyll he would join in their ballroom dancing lessons. He showed us the steps had learned with Umi from his training.

We spent the whole day playing at the park. We played hide and seek. Arabella and Xan were too good at it. Next game we played was Simon says. Xan was too good at that game. So, we decided to prank him. He got embarrassed when we asked him to say "Faerun" during the game. He wasn't too mad at us for embarrassing him since it was a part of the game. We asked him if there were any githyanki words for friends. He told us it was k’chakhi ra’stil (Wyll later told us that meant idiot ally or dumb friend). There was a patch of grass that had a lot of dandelions. Arabella said we should make flower crowns but she didn't know how. Umi shyly told us he knew how and taught us how to make them. I made you a picture to show you what it looked like.

I think I would train to be bard again, Dad. I missed singing so much. Who knows, maybe you'll be in the audience once again. I don't know if I will only become a bard. I'm still unsure if I want to learn how to be a ranger or a cleric. I'll one day travel around again to find you wherever you are Dad when I'm all grown up like you. I want to let you know I am happy with the life I live now but my life doesn't feel complete without you. I miss you dad. So, write to me when you have the time. I hope you've been receiving my letters even if you can't write to me back. I'll continue to write to you till I'm old and grey. 

I'll write to you again soon! I love you dad. 

-Doni

[icantthinkyandere]

Hello! I hope that you are doing well. Can i request some hcs for a yandere draco (fgo), koyanskaya and proto merlin, please? If not please feel free to ignore this

I'm trying not to have spoilers, and I don't think I can do Draco since she's a JP locked servant. So, I'll be adding that to the rules since I lack knowledge of them. I'm not counting Lady Avalon since she's Proto Merlin and doesn't have a lot of differences from what I know.

{Yandere Koyanskaya}

Good job, you made everything 100 times worse by... somehow, catching her eye.

She is probably one of the worst yanderes to have in all of FGO. Whether you're the master of Chaldea or just a worker, she will make every Lostbelt she is in hell for everyone. Her main quest won't stop, of course. You're just a nice bonus for her.

She doesn't want anyone to know her attraction to you, of course. In the beginning, she barely believes she has feelings. During Anastasia, she thinks it's just hate for humans, that she wants you dead more than others. But every time she thought about her plan, she noticed that it kept changing to keep them alive.

They plans in question are not the best out comes for them. All of them make you more of a lap pet than actually a person. If more like when she does succeed and kidnap them from Chaldea, you won't see her a lot. She does care a lot and will baby you when she is around, but her mission is just as important to her. So, having her new beloved in a place she can control keeps her mind at ease.

There are two differences to this, the first being if you're just an employee or the master of Chaldea. If they're just an employee, she honestly won't believe Chaldea would bother saving you. Assuming that they would believe they're just dead since it's not like you'd be a useful hostage. This would make them easier to get since she has few expectations for anyone trying to help, as well her as keeping a lighter hold on you. [It's not that light, but still.]

If they're the master however, you're kept locked in a way it's hard for her to even get to you. She knows full well the moment she kidnapped them, Chaldea started making a plan to get them back. It makes her so paranoid that she'll get frustrated at how much she has to balance now. She doesn't regret it, though, and she's still confident she can take care of anything thrown at her.

{Yandere Proto Merlin/Lady Avalon}

Neither she nor anyone else knows when her feelings started, but a plan to get into a relationship was in motion the moment she was summoned. Being a yandere is very easy for Lady Avalon. Most people believe that she's just joking around and her attraction won't last long.

She uses her position as a powerful mage as a reason to get them alone under the idea of training. She doesn't immediately make these lesson secret surprise dates. They start as actual lesson that are very useful even with how challenging they can be. Slowly but surely, the learning part does fade out. With breaks becoming longer, whatever she's teaching is becoming both easier and less useful.

