#The Lair in the Woods series

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

The Lair in the Woods: Part 8

A/N: No editing, we die like men😅

Warnings: threats (mostly in jest), reference to stalking/being stalked, anxiety, medical scenario, reference to past injury, reference to past near-death experience, fear, fear of being stalked

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“…ould we wake them?” A low voice slowly drew Supervillain from their slumber. Buoying between sleep and wakefulness, Supervillain managed to gather their wits before they moved, realizing the weight pressing against their one side as a person slumped against them.

Their eyes slid toward the sound the voice had come from, their ears pricking at the whispered reply of uncertainty.

“I would advise against that if you value your lives,” Supervillain hissed under their breath, finally finding Medic and Right Hand in the darkened living room. As the pair gaped at them, Supervillain turned their attention to slowly disengaging themselves from Civilian’s sleeping form, praying they wouldn’t wake as they managed to maneuver away from them and set a pillow under them in their place.

Stepping away from the makeshift bed, Supervillain’s gaze lingered a moment longer than they should’ve allowed just to be sure that Civilian hadn’t woken. Satisfied they’d managed to escape without waking them, Supervillain turned to motion for their associates to follow them.

Right Hand’s eyes held a teasing glimmer that made their blood boil. They met their gaze with a hard glare. Clenching their jaw, Supervillain ignored them and strode past them both toward the hallway.

Once they were all safely out in the frigid hallway and the door to their private quarters shut firmly to ensure Civilian didn’t hear them, Supervillain grumbled, “Not a word to anyone, or I’ll kill you both.”

“Hey, say no more,” Right Hand said, an amused lilt to their voice, “but before I let this go, I just have to ask, you couldn’t get away before?”

Supervillain sighed. Exasperation eased the tension from their shoulders. “I couldn’t. Civilian is like a cat, I couldn’t just push them off.”

Medic hummed. “Tell that to your heart rate.”

“Did you two come here just to gamble with your lives, or do you actually have something of importance needing my attention?” Supervillain crossed their arms over their chest and morphed their appearance in what many considered to be their true face: a pinched face that wasn’t altogether unpleasing to look at but also not conventionally handsome. It seemed to unsettle people, and that’s what Supervillain liked about it. It put people on edge until they decided whether or not he was too seedy to be around or somehow beautiful enough to fall for their rouse.

But in reality, they knew Right Hand hated watching them shapeshift. Medic didn’t seemed too fazed by it anymore, but even they got the message.

Barely meeting their gaze, Right Hand offered them a thin file folder. “This is a short-list of any supers who might could use their abilities to stalk someone, as well as some suspected stalkers in Civilian’s area the police couldn’t never quite prove without a doubt were guilty, barely finding circumstantial evidence against them.”

Supervillain accepted the file, slightly disheartened at how thin it was. But then again, maybe that was a blessing in and of itself. Now they only had handful of suspects instead of a whole pool. If they could prove a link between any of these supers and Civilian, they’d have found their stalker and could take care of it.

They flipped through the file, scanning the pages of the profiles Right Hand had pulled containing information like the supers’ civilian name, their hero or villain name if they had one, their powers, and any other information they’d gathered on them. As they did, they stopped on a page and gave it a hard look, their eyebrow arching.

“Why is Mirth included on here?” Annoyance flared in their bloodstream.

Medic snickered, “Probably cause Right Hand fancies her.”

“Uh-huh, but that still doesn’t answer my question, now does it?”

“It sort of does,” Medic mumbled at the same time as Right Hand stuttered, “Well, she does have powers that would aid in—”

Supervillain cut them off with a shake of their head. They snapped the file closed and pinched the bridge of their nose with their free hand. “That might be true but do you honestly believe that Mirth of all heroes capable of stalking someone and sending threatening messages?”

Medic and Right Hand shared a glance.

“When you put it like that,” Right Hand said slowly, “no, but I figured after what she did to Other Supervillain, maybe she was worth considering.”

“She operated halfway across the country.”

Medic raised their hands like they were surrendering. “I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Right,” Supervillain drawled, opening the file once more and plucking Mirth’s profile and handing it back to Right Hand. “In any case, this is a good start. Have you found out anything about Civilian’s connections and if their stalker is someone they do know?”

“I’m still looking into it and cross-referencing what I’ve found with our data and anything I can hack into, but so far nothing. Civilian’s associates all check out.”

Supervillain sagged with relief. Catching themselves, they straightened and cleared their throat. “Report to me immediately if you find anything. I’ll get this to my contact in the city.”

“Oh? And who might that be?” Right Hand’s brows raised.

“None of your concern. I made a bargain and that’s all you need to know at the moment.”

Medic kicked Right Hand in the shin before they could say anything more. “All right then. I’ll be back in the morning to check on Civilian. In the meantime, I’ll keep Right Hand out of trouble.”

“And you’re doing a great job of it,” Supervillain said dryly, not bothering to keep their voice down. How these two had become their closest confidants they’ll never wholly understand. Shaking their head, Supervillain took a step toward their chamber door, glad for the second alone. Their body flushed with heat. Their skin crawled, stretching and pulling and shrinking back into place as they shifted back into the image Civilian knew them as. Already their mind was thinking of a plan to catch their stalker, regardless of what their intelligence gathering could grant them. But first, they needed a shower and some breakfast, some time to clear their head before Civilian inevitably woke up and needed to be looked after.

***

Civilian stretched, not bothering to open their eyes. Wood smoke tickled their nose. A fire crackled somewhere close to them. By all means, between the atmosphere beyond their closed eyes and the warmth surrounding them, it was the most at peace they’d felt in days even accounting for the ache that blanketed their whole body.

Slowly, they willed their eyes to peel open and stay open. Civilian frowned. Their addled mind couldn’t place the wood paneled wall or the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Neither could they remember ever owning a fur blanket—or so many blankets—and they certainly didn’t think they’d sleep anywhere but their bed.

Sitting up, Civilian glanced around, their eyes lingering on each little detail as they tried to wipe the cobwebs from their mind.

A spark shuddered through them. Supervillain. The storm. The old ski lodge.

Groaning, Civilian sank back into the bed of blankets and furs, pulling a blanket over their head and curling up. They just wanted a moment. Or better yet, a complete break from reality. Just for a little while, they silently pleaded with whatever universal powers would listen and take pity on them.

Soft footsteps reached their ears, as did the slight creak of the floorboards. Willing themselves to peel the blanket away from their face and peek out at the world to see who was coming, Civilian was immediately met with the curious gaze of Supervillain.

“Good morning?” they said, their lips quirked in a bemused smile.

Despite themselves, Civilian groaned and brought the blanket back up over their head, praying that Supervillain would just leave them alone.

“Ah, so it’s that kind of day. Well, I was just about to make breakfast and I expect Medic will be around shortly to check in on you. You’re welcome to pretend you don’t exist if that’s what you want. I, on the other hand, will be making waffles.”

Civilian bit their lip, tempted by the promise of food but not entirely willing to leave their cocoon. Hesitantly, they asked, “Do I have to get up?”

Supervillain’s chuckle was like thunder to their ears. “Not if you don’t want to. I’ll bring you a plate when they’re ready.”

“Thank you.” Civilian turned their face into the soft bedroll beneath them as though it could swallow them whole and actually hide them from the world, but alas, it left them alone and feeling utterly exposed.

Supervillain hummed in acknowledgement but remained silent. The only other indication of their presence was the soft footsteps that faded away toward where Civilian had gathered the kitchen was.

A burst of static turned Civilian’s heart beat into a frenzy. And then it was gone and the room was silent again except for the frantic beating of Civilian’s heart between their ears.

“Damn,” they heard Supervillain mutter. A little louder they said, “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I’d left the radio on so loud, or that the storm had knocked out the weather station. The blizzard’s stopped though, so as soon as Medic says you’re fit to travel, we could probably take the snow mobiles back to your retreat here on the mountain. That is if you want to.”

Civilian took a long breath in through their nose. Realizing there was no sense in outrunning the day, they sat up and let the blanket fall to their lap. “And what about my stalker? Are…Does your offer to help still stand?”

“My team and I already compiled a list of supers who possess powers that could definitely lend themselves to being a difficult stalker to catch. I haven’t heard from my…associate in the city yet. I imagine they have their hands full with the blizzard now.”

Civilian nodded. Drawing their legs up to their chest, they threaded their fingers through their hair and meant to let their head rest in the hand. They quickly pulled their hand away from their hair in disgust. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d washed their hair, but they definitely needed to today.

A distant knock and the subsequent pause in Supervillain’s preparation of the waffles broke them from their pining after a shower and a fresh set of clothes.

“And that’s probably Medic now,” Supervillain sighed.

Sure enough, a moment later Civilian was greeted by the person who’d woke them from their fitful slumber last night or yesterday.

“Hello again,” they said, offering them a soft smile. “I’m Medic, though you probably already know that. Sorry about yesterday, I didn’t mean to startle you. Is it okay if I come a little closer?”

Civilian nodded, watching their slow movements as Medic set their medical bag on the edge of the bed beside them and came to stand before them.

“So, how are you feeling?” they asked.

“Okay…” Civilian said, still watching them warily.

Medic nodded. Civilian expected some form of condescension to mar their features or crinkle their eyes, but Medic remained completely calm and open. “Any aches or pain anywhere?”

“Yeah. My entire body aches.”

“Do you still feel cold?”

“Uh,” Civilian paused, considering the question for a second before they answer. “No, not anymore.”

“That’s great,” Medic beamed. “All right then the only left to do is check your vitals and then I’ll be out of your hair. Is that okay with you.”

Civilian nodded, a little more at ease than they were previously. Maybe they shouldn’t have been but Medic didn’t seem to have a threatening bone in their body—and the aroma of waffles wafting through the room was starting to make Civilian’s mouth water.

Medic walked them through everything they did before bringing out their instruments, something Civilian was grateful for and suspected Medic did on purpose so they wouldn’t startle them. After listening to their lungs and checking their eyes, Medic placed the blood pressure cuff on them and inflated it.

After a moment, they removed it and packed everything away.

“So your blood pressure is a little elevated, though nothing to be concerned about given the circumstances.” They tilted their head, frowning. “You don’t have a history of high blood pressure, do you?”

Civilian shook their head.

Medic nodded slowly. “Then it’s definitely just a result of recent stress factors. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No…wait,” Civilian started, “can I take a shower?”

Medic shrugged. “If you’re up for it, I don’t see why not. Try not to make it too hot though. Your body temperature is stable, but I wouldn’t want you to shock your system again so soon after your prolonged exposure to the cold.”

“Okay.”

With a word of goodbye, Medic left and Supervillain soon took their place, a plate of waffles in their hand.

“There’s more in the kitchen if you want some,” they offered.

“Thanks,” Civilian said, eagerly accepting the warm plate.

“When you’re done, I’ll show you to the bathroom. It’s adjoined to my bedroom so…” Supervillain trailed off. Their gaze dropped to their feet. “We’re still working on getting the power restored to the main parts of the building, so unless you want to brave the frigid hallways, the en suite’s the closest one to us.”

Civilian bobbed their head. “That’s fine. I mean, I don’t want to impose, or impose anymore than I already have, I just want to—”

“It’s fine, and you’re really not imposing,” Supervillain assured them softly. “I’ll try and find some fresh clothes that’ll fit you in the meantime.”

Civilian nodded, watching them as they walked off down the hallway that would inevitably lead to their bedroom. More and more, they didn’t know what to think of their savior or what their motivations might be. But at least there was one thing they were certain of: they were really good at making waffles and pancakes, so even if they were their stalker, at least Civilian had gotten something good out of the whole situation.

Not all they had to do was figure out how to leave this place, and just who they could trust if not Supervillain and their team.

Their waffles provided them no insight other than the comfort of a happy appetite. By the time they’d finished, Supervillain was back and informed them that they’d left a change of clothes in the bathroom for them for when they wanted them. With no time like the present, Civilian begrudgingly stood from the bed on weak legs. Carefully wrapping a blanket around themselves like it could shield them, Civilian trailed after Supervillain as they led the way to most luxurious bathroom they’d ever seen. Civilian greedily eyed the free standing soaker tub, realizing that maybe a good soak would do them a world of good that a shower just couldn’t possibly do.

Supervillain left, and for the first time in days, Civilian felt as though they were truly alone.

The feeling didn’t stop them for searching as much of the bathroom as they could reach for any signs of cameras though. They doubted the paranoia of being stalked would ever leave them, but for one fleeting moment as they lowered themselves into the warm water of the tub, they thought maybe in time, they’d overcome it.

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Part 9

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader ( :0 ?? )

Warnings: angstangstangstangst, choking in a non-sexy way, canon violence, canon gore, reader is reeeallly unwell mentally, mentions of paranoia, mentions of self-hatred, just all the warnings. put 'em all here.

Word Count: 3154

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Trailing Sam and Dean was easier said than done. It took you about a week to catch up to them. You only happened to find them when you went to Bobby’s house as a last-ditch attempt in your search. 

Staying out of the sights of three of the most skilled hunters you’d ever met was easier said than done. However, your years of experience spying on the lairs of monsters for your father helped you to feel prepared for a high-stakes situation such as this.

Something that was making your job slightly easier was Bobby’s house being in the middle of nowhere. It allowed you to conceal your car in a clearing about a mile away from Bobby’s house at the edge of the woods. There, you slept; nights terrorized with traumatic memories and your visions of Dean in Hell. It had been months since you slept decently. 

****

The soft morning light coming through the tinted windows of the trunk of your car was somehow soothing. You blinked the sleep away from your eyes and suddenly remembered why you were here. Just like that, the peace you’d felt had dissipated and was replaced by a crushing weight. 

It was a heaviness you’d become accustomed to. There hadn’t exactly been room for joy in your life in days of late, and you hadn’t tried to find it. How your past-self had managed to become human again after the deaths of your immediate family members; you had no idea.

After concealing your car with fallen branches, you made the trek to the Singer house. You put a tracker on both the Impala and Bobby’s truck to avoid you losing them in the event you had to get back to your car when they decided to leave. 

Hopefully, the thick tree branch you sat on would be enough to hold you up for the long hours you’d be spending on it. The birds chirped as the sun rose, painting the sky in soft hues of orange, pink, and purple. 

Hours passed, and the loneliness began to set in. The yearning you felt for Dean when he was gone had only grown stronger since he’d been back. And yet, it still felt as though you were grieving him: as if you’d wake up the next morning, and he’d be gone again.

You used a pair of binoculars to spy yards away into the kitchen window. You saw Sam sitting on the bench below Bobby’s kitchen window, the oldest man standing nearby with his arms folded, and Dean pacing the floor. Your heart nearly stopped when you laid eyes on him for the first time since he’d been back, and tears sprang to your eyes. 

Your stomach began to growl. Hunger was a feeling that had been evading you in the months after Dean’s death. Every once in a while, it had begun returning to you. Maybe you were healing.

**** You were cursing Uriel every two seconds as you barrelled down the road after the Impala. With no idea where the boys were off to or when they’d return seeing as they’d taken their duffel bags, you had no choice but to follow. 

Everything about your current situation was foreign to you. You had no desire to partake in whatever hunt they were going on. All you wanted to do was make sure your boys— most of all, Dean— were okay. Such a blatant lack of empathy for whoever was in trouble was commonplace for you nowadays, but it still made your stomach turn. You had become so different from the person Dean fell in love with; even more of a reason for you to stay away from him. 

You followed the boys all the way down to Jackson, Mississippi. It looked like they were doing a wellness check. They weren’t in any form of a costume, and they knocked on the door of the person’s home they’d led you to. From the glimpse you got inside the window of the house the brothers were in, whoever lived there was good and dead. You assumed another hunter, given the circumstances. 

‘What the hell is going on here?’ you thought.

Night had fallen, allowing you to remain fairly inconspicuous as long as your headlights were off. While you waited a little while to begin following the Impala again, you sat back in your seat and closed your eyes. The next time you opened them, you felt a presence next to you. 

Jolting upright, you turned to face the passenger side of the car. “Corbett?!” you squeaked. 

“Hi,” he said, seeming far less timid than he was the first time you’d met him at the Morton house haunting. “ ‘S been a while.”

“Corbett, how are you—?” 

“Why’d you do it?” he asked evenly, cutting you off. 

“Do what? I didn’t do anything—”

He laughed bitterly. “Exactly. You didn’t do anything. You just let me die!” It was then the spirit of the shy Ghostfacer was on top of you in the driver’s seat with his hands around your throat. 

Gasping for your breath, you fumbled for the railroad stake you kept in your center console. Thankfully, you managed to get it out and swiped at Corbett’s ghost with it just as your vision began to blur. 

When he was gone, you just sat breathing heavily and trying to process what the hell had just happened. 

****

Given your little encounter with Corbett had lost you significant time on catching up to the Winchesters, you had to speed the rest of the way to Bobby’s house. Every slight sound and movement out of the corner of your eye had you on edge, and you clutched the railroad stake in one hand and the steering wheel with the other. 

