#[ mortals. ] at their full potential; they could be her equal. a human who could have as much to teach an adeptus as to learn from them.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[yuelun]

Tag drop #2: Character things and dynamics (more will be added).

[void-botanist]

Sharran AU: The Gods Part 1

In this AU (which I will probably come up with a better name for later, but I'm really excited to share it) I'm reconstructing the gods and the storyline of Baldur's Gate 3. I think the gods of the Sword Coast should be weirder, and the storyline should really make use of that. This first post is for the most important gods in this AU, which also happen to be the most important ones in BG3, for the most part.

This post contains vague spoilers for Baldur's Gate 3 below the cut.

Shar: the goddess of shadow, loss, darkness, night (and sleep), forgetting, shades, and opportunity. (Why opportunity? When one potential path is lost, another opens. To gain, you must sometimes lose. Without that loss, how can you find your way?) Unlike her twin sister Selûne, she is frequently seen in human form, which is why her temples are full of statues of her. She is often considered a petulant, petty goddess, which is true. But she is not particularly cruel or evil, no more than her sister. Despite her misgivings at the beginning of the world, she's come around to the idea of having living beings about, and isn't interested in getting rid of them anymore. Instead, she provides them aid that Selûne could never give them, such as taking away their painful memories of loss, which she then integrates into herself. People often turn to Shar when Selûne's so-called "healing" fails to address their emotional and spiritual ills. All Sharrans have had some memory removed—they get to choose which ones. They also all have scar-like markings on their bodies that represent their commitment to forgetting, and what kind of thing they forgot.

Selûne: the goddess of the moon, the sun, the stars (and navigation), heat, light, lycanthropes, and commitment. (Why commitment? In the real D&D lore, one of her past domains was marriage. But drawing from this classic post about the moon and Earth, I think it makes more sense to have her be the goddess of steadfast commitments of all kinds. The only exception is commitments to other gods, because she will not interfere with those processes.) Though she is sometimes represented in human form in art, her natural forms are strange to most mortals, and she has found that they'd rather not see her real human form. Eyes alone are enough, hence the way she is represented on her crest. Many consider her a peaceful, stable goddess, and her personality trends that way, but her power can equally be used for harm: heat and light can be extremely dangerous, the sun can damage mortals irreparably, and there are many bad commitments to be made in life. Selûnite clergy and Selûne's favored have golden cracks on their bodies, but all of her faithful develop cracks here and there.

Ievaal: known as Bhaal in D&D lore, Ievaal is the god/dess of murder, the hunt, and ritual killing. She has three forms: the Slayer, a humanlike form that wears the raw flesh of its enemies as clothing; the Hunter, a velociraptor-like form that always catches its prey; and the Priest, a gnarled form that vaguely resembles a human but is unknowable under its cloak. His believers, who double as clergy when needed, typically follow one of his three forms, and he has two Chosen: one to bring together the clergy, and one that is best at killing and his favorite. Ievaal considers their gender to be shapeshifter, which is to say all genders, and none of them. It is most often called a deity, but god/dess is also acceptable. Those who follow her are granted the ability to shapeshift, though many can only master one or two forms.

Myrkul: the deity of souls, bones, and the liminal space between life and death. They are not the deity of death as a concept—that's Kelemvor's domain—but of death as a process, of something that happens to most beings eventually and requires the collection of their souls. Their most common form is a lavishly decorated assortment of bones of all kinds formed into a loose humanlike shape. Most claim that the bones change every time they take this form, and they neither confirm nor deny it. They are more withdrawn from the affairs of mortals than Bane and Ievaal, but counts them among their staunchest allies. They are not worshipped so much as remembered.

Bane: the god of power and tyranny. He generally appears as a figure of shadow with two ruby and black crystal gauntlets. Because of this, much to Shar's chagrin, he is sometimes called the Lord of Darkness. He has no fully corporeal form and is known to possess mortals to do his bidding, granting them magical armor crafted of his own shadowy essence. His primary goal in life is to cause trouble and sow discord to put himself at the top, something his right hand Ievaal is only too pleased to assist with. His rigidly structured clergy can be recognized by the red teardrop shapes on the backs of their hands.

Mystra: the goddess of magic. She acts as a conduit between the Weave, the substance of magic that permeates the universe, and spellcasters, partly to prevent them from casting magic that is too dangerous and partly to prevent them from being overwhelmed by the Weave. Her normal form looks like a human-size doll, held together at the joints with shifting threads of magic that weave together—the Weave itself. She boasts a wide variety of clergy and adherents, who are gifted slightly increased access to the Weave that tends to make their eyelashes or fingernails turn Weave-like.

Riodda: known as Oghma in D&D lore, Riodda is the deity of learning, ideas, knowledge, and bees. Her main form blurs the line between human and insect—she has the fluffy clawed arms of a bumblebee, but ten of them, as well as a set of compound eyes set next to her human ones and two long antennae. Bees of all kinds, but especially bumblebees, are considered her messengers that report new information back to her in her study. She, too, is always busy learning something new or playing music. Her faithful typically have six dots on one or both ears, representing both the six feet of a bee and the necessity of listening.

Lathander: the god of the dawn and beginnings. He typically appears as a human, though the details of that human have changed through the ages. The one thing they all have in common is that they are very tall and have a laugh that can be heard for miles. He frequently does not bother to mark his faithful because they do that themselves, adorning themselves with gold jewelry and tattoos in his image.

Jergal: the god of fate and the end of everything. He has always looked impossibly old and lich-like. For the most part, he has no adherents, and is not even considered to be a god by most, not since the ascension of the Dead Three, Ievaal, Bane, and Myrkul. He's still kicking, though, and those he resurrects slowly acquire a set of tally marks along an arm. Enough deaths and resurrections would lead to a full body's worth of tallies.

Aylin: a goddess in her own right, but she focuses on being Selûne's Chosen rather than ruling over a domain and believers. She is the daughter of Selûne and Shar, though she rarely acknowledges Shar's parenthood. She was created in the midst of one of Shar and Selûne's early fights when Selûne used a bit of her own essence to knock out a bit of Shar's essence, and that combined essence formed into Aylin. Aylin chose her first mother as her true mother and deity, though she can't deny she has aspects of Shar as well.

bg3 taglist: @multi-lefaiye @theskeletonprior @kk7-rbs

[waheelawhisperer]

Under a hide tag because it's long

Chapter 1

Seven feet and more of demoness looked down her nose at the scrawny, trembling human in the summoning circle in front of her. The little worm trembled as it stared up at her in dumb animal fear, clearly only moments away from soiling itself. She was amazed it hadn’t already.

Ordinarily, something this pathetic never could have bound her. Frankly, the glow of the magic she could sense within him was so weak, so dull and lifeless, that she was surprised that he had managed to pull off a summoning at all. The effort of keeping her bound within the mortal realm seemed like enough to kill him if he tried to maintain it much longer, so limited was his potential for magic.

It was that which had intrigued her enough to answer his summons. She’d felt it before any of her subjects, as she felt all such summons which entered her domain instead of any of the other fiefdoms that made up the Infernal Realms, and the hesitance and the tentative nature of it, the sheer lack of any power or authority or command, had piqued her interest enough that she had followed his call before one of her lesser adherents could seize upon it. It represented… an opportunity, perhaps, or maybe just a snack. Humans were so easily corrupted, the men slaves to the pleasures of the flesh or their lust for gold and glory, the women just as easily broken to her will by careful manipulation of their loneliness, their ambition, their frustration with a world that treated them with a subtle disdain so rarely afforded to their male counterparts as a matter of course. The proof of it was in the rolls locked within the treasure room of her vast stronghold, the great ledger in which she and her retainers had written the names of the damned in blood. It was in the golden topaz and tourmaline that flashed on the choker around her throat and at the lobes of her pointed ears, each a receptacle containing the souls of a thousand fools who had sold themselves to her for wealth or power or the love of a woman, realizing too late what their fleeting victories would cost them. It was in the soft, supple leather of her favorite pair of boots, dyed black and flayed still living from a pet she’d taken a thousand years before, a woman who had unified a continent by fire and the sword before the demoness had gently coaxed her into ruin.

Archduchess Agara of Sha’il, Marshal Paramount of the West of Hell, the Whisper of Desolation, the Jewel of the Infernal Courts, one of the four most powerful nobles outside the ruling family of the Infernal Realms, favored the wretch in front of her with her regard, letting the tension build until it was a mere moment away from breaking her newest diversion. Finally, just before the boy reached his limit, she tossed a lock of jet-black hair behind her in a move designed to draw attention to the smooth curve of her neck and the fullness of her bust beneath her long black dress and spoke at last.

“Why hast thou called upon me, mortal?” she asked. “What bargain dost thou seek?”

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She’s… gorgeous.

The incongruous thought slipped through his terror as the creature in the circle spoke. It was her voice that did it to him, a deep, melodious contralto, rich with power and promise and bearing just a hint of an accent that put him in mind of the lochs and burns of his homeland. The waves of hair that fell to her hips rippled like water, swallowing the light, a stark contrast to the way her arresting golden eyes, the same color as the gems she wore, burned brighter than anything else in the room, brighter than all the candles he’d lit when he’d started the ritual.

“Art thou struck dumb, mortal?” the being he’d summoned asked, raising one delicate eyebrow. “Didst thou not summon me for a purpose? Speak thy desires, that I might grant thee what thou seekest.”

Her voice was equal parts amused and impatient, and Calvin MacPherson forced himself to swallow as he tore his eyes away from the red, red skin just above her bodice and met her piercing gaze. His mouth was dry as he looked at her, and his throat worked as he struggled to speak. Power rolled off of her in waves, washing over him like a flood and drowning him in an ocean of arcane might, its vastness swallowing the meager spark of power in him, just barely enough to let him cast spells and earn him a place in the storied halls of O’Malley Academy, without even a thought. She eclipsed him without effort, with casual indifference, and he gave thanks through the fear that the summoning circle kept her bound.

Surely the masters should have sensed this by now, Calvin thought. There’s no way they could’ve missed this much power. It’s like every Archmage on the Academy Board started flexing at once!

“I-I was trying to summon a familiar,” he stammered, barely able to force the words out.

Please don’t eat me…

“Well, it wouldst appear thou hast succeeded,” the woman in the circle informed him, her full lips curling into a knowing smile. “I am Agara, Archduchess of Sha’il, and I accept thy covenant. The details of the contract art known to me. No modification of the terms art required for mine service.”

“You’re kidding me,” Calvin breathed. “I thought I’d be lucky to get an imp or a Beast of Wisdom or a minor Fae. I thought I’d be lucky to get anything at all!”

“There is more to you than you know, young mage,” his new familiar said gently as he felt the contract lock into place. “You summoned me, after all, didn’t you?”

Her words sent a thrill down his spine, hope he hadn’t dared to nurture blossoming in his breast. He could be a mage, a real mage!

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There really wasn’t, Agara thought, hiding a sneer as she watched the effects her words had on the boy, save for the fact that his very inadequacy made him an interesting plaything, his resentments and insecurities fertile ground for her manipulations. She’d seen his like a thousand times: weak, ostracized, pushed down to the bottom of any hierarchy they found themselves in, desperately craving attention and validation and praise… desperately craving power. She’d known what a simple crumb of her regard would do to him, a few words binding him to her and blinkering his eyes to the dangers a contract with an Archduchess represented just as if she were calming a skittish horse. Really, these humans were too easy…

She tested the bonds of the contract, concealing a smile as she realized her new “master” was so weak she could snap his hold over her anytime she pleased. He probably thought that first the circle and then the covenant kept him safe. More fool him. A lesser demon would have been bound as tightly as he believed her to be, but she hadn’t risen to her position without a mastery of the arcane. She knew how to find the weakness of a spell, how to seek the places where the magic was fragile, how to apply her considerable arcane power to shatter bonds that should have been as strong as steel like so much glass. Should her new pet become tiresome, it would be the matter of a moment to devour him and return to her domain.

“Wilt thou not introduce thyself, o Master?” Agara asked courteously, dipping into a curtsy that just coincidentally afforded the sniveling creature before her the opportunity to look down her dress. She pretended not to notice as he jerked his eyes guiltily away from her bodice as she straightened. A virgin, this one, she was certain of it, not that men with more experience with the wiles of a woman were any more proof against her seductions. She’d have him eating out of the palm of her hand soon enough, and then the true fun would begin. She would break this pitiful boy to her will, forge him into a weapon that would soak the heaths and moors and fields in war and cruelty until the tarns and corries were filled with blood and the Macsen River ran red to Idris Bay.

“I’m, uh…” her new master began before losing his nerve. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and started again. “My name is Calvin MacPherson. I’m a student here. A first year. Just finished my first semester.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Calvin,” Agara murmured demurely. It wasn’t even a lie. She’d enjoy using him to break the realms of Tintagel and Tara and the rest of the confederation that her rival Be’hil-Barath had used the warrior-king Beathain Boru to build three centuries ago.

“The, uh… The pleasure is all mine, uh, ma’am,” the boy mumbled, still clearly tongue-tied around her. She’d have to work on that. Reducing men to stammering fools was part and parcel of being a demoness, but her new tool would be useless if he couldn’t even speak a full sentence in her presence without tripping over his tongue. Still, familiarity would come with time.

“Should not your ritual have concluded by now?” she prompted him, raising one eyebrow. He blinked.

“Oh, shit!” he gabbled. “Uh, sorry, ma’am!”

Hmph. How vulgar. Then again, she didn’t expect much from someone whose student robes were of middling quality and whose boots were worn and patched. It was clear this 'Calvin' hadn’t come from money and breeding. A small-town boy, if she had to guess, from a family of farmers or laborers. He didn’t come from soldier stock, of that she was certain, for he lacked the wariness that came from growing up around constables and fighting men, his posture held no readiness for battle, and the way he moved was frightened and timid. Weak. Bullied. Prey.

“Uh, I need to register my familiar real soon,” the boy fretted. “The masters are gonna flip when they see you, though!”

“Worry not on the matter,” Agara answered dismissively. It was the work of but a moment to focus her power, and she saw the wonder on his face as her form flowed and melted, shrinking until what stood before him was not a beautiful woman but a feline the size of a bobcat, its coat the color of obsidian save for the red markings on its legs and stomach.

“A Hellcat!?” her master gasped in delight, leaning down as if he wished to ruffle her fur and then thinking better of it. “Those are pretty hard to bind, though. Not sure how many people will believe I managed to make a contract with one.”

Hellcats are notoriously fickle, she thought at him, hiding a chuckle as he started. Calm yourself, my master. Our bond will allow me to speak to you directly, and for you to speak to me in return. This form’s well-known reputation for choosiness and… unusual standards will help make the fiction believable.

You’re talking differently now, he sent back at her, followed by a surge of chagrin that told her he hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

The act of entering into a contract requires a certain gravitas, she informed him patiently as she leapt from the floor to his shoulder, draping herself around his neck and torso with a purr carefully calculated to sound contented. With the covenant made, there’s no need to stand so on formality. Come, let us not tarry. We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the masters.

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Chapter 2

Agara sat on the table next to her master’s lunch, tail flicking behind her as she surveyed the bustling meal hall. Students hurried to and fro, collecting their meals and taking them to their seats, each accompanies by a familiar. Agara dismissed most of them contemptuously, finding nothing worth noting in the imps and beasts and minor Fae, or even the small number of elemental spirits or angelic beings that seemed to have chosen a few of the luckier aspirant mages. A small number of students seemed to have bound youkai from the far south, which were notable only because forming a contract with such creatures was outside the bounds of traditional wizardry here in the north. They certainly weren’t worth acknowledging for their power.

“Cal, did you hear?” the boy sitting next to her master asked him through a mouthful of roast beef sandwich, narrowly avoiding spraying food on her fur. Her master’s only friend was only slightly less pathetic than her master, the pulse of magic within him weaker than average for a mage, though still much more powerful than her master’s own. He’d likely graduate, she supposed, but Lachlan Wells would never be more than a journeyman mage, selling luck charms and basic enchantments to afford his daily bread. She marked him as the son of a clerk or a journalist, someone who kept records or wrote stories for the Confederation’s many newspapers, for he was slight and held a quill readily and seemed reasonably well-spoken, and his robes were of somewhat finer make than Calvin’s own.

That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t have her master dressed in rags.

“Hear what?” Calvin responded, swallowing his peas before he spoke with a nervous glance at Agara. She sent faint approval brushing against his mind, pleased that he’d remembered his manners this time, and felt a frankly pitiable rush of pride and eagerness to please in response.

“About Camille a’Couralaine’s familiar,” Lachlan continued. “Gwen said she made a contract with a wyvern!”

Oh? That was the first interesting thing she’d heard since Lachlan had sat down. A student strong enough to bind one of the lesser cousins of the great dragons must be a rare talent indeed, perhaps even one worthy of more than her cursory attention. It would be wise to find out more…

“Gwen Adaire talked to you?” Agara’s master asked skeptically. She could understand why. The thought of a woman of any quality sparing a word for these two pathetic whelps was… difficult to understand, to say the least.

“Well, she didn’t say it to me,” Lachlan admitted sheepishly. “She was talking to Sara and Kirsten. I just happened to be in the area.”

And probably closer to this ‘Gwen’ than she would’ve liked, Agara scoffed, making sure to hide her thoughts from her master. She doubted he had enough awareness to pick up on anything she didn’t practically scream into his skull, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She aimed her next question at her master, directing the thought through their bond. Master, who is this ‘Camille a’Couralaine’?

She’s basically the queen of the school, Calvin responded as Lachlan continued waxing poetic about the passing loveliness of Gwen Adaire, or at least the first-year class. Her mother is a high-ranking knight in service to the High Queen of Armorica and her father is the Queen’s chief Battlemage. She’s the most beautiful girl in the school, rich, better at magic than half the upper-level students in the school and probably some of the teachers, and I heard she even won a tournament up at Dun Venydh in Tintagel when she was only fifteen, before she was old enough to enroll at this school.

Agara avoided taking offense only through the knowledge that she was so much more than just a girl and that no coltish adolescent could possibly match her resplendent glory. Still, this ‘Camille�� was intriguing, and would perhaps present an impediment to her master’s ascension… or an opportunity.

“Well, well, well, what do you know? The Failure managed to bind a familiar. How’d you grab that Hellcat, Failure? I didn’t even think you’d figure out how to activate the circle.”

A sneering voice interrupted both her thoughts, and, thankfully, Lachlan’s enthusiastic extolling of the virtues of Gwen Adaire, among which her legs and backside featured prominently. Agara looked up curiously to see a tall, well-built young man of remarkable handsomeness approaching their table with the look of a hunting dog scenting prey, several others of similar apparent status and disposition at his heels. A bully, it was clear as day, and one with wealth and influence besides, his robes made of the finest silk and cut to show off his athletic figure as well as such clothing realistically could.

It seemed he’d set his sights on her master. How interesting.

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“Go away, Eamon,” Calvin groaned. Couldn’t this asshole let him have one day where he felt good about himself? It wasn’t enough that Eamon Aethelred a’Laurant was rich, handsome, noble, and a hit with all the ladies. He had to go out of his way to make sure everyone knew it. Why the guy couldn’t just be happy with being sixth in line to the throne of Armorica, Calvin would never know, but he seemed to have taken offense at the idea of anyone with a hint of common blood or anything less than the standard facility at magic for those few gifted with the talent gracing the halls of the Grace O’Malley Academy of Magecraft. Since Calvin was the son of an iron miner and quite possibly the single least talented student to ever qualify for entry into the Academy, he’d rapidly found himself becoming Lord Eamon’s favorite target.