Once these lessons start shifting, they pretty much just become private hang out time. A big part of her plan is isolation and gaslighting. Why wouldn't others leave you two alone? She's giving you life or death lessons, missions keep getting more difficult, and those you go up against have many different abilities and strategies that can ruin everything if you're not ready.

You can't complain either. Weren't you the one who complained about how difficult and confusing her lessons were? She's giving you easier ones and longer break times because you asked her to. She's cares about your mental and physical health and is trying to tailor her lessons to you! Being a teacher is just as hard as being a student.

Since her past lesson took a lot of time, it was required to tell other servants that they just don't have the time at the moment to hang out. This had to happen so often that a lot of servants just stopped asking.

For those who didn't back off, she went to Da Vinci to ask her to tell others how important this was. And if they didn't work, she's given long and tiring lectures about how these are necessary and whatever else comes to mind until they agree out to make her stop.

No one's really aware that the lessons stopped weeks ago. They're private and important, needing everyone to not be near the training room or the master's bedroom. She wishes that the dates weren't just limited to holograms in the training room or long movie nights with the occasional rayshift. But it's better than nothing, either this or others butting into the relationship. Slow and steady wins the race after all, and she's already won.

[ichorandpride]

Is using magic too strong in elden ring? like is it cheating?

no and i want you to tell whoever told you that to fuck off

magic, ashes, and yes even the mimic tear is not "cheating" by any means. and this is coming from someone who beat consort radahn and malenia naked (excluding the stone furry dog mask) with a zero magic (other than bloodflame) arguably horrible build with horrid stats (everything is locked at around 30 except for vigor)

im about to ramble now

here's my hot take. in my opinion, choice of weapon does not matter. it doesnt matter if you use magic, melee, summons, whatever. to use the hardest bosses as extreme examples, consort radahn and even malenia are actually easy as fuck once you know what youre doing (and arent suffering from frame drops down to 10fps). and that goes for every boss in these games regardless of your build

the reason why im saying this is because once you know their movesets and how to properly avoid things, your biggest threat then becomes yourself and your own self control to not greed, panic roll, or ragequit. it doesnt matter if you use magic or melee, every person has to then fight a surprise secret boss battle against themselves

take orphan of kos for a non elden ring example. orphan of kos is easy as shit once you learn what to do. his phase 1 is nothing. he spams the same moves that are very easy to parry or avoid over and over. the only reason why his phase 2 is a nightmare is because of how aggressive it is. but here's the thing. you can easily kill him by going on the defensive until he jumps at you. after he lands, he's pretty much stunned for like 3 seconds where you can just attack him for free. the only reason why you die is because you panic and probably get locked down into being only defensive. radahn is the same.

so no. imo magic isnt "too OP". there isnt anything "OP" in any fromsoft game. the only reason why those gamerbros call things "OP" is because they want to feel a level of control over others. ever notice how they all flex their own "OP" builds but then immediately shame others the moment someone is using something they do not like? that's because they suddenly feel a lack of control and perhaps even embarrassment

what do i mean by that? well every time i see some dumbass gamerbro being like "your BUILD should be THIS 'OP' BUILD in ELDEN RING you're CHEATING OTHERWISE", i later see firsthand that they've never actually played a single souls game before

and my theory for why these gamerbros are acting like that is because they're embarrassed and thus want to feel a level of superiority over others. there's always been some level of elitism with souls games, but i never saw it to this extent until elden ring's popularity

so no. magic isnt "cheating" or even "OP". and chances are, whoever told you that is seeking some level of control over you based on their own embarrassment

[dailycharacteroption]

Class Feature Friday: Streets Mystery (Oracle Mystery)

(art by Maxa-art on DeviantArt)

The bustle of the market square, the unique cuisine forged from multiple cultures coming together, the local dialect in all it’s charming idiosyncrasies… Truly it is the people that make a city, giving it the unique character that spawns forth the architectural styles and other wonders that others might think of when they think of city culture.