It wasn’t until the next morning that you made it to the aging hunter’s house. You stayed hidden in the tree line with your sawed-off in hand, praying that Corbett didn’t return. You were so exhausted, scared, and paranoid, you hadn’t even given yourself a chance to process how and why Corbett was back. He’d been dead for over a year— and died in a completely different state from where he’d tried to kill you. Why would he be back for revenge in a place he wasn’t even murdered in?

Suddenly, you saw Meg through one of the second-floor windows of Bobby’s home. ‘No, it couldn’t be.’ But it was. She just had longer brown hair. And she was attacking Dean. 

‘C’mon, Sam,’ you mentally begged. ‘Where the hell are you?!’

You couldn’t stand to watch her knock him around anymore. In your rational mind, you wouldn’t have made your next move. You were terrified of facing him again. However, your declining mental state had you bursting through Bobby’s back door and shooting shot after shot at Meg’s ghost when you’d reached the top of the stairs. 

It seemed Dean’s brain stalled as he lay frozen on the ground, and yours did, too. Everything in you was screaming to run back out of the door before he could catch sight of you. But you remained frozen until it was too late. 

Dean pushed himself up on his elbow, wincing and turning to see who’d saved him. Your heart stopped when he breathed out, “(Y/N)?” 

Tears immediately flooded your eyes. “Hi, Dean.”

He scrambled to his feet. Various conflicting emotions crossed his face— anger, relief, betrayal, joy— and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. “And where the fuck have you been?” he asked when he’d gotten ahold of his facial expressions again. 

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

Dean laughed bitterly. “ ‘Sorry’ ain’t gonna cut it. Explain. Now.”

You cast your eyes to the floor. “I— I can’t.”

He huffed angrily. “You can’t?” He turned away from you, running a hand through his hair. “How long have you known?”

“Known what?” you returned, still unable to meet his eyes. 

“That I was alive? How long,” he demanded. 

Tension hung thick in the air as he awaited your answer. “I always knew.”

That disdainful, bitter laugh returned, and you couldn’t bear the way it made your heart squeeze in your chest. “I’m sorry, Dean,” you pleaded, tears flowing down your cheeks. “But it’s too complicated to explain.”

“ ‘Too complicated’? Or you just don’t give enough of a shit about me to even try,” he snapped. 

Your eyes snapped up to his. “No, it’s not like that, I- I promise. Everything I’ve done the last five months has been for you.”

“Really?” he deadpanned. 

“Really,” you nodded. “I know you have no reason to believe me—”

“You’re right,” he cut you off. “I don’t.” 

You held your head low in shame while you waited for Dean’s next words. 

His voice was considerably lower when he asked, “How long did they give you, huh? Six months? Less than that?”

“I didn’t make a deal, Dean,” you said, beginning to get frustrated with his accusatory tone; even though you could understand where he was coming from. 

“I still don’t believe you,” he said. 

“Well, it’s the truth,” you shot back.

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know why you’re gettin’ pissy with me, I’m not the one who abandoned family”

Your voice rose in anger. “I didn’t abandon you—!” 

“Then what do you call the last month, huh? ‘Cause if I knew you were back from the grave? Come Hell or highwater, I would’ve made it back to you,” he said gruffly.

“Don’t you think I wanted to?” you pushed. “I told you, it’s not that easy!”

“Then tell me, (Y/N). Tell me what could’ve possibly been so important that you couldn’t come back to me,” he demanded. 

You opened your mouth as if to start explaining but snapped it shut a second later.

Just then, Sam called, “Dean?!”

You turned down the stairs, hesitantly stepping closer to where your friend was waiting for his brother. When the younger Winchester’s eyes met yours, your stomach dropped. 

“(Y/N)?” he breathed out. 

“Hi, Sam,” you said quietly. 

“What— Where did you—”

Dean brushed past you to head toward the kitchen. “We don’t have time for this.”

Sam looked hurt. You could understand that. This was the third time you’d walked out on them. You hated yourself for making them feel abandoned over an angel you had no true loyalty to. 

When Bobby came in through the back door, he was both shocked and upset to see you. You were unfortunately becoming accustomed to that look. 

“Kid…” he trailed off, keeping his distance from you. 

“I know,” you said, idling near the front door. “I’m sorry.” You reached for the doorknob. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean grunted. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t stay,” you said, still staring at the ground. 

Dean laughed coldly. “Of course not. Do me a favor, huh?”

You looked up to him, eyes dewey. 

“Stay gone this time.”

Your heart sank. Bottom lip trembling, you bolted out of the door and back to your hiding spot in the trees behind Bobby’s house. Sitting down against the trunk of the tree, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes. You did your best to stifle your cries, but it was no use. 

When your cries turned to sniffles, you prepared yourself to climb back up the tree. However, a whooshing sound caught your attention. With your eyes bloodshot and wild, you spun around.

“Behind you, (Y/N),” a voice cooed. 

When you spun around, the source of the voice had disappeared. It wasn’t Corbett, and it wasn’t Meg… ‘What the hell is going on here?’

When you turned your head forward again, it was Nancy, the girl from the police station where you met Henriksen. You jerked back in surprise, taking a swipe at her with your iron stake. 

Her laughter echoed in your ears as she disappeared. Something had turned this very sweet girl into a callous, cold shell of the person she was. 

The next time she appeared in front of you, you noticed a symbol on her wrist. “What the hell are you?!” you cried, scrambling away from her on the ground trying to get to your sawed-off shotgun. 

“Why didn’t you save us?” she asked, stalking toward you. 

“I thought we did! Cut me some slack here, huh? I had no idea Lilith was coming your way,” you said. 

“I don’t wanna hear it,” she spat through her teeth. “Do you know what she did to me?”

You just stared at her, clutching your shotgun and afraid of what she’d say. 

“She peeled my skin off. While I was still alive,” she sneered. 

“Nancy, I’m so sorry—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” she roared, lunging for her. 

You shot at her and braced for the impact in case she didn’t disappear. When you reopened your eyes, she was gone. 

The next thing you knew, you were pinned to the ground clawing at the hands around your throat. Corbett was back, and he was going to ensure he took you with him to the afterlife. 

Tears swam in your eyes as you tried with no avail to get him off you. Just as your eyes began to roll back in your head, the pressure around your throat went away. Breath filled your lungs once more through a big, heaving gasp. You coughed once, then twice, then sat up to see where Corbett had gone. 

No matter how much time passed after Corbett disappeared, your heart rate wouldn’t slow, and the pit in your stomach didn’t subside. Hesitantly, you made your way back to your stolen car to have some sort of safe space. You refilled your gun with rock salt rounds and sat up straight with your nerves feeling completely fried. Every small sound and movement of a woodland creature outside the car made you jolt. Even the wind made the hairs on your arm stand up.

The passing hours gave you time to think over how your “reunion” with the Winchesters had gone. You felt so incredibly guilty for making them feel like you didn’t care about them, but it was for their own good. You knew you would be putting them in danger they didn’t need by getting involved with them again. Still, that didn’t make you feel any better when the man you loved most in the world told you not to come back. 

Even thinking about those words made your heart squeeze in your chest. Tears sprang to your eyes, but you still tried your best to keep them at bay. If Corbett or Nancy came back, you wouldn’t exactly be having a therapy session with the two of them.

“Be not afraid, (Y/N),” a familiar voice said from beside you. “The Winchesters got rid of them.”

You clutched at your chest and squeaked out a yelp. When you realized it was only Uriel, you dropped your head back to the seat. 

“You gotta stop doing that, man,” you breathed out. 

“Excellent job with the witnesses,” Uriel told you evenly. 

“Wh— The witnesses?” you asked, tossing your shotgun into the backseat and turning to face Uriel. 

“Yes,” he nodded. 

You realized then that your mother had once read you the extended, ancient version of the book of Revelations that detailed the beginning of the apocalypse. “Holy shit,” you breathed out. 

“Ah, you do remember,” Uriel nodded. 

“What, do you have, like, access to my memory bank or something?” you questioned. 

“No,” he said. “But do you think it was coincidence that your mother had access to that book?”

You gave him a confused look. “What, have you always been involved in my life?”

“Like I told you, god has a plan for you.”

And with that, he was gone. 

****

You hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. All night, you scribbled in your journal everything you remembered about the version of Revelations your mother had read you:

“Revelations— the extended director’s cut,” you began. 

“- Recipe for the apocalypse (sp?):

66 seals

There’s a lot of options to choose from, but you only have to break 66 of them to free Lucifer from hell

Seven ‘published’ seals

The cries of martyrs

Plagues/electric storms

Last involves seven angels with seven trumpets dealing out seven plagues

“And it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood on behalf of Hell and his divine counterpart sheds blood on behalf of Heaven. As they break, so shall it break.”

Fuck you, uriel

The Rising of the Witnesses— ghosts forced to rise. Usually experienced violent deaths

Lilith, probably

Purposefully used spirits hunters couldn’t save? Dean with Meg; me with Nancy and Corbett? 

Natural disasters, ‘fiery skies’, Four Horsemen— all signs of the apocalypse

I am struggling so hard to remember specific signs

Oh!

The woman clothed with the sun

The Great Red Dragon (Satan)

The Land Beast with horns like a lamb

antichrist?

Something about a false prophet?”

You slammed your pen down in frustration and ran a hand through your hair. “Fuck,” you cursed. The hazy bits of Revelations that you did remember were absolutely horrible, and you were terrified of what was to come. If only you’d listened to your mother more closely when she used to read you those stories. 

Her methods of soothing you to sleep were unconventional to say the least. She read you and Steven books on demonology she plucked from local libraries or the Bible because your father believed that fairytales were a waste of your time. Your mother at least wanted you to be somewhat of a normal child and insisted on reading you some kind of bedtime stories. 

It was all getting to be too much for you to handle on your own. Everything in you desperately wanted to run that mile through the dark woods to Bobby’s house and throw yourself into Dean’s arms. It hurt you so badly to know that he didn’t want the same thing; in fact, he never wanted to see you again. 

If only he knew that everything you did, you’d done for him. You wanted to tell him about Uriel and the men you’d kidnapped and that you’d seen him in Hell every night. But a much more logical part of you drowned out those voices, reminding you that you were given a job to do. 

Maybe Uriel— and Heaven, by extension— needed you to be the Winchesters’ protector so they could stop the apocalypse from happening. As outlandish as that felt to even think about, you’d become accustomed to far weirder happenings in your life. Maybe when this was all over, you could tell Dean everything. 

A mocking phrase danced in your head that threatened that somewhat optimistic outcome: ‘If you even live long enough to see the end of this.’

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader 1k Special

Masterlist - Part 1 of Main Series

Warning! This is imposter SAGAU yandere Genshin so expect blood and gore in this chapter.

Sunlight streams down as the birds caw and the faint smell of dew bothers your nose. Keeping your eyes closed you try to ignore it as you curl deeper into your spot. The blades of grass- 

…Grass?

Your eyes snap open as you sit up frantically. Towering trees and scattered rocks greet your panicked eyes as you stand up quickly. How the hell did you get here?!

A headache begins to form as memories of the night before come to mind. You vaguely recall exiting Genshin Impact after healing at the Anemo Statue of the Seven and walking in Wolvedom. The title screen came up before the doors of Celestia opened and… 

That’s it, nothing else could be recalled beyond that.

Looking around you take a step back for a wider view of the area when something is felt below you. Removing your foot and bending down you pick up the slightly trampled bag and examine it.

Nothing seemed wrong with it so there wasn’t any harm in taking it right? It was basically spotless if you ignore the dirty footprint so maybe it came with you? God you had no fucking clue.

With a sigh you sling it on and examine your surroundings a little closer. Something large and blue caught your eyes and you move a little closer to be sure of what you see.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of the familiar structure, something you were sure wouldn’t exist on Earth. Emitting a soft blue and hovering in the air was a teleport waypoint. 

This must be a dream, a lucid one considering how aware you are. To dream about Genshin out of all the media you’ve consumed is amazing luck. It doesn’t take much thought for you to remember where in Mondstadt this waypoint is.

Lush green grass with sparse shrubs and fallen trees farther away reminds you of the west side. There’s a faint cry of hilichurls even farther to your right is only a little bit worrisome.

There was the weapon domain near there that you recall being the biggest bullshit in history. At least until Dendro was officially released. But either way it basically confirmed that you were near Wolvendom.

And that was pretty close to Dawn Winery where you could travel the short easy path to Mondstadt City. Traveling across Wolvendom would be no problem since it was just a dream.

Turning your heel, you began your trek to the Anemo statue. 

Was there a chance that you could run into a wolf? Yeah but as long as you don't get close to Andrius, wasn't that a weird thought, you should be fine.

The lack of pain in your bruised foot and perfectly intact knuckles didn't even cross your mind. The idea of exploring this dream while you could filled your mind like a pleasant haze.

Finches hopped on ledges before flying off as you climbed up. It's not that high due to Mondstadt's easy terrain, it would be much harder if you dreamt of Liyue. Sumeru would have been your personal hell. But it's easy enough to hop down to the darker area of woods. 

Trunks lay on the ground with deep scratch marks clear. The high stone slopes that you dared not climb had similar marks to a larger degree. 

That was the telltale sign of Andrius lair being nearby. With a cautious glance to the right where the claw marks led, you continued going straight. A beckoning blue beam shined in that direction affirming your choice. 

Bushes decorated your path with berries, a rich purple color that caught your eye. Halting for a moment you crouch before it and reach out.

A rubbery small berry was rolled between your fingers as you carefully avoided the spikes. The Wolfhook berry that you farmed often in this area was a small joy you had at seeing it in your eyes. 

Without much thought you began to pick multiple Wolfhooks from the bush and drop them into your bag. You stood back up after picking the bush clean and continued walking.

Since going straight to the Archon statue didn't have a path you had to climb through the bushes. Leaves batted your face and you were sure a few were stuck in your hair too.

Not to mention the grass and dirt stains you had gained throughout the hike. Even still, you couldn't stop the beaming smile on your face. 

Reality was good and all but you would welcome any form of escapism that you could. To dream of Genshin and becoming a ‘protagonist’ of sorts is the most common form of it.

Well you weren't hoping to defeat dragons, fight hordes of enemies or be the nonverbal emotional support hero for every nation to lug their problems on. That would be no better than reality.

In the midst of your thoughts you mindlessly popped the first Wolfhook berry you picked into your mouth. 

Thinking back to the Archon quests you aren't the type of person to just accept bullshit easily. Like the way Ayaka just plainly guilt tripped and played on the travelers sense of justice was just- sweet?

The taste of sweet fruitiness is followed by a bitter aftertaste. In confusion you stop chewing and lick your lips. Hesitantly you swallow the berry and the sensation of something very real sliding down your throat has you taking a sharp breath.

It's real. Everything was real. The leftover bitter juice of the berry clinging to your teeth. Rough bark of the tree that you're leaning on in a whirlwind of emotions. 

Even the wolves glaring at you just a couple of feet away are real!

.

.

.

Fuck

Tensing up at the sight of those predators you subtly pat your body. Other than the bag you had no means of defense. Running wasn't an option either, that would simply goad them into chasing you.

Taking a deep breath you keep your body on high alert and eyes on the pack. Visibly there are six but who knows how many are hiding in the shadows?

It would be best to assess how hostile the wolves in front of you are before worrying about any unconfirmed danger. With that thought in mind you stare at the largest wolf that hasn't let its eyes stray from you.

No barring of teeth or pulled back ears. Good starting signs but those could change instantly. It didn't seem happy with your intrusion judging by its restless behavior and thumping of its tail.

The smaller wolves, probably females, didn't seem on guard either. That was the best sign as it meant no pups were around. You would be totally dead if that were the case.

With the chance of being mauled to death lower than you initially thought, you began to take small steps backwards. Whether you were heading in the direction of the Anemo statue or not didn't matter that much anymore.

It's ear twitched at your movements but it made no move to get up. Feeling the slightest bit relieved at that, you shuffle backwards a bit faster.

“Ugh! I fucking hate Mondstadt! Stupid useless hills and these god awful pollen make me sick!”

Freezing at the female voice and the wolf standing up in alert, you cringe at the sight of a purple figure stumbling out of the bushes. 

Right between you and the wolf. Maybe you should be happy that if it attacks it'll kill this idiot first.

Before you can bolt away and leave this, probably capable, woman to deal with the mess she stands up sighing in annoyance. 

Dusty green hair, a dark mask, and a recognizable bat-like hood made this situation 10x worse. A Cicin Mage just had to intercept the moment you tried to get away.

…Maybe if you run fast enough the wolves and the Cicin Mage could just keep each other busy.

“Oh, oh my Celestia! This-This isn't a dream right?!” The moment she faces you, she falls to her knees. Hands clasp she looks up at you, the mask she wears can't obscure the smile.

“The fuck?” The words slip out of automatically from the sheer bizarreness of the situation. She doesn't even seem to realize the pack of wolves behind her.

“Almighty Creator, I beg of you to forgive me for my insolent words just now. The foul words I spouted should never have irritated your ears.”