It wasn’t like bullying was a new experience for Calvin. Growing up poor in a highland mining town in the eastern kingdom of Calidon was rough enough as it was, and being the only boy among his peers inclined toward a life of anything but toil in the dark bowels of the nearby mountains hadn’t made things any easier. His studious nature had set him apart from the other children, and most had responded to the fact that he was different from them with cruelty, as people so often did. Passing the aptitude test one of the Confederation’s mages had set him during the yearly trawl for talented children had been the best thing that had ever happened to him… or so he had thought.

Eamon had singled him out almost immediately. Lachlan thought His Lordship had used his family’s influence to get access to the test results somehow, but Calvin didn’t know and didn’t care. Even if Eamon hadn’t known on the first day, he would have found out during classes, when Calvin struggled to even light a magelamp, a task so simple most mages could do it instinctively. Besides, Lord a’Laurant would’ve taken one look at him and seen the poverty writ large on his face and the condition of his clothes, and that would’ve made him a target as surely as his lack of talent.

“You know, normally I’d give you a beating for talking to your betters that way,” his tormentor said, his entourage chuckling behind him, “but I’m in a pretty good mood today. See, I managed to bind an Armored Elk today.”

Calvin blinked in surprise. He’d done a lot of reading in preparation to try claiming a familiar of his own, and while he hadn’t held out hope of getting anything more interesting or powerful than the most basic of magical creatures or spirits, he’d devoured all the knowledge he could find written in the books the school librarian had allowed him access to, and he knew all about the familiars he imagined the more powerful students would be aiming for, and Armored Elk ranked near the top of the list.

“Congrats, Eamon. Whoop-de-doo for you. Will you please leave me alone?”

“Sounds like you don’t believe me, Failure,” Eamon said. Calvin believed him just fine, actually, but it was clear that Eamon wanted a fight, or at least an excuse to humiliate someone in public, so he wasn’t sure it really mattered what he sounded like. “Check it out.”

Eamon tapped the necklace dangling over his chest. The emerald within the silver setting began to glow, a green mist flowing out of the gem and coalescing behind Eamon. A form took shape in the mist, huge and bulky, standing a good three feet above Lord a’Laurant, who was no small man himself. As the mist faded, Calvin looked upon a creature that resembled nothing so much as an enormous moose, its skull and flanks and shoulders covered with heavy plates of bone. From what he’d read, he knew that Armored Elk were immensely tough and strong, their armor more durable than the finest plate, capable of resisting even the fangs of a dragon or Hrodvitnir for a time. The beasts were favored by battlemages, for they were aggressive, near-fearless, and could be ridden like destriers, and well-versed in the earth magic so valuable in war besides. It figured Eamon had managed to bind one. It was rare for anyone below the rank of master to call an Armored Elk to their side, but if not for the Lady Camille, Eamon would have stood head and shoulders above the rest of the class in magical aptitude. Just one more reason to hate the bastard.

“Wow. Cool,” Calvin said dully, wishing Eamon would just get on with whatever he wanted and leave him alone. There wasn’t much he could do to avoid it if his classmate wanted to hurt or humiliate him. Even leaving Eamon’s wealth, connections, and noble blood aside, Calvin didn’t stand a chance against him in a fight. He’d tried, once, very early on. Having to defend himself from the other children in the town where he grew up meant he’d picked up a few tricks and wasn’t totally useless in a scrap despite his unassuming appearance, but that didn’t mean much against someone who’d been training to fight since he could walk. All surprising Eamon had accomplished was make his beating worse.

“You know what, Failure?” Eamon asked him. “I don’t think I’m inclined to let your lack of manners pass today, after all.”

There was something uglier than usual in his tone, something that sent sick fear shooting down Calvin’s spine to coil in his stomach. He looked around in search of one of the teachers, but none were in sight. Had they simply decided to let the students celebrate alone, or was there a more sinister explanation?

“Crush that Hellcat,” Eamon said, gesturing his Armored Elk forward. The massive creature shuffled forward one step first, and then another, whuffling eagerly.

Agara, who had thus far expressed no interest whatsoever in the confrontation and appeared to be taking a nap on the table, slowly turned her head. Her eyes met those of the Armored Elk… and the enormous familiar stopped in its tracks. She stared at the beast for a long second before it took a step back with a low sound of distress, shaking its colossal head in dismay.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eamon snarled at his familiar. “I gave you an order!”

The Armored Elk ignored him, retreating once more and tossing its head in visible reluctance. Lord a’Laurant’s face twisted in rage, the expression contorting his handsome features.

Eamon moved.

Calvin didn’t even see the punch the other boy drove into the side of his head coming. His head rang as it hit the table, and he saw stars as Eamon grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back for another blow. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but Eamon held him fast. He heard the sound of a scuffle from behind him as Eamon’s cronies prevented Lachlan from coming to his aid, not that there was much his friend could have done in any case.

“You’ve sullied these halls long enough,” Eamon snarled, punching him again. Calvin felt his nose break under the blow. “I don’t ever want to see you in this school again!”

Calvin coughed as his own blood ran into his mouth. Some of it got on Eamon’s robes. With fury burning in his eyes, Eamon hit him a third time. Calvin watched, head lolling, as Eamon drew back his fist again, hoping that this time the bastard would go ahead and knock him out so it would all be over.

“What is the meaning of this!?” a strident voice demanded, blazing through the air like a trumpet’s clarion call. Calvin fell limply on the table as Eamon released him, turning to look at his rescuer as she strode toward them. “You shame yourself and all of Armorica!”

Of all the people to rescue me, it had to be her, Calvin thought in dismay and embarrassment as Lady Camille a’Couralaine placed both hands on her hips and glared at Lord Eamon Aethelflaed a’Laurant, her entourage fanning out behind her to square off with Eamon’s adherents. Bet I look so cool right now.

“The Failure offered me insult,” Eamon growled, glaring right back at her.

“And this gave you leave to beat him half unconscious?” Camille asked in disbelief. “Hardly chivalric of you. The poor boy can’t even stand! Besides,” she sniffed, “I think you offered him insult first with that demeaning nickname you forced upon him. If anyone owes an apology, it’s you!”

“Me!?” Eamon bellowed, flabbergasted. “Apologize to that!?”

“No, Lord Eamon, I’m not so foolish as to hope for you to find some heretofore-undiscovered spark of chivalry or decency somewhere within what passes for your heart,” Lady Camille answered caustically, her deep blue eyes locked on his, “but you will cease beating him, or I will find your wanton brutality unpardonable, and demand that we settle my grievances regarding your manners upon the field!”

Eamon’s face paled and he let go of Calvin, who bounced off the table and promptly flopped bonelessly to the floor.

Yeah, didn’t go well for you last time you tried dueling her, did it, asshole? Calvin thought, trying to look past the long blonde hair filling his vision to catch a glimpse of his tormentor in a rare moment of humility. She kicked your ass up and down the lists, first with magic and then with a sword.

“As you wish, my lady,” Eamon said sarcastically, dismissing his familiar and offering Camille a mocking bow. “The Failure is all yours. I won’t waste any more time on this wretch.”

So saying, he turned on his heel and strode from the hall, his pack of lordlings and sycophants on his heels.

“Are you all right?” Lady Camille asked as she knelt over him. Calvin winced as she fished a handkerchief out of one of the pockets of her robes and dabbed at his bloody lip with it. “Holly! Come fix up his nose!”

Calvin sighed in relief as Holly Halligan crouched at his side and lay her hands on his face, her dark brown hair falling over him in a curtain as she did. She sent a pulse of soothing magic into his nose, the cartilage repairing itself exponentially faster than it would have naturally, the annoying itching sensation nonetheless far superior to the pulsing pain of only moments before.

“That should do it,” Holly said, standing up and brushing off her hands. Calvin prodded his nose carefully, relieved to find that it was completely healed.

Sheesh, he thought. No wonder she’s the best in our class at healing magic.

Lachlan had offered a great deal of lurid speculation regarding the Lady Halligan’s proficiency with life magic, the school that contained within it the manipulation of the human body, and the whispers among the student body had followed suit and had led to more than one foolish proposition, but none dared to speak them aloud, not after the duels to which the Lady Camille had challenged those foolish enough to besmirch her friend and ally’s reputation in her presence. Calvin wasn’t sure he believed a word of the rumors, and in any case was not inclined to be uncharitable to someone who had just fixed up his nose, so he just thanked Lady Halligan politely as Lady Camille pulled him to his feet with a warrior’s strength, the power in her arms far eclipsing his own.

“Don’t take what Eamon says to heart,” Camille a’Couralaine told him, placing her hands on her shoulders to steady him as he wobbled. She was taller than he was by at least an inch or two, able to look into his eyes with little effort. “The Wolf-Mother sends us challenges that we might overcome them. Your courage and your willingness to try does you credit.”

“Thanks,” Calvin mumbled, unable to form coherent sentences between the head trauma and the fact that one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen was standing only a foot away from him. He’d never been this close to her before. He wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“I would recommend avoiding Lord a’Laurant as best you can for a time,” she continued. “The Wolf-Mother may send us challenges, but she has little patience for fools. His temper will cool in time, but for now… He fears me too much to strike back, but his need to avenge himself upon someone may well place you in more danger.”

“It’s almost time for class, milady,” one of the other girls interjected.

“Understood,” the lady replied. “Allow us to depart, my fellow apprentices.”

She clapped Calvin on the shoulder reassuringly, looking into his eyes with utmost seriousness.

“Watch your back.”

Calvin watched as the girls left, blinking slowly as he tried to process the fact that Camille a’Couralaine, the Camille a’Couralaine, had just talked to him. To him!

Well, that was interesting, his familiar said, washing her paws.

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

“Tell me about this… Eamon boy,” Archduchess Agara said nonchalantly as her new master sat at his desk and labored over his schoolwork, injecting just the right air of command into her voice to endure that the whelp would obey without an injury to his pride. That particular edifice was already fragile enough after the scene in the cafeteria and the nature of her inquiry would stress it further, so it was important to ensure that it wasn’t shattered altogether. The boy was little use to her broken, after all.

“I hate him!” Calvin said viciously. “He’s been making me miserable ever since I got here. I thought… I thought I was going to be happy at the Academy. I studied for years in the hopes of getting a scholarship somewhere. I thought it would be one of the universities in Caledonia, or maybe Tara or Tintagel, or even the Royal Academy here in Aquitaine, the one two blocks from here, but I always dreamed that one day I’d be able to do magic, that I’d earn a place here. My dad was a miner, worked himself until he dropped so that I’d have a chance at a better life. He and my mom went hungry some nights so that I could learn to read and write, so that I’d have books to study and something to learn besides how to swing a pick. It all seemed like it was paying off… until I met him.”

Agara listened carefully as he spilled his secrets, as he told her everything she needed to know about how to control him. A wiser man might have guarded his tongue, might have remembered what she was, but she had sensed her new master’s loneliness the moment they’d met, known how desperate he was for anyone to even pretend to care about his petty problems. He was hers, and he didn’t even know it.

“Eamon’s had it out for me from the start,” the boy continued. “I’m too poor, too common, too bad at magic… whatever it is, he’s been trying to force me to drop out since the day we met. I can’t get through a day without him or his stupid friends messing with me.”

“He does sound… trying,” Agata agreed as she lounged on his bed. It was a far cry from the decadent furnishings she was accustomed to, but the Academy took a dim view of luxury for its apprentices, though of course the wealthier and more nobly-born had their ways of circumventing that. She’d exchanged her earlier dress for a more casual shirt and a pair of long pants, much like those her soldiers wore when they trained. With no one but her master to impress, she could afford to dress for comfort.

“That’s one way of putting it,” the boy answered. Agara made a noise of agreement, studying her fingernails, long and sharp and filed like claws. She waited for a moment, knowing he still had more to say, knowing what he was going to ask.

“Hey,” Calvin said brightly, “you’re an Archduchess, right? Can’t you do something about him?”

Hmph… How predictable.

“I could,” Agara agreed, waving her hand. “Should you ask it of me, my master, enacting your vengeance would be child’s play. At your command, I could string a harp with his entrails and serenade you while he danced.”

She hid a smile as his face turned a little green. How delightfully soft her new toy was! Ah, well, she’d harden him in time.

“All that you ask is within your grasp now that I am by your side,” she told him. “There is little indeed outside the realm of your power. I could break your tormentor with a thought, make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams… even help you win the hand of the damsel a’Couralaine.”

“Really?” her master breathed in excitement.

“Really,” Agara assured him, favoring him with a fond smile. “But consider this, my master: would it not be more satisfying to earn these things yourself?”

“What to you mean?” the boy asked, confused.

“As I understand it,” the Archduchess said, holding up a fist, “a trio of desires war for primacy within your heart. Arcane knowledge and power -” she raised a single finger, pointing it toward the ceiling, “the destruction of Eamon Aethelflaed a’Laurant -” she raised a second finger, “and the love of the lady Camille a’Couralaine.” She raised a third finger and waved them at him. “All three are attainable under my guidance. I could grant them to you right now, if you wish, but they would forever ring hollow, and you would live all your days with the knowledge that your triumphs had come at the hand of another.”

“Isn’t that a good thing from your perspective?” Calvin asked. “Aren’t demons supposed to lure people into making deals like that?”

“Ah, but I am your familiar,” Agara answered, waving a hand at him lazily. The boy was a fraction more perceptive than she’d thought, but hardly enough to pose a problem or force her to reevaluate any plans. It wasn’t like she hadn’t prepared for this contingency. “When we formed our covenant, I swore to act in your best interests. I would hardly be doing my duty by allowing my master to take shortcuts.”

“Fine,” he agreed grumpily, crossing his arms and pouting. How childish. “We’ll do it your way. What’s the plan?”

“Tonight, you will go to bed early instead of sneaking out to drink with your friend, for you will need your rest come the morrow,” she answered. “You will wake at first light and make your way to the training yard within Ulvr Company’s barracks, where the knight-cadets train. When you arrive, you will plead with the master-at-arms to accept you as a student. Instruction in the martial arts is open to students of both this school and the Royal Academy, so all you need do is avoid acting the fool to be allowed to join the class. Eamon trains elsewhere, so there should be little risk of you encountering him, and even he is not fool enough to arouse the ire of the Wolf-Knights by bringing his grudges into their territory.”

“Why am I going to the knights?” he asked sullenly. “How is that supposed to make me better at magic? It’s just going to make me look like a fool in front of all the soldiers instead of all the students.”

“Because a sound mind in a sound body is the fundamental principle on which all of the martial and scholarly arts are founded,” Agara said patiently. “Neglect either and the other will suffer. A domain that fails to nurture both body and mind will find its thinking done by cowards and its fighting done by fools.”

“Fine,” Calvin grumbled. “I’ll go to the barracks. I’m putting a lot of faith in you, you know. This better work.”

It’s not as if you have anything else to put faith in, you sniveling cur.

“Good boy,” Agara said approvingly. “I promise you, all that you want will be yours. All you need do… is trust me. Now finish your schoolwork, bathe, and go to bed. You’ll need your strength on the morrow.”

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

“Where are you going to sleep?” Calvin asked, freshly bathed and just now realizing his newest problem. While he was technically the master and thus entitled to the most luxurious accommodations available, such as they were and what there were of him, it would also be impolite to deny his new familiar the bed, and something told him that expecting an Archduchess to sleep on the floor was a good way to sour the relationship between him and the Lady Agara in a hurry. “I can take the floor if you want.”

“Right here,” his familiar answered, patting the bed with one hand while thumbing through one of his textbooks with the other, “but there’s no need for you to put yourself at such an inconvenience.”

Did she mean… that they were going to share the bed?

He had to admit that the thought of it was enticing. She was beautiful, graceful, alluring, as exotic and exciting as a woman could be. And perhaps she would want to do more than just sleep…?

“H-how does that work?” he asked, not quite managing to hide the tremor in his voice, his mouth suddenly dry as a desert.

“It’s quite simple,” the Archduchess answered. Her body glowed, just as it had before, and moments later she sat upon his pillow in her Hellcat guise.

I’ll take this form during the night, she told him. I’ll guard you in your sleep, should the need arise.

Oh… he thought back, doing his best to conceal his disappointment. That makes sense.

Come, she urged, you need your rest. You have a great deal of work ahead of you.

With a tired sigh, Calvin sank into what passed for his pillows and closed his eyes as his familiar curled up beneath his arm. Weariness overtook him rapidly and he drifted off to sleep to the sound of the Hellcat’s comforting purrs.

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

Late, late into the night, Archduchess Agara of Sha’il smiled a wicked, wicked smile. One moment, she was a beast, the next, a woman once more, nestled in the crook of her master’s arm, her head resting on his shoulder and one arm draped over his chest. The Archduchess appraised her master carefully.

He was adequate enough, she supposed. He wasn’t much to look at at the moment, but time would allow her to mold him to her liking. His frame was too scrawny, his limbs and torso too thin to be pretty in the manner of some men, but time in the yard would fill him out and give him a fighter’s grace and muscle. His face was nothing special, but that was nothing a little sculpting couldn’t fix, the work of tiny applications of life magic a little at a time, and he was young enough for any observers to assume that her alterations were simply the changes one might expect as a boy became a man, and at least he hadn’t striven to emulate his friend’s inadvisable attempt at a beard. Yes… This boy would do.

It wasn’t time to take him to her bed, not yet, no matter how she’d enjoyed getting his hopes up earlier, wrapping him ever further around her finger. She would welcome him into her embrace in time, once he’d proven his use and sown the seeds of the Boru line’s destruction, but that was a ways away. For now, she had other ways to keep him compliant, other ways to bend him to her will.

Agara smiled, tilting her head to whisper softly in his ear. The little bit of life magic she’d sent into him once he’d closed his eyes would keep him asleep until the time came for him to wake, by which point she’d have donned her disguise once again, but her sweet words would reach his dreams regardless, and his body would remember the scent of her and her warmth against his side. It was a dance she’d danced a thousand times, and soon, he would crave her for the rest of his life, an aching need for which only she could offer solace.

Golden eyes shone in the darkness with an unholy light. Soon, the Confederation of Cornwall would drown in an ocean of blood.

You are a student with the least amount of magic potential ever recorded at the Academy and it’s the day of the familiar summoning test. A misplaced rune or word results in an arch demon/ess becoming bound as your familiar.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them. 

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher​​ for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee​

[captain-yeet]

A Beautiful Way To Die

Pairing: Heidi x Fem!Reader

Summary; When you thought of death or the possibility of you dying, you never seriously considered the possibility of dying at the hands of a gorgeous vampire.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: swearing, Heidi accidentally being creepy give her a break she's new to interacting with mortals and NOT eating them

Author's note: I've been wanting to write about Heidi for a while now because her character, even though we got so very little of it is fascinating (again thanks smeyer for making your side characters more interesting than the main ones). Also, am a simple gay.

Arising from your jet-lagged slumber, you'd hoped the beautiful blue, sunny skies you enjoyed yesterday would still be there. Sadly, your luck was out the window along with the welcoming warm weather.

You'd travelled to Italy with the intention of finally getting out into the world and having the freedom to explore and go your own path. Looking online for travel destinations was both a struggle and exciting! "Where should I go?" you wondered while scrolling through all your proposed options. None caught your eye until you landed on one listing;

Enjoy an enriching, quaint experience in the city of Volterra!

Nestled in the country hillsides of Italy, Volterra has a host of activities for you to enjoy, from historical site tours and many shopping locales, bars and more. From the Palazzo di Priori to the Volterra Cathedral... Come, and lose yourself in a city who's architecture is frozen in time.

You wandered the town, taking in the sites of all the old buildings around you. Even with the clouded sky above your head, Volterra was still a breathtaking place.

After an hour of wandering you came to a stop in the Palazzo, plopping down to sit by the large fountain. Hands resting under your chin, you entered a blissful, happy daydream.

Sighing dreamily, you let your eyes close.

You didn't notice the woman watching you attentively.

Heidi had been tasked with finding more humans to feed the guards and the masters themselves, her own hunger growing more ravenous by the day. She'd managed to lure in a few stray helpless tourists, but she still needed just a few more.