And with the divine being so numerous and diverse in Pathfinder, it should be no surprise that there would be deities of civilization that focus on the more urbane aspects, both the public and shady underside. These aren’t your lofty high-minded civilization deities like Abadar, but rather the gods that really get in there and know beating heart of the people, be they Cayden Cailean, Milani, or even Norgorber and more.

And so when these deities decide to bless a mortal as an oracle that feels the people and city the way they do, it is often the Streets mystery that results.

As we’ll soon see, this mystery has aspects of being streetwise, stealthy, and sometimes underhanded. After all, it’s often a rough life in the streets, but how it is used is still up to the oracle themselves, either as a street-savvy protector of the people, or as a fearful shadow within it.

The magic of this mystery includes illusions, not just to hide their own appearance, but also to create false walls, as well as create and obscure areas from remote viewing. Beyond such illusions, mind reading is also among them, as is creating magical wards and teleporting themselves and others away from harm to a safe place. The more powerful among them can create extravagant extradimensional housing and even create cloned bodies to revive from after death.

Many of these oracles always seem to find the right tool for the job hidden away in the refuse. Whether these tattered mundane items were always there or were conjured is a matter of debate, but they always prove useful.

Some learn to conjure a phantom rat, pigeon, or other small urban vermin to serve as their eyes. Later on, they can summon large numbers of them at once, giving them lots of coverage.

A crowd can be perfect for those who do not wish to be seen, and the more stealthy of these oracles have a knack for disappearing into the crowd.

Additionally, many learn to use every available piece of terrain as cover, especially against destructive areas of effect.

Some can draw upon  supernatural knowledge of weak points to attack with the training of cutthroats and brigands for quick takedowns on occasion.

The city can be hard to maneuver through, but some street oracles can navigate bustling crowds, construction sites, and other situations that would impede their movements with ease.

Cities have many secrets, and those that utilize divination magic can invoke the rumor mills and whispered conversations to double the effective range of such information-gathering magic through the power of association.

When it becomes necessary to move in disguise, some are able to enshroud themselves and others in a veil, blending in with those that are supposed to be there.

Calling upon the spirit of the city itself, some of these mystics are able to subtly help their allies in various tasks… a brick juts out to provide a handhold, a convenient sign points the way, a series of minor events puts someone in a good mood, more amenable to diplomacy, and so on.

The most powerful among them become truly in tune with the urban landscape. They are able to learn if a particular individual is in a city, as well as ask questions of the city directly, the way a druid might commune with the terrain.

If you ever wanted a very rogue-ish divine caster, a street oracle could definitely fill that role quite well. The illusions and information-gathering provide lots of utility, and if you spec for stealth and melee you can even enjoy being a good flanker that can even sneak attack a few times. I personally recommend building with stealth, divination, and a variety of other tools in mind so you can really take advantage of the urban environment. That being said, plenty of their utility is lost when you leave behind the cities for the wilds and dungeons.

As mentioned before, a lot of the revelations tied to this mystery involve being quite sneaky and underhanded. While this does lend itself to villainy, consider also the antihero that uses such tactics because of how harsh life can be in the slums and lower-class areas of civilization. And also recall that there are also abilities that are less clandestine as well, allowing one to play a more benevolent keeper of the city and its people.

A lover of architecture, Pilob the gnome could spend years exploring the ins and outs of every city he visits, and he often does, wandering them for as long as they hold his interest. The fact that this fascination often ends up with him discovering the secret byways of the criminal underbelly does not bother him though, for his divine calling is also to put a stop to such activities wherever he can.

Tallstep is so named because the mountainous city was originally settled and built for giants. However, since then it has expanded it’s infrastructure to accommodate peoples of a smaller stature, with roads and stairs having lanes for the smaller folk to move with ease without being trampled. One of the oldest human residents, an oracle named Tagi, knows almost everything there is to know about the city, including ancient burial grounds where the clay-shod bodies of giants are comsumed by corrosive worm-filled oozes, creating the guardians known as benaioh.