Did she literally not hear you curse just moments ago? Actually fuck that, what's more important is how she referred to you.

“Why are you calling me ‘Almighty Creator’ and would you get off the floor?” There's a pause as her smile falters before she stands up.

Was it cool to have an annoying early game enemy kneeling at your feet? Yeah. 

Did you want any passerby to misunderstand the situation as you being a Harbinger? Hell no.

“As you wish, your grace. But allow me to ask, is this some sort of test? A testimony to my faith in you?”

Clearly you had two options. Either lie and act the part of the Creator. Or deny it and risk the chance of her attacking you.

Things were still too vague for you to make a decision. Time to stall for time and information.

“I'm not here to answer your questions. Whatever I plan to do is up to me alone. So either answer my questions or scram.”

She's quiet and you want to curse the mask she wears. But you still catch the way her lips twitch downwards before she's smiling wide and bright.

“How silly of you, your grace. Playing dumb and tricking me like this is quite cruel. Don't worry I have something to match your type of jokes.”

Warning bells go off in your head as she takes steps closer towards you. Maybe it was the near mocking tone she used, or the belittling words but the malicious smile she wore was the most off-putting.

You needed to leave.

Taking a step back, your heel turns to sprint away but it was futile. Delusions wielding wild unpredictable elements would always overpower the weak and limited bodies of mortal capacity.

Her lamp glows in time with her teleport to your front. Her gloved one's grasp yours as a Cicin is summoned to her hand. 

Trying to yank your hands away only earns a painful jolt of electricity to flow through your hands. Gritting your teeth you resist any shameful urges to show your pain. Using this moment she basically slaps the Cicin into your hands.

Predictably the electro infused bat creature bites your palm forcing you to wretch your body away from the mage.

Holding your now bleeding palm, you bite your lip and cover the wound with your other hand. “Why the fuck did you do that?! I know Cicin Mages aren't the sanest people but for the love of-” Bright scarlett drops roll from your palm and splat onto the grass. 

The air seems to shift as her fingers twitch in place. As if hypnotized by your blood she continues to stare at it staining the grass. “Fuck this…” With that last mumble you turn around more than ready to ditch this situation when electro crackles behind you.

Any lingering hesitance was immediately killed and you bolted away from the area. Maniacal laughter follows you as the electro in the air surrounds you like a fog. She was right on your heel, you could sense it.

“Did you think you were slick? Pretending to be our god when you are nothing more than a human? Not even one with elemental powers, what a pitiful existence~”

She teleports in front of you with a lantern in hand that glows as Cicins are summoned to surround her. It’s more than enough time for your fist to connect with her face. Even if your raw strength wasn’t enough, the momentum you had from running gave you whatever strength was needed.

“Fuck off!” The yell is accompanied by her cry of pain as something inevitably gives away under your fist. She staggers backwards and glares at you angrily with tears escaping her mask.

“You rotten imposter! How could anyone, let alone I of all people believe you to be the Creator?!” The Cicins leave her side to chase after you as she twirls in place. 

Wolvedom’s environment of hulking trunks, shady areas and raised tree roots were cool in-game but in real life it was nothing more than a pain in the ass. The city is where you felt the most comfortable traversing but you did relatively well in dodging most of the terrain.

Didn’t stop the slight jolts of electro hitting you as the electro cicins were hot on your heels. All you could focus on was the steadily closer beam of blue of the Anemo statue. You would be near Dawn Winery where Diluc, who loathed the Fatui, could deal with this damn Cicin Mage.

But let’s be real, you should have known your luck would run out.

And that’s exactly what happened when you failed to vault over a tree root in time. Curling and rolling on the landing you avoided any severe injuries but the Cicins were too close to not take advantage of the opportunity.

Some continued to shoot electro at you from afar while most took to biting and tearing at your body. Limbs against the agile small bats were useless to swat them away with. It only got you more bites to suffer from.

Humming is heard getting clearer and it only serves to panic your already frazzled mind. With limbs becoming tingly and numb from the electricity, your hands grope the grass around you for something, anything-

Cool metal is felt and your fingers wrap around what you can and swing in a large arc. The long metal weapon works just as intended and flings a good chunk of them away. When your arc ends you can see a few bats stuck on the spikey end of the metal club that twitch and bleed. As if on cue, all the Cicins cower before fleeing.

The Cicin Mage skips over with her lantern glowing and crackling, her lips are pulled into a scowl as she yells at the retreating Cicins. “Get back here! The mist grass hasn’t been completely used up yet! How are you all already leaving?!”

Panting, you try to see past the blood in your vision to gauge how close she is to you. Quickly you use your arm to rub the blood off your face and by the time you pull it off, the mage is already beginning to float.

“You REALLY know how to work me up!” Crazed laughter erupts from her as the lantern glows one last time before shattering in her hands. It’s the catalyst for the electro shield to surround her and a strange symbol above her to begin shooting electricity.

Try as you may, your twitching muscles are slow from the Cicins attacks leaving you slow to get off the ground. She’s just about in reach, you can basically see your death about to play out.

In a flash a gray blur pounces on the Cicin Mage, it’s not hard to make out the pointed ears and furry coat. More wolves emerge from the shadows and follow the first wolf’s lead in attacking. The lightning manages to hit quite a few but with the multiple targets present, it switches too fast for any consistent damage.

“What the-?!” The mage yells in a mix of frustration and confusion. She can only try to float away from the horde in the shield. But the shield flickers and you can see the way her body trembles as the wolves surround her, awaiting for that flimsy shield to break.

And when it does, the bloodbath is horrific.

You’ve seen many people die, usually in painful ways. Thanks to your upbringing and line of work of course. But most of it was done with knives and guns, maybe the occasional poison if stealth was necessary. The sight of sharp teeth digging into screaming flesh was a new experience.

Blood stains the maws of the wolves and flies off to splat on your face. It’s still warm and the feeling of it sticking to your skin is nauseating. Her clothes are ripped as well as her limbs. It’s hard not to gag when you realize that they’re eating her.

The smell of iron gets stronger when all the wolves turn to you. Teeth bared showing strings of flesh clinging to their teeth. You can just barely make out shredded green hair, a half eaten arm and soulless eyes seeping out her mangled head.

Shakily you try and stand up, it’s not the best decision with all the pack staring at you but you could care less about that. Between the realization that everything is real, that you aren’t on Earth, and how you seem to resemble the ‘Creator’.

Nothing seems to make sense and you can only focus on escaping.

A teal symbol appears below the pack of wolves before wind shoots up, throwing the wolves into the air. You stare at the familiar symbol and the relief you feel is immense. 

The wolves hit the ground with a whimper before running away. The symbol fades as a figure floats down from far above you. 

Venti, the Anemo Archon disguised as his deceased friend, holds the Skyward Harp bow you equipped on him as he floats to the ground in front of you. Cream and teal green colors make up his signature bard outfit as he smiles at you.

Soft nearly girlish features look down at your bloodstained figure as mirth swirls in his teal eyes. With no danger present, the thrum of your heart slows down letting you smile crookedly at him.

“Thank you for the save. I was really about to die there…” Your words trail off at the Anemo infused arrow pointed at your face. 

“It’s my pleasure imposter.”

This has to be some sick joke. Once is an incident, twice is a coincidence but did you really want to deny it and risk the third being a pattern? Gulping you stare at Venti’s face, the smile he wears is now lined with something… sinister.

“What do you mean by imposter? I haven’t claimed to be anyone.” A giggle leaves him at your words but the arrow in your face is steady.

“You really are clueless huh? No one is just born with the Creator’s face yet you, a stranger that appeared from nowhere, are.” Frowning you try to make sense of his words. If you visibly looked like this ‘Creator’ then what made the Cicin Mage be sure that you aren’t?

“Just like that Fatui brat, I too believed you to be the Creator. But the more you spoke and the way you acted made me suspicious. I’ll give her some credit for thinking to cut you to see the color of your blood.”

The color? You glance down at your palm, it was bleeding red so was that abnormal for the Creator?

“Then again, if you did bleed gold I would have just immediately killed her for daring to harm our God.” The fuck?! You mean you’re about to die for being born with this face and not bleeding liquid gold?!

“What the fuck man, is it really that serious?” You knew those were the wrong words to say as the arrow comes close enough for you to feel the air whipping around it. His smile disappears and the dark glint in his eyes are more than enough for you to shut up.

“That serious? Oh what a pity it is to exist without knowledge of the Creator. Without even touching how they created every particle of energy, every drop of blood in our bodies and the vast gifts they gifted us I could still lecture you on their divinity. But I’ll keep it short and simple that even you can understand. They help poor outlanders who arrived here to find their sibling and even used that opportunity to take care of the nations they come across. Their touch extends from the most important events to the smallest tasks that even normal people wouldn’t bother with. How could we, how could I, not worship them?”

So this was a cult? It was the only viable explanation as to why both a Fatui member and an Archon like Barbatoes could agree on something. And by extension that means you must be the Creator.

The only one that could ‘control’ the outlander is you as the player. It would explain why you look ‘exactly’ like them, why Venti was wielding the bow you specifically put on him and even why you had appeared in this world with the bag.

But why the hell is there a condition about having gold blood attached to it?

“You seem to fully understand why I’m pointing this arrow at you. Then that means we can end this here and now-”

“Look Venti, I never fucking claimed to be the Creator. And isn’t this lecture hypocritical considering that you’re parading around in the body of your dead friend? I was born with this face, what’s your excuse?”

There’s a full stop with your words hanging out in the open. Like the slightest pressure on a tightrope leaving you to wonder whether you’ll stay balanced or fall off into the air. He blinks at you with a mix of emotions you can’t decipher.

A snort leaves him that evolves into a chuckle before turning into full blown laughter. His head is thrown back as the bow slants down, his laughter doesn’t put you at ease. He finally calms down as you wait patiently on the ground.

Running would be useless against the God of Wind.

“I have to admit, you make a very good point. I suppose the term imposter doesn’t suit you anymore. What is your name? If you have one of course.”

Seems your gamble paid off, Venti wasn’t the type to stay fixated on one rule or another. He’s flexible just like one would expect from the God of Freedom. Whether or not you would risk your name being known as the Creator’s is another risk.

“My name is Y/N.” You can’t offer more personal information than that. The only reason you gave up your name is due to his power to hear through the wind. There’s no telling when you could accidently slip up and have Venti hunt you down due to your lie.

“Well Y/N, it’s your lucky day today! I’ll let you live for succeeding in pointing out my ‘hypocrisy’ as you put it. Mind you, it’s definitely not on the same level. My friend is dead and not the Almighty Creator. But then again you didn’t claim to be the Creator either. In fact, I’m more interested to know how you even came to obtain that information while managing to be oblivious to our God’s presence…”

Well it certainly wasn’t your fault that Genshin fucking hid everything about this. But you needed a way to explain how you know so much while being oblivious to the ‘Creator’.

“I’m just a messenger blessed with visions of their journey.” The words are spoken solemnly but Venti seems intrigued either way.

“My sole purpose is to communicate words and feelings that the traveler couldn’t convey.” Venti frowns at that, and you know it’s not the best set up considering you didn’t even know about the creator a few hours ago. But Venti didn’t give up any super useful information to work with either.

“Oh really? That lets see some proof and maybe then I won’t kill you for claiming to be a servant of the Creator’s.”

“I’m well aware that the Creator hasn’t selected every vision holder to be used by them. Captain Eula for instance hasn’t ever been wielded unlike how often Chief Alchemist Albedo has been. That’s not counting the brief moments on special occasions.”

Venti stays silent at that but his eyes haven’t strayed from you. His dark braids and teal blue tips are gently swayed by the wind as he keeps a firm grip on his bow. 

“I recall on more than one occasion how often you would be wielded to group up enemies in combat. Both in the various regions and in the Spiral Abyss in the sea.”

He hums in contemplation at your words. A playful smile graces his face as he leans downwards to ask you. “All this sounds very nice and all but how does this explain your confusion to being mistaken as the creator?”

A pivotal question that decides your fate hangs in the air. There’s no stalling or distractions to help you out. Sheepishly smiling, you stare back at him as a sad tone coats your next words.

“In truth, I’ve never seen the Creator. For a long time I studied those visions as intangible feelings bloomed within me without reason. But one day I was spoken to in the sweetest whisper of how they longed to converse with their people.”

Closing your eyes and clasping your hands, you continued to speak with a wavering voice.

“I offered them myself to be used but I never received an answer. And now I woke up here with no memories of my past outside of the visions. It was only after you spoke about the Creator that I realized my God and your God are one in the same.”

Opening your eyes to smile widely up at the surprised expression on Venti’s face you finished your words.

“I truly am lucky to be blessed with a face so closely resembling the Creator’s. But you shouldn’t mistake me for the Creator. A mere oracle like me pales in comparison to the Creator of All.”

The bow disappears from his hands and he begins to clap. “That would earn you a standing ovation if this was done in front of a crowd!” He laughs but you don’t relax your body, that decision is proven right when his tone lowers dangerously.

“While your story makes sense, I can’t just trust you. Everything can be neatly resolved if I just believe you to be Celestia’s spy and kill you right now.”

An arrow flies past you, grazing your neck before you could even try to move away. 

“I’ll stay true to my word and let you live. Feel free to roam my region and claim to be the oracle. I will not stop you but don’t expect me to let you spread false information either.” Your blood is warm as your bloody palm presses on the burning wound in hopes of slowing the bleeding.

“But if I ever hear or find out about you using those blessed features to mimic or claim to be the creator. I will end you.”

The eyes of Barbetos stare you down as wind whips around his body. You could see that it was Barbatoes watching you instead of Venti.

“I’ll hunt you down across the nations and string up your body for the Genesis Cathedral to see.” With those last lingering words, the wind becomes a barrier as a symbol glows on the ground.

You close your eyes instinctively in response to the harsh wind and open them to the sight of a bloody clearing instead.

A weary sigh leaves you before you collapse backwards onto the grass. The sun that shines above you is your only guiding light now that the beacon of blue spelt out pain instead of hope.

The events that you had just gone through make your head spin. Your fingers slid up your face and carefully traced your bloody features. 

The Cicin Mage’s bloody mask lays on the ground just a few feet away. 

It’s just a temporary measure you tell yourself as you slide the uncomfortable and unfitting mask on. Just until you can find a way to cover your face properly.

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

The sight of the Barbatoes statue that glows in your presence is almost nauseating. The blood from that event still sticks to you despite how much you rubbed on it. To your surprise the Statue heals your injuries and leaves you feeling more refreshed than before.

The metal club you hold in your dominant hand seems to weigh less too.

You cast a wary glance towards Dawn Winery before looking at the faint outline of Mondstadt city. There’s no way you could go to Dawn Winery wearing a Fatui mask, Diluc would actually kill you. But could you go to the city wearing this mask in strange bloody clothing either?

Even Springvale seemed like a bad place to travel to in this state.

With a groan you readjust the mask and turn slowly to survey the area. The outline of smoke rising catches your attention. Out of all your options, this was your best bet.

You creeped closer to the smoke's origin and arrived at the edge of a small cliff. Looking down you could see three figures sitting around a campfire. Deciding to lay low for the time being you flatten yourself on the ground with a clear view of the camp.

A purple and black clothed blonde, silver hair poking out of a dark gray hooded figure, and finally a pale haired person that was definitely burning the food. Just those aspects make it clear that you accidentally stumbled on Fischl, Razor and Bennett.

Thoughts of what you went through earlier with Venti come to mind as your finger brushes against the healed skin where Venti left his ‘warning’. 

Patiently you watch the trio as they struggle to eat the burnt food. The sun has already begun to set and you think through different plans on how to obtain a change of appearance from the group. The bushes on the opposite side of the camp shake, catching your attention.

From your vantage point, you can clearly make out some treasure hoarders shuffling closer to the camp. Biting your lip, you debate whether to reveal yourself to warn the trio or not. Teal eyes flash in the back of your mind solidifying your choice in not getting involved.

Instead you watch as Razor suddenly stands up and sniffs the air, his greatsword materialized into his hands. Fischl and Bennett stand up in hurry as they look around. Oz, Fischl’s companion manifested by electro is summoned too.

It was pretty entertaining to watch the hoarders freeze in place at the commotion. Razor stalks around the camp on edge as Fischl commands Oz, he obeys by soaring on the border. Bennett to his credit tries to simply sit back down on the lod, more than well aware of his extreme unluckiness.

Except it breaks beneath him making him fall flat onto the ground and get scratched up from the broken pieces. Most likely worried, Razor and Fischl move closer to Bennett as he stands up laughing sheepishly.

Even from far away you can hear his bright sunny voice ring out. “Don’t worry I’m okay!-” The barrel that he uses to help himself up just so happens to be a pyro slime barrel that explodes at the contact. 

Cringing you watch Bennett fly through the air and land on the hilichurl structures crushing them. The dust settles and the now exposed treasure hoarders look at FIschl and Razor with that signature ‘deer in headlights’ expression. 

The camp goes into chaos to say the least.