Striding through the streets with confidence, she halted as a sudden alluring scent hit her like wave. Mouth pooling with venomous saliva, she held in an instinctive growl. Where is that scent coming from? More so... who?

Following the mouthwatering aroma, she let herself be guided through the cobblestone streets of Volterra, the beast within her growling with glee as she got closer and closer to the human. Heidi had had many victims, many catches that she's reeled in from her "fishing" that have satisfied her, but none that made her yearn for blood more so than whoever it was that smelt like this.

She found herself in the Palazzo, her eyes desperately scanning every face, every scent of anyone who was nearby. She needed to know which it was.

Taking in another deep breath through her nose, the scent hit her again, and she found the poor helpless human.

A woman, who smelt better than anything she'd ever had before. Heidi sunk into the shadows of a nearby alley and studied you. You were plain, simple clothes and your eyes were currently closed as you enjoyed some blissful daydream. Her throat burned with thirst by this point, and as she watched you... something else began to grow.

Curiosity, was it? Heidi couldn't put her finger on it. Letting out an unnecessary huff, she decided to approach. I'll make sure to let Felix and Demetri know that this snack is strictly mine alone. Heidi put on her best smile and sauntered over to the human.

 “Pardon me, Miss?” a smooth voice called your attention away from your daydreaming. 

You jump in surprise as you turn your attention to the source of the voice that startled you. The owner of the voice was equally startling; her beauty blinded you, as she stood directly in front of the faint rays of sunlight you swore she was literally shining. The red dress she wore clung nicely to her body, an off the shoulder piece that only highlighted her best assets. Violet eyes gazed at you curiously, flicking from the art book open in your lap to your face. 

If angels were real, you’d believe this woman was one.

Unbeknownst to you, but the shock went both ways. Now that she was face-to-face with you, Heidi’s painted red lips had parted, an inaudible gasp to your ears escaping them.

A pull she had never experienced before took hold of the vampire. She needed to be near you - not just in the hunger sense, but more of a “If I am separated from this woman for any reason I will rip someone’s arm off” kind of way. At least, that is how Heidi would describe it.

Trying to shake herself out of her jumbled train of thought, she flashed you a quick smile, savouring the way it made your heart stutter. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here, are you new to Volterra?”

You nodded, gently smiling at the pretty woman. “I am, just passing through on my way to Venice.”

Heidi giggled. "Venice? That's quite the destination. And what brings you to Volterra?"

"I'm going on a tour here before I leave for Venice," you explained, none the wiser to the sudden shift in Heidi's demeanor. "I needed a place to stay since it was such a long trip, and..."

"What tour, if you don't mind my asking?"

You blinked. The woman was now very serious, the playful almost-flirtatious air about her gone. "In there, actually," you reply, pointing to the castle-like cathedral just behind her.

"I see."

Shit. Shit, shit, fuck! A string of curse words swam in Heidi's head in multiple languages. She can't go in there! But she's booked already, they'll be expecting her and we don't often get cancellations and if we do -

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?" You ask, growing more confused by the pretty lady as the seconds went by.

"Ah, hello Heidi."

You both turn your head to the rather tall man who had appeared at Heidi's side. He was quite the looker - very tall, heavy build and looked like he could break you in half with one hand.

"Felix, what are you doing here?" The woman - Heidi - says to her companion with an airy smile.

You didn't fail to notice the sharp look she had in her eyes.

"Just roaming about the city is all," the man replied coolly, a grin on his face that faltered into a curious smile when his gaze shifted to you. “And who might this lovely lady be? Perhaps a tour guest of the castle?”

With a laugh, Heidi linked her arm into Felix’s bicep, her fingernails digging deep into his arm. Under his breath Felix hissed and looked at Heidi with wide, confused eyes but she kept her airy exterior up perfectly.

 “Our tour bookings are full, Felix,” she said pointedly.

You looked on at the exchange feeling lost. There seemed to be some animosity between the two but why? You didn’t know. Maybe they were exes.

 “I see.” A thin, curt smile replaced his cocky grin from just moments ago. “Well then, I’ll meet up with you later. We’ll talk more then.” 

As the man left, Heidi left out a small huff and then turned back toward you, her brilliant smile bewitching you again. "Forgive him, he's always prowling during the tours for pretty young women to bore to death with his rants about his hobbies."

You giggled, grinning back at her. "I'll be sure to try and stay off his radar when tomorrow's tour begins."

Tomorrow's tour, Heidi's thoughts echoed your words. So she's coming in on that tour. Keeping her composure cool, she tilted her head down and gazed at you from beneath her eyelashes. Seduction tactics, only this time she was trying to steer her prey away. "Please beautiful, I want you to listen to me very closely."

Frowning at her sudden serious nature, you began to stand up from where you were perched, listening intently.

"Volterra has a lot to offer tourists, many fascinating sites to see. Our cathedral however... don't come. Please," she pleaded, her voice low and silky, "find somewhere else to go sight seeing."

You froze mid-way through putting away your art book. Her serious tone and the look in her eyes... something about the look in her eyes sent a chill down your spine. "I - I'll consider it."

The corner of Heidi's mouth twitched. She then straightened herself up and the deadly serious disposition left as quickly as it had appeared, the friendly seductress returning once more. "Well, I suppose all I can do is steer you away," she chuckled, more to herself.

You smiled politely back, your eyes flickering to your surroundings briefly. As you took in how the sky had gone much darker than it was before, you gasped. "Oh damn, it looks like its going to rain!"

Sure enough, as soon as the word "rain" left your lips, Heidi felt a droplet from the sky land on her cheek.

"I had better get going, it was really nice meeting you!" You began saying your farewells to the beautiful lady, pulling your backpack hastily up onto your back. You didn't want to get potentially drenched in the downpour.

"Wait!"

Ice gripped your wrist abruptly, sending a shock up your arm and making a surprised gasp escape your lips. The fuck?

Oh.

Heidi had grabbed your wrist. She must have some bad circulation, you vaguely thought to yourself.

"I never got your name." The word were desperate, to Heidi pitiful even.

"It's Y/N," you breathed, taken back by Heidi's behavior.

She let go of your wrist, a half smile appearing. "Y/N," she repeated, your name leaving her mouth - in your mind anyway - almost reverently. "Beautiful name, cara mia... anyway, we should head our separate ways! The rain is sure to stat pouring any moment now."

You hummed in agreement, internally trying to shake yourself out of the stupor you now found yourself in. God damn, this woman... help. She's pretty. So pretty. I am very gay.

"It was nice meeting you, Heidi. Maybe I'll see you around?" You offered with a hopeful smile, trying to shut out your internal screaming.

As you quickly walked away, Heidi carefully breathed in after holding her breath. The air stung her throat, your scent, your blood, making her moan wantonly.

She only hoped for two things; one, that she would get the pleasure of seeing your exquisite face again, and secondly and most importantly, that you would heed her warning not to come to the Volterra Cathedral tour tomorrow.

[wolf-zer0]

Ya want some WORLD-BUILDING????

Have some world-building!

*REMINDER* This is based on characters, not real people.  I’m not going to be writing any shipping/smut content, especially involving minors.  Please be respectful of content creators’ boundaries!

The Crystallos Empire (AKA the Antarctic Empire)

Largest the countries (takes up most of the southern half of the map) but agreed to stop expansion after a bloody battle with Valeriana 

Centered on a large snowy mountain in the middle of the tundra 

Mostly stays out of other countries’ business, but will step in as a last resort 

Has some of the most well-known citizens in the world because… they’re pure chaos 

Attack at your own peril 

Has vast deposits of ores and gemstones, and the metalwork from Crystallos (mainly weaponry, armor, and jewelry) is highly sought after 

The only known food export is potatoes.  Wonder why… 

Associated Colors: Royal blue, light blue, crimson, gold 

Aesthetic/Vibes: gothic vibes, white stone and large stain glass windows, not particularly opulent or extravagant but still impressively royal looking, think catholic cathedral but brighter and with less Jesus (can you tell I’m a recovering catholic yet?), spires shooting into the sky that’s visible even during a blizzard, cavernous halls full of sunlight and echoes, snow that can comfort and kill in equal measure

Notable Members:

Philza Minecraft:

Angel

Visible wings look like a harpy eagle

Probably the most powerful person in the world

Didn’t mean to start an empire it kinda just happened

Also didn’t mean to adopt kids but his Dadza alarm went off

Usually kind but will not hesitate to use violence when necessary

Technoblade: 

Is pig.  

With braid.  

At least 8 feet all

Extremely adept fighter, skilled in almost every form of combat.  

Not a people pig, prefers his potato farm to being a prince

Hella protective of his family but will not hesitate to bully when given the opportunity

Wilbur Soot: 

Muse who can influence people through song

Can’t totally control people (yet) but can subtly push them in a certain direction

The public face of the imperial family

Would rather insult than fight but can and will cut a bitch if he needs to

Because inspiration is fickle he’ll have some … strange episodes (see: the Sand Incident)

Tommy Innit: 

Child.  

Chaos incarnate.

Is he human?  Is he not?  No one’s sure yet.  

But he’s a gremlin and a hellion and willing to throw down at any moment.  

Has a surprisingly caring side, but no one outside his immediate circle has ever really seen it.  

The Kingdom of Valeriana (aka Dream SMP)

Oldest of the countries 

Located in the middle of a massive forest at the center of the main continent 

Home of the Fae Courts

Ruled by a single king who is chosen by a tournament held every 100 years 

Known for causing chaos in other countries, but after an Incident with Crystallos they have kept their meddling to annoyances rather than outright declarations of war 

Considered the most magical of all the countries, and traditional enchantments almost all come from Valeriana 

Associated Colors: neon green (duh), bright yellow, forest green, light brown, blood red (more saturated than Crystallos), rose gold 

Aesthetic/Vibes: spooky art nouveau (idk what else to call it), lots of plants and nature but with an edge of danger, poison gardens and carnivorous plants, hedge mazes that lead everywhere and nowhere, laughter deep in the forest, deer with eyes just a hair too human, Alice in Wonderland on steroids 

Notable Members: 

Dream: 

Current king of the Fae

As long as he’s touching the ground, he knows where everything and everyone is

Can terraform

Unlimited in the boundaries of his kingdom

Much more limited outside of his realm

No one has ever seen what he really looks like, even before he took the throne

Since people outside the kingdom don’t know who he is, he’ll wander the outside world and challenge random people to fights

Never says what happens to the losers

Only one person has ever beaten him: Technoblade

He might have a lil obsession around Techno, but it’s fine.  

A little competition is healthy.

Sapnap:  

High Lord of the Summer Court

Dream’s right hand man

Likes fire a little too much probably

George: 

Human that Dream took a liking too and yoinked from the mortal world

Dream and Sapnap made him immortal but he hasn’t realized it yet.  

Skeppy: 

Changeling who started growing diamond-like scales across his body

Is vaguely allied with Dream simply because he’s Fae, but is more loyal to BBH

Like a lot of other Fae, likes to make challenges but he makes them less deadly.  Not totally safe, just less deadly.

Badboyhalo: 

Demon who was kicked out of hell because he was too nice

Found Skeppy in the Overworld and the rest is history

Cursed by the Demon King that the moment he says a swear word, the entire world would end, but can never tell anyone that he is cursed

The Merchant’s Guild

Not quite a country, more of a international power 

Oversees the largest and most important businesses in the world 

Makes sure that no laws are broken between different countries and everyone gets a fair shake 

Has a very large reach, so some members have dabbled in espionage for various groups 

From the outside it looks like the whole thing is kept together with duct tape and hope, but its actually pretty functional

The main members are just… a lot. 

More concerned with keeping things working than influencing other nations (although there are still jokes about it) 

The most valuable thing they trade in is information

They have a lot of fingers in a lot of pots, but are trusted with their information 

Associated Colors: dark blue, teal, deep yellow, burnt orange, copper

Aesthetic/Vibes: art deco babie, angles and lines, very modern and streamlined, sleek suits instead of armor or robes, whiskey in a crystal glass, wars won by words not weapons, knowing when someone’s lying without them saying a word

Notable Members:

Schlatt: 

Ram-man with a plan

Not that bad of a dude, but is in a position where he is constantly in possession of highly sensitive information and that does things to someone’s mental state

Drinks pretty regularly but not a full blown alcoholic

Trying his best

Can be a snarky asshole sometimes

Quackity: 

Lucky duck.  literally.  

Duck man with an uncanny ability to absorb good luck from people (typically Fundy) and apply it to himself

No one knows when or why he joined the guild, but now he’s there

Pretty damn smart, but hides it behind humor

Fundy: 

FOX!  

With BEANS!

Trying his goddamn best but life (and Quackity) make it very difficult

Usually is stuck with the shit end of the stick when getting jobs/contracts/etc. 

Wilbur being his dad is an inside joke that’s gotten a life of its own.  

(No Fishfuckers Allowed!!!)

Puffy: 

Badass sheep lady who captains a ship and commands her own armada

Schlatt’s sister

Also part of Storm’s Landing’s council and acts as the main liaison between them 

Do not fuck with her she will kick your ass.

Storm’s Landing

Port city that became a country after becoming a safe-haven for seafarers

Led by a council of important people, with the head of the council known as the Admiral 

Closest ties to Crystallos and the Merchant’s guild because: 

1) Clingy supremacy!!!!

2) it’s a good idea for a guild to have good ties with a large sea power

3) all the dads for Tubbo

Associated Colors: navy blue, scarlet, white, brass 

Aesthetic/Vibes: Nautical (obviously) with heavy “Age of Exploration” vibes, barnacles crusted on treasure chests, think tall ships and pirates and shit, respecting the ocean because holy shit she’s gonna smash your boat to pieces on a whim because she can, has an edge of darkness because when you go deep enough who knows what you’ll find down there (maybe mermaids???) 

Notable Members:

CaptainSparklez: 

elected to Admiral after the previous Admiral went missing on a routine voyage 

(idk who it used to be, I just wanted to make him new at leading)

not 100% sure about the whole thing, but handling it pretty okay

still answers to “Captain” instead of “Admiral”.  

Niki:

If Storm’s Landing had a queen, would be it unquestionably

Never gets robbed even though there’s a well known “underbelly” in town

Could probably end wars with her croissants

Has a significant history of empathic abilities in her family, so she can tell how people are feeling at all times

Eret: 

Owns a magic store in town that really only shows itself to people who need it.  

Having a bad mental health day?  

He’s got a warm blanket and a cup of your favorite warm beverage waiting.  

Dysphoric?  

She’s got the perfect outfit and affirming words already prepared.  

Trying to find that specific book but can’t remember the title or plot, only vaguely know the color of the cover?  

They’ve got it.  

Ranboo:  

Not sure why he decided to move to a seaside city when he’s not chill with water, but now he’s here and he’s too anxious to leave

Known for teleporting around town randomly when nervous, and the people who find him are always willing to let a hand if he gets lost

Tubbo: 

This boi!  Has so many dads!  

Epitome of “Kindness does not equal weakness.”  

While a lot of people underestimate him, he’s not some fragile little flower

He hasn’t fully grown into his ability to speak to animals (he can only understand bees right now)

He’s just as much of a shit stirrer as Tommy.  

When they meet up, look out.  Something’s getting destroyed.

The Astral Academy

An independent university focused on advancing knowledge in the arcane arts and engineering 

Not a country, but has the political power of one due to their vast resources and building prowess 

People can’t enter unless they are invited or have been given entry as a student 

There are a bunch of potential doors scattered around the continent that could lead to the Academy, but no one is sure where the real entrance is 

Associated Colors: royal purple, lilac, sepia, sky blue, silver, bronze Aesthetic/Vibes: bright academia, massive libraries with bookshelves stuffed to bursting, workshop benches covered in scrap and prototypes, open air observatories, runes waiting to be translated, the crackling energy that comes from successful collaboration, falling down a research rabbit hole, bursting with pride after a project is a success

Notable Members: 

Sam

Purpled

Ponk

Punz

Antfrost

Jack Manifold

I don’t know much about these characters, so if you have any ideas please let me know!

Zero’s OC Land - The North Haven

Smallest and newest country 

Recently gained independence from under a cruel dictator (not schlatt lol)

Located in a pine forest at the base of a huge mountain range 

Has pretty good relations with the other countries, but outsiders don’t know much about them 

Main exports are wood carvings and leather goods 

Associated Colors: Maroon, dark brown, black, pewter 

Aesthetic/Vibes: medieval but with a modern twist, dark wood lit by a roaring fireplace, snow-covered woods without a living soul in sight, half timber houses and detailed wood carving, no outrageous ornamentation or extravagance 

Notable Members:

Tyr: 

Lord of the North Haven

trying to keep his people safe and protected

one of the few remaining Spirits (higher in power than the Fae, but lower than angels)

Spirit of Justice

lost a hand in the war for North Haven’s independence

didn’t want to become the leader but does a pretty good job at it

Adopted 5 kids and is trying his best

Bragi: 

Heir Apparent

24 year old human

can influence the world by speaking (not singing) but has to be careful about which words he uses

has a book full of phrases that have proven effects (a spellbook of sorts)

has a friendly rivalry with Wilbur

Freya: 

Spymaster

actually the oldest but abdicated because she feels she’s not the right person to lead a country

age unknown because she’s the last known [REDACTED] (it’ll be revealed, but I wanna build suspense)

has gyrfalcon wings and heightened senses

chronic insomniac

Forseti: 

Official Librarian

20 years old

hybrid with an unknown entity

has black fingers with sharp claws

always wears gloves to hide them

can create portals to places he’s been or to people he knows (the second is much riskier, but not impossible)

knowledge sponge

wants to join the Astral Academy but is too nervous to apply

Odin: 

Older Twin

The “Sensible One”

17 years old

Has an uncanny sense of direction

Can’t get lost no matter what

Can manipulate magnetic fields

Loki:

Younger Twin

The “Hot Headed One”

17 years old

can manipulate fire

idolizes his older siblings, particularly Freya

The Institute

Creeping around in the background

Up to bad things

Something’s going on in the world, but no one’s noticed yet

They will though… soon

Aesthetic/Vibes: minimalism (the worst kind of vibes imo), think laboratories or empty hospitals, harsh artificial lights and cold floors, labyrinths of monotonous hallways with no doors

[lonelyghosts-stuff]

Loki-Character Analysis (and Rant lol)

Idk if anyone will see this and I frankly don't care too much, just kind of ranting and venting. (for context I am not necessarily in the healthiest head space as of now so my emotions could be more extreme than they normally would be)

Loki's death is really hitting hard for me again. The fact he went from a mischievous kid who just wanted his father's recognition, to sabotaging his brother's coronation to lead up to defeating the Jotuns for his father and proving himself worthy as Thor, in the process finding out his life was a lie and that he himself was a Jotun who was abandoned, to giving up his life only to be found by Thanos to be threatened and manipulated (idc what anyone says, Loki was definitely tortured during his time with Thanos. How else could you explain how sickly and gaunt he looked when he first showed up in Avengers?) to losing his mother and protecting a mere mortal just because his brother cared for her, also willing to sacrifice himself for her and his brother, to finally having a period of success, only to witness his father die, see his home destroyed, and then ultimately get killed by Thanos as he tried to kill him to protect Thor.

He had an arc. He grew. And then he died. While we will get Loki in the new Disney+ series, he will never be the same Loki unless they find a way to implant the experiences of the prime Loki into this one. While I have no doubt he will be shown key points of his alter variant self's life, seeing them from an outer perspective cannot substitute for the experiences themselves.