For now Third-Eye Tolkan is nothing more than a lesser gang leader, but he has an expansive vision, desiring to rule the city from the shadows, and to do that he’ll leverage his prophetic power in the name of the Shadow God to absorb and destroy all opposition in the city’s underworld.

[blobghost]

Blobby's Master List

You can find all my writing under the tag #blobby wrote something or you can look below! Click fic title to take you to its post! (In order of oldest to newest)

Ectober 2021 Masterlist (DP)

ectober ficlets

Exhausted Teen to Eternal King (DP)

Essentially exiled from Amity after a reveal gone wrong, Danny is on his way to becoming High King of the Infinite Realms. With a quick stop by the Core, who tells him about being an Ancient and something concerning about how the portal works, Danny ‘survives’ his final trial and coronation with only like ten different new things to worry about! Now, he just has to face his parents, stop the permanent portal that killed him, and repair a giant hole in reality. So like just another Tuesday for him. Written for Invisobang '23.

Anaktáomai: regain for oneself, recover (DPxDC)

Jason is trying to live his second chance at life to the fullest: protecting Gotham's streets as the Red Hood, going to college to get a degree, participating in Gotham's Renaissance Faire, getting a boyfriend, all of it. Sure, he's been daydreaming a lot more and it might be becoming a major problem and his boyfriend is apparently a meta who saved his kid brother after a mission gone wrong, but as far as he was concerned those were nothing to worry about. What he does need to worry about is homework and rogues attempting to kill him… right?

Take the L (DP)

Dash wants nothing more than to be a hero. When he gets a chance to be Phantom's hero for once, he takes it. Things get complicated when Dash finds out that his dad is Operative L of the GiW and demands that Dash hand over Phantom. Can Dash make things right or is everything doomed to go wrong?

Blobs of Love (DP)

Danny has been protecting Amity Park alone for what feels like years. After a long day of sleep deprivation and various rogues pushing him to his limit, he finally starts breaking down when he can't fully switch from Phantom to Fenton. Unfortunately, certain blobs who love him can't stand to see him break so bring in some help. Written for Ecto-Implosion '23.

Battle for the Ancient Realms (DP)

After having to go to the Far Frozen to check why his ghost sense is acting up, Danny finds himself the primary target during a fight with Dan and Pariah Dark. Things get more complicated when the Ancient Seals of the Barren Realms become involved. Now, Danny has to learn about the Ancients and the new powers these Seals provide the wearer before once again fighting the two hardest foes he's ever faced. Written for Ecto-Implosion '23.

Danny Doesn't Want To Go... (DP)

Five times someone drags Danny somewhere he didn't want to go and one time he drags them somewhere. Written for Phandom Truce '23.

Holding Each Other Back (DPxDC)

When the GIW appear in Gotham, Jason finds himself needing to find out what they are up to. Unfortunately, they find him first and use him as the nice sacrifice for their Ghost King summoning. Will Jason be able to fight his way out of this mess with his secrets (and life) in tact? Written for Ecto-Implosion '23.

I Know What You Are. You're (Not) a Goon. (DPxDC)

Jason can't figure out why his boyfriend keeps missing or being late to dates. He thinks that Danny is a goon, but it's only a theory. He might get his answers from the newest Justice League member Phantom, though. Written for Valentine's Core Exchange '24.