The hoarders attack first as Fischl and Razor meet them halfway only using physical attacks. Probably due to the fact that Bennett was on fire and frantically trying to put out the small fire growing around him.

A hoarder slinking in the back of the group raises a vial, the plum colored clothing he wears makes it clear what kind of potion he was about to throw. And just as you were already anticipating, he threw the electro potion in Bennetts direction looking like a direct hit.

A direct hit at the second pyro slime barrel just inches away from Bennett.

The resounding explosion was at least double the previous one as smoke and dust covered the area. You can’t see much as you rub your eyes but there’s a loud thud of something hitting the cooking pot and a follow-up of more smaller scale explosions.

It all calms down as Razor and Fischl cough out the remaining smoke, they’re surprisingly unharmed in the center as Bennett and the hoarders lay passed out. Bennett’s ashy hair is slickened with blood and his mildly charred body catch the duo’s immediate attention.

You can’t help but feel slightly worried at the sight, head trauma was no joke. Perhaps it was your distracted thoughts but you didn’t even realize how close you moved to the edge until ruby red eyes met with yours.

Fischl is shaking Bennett trying to wake him up but you can’t look away from Razor’s red eyes staring into yours. 

“Wolf der kleinen worte! Do thou not grasp our ill-fated companions condition?! Quicken thou sloth paced soles and support our misfortunate companion!”

Razor breaks the staring contest to look at Fischl with a pinched expression. “I-I don't know.”

To his credit he does get closer but immediately stops when Fischl or rather Amy yells in frustration.

“Just help me carry Bennett to Springvale!” Razor rushes to Bennetts side and supports most of Bennetts weight. He seems to have completely forgotten about you thankfully.

“Um Mein Fräulein , I believe we have a-'' Oz begins as he returns to the frantic Fischl's side. She's quick to snap at him too. “Silence Oz! Matters unrelated to the wretched and uncouth incident that our companion is suffering from can be properly dealt with at the hour of dark deception.”

You almost feel bad for the crow if he would just stop giving you those damn pointed looks. Just to push his buttons in return, you bring your hand up to wave at him.

His grumpiness at your actions is visible but useless as he's forced to follow Fischl and Razor who rush toward Springvale.

Meticulously you watch their figures get farther and shrouded by the forage before quickly descending from your hiding spot.

Once you land at the now ruined camp, you reach down to the first treasure hoarder and rip off his mask. Discarding the Cicin mask you place the flimsy cloth mask on with a sigh of relief.

The ill fitting and hard mask of the Cicin was not something you wanted to wear longer than needed. Readjusting the thin mask you frown. It seemed this one wasn't much better…

Taking a good long look around you note how the majority of the headers had masks on. The clothes they're wearing are mostly intact and clean too…

Without a shred of guilt or sympathy you stood in the camp wearing new clothes and a reinforced mask covering most of your lower face. Your bag is full of similar clothing, leftover masks, weapons, a meager amount of mora and vials of elemental energy that would no doubt sell for a good amount of mora.

Luck finally shined down on you when one of the treasure hoarders groaned as he sat up. Your blood-stained metal club's spikes glistened in the rising moonlight as you smiled down at him.

“Hey, let's make this quick. Long story short I'm going to need you to answer my questions with every lingering integrity you have or else this club will bludgeon your head like a pinata!”

Whether he knew what a pinata was or not didn't matter. The fear flickering in his eyes only spurred you to grin wider.

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

You left Mondstadts gates with slumped shoulders and drained morale. It's been a few days since you woke up in Mondstadt and today you finally had everything set up to live in a different nation.

The perfect layers of a backstory of being an ex treasure hoarder turned adventurer. An oracle to the acolytes who sensed your divinity. So far only Venti has heard about your outlander status.

You intended to keep it that way.

Venti stayed true to his words and never tried to out you in any way. But you just couldn't feel comfortable enough to live in Mondstadt long term, especially with Ventis increasing clinginess. 

It was a strange development and he wasn't the only one to display those tendencies but you couldn't keep putting yourself under this stress.

At least in a different nation, you might only have to fear accidentally running into an acolyte. But other than that you would be relatively set for life.

Those encouraging thoughts of the future caused you to stroll with a pep in your step. If you kept up this pace, you'll be passing Dawn Winery before noon.

“Ughh, please…” The hoarse voice of a man is is close by but all you can feel is dread. You don't see him, nor do you look for him. You did NOT want to get caught up in someone else's problem. You had enough of your own to worry about.

That plan is thrown out the window when a weak hand grasps your ankle. Looking down your eyes trail over the pale hand to the bleeding body it belongs to. Yanking yourself out of the deathly tight grip you stare warily at the man.

“Please, your grace, I need your help. I need your mercy…” That title made your heart skip a beat as you glared down at the man.

Did he know? How could he when you sewed so many of their shitty masks to make the durable one you wear now?

Red and pink froth bubbles out of his mouth as he coughs pathetically. His whole body is pale and thin, very unlike the first and only set of treasure hoarders you saw when you first transmigrated.

“I beg of you, show me mercy!” Grimacing at his wails you look around to make sure no one is around. When you look back down at him, you can finally see the injuries he wore.

A long gash down his chest, deep and maggot infested to boot. Legs mangled and oozing something that smells like death itself. Then there's his face, if you can even call it that, burned to hell and back.

With no eyelids, you stare back into his glazed ones as he mumbles endlessly. All you can hear him mutter is pleading for mercy and death. 

Seems like he can't actually see you, but would Venti take it the same way? Gritting your teeth you try to move around the dying man when his eyes latch onto your clothes.

“Ha…HAHA!” He laughs hysterically letting his chewed tongue hang out. Repulsed, you stop and glare down at him in confusion.

“Running is useless for us! HAHAHA- THE COLD ALWAYS COMES WITH THE WIND!” Without any warning his laughs become sobs as his hands grope the grass. “They were right! We should have listened to them… Treasure Hoarders like us can't survive in Mondstadt…”

“Ex-treasure hoarder.” You correct automatically more then used to doing so in the city.

Shaking your head with a groan you turn around. Why were you still here with this soon to be corpse?! You had other places to be and better things to do then get caught due to this guy.

Danger. Your body feels an immense sense of danger that has you throwing yourself to the side in an instant. A wave of cold breezes past you at the same time causing frost to grow on the side of your torso.

Seems you were right about Teyvat sending you some sort of signals in these situations. But the way your head hit the ground sent your mind into a haze. 

Teyvat sends another warning but the dizziness hasn't subsided enough for you to even move. It would have been useless anyway as the next elemental attack is too broad for you to dodge. Hydro washes over your body before a lighter Cryo attack mixes in.

Now frozen in place attached to the ground, you can't even see who even attacked you. Hands pry you off the ground and flip you over.

Colors and shapes wooz together until the only thing your sight can process is two things. A cryo vision and hydro vision glow before a bag is thrown over your head effectively blocking your vision.

Panic and fear hit you like a ton of bricks at the realization as you're lifted into the air. Flailing your body as much as you can frozen you angrily yell even with the slurring.

“Put me dwown! Lwet me gwo!”

The kidnappers ignore your screams and curses as they leave the area. Judging by the crack you heard, you're sure the treasure hoarder was already put out of his misery.

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

You're not sure how long it's been since you've been kidnapped. The cryo that drips off your body has mostly melted away now replaced by rope but you've long lost the energy needed to get away.

After being kidnapped by those two vision holders, Kaeya, Rosaria, Barbara, Mona, Mika so many possibilities since they can just travel(this will be in different font), you were handed off to other people. They must have handed you off at least 4 times and any sense of where the fuck you are has been lost. 

But the sounds of nature and the faint smell of grass have dropped off. Now replaced by the sound of your captors boots hitting stone pavement. A building, an underground one considering the lack of sunlight and faint color of flames that you pass by. 

The bag over your head was annoying but relatively useless if they wanted to keep you completely blind. The only thing you truly lamented is your bound hands. If they were free you could bring up the screen and blindly teleport to the few waypoints you unlocked.

And even if that didn't work, you could just use one of the characters to fight through all the enemies before making your escape-

Your thoughts are cut off by the creaking of a door being swung open. Abruptly you're pushed down into a chair and more ropes are bound tying you to the chair.

When the bag is torn off you're mildly surprised by the completely white room. The only pop of color you could see is the blurry things behind the people in front of you.

Eyes struggling to focus after being cut off for so long you squint at them in front of you. 

“You must be the latest person to join our reform program. How lucky you are!”

Something about that happy go lucky tone made your stomach churn. It was eerily reminiscent of when Venti went on that spiel about the ‘Creator’.

Clarity is regained and you frown suspiciously at the two people in front of you. 

The man on the left stands in pure white clothing with a black suit underneath that barely pokes out. A cassock if you remember correctly. His short blonde hair and facial features are somewhat familiar.

The woman on the right matches his perfect posture with the same outfit. Again her brown hair in that braid laying over her shoulder gives you an even stronger sense of recognition.

But the smiles they wear are identical and eerie in the most utopian way you can imagine. Adding in their earlier words about being part of the ‘reform’ program makes it clear that this is some cultish shit.

“Extremely lucky considering that they get to witness first hand how we, who were once in their position, are going to help them reform first hand!”

…If that wasn't ominous then you didn't know what was.

Simultaneously they speak with wide smiles and eyes gleaming in a way you can't trust.

“Welcome sinner to the Genesis Cathedral.”

Maybe that alone wouldn't be too big of a deal. Escaping from the depths of a cult was hard but you had powers from being the Creator.

It was the gold weapons faintly stained with blood in the background that sent chills down your spine.

Guess who forgot to post it last night? Sorry everyone but I do hope you enjoy this admittedly long special. It was a lot of fun to write! [Guess who had to spend an extra 10 minutes fixing shit when Tumblr forced me to exit without saving it?] My characterization of Venti is quite different then how most of the SAGAU fics have him (that I read). Mostly cause I feel everyone only sees the SAGAU and his God of Freedom is lost in the mix. It's not super bad but it does feel like a shame. I was enjoying making the camp go to hell with Bennett as his unluckiness is a easy plot device lol. But he is one of my fav characters so no surprise there. The next chapter and onwards will be for the main series as again this was just a 'what if' au. Again this was fun and a nice change of pace but at the end of the day- I have a whole document draft detailing the general events (and certain twists) of the main plot. Thank you all for the support, likes, reblogs (yes I read your tags <3), and comments! Taglist is always open for more, it's kinda like growing a conga line if I had to make a comparison lol

Taglist: If your username is in italics, that means I couldn't tag you! It's going to be in this format from now on since Tumblr has a text limit per paragraph.

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername

@zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus, @silverstarred, @iamapotatoe, @ghosthii, @beloveddroplet, @uchihaeirin, @ibelieveinsleep, @idk098, @thefirstonetoeverlikemeback, @toramune, @haaaaaades, @horologiumwise

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Wereroomies werewolf!chan reaction to his girl in a rabbit costume? I know that man will go insane

this ask wormed its way into my brain and made me write a drabble in record time. sorry if anything's worded weirdly, i was literally possessed while i wrote this whole thing.

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series). | Word Count: ~1k. | Warnings: Chris’ POV · curvy/chubby reader · primal play (can it be considered primal play when one of the parties involved is an animal already?) · breeding · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method, but the reader is presumed to be on birth control].

minors do not interact.

It was rare for Chris to take you to his house in the woods on your own. Typically, the entire pack would come for their monthly run, but every once in a while he needed to come check on the place to make sure everything was in order–the amount of times he’d woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night with the sudden thought that he didn’t turn off the lights before leaving during their last trip were too many to count at this point.

This weekend, Chris decided to take you out on a little escapade, just the two of you in his big house. You both had been working nonstop the last couple of weeks, between that and pack duties you’d hardly had any time for yourselves as a couple, so he was more than needing his alone time with you, to disconnect from everything and everyone else.

So here he was, doing the final checks on the house to make sure everything was fine before he could finally join you wherever you were in the house to lounge around and snuggle and hopefully have some delightful sex later in the evening.

“Baby, have you seen the–the…”

Walking into the living room, and seeing you all of a sudden like that, sitting on the dining table of all places, was something Chris did not expect. His mind short-circuited immediately, and the fact that you had the nerve to gasp and act surprised as soon as you spotted him wasn’t making it any better.

“Oh, my… Seems like I’ve found myself in the wolf’s lair. What am I gonna do now…” You brought your hands to your cheeks, which only squished your breasts further together, all garnished with the fakest look of concern he’d ever seen on your face.

That bra was barely even a bra, it was just a couple of pieces of fabric tied around your neck by thin straps, it did absolutely nothing to keep your breasts contained. It was white, too, practically transparent. The bottoms weren’t much better, also a barely even there piece of fabric that did incredibly poorly at covering your plump centre. But the worst pieces of all were the white and pink suspender belt, with the matching stockings over your mouth-watering thighs, and the goddamned bunny ears on your head.

Something stirred deep inside of Chris, something just so incredibly dangerous, something he just knew was exactly what you wanted to awake with this entire set-up of yours.

Prey, prey, prey, prey, prey…

What kind of boyfriend would he be if he denied you of your fun? So of course he played along. 

“Aww, poor little bunny got lost?” Chris cooed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the door frame, staring you up and down.

You bit your lip, nodding. “You’re not gonna do anything bad to me, right?”

Chris took a deep breath, and he got almost winded by the scent of your arousal lingering in the air. “Well… That depends, pretty bunny…”

“On?”

A smirk made its way onto his face, and Chris could already feel himself straining in his briefs. “On how fast you can run away from me”.

You bit your lip and whimpered, looking almost scared. 

There was a moment of you staring at him, and Chris staring at you… A moment of silence that fed the tension in the air. In an instant, you were getting off of that table and bolting out of the room, letting him see the fluffy tail attached to your bottoms, and he could feel the fine hairs on his nape stand on end.

Chase, chase, chase, chase, chase…

Chris immediately ripped his t-shirt off of his body and chased after you. He was suddenly feeling incredibly warm, and he could feel his instincts further clouding his reason as he looked at your form trying to get out of his reach.

He let you off easy for a few minutes, revelling in the deep breaths you took, in the way your heart was racing inside your chest, and in the smell of your scent taking a hold of every single one of his nerve-endings. Until he just couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to catch you, to show you your place and make you submit.

After a while of running and hiding around the house, Chris finally caught up to you on the upper floor, right after climbing the stairs–his shorts had been discarded at some point during the chase, he didn’t even notice when he’d removed them, and he, honestly, also didn’t care.

With a tight hold on your waist he pushed you against the nearest wall. He would’ve felt bad by hearing the whimper that came out of your mouth as soon as your back hit the wall, but, at this point, he knew your limits, he knew how to read your body language, he knew the exact word you would use if it all became too much for you, and, especially, he knew when you were putting on an act. 

With a hand cradling the back of your head, he tilted it to the side, making himself more room to shove his face in the crook of your neck, to prod at your pulse point with the tip of his nose and get a proper whiff of that scent of yours that made him delirious, especially now with how horny you smelt, with his senses enhanced by the chase.

“What now, bunny?” Chris mumbled. He licked a stripe up the expanse of your neck, relishing the taste of your skin under his tongue, and he felt you shiver with the motion.

You swallowed, taking a deep breath. “What are you gonna do to me? I’m just a poor, innocent bunny that got lost…”

“Are you, now?” Chris brought his free hand to the ears on your head, feeling the soft fur between his fingers for a moment, only to finally move that hand to your side so he could drag it all the way from your ribs down to your hips, relishing the goosebumps that rose under his touch. “And what was a pretty bunny like you looking for so insistently you ended up lost in my lair?”

“A partner”, you replied simply, although your voice got a bit shaky when he started to toy with the string that tied your underwear in place. “I just…need to be bred so badly”.

Chris could’ve fainted with how fast blood rushed from his head to his crotch.

“Oh, sweet, sweet, bunny”, he dragged his teeth down the length of your neck, until he finally found a spot to suck the first of many love bites he was ready to leave on your skin. “I can give you exactly what you want… I’ll pump you so full, pretty. Just how you need”.

“You will?” You reached for his hips, and the warmth of your hands on his bare skin was further feeding that pool of desire in the pit of his stomach. “Is the big, alpha wolf going to put his pups inside me?”

God, he might’ve been the predator, but you certainly always had the upper hand, and Chris knew you were aware of it. You always knew what to say to get him to react, to get exactly what you wanted, and he was ready to fall for it every single time.

Chris leaned in closer, close enough he could feel your lips brush against his own when he spoke. “Only if you ask nicely”.

You moved your hands from his hips to his ass, squeezing generously. “Please… Please, I need your pups so bad. Please, breed me, alph–”

A squeal left your lips when Chris took a hold of your hips and turned you around all of a sudden. He just couldn’t take it anymore, not after all that had transpired since he spotted you on that table downstairs.

With a hand on your upper back, he pressed your chest further into the wall as you pushed your hips back towards him, giving him the delicious sight of your round bottom in that barely there piece of underwear with the fluffy tail, and the way your soft flesh dipped under the taut straps of your suspender belt that held the stockings on your legs almost made him dizzy.