Loki was such a complicated character who, while sometimes seeming inconsistent, was consistently inconsistent within the nature of his chaotic and mischievous character. He cared. He wanted recognition and to be viewed as equal to his brother. Along the way he got lost and found and twisted even more. Notice how in Thor 1, he never killed anyone other than Jotuns. While he did endanger other humans, he never killed them despite being easily able to do so with the destroyer automaton. And when it came to his brother, he had the perfect chance to blast him, but resorted to a backhand; and while that could have proven to be fatal, when it came down to it, Loki couldn't bring himself to do it the easy way. Deep down he still wanted to be on equal terms. That's why when Thor returned to Asgard, Loki kept instigating Thor, trying to rile him up so he would fight him. He ended up resorting to threatening harm upon Jane just to get his brother to treat him as equal and a worthy opponent. He denied familial connection to Odin and Thor, trying to convince himself that the reason he will never be viewed as equal with Thor is that he is a Jotun, the "monster parents tell their children about". In the end, when Odin still wouldn't show any more sympathy to Loki or try to reason with him, instead just telling him "no", Loki gave up. He was willing to accept whatever happened to him when he let go and he fell into the collapsing portal of the bifrost.

Cut to the first avengers, he is clearly very changed. He's sickly, gaunt, and weakened, needing support just getting onto the back of the truck for Clint Barton to drive him away on. His eyes are sunken in, he's greasy and slow, and borderline sociopathic. He clearly experienced something that turned him into this. We already know the scepter influenced his mind and that Thanos threatened him eternal suffering that would make pain look sweet if he didn't get the tesseract. But I steadfast refuse any statement someone could give me saying he wasn't tortured or manipulated by Thanos or his followers. Loki quickly goes in for the attack when he arrives on Earth, killing without hesitation or regret. When Thor confronts him on Stark tower, for even just the most fleeting second, he pauses. He knows what he's done and that he's gone too far. Even when he doesn't back down, he doesn't try to kill Thor. He simply, or, well, "simply" stabs him and runs off knowing very well it would take much more than that to kill his brother.

When he is brought to Asgard for imprisonment, his pride and guilt eat away at him. He refuses to acknowledge what he did as wrong to anyone, but he is very well aware of his actions the weight of them. The person who affects him the most being his mother, the one who always showed love for him and Thor equally. He tries to hide this knowledge, denying her being his mother as well since he is of Jotun blood, but he cares for her greatly still and can't help but feel guilty for how she sees him now. He still strives for chaos and when the Dark Elves invade, he mischievously points them in the direction of the throne room, not knowing their full capabilities, but living for the potential chaos to ensue. Of course this leads to his dear mother being killed. Loki is furious, broken, and lost. His actions have gone too far, causing the woman he loved the most and felt loved him more than anyone else to die. Thor can easily see through his illusions proving that Loki has shown his adoration for Frigga enough that even Thor knows of it. When they finally get to the Dark World, Loki tries getting under Thor's skin again, but also in an attempt to understand him. He prods at Thor's feelings for Jane and reminds him that her life is but a brief moment in their own lifetimes. They bicker and scuffle on the ride to their destination, but it is ultimately resolved by Loki's declaration that Thor can trust his rage, his rage at Frigga's death. When there, we see Jane in direct danger twice. Both times, Loki throws himself in harms way to protect her, seeing her both as vulnerable but also something that Thor cares for. Loki then proceeds to save his brother's life, being willing to sacrifice his own for him as well. Knowing his wound is not fatal, but also being fully aware of his skills in trickery and illusions, not only does Loki trick Thor into believing he is dead, but he also takes the opportunity to try to relieve his conscience; he apologizes. He then follows it up by saying that he didn't do what he did to make Odin proud or acknowledge him, not this time. He did it for the one who truly cared for him and showed it, Frigga. This gave Loki the opportunity to discreetly get back to Asgard and exile Odin and take his place. Now, Loki got the respect and adoration he felt he deserved. But it would only last for so long.

When Thor gets wind of Loki's antics, they both find themselves eventually facing down Odin and him passing away, but not before telling them that he's proud of them and loves them. Even Loki tears up here. He feels somewhat that it's his fault for Odin's passing, but he also feels empty after finally hearing Odin give him what he thought he always wanted. Hela arrives and Loki tries to reason with her; perhaps thinking he can relate to her and handle the situation. Unfortunately, Loki and Thor get separated for a while, eventually reuniting, but on opposite ends of the social class on Sakaar. Loki could easily continue to bask in his new status over Thor, but still decides to help him when h found him in the waiting area for the fighters (even though he eventually tried to betray him later when he realized he could regain what status he had and that he viewed escape futile and pointless with Hela still around). In the end, despite him having the chance to escape and run off, he returns to Asgard to help fight. He even proves key in defeating Hela as he revives Surtur, also grabbing the tesseract on the way. He doesn't hide. He doesn't show bitterness. He returns to the ship alongside his brother. (despite how much Waititi gave a middle finger to the writing and characterization of the characters, I am still trying my best to piece good Loki moments from Thor Ragnarok and fit it into Loki’s personality given that Ragnarok is considered MCU canon).

Thanos attacks. He has Thor in a precarious situation, threatening to kill him if Loki doesn't give him the tesseract. Loki tries to hold out as long as possible, knowing the consequences of giving it to the mad titan, but eventually yields when he sees no other way to save his brother; after giving it to Thanos, he immediately goes to Thor's side to protect him. When Thanos took down Hulk, Loki realizes the only chance they have to get out of there alive is to use his trickery. He proclaims himself Loki, prince of Asgard and, most impressively, Odinson. He accepts who he is. He acknowledges he is the rightful heir to Jotunheim, but he also knows that, even if not by blood, he is Thor's brother, and Odin and Frigga's son. Unfortunately, he rushes to action quite recklessly, potentially undermining the power Thanos has already with even just the two infinity stones he as acquired. Loki is killed. Neck snapped from the pressure of Thanos choking him. He died trying to protect his brother. Trying to fight for the good fight. Died at the hands of the man who twisted him in the first place and promised him suffering if he didn't deliver the tesseract.

Loki may have started out as a dark antagonist, then to a twisted villain, and eventually progressing to an Anti-Hero, but he died a hero.

This just breaks me. He was such a loveable and complicated character. He had many faults, faults he battled with every day. When it came down to it, he threw his own life down for his brother.

It upsets me he died so quickly and seemingly so pointlessly within the first ten minutes of Infinity War. But he also served a great, if I may, glorious purpose. He brought the Avengers together in the first place, and died trying to make sure another one of them, and his own brother, could live on to fight and stop Thanos.

Loki will always be my favorite character and hero and villain simultaneously in the MCU. And I couldn't thank Tom Hiddleston enough if I got the chance for his stellar performance of this fantastic and complicated character who helped bring the Avengers together, even if unintentionally.

[kimsiever]

The traditional LDS concept of divinity perpetuates the sexism, homophobia, and transphobia inherent in the LDS church’s teachings and traditions.

LDS theology teaches us that we have a heavenly father and a heavenly mother. Although we know very little about Heavenly Father, we know even less about Heavenly Mother.

LDS theology teaches us that Heavenly Father is who we pray to, and it is to whom we assign all appearances of divinity to humans (even if there is no indication in scripture that the appearance was gendered).

Contrastingly, we are discouraged from praying to Heavenly Mother, the scriptures are mostly silent about her, and no president of the church has presented to the general church body a revelation on her: her nature, her role, her history, her interactions with humans. Nothing.

LDS theology also teaches us that Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother are in a partnered relationship—some people label this “marriage”—and that they are the parents of the spirits that inhabits our mortal bodies.

These teachings inform our stances on gender roles, orientation, gender, and relationships.

Because the LDS church sees the divine relationship between Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother as an ideal, they teach that the ideal mortal relationship is between a man and a woman, and they should have children. Any other relationship is unnatural and—to borrow LDS parlance—unordained.

Because there is inequality in their relationship—with Heavenly Father being in charge and Heavenly Mother being demure—we should have inequality in our relationships, with husbands presiding and wives nurturing.

Because Heavenly Father leads out in speaking to us, then men are assigned leadership qualities and roles. Because Heavenly Mother is quiet (or silenced, if you will) and reserved, women are assigned soft skills as qualities.

Because only two persons are in that relationship and are different sexes, the LDS church sees sex (and gender) as binary.

A few years ago, I began to feel pulled toward getting to know more about Heavenly Mother. I wanted to feel closer to her. And so, I began praying to her. Well, I sort of included her in the prayers I was already addressing to Heavenly Father. In reality, I prayed to both of them. Over time, I felt doing so allowed me to place both of them on equal footing, and I believe this allowed me to experience intense spiritual events that seemed connected to Heavenly Mother.

Recently, however, I have realized that even this action—while it might address the sexism in LDS theology, at least in part—does little to address the homophobia and transphobia. It still perpetuates ideas of gender and sex binary. And so I’ve spent some time in my morning and evening walks reflecting on the LDS concept of God.

I think the LDS church has something potentially powerful in the idea that there is more to the divine than just an old, bearded, white guy. Including a feminine personage in the divine could be liberating. Even the idea that we have a familial link to them could be empowering.

But it’s ruined by the perspective that they are two entirely and completely separate beings, especially when one has all the power and the other is in the shadows. Separate not only in person, but also in purpose and role.

This perspective leads us to—even encourages us to—do the same thing in the church. We separate the masculine and feminine. Classes are segregated by sex. Roles are segregated by sex. Ordinances are segregated by sex. And our intense focus on idealizing the cisheteronormative portrayal of our heavenly parents forces out those among us who are not cis and who are not hetero.

I wonder, however, if we would be better served seeing God not as two beings as separate—both in person and in role—but as two beings united.

LDS theology teaches that the Godhead consists of three beings who are one in purpose. Perhaps, we can use a similar approach in our portrayal not just of the Godhead, but of, well, God.

We often synonymize “God” and “Heavenly Father”. We even do that with the name we have assigned to Heavenly Father. Although we assign “Elohim” to him, it is a name that is plural in nature.

But what if we reappropriate “God” to mean both Heavenly Father *and* Heavenly Mother? What if we see God as both male and female, both masculine and feminine? What if without one or the other, “God” is incomplete?

What if we have a heavenly father and a heavenly mother not as a pattern to dictate our approaches to sex, gender, and orientation? What if we have a heavenly father and a heavenly mother to remind us that none of us is purely masculine or purely feminine, neither just man nor just woman? What if viewing “God” as both masculine and feminine for it to be whole helps us to know that our unique combination of masculine and feminine is what makes us whole?

What if the song went, “I am a child of God, and they have sent me here”? What if the youth recited instead “We are children of our God, who love us, and we love them”? What if we embraced the idea that because the appearance of God to Moses, to Joseph Smith, to John the Baptist, or to the Nephites is never accompanied by gendered pronouns that perhaps it wasn’t always just Heavenly Father in those instances? What if we portrayed not just Heavenly Father in the temple film speaking to Adam and Eve, but the whole God?

If we can see God as both male and female, then it could help us see the futility in gendering roles and relationships. If each of us is both masculine and feminine (to whatever degree or combination), then none of us is entitled to lead or to be more spiritual or to parent or to baptize or to participate in any of the multitude of gendered activities and responsibilities. If each of us is both masculine and feminine, then trans members can no longer be seen as abnormal and burdened. If each of us is both masculine and feminine, then gay members can be welcomed as full participants in the religion, without threat of church courts and excommunication.

And maybe, just maybe, the sexism, homophobia, and transphobia so prevalent among Latter-day Saints would diminish.

[redemptionbaby]

The Altar is Calling| Arthur/Reader | pt.2

notes: you guys I think will get mad at me for this one lmao

word count:2569

summary: you and Arthur celebrate on your wedding night

“So, tell me about this would-be fiancé of yers, sugar,” Arthur said, his tone between playful and growling. You walked side by side in the autumnal forest on the way back to your house, hand in hand, and he swung your connected arms back and forth in amusement. He was clearly slowing himself down so you could keep pace with his longer strides. He had offered to summon forth some nightmarish steed for you both to ride, but you declined. 

Strange as you were, you were uninterested in theatrics of that caliber. 

“He’s. Uh, male. And has a face and some hair.” Arthur scoffed out a quick laugh. 

“Ain’t nothin special, I’m guessin’? Or are you just tryna spare an old devil’s feelings?” Better yet, are you tryin’ to protect this sonuvabitch from me? “That’s awful sweet of you, buttercup, but I promise you I’ve heard worse.” Your face is unreadable, which is equal parts intriguing, irritating, and nerve wracking for Arthur. Really, you’re just paying attention to the leaves that crunch beneath your heels. You make it a game to try and step on the ones that look the crunchiest. You’re very good at it. Having to think of conversation to make, or recalling any of the identifying characteristics of your fiancé, is making you worse. Arthur, who is easily at least seven feet of demon beef, leans down to be at your eye level. 

“Or maybe… you love him?” Arthur asks, eagerly awaiting the answer which could destroy him. Crush his blackened heart, shatter his damned soul like a crystal chandelier suspended by a rope in the crossfire of a heated sword fight. You stop walking and twitch your nose bizarrely. 

“Chu!” You sneeze, rubbing your nose with a sleeve, still sniffling. Arthur pauses awkwardly, unable to say ‘bless you’.

“No, nothing like that. He’s nice enough I guess, but not at all interesting, you understand. I’m sure marriage to him would have been almost infuriatingly tolerable.” Arthur has only known you for a few hours, but he can already see why someone completely ordinary would bore you to tears. This relaxes him somewhat, because he isn’t boring... Is he?

A question begins to bud on the tip of your tongue when your house comes into view at last. Arthur slides his hand beneath your chin and tips your head up, his eyes roaming over your features in adoration as his sighs. This kiss he plants on your lips is soft, gentle, and almost overwhelmingly warm. Like the tender underbelly of some great beast, the kiss implies near fatal vulnerability just beneath the surface. So of course you kiss back. He parts from you with a smile behind his eyes, and calls to you in a low whisper. You’ve never heard your name spoken so kindly. 

“Prepare yourself, sweet thing. I’ll be back come midnight to collect you for our wedding night.”

—————

Rehearsal was boring, but you were distracted, much to the displeasure of your parents and the staff. What did Arthur mean? Did he just want to hit it and quit it, or was this like, it? Were you going to pack your bags and move to hell? Not the most unappealing idea, given the current circumstances, you just would like to be more well informed. 

Your rehearsal is concluded with a lot of aggravated sighing from everyone but your fiancé, who has his patient gaze affixed to you still. Despite everything, he kisses your hand innocently and bids you goodnight. You almost felt bad about being unfaithful to him, but was there really any faithfulness to begin with, when you didn’t feel much of anything for him? His parents would just find another girl anyways, one probably much more sensible and agreeable and normal. 

After dinner and a hot bath, you retire to your room and change into your nightgown, which you’ve never really considered sexy, but you were on rather short notice and you weren’t sure what exactly to be preparing for. You aren’t really sure why you’re even thinking of this, as if what happened today wasn’t just a delusion of your hopeful romantic mind. Wouldn’t it be nice, though?

Being all warm from the bath, and your stomach full from dinner, you can feel yourself getting sleepy, and the clock is still a ways from midnight. Maybe if you sleep, you’ll dream of Arthur. Then again, when you wake up, maybe you won’t remember any of it. 

————

A clawed finger traces over your cheek lightly, trailing down to toy with the modest collar of your nightgown and the little ribbon bow that adorns it. You really are such a darling thing. Innocent, sweet. Everything Arthur couldn’t be. Everything he’d been told he could never have. 

Your eyes begin to open, and your gaze followed up the demon’s arm and shoulder, until your eyes meet his. His eyes are predatory and dark, but only as a thin veneer over his fears of absolute rejection. You were bound to him now, yes, but you weren’t mind controlled. He wouldn’t do a thing like that, no matter how lonely he got. 

“When did you get here? In my room, that is.” You grasped his hand gently and brought it back up to your cheek. It was super toasty and nice. Arthur reveled in the contact and the pleased look on your face. 

“This ain’t yer room, sweetness. We’re in my domain. Jus’ made it look like yer room so you’d feel comfortable,” he uttered, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it, in case you’d be mad. Upon closer inspection, the rosary that was kept hung next to your door was absent. It made sense that he wouldn’t recreate that detail. 

“Is this my home now, too?” You asked. 

“Only if you want it to be. I could return you to the world above if you wanted, too,” he sighed. “But you’d never be free of me. Not forever.” You rub your thumb thoughtfully, patiently along the underside of Arthur’s wrist as you childishly cling to his arm. He can’t tell if your comfort is out of affection, pity, or something else. But he knows what he wants for it to be. 

The demon sits down on the bed, seemingly bigger than your bed at home, and you sit up to be level with him. Your nightgown is caught beneath you, pulling some of the fabric taut and flush against the swell of your breasts. Unintentional or not, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

You look up and see a sudden intensity in Arthur’s eyes, accompanied by an otherworldly glow. You felt compelled to ask your unsaid question from earlier. 

“Why was your altar in the woods, waiting for someone like me?” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, as if attempting to summon emotional strength. He wants this to work. He wants you to know all of him, and for him to know all of you. And this is as good a start as any. 

A long time ago, I was in love with a human woman, and she was in love with me, or so I like to believe. Despite how different we were, and the worlds we came from, we were in love. So we chose our favorite spot in the woods for a little ceremony, a ritual that would tie us together forever. I said my vows, but when it came to be her turn she wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I should have seen it coming from miles away, but I ignored the signs. I just wanted to be happy with someone. 

She knew that I would not and could not join her in the mortal realm and give her the life she wanted. She said that it didn’t bother her, that she still loved me, but I don’t think it ever stopped weighing on her mind. She left me at that altar. Donned a silver rosary so that any contact I tried to make would burn me. I still have the scars from trying. In the end, she decided we were too different after all.

Arthur waited for something. Pity, disgust, admonishment, anything. But all he felt was the gentle and smooth flesh of your hand, almost cool against his warm skin, cupping his cheek and going up to tangle in his hair and stroke one of your thumbs over his blackened horns. How you knew that would comfort him was a mystery. 

————-

Your scent engulfs him as he buries his face into your hair, you smell wet and wild and woodsy, like spices and potpourri alongside the scent of a rotted log turned over, one with an entire ecosystem of newts and worms and beetles subsisting on fresh, rich soil. You smell of the death that sustains life, and it endears you to the demon all the more. In you he finds the sense of love impending— of a love that hasn’t yet bloomed, but even so he can imagine it clearly. It’s intoxicating and tear-jerking. 

He looks at you with softness undefined when he asks:

“This—what’s between us. Do you feel it too?” His skin burns pleasantly beneath your palms. “I feel it— I feel it so goddamn much I could die!” He doesn’t have to explain what he means. It’s an all encompassing and infinite fire between you two. One that burns with potential and promise, like your life to this point has been waiting, and your real life has just begun. Though it may be dangerous, you can’t refuse it. 

“I feel it, Arthur. I do.” The way you utter his name like you’re coming off of a high note, like it’s been practiced in your head, shoots straight to his loins. There’s a growing urgency in your voice, and he feels his body screaming for him to respond to your needs, regardless of whether or not you know of them. The adoration in his eyes betrays the depravity he feels. 

His hands are large, warm, and calloused. They cup your cheeks as Arthur leans his entire body into you and kisses you like he’s trying to devour you. His hands trail down to the swell of your throat, the curve of your waist, the meat of your thighs, where he grips and pulls you into his lap unapologetically. Your quiet and restrained mewls are going to be the death of him. He grits out your name. 

“Baby. Angel. Tell me you want this. Tell me that and I’ll be yours.”

“Arthur, I want this. I want you.” The moment you finish he pushes his mouth against yours so hard you can almost hear your teeth click together. His mouth is raw on yours, with animalistic amounts of teeth and tongue, with passion. You feel a few hot, wayward tears against your cheeks, and you know you’re not the one crying.