[cherrymoonvol6]

i was rewatching TTT for uhhh, [redacted] fanfic reasons :) and i am yet again annoyed by huntlow framing that has like, no resolution at all.

after luz and hunter find each other in the bathroom at the beginning of the episode and they talk about the secrets they’re keeping, there’s a pointed cut framing only amity and willow:

and then, while staring at them, luz says: “we’ll tell them, when we’re ready.” the implication being that these two will have pointed reactions to the discoveries that 1) luz helped belos and 2) hunter is a grimwalker, for amity and willow respectively.

and like, sure, that’s what happens with luz, right?

even before the main plot kicks off, there’s a precedent of luz hiding stuff from or straight up lying to amity. of course, this is all justified within luz’s mental state and she takes every chance to open up (at least a little) to amity and deepen their bond as a result. by this time, the tally is at three with the collector reveal.

beyond the moment where everyone in the main group gets access to this information at the same time, there’s a scene setting up how luz feels that amity’s disappointment is imminent (lucy’s betrayal in the azura movie). and sure enough, once the fight is over, the show goes through luz’s biggest fear in this scenario.

and after all of luz’s paranoia the “twist” is that obviously amity doesn’t blame her - it’s the rational outcome of the scenario that luz can’t internalize because of all her guilt and trauma. so amity explains why she’ll stay loyal to her (since luz is fighting against belos) and hunter seems to find some peace for his years of gaslighting and abuse by telling luz that belos tricked them and it’s not their fault.

so like, setup and payoff 101, yadda yadda. well done TOH. what just doesn’t pay off at all is willow’s involvement in the grimwalker reveal.

sure enough, she has the biggest reaction when luz mentions it during TTT:

but it rings so hollow since she’s not the first to come to that conclusion. it’s gus.

tbh i think this is an underrated gus moment... how he also follows in the guilt-ridden emotions at the center of almost everyone in the main cast (luz, camila, willow, hunter and belos) by bringing back his trusting issues. he clearly thinks this is a choice he would’ve been able to make if he wasn’t so scared of putting himself out and making important decisions, given his past experiences doing so.

it also follows on the foreshadowing of gus learning that secret on the fight against belos during king’s tide.

like, even if willow initiates the moment that triggers hunter’s grief process from anger to sadness, it’s gus who ends up having a bonding moment with hunter. which is why it’s completely baffling that by the end of the episode hunter and willow summon a romantic pseudo-relationship out of fucking nowhere.

and like, i wouldn’t be saying any of this stuff if the show had only added gus to that scene. legit, only gus was needed in that frame. he’s even sat at the table two seconds after that bathroom scene ends.

maybe you consider the nature of this post to be very nitpicky, and i get why. but, in my eyes, this is just the ongoing trend of TOH doing nothing to deepen hunter and willow’s relationship beyond only stating that they’ll become a couple soon - and the only time hunter and willow had a real conversation before FTF was when she still thought he was “caleb”.

as it stands, the first scene only works to point out that huntlow is canon. which is also the entire extent that the show is willing to do for them.

[poisoncupids]

Jasico Bingo, February 2024 | Prompt: Forgotten Relationship ✿

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

Nico doesn’t really start letting Jason haunt him until after the war. After Gaea, after Leo, after Percy.

Really, when he thinks about it, it might have just been Percy. It’s almost funny—like putting the idea of Percy down for good unlocked something in his mind, a faded memory of a summer that feels like it happened well over just one short year ago.

(Later, Jason laughs at him. How could you be the one to forget? If it were anyone else, Nico isn’t sure he’d find himself laughing along.)

But he did, somehow, caught up in the past, caught up in the future, caught up in the idea of someone who didn’t really exist. Maybe it was stupid. Nico had a lot going on, though, in his defense. They all did, but the war ends and Nico’s infatuation with Percy ends, and as determined as he is to avoid falling for another hero—

It happens all at once, on a lazy mid-afternoon, pressed down into the earth by Thalia’s tree with all the force of the usual sun-baked sleepiness August brings. Nico isn’t sure when it became his and Jason’s routine, meeting here when the excitable crowd of younger campers becomes too much, but it’s nice. It’s something Nico almost thinks he could get used to.

If there’s one thing he’s learned, though, it’s that not even ideas last forever. Maybe that’s what makes him expend the effort to look in Jason’s direction, just for a glance to remember this by, flopping his head to the side to find Jason already looking back.