Chris spat on his free hand and smeared the saliva all over his length. Pulling your underwear to the side, he got a perfect view of your soaked folds. Clearly, all the running around had been a good warm up for you, too, and he was almost trembling in anticipation.

In normal circumstances, he would’ve probably stretched you out first, even loosen you up with his mouth and his tongue. But these were no normal circumstances. He could barely think straight at this point, all he knew for sure was that he needed to be inside of you and give you the pounding of your life.

Breed, breed, breed, breed, breed…

You whined once he started to push his cock inside you. The feeling of your warm, wet, tight walls stretching over his length had him rolling his eyes to the back of his head. He might’ve worried he was hurting you, but he knew by now that when you reached back for his hip like you were doing now, almost like you were urging him to ram himself into you already, it meant you were doing just fine, so there wasn’t a single spark of worry in his hazy mind just yet.

As soon as he was fully sheathed within your warmth, he nuzzled your neck, holding the soft skin of your hips tightly in his hands. “Don’t worry, pretty bunny. I’ll give you what you need. All of it”.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

figured i’d tag anyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know !

@raspbinniecreme · @staaa96 · @oiminho · @straylightdream · @starshine-moon · @biribarabiribbaem · @100layersofdaddyissues · @dearalice · @alexis-reads-fics · @xcookiemonsteer · @knowleeknow · @chanlovesme · @liminaldaydream · @sstarryreads · @svngiem · @notastraykid · @princelingperfect · @violetpenguinkris · @leedunno · @peepeepoopooharrie · @aestheticsluut · @skzhomiehopper · @cessixja · @mimzibee · @hipsdofangirl · @djeniryuu · @floatingcoffecup · @minnysproutgriffinteddy · @moonmooncr · @phobia0325 · @leebitsimpracha

[pinkrosealice]

A non-exhaustive list of art, pieces of media, franchises, authors, and thinkers that I really need my fellow Cultsim/BoH/Secret Histories fans to get into and discuss with me and between themselves.

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(WARNING A LOT OF THE FOLLOWING RECOMMENDATIONS COME WITH A LIST OF CONTENT WARNINGS AND ARE SOMETIMES CONNECTED TO CONTROVERSIAL ARTISTS AND PUBLIC PERSONS. THIS LIST IS NOT A ENDORSEMENT OF ANY PROBLEMATIC IDEALS OR STATEMENTS MADE BY ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS LIST AND IT IS HIGHLY RECOMMENDED THAT ANYONE WHO LOOKS INTO ANY OF THE MENTIONED WORKS OF ART DO THEIR DUE DILIGENCE AND THOROUGHLY CHECKS FOR DISTURBING / TRIGGERING CONTENT AT THEIR OWN VOLITION)

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Film Recommendations:

1. Dario Argento's Three Mothers trilogy, especially Suspiria & and especially especially the 2019 remake of Suspiria. Very Dancer DLC-coded, very Sisterhood of the Triple Knot and Thunderskin.

2. The Magic Lantern films of Kenneth Anger, who was a practicing Thelmaite* for many years. Lantern Principal is obviously what comes to mind when you hear of the name of the series and the dreams that were mystical experiences that inspired and were expressed in art, in this case films is very much akin to stuff we see in Cultist Simulator.

(* As shown in later parts of this recommendation list I argue that the games of Weather Factory become even more interesting and artistically impactful if you learn more about late 19th and 20th century occultism and movements like Theosophy and Thelma.)

3. Hereditary and Midsommar are obvious recommendations but even more so I would recommend the original 1970s The Wicker Man. Folk Horror in general is a great source of what the arts of The Bosk would look like in real life. They were definitely worshiping The Low Red Sun on Summer Isle.

4. A Dark Song, a 2016 horror film that actually revolves around the performance of a very famous and important real life occult ritual. I think a lot of the visual imagery in that film can give some inspiration for the kind of Rites our player character in Cultist Simulator is performing.

5. The Lair of The White Worm is a movie loosely based on a Bram Stoker story and is also very much a Gods of Stone overthrown by forces associated with humans raised to Divinity and the powers of the Sun and Apollonian principles type of story. Plus the whole Worm/Wyrms thing going on. I also recommend it because it's one of the more light-hearted and comedic entries on this list and I want some variation in tone. Also its psychedelic visuals compliment a lot of the surrealist elements that are tied to things like the Moth Principal.

6. Black Swan isn't explicitly supernatural but it is very Dancer Coded.

7. The Hellraiser movies, but only the first second, fourth, and the reboot. Leviathan, being associated with pain and pleasure and having the name of a mythical sea monster is probably very similar to whatever the hell The Tide was before The Red Grail vored her. The Cenobites are Long with Grail, Knock, & Forge as their Principals.

8. Pan's Labyrinth, for the Woods and the Bounds appreciators. I also think there is something to be said about the fascist subtext that underlines much of the Edge Principle, especially in The Colonel that can be explored and appreciated in this film and its reckonings with the evils of Spanish fascism.

9. To compliment the recommendation for the Magic Lantern films, also check out the short film The Wormwood Star, you can find it easily on YouTube and it's another piece of art heavily influenced by Thelma and stars Marjorie Cameron who I will talk about more later in this list.

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Game Recommendations:

1. Hollow Knight, it might as well be a story set in the era of the Carapace Cross. Sentient bugs, mighty Wyrms and dream gods with the powers of light but not necessarily moral goodness. Even the Void in Hollow Knight, and it's antagonism to The Radiance is very similar to The Nowhere and it's relationship with the established hierarchies in The Mansus.

2. The Silent Hill games, particularly the entries that revolve around The Order; like 1,3, Origins, and Homecoming. Dream worlds, Sun worship, the Dark Feminine and female psychics/mediums with deep associations with blood, birth and menstruation. Valtiel is totally a Name. Even the fog and mist of Silent Hill is giving The Bounds and it's Forge smoke meets Woods darkness type energy.

3. Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines, it's basically playing a Grail Long.

4. The tabletop games Geist: The Sin Eaters and Wraith: The Oblivion line up really well with the Ghoul / Medium DLC. *

(basically most if not all of the World of Darkness and Chronicles of Darkness tabletop games contain some themes, elements, or bits of World building that should appeal to anyone interested in the games created by Weather Factory)

5. The video games created by Korean studio Project Moon. Lobotomy Corporation has a lot of timers and simulation elements that have many similarities to those found in Cultist Simulator, and as the title implies Liberty of Runia takes place literally in a paranatural library just like Book of Hours even though the game play between the two is very different.

6. Fallen London and it's related media. The reasons why should go without saying. The controversies around AK aside, Echo Bazaar and Secret Histories are blood siblings and I desire more intersection and interaction between the respective fandoms.

7. The Bayonetta games have a surprising amount of real mythological and occult influence in their world building. The Solar Lumens juxtaposed with the Lunar Umbrans definitely has some resonance with Church of The Unconquered Sun and their on again, off again antagonism and allyship with The Sisterhood of The Triple Knot. The Apollonian natured House of the Sun contrasted with the Dionysian Woods & House of the Moo, and the Nowhere being connected to all three but being distinct; is not all together that different from the division of the Bayonetta universe into Inferno, Paradiso, the human world and Purgatorio between all of them.

8. The Shadow Hearts series of JRPGs are a Gothic, urban fantasy, historical fantasy, lovecraftian adventures around late 19th / early 20th century Europe and Asia. It has a lot of comedic elements and its world building and cosmology are not all that similar to the ones in Weather Factory games (barring their shared history as being inspired by Lovecraft). But if you want Lovecraft in video game form without the racism associated with his writings and you found Cultsim/BoH to fill that niche, then I recommend you give these games a try as well.

9. Secret World Legends, a functionally dead MMO but still incredibly fun to play and I think one of the best examples of urban fantasy / soft Lovecraft or post lovecraftian media in existence. Absolutely fantastic & memorable fully voiced NPCs and characters, really intriguing and rich world building and takes on mythology and folklore. Also given that you play as a quasi immortal with a deep association with bees and an ancient techno-organic goddess you're basically a Long.

10. To compliment the Lobotomy Corporation recommendation and the later SCP mention I think it's only natural that I also recommend the urban fantasy games of remedy entertainment like Alan Wake 1 & 2 and Control. Artists channeling / being used by Eldritch Forces in other dimensions and government institutions related to keeping a control on the supernatural are the most obvious similarities to stuff in WF games.

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Visual Artists:

1. Francisco Goya, especially his Black Paintings, his insights into the witchcraft and folkloric traditions of the Basque region and elsewhere in the Iberian peninsula should be very appealing to fans of The Twins and The Thunderskin. Plus all of the Catholic imagery brings to mind The Mother of Ants.

2. Austin Osman Spare, Rosaleen Norton, and Marjorie Cameron. All three of these people were heavily influential occultists and illustrators/painters so their work is definitely a great representative example of the kind of occult art that you are making when you Paint in Cultsim.

3. Salvador Dali is also a relatively obvious, but I think very appropriate all the same recommendation. Surrealism is by and large the big big tonal influence on Secret Histories in my opinion. He also did a tarot deck so that brings in the Lucid Tarot connection

4.Erté, absolutely the kind of art and fashion you would find in Cultist Simulator's 1920's. Art Deco for days but also his works in particular show a more flowy and organic influence that we would more stereotypically associate with the Art Nouveau of decades prior.

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Comic Books:

1. Alan Moore's run on Swamp Thing and Grant Morrison's run on Animal Man. DC's Red and Green (plus all the other elemental forces) are a deeply underappreciated and underexplored element of the setting, and I think they have a lot of similarities with the Principles we find in Secret Histories.

2. Related to the above, Alan Moore's Promethea and Grant Morrison's The Invisibles for an exploration of 20th and 21st century occultism. Despite the two authors general distaste for each other, their works are often very complimentary.

3. The Hellboy franchise doesn't have a lot of one-to-one parallels with Cultsim & Co. but they draw from the same artistic influences of gothic fiction, weird fiction, mythology and folklore and the occult. So I feel very strongly that fans of one would and should find the other to be enjoyable. Both fandoms need to be more active on this hell site and though there are a handful of quality hidden gems of fanfiction for both franchises I desperately need more people to be writing & reading fan fiction for both. Plus I do strongly believe that Mike Mignola' s art style would really excel at illustrating characters and settings from Secret Histories. His non Hellboy work is also recommended especially the works that fall under his Outervers setting, like Baltimore and Joe Golem.

4. Although I will admit that I am not up to date on it, and that there has been a considerable amount of discourse around the quality of its storytelling (especially within the past few years) I would recommend the webcomic Gunnerkrigg Court to fellow Cultsim fans. Alchemic imagery, interesting reinterpretations of folklore and a setting and tone that is quintessential British urban fantasy / science fiction, Gunnerkrigg is in my opinion a work that has a lot of appeal for fans of WF's games and stories.

5. Lackadaisy Cats is an awesome Webcomic and animated web series. 1920s/ 30s gangsters and bootleggers in the form of anthropomorphic cats! And absolutely beautiful Art Deco illustrations! What's not to love.........

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Anime & Manga:

1. Any of the anime directed by Ryūtarō Nakamura especially Serial Experiments Lain and Ghost Hound(this one is seriously underrated in my opinion.) Surrealism is the name of the game as I've said earlier.

2. Le Chevalier D'Eon, both it's manga and anime even though the two are very totally different and have divergent takes on a similar premise. Historical fiction that reinterprets 18th century historical events through an occult lens is so very very Secret Histories. Plus both works have interesting explorations of gender and the nature thereof. It helps that as far as we know the French monarchy's Secret Histories equivalent are associated with the Hours, my personal headcanon is that Louis XIV was Lantern Principal aligned, and Louie XVI had Knock as his Principal. Also the manga version of the story has a lot of its magic system based around the Tarot.

3. You can't recommend D'Eon without recommending it's biggest inspiration (apart from Rose of Versailles of course) and that would be Revolutionary Girl Utena. Edge Dyads for days with that one. Utena and Anthy are totally The Twins. And the whole show and it's movie are full of surrealist pseudo occult imagery practically to the bursting.

4. Baccano! , a light novel / anime series that's about a bunch of immortal Mobsters in the 1920s and 30s. I mean that's basically The Exile DLC right there.

5. xxxHolic and Legal Drug / Drug & Drop, by CLAMP. A shop that grants wishes and a pharmacy that handles the paranormal are both the kind of businesses that I could see existing alongside Morland's, Oriflamme's Auction House & The Ecdysis Club. Plus both manga are hella gay and I will push my Weather Factory games are inherently Queer pieces of media agenda till the day I die.

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Theater, Operas, Music and Albums:

1. Jimmy Page's unused soundtrack for Kenneth Anger's Lucifer Raising. Definition of Occult rock and role.

2. Kiki Rockwell, especially her two most recent albums Rituals on the Bank of a Familiar River, and Eldest Daughter of an Eldest Daughter.

3. Stravinsky's Rite of Spring might just be the closest we will ever get in real life to an occult ritual in the form of an entire ballet like we see in Cultist Simulator and Book of Hours. Definitely a skill that could fall under the Wisdoms of Birdsong and The Bosk.

4. On that note, Mozart's Die Zauberflöte is also full of Hermetic Elements, Lunar / Solar antagonism, mystical initiation and ritual deity impersonation. Mozart was a Freemason so the fanfic of him as a Heart Adapt practically writes itself.

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Literally Fiction:

1. The webnovels Pact and Pale by wildbow. A magic system that revolves around incredibly hierarchical relationships between humans and mystical beings, where magic fundamentally requires discarding one's humanity and transforming into some kind of mystical being yourself is very similar to the Adapt to Long pipeline we follow in Cultist Simulator.

2. The Rivers of London series is one that I'm still familiarizing myself with but it's another example of wonderful British urban fantasy (that isn't the wizard books that shall not be named) The fact that the main characters of the series are magic police officers gives it a certain Suppression Bureau appeal.

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Nonfiction- Philosophy and Occult works and Authors:

1. Georges Bataille!!!!!!!! If you only pick one thing from this list to investigate further let it be the philosophical works of this man. His theory of religion as it relates to concepts such as economy, sacrifice, and eroticism you literally completely change how you understand The Hours and The House Without Wall.

2. Aleister Crowley, and any of his students, especially Kenneth Grant. He really is the quintessential modern English occultist, whether or not AK and Lottie intended it, the DNA of his beliefs or those of his Golden Dawn contemporaries, or his students is all over Cultsim and BoH. The Red Grail is like, so blatantly Babalon it's kind of ridiculous.

3. The Book of English Magic by Phillip Carr- Gomm & Richard Heygate, is a good introductory source of information on the history of magical practice and occultism on the British isles.

4. Occult Paris by Tobias Churton is a fascinating insight into some of the mystical practices that were en vogue in Europe just a few decades prior to when Cultist Simulator takes place.

5. Atlas of Cursed Places by Oliver Le Carrer. I could totally see some of the places documented in this book as being locations you could send your Followers to in Cultsim.

6. Please read everything you can that is academically critical about Greek magical Papyri. There are tons of resources for reading translations and analysis of these documents that are some of the most foundational examples of what real historical magical belief and practice actually looked like.

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Web Original Content, Podcasts, YouTube Channels and Tiktok Recommendations:

1. Greedy Peasant over on Instagram and tik tok does fascinating content related to Catholicism, medieval history and art, and other related topics. If you like all of the interesting reinterpretations of Christian religious iconography into sun worship that happens in Book of Hours I highly recommend his content.

2. The last few years have really seen an incredible ecosystem of academic scholarship on religion, mythology, occultism and esoteric philosophy develop on YouTube. Channels like Esoterica, Angela's Symposium, Let's Talk Religion, Religion for Breakfast, Jackson Crawford, The Modern Hermeticist, The Archaeology of Ancient Magic, and others are just overflowing gold mines of accessible and easily digestible but still academically critical and pseudoscience and conspiracy theory free information about mysticism historical occultism and esoteric religion and mythology.

3. There are also a number of great YouTube channels that aren't academically critical but are run by actual practicing witches and occultists and they offer fascinating and interesting insights into these same topics but from a lived more personal perspective which is just as important I think to learn about as the academically critical sources. Great channels include Benbell Wen, Maevius Lynn, Marco Visconti, & Nordic Animism.

4. In terms of fictional internet media, SCP is so broad that there's a lot of stuff that is completely different in appeal from what is enjoyable about Secret Histories, but there's also so much overlap. I need crossover fanfics and fan art more than air!!!!!

5. Lastly this is a fiction podcast so it's a little incongruous with the other nearby recommendations but, I cannot stress enough......... The Mangus Archives and Magnus Protocol!!!!!!!!!!!!! There are a lot of key differences between those two podcasts and Weather Factory games, but there are so many similarities that I have to write an entire three other posts about how similar the settings are and how I want to write a crossover/ fusion fic. I've seen like, one or two pieces of fan art and fanfiction that was related to both series but in my humble opinion it's not nearly enough. I really really really really really need Cultsim fans to talk more about Magnus and I need Magnus listeners to play these games soooooooo badly!!!!!!!!!!