The demon parts, looking at you for approval as he places his hands at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up over your head when you nod. Your underthings are not removed with the same grace, as they’re sliced apart by the delicate work of his claws. There’s a ravenous fury in him, but he pauses to appreciate every curve and mark and pocket of fat on your innocent body, nervousness radiates off of you in waves while you tremble under the heavy weight of his gaze, clearly trying to stay brave and keep your eyes on him.

“You ever been intimate with a man before, darlin’?”

“No. I’ve only ever been kissed--”

“By who?” He blurts out, unable to contain his budding jealousy.

“Just friends. Playmates when I was young, but I fear I know just about as much now as I did then,” you trail off, averting your eyes as you submit to embarrassment. Arthur’s fingers delicately cup your chin and guide your gaze back to him.

“A virgin bride, then, how cute,” he croons, a gleam of something sadistic in his eye, but gone in an instant. “I’ll take care o’ you, promise. You’ll never know pain from me unless you wish for it.” He presses his forehead to yours, gently.

“My wife. My beautiful, sweet, strange little wife…”

The word strange had never sounded so lovely to you. It had, for as long as you could remember, made you unmarriageable and discomforting to others of your class. It was something that people called you behind your back with quieted giggles.

But coming from Arthur, it made you feel special. Like it was something wonderful no one else could have.

Your awareness returns when one of his hands finds the curve of your breast, toying with one of your nipples while he gently bites and sucks the other. His hand travels further, reaching your ass and grabbing, pulling you even closer-- right up against the bulge under the simple cloth he wears. You get your first taste of delicious friction as he begins rutting against you fervently. He thumbs your clit while he latches onto your throat, smiling at every choked moan and breath you release at the new sensation.

You soon find yourself laid gently on your back, the curtains of the canopy on “your” bed closing, much of the light going with it, but Arthur's eyes and patches of his warmest skin, like his palms and across his nose, have a faint light about them, as well as beneath the cracks of his horns.

______________

Arthur grips your thighs and guides you to wrap your legs around him as he leans forward and over you. There’s an intensity behind his eyes that’s frightening, and yet you can’t look away. His hand comes back to your cheek, and everything stops.

“What do you want?” you’re not sure what he means. The way he says it makes it seem so much deeper than just permission for sex. Tears form at his eyes once more, and they drip onto your cheeks.

“I’ll be anything for you. Just say what you want, and that’s what I’ll be.” 

An idea strikes you. A thought that made your eyes widen enough for Arthur to pause and worry. Your palm comes up to his cheek and you can feel his hot tears run down your arm. The mortification— the scathing and paralyzing fear of rejection has the demon choking down a sob. That rejection seems imminent and inevitable, with the pitiful display he thinks he’s cultivated. Who would want this? A broken down hell creature, battered and torn away from all that is strong and all that is beautiful. You would never—

“You don’t have to be ready for this. I will still have you. I will still want to be here. Relationships aren’t based in the realization of fantasy—,” you move your hands down his body to his waist, where you gently guide him from atop you to lay on his side, face to face with you. 

“This is not a play, you have no part to fulfill. You don’t have to be anyone or anything but you.”

He hates for you to see him this way, but he would feel even more pitiable and ashamed turning away from you. You scooch closer, wrapping your arms around him and pressing light kisses to his face. 

Sobs turn to full on wails, and yet you don’t let him out of your loving hold. 

[leam1983]

Felix the Reaper - Thoughts? Review?

Can't really go into too much detail, it's rather late as it is and the ol' bed is beckoning, but I also want to couch this down somewhere while it's still fresh...

So, Death as a concept - as a character - obviously permeates the whole of human civilization. You've got Anubis and Osiris, Humbaba the Undying, thousands of years of mythology surrounding the concept of life leaving you and your flesh-bits rotting, generation after generation of people processing grief in visual and abstract forms - and now, we're sort of living in a context where Death isn't really all that scary anymore. We understand it, we can push it back in some cases - and when we can't, then we can sort of map out its occurrence. What started as just this inexplicable force swiping at hunter-gatherers and that warranted Danse Macabre paintings across Medieval France is now something we can put an almost-precise date and time on. There's a bunch of "death clocks" online that project a potential DOD based on your age, gender, health status, habits and BMI; sort of turning the concept of memento mori into a shockingly literate manifestation.

You will die, one day. We're so aware of that that a bit of science and Web design wizardry can shit out a half-serious guesstimation of when it'll happen. Pre-Colonial aspects of Death survive in Mexican culture in the forms of both calaveras and the Santa Muerte cult, and the inevitability of death now even counts as a game mechanic in the SoulsBorne genre. You've got Terry Pratchett's extremely Humanist rendition of Death and, well, Hollywood faff à la Meet Joe Black. The short of it is we're far from the robe-wearing zombie we used to plop everywhere as a reminder of our own supposedly sinful urges or on the fleeting nature of youth.

Another item that's of interest is the notion of life and youth being represented as the Maiden - and of Death being in love with her. Sometimes, the affection isn't returned and disgust is shown. That's most of Holbein's death-related works, in this case. In others, the Maiden leans in, lets the skeletal figure push a hand underneath her skirt and against one of her thighs. They share a kiss, press against one another in the way honest lovers might. He's a dried-out corpse with a bloated midsection and she might've stepped out of some sixteenth-century church in the Netherlands, but their liplock is intense and genuine. In one statue, the Maiden looks like she might've just surrendered to the Reaper's arms, but her hands are also touching his scythe....

Eroticism, a commentary on suicide or plain acceptance - there's several ways to look at that duality, and it's even managed to worm its way over to cultures that don't natively have similar associations with human remains. The Japanese, for instance, do have their own Gashadokuro concept, but the locals of Nagasaki needed their initially-exclusive exposure to Portuguese traders to shrink down their massive skeletal eidolons of doom and to design woodblock prints where a Danse Macabre effectively meets the dress codes and habits of the locals under sakoku, or the Emperor-mandated closing-off of Japan to the outside world.

Death as a dancer. Death, especially, as a force that's quite lively, despite its attributes. A force that falls head-over-heels for Life in its own anthropomorphized form.

This is what Danish devs Kong Orange opted to work on in Felix the Reaper. Their Death has a human name, has a thing for the stuffier ends of Business Casual, is maybe eighty pounds overweight - and won't ever, ever, let the music die. He's also in love, obviously - and in love with Betty, the equally portly and nimble personification of Life. The pair look a bit like a Fernando Botero couple waiting to happen, with ample waists and sagging breasts held aloft by spindle-thin legs - but if Ghostbusters taught us not to cross the streams, then you can assume that Life and Death starting a tango in the same workspace could have severe coincidences on the biosphere. Not that Felix cares, he'd want nothing more than for Betty to notice him. His supervisor is voiced off-camera by Sir Patrick Stewart, who's as delightful as always, and who sort of plays the part of the well-meaning supervisor who eventually realizes his new employee's quirks don't diminish his potential.

And what is Felix's job, exactly? Well, he's Death. He's not getting paid to distribute hugs and kisses, obviously. He gets sent to the mortal plane to, well, kill people, and more specifically, to kill people in precise and pre-ordained ways. His "televator" takes him to an instant frozen in time, and he has to alter the surrounding scene so that once time resumes its course, the requisite accident or happenstance occurs. You do that by picking up items, flicking switches, and placing targets in the path of whatever it is that's set to kill them. You also move the sun around the world using a magical sundial doohickey, as Death can only move in shadows. You're basically Death in the same sense as in the Final Destination movies, except you really, really, really want to twerk and sashay your voluminous heinie through the small changes needed to turn a nothing-burger into a drunk huntsman getting his head stuck in the stump of a decapitated deer, so the dejected and near-sighted hunter you've been following mistakes him for a target and shoots his spear through his brain-case.

And yes, Felix does twerk and he certainly sashays. Dude dresses like a stuffy librarian, sure, but seemingly loses all inhibitions once his headphones come up - which allows the player to share in his personal soundtrack. This particular Reaper seems to have a thing for very bass-driven and samply EDM, with occasional forays into Ambient and Jazz. His many, many, many idle animations all sync with whatever it is that's playing, and so does the variety of prances, somersaults, grands jetés and twirls he goes through while moving from place to place. Comparatively, you get the sense that Felix's coworkers are more the dour and solemn type - with a few unsubtle cameos from Skeletor and Manny Calavera in the opening cinematic - and Felix, well...

Let's just say it's a wonder he has those hips and that paunch. If he twirls around for every little thing he does, then you'd assume he only sits down to hoover an Olympic athlete's worth of food once a day. Or maybe I'm overthinking things because, well, death.

And therein lies the problem, honestly. In thinking, I mean. Felix is a puzzle game through-and-through, and also ties into a Challenge system in order to really tickle those completionist nerves. The starting scenarios are braindead-easy, but the later ones left me stumped for fifteen minutes per screen. Add to that the notion that the game doesn't check off some of them as complete if you only do the bare essentials, and you're left with another would-be mobile offering that doesn't reach its endpoint until you exhaust every little bit it has to offer - even if you're effectively done with the main gameplay loop. It's a great game, but there's just not a whole lot to do in those six chapters, beyond repeating bits of drudgery until your noodle clicks or you give up and look up a solution online.

It's a shame, too. The isometric perspective is perfect, and the game could've been pitched as a hybrid between a puzzler and, say, XCOM: Enemy Unknown. You'd take cover to hide from moving targets or to escape daylight and instead of shooting at them, would emerge from cover to move items around or solve puzzle elements. You could've had Death evoke the illusion of a friendly face to inject some more concrete narrative delivery, for instance. Steal a friend's features, magically conceal yourself, and then have your target piece her own weaknesses together, leaving you to retreat and regroup before executing your plan of attack. But no, everything is out in the open and everything is spelled out for you. Kong Orange could've also stolen a page from Hitman Go and set multiple triggers in place to truly sandbox the experience.

What is there is fun - it oozes personality and charm - but there's just not enough of it to justify Steam's full asking price, IMO. Comparatively, the Switch's online store is currently running a sale for it (as of Sunday the 15th, at least) and lists it as being 2,15$. Two bucks for a few hours of harmless fun is a pretty good deal, as far as I'm concerned. It also underlines why the devs and Daedalic Entertainment alike consider it as having "bombed", as the marketing effectively targeted Devolver's usual stable. It's not crunchy enough, however, and not exactly irreverent enough to warrant that comparison. A more hefty Felix could've earned its full 20$ price point on PC - and Kong Orange's very design for Betty makes it obvious that if Felix ever returns, it'll be in a co-op setup with the love of his, well, unlife.

I'd be up for more of this cuddly, swinging skelly - assuming the devs mature a tad and put something together that's just a smidge more compelling.

[themattress]

OUAT AND ME: SEASON 5

Story - The story for the first half of the season is the Dark Swan Saga and the story for the second half is the Underworld Saga.  The Dark Swan Saga is split between a flashback story where the main characters travel to Camelot to help free Emma from the Dark One curse and a present day story where they are back in Storybrooke with no memories of their time in Camelot and Emma appears to have become a full-on villain who seeks to claim the power of the sword Excalibur for herself. The Underworld Saga is a direct follow-up to the Dark Swan Saga, as the heroes brave the dangers of the Underworld, a limbo zone between life and death that curiously appears to resemble Storybrooke, in order to retrieve a fallen friend.

The Dark Swan Saga...should not have happened. Or to put it more clearly, Emma should not have ever been the Dark One and Storybrooke should not have been a setting here at all, as it ends up ruining the potential inherit in a Camelot-based arc. And that potential is all over the place, everything about this show's interpretation of Camelot is subversive and unique and reminiscent of OUAT at its best, and yet it takes further and further of a backseat in favor of Emma as the Dark One....whenever it's not taking a backseat to elements from Disney/Pixar's Brave! Yes, this is a problem I neglected to point out when talking about Season 4: the Disney influence on the show that was always there in moderation has started to become more pronounced, and it's to the show's detriment. Brave isn't even an adapted story, not even loosely like Frozen was, it's a pure Disney/Pixar invention. And yet the show is linking it to Camelot and the legend of King Arthur!? Frankly, I find that to be a little insulting.

And on top of everything, the arc pulls a plot twist in the last third that is completely unnecessary and merely overcomplicates things while pleasing virtually no-one: Emma isn't evil at all, but Hook is because she turned him into a Dark One against his will in Camelot when he was dying of a mortal wound! Given that the arc was doing an equally asinine thing with Rumple in claiming that he had become a pure hero worthy of pulling Excalibur from its stone because he threw some magic dust at a bear, this twist just adds to already mounting frustration. And then they pull ANOTHER twist where after Hook comes to his senses and has his big self-sacrifice moment, we learn that Rumple was still evil all along and has invalidated Hook's sacrifice to destroy the Darkness by taking it all back, becoming the Darkest Dark One who is more powerful then ever before, with Belle being none the wiser.

So after that bullshit is through, we get the Underworld Saga and...it's honestly the best that OUAT has been since Season 3! It seriously feels like the Neverland Saga and the Wicked Saga mixed in a blender, and while that's not always ideal, for the most part it works perfectly. Many of the characters begin to feel like their old selves again, we actually start to get moments of hope and happiness back even amidst the bleakness of the setting, Zelena finally begins changing for the better, we get an influx of returning characters who - for the most part - it's great to see again, and we are provided with an excellent Big Bad, Hades.

But sadly, it was not to last. The Underworld Saga ends with a highly questionable decision, in the third-to-last episode, leaving just a two-part season finale left. If that decision hadn't been made and the show hadn't been renewed, we could have had ourselves a blowout finale that left most viewers satisfied. But because neither of those things happen, we instead get a weak finale which sets the stage for weak finales in the next two seasons as well, and all three of these finales hold elements that could have worked blended together into one finale, but are underwhelming when taken on their own. If there was any need to confirm that this show's best days were long behind it, this absolute joke of a finale was that confirmation.

Characters - Misery, misery, misery. That's what you've chosen.

* This is Emma Swan's worst season, bar none. From beginning to end, the writing is all about Emma Torture Porn, putting her through metaphorical and literal Hell and turning this once proud hero into a punching bag. No matter what she does, no matter what choice she makes, it's always the wrong way to do things and she is endlessly shamed for it. This is a natural follow-up to what was happening in Season 4, where the definition of Emma's role as "the Savior" underwent a drastic shift. Initially, it was simply to break the Dark Curse, but then Emma took control of her own destiny and redefined it to mean the protector of the residents of Storybrooke so that they can maintain their happy endings or be free to obtain them. But in Seasons 4 and 5, it suddenly got redefined as Emma being personally responsible for giving everyone their happy endings, her own happiness be damned. That's why she was obligated to sacrifice herself to the Dark One Curse for Regina, and why her being the Dark One instantly causes her to be treated as the worst Big Bad to ever menace Storybrooke despite barely doing anything actually villainous. In fact, "Emma gets punished for doing good" is a pretty recurring theme at this point. It's tiring to root for such a perpetually miserable heroine, and so while other things hold my investment in this season, Emma is sadly not one of them.

* Snow and Charming have one good episode in the Dark Swan Saga, but that's not enough to make up for what utterly boring characters and utterly horrible parents they are in every other episode. The fact that they don't lift a finger to find Emma, talk to her, and get her to see reason when they think she's evil is beyond disgraceful, especially when it happens in the same arc where them being written as surrogate parents to Regina is taken to a whole new level of creepy. Like, a sickening level of creepy. They are suddenly written well, in regards to their parentage of Emma and in regards to everything else, in the Underworld Saga, but again, the show not ending means that it's not going to last into the next story arc.

* Henry really comes into his own this season. Being written like a teenager instead of a child does wonders for his character, as even amidst fantastical fairy tale backdrops and with the magical position of Author, he struggles with real teenage issues that anyone who is or has ever been a teenager can relate to. He experiences his first crush, struggles with trying to stand as more of an equal with the adult heroes, and even undergoes what's basically a crisis of faith. And now that he's past puberty, Jared Gilmore is a much better actor than he's been in the past, finally selling the material that's written for his character the way it needs to be.

* Regina starts off in full Mary Sue mode, following up naturally from Season 4. "The Price" is an episode that is everything wrong with her character in microcosm. However, after a few episodes pass she settles down into a relatively inoffensive, bland character for the most part. In The Underworld Saga, there are even times when she is downright likable, which almost distracts from how ludicrously good she has it in a place that is allegedly full of her resentful victims, whom she does absolutely nothing to help. Unfortunately, because of the questionable decision that was made by the writers in the penultimate episode, the two-part finale brings her full circle, with both said finale and the show going forward suffering for it.

* If Rumple had a return to form in Season 4, then Season 5 makes the issues with his character in Season 3 look miniscule by comparison. His imp self, whether featuring in flashbacks or as the form the Darkness takes to needle Emma or Hook into embracing it, is still a delight that Robert Carlyle clearly enjoys playing. But his human self, Mr. Gold, is handled atrociously. First he is an over-the-top coward beyond what he ever was in the past, then insufferably smug about being a "hero" even though he doesn't deserve that position, then it looks like he might just make the final turn to good before he swings in the opposite direction and becomes the Darkest Dark One, and as the Darkest Dark One he is a cold, abusive dickwad who isn't fun to watch and Robert Carlyle doesn't seem to be having as much fun playing, as he starts phoning it in on more occasions than is usual for an actor of his caliber. It's only in the last five episodes, when Belle is taken out of the picture by a sleeping spell, that he suddenly regains some of his former glory and becomes engaging again, but even then the series not ending deprives him of a conclusion at a point where he could have one, so we're stuck with the Darkest Dark One for a whole 'nother season.

* Hook is mostly great in this season. In the Dark Swan Saga, he is badly handled and often behaving insufferable in the Storybrooke parts of the story, culminating in his turn as Dark Hook which, while Colin O'Donoghue performs it amazingly, was highly unnecessary and only serves to convolute an already heavily loaded arc at the last minute. However, in the Camelot parts of the story, he is on top form as a romantic hero, complete with his original pirate garb. And he really gets to shine in the Underworld Saga, where we see him be brave in the face of bloody torture, recover from depression and rediscover hope, find closure with his older brother Liam, confirm his and Emma's relationship as True Love, and finally be resurrected by Zeus after being ordained a True Hero by him. He sadly has precious little to do in the finale and next season will totally forget about all this, but taken on its own, it's good stuff.

* How do you solve a problem like Belle? Put her to sleep, apparently. Yes, after having her re-enter a romantic relationship with Rumple (following a ridiculous, not-fooling-anyone tease that maybe she won't take him back), Belle learns that she's been duped again since Rumple had taken back the Darkness before she slept with him. But it's too late now - she's pregnant with his child! And she learns this from Rumple, at the same time he reveals his deception to her and finally gives her a "This is who I am, take it or leave it" ultimatum.  She spirals into an erratic mess, tries to redeem another bad boy romantic interest only to end up condemning his soul to the River Styx, and then puts herself under a sleeping spell after giving Rumple the extremely poorly-worded order to "do whatever it takes" to get her and their unborn child out of the Underworld safely. Rumple then literally objectifies her by placing her in Pandora's Box, which he lets slip through a portal in the season finale. And that's literally it. The writers aren't even trying with Belle. They just don’t care about her. She's done as a character.

* Robin Hood's soul is obliterated. I know it's weird to start off like this, with the last thing that happens to him in the season, but that really does overshadow what little else he does in the season where he was ironically made an "official" regular. This is the culmination of the misuse of his character: being made Deader than Dead by his rapist's psycho boyfriend. And yeah, the next two seasons retcon this fate, but when Season 5 is taken as is, then you enter the finale on a sour note because the bleakest thing possible happened to someone who really didn't deserve it, all so that Regina can make certain developments that would have better off not being made. It again makes me wish that Season 5 was the final season, since then there would be no option to make those developments and Robin could be spared. But as it stands, it's the last indignity inflicted upon the legendary hero, and on Sean Maguire.