It’s not like it's anything huge, but it all seems to fall into place. The faded memory of the brush of a hand, of a smile that doubled as a secret, carefully angled in Nico’s direction from across a crowded room.

“Oh,” he says aloud.

Jason’s face cracks into a smile, like he can read Nico’s mind. If the memories flooding his brain were any less unrelenting, maybe he’d wonder when Jason remembered all that. After Piper? Before? Months ago? This morning?

There’s a sudden urge to hide, to cover his face, but Jason seems to read his mind about that, too. He reaches over and grabs Nico’s arm before he can summon the strength to move it, and Nico is as good as trapped.

It's not such a bad thing, he thinks, if this is the view. Then he realizes that’s the corniest thought that’s ever run through his head and he has to resist the urge to smack himself.

“Is it okay?” Jason asks. His voice is a whisper, like maybe the heavy afternoon air is affecting him too. “I’m sorry I didn't say anything, I—”

“It’s okay,” Nico says, half because it’s true and half out of pure reflex. And then he registers the rest of what Jason said. “Sooner? I—um, why didn’t you?”

Jason’s smile turns sheepish right as his summer tan reddens. The hand on his arm is sweaty, though that may just be the heat. “I was scared,” he says after a moment. “I thought—well, you know, last time I checked, you liked Percy. And I didn’t exactly want to bring it up again.”

“You’re stupid,” Nico says, and this time, it’s entirely because he means it. Jason laughs anyways, though, like he’s already accepted the truth of it. “I haven’t liked Percy in forever.”

A year isn’t forever, but it’s long enough for what it was. Jason’s smile softens when he hears the words.

“Cool,” he says. He looks nice, sprawled out on the grass like this, and for a moment Nico thinks of doing something crazy, like rolling over and smushing the pair of glasses sitting between them to kiss him, or something.

But maybe, Nico is realizing, there’s time for that. If there was time for him to wait for Jason, that is, and for Jason to wait for him. And maybe there’s a time, one that wouldn’t involve a trip to see an optometrist.

“So what is this, then?” he asks. It comes out more demanding than he means it but Jason takes it in stride. That, or maybe it just sounded different to his ears. Nico is never sure, with him.

“Whatever you want it to be?” Jason says. He’s squinting, and now Nico can’t tell if he’s confused or if he’s just trying to read him. And it’s at that moment that Nico thinks he should maybe try on Jason’s glasses sometime, because he has no clue how bad his vision really is. “Maybe that means it’s the end for our friendship. But maybe that just makes it a beginning, you know?”

Nico takes a moment to think about that. Endings. For a child of Hades, the god of the End, he’s always hated them. This one, though, doesn’t seem too bad, if a little treacherous.

But when he thinks about it, really, he’s done riskier things.

“A beginning,” he repeats slowly. There’s a smile threatening to break through his defenses, and Jason is looking at him fondly, like he knows it. “You’re sappy, Grace.”

“Do you like it or not?” Jason asks.

Nico shifts, then, just so that Jason’s sweaty palm is now resting on his own sweaty palm. It’s a little gross, but Nico supposes he’ll live. The risk is paying off, too, as Jason curls his fingers around Nico’s. Somehow, it feels revolutionary.

“I do,” he whispers. “A beginning. Let’s try it.”

[dorophvv]

“In Charlotte Brontë, everything is in terms of wind: things, people, faces, loves, words.”