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Well that mostly concludes this piece of propaganda for the time being, will probably make another post with further additions in the not so distant future. Feel free to reblog this with any other pieces of media that you think would also be appealing to fans of Cultist Simulator and Book of Hours.

[bugeyedfreaks]

Your personal ranking for all the villains’ lairs/houses/homes in the Powerpuff Girls series?

Okay, so, I was actually going to make this a whole huge post with tons of screenshots and everything… but I never had the time and I haven’t answered it in months. These are also sort of my rapid fire, super quick opinions that aren’t ultra in-depth deep dives (if anyone wanted me to do one of my deep dives on one of the villain’s lairs… send me an ask and I might, as long as I could just focus on one at a time)… so they’re a little bit joke-y. But I want to post this once and for all, so here you go!

Fuzzy Lumpkins

Total cottagecore vibes. I mean, a cute, cozy little shack in the woods? So quaint! So calming! It's okay, ignore all the gunshot noises. 6/10!

Him

I like his weird pink void better than his Dali-esque one from the later seasons. It feels a lot more mysterious and foreboding to me, I can't exactly explain why. 8/10 for the pink void, 5/10 for the Dali-esque place.

Boogie Man

I WANT TO PARTY IN HIS SEXY UNDERGROUND DISCO 10/10!!!!!

Femme Fatale

Just a sensible apartment. The art could be less, uh, on point? 3/10, kind of bland.

Mojo Jojo

He absolutely needs more furniture, but the way he decorates is impeccable. I love that clean, modern feel... very sleek and sophisticated. The actual observatory is probably labyrinthian with all sorts of weird rooms and stuff and the fact that it has all that space while also being on top of a volcano is kind of cool. 9/10!

Gangreen Gang

It's a dump but they keep it pretty clean! I would not want to live that close to garbage, though. The actual clubhouse gets a 8/10 (it's comfy in there, plus they have a kickass stereo system and can jam whenever they want!) but for the location, I give it a 3/10.

Princess Morbucks

Genuinely wanted her bedroom as a kid (I just like the idea of having a big comfy royal bed with that curtain above it, it's so fancyyyy), and I think it's so cool that she apparently has, like, all this other cool junk in her house. She's so snobby and would give me a 0/10 but I have to give her place at least a 9/10.

The Smiths

I'd hate my life too if I had Harold's house. 2/10, just a typical suburban home.

Lenny Baxter

You know this place smells musty and crusty and is covered with a thin coating of Cheeto dust. 0/10, burn it to the ground and keep his collection inside when you do.

Roach Coach

I'm saving the worst ones for last, apparently. 🤣 I'll give his apartment a 1/10 because I just think it's so bizarre that he even had an apartment to begin with. I get that we're supposed to think he's a human, but I wonder if it's like a Men In Black thing where he's a roach that just lives inside a robot body and needed the place for appearances. ...anyway, I give the actual apartment building a 5/10 because it actually didn't look bad. It’s actually pretty nice and clean. Why must Roach Coach keep his place in such squalor?!

Also, is he paying the rent for all of his roach friends, too? Wow. What a king.

Sedusa never really had a place to live and I refuse to count the dump because that's really the GGG's turf, so I'm giving Craig McCracken a 0/10 score for this. Shame!

Actually, since I'm such a sweet and kind and generous person, I will give him a 10/10 for just letting the Amoeba Boys kind of wander around without a real home either. They're too stupid to own real estate. Great commitment to character detail. 👍

If I forgot anyone else's lair let me know and I’ll add it!

[milfjagger]

horror recs 2024

categories are a little broad but take from it what you will. personal favs are in bold and a * next to the name means this movie genuinely scared me

serial killers/stalkers/home invasion the black phone (2021) the invisible man (2020) hannibal (series; 2013-2015) maniac (2012) american psycho (2000) the silence of the lambs (1991) opera (1987) tourist trap (1979) halloween (1978) deep red (1975) black christmas (1974) the texas chain saw massacre (1974) peeping tom (1960)

ghosts/hauntings talk to me (2022) the haunting of hill house (series; 2018) i am the pretty thing that lives in the house (2016) under the shadow (2016) crimson peak (2015) mama (2013) the orphanage (2007) lake mungo (2008)* dark water (2005) the ring (2002) the others (2001) the devil's backbone (2001) ring (1998)* candyman (1992) poltergeist (1982) the haunting (1963) the innocents (1961)

vampires interview with the vampire (series; 2022- ) midnight mass (series; 2021) let the right one in (2008) bram stoker's dracula (1992) near dark (1987) the lost boys (1987) fright night (1985) dracula (1958) nosferatu (1922)

werewolves dog soldiers (2002) ginger snaps (2000) & ginger snaps 2 (2004) the howling (1981) an american werewolf in london (1981)

demons/witches longlegs (2024)* smile (2022)* incantation (2022)* hereditary (2018)* suspiria (2018) veronica (2017)* terrified (2017)* pyewacket (2017)* the autopsy of jane doe (2016) the exorcist (series; 2016-2018) the blackcoat's daughter (2015) the witch (2015)* evil dead (2013) the exorcism of emily rose (2005) the blair witch project (1999) the craft (1996) hellraiser (1987) suspiria (1977) the exorcist (1973) the devil rides out (1968) rosemary's baby (1968) black sunday (1960)

survival horror yellowjackets (series; 2021 - ) the terror (series; 2017) rogue (2007) the descent (2005)* open water (2003)

sci-fi horror crimes of the future (2022) annihilation (2018)* the fly (1986) the thing (1982) alien (1979) & aliens (1986)

monster movies willow creek (2013)* troll hunter (2010) the host (2006) pumpkinhead (1988)

folk horror the ritual (2017)* wake wood (2009)* the hallow (2015) pet sematary (1989) the wicker man (1973) the blood on satan's claw (1971) night of the demon (1957)

fantasy/fairytale horror gretel and hansel (2020) red riding hood (2011) the juniper tree (1990) the company of wolves (1984) psychological horror (that doesn't fit better into another category) candyman (2021) the lighthouse (2019) us (2019) get out (2017) gerald's game (2017) a cure for wellness (2016) the invitation (2015) it follows (2014)* excision (2012) may (2002) frailty (2001) dead ringers (1988) gothic (1986) carrie (1976) cat people (1942)

indie/experimental (mileage may vary) enys men (2022) skinamarink (2022) bones and all (2022) men (2022) the house (2022) relic (2020)* saint maud (2019) mandy (2018) the wind (2018) raw (2016)

balls to the wall crazy/fun as hell evil dead rise (2023) fall of the house of usher (series; 2023) late night with the devil (2023) saw movies (2004-2023) the menu (2022) nope (2022) malignant (2021) escape room (2019) & escape room: tournament of champions (2021) run (2020) the chilling adventures of sabrina (series; 2018-2020) 31 (2016) the boy (2016) american mary (2012) repo! the genetic opera (2007) trick 'r' treat (2007) sweeney todd (2007) dead silence (2007) house of wax (2005) house of 1000 corpses (2003) final destination (2000) ravenous (1999) lair of the white worm (1988) brain damage (1988) the texas chainsaw massacre 2 (1986) re-animator (1985) & bride of re-animator (1990) evil dead movies (1981-1992) phantom of the paradise (1974)

[anguishedlurker]

I've been Isekaied into Paulina's Novel?!

Welcome to the fic for the EctoImposion 2024 event! I was paired with @thebooo-merang for this wonderful fic, and you should go check them out! And check out the ao3 posting HERE

After an incident with Box Ghost solicits a fight with Ghost Writer, Ghost Writers out for revenge. And Paulina has a convenient little fanfiction that Ghost writer could use. Now Danny just has to survive it, with a starstruck Paulina in tow.

The first chapter doesn't especially need warnings, as everything remains cannon typical. It's under the cut!

~

"Get back here!" Danny shouted, ready to be done with wit for today.

"I, THE BOOOX GHOOOST, WILL-"

"Piss off Ghost Writer!" Do you just break into random lairs in search of weird boxes!?" Danny screeched, trying to dive after a flying notebook.

"I, THE BOX GHOST, WILL-" Box shouted over Danny, waving wildly as he went and sending even more boxes and books flying back and forth.

"RUIN WHAT LITTLE TRUCE I'VE GOT GOING WITH HIM!" Danny cut back, struggling to grab books mid-air with one arm and blast Boxy into submission with the other.

"THE BOX GHOST HAS NO NEED FOR LECTURES ON YOUR INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS! PREPARE TO BE DESTROYED!"

Danny was gonna kill him this time!

~

Boxes and books rained over the town, causing havoc and mild property damage to the unprepared. Paulina could only huff and puff as she bolted across the open street from shop to shop, trying to find somewhere to camp out while Phantom dealt with the box menace, trying to keep an eye out for whatever storefront Star had managed to find for herself.

Another keeper kept their shoulder into the door as she pushed, and bitterly she cursed them out. She probably didn't get any sympathetic glances through the wood door, but whatever! Rude ass motherfuckers locking out innocents while there was an attack!

It was tempting to keep under the eave, but beyond being mere cloth too much was getting tossed around- plenty enough room for something to slam in sideways and get her then!

God! One good day is all she wanted right now.

Though a few more after wouldn't go amiss...

There! The geek shit shop was probably going to let her in! Maybe!

She didn't care, actually, she'd punch through the glass if she had to! Take that, losers!

First, she needed the mental psyche up to dart across the road again. Three, two, one, go!

The owner, or possible customer, waved behind the glass as she ran.The door opened and closed near instantaneously on her entry.

The sound of Phantom yelling at The Box Ghost dampened as the bell rang, and the store owner gave her an uneasy smile and gestured towards the windowless back. 

“Everyone’s in the back. Might be cramped by now, but there’s a lot of shelves to sit behind.” He nervously informed, eyeing the glass windows.

The casual thumbs up sent him away as she bent slightly to wheeze out the adrenaline.

Yeah, cheer takes some stamina, but adrenaline really messes up her rhythm!

Breath caught, it was time to pack in with the other unlucky idiots back here. With care and precision she marched over behind the popular shelf, examined the bodies packed like sardines, and picked a new shelf to hide behind.

This one was packed with books instead of weird anime figures and dungeons and dragons minis, the spines a cold comfort as she sat down and started staring.

The titles on this sort of crap were so weird… 

But she supposed Star seemed to enjoy them, Star's rants echoing clearly in her head. 

She wouldn’t admit it with a gun to her head, but after enough of those rants… she may or may not be able to pick out a few of the series on display.

Sue her, she's a sucker for some of the romances even if they were trashy a lot of the time. And Star's collection at this rate was pretty impressive, to the point Paulina was convinced she was the only reason a store like this could keep afloat in a town like Amity.

The other nerd shit probably helped it keep alive, though. More screaming outside, this time sounding like it was from The Box Ghost in rage. Good. Phantom could pummel that no good fool to goo for what it mattered.

... Ugh. The fight could easily take a long time; Box Ghost might be weak, but he clearly had a lot of material to use this time. But whatever. Here she is in a castle of weeb books. Maybe some could be a good distraction.

~

"No! Not you!"

"Yes, me! Did you think you could trash my library and get away with it!?" Ghost Writer roared, trying to come up from behind.

"It wasn't me, it was-"

But Box Ghost was already gone, the leftover boxes of books now floating to the ground in a suspiciously gentle manner.

Coward. The thought wouldn't leave as Danny shifted the books he'd been trying to save around, awkwardly offering the armful to Ghost Writer. 

Ghost Writer loomed ominously.

~

All at once the outside world went quiet, some shouting occasionally coming close enough to hear, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief loud enough to drag Paulina from her pile of books.

Five more minutes would've been great to finish the book she'd had in hand, not that it mattered...

Now she needed to find where Star ran off to without her, the books carefully left behind in a pile.

Phantom and a ghost she couldn’t recognize quipped back and forth, the day still significantly quieter than it had been fifteen minutes before. The area remained strewn with books, the ghost gesturing to some on a roof.

Now, she could walk around the district lost and confused looking for Star... Or just sit back down on a nice ledge and wait for Star to come to her while watching Phantom.

Phantom made an odd twist in the air as he shouted, still a little too distant to make out properly.

Yeah, watching sounded so much safer and calmer. One hop later and she was perched on top of one of the lower walls purporting to be defensive.

Fat lot of good they did...

Phantom and his assailant came closer, lending her a nice view of what was going on.

Maybe she shouldn't be here, but it seemed to be more arguing than fighting, so whatever.

"While I'm sorry my NOT PARTNER didn't have a spine, you can have yours back!" Phantom shouted as they passed overhead, throwing a book at the weird ghost.

She had to huff out a clipped laugh as the ghost was whacked, even as the ghost elected to bolt as it realized its inferiority.

She could just hear the stunned silence from Phantom, right before he cried out "Get back here!" 

Truly, a foolish thing to think it could stand up to the town hero.

With a certain lack of ceremony, the book the from the fight fell onto her 

"Ouch!" She yelped, one hand raising to rub her scalp as the other fumbled for the offending book.

The whole thing might be a sign it's time to get up and go. Still...

"Raining books is a new one." She muttered, far too late for the comment to be witty but all the same a perfectly serious remark on the latest weird shit Amity came up with.

She cautiously eyed the book in her hands, looking for any oddities. You could never quite trust some of this stuff...

It was just a notebook. Nothing special about it, besides being a trophy for today. The decoration and signature on front was incomprehensible to her, an initial she didn't recognize against the slightly plain front.

Caving to curiosity, the book opened easily. Not that she’d expected anything else. 

It revealed... nothing. Nothing at all. None of the pages had any sort of writing in them.

Well she can't be begrudged for snooping- it's her prize right now. An apology for getting assaulted in broad daylight. This G-W could just deal with it, and the spat was already away from her, so it's not like she was going to be in more danger sitting here.

The blank notebook continued to be uninteresting, and she couldn’t help her annoyance as she shut it. There wasn’t a damn thing to pay her back for getting hit.

Or... well...

She could feel her lip work up into a slight smirk.

I have been wanting to write a new Phantom fic...

The thought was clear as day to her, even as she couldn't wait for the night. What better way to celebrate this particular trophy?

~

Ghost Writer was forced to watch on in abject misery as he realized his collection had been tossed around like a toddler’s toys. No respect whatsoever from the box obsessed lunatic for the actual contents of the boxes.

The nerve! The audacity! To treat his writing like this! The ghost may well need a lesson in manners.

But first, Phantom.

Sure, the boy wasn't the sole force at work- but undeniably the lunatic never would've gotten close to his manuscripts if Phantom hadn't been snooping around in his library.

But don't think he's lost the plot of getting his own books tossed at him! The tactical retreat was nothing more than an admission of lack of home turf!

Nothing to do with not having his typewriter or any notebooks activated!

Ahem... So the child would need an appropriate punishment as well.

Sometime after he collected his books

The whole lot of them, all across town! Lunatics.

It was easy enough to threaten people away from his scripts, but nonetheless annoying and time consuming. Go here, show up there, yell to get their grubby mitts off his stuff. 

Ugh.

The annoyance was the cost of getting everything back. though. He pointedly ignored Phantom’s continued patrolling, likely looking for whatever trap Ghost Writer would end up creating.

Easy enough to stay low and out of sight in the meantime. Whatever he was about to do, it wasn't a ‘now’ plan. Such things take planning, and unfortunately it's not the season to stick the boy back into Christmas stories.

So he was collecting his books, and chasing fools away from them. The cost of love, he supposed.

Still, he was being forced to waste hours upon hours taking his books out of the hands of fools. Having such a collection was not currently a point of pride; He’d have to figure out what went where later.

Slowly but surely his boxes filled back up as he found his manuscripts. There was his old horror story from the eighties, there was his attempt at something akin to a superhero comic, there was his dabbling in... well he couldn't remember either, but if he sat to read it right now it'd take hours for him to finish the book. No reading for him.

Finally, it was time to find his blank notebooks again. He'd be forced to admit that he simply cared less if these ones vanished mysteriously, for a blank notebook was nothing more or less than a possibility.

Most were alright, scattered down the streets carelessly. Some had been picked up and put back down to be examined by wretched hands at a later date.

There was an exception though, something swaying as if held at the edge of where he could feel things. Curious, for how late at night it was getting, but that'd just mean he needed to scare another pathetic mortal off his books.

The pull and search brought him to a cracked window in the suburbs. Nothing meaningful crossed his path, though it was good to be wary; The boy was likely still patrolling, and no doubt Ghost Writer's appearance had put him on edge. As it should.

Slowly rising up to look through, invisible to the mortal eye, he could hear a girl rambling slightly. 

His look through the window was enlightening, the girl curled onto her bed as she wrote with ink that even from this distance sparkled with glitter.

"And then Princess Paulina lived happily ever after with Prince Phantom, aaannd the end." She whispered, pleased with herself.

Barely pausing, she snapped the book shut and laid it on her nightstand, moving to stand and stretch.