* Zelena is promoted to regular this season, to the surprise of no-one. What is surprising is that the writing issues she had in the previous seasons are all but absent here. Zelena is an incredibly entertaining, funny, deliciously wicked, sympathetic, nuanced and ultimately redeemed character this season, with Rebecca Mader doing some of her best acting work. Her joining forces with the villainous King Arthur, her giving birth to her child, her tragic romance with Hades, and her reconciliation with her mother and sister are all highlights.

* Hades, the Big Bad of the Underworld Saga, is the best Big Bad this show has had since the Neverland Saga's Peter Pan. He's devious, underhanded and hateful, but he's also funny and smooth and, when it comes to Zelena, legitimately romantic. Greg Germann's performance is naturally the glue that holds it all together; he is just so charismatic. Hades is also a great example of a nuanced villain who doesn't end up getting redeemed, as in a great twist the curse that Zelena's True Love's Kiss breaks, a curse to stop his heart and dull his feelings, was put on him by Zeus for a damn good reason, as he is an absolutely sadistic psychopath with his heart beating. The only downside to Hades (besides the needless Disney-esque fiery blue hair effect they occasionally use on him) is that his defeat is rather anticlimactic, hinging entirely on the fact that he forged the only thing in existence that could kill him. If he hadn't made such a monumentally stupid blunder, taking him down would have been much harder. His actual death scene is well-done, but in context it’s pretty silly.

* Camelot introduces an onslaught on new characters: King Arthur who is reimagined as an insecure, self-righteous tyrant, and his wife Queen Guinevere whom he has under mind control so that she's unwaveringly loyal to him. There is also the short-lived Sir Percival, the even shorter-lived Sir Kay, and Sir Morgan who ends up being the Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Sir Morgan's daughter, Violet, is Henry's adorkable new girlfriend. The nearby kingdom of Dunbroch gives us Merida and her father King Fergus, whom was surprisingly allowed to get killed off. And we even have some returning characters like Sir Lancelot (not killed by Cora after all), Mulan (suddenly a lone mercenary despite having last been seen joining the Merry Men), and Ruby (and oh boy, I'll get back to Ruby soon...)

Two absolutely pivotal characters to the show's overall lore are Merlin and Nimue. Merlin, who contrary to usual depictions is a young black guy, is the Sorcerer who was constantly alluded to in Season 4, responsible for such things as the position of the Author. His ex-lover Nimue became the first Dark One through drinking in the power of the Holy Grail and then perverting it for murderous vengeance. It was Merlin who reforged the Holy Grail into Excalibur afterward, then breaking it in half and creating the Dark One Dagger out of the top half. Nimue, meanwhile, is the closest to a Big Bad that the Dark Swan Saga has apart from Emma and Hook, influencing them as an avatar of the Darkness prior to her actual soul, still bonded to the Darkness, rejoining the land of the living alongside the other dead Dark Ones. With her ashen-gray face and creepy monotone voice, Nimue is a truly unsettling figure.

* While there are a few new characters encountered in the Underworld such as Hercules, Megara and Zeus, the main attraction is all of the returning dead characters they were able to get back on the show. Neal, Cora, Henry Sr., Peter Pan, Cruella De Vil, the Blind Witch, Prince James, Milah, Liam, Gaston, the Sorcerer's Apprentice....even obscure characters like Stealthy and Claude! Some are utilized better than others, but it's great to see all of them.

And then there's one living character whose return I could have done without - Dorothy Gale, who is even blander as an adult than she was as a child! And to add insult onto injury, the writers clearly set up a gay storyline between Mulan and Ruby in the Dark Swan Saga, only for Disney to apparently step in and not allow it since Mulan is in the Disney Princess lineup and her in a gay romance is bad for the brand (then why'd you allow her to have feelings for fellow Disney Princess Aurora then!?), and so out of nowhere we get the Ruby/Dorothy romance in the span of just a single episode. Watching Meghan Ory desperately attempt to act like she's in love with the wooden actress who plays Dorothy is painful to watch, and this being Ruby's final appearance just hammers how how utterly wasted this poor character was.

* The two-part season finale brings another unwelcome return: the Dragon from the abominable "Selfless, Brave and True" episode of Season 2 (like Lancelot, he is retconned into having survived). We are also introduced to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the Land of Untold Stories in which they reside...and as I'll detail in my next post, this is a place and a concept that is so wasted, even by the standards set by this show, that it's mind-boggling. Last and most certainly least, we have the Evil Queen that Dr. Jekyll's serum brings out of Regina, with Lana Parilla in full camp mode while playing her. And after a fake-out where it looks like she's dealt with, she's shown to be alive and will be our next antagonist. Joy.

Atmosphere - Whether you like this season's atmosphere or not, there is no denying that it has distinct atmosphere: dark and morose and foreboding, to the point of bleakness, coupled with a sweeping epic and romantic feel. I personally feel like this atmosphere is perfectly appropriate when the stakes are raised so high and the show is dealing with two of the oldest mythologies in the world, Arthurian and Greek respectively, but it seems that too frequently the show doesn't know when to hold back and reign it in a little. This is especially the case in the final two episodes of each arc (not including the two-part season finale). I must definitely give props, however, to the designers of the Underworld's version of Storybrooke, or as fans liked to call it: "Scarybrooke". With the decaying buildings, red sky filter, and broken clock tower in the middle of the street, you really feel like the characters are traversing an eerie new world even though it's technically the regular old Storybrooke set that is being used.  

Also, despite being featured in the wretched episodes "The Price" and "Dreamcatcher" and has the first part of the wretched finale named after it, I really like the usage of the song "Only You" by Alison Moyet. It adds kind of a (suitably romantic) theme song to the season.

Episode Quality - While the Dark Swan Saga may not be a good one overall, its episode quality is a mixed bag. "The Broken Kingdom" and "Nimue" are easily the best episodes, since they are almost exclusively focused on Camelot. "The Dark Swan" and "The Price" are easily the worst episodes, starting the arc on off the worst possible foot. "Dreamcatcher" and, especially due its Brave connections, "The Bear and the Bow" are vey weak episodes, while "Siege Perilous" and, in spite of its Brave connections, "The Bear King" are surprisingly strong episodes. And then there's the Dark Hook trilogy of "Birth", "Broken Heart" and "Swan Song", which have some amazing visuals, brilliant acting, and dramatically thrilling moments, but they unfortunately can't shake off just how badly the Dark Hook twist affects the story. I never liked the idea of making Emma the Dark One, but if the show was going to do that, then they should have gone the whole way with it rather than pull this kind of bait and switch.

The first four episodes of the Underworld Saga, dedicated to saving Hook, are its strongest: "Souls of the Departed", "Labor of Love", "Devil's Due" and "The Brothers Jones" flow really well into one another and all have their share of memorable moments and interesting character development. "Our Decay" and "Sisters" are also strong episodes, although they have some drawbacks such as a well-acted but painfully uncomfortable scene between Rumple and Belle in the former and the inexplicable wasting of Prince James in the latter. "Her Handsome Hero" and "Ruby Slipper" are the only truly weak episodes in the arc, and even they have their moments, usually courtesy of Hades. Finally, the climactic "Firebird" and "Last Rites" are of the same quality - everything that transpires in the Underworld is fantastic, but everything that doesn't is flawed. The flashback in the former is completely nonsensical and does Emma's character a huge disservice, which is especially a shame when her present-day material is some of her best in the season.  The Storybrooke-based events in the latter culminate in Robin Hood's death and I've already made my thoughts known about that, but the quest in the Underworld shared between Hook and Arthur is something I never knew I needed, with Colin O'Donoghue and Liam Garrigan's chemistry being off the charts and the resolution we get for both the Underworld and Arthur's character being absolutely perfect.

And then there's the two-part finale, "Only You" and "An Untold Story", which I think actually holds up even worse than it did when it first aired. Emma revealing to everyone else that Hook is back alive, Rumple absorbing all Storybrooke's magic into the Olympian Crystal, Emma and Regina's argument that makes Henry think Regina is regressing, Henry blaming magic for everything and setting out with Violet on a quest to destroy it, and both the heroes and Rumple reacting accordingly all happens within the first 10 minutes. Just 4 minutes later, Emma and Regina are in Boston, Henry and Violet are in New York, and Snow, Charming, Hook and Zelena are in the Land of Untold Stories. And then, despite all this rushing, we end up spending 7 fucking minutes on a woe-is-me, martyr complex speech by Regina to Emma in Neal's old apartment. Regina and her angst ends up slowing down the second part as well, as the process of her using Jekyll's serum and separating the Evil Queen from her (encouraged by a re-idiofied Snow) goes on forever. The final scene being the Evil Queen's return, with her promising to be the next Big Bad to threaten Storybrooke, is the exact opposite of how to get me hyped for next season. At least with Season 4′s finale, there was the promise of going to Camelot in addition to Emma as the Dark One. What does this finale have to accompany the Evil Queen factor? Mr. Hyde and his invisible friends? Weak!

There are some elements in this finale that work and that I would have liked to see in a series finale at this point - Henry and Violet hanging out together, Rumple with his Olympian Crystal plot, Neal having some posthumous relevancy, the Land Without Magic outside Storybroke being a setting, and the full-circle element in regards to "New York City Serenade". But none of those things are worth how they were utilized here, alongside the reappearance of the Dragon, the wasting of the Land of Untold Stories, and Henry's cringe-inducing speech about believing in magic that Jared Gilmore probably won't be putting on any career highlight reels.

Overall - Season 5 is probably the most personally frustrating season of the show to me. I love it, I hate it, I find joy in it, I find despair in it, I can enjoy it for what it is while also agonizing over what it could have been. The one consistent I have in regards to it is that it should have been the final season of the show. If Adam and Eddy had allowed that, they still would have had enough goodwill from viewers to potentially do more in the OUAT universe afterward (ex: more spin-offs like Once Upon a Time in Wonderland; maybe one where they could utilize their Land of Untold Stories idea which seems tailor-made for an anthology series). Because as lows as this season's low points are, its highs are not going to be matched by the next two seasons, and that was the death of OUAT as a profitable franchise.

[ymiwritesstuff]

Secret Admiration

I decided to once more combine two requests so I hope this is alright! I loved working on this so thank you so much for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 1: Phantom Blood

Dio Brando x Reader

Summary: It was no surprise that Dio had never met anyone able to match with him in terms of strength, however during one fateful night under the full moon, he finally witnesses equal power and later learns to appreciate it.

The sound of Dio’s steady footsteps echoed around the dark hallway that was lightly illuminated by the rays of the full moon. The sounds of the unwanted commotion coming from one of the rooms that held his human prey were getting louder with every step the blond vampire took. The women in the locked room were screaming for their lives, seemingly under attack by something he couldn’t recognize from the sounds alone. Dio had gotten used to the desperate pleas of mercy but this time the screams were far to grueling, even for him, hence why he was now approaching the locked metal door.

Just as the Lord was about to open the door and make his way inside, the interior suddenly went silent. No sounds of terror or fighting. Just pure, unsettling silence. Dio raised his brow in puzzlement and slowly opened the door, being greeted by the usual darkness, but no signs of life. However the second he stepped in, Dio could feel an unknown, but threatening presence and could faintly hear a set of animalistic growls around him. Though the darkness weakened his vision, he could see the bodies of his future meals brutally murdered, their intestines ripped out and their blood mercilessly spilled all around the room. Something was off.

Suddenly, from the corner of his sharp eye, Dio noticed something lunging towards him at an inhuman speed. Thanks to his quick reflexes, the vampire was able to step out of the way and avoid the attack of the unknown creature. With a scoff, he punched the stone wall of his castle, breaking the surface and allowing the moonlight to seep through the fresh hole. With the help of this new source of light, Dio was able to see the beast before him. The wolf-like creature was standing on its hind legs, a vicious snarl laid across its snout and fresh crimson blood dripping from its canines. The animal was enormous, towering over him, the sight sending shivers down any mortal’s spine. However, Dio was intrigued.

“My.. This is certainly interesting..” His voice cuts through the low growls of the werewolf, his amber eyes firmly locked on it. It didn’t blindly lunge at him again, which lead him to believe that behind that thick fur and those dangerous eyes was a conscious human. Dio took a few steps to the side, the animal’s eyes immediately following his every move. Werewolves were a familiar concept to Dio, having heard of them in many works of fiction, but that’s what he had thought them to be. Fictional. However his eyes didn’t fool him as this creature before him was without a doubt a living, breathing werewolf. How dare such an inferior beast invade his lair?

“You should know, the last mutt that dared to anger me met a gruesome end,” Dio’s eyes briefly looked at the limp bodies around the room and scoffed, returning them on the beast again.

“And it seems you have destroyed my property and that is something I do not tolerate well.”

The werewolf’s eyes were glued on his form, ready to strike in case he tried something. A dark chuckle escapes Dio’s lips. “However. I shall give you one chance.” Dio respected the power emitting from the animal and it would be a shame to put an end to a potential follower. 

“Revert back to your human form and join me.” He noticed the wolf’s eyes widening ever so slightly, further proving that this was no mindless bloodthirsty beast. It had intellect and that intellect and power were something Dio desired to have on his side. 

“Or remain a beast, and perish by my hand.” There were no signs of submission from the werewolf which admittedly disappointed Dio. Such stubborn animals.

The werewolf lowered itself on the ground and quickly lunged at the vampire again, this time with much more anger and power. Dio swiftly moved out of the way again, but was surprised to notice the wolf following his movements, almost scratching him with its sharp claws. Its speed and power were admirable but Dio was the superior being and with his sharp eyes was able to find an opening and strike the beast with a powerful kick. The very top of the fur of its shoulder quickly froze into hard ice, widening Dio’s already existing smirk. 

The wolf stumbled backwards, leaving more openings for Dio to attack. He hissed and jumped at the animal, throwing out punches and kicks that it was trying to protect itself against. His claws scratch the skin, drawing blood from the new wounds.

“It’s futile!” With one final kick, Dio was attempting to launch the animal through the wall and into the pit below his castle, putting an end to the invader. However his amber eyes widen in surprise when the werewolf grabs a firm hold of his foot with its clawed hand, stopping all movement and then throws him at a wall, making it crack. Dio lets out a painful grunt and falls to the floor.

He wastes no time getting up and preparing himself to attack the mutt again, but stops in his tracks when he notices it falling to the ground, the ice on its shoulder breaking on impact. Its form quickly changes, being replaced by a smaller, human form, covered in bruises and cuts. The person rolls on their back and Dio quickly places his foot down on their chest, examining the person. Flecks of surprise form in his amber eyes when he notices a woman with sharp (E/C) eyes and messy (H/C) hair.

You look at the man standing above you, your breathing slow and heavy caused by sheer exhaustion. Vampires were equally matched with your kind and he had already caused so much damage to you, you don’t have any choice but to voice your agreement to his suggestion with a quiet, weak voice:

“I.. I submit..”

~

Having a human able to transform into a werewolf provided Dio with many advantages. There was the obvious fact that you weren’t a simple, brainless zombie and actually possessed great knowledge and intellect. However you were also extremely powerful your might matching perfectly with his. But that great power also meant that the Lord couldn’t simply control you like he could his other servants. You were stubborn and refused to be treated as a mere puppet.

Despite how much he despised your stubbornness a part of him couldn’t help but to find said trait extremely amusing. Almost adorable even. He pushed these feelings aside and tried to convince himself that you were nothing more than a lowly beast, inferior to him and his kind. How could he ever find himself enjoying the company of some mutt? At times he found himself rolling his eyes whenever you presented yourself in his room, but also at the same time carefully eyeing your admittedly attractive features.

But no matter what his thoughts were telling him, his actions didn’t lie as every time you were in your beastly form, Dio’s eyes absorbed your power and secretly admired it. He admired the fact that such a delicate, fragile doll was able to possess such power and mercilessly cut down anyone who dared to oppose her. It was impressive and Dio was more than happy to feast his eyes upon your power. He also wished to journey deeper into your mind and learn more about you.

However you weren’t blind as your quite precise eyes were able to catch the Lord staring at your form, clearly under the spell of your might. You found it funny that the mighty vampire desiring take over the world was carefully watching and admiring you. You knew his words about ‘how much your powers were of use to him’ or ‘how well you were serving him’ were nothing more than words attempting to hide is admiration. You weren’t sure if you should’ve been flattered by this, but one thing was for certain: You did hold similar feelings of admiration for the Lord and that’s why you were still by his side.

Another dead body falls to the ground after the Lord was satisfied with the amount of blood he had consumed. Witnessing Dio drain the lives of his victims was nothing new as you had been tasked with bringing him his meals. You figured this was due to your heightened senses and speed, allowing you to bring your Lord his source of nutrients much faster than any of his other servants could.

Dio raises a brow at your unwillingness to feast on the corpse before you, like you had done in the past. However as of late, you had seemed resentful to the action of devouring humans and it awakened a certain curiosity in Dio.

“Is something the matter, (Name)? Why do I not see your teeth sinking into the flesh of this mortal?”

He immediately recounts your first meeting within his mind and remembers just how hungrily you had ripped your victims apart and his sadistic nature secretly wishes to witness that once more.

“Not hungry.” You simply say and crouch down to grab the limp body in order to dispose of it like usual, only to be stopped by Dio. You glance at him and then the corpse before letting go and standing up, waiting to hear what the vampire has to say.

“Tell me, (Name). Were you a human once?” He asks, his question surprising you. Dio positions himself in front of you, locking his intense amber eyes with your (E/C) ones.

His question makes you recall the events of your past, something you hadn’t done in years. You gained the ability to transform into a beast at a young age when your village was under attack. It was a gruesome night you thought you had escaped with only a minor wound caused by one of the wolves. Little did you know that the small scratch would change your life forever.

“I was. I became a werewolf at the age of 13. My life hasn’t been the same since.”

You keep your eyes on his, holding no hesitation in your voice. Why would you? Dio had spared your life and allowed you to live by his side. You respected and admired him and sharing your past with him wasn’t an issue. Even though your form would change into that of a merciless beast, you still had some humanity in you as you dreaded the thought of feasting on mortals. Sometimes your beast form prevented you from resisting the urge to bite into the delicate flesh of a human but you had tried your best to restrain your urges.

“Interesting.” He says, taking a single strand of your (H/C) hair, twirling it around his clawed finger. 

"And what about you, Lord Dio? Have you also abandoned your humanity?”

His lips curl into a smirk upon hearing your question and he lets out a low chuckle. His own story is far less tragic than yours as he himself decided to reject his humanity in hopes of gaining more power. That power had served him well and was the one to help him survive your initial invasion on that fateful night.

“Yes I have. Humanity has its weaknesses. One can only do so much with the limitations of a human body.” He says, his words holding the same meaning they did on that night he put on the stone mask and was gifted eternal life. 

“Wouldn’t you agree, (Name)?” He places his hand on the side of your face and you immediately find yourself leaning to his touch. Digging deeper into your past makes Dio admire you even more as it tells him about your submission to him. Despite your occasional stubbornness, deep down he knows that your admire him just as much as he admires you and that admiration makes him feel relief about the fact that he didn’t have to kill you during that night.

“Yes, my Lord.”

You were a ruthless killing machine and Dio was fortunate to have you by his side. He finally accepts his feelings of affection towards you and anxiously waits for the day Jonathan storms through the entrance of his castle, just so he can see your ruthless side he loves once again.

[flutteringphalanges]

                                             Mirabile Visue

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Sister Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters: 1/7

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N:  So this is my first Dracula story and I hope I do the show some justice. It will be broken into three chapters just as the show, or first season, was broken into three episodes. Without further ado, let’s begin. (Oh, Mirabile Visu is Latin for “Wonderful to See”).                      

                                                Transylvania, 1897

                                             Count Dracula’s Castle

“You’re pregnant.”

Agatha could almost visualize the vampire’s wide grin as he spoke, her head turned towards the wooden bucket she’d taken to vomiting in. She hated him at that moment. More than usual. But she knew he was right. No matter how hard she didn’t want to believe it, she knew.