“How does wind function in Jane Eyre? David Lodge’s discussion of fire in the novel has become a classic essay in literary criticism. Wind may not seem to come with the semantic thickness critics tend to fall for (the novel’s many domestic fires, the arson attempt, the inferno that demolishes Thornfield Hall, the burning love) but it nevertheless plays an active part in the novel, propelling the ‘airy’ protagonist through the story. When, at the very beginning of the novel, Jane is locked in the red room her courage fails when darkness falls and she finds herself alone, listening to ‘the rain still beating continuously on the staircase window, and the wind howling in the grove behind the wall’ (JE, p. 23). Regaining consciousness after panicking, she wakes to the sound of voices ‘as if muffled by a rush of wind or water’ (JE, p. 25). Her arrival at Lowood takes place in windy circumstances: the coach comes to a standstill and what Jane notices is how ‘[r]ain, wind, and darkness filled the air’ (JE, p. 52). After her public humiliation by Mr Brocklehurst, Jane finds solace with Helen and it is the wind, dispelling the clouds, that enables the moon to shed light on the girls’ embrace and on the approaching Miss Temple (JE, p. 82). When Jane grows restless after eight years of Lowood — Miss Temple marries and ‘take[s] with her the serene atmosphere [Jane] had been breathing in her vicinity’ — she ‘feel[s] the stirring of old emotions’ and expresses her desire to be free. It is her desire for liberty, uttered as a prayer ‘scattered on the wind then faintly blowing’, that leads her to take up the position of governess at Thornfield Hall (JE, p. 99). Her first meeting with Mr Rochester, when she helps him back on his horse on the way from Thornfield to Hay, is a swift encounter and Brontë uses lines from Thomas Moore to sketch the disappearance of man, horse and dog: ‘Like heath that in the wilderness / The wild wind whirls away’ (JE, p. 132). The scene in which Mr Rochester summons Jane as his wife is initiated by a ‘waft of wind [. . .] sweeping down the laurel-walk’ and wandering away to an indefinite distance (JE, p. 285), and Jane’s acceptance is followed by a thunderstorm, announced by a roaring of wind (JE, p. 287). On the evening before the wedding Jane longs to share the disturbing event of the preceding night (Bertha Mason’s visit to Jane’s room) with Mr Rochester, who is away. She runs outside to ‘feel [the wind]’ and finds ‘a certain wild pleasure’ in ‘[running] before the wind delivering my trouble of mind to the measureless air-torrent thundering through space’ (JE, p. 309). Once the secret of Mr Rochester’s marriage to Bertha Mason is out and he tells the story of his youth we learn that it is ‘a wind fresh from Europe’ that had freed him from his hellish life on Jamaica and had heralded the voice of Hope that called him back to England (JE, p. 347). Jane’s consecutive departure from Thornfield leaves her penniless and victim to the elements. It is again a ‘wild night’ with fast-falling rain and wind sweeping over the hill that drives her to the cottage of the Rivers siblings. And when she finally leaves that place, and St John Rivers, she does so in response to a cosmic calling of her name that she recognizes as Mr Rochester’s. To her calling ‘Where are you?’ only the wind responds — ‘The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland loneliness and midnight hush’ (JE, p. 467). It is the wind, nevertheless, that had carried her words to Mr Rochester for he had heard her response: ‘As I exclaimed “Jane! Jane! Jane!” a voice — I cannot tell whence the voice came, but I know whose voice it was — replied, “I am coming: wait for me”; and a moment after, went whispering on the wind, the words — “Where are you?”’ (JE, p. 496).  Like the dreams and presentiments Beer highlights as narrative solutions to the problem of omniscient narration, Brontë uses wind as a narrative device. It acts as a propelling force in the novel; it accompanies Jane on her journey and links the different elements of her story together. If we focus on the wind rather than on Jane’s inner voice, we see in which way Jane Eyre is not ‘a regular autobiography’ (JE, p. 97). The decisions Jane makes are not to be situated only on life’s plane of organization — conscious, rational decisions and their more hidden, unconscious motors — but also on what Deleuze calls the plane of consistence. Brontë shows that the life of Jane Eyre, whose very name echoes ‘air’ or ‘wind’, unfolds by affect and intensities that are not someone’s or something’s but free-flowing — of the wind.”

Posman S. ‘Becoming’ in Jane Eyre : Charlotte Brontë through the Eyes of Gilles Deleuze // Brontë Studies, Vol. 39 No. 4, November 2014, 307–18