Shouting called her away, which was plenty convenient for him even as she huffed and puffed out of the room.

It was child's play to take the notebook back, even with it defiled by mortal hands. It wasn't a toy to be left with creatures that didn't understand what could be done with such tools.

The cover had already been decorated with a couple of stickers and a flowing cursive he couldn't bother deciphering at this second.

Phasing back out of the room and coming to rest back outside of the window, he flipped the cover open.  The inside was decorated similarly.

Oh, yes. That was glitter pen. The pages were coming away bedazzled with runaway glitter.

This book was most certainly going to have to be put in its own container, but for right this second the name on the inside was of modest curiosity.

Paulina Sanchez in bold strokes, fancy flourishes forgone in favor of legibility. If found, return to owner, do not read.

Well now he just had to, didn't he? It wasn't like the rest of the books were going anywhere, the grand total of three he still had to find now could rest safely.

Or well... No, he could spare the time now> What would the boy do, if it blows up on them both? The books shouldn't even be in the town anyways, and it was most certainly his fault thank you very much!

He quickly leafed through the beginning burning through thanks to his superior-ness and a speed reading class he'd attended before.

... hmm.

Hmmmmm.

He'd recently been complaining about what to do with the boy, no?

"This could work." He spoke to no-one, clapping the book shut. For now.

~

Barely past sunrise, Danny squinted at the sky and grumbled. Damn malicious blob ghosts, eating billboards.

Not that he cares about the billboards, but first it's a billboard and then it's drywall.

"Catch!" Got shouted, an object (presumably) sailing from behind him.

Snapping too and turning, he could see Ghost Writer grin manically in glee as a book opened wide.

All he could do was choke out an "eh?" as he reflexively reached, the book splayed open and glowing. Illustory pages floated up and off, and he had a really bad feeling about what was coming next as the world around him went white.

~

Coming to under Ghost Writers writing was not a fun thing to experience, see. One did not simply fade into one of his chaotic and weirdly random worlds. You blink and then suddenly you're just there!

Danny was there, wherever there was. Somewhere was currently a bright grass field, with a decorated horse beside him.

Which he would grant was a better entrance than the last time he'd been flung into one of Ghost Writer's many insane stories.

He would never forget that anglerfish...

But almost just as fast as he got here there was another stupidly bright light, and someone was falling into his arms, briefly bundled into his chest before quickly popping back up to look at him.His tongue was stuck in a way that implied Ghost Writer had ideas about what he should or shouldn't be saying at this time, but that didn't stop the extremely strained noise he gave when he realized the person was Paulina, looking VERY enthused.

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

The Lair in the Woods: Part 9

A/N: …I have no note today, except to say that I didn’t have it in me to edit this part either😂

Warnings: Reference to stalking, fear, anxiety, worry, suspected betrayal, blizzard

My Masterlist | Taglist Info or Taglist Request Form | The Lair in the Woods masterlist

“Thanks,” Hero said, “I really appreciate it, Handler.”

“Yeah, well this might be the best opportunity any of us have managed to grasp yet,” they said, handing them the approval that would let them adopt Civilian’s case as theirs. “If you actually manage to get close to Supervillain and get the evidence we need to bring them down, we’d be killing two birds with one stone! Help the civilian, stop the villain, the news article’s practically writing itself now.”

Hero hummed, shifting on their feet. “We’ll see about it. I’m not so sure I’ll even see Supervillain in person, and even if I did, would I know their face? There’s still nothing to say that this all isn’t some half-cocked scheme to distract us from their real plans.”

Handler waved their hand dismissively. “It’s still a better shot than any of us have managed before. And, even if it yields nothing, at least Civilian Surname won’t be indebted to a supervillain for saving their life.”

Hero had to admit that was a good point. Too many times villains saved people for a price, but it was always the civilian who got caught or ended up dead. They’d spent a good deal of time wondering if Supervillain had backed Civilian Surname into a corner, or if Civilian was even aware of the danger they were in. They kept replaying the conversation they’d had with Supervillain the night before. Over and over again they dissected it for the hint of a threat, for a vulnerability, for something. Over and over again, Hero was left with nothing. It seemed as though their plain conversation was as plain and bare as the snow collecting outside. There wasn’t anything more to it than that. Snow was snow, and their conversation with Supervillain hadn’t had any deeper meaning or hidden message. It was simply a bargain for aid, and not even one that had left Supervillain promising Hero a favor in exchange.

Hero could’ve smacked themselves now that they’d had time to reflect on the odd phone call. They should’ve pressed Supervillain harder, forced them into a corner for a change. What made it even worse was the fact that Hero knew exactly what they’d want from Supervillain too: everything they had on them gone. Deleted. Forgotten.

They couldn’t even begin to image the data Supervillain and their team had amassed on so many supers, but Hero dreaded what the master criminal might have on them. The possibilities weren’t great, though. If Supervillain knew…Hero shook their head. They had a case. They had a civilian to save, and city to manage now that the blizzard was picking up in force.

Shoving the file under their coat, Hero zipped the parka up and braced themselves as they forced the Agency’s front door open and battled against the wind for every step they took from then on.

At least they could tell Detective they’d adopted the case and see if they’d like to work on it together. They’d try the Clerk’s Office first, but they new City Hall was closed, and with it the public records. So for now, all Hero could do was hunker down and peruse the case file until they were needed elsewhere—and hope that their little arrangement with Supervillain didn’t upend their entire life.

***

Civilian begrudgingly pulled themselves from the cooling water and wrapped themselves in an oversized towel that was as soft as a cloud. They had half a mind to stay like that forever, but knew they couldn’t, not with the way their toes wiggled against the cold tile floor of Supervillain’s bathroom. Quickly drying off, they pulled on the clean clothes Supervillain had left for them on the counter before they’d left them in peace.

Maybe they should’ve used this time to really think about all that had happened to them, but the moment they sank into that warm water and let their head fall back against the edge of the soaker tub, Civilian was lucky they hadn’t fallen asleep again. For the first time in weeks, their mind was utterly silent. The worried whispers, the tendrils of fear, the anxiety that wove its way from the shadowy corners of their mind had finally vanished. They didn’t have it in themselves to pull their mind from that peace, even they really needed to consider what they knew of Supervillain and their team, and whether or not they could really trust the help they offered.

Civilian wasn’t good with faces, but they felt as confident as they could that they’d never seen Supervillain or Medic before. Frowning as they rolled the sleeves of the too-big shirt up so they could actually use their hands, Civilian found themselves wondering instead if they’d ever know peace again.

The concern shook them to their core.

How could they ever regain a normal life after this? How could they ever really be sure they caught their stalker, and not some innocent bystander?

Civilian wondered if Supervillain would mind them taking another bath, wondering if a second would banish their new fears just as well as the first had done to their previous worries.

Sighing heavily, Civilian took one last glance in the mirror before reaching for the bathroom door. As much as they’d love to hide away for the rest of their life, they knew it wasn’t any use. Hiding didn’t do anything but prolong the inevitable, and they’d rather face it with someone by their side than alone…even if it meant trusting a perfect stranger with an inexplicable background.

The Lair in the Woods Taglist: @just-a-space-rabbit @classicplesiosaur @pigeonwhumps @heninthegarden @kaiwewi @korejon @rivalriotrenegade @alpacamelons @averyconfusedhuman @amerementdoux @istealpants @sweetpeaflower01 Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed (no reason necessary😊)! You can also fill out this handy dandy form if you’d like to be added too! A/N 2: I've been experiencing some trouble tagging people, so please bear with me while I think of a solution! I might make a sideblog specifically to reblog my writing to so people can turn on notifications without getting flooded by every single thing I post/reblog🤔

[bewarethewolfarmy]

Music To Bring Us Together

(This one was on my mind for a while (yes a certain fic of mine has a twin of sorts to this...) sooo yeah it just took a while to write it actually up.

If anyone wants a steamy followup to this particular chapter then say so and maybe i'll gather my spoons Oh and I've decided to call this kind of series The Phantom and his Songbird so enjoy:

A Celebration for Two

Things Better Left Unshared )

If asked separately both Erik's and your answer to what your favorite time of the week was, it would be the same: it was when you had the chance to get away from everything at the opera and had time to go spend the night with the lonely ghost that lived below the operahouse. He lived for those times, unable to stand the fact that he still could not simply always be with his beloved, to hold and shower you in affection and attention constantly, but he had even in small bits learned his lesson from before and he would not dare do anything that could even possibly make him lose you. He would wait, impatiently, and watch and admire you from afar despite wanting to do so far more personally, and when the time came he'd appear and whisk you away and the smile you'd wear on your face would send his heart a flutter to think that there really was someone who enjoyed his company and didn't fear his face. Could he truly believe it? Of course not, he still expected some trick, some lie or deceit of how this was not real, could not be real, and that you truly did fear and hate him for all he was, had done and could be. The gentleness of your tone and kiss to try and reassure him calmed the voices within for a time but never enough; he needed you by his side always and how you wished you could be but you did love the Opera Populaire for what it was and could be, almost as much as you loved it's resident Phantom.

Today was one such day; a break in rehearsals and you slipped away to that small side room, knowing that any second the secret passage would open and Erik would appear. You could always go down yourself, how many times had you walked it to the being able to do so in your sleep if necessary, but you knew how much the man loved to be able to whisk you away and who were you to ruin that for him? The Phantom, still spoken of in terrified whispers and hunted by those who knew and remembered, had so few joys as far as you could tell, things that truly could bring him happiness and peace in his admittedly lonely existence; to take this one away was far too cruel to you and thus you would not. Part of you wished instead that you could do more.

You had only been waiting for a fraction of time when there came the familiar sound of the hidden doorway opening and familiar touch upon your hand. Some days he grabbed you so fast and hard you could practically taste his desperation and need for closeness but this was not one of those days. His touch was light, almost hesitant, and you knew exactly what to do: you smiled and moved your hand to entwine your fingers in his, your tone soft and happy as you spoke, “Erik.”

“Songbird,” he responded and you were pulled close into a tight hug; you were surrounded by the scent of roses and old paper, ivory and water and wood.

And yarn; you could feel a familiar scarf against your face and could not help but smile brighter. Since you'd given it to him for your shared birthday he become stuck between wanting to constantly wear it and treating it like some precious treasure bestowed upon him by a god. Which you supposed made some sense considering his feelings about you. You of course were happiest seeing him wear it, able to see him enjoying your little present and know you had done well in making it for him. It added a little color to his darkness, a light for the man sometimes lost to the shadows but a man who nevertheless you loved dearly.

“Shall we go down to the lair now?” As much as you loved being in his arms, and you truly did, the secrecy of his hideaway under the operahouse gave you both the space and ability to do more than this small room ever could.

The fact you would ask brought a shiver of delight to him and a smile to those ruined lips of his. It was like a puppy being offered a walk in the park by it's master, an apt enough comparison considering how he reacted to you. Luckily you liked that in him, the excitement he seemed to get from the acceptance you gave and the lack of fear you had for him.

He moved with the swiftness and ease of exactly what he was and the two of you were soon off, practically gliding over steps to go down, down, down deep below, into catacombs, into an abyss lit only by candlelight, past traps that were sent not to harm you but to prevent any from following, to an all too familiar lake. You settled into your seat upon the boat and watched him, unable to resist a smile at how he looked as he rowed you both across.

Once, near the beginning of this love you had found yourself in, you had offered to help only to see the strangest look of shock to cross his face. He had refused so verehemently you at first had been hurt before it had come out that rather he couldn't imagine making you do such a thing, that it was in his mind only right he do so for you and that you need only relax. The fact you had been hurt by his refusal even for a second had left him devestated in such a way that required quite a bit of cuddling and hair stroking and reassurance. It was one of those things you found both funny and adorable about Erik: he, the Phantom, terror of the Opera Populaire, murderer and genius, could be so full of confidence and self-importance yet so easily fall to the deeps of despair and terror with the simplicity of love. The complexity of his character was fascinating and endearing, making you unable to tear your eyes away at times when the layers started to show.

The trip across was like that, full of you watching him, adoring his figure as again he looked more the imposing Phantom than the lovesick puppy, though every time he caught you staring with your adoring gaze, his face turned red behind his mask and you only continued to smile knowing it. His eyes would widen, it was hard to miss as someone who so often looked at him, watched him. He brought you to shore without a word though you were sure his mind had a thousand and one things he wished to say to you, sing to you, beg of you.

Erik stepped out first and like the gentleman he really was he offered his hand to help you step out of the boat. This too was something you could do on your own, as easily remembered as every other step of this trip, and again it was something you would never try to take from your phantom. You placed your hand in his and saw him smile so brightly and happily; you stepped off the boat and into his arms once more. Any chance he had he seemed to take in hugging you, holding you, as if afraid that if he didn't keep doing it you might prove to be an illusion, a dream he conjured up from nothing to replace the dark and painful memories of his love for Christine Daae. You of course were indeed real and warm and loved him even knowing what had happened, what he had done. Because behind the rumors and stories and fears, you had found a man who was desperate for love yet never knew how quite to get it or give it healthily.

After he seemed convinced for the moment that you did care and would be going nowhere, Erik led you into the house proper and you sat in the sitting room, watching as he went back to being the adorable Erik that you knew and adored. His fluttering around, muttering about how best to please you, what he would do for you, what kind of food he should make, what kind of music he should play. Part of you was half tempted to tell him to just sit down with you so you could cuddle for a while; he always seemed to like that as did you, though if it went on for too long he would start to cry and weep about how he was not worthy of such softness, of how he was a monster and you were a sweet songbird, that he was something even his own mother could not love so how could you? You did not mind reassuring him of course, it was normal enough for you both at this point and being able to give your sweet traumatized Erik some love and reassurance was something you were happy to be able to do. But tonight, tonight you wished for something different.

You smiled as he made another pass across your path and you spoke up, making sure to be heard, “Erik, I do have a request.”

This immediately stopped him in his tracks and he turned to you, wide eyed, before falling to his knees before you. Requests from you were rather rare; you did not often ask much of him, because he always had hundreds of ideas and plans, because you knew he liked having some control in his life and this was an easy one, because you did not like to impose or possibly trouble him. But he jumped at any request you did make and fumbled to take your hands in his, staring right into your soul it seemed.

“Your Erik is listening, anything my songbird wants, I will give you; just ask and it will be done.” He didn't slip entirely into third person which was a good thing in your book; his emotions sometimes got so overwhelming he couldn't help it and you didn't mind but you didn't want to overwhelm him today.

You squeezed his hands with another smile. “I wish for you to teach me to play something”

He seemed taken aback, blinking a few times and staring at you in confusion. But of course, you were a songbird, a singer, and that was all you truly really ever asked to be; you liked to be part of the choir, to let the music fill your lungs and fill the air. You'd never before expressed an interest in learning more than that but you had listened to him play so many instruments, he loved to show off to you like a peacock shows off it's feathers to a potential mate, and you found yourself curious to try. No, you were more curious to be able to try to play alongside him one day; you may never reach the level of a natural talent like his but you wanted to at least try.

“You...you wish to learn an instrument?” He asked his words slow and measured.

You nodded and he let go of you so quick you felt you might get whiplash. Especially as he quickly ran from the room like his cloak was on fire. The speed with which he moved, grabbing case after case from another room and placing them all on the coffee table before you was honestly both a bit shocking and very amusing. You had a pile of them soon enough, of slightly different sizes and shapes, but you recognized them all as instrument cases; you tried not to giggle or laugh as he continued this until you had so many to choose from it was a bit silly. And finally he stood still, breathing hard and looking at you expectedly, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement and energy.

“Which would you like, songbird? Your Erik can you teach any instrument, Erik is very good at all of them, Erik is a master of them and Erik would love to be able to teach you, just please tell Erik which you want please please please?” Oh no now he was completely into third person.

You stood up and gently took his face in his hands, careful not to upset his mask since it would help him ground a bit better. “Breathe, my angel, please. I already know which instrument I want to play but if you're going to teach me then I need you to breathe and not panic so, alright?”

He whimpered, a good whimper, maybe too good of one; he shuffled on his feet and closed his eyes at your touch before nodding. You would take it and smiled before kissing him lightly upon the lips. It was hard to resist such a good boy.

“Which...which one does...do you want Er...me to teach you?” he asked, trying his hardest to pull himself together, you could see it; he bit his lip and looked at you with such expectation and love it made your heart flutter. How could one man be so precious and so adorable and so dangerous all at once?

You smiled again and pulled away from him, the whine he gave was not a happy one but he did not hold you back; you leaned down to the table and gently pulled from it one case in particular, opening it to reveal a beautifully crafted violin. His eyes widened at your choice and you did not need to ask to know why; you had heard all the stories, all the legends. Knew that Christine Daae's father was a known violinist, that Erik had once used that knowledge and that violin to try to entrance her in the graveyard after the disasters before. And thus there was a shadow that clung to it, so much so that while you knew he had it, you had never heard him play it; you supposed it held too much of a memory of his failures, of his darker side, that he had been too afraid.