“I’m dying,” she inhaled, not moving to meet his gaze. “Just like all of your other victims. I thought you of all people would recognize the signs.”

“And I thought you of all people wouldn’t agree to sex after losing a game of chess, but I suppose we are all full of surprises.” Dracula watched with amusement as the nun turned to glower at him. He raised his hands in playful defense. “Now I am no man nor creature of God, but I must ask, exactly how many rules did we break with your sisterhood-”

“Shut up,” the woman groaned. “Just…how? I didn’t think this was even possible. In all of my research…stupid, stupid…”

She was mumbling to herself now, cursing her mind that had been so hellbent on knowing everything there was to know about Count Dracula that somewhere along the way she had been seduced by the beast himself. How could she have been so inattentive?

“While I am flattered you find me so seductive,” the Count’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “You are equally to blame Sister Agatha Van Helsing of St. Mary’s Convent, Budapest. Pointing fingers now is, well, how would one put it in Romanian? Frecție la picior de lemn? A rub on a wooden leg.” His smile was gentler now. “Useless, Agatha. Now, how’s about you get cleaned up and I’ll fix you something to settle your stomach? No blood, you have my word, and we can discuss things.”

The nun seemed hesitant as she watched the vampire from her spot in the room. She’d been at the castle for weeks now. First it had been against her will, seeing first hand what Jonathan Harker had. But it was this knowledge that had changed the castle from a prison into an exploration that she so desperately sought. Dracula and his companionship was a bonus in its own way. If he had yet to extinguish her life then, he most certainly wasn’t planning to now. Especially if she were carrying his child.

“Fine,” she agreed. “But if you think I’m going to incubate your spawn-”

“I was thinking peppermint tea,” Dracula interrupted. “But your sour attitude is saying…lemon?” When she didn’t respond, he nodded thoughtfully. “Lemon it is.” And with that he closed the door.

Agatha eyed the entrance way to the room for a few seconds before collapsing onto her bed. The bitterness from her stomach bile still lingered on her tongue as she looked over to a nearby night stand where a dress sat neatly folded. Whose it once was, she wasn’t sure, nor cared to dwell upon, but it appeared clean and warm. Her own religious habit had become dirty overtime, particularly because she chose to wear it in Dracula’s presence to spite him. But now graced with the sensitive nose of an expecting mother, she could hardly stand the smell. Body odor, mildew, and earth. Not that it mattered now having broken her vows with the Church. She was as good as excommunicated.

I’ll add it onto my ever growing list of confessions. The woman thought to herself as she began to change into the fresh clothes. I do hope God accepts memoirs.

Her fingers brushed carefully across the stone walls as Agatha made her way down the staircase and into the dining room. Halting in the archway, she found herself slightly taken aback by the display before her. Fat logs of oak lay aflame in the fireplace, the heat beckoning her closer from where she stood. The table was set for one, an ornate glass filled with some sort of fruit juice and a plate thickly sliced toast with scrambled eggs.

“See? No blood, as promised.” The unexpected voice caused her to jump slightly as Agatha turned to see Dracula watching her intently. “At least for now. We don’t know what they crave. You see, Agatha, in all my four hundred years of life, this has never happened to me.” He gave a small smirk that made the former nun’s skin crawl. “If I believed in God the way you mortals do, I’d say this is why fate brought us together. A blessing in disguise.”

“A curse,” she retorted. “A lapse in judgement. And now I am to pay for my sins apparently.”

“Again, it takes more than one to make the beast with two backs,” he smiled. “William Shakespeare’s Othello, have you read it?” Dracula waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind that or the arguing, sit and eat. Your food is getting cold.”

Though she wanted to fight it, Agatha couldn’t help but feel tempted by the meal before her. One moment she was nauseated like a sailor sick at sea and the next, the feeling was almost ravenous. With great reluctance, she walked over to the table and sat down. The woman tried her best to ignore the Count’s eyes as he watched her begin to consume her meal. Even more so when it tasted so delicious she could feel the corners of her mouth attempting to twitch into a smile.

“Good?” He inquired curiously, moving to sit across from her.

“Edible,” she replied, placing down the nearly empty cup. “So, Count Dracula has achieved something that no information speaks of. Reproduction of the sexual nature. You must be very proud of yourself.”

“Can’t I be for the both of us?” He shrugged, straightening up in his chair. “I mean, I’m not alone in this. You are its mother. Whether you like it or not, Agatha Van Helsing, my offspring is yours. And before you go threatening to throw yourself out a window or do something silly and stab impale yourself with a stake, we both know you wouldn’t do that.”

“End my own life?” Agatha snorted, eyeing him with slight amusement. “Why would I have any qualms about my own demise?”

“Because you aren’t just dealing with your own existence,” the vampire answered. “You have a weakness, Agatha, and it’s both charming and utterly annoying depending on the circumstance. You are a protector. A guardian. Someone who is willing to throw away themselves for the benefit of the rest. And that is why you won’t harm the baby.”

The baby. The baby. Her intestines seemed to writhe and knot at the very thought of it. She was pregnant, carrying the child of the one person on Earth she despised the most. A disgust that took her on a journey after him in the hopes of learning all of his secrets. Secrets they ended up sharing. Whispers and fingers intertwined, bare skin against fabric sheet, the copper taste lingering on his tongue. A Vampire’s Kiss without the bite. The forbidden act between Beast and Daughter of God. And now, growing in her very womb a product of that.

Agatha stood up so suddenly it caught Dracula by surprise. Mouth pressed into a firm line, she tossed her napkin onto the table and turned away. She was out of the room and halfway up the steps by the time the man had reached the bottom.

“Agatha,” he called after her, his voice mildly concerned. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“Getting some peace and quiet,” she called back, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t to see her cry. No weakness. “I suggest you leave me be and go…go slaughter an old maid. I don’t care!”

Dracula was still attempting to hold some form of conversation when Agatha slammed the bedroom door in his face. For a brief moment, she half expected him to come barging in, proclaiming something that would surely upset her more. She listened carefully as if the vampire would even bother to make himself known if he was spying. Finally, confident that she was alone, the former nun retreated to her bedside and sat down. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair.

“I don’t understand why this is happening to me, nor am I sure if there even is an answer.” Her eyes fell down to her stomach as she spoke. “But for some reason you decided to come to life-if you are alive.” Tentatively, Agatha moved her hand so it rested just under her belly button. “I don’t know what you are, or who you are, but you made a mistake. You chose the wrong people to be your mother and father.” She paused before inhaling sharply. “Especially your mother. I left my family, you know. I left to be a nun. Gave up marriage and motherhood.”

Her eyes flickered down to the corner of her bed. Tucked just slightly from view, Agatha’s eyes set upon her old crucifix. She reached down and grasped it, studying the metal. Hungary. Mother Superior and her Sisters. So many people she cared about, loved, all dead. At least, she hoped they weren’t anything more than that. In that moment, Agatha Van Helsing, former Sister of St. Mary’s Convent, Budapest, made her decision. Setting the necklace down, she returned her hand to her stomach.

“Alright,” she exclaimed. “I suppose we can explore things. But if you are under the impression that I will kill and feed on human blood for you, you are highly mistaken.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a small smile. “I am a fan of meat though if that’s any consolation.”

Agatha stared peacefully down at her stomach, feeling a new sense of purpose she had yet to truly understand.

                                                              XXX

Two evenings had passed before Agatha finally chose to face the Count again. One would’ve suspected avoiding another in such an enormous palace would’ve been an easy feat. But no matter where she turned, the former nun could feel the eyes of the vampire following her. Silent, but ever present. A shadow of sorts. But unlike hers, it required no light.

She ignored Dracula’s inquisitive expression as she walked over to the embellished table he occupied. Steam seeped from a porcelain bowl filled with a soup that caused her stomach to rumble lowly. For someone who only consumed blood, the vampire was well versed in cooking. But having a meal was not the top priority matter on the woman’s mind, no matter how lovely its fragrance was. Instead she remained standing, now mere feet from him.

“There will be rules,” Agatha stated emphatically. “Many if this is to occur.”

“Rules? Like a contract?” Dracula met the woman’s gaze with a mixed expression of amusement and slight shock. “You want to settle upon a guideline…over a baby?” When she remained unmoved, the vampire merely shrugged. “Alright,” he breathed, settling back in his chair. “Enlighten me.”

“No one dies for the baby. Or for me, if you’d even consider that. You survive as you normally would, feed as repulsively as you like, but no doctor is to be touched with the intent on gathering information on the child.” She inhaled, folding her arms over her chest. “Which means no outside medical help. We can learn from what is in books. No one else is to be involved.”

“I’m a count and a vampire, Agatha, not a doctor.” Dracula replied, the grin fading from his face. “Just because I love science doesn’t mean I am well versed in it enough to deliver a baby.”

“Then it’s quite a fortunate thing we have, at least I hope, months to educate ourselves before then.” Her lips parted into a sardonic grin, Agatha enjoying the man’s realization of the leverage she currently held over him. “Are we in agreement then?”

For a long moment, the vampire said nothing. It was only when Agatha opened her mouth once more, about to voice her conditions, that Dracula shook his head and clicked his tongue quietly.

“Even when I thought it no longer possible, you never cease to amaze me, Agatha Van Helsing.” He quietly snorted and met her stare. “You have my word. My, how intrigued I am to see how the roots of motherhood will snare you.”

“If you are even capable of feeling the emotions of a parent yourself,” countered the former nun. “I suppose we will see how our true faults form together.” She turned on her heels and began to walk away.

“Yes,” the vampire agreed, smiling once more as he looked on. “I suppose we shall.”

                                                                   XXX

“You’re reading that book again?”

Dracula peered up from his copy of, Tokology: A Book For Every Woman, looking almost slightly insulted as Agatha watched him from where she stood in the doorway. Her stomach had started to swell, and from both their rough calculations, she was three months, give or take a week.

“Well, you aren’t exactly allowing me to consume the blood of any physicians, so my grasp of understanding pregnancy is limited.” He waved the book in her general direction. “Just one man, that’s all I need and then I wouldn’t have to read about any of this. Or,” he lifted a finger in suggestion. “A woman? A midwife perhaps?”

“No,” Agatha said firmly. “I know I cannot stop you feeding, but we did agree that no one would die because of this pregnancy. No draining doctors, just books.”

“But what if something were to happen to you,” the vampire ventured, eyes following the woman as she moved to a seat nearest to him. “Do you really want to risk your life, Agatha?”

“Then forget about me and save the baby,” the former nun snorted, shaking her head. “Honestly, Dracula, when did book knowledge become less of a value to you?”

“You do realize you’re pregnant with a child who is half vampire, yes?” The man countered. “And yet, despite knowing everything I’m capable of, you show no sign of fear about what it could do?”

“Like violently tearing my vagina?” She grinned when she noticed the surprise on his face. “You’re not the only one who’s read that book.” Sighing, Agatha rested her hands on her stomach. “Women give birth every day and I will be joining their ranks soon enough.”

“I won’t let it hurt you.”

The words were so quiet that Agatha almost missed them. The former nun’s eyes flickered to meet the dark irises of the Count. For the first time since she entered the room did she pick up the severity of his mood. He seemed off, not that he wasn’t always pouring over medical texts and journals now. He, like she had, had taken to this idea of a child from such a scientific approach. Continuous research, needing to know more. And it was that that had been bringing them together. But now he seemed concerned, genuinely so, for her safety.

“You’re reading too much,” she finally responded, breaking the silence. Rising to her feet, Agatha walked over and gingerly took the book away from Dracula. “I’m a lot stronger than you think. I’ve survived you, yes?”

The two exchanged small smiles, a rarity that was growing more shared as time went on. Agatha glanced towards the stairs, arms folded over her chest. It was getting late and she was getting tired.

“I’m going to go turn in now,” she sighed, turning to Dracula. “If you must go out and-”

“No doctors, you have my word.”

“Then I’ll see you in a few hours?” Agatha inquired. “Unless you meet the sun or end up staked?”

“It’s a Tuesday,” he replied smirking. “It’s unpredictable.”

Without much thought, he reached forward and placed a hand on Agatha’s shoulder. Much to his surprise, instead of pulling away, the former nun let her fingers brush against his. They stood there for a moment, both equally silent. Agatha smiled softly and turned away.

“Good night, Count Dracula.”

The vampire watched as the woman went up the staircase and disappeared. The ancient vampire sighed before moving to smother the fire in the fireplace.

“Sleep well, Agatha.”

                                                               XXX

Agatha watched Dracula expectantly as the vampire moved around her. While she was curious about what the man was doing, her true wonder fell on the brown object in his hands. It was oddly shaped, sort of like an instrument. A horn. He hadn’t said much when he called her into the parlor, just to recline as best and as comfortably as she could in one of the seats.

“It’s called a Pinard horn,” the vampire answered before Agatha could ask. “It’s for listening to the fetus’s heartbeat and no,” he held his hand up in defense when he saw her express. “I didn’t kill or steal for it, you’re welcome. I bought it because I wanted to confirm that the thing I’ve been hearing is the baby’s heart.”

“You’ve been hearing its heart?!” Agatha’s tone was mixed with shock and aggravation. “I’ve been pregnant for six months and you are just now telling me that the baby has a beating heart! That it’s living, living?!”

“To be fair, you didn’t tell me immediately when you felt it kick for the first time.”

“Because it was the middle of the day and you were sleeping!” She exasperated, propping herself up on her elbows. “Do you realize how often I’ve sat on this exact spot and worried about if I was giving birth to an undead baby?”

“My apologies,” the vampire expressed, tone lacking actual sympathy. “But what’s done is done and now we can both be assured that the baby does have a beating heart.”

He reached to lift up her dress, but was immediately stopped when Agatha grasped his hand. Their eyes met and Dracula let out a long, irritable sigh. Releasing his hold on the fabric, he motioned to the horn with his free hand.

“It works best on bare skin,” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps you should put down the medicine books and pick up one on manners, Count Dracula,” Agatha expressed. “It isn’t very polite to lift a lady’s dress without her consent.”

“I’m perfectly fine not confirming my heart beat theory…”

“Just let me help,” Agatha grumbled, rolling her eyes as she hiked up her gown. “There, now do what you must.”

Choosing not to bicker further, the vampire eyed the woman’s distended stomach carefully. Her pale skin stretched to reveal roads of thin blue veins that had previously been hidden. Though he knew what flowed through them, he was surprisingly not tempted. Tenderly, he brought his fingers down to rest upon her flesh pausing only when he felt her shiver.

“Sorry,” he gave a half smile. “I suppose you could say I have low circulation in my hands.”

“Your humor died a long time ago,” Agatha smirked.

“And yet you still laugh,” Dracula replied, resting the horn right under her belly button. “Now give me a moment.”

The vampire carefully leaned an ear to the opening of the device. He didn’t need to look up to know that Agatha was holding her breath. Of course, that was unnecessary as the thrumming resounded almost instantly from within. There was no denying it. A heartbeat. A living, beating heart that had no reserves for making itself well known.

“You’re smiling,” Agatha’s voice pulling him from his concentration. “Is that a good or a bad thing? I can’t ever tell with you, especially if you’re being quiet.”

“I believe it is safe to say it physically inherited its mother’s heart.” When the former nun didn’t seem to put two and two together, he added, “…it has a beating heart.”

“There is a God,” she breathed in relief.

“Let’s keep religion out of this,” Dracula replied. “We can deal with opposing views when it’s actually born.”

Agatha’s arms unceremoniously wrapped around Dracula, the horn falling from her stomach and to the floor. Bewildered at first, he remained motionless. The woman wasn’t exactly one to show affection. Especially when it came to him, despite them learning to coexist with each other. But he too allowed his guard to slide and embraced her back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Well it’s no gem encrusted necklace, but it proved its worth,” Dracula chuckled, looking down at the horn. “You’re welcome.”

They remained in each others’ arms for a few long moments before Agatha broke away. She was smiling, a genuine grin that held no form of hostility. But when she opened her mouth to say something to Dracula, she decided against it, leaving the vampire to wonder what else she had to offer.

“Agatha,” he ventured. “I was planning on taking a stroll through the castle. If you aren’t too busy being bothered by mortal things, I would like to offer you the invitation to join me.” He gave her a grin. “You can bombard me with all of your usual vampire inquiries.”

“I’d like that,” the former nun smiled.

“Then it’s settled,” the vampire said. “A walk around the inside grounds.”

Where there once would have been refusal, when Dracula offered Agatha his hand, she took it. Without a second thought, the pair began to walk down the stone hallway. For now, they would just enjoy each other’s company.

                                                           XXX

It was late into the night and she was already well into her seventh month of pregnancy when the craving first hit. Well, the craving had long been building up, she’d just had been ignoring it. It was midnight when Agatha was hit with an episode of sorts brought on by fighting the urge to consume blood.

Dracula had found her thrashing in her bed sheets, fingers digging into the mattress as she pressed her face into the pillow and howled. The thirst burned in her throat and twisted in her stomach. She was frustrated, miserable, and the idea of death seemed more and more welcoming.

“Please,” she whimpered, a hand falling to grip her stomach. “Stop, stop, stop!”

She could feel the baby more than ever as if it too was suffering from her infliction. That her ignoring her craving for blood was upsetting it. It jabbed, poked, and prodded. At this point, blood wasn’t needed for survival-if they had made it seven months in without it and were still present, then it wasn’t a necessity. Nevertheless, that didn’t make how it felt any better. Like detoxing from a severe addiction.

“Agatha?” Dracula asked worriedly, moving to her bed. “What-”

“Get out!” She screamed, biting down hard on her lip. The copper last of blood melted on her tongue, but hers wasn’t what her body wanted. “Get out! I can smell it on you! Get out!”

Of all the nights for him to have fed. He silently cursed himself as he moved towards Agatha. It frightened him really, seeing her like this. He knew something was off by the way she had been acting lately. Now he realized why.

“Agatha,” he said gently. “You need to drink.”

“No!” She spat back almost immediately. “No blood! We…we had a rule…no one dies…” Their eyes met and Dracula saw how red they were from tears. “I can fight this,” she whispered. “I can fight this…I can fight this…”

“You don’t have to,” Dracula insisted. “Agatha, one doesn’t even need to be killed for blood, there are-”

“I will not have my baby become a monster!”

The anger and fear that laced her words struck out at the vampire like whip’s rope soaked in venom. They hurt. It was such an odd sensation that he found himself staring absently at the former nun. Agatha had said things, proclaimed that he was the reincarnation of the Devil himself, and yet it was a single outburst about a baby no less that tightened the long dead muscle in his chest.

“So what if it is?” He asked coolly. “What if the baby is a monster? A full fledged vampire? Then what? You wish to kill it?”

“No,” Agatha swallowed thickly, still visibly trembling. “You don’t understand…”

“I don’t?” Dracula nearly hissed. “Because from where I stand, Agatha, your hatred for vampires has manifested even more so since we first became acquainted in Hungary! So due forgive me for becoming offended that your motherly concern is that our child will-”

“I just want to protect it!” The former nun screamed.

“From what?!” Dracula snapped. “Me?!”

“EVERYTHING!”

Once more the vampire found himself at a momentary loss for words. Agatha had now shifted into an upright position, her expression one of false stoicism. The way her arms wound around her middle, Dracula no longer saw a nun seeking to slay that of which was unholy, but a mother desiring nothing more than to protect her child.

“Crosses. Holy water. The sun…” She shook her head, a sorrowful smile crossing her features. “What is said to hurt you, to kill you, has it not occurred to you that this baby could be equally if not more vulnerable?” Agatha sighed and peered down at her swollen stomach. “I got so far, I hadn’t craved blood up until this point and now…” Her eyes flickered to meet his gaze. “If I’ve experienced one vampire characteristic, who knows…”

“Then we experiment with me,” Dracula said. “Tomorrow we’ll open the curtains-”

“No!” Agatha said sharply. “I don’t want…” The former nun seemed to struggle with the next words that left her lips. “I can’t lose you either.” Her eyes narrowed at Dracula’s silence. “Well, go on then. Make a mockery of me. Agatha Van Helsing who has spent most of her life trying to stop Count Dracula actually cares for him. The irony.”

Dracula was quiet for a moment. “Well, I suppose it’s true what they say. Lubirea trece prin apa, nu-i e frica ca se-neaca.” He smiled softly. “Love will go through stone walls.”

“What does that-”

Her words were captured by a kiss as the Count joined Agatha at her bedside. She didn’t fight back, nor attempt to protest in the slightest. Instead, she let his cool hands rest on either side of her face. Her mouth moved hungrily against his, the scent of blood still lingering off him. The last time either had shown this level of romance was the night their child had been conceived. Just as the nun let her hand trail down the vampire’s chest, he stopped.

“There is something we can try.” Dracula said suddenly, pulling away. “But you aren’t going to like it.”

“Then why even suggest it?” Agatha inquired irritably, secretly annoyed that the affection ended so quickly. “I told you, no humans.”

“It’s a good thing pigs are beast then.” He stated quite proudly. “Their blood is closest to humans-not that I can drink it. But perhaps the baby won’t require human blood. Maybe animals will suffice.”

“You want me to drink a glass of pig’s blood?” She asked skeptically.

“You’ve made it clear the alternative is a no,” he shrugged. “There’s a farm not too far out that breeds the loveliest hogs.” At Agatha’s frown, he merely smiled and gently touched the side of her face. “I’ll make sure to use a cup that isn’t transparent. Now try to get some rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

Dracula kissed her forehead and lovingly patted her stomach. Even after he vanished from the room, Agatha found herself wide awake with her thoughts. Nun vampire hunter to vampire, dare she venture, lover, who also was pregnant with his child. Just in a seven month span. If there was a God who accepted her for, well, her, she hoped he’d have a large allotted time slot set out for her to explain everything when she died.

                        ��                                 XXX

“I think my water just broke.”

At first, Dracula wondered if he heard the woman right. They had been sitting by the fireplace together, Agatha on her second glass of hog’s blood, when the declaration was made so calmly. She was heavily nine months pregnant so it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it took the former nun nearly doubling over in pain from a contraction to snap the vampire from his trance.

“You’re water broke?!” He asked, sounding unnervingly panicked.

“Smell the amniotic fluid for blood and tell me,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now help me get to the bedroom. You’re going to need to get…” Agatha inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. “…You’ll need to get the supplies, I’m afraid I won’t be much use going up and down the stairs.”

Dracula had felt many things in his centuries of existence, but never had he felt such overwhelming worry and raw excitement. Diligently, he moved to sweep Agatha up-who protested that she could still walk-and brought her up the steps. She winced as he set her down, but the initial contraction seemed to have run its course.

“You should’ve let me drink a physician,” the vampire said, unable to pull his gaze away from the laboring woman. “Or even bring one here!”

“No,” sighed Agatha. “No, we’re fine. We’ve prepared. Stop being so nervous, you’re making me nervous and I’m the one who’s going to be pushing it out.” She sucked in a breath, trying to remain collected. “Go find some towels and fill a pot with water. It’ll need to be boiled, so maybe start with that. And a watch to time the contractions.”

“Perhaps you chose the wrong profession,” the Count responded. “Maybe the role of a midwife would’ve been better suited.”

“And you a librarian,” Agatha retorted. “You could replace the stones in your castle’s walls with books from how you collect them.” Her lips twitched briefly into a teasing smile before another grunt of pain abruptly severed the mood. “If you would be so kind and hurry back, I would…highly appreciate it.”

The more time he spent with her, the more Dracula found himself learning about humans. Especially when it came to women and their reproductive cycles. After getting everything Agatha had requested, he returned to find the former nun pacing around the room. Every so often, she’d stop and lean against a wall, her breathing heavy as she anchored herself in place riding out each contraction that hit.

“No,” she hissed, eyes squeezed shut as she waved him away. “Don’t touch me! Let it pass!”

As the hours wore on, it became clear that her contractions were not only getting worse, but growing closer together. And while Dracula did love the smell of fear, he was far from enjoying Agatha’s. No longer did she object to his closeness as he moved to where she knelt on the ground by the bed. She could feel the pressure from within her, the weight of it telling her body that it was time. And yet, Agatha felt very unready. She was scared. Terrified. Powerless.

“Breathe,” the vampire instructed softly. “I’m going to move you to the bed.”

“I’m perfectly fine right here,” but the weakness in her voice betrayed her. “I don’t think moving is such a good idea right now.”

“You and I both know that you don’t want to deliver this child on the floor.” Dracula tilted Agatha’s chin so that her wide, fearful eyes met his reassured stare. “So let’s get you comfortable.”

A pang of guilt hit the vampire as the woman let out a moan when he lifted her from the floor. Already strands of her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, exhaust looming over like a storm. With his aid, Agatha sat propped up against the headboard, a pillow cushioning her back. Towels were laid at the end of the bed towards her feet, her gown pulled up to her hips. She already knew before Dracula checked her what was happening. The pressure. The urge.

“The head,” he sounded so mystified. “You’re beginning to crown!”

Agatha was too exhausted to think of a snide remark in response. Instead, she tensed as another contraction hit, crying out as it reverberated throughout her abdominal region. Nine months she had planned, prepared for this, and now in the midst of bringing life into the world, confidence turned into dust.

“I can’t do this,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “This was a mistake!”

“You need to push,” Dracula instructed gently. “You can do this, Agatha. Let go, I’m right here.”

She didn’t want to. But the civil war she fought with her body to ignore the urge, the more intense they came. The baby was coming and there was nothing she could do about it. When the next contraction hit, she sucked in a sharp breath and bore down as hard as she could. No longer was there just pressure, there was burning. An extreme, inextinguishable fire. She screamed.

“Good girl,” the vampire coached. “Keep going, Agatha, you’re doing marvelously. Focus your energy, that’s it.”

Nothing sounded better than a stake through the vampire’s chest each time pushed. The agony. The burning. She felt the tearing. This had all been his doing. So she focused her energy on anger. An emotion that was suddenly forgotten the moment she felt something small slip out from her body. In seconds, an infant’s wail sounded in the room. It was the most beautiful sound Agatha had ever heard.

“A girl,” Dracula beamed, holding the squirming baby gingerly for her mother to see. “A perfect daughter.”

“Let me see her,” Agatha whispered, holding out her arms as he placed their baby into them. “Is she healthy?”

The two marveled at the tiny being before them. She looked exactly as any normal human newborn would look. Ten fingers and ten toes. A small crop of dark hair. Agatha gingerly opened the baby’s mouth with her finger to reveal two sets of toothless gums. Suddenly, every single thing that had ever gone wrong in her life was meaningless. Nothing mattered except the good that had led up to that moment.

“You were incredible.” Dracula grinned.

“I suppose you could say that I had some help,” she smiled, leaning into him when he sat on the edge of the bed. “She needs a name.”

The vampire seemed to ponder for a moment. “Someone so beautiful deserves a name that is just as equal. In my four hundred years of life, up until this point, the most beautiful thing I know of is something I cannot see.” He looked down and tenderly touched the baby’s face. “Sorina. In Romanian, it means Sun.”

“You want to name our daughter after something that could kill you?” Agatha asked, sounding slightly amused. “You don’t find that a little silly?”

“Or fitting,” the vampire mused. “Unless you have another idea?”

“Hm,” Agatha hummed, nodding her head thoughtfully. “Sorina…” With a smile, she gazed lovingly down at her new daughter. “Welcome to the world, little one. There is oh so much to tell you…”

A/N: So as I was writing this, I kind of realized that in this first part, if I ever wanted to make separate one shots based on events throughout Agatha’s pregnancy, I could. That’s why there were “snap shots” rather than make the whole story about her being pregnant. Not sure if anyone would be interested in that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Part two shall have more romance. Reviews are greatly loved and appreciated! Until next time! -Jen

[askhubertvonvestra]

(Ominous prophecy? Yes.) Eyes of dying pine will know how the world burns so close to its prime. Flames must consume to survive, and a world built on lies dies quick and leaves few alive. Watch the skies for the ash your master creates, for it will choke the flame and sparks, taking away air and hearts. What will he with eyes of dying green do to preserve what was worked for? All choices have cost, and some even the most ruthless dare not owe debt. My dear Vestra, your world will burn endless.

Heh. An ill omen preordained by the goddess, or a vague threat from her mortal followers? I know which I consider it to be.

In response to its key components: 

At the last minute before our success, this predicts I will be present to witness the downfall of all we have worked for.

These ‘flames’ refer to a force that cannot help but destroy to survive, and the world built on lies should refer to the Church, but both symbols are most likely meant for Her Majesty and her allies. To the writer, we are both beasts and murderous warmongers. How short-sighted.

The analogy splits here to distinguish Her Majesty as the source of ash to suffocate the flames, a representation of all who side with her. As if our deaths were not a risk we knew of when we took her side in this war. It is a small price to pay for her success and the liberation of humanity as she desires.

And what threat would be complete without an attack on my character? They have no concept of my devotion to Her Majesty if they need to question the lengths I will go to in order to see her path to the end she has envisioned. The fixation on my eyes in particular suggest a correlation between this threat and ensuring I witness the loss of Her Majesty’s efforts carried out, particularly with “dying” used twice as a descriptor.

All choices have cost? A belated “warning” once more. We have all chosen this path with the full awareness of what it may cost. No theoretical debt I incur on Her Majesty’s behalf is too great that I would not gladly take it on in her name. 

Even if this world we fight for is destined for failure, as “burn endless” suggests, it is worth it all the same. Should we fail, we will still have exposed the rot and corruption underneath the Church and nobility. The curious part of this particular section is the choice of the word “burn”. If the flames refer to our efforts and Her Majesty’s allies in equal measure, to burn could imply ruin or that we will leave our mark on this world for the rest of time. What that mark is is what they are warning of, I suppose.

All in all, it’s a well-crafted ‘prophecy’. I’ll catalog it with the other threats and questionable missives we’ve received to potentially establish a common sender between them. If they are in correspondence with the goddess... Heh. I have some complaints to lodge with her.

[Part 2]

[hedonisthierophant]

SW thing

Foils/Complementary Contrasts

He was a Miraluka, to him the galaxy appeared in innumerable transparent shades and outlines of gray, the flicker of the force inside living beings making them glow softly with colorless light. The stronger the being was with the force, the more intense their light. All his people saw thus through the force, having gained the ability as an adaptation after their migration to a world with very little light. Jayzen Vicarr had come to the temple like all the others in his infancy. It was not unheard of for members of his species to join the Jedi order but it was rare, his people were passive and peaceful. Although they all possessed and innate sensitivity to the force, few had the strong connection that was a prerequisite for membership within the order. Many parents among his people were askance at the idea of ending their children to a group with such a martial focus, however noble its intentions of peacekeeping may have been. They preferred for their children to remain on Alpheridies and join the Luka Sene, the Miraluka’s own order of force sensitives focused on the expansion of their inherent abilities to sense through the force. The force, if it could be said to have a will of its own, most certainly had something different in mind for Jayzen. His mother was a powerful seer who used her precognitive abilities to find and capture those who broke the law on Alpheridies. His father had weaker abilities but used them to provide therapy to those in need, observing them and helping them make sense of their feelings. When Jayzen was born his mother was overwhelmed with visions that he would have a role to play in attempting to prevent a calamity of galactic proportions, his parents gathered with other members of the Luka Sene, doctors, teachers, and sages, the child’s light was so much brighter than all the others around him even that of many adults who’d received training from the Luka Sene. His parents, realizing an education on Alpheridies would not unlock the child’s full potential and deciding not to attempt to contend with the will of the force. They sent a message to the Jedi Temple and summoned a Jedi seeker to their home. They surrendered Jayzen to the monastic order knowing that being trained in the ways of the force by the Jedi was a necessary step to the fulfillment of his destiny.

           He had spent all his life within the temple, he learns that outside its walls, the site of a young humanoid who covered the area where his presumed ocular receiving organs were would be considered quite strange. Beneath the covering where in many species there would be eyes of one variety or another, lay only smooth, uninterrupted skin. Miraluka covered this part of their faces for social reasons as it tended to unnerve members of other species even those who were much further from human themselves. Everyone in the temple had at least the potential if not the habit of seeing the galaxy as Jayzen did. He knew that the force was what provided him with the colorless picture that came into focus the moment he became conscious every day, his clan mates and the other youngling’s sparked with some degree of the force inside them but at his young age Jayzen did not comprehend the purpose of bringing this disparate collection of young beings together from across the galaxy. To him, they were a group of children like any other. Until he began to understand the potential that the force placed before them. He remembers clearly the first time he felt the whisper of the force inside him. He had been about four or perhaps five and sitting in a meditative stance under a tree of blossoms focusing on clearing his mind to better feel the force as he’d been taught to exist in tranquility, he could sense the slightest echo of waves of energy all around him but the carefree distractible mind of a child has little patience for seeing such things through.

Batti was a Twi’lek youngling from another clan who was equal parts boisterous and rambunctious. His favorite past time was climbing the very tree that Jayzen sat beneath. Members of the two clans chased each other to and fro some sat in silence like Jayzen as Batti began his ascent. Jayzen observed as the grey impression of Batti’s form hopped upward and began to energetically scale the tree from gnarled roots to winding branches first one, then another. Further from the ground, higher and higher, up and up again until, until the young boy towered above the rest of them, his body perched at the edge of one of the higher branches as he let out a jubilant yell of triumph and members of both clans began to clap and whoop in appreciation of his daring feat of athletic acrobatics.

Jayzen would wonder later whether he heard the murmur of the force through powers of foresight he’d inherited from his mother for suddenly he looked up and stared at where Botti alighted upon the tree though there was no physical need for him to do so. As Botti’s happiness made him reckless and his foot began to slip after taking a single step to begin his dissent no surprise ran through Jayzen, merely a horrified grim certainty that had been bestowed upon him by hearing the faintest echo of an echo of Botti’s terrified scream seconds before it actually left his mouth. An instinct to protect, to reach out and stop this hurt from the falling someone he knew gripped Jayzen, with the fumbling determination of a neophyte he reached out and imposed his will to intercede on Botti’s behalf with unfeeling gravity and impetuous downward acceleration. Jayzen felt the dam burst within him and for the briefest few moments Botti’s dissent was halted as though he had been plucked upward into the grasp of an invisible hand, for that stretch of time Jayzen’s will defied physics, arrested momentum, but he was young and this power was new and untested. Still he felt like he could’ve held on until help arrived had he not been encircled suddenly by vicious tendrils of Botti’s fear, they tore at his concentration and crashed upon him in waves, fraying the delicate freshly formed link between Jayzen’s outstretched hands and Botti’s gentle suspension. Botti’s dismay overwhelmed Jayzen’s inexperienced mind as he felt the despair as though it were his own, severed the connection, and ended the all too brief reprieve he had granted the other boy from the unforgiving judgment of solid ground beneath him.

Jayzen collapsed as Botti’s terror took him and was suddenly released as the child struck the ground with a dire thud. The stunned silence around them was pierced by a shrieking wail of pain issuing from Botti’s throat. Jayzen struggled to his feet and focused his vision on the scene before him, members of both clans were crowded around the injured boy, a couple of the older ones had already run for an adult but the younger ones were howling in misery as though grieving their own agony and shock rather than Botti’s. Anguish ruled inside Jayzen as well, if only he’d been stronger he could have spared Botti this pain and the others their fear. His breathing came in rapid gasps as his vision began to blur, what had once been distinct shapes and shades of gray blurring in to one another, he felt weightless, unmoored, ready to collapse again, this time perhaps into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness where he could have time away from his failure away from the frenzied whirlpool of emotions emanating from his clan mates and but was sure to be the disappointed that would suffuse the instructors when they learned of his failure.

Amidst this turmoil a quiet certainty bloomed, it grew and grew until it filled him seeming to take an eternity to drown out the abyss of negativity but in truth it took only the space between ticks of a chronometer. He could help. He had to help, had to make it right. Shaking and unsteady, he advanced towards Botti’s prone whimpering form in the center of the circle as quickly as his small legs would carry him. By some unspoken agreement the crowd of frightened children parted around him although he was far from being an authority, a moment ago he was simply treated as just another one of them, no more.

He knelt at Botti’s side, “May I help?” he asked in his high, airy, child’s voice, doing his best to incorporate the kindness and calm that their caretakers would show in a situation like this, sincerity filling him. Botti ceased mewling long enough to give a trembling nod of assent. He turned the full power of his ethereal gaze upon body and opened his mind. Pain and fear that were not his own suffused is being, but there was now a brightness at the core of him, he didn’t have to just endure this, neither did Botti, he could help. Blood oozed out of a nasty gash on Botti’s leg, Jayzen reached out for the wound, his hands far steadier than they had any right to be in light of his inexperience. He could sense the pain flared up in an area encircling the point of impact, moving like angry buzzing insects inside the outline of Botti’s form, which had once seemed the very picture of youthful invulnerability and now had been violently proven to be so mortally fragile. Jayzen acted on pure primitive intuition, some long buried and forgotten instinct passed down from the earliest of his people to witness one of their number in pain. He tugged on the energy inside of him and pushed at it, directing it, willing it to flow into the laceration that marred Botti’s leg, to ease his suffering. As though commanded to do so by the application of universal imperative, the trauma began to heal, the world around Jayzen had gone dull and muted as his whole being was focused on the task inf front of him. Distantly, he was aware that Botti’s voice no longer kept up an agonized refrain and that the others had ceased their mourning as well. Micrometer by single micrometer, bleeding ebbed and torn flesh began to insistently knit itself back together. Enveloped by the energy at Jayzen’s command the damage repaired itself and when he lifted his hands not even the smallest remnant of a cut remained, it had been forcefully consigned to the realm of memory.

 A storm of hurried, anxious steps heralded the arrival of their caretakers, their haste making their steps echo loudly in the silence that had descended upon the group. As several harried seeming jedi matrons herded the children away and examined Botti, Jayzen felt lost in the blur of noise and motion. The expenditure of so much of the nascent power within him left him feeling drained and weary but his hearing of a quiet tapping, wood upon ferro-crete and the approach of the brightest light Jayzen knew signaled the approach of master Yoda. Mustering strength he didn’t feel he had left him, he straightened and bowed respectfully before the grandmaster of his order even at this tender age he was slightly taller than the wizened Jedi sage.  Differences in species meant he could not meet Yoda’s gaze but he could feel the intensity of it upon him. Yoda was even more capable of seeing him as Jayzen saw the rest of the galaxy, of seeing without eyes, of hearing whispers of stray thought and feeling wisps of stray emotion and sensing the energy of those around him. Standing before Yoda he was as a single meek candle is before a blazing inferno. Yoda’s voice snaps him back to the present. “Done well you have youngling, proud of you we are.” Behind the grandmaster stood the young knight Stass Ailee. “You were indeed correct master Yoda, this young one does posses an aptitude for healing as well as empathy, and prodigious strength in the force besides. I would like to speak with you more of the proposal you made earlier.” She spoke in a queenly voice, dripping with refinement. She bent down to Jayzen’s level, he could feel interest, curiosity, and…decision within her. “Hello Jayzen, I think you and I are going to get along very well, I shall watch your training with great interest.” It was not until a few years later that Jayzen would realize that in that moment he had been chosen by a master.

The boy from Tatooine was different from the day he arrived. Anakin Skywalker’s energy was not the new spark of a youngling, nor the eager flicker of a padawan, nor the steady glow of a knight, nor the concentrated fire of a master, no…to look upon Anakin Skywalker through the force was to see a blinding tempest of light.