You were not though. Gently, reverently, you removed the instrument from it's casing and took up the bow with one hand. It felt cold in your hands and heavier than you expected but you refused to back down now from your choice. You turned your gaze back to him, still smiling, still hopeful as you spoke, “I wish you to teach me this one, Erik.”

“I...” he seemed to be in some shock but at least he stayed in first person; he opened his mouth only to shut it again, emotions running across his face at incredible speeds.

He cleared his throat, tried to collect himself, and attempted to speak again, “Are you sure? There are better ones I can teach you.”

You both knew that was a lie. Few were as beautiful as a violin when played right; only the piano and organ were more precious and close to his soul as that violin. But memories were a terrible thing and there were things Erik still never did that you suspected were from that terrible, terrible experience.

You were resilent though and stubborn, shaking your head. “I really wish to learn the violin, please Erik? I couldn't imagine learning from anyone else, for who else could possibly be as good as you are at playing it. And I have heard such beautiful things when a violin and piano play together by those whose skill are no doubt less than your own and so surely with your instruction...” You were not playing fair with him. He could be fluttery and excitable and oh so absolutely adorable and lovable with you but you knew there was a pride there and a part of him that did wish so terribly to be able to teach you. And here you were, tantalizing him on both regards, drawing on those parts of him in hopes of getting what you wanted. You could see in his expression the fight between doing so, allowing his pride to win out or his fear.

“But,” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper, a fearful small thing and you were reminded how sensitive your phantom truly could be.

It hurt you and you lowered the instrument, approaching him. “Oh Erik, sweet angel, I truly wish to learn but I don't wish to cause you actual distress, I promise.”

He looked up at you and your eyes met; you smiled gently at him, lovingly, and he bit a ruined lip. You wanted this, you truly did and you wanted it to be the violin but if it really was so hard on him to teach you, if pushing it would only hurt him more, you supposed you would need to let it be. Because it wasn't worth harming the man you loved so much.

Finally a sigh left him and he shook his head. “No, my wonderful songbird, I...I will teach you. Your Erik will do anything my songbird wishes of me.”

A smile formed on his face and you felt your heart swell with how cute it made him. Any expression of happiness was always a good one to you and you nodded, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, mon ange.”

Erik's heart fluttered at the kiss and his smile grew before he cleared his throat again. “Now let's see about your stance.”

You did not expect so much touching yet one he took a deep breath to compose himself his hands moved along your body, adjusting it, moving your arm, your head, the instrument so that it was cradled just right, that your fingers were in the right positions. Your skin heated up as he placed his hands on your waist and commanded, not asked, you to play. “A few notes, just to start.”

You did as instructed and only got in a few before he clicked his tongue and stopped you, readjusting you slightly. “No no no, relax, let the music fill you like when you sing. But instead you make the violin sing for you; caress it, feel it, the bow is an extension of your body, not simply a tool. Now again.”

Again you tried and felt his hands on you. They were warm, even through your dress, and your heart pounded hearing his breathing in your ear. You knew you were far from perfect, this being your first time, but it was better than you expected, because he had made sure of it. But it was strange to you; learning was something you had asked for, wanted, and you knew he could be passionate about teaching, something you always had been able to gently dissauage in him when it came to your singing. But perhaps the closeness, the actual physical contact, made this feel all the different, and you couldn't help but think as well how warm his breath was and strong his grip and how you wished to obey that smooth, alluring, commanding voice. So different than your Erik, your sweet and often self conscious angel, your excitable and loveable man, who slipped into third person at the smallest embarrassment or flustering, who smiled so geniunely and clung and loved with such intensity but not like this. His intensity was normally of desperation and love; this was passion of a different nature and it made heat build up within your heart like a fire you were not sure you wished to have extinguished. It felt both wonderous and a bit strange.

He nodded behind you, making pleased noises that only made it worse inside you. “Good good, much better. Though you still are far too tense.”

He placed a hand over yours holding the bow and closed his eyes. “You know how it feels to become one with the music, I know you do, songbird, just translate that to this.”

You certainly tried. You tried to take a deep breath, to forget he was there, that he was touching you, that he was so close. To focus on the notes, the violin, the music; get a feel for each note, what it was like, what it felt like, which was which and how they sounded together and in sequence. But Erik was a horrible distraction and you could not focus with his hands on you.

“Erik,” you muttered and this seemed to be to no avail; perhaps he was too far into his own mind, the Angel of Music he once was creeping out and overtaking.

“Focus, my songbird.” His voice was so exact, how could you possibly disobey?

“Erik,” you repeated and felt your heart ready to pound out of your chest.

“Give into the music.” His grip tightened both over your hand and at your side and you had to work very hard not to shake and play incorrectly. Even with all this you did not want to do that.

He was not listening and you were not sure you could take much more of this. But you being the smart songbird you were, knew of one thing that your angel could never resist no matter what happened, a thing that was guaranteed to break him of anything and return him to his sweet blubbering self.

It took all of your strength to pull it off, gripped as you were by his strong callused hands, but you managed by some miracle to turn enough to press your lips to his. Erik's eyes widened behind his mask and you knew that his whole face was turning red, could feel his hands lighten their grip, his body start to stiffen as it often did when you kissed him only to relax again. And move to grab your arms and pull you ever closer; Erik was a master of music but he was a slave to your love and desperate as always for every bit of it he could get. To be kissed by you was something he seemed always to want more and normally you delighted in giving it to him, everything you could. All the love you could muster for this sweet broken man. But the fire inside you was still burning and the aching that grew from the way he had spoken, the power of the Angel of Music, and there was plenty of desperation of your own as you leaned into the kiss, into him, only to have to break away for the all too human need of air. You both panted and you could see how blown out his pupils seemed to be as he looked at you.

“Songbird,” he said in a low voice.

“No fair,” you muttered in response and bit your lip, “All too unfair.” How did this man, this phantom in the dark, have such power yet seem so delicate and sensitive so much of the time? You did not know the answer to it but you knew it was unfair, that such a beautiful soul had to feel and be trapped by the past, by insecurities, by others.

“What is unfair?” he asked and there was still an edge, a trace of the angel within the man.

“Everything,” you stated and looked back at him, into those eyes that roiled with such emotion and thought, at your Erik, “But especially that you only seem able to have confidence in yourself and your place in the world when it comes to music.”

That seemed to fluster him but you took the opportunity to kiss him again, no little light thing as the flame inside continued to burn. If not for the violin and bow in your hands you would have grabbed hold of him but you did not dare drop the precious instrument, for him and for yourself, thus you could only lean into him and want more while getting only that. You heard him whine behind the kiss but Erik did not resist it and that grip he had on you loosened only so he could wrap his arms around you. How he delighted in holding you, it burned you more because here was his soft side showing again and you felt a tear hit your face. Not your own, his; the kiss broke again and he was looking at you with that sad expression he would get when things started to overwhelm the man, filling him up and demanding to be let out.

“Songbird,” he repeated with the essence of the whine woven in.

“We will have to continue the lesson later.” When you can explain better, when you can tell him gently how much it made your heart race to feel his touch, your skin burn to feel his breath against your neck, your body yearn because of the power of the Angel's voice and the love for the man. But right now you could not, need was too strong and he nodded all too quickly, sidetracked so easily by you.

He let you go long enough for you to be able to put the violin and bow safely away and close the case but not a second longer. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close and picked you up, burying his face in your neck. “Your Erik wishes to be loved by you, please.”

“I wish to be loved by you as well, mon ange,” you whispered to him.

That's all you needed to say. The instruments and music were left behind as he carried you off to his room, to make music with you of a different type.

[localgremlinboy]

I have been sitting on these for a long time because I wanted to have some more varied stuff but I haven't had time to write anything! So here's what I've got! Honestly these are some of my favorites

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6]

- Whenever he's kicked out of an area or event, Oswald proceeds to start shoving anything not taped down into his pockets. He doesn't need the stuff, he just likes to be petty and ruin it for everyone else

- Bane has done a series of infomercials for various products & services that only air on late night product channels. Alfred is the only batfamily member who knows, he was doing laundry late one night and nearly lost it

- Mr Freeze writes restaurants/companies when they wrong him. Like nice formal letters, signing them and everything

- The Joker has an imdb page. Actually a lot of the villains do but like the Joker has one he updates with fun facts. Who says they're accurate but they sure are fun

- Riddler freaking hates puppets. Their soulless eyes say it all. He refuses to or "work" with puppets. That being said, Scarecrow has chased him around with Scarface once or twice "for science"

- Scarecrow has and still does write letters of recommendation for his ex students. He freaking still has Gotham University letterhead paper and everything. Honestly some of his students have gotten the job from his letter alone (maybe it's out of fear but like it's still a win), and they 100% send Jonathan thank you gifts in Arkham. He's got one of those dorky teacher scrapbooks where he keeps the thank you letters. One of his students even crocheted him a little plush scarecrow. It's like, they don't love his crimes but you know that was ol kooky professor Crane for ya

- Harvey kind of has a soft spot for sitcoms, he used to watch them with his mom growing up. One of their favorites, ironically, was night court

- Bane has a famous chili recipe and he makes one batch a year. It's fucking delicious! He makes an edition with meat and a vegetarian version too. Of course consults Ivy for home grown excellent quality vegetables and she gets first dibs in return

- the Joker has not one but TWO released albums. One is essentially a mash up of all the serenades he's made Batman listen to over the years and the other one is called "The Holidays with the Joker: Christmas selects edition"

- Scarecrow's car is a mess. He's got a work truck of course but his main car is like a wood panel sedan that he's been driving since he was a professor and refuses to get a new one. It's a fucking mess, he has like clothes, papers, garbage all over the place. He still has term papers he forgot to grade under the seats. Riddler HATES his car, with a passion

- Riddler has gone through the pain and suffering to teach all the rogues how to use discord, he had once hoped it would make their crimes more efficient. They have a group chat but it's mostly suffering on his end as all chaos ensues

- Scarecrow owns a Halloween train village he has set up in one of his lairs. It plays instrumental versions of Halloween songs as it goes around the track

- Joker will push open cups off of tables because he can. He's got the chaotic energy of a cat awake at 3 am

- Riddler and Scarecrow's friendship starts like super formal and co worker like but after like a year and a half, evolves into a weird symbiosis. Jonathan points at random ass objects or books and goes "you" when he's with Edward. Eddie has a habit of fixing or picking debris of Jonathan, usually when they're crimeing. Also one time, they were both startled so bad by Batman that Scarecrow jumped into riddler's arms like Scooby & shaggy, except they both held onto each other for a second before toppling over. Robin then unmasked them like scooby doo

- Harley & Ivy are frequent Panera customers and often get pick up orders there under "codenames" given by Harley. All the workers know who "Plantmamma" and "the quinnanator" are but like they tip great and everyone should get to enjoy soup

- Bane has one CD in his car, it's a 2010 greatest hits CD that someone accidentally left in there. Who you ask? He has no idea

- Harley has a getaway playlist preloaded in her phone for car chases

- Riddler and Scarecrow watch reality tv/game shows together. They binged all of survivor and the amazing race in a year. It was a joke at first but they both got really into the shows. They have both applied to be on amazing race together and unfortunately haven't been called back

- Joker still uses cassettes (and vinyls probably) except he mixes them himself and labels them all stupid titles like "Birthday bash #9", "Baty's mix", "what's the deal with airplane food?", "etc". But he also has a tape recorder and makes notes to himself and labels those ones too, so he gets his personal notes mixed up with his music jams all the time. He goes to put on some epic clown music and instead it's a twenty minute recording he made of himself eating fruit loops

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 47: Unrepentant Vagabonds

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+, mdni. See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings.

a/n: The gang runs into an old friend, meets the Mad Mage, acquires a new pet, and plays a game of poker. This chapter was me trying my hand at some more campy/fun interactions. ALSO I got sidetracked and started a Gale fic, because the pipeline is real. You can read it here.

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The Undermountain is just as unsettling as Celeste remembers. 

Halaster’s lair, according to Gale, was nestled far within a network of hidden passageways and tunnels. To Celeste’s dismay, they entered through the alley of the Yawning Portal again, Astarion reaching for her hand tentatively as they descended through the hatch. Thankfully, they took a left before continuing down the same path Astarion had brought her down weeks ago, and soon were deep enough underground that Celeste was confident Vanrakdoom was too far to be of concern anymore.

For most of the trek, Celeste kept her eyes to the gray granite floor, taking extra care when they’d descend the railless staircases, Astarion’s palm on the small of her back to reassure her. The lower they went, the colder the atmosphere became, and the familiar scent of damp earth filled her nostrils. Throughout their journey, their companions stayed silent, aware that one misplaced step or a too-loud word could result in certain death. 

Finally, Gale presses a hand to a wall in a dark corridor and disappears through, the rest of them following through the illusion apprehensively. Illuminated by a series of acid green torches, the hall glows faintly as Gale approaches a bolted shut door, and raps his knuckles against the wood three times. 

“Master Blackcloak is not accepting solicitors!” A small voice snarls as the door cracks open. A quasit stands in the frame, looking up, assessing. 

“Hello, Shovel.” Gale’s arms are folded as he looks down at the creature. 

“Is that really you, Meaty? You fleshbags all look the same to Shovel!” 

“Shovel?” Celeste whispers to Astarion, raising an eyebrow. 

“A quasit.” Astarion answers in a low voice. “Demons trapped in service to whoever summons them. This one’s called Shovel.” 

“Yes, but why Shovel?”

“She came with the name. Felt wrong to change it.” He responds with a shrug. 

The demon continues on in a shrill tone. “And you brought Fangy!” She springs forward, wrapping her claws around Astarion’s calf.

“Oh, for the love of-get off!”

“Seems quite taken with you.” Celeste observes. 

“Astarion let her eat his camp portions.” Karlach reveals, “he’s more softhearted than he lets on.” 

“Let’s not get carried away, my fiery friend. After all, stale bread was wasted on me,” Astarion says as he struggles with Shovel, who appears to be having fun biting at his leg, hanging from his pant leg as he shakes his ankle wildly.

“He made a mess, lying on his cot and tossing food about like he was feeding the pigeons.” Minthara says disapprovingly.

“Can you all shut up?” Astarion snaps, finally dislodging the quasit. 

“Gale, why does Halaster have Shovel?” Shadowheart asks. 

“Well, we…arranged a trade. Halaster is a collector of creatures, Shovel needed a home, and I…” he pauses, bringing a fist to his mouth as he clears his throat, “was in need of night orchids.”

“Cuuuuttteee.” Karlach elbows Gale in the ribs as his cheeks begin to turn pink.

Shovel guides them through the door, scurrying down the hall.

“Come, Meaty, master Halaster is eager to see you.”

They follow the quasit inside and Celeste’s gaze drifts to the walls, lined with displays of various oddities, skeletons, and jars of mysterious substances. 

“A little unnerving…you don’t think he’ll add us to the display?” Astarion murmurs, taking in the surroundings. “Gale, how did you get tied up with an archmage of such an ominous reputation?” 

“Believe it or not, Elminster introduced us.” 

“Elminster?” Astarion asks, surprised. “I would have thought the wizard too much of a do-gooder to associate with someone in the Undermountain.”

“Only proves how little you know about Elminster, then.” Gale says as they reach a vast, circular room, filled with mechanical contraptions, piles of books, and large aquariums of strange-looking fish. At the far end, a man with long white hair and a frumpy wizard’s hat bends over a terrarium, dropping in a beetle for a fat, purple toad waiting with an open mouth at the bottom. When he notices them, he leaps forward, rushing toward Gale and engaging him in a vigorous handshake. The mage’s wrinkled face contorts into a pleasant expression, his gray eyes gleaming.

“Mystra’s Chosen returns!” He exclaims. “Your tressym has made herself quite at home here, once again, in your absence.”

“I appreciate the favor, Halaster, but we’ve discussed this. I’m not Mystra’s Chosen anymore.” 

“Right, well. You’re still my chosen insurance policy.” Halaster waves dismissively.

Shadowheart’s head jerks up. “What is he talking about, Gale?” 

“In the case of Halaster’s untimely death, the magic of the Undermountain would destabilize. That alone should deter anyone from challenging him, but just in case…Mystra’s Chosen has the power and knowledge to set the…security system back into place.”

“But you’re not her chosen.” 

“Tell that to him.” Gale points a thumb at the mad mage. 

“What makes you so confident the wizard wouldn’t kill you and take the Undermountain for himself?” Minthara asks Halaster curiously. 

Halaster’s attention settles on Gale with a chilling expression. 

“He won’t.”

The two exchange a warning look, silently communicating thousands of words, and Celeste looks away uncomfortably.

“Sounds like a nasty contingency plan…for both of you.” Wyll says. 

“Who have you brought for me, boy?” Halaster asks, tiring of the conversation as he peeks around Gale, gaze lingering on Celeste and Astarion. 

“These are my friends. We need your help to gain access to Vanrakdoom so we can permanently put an end to Shar’s operations here.” 

“I would like nothing more than to evict the Lady of Sorrows’ followers from my dwelling.” Halaster strides over, hands clasped behind his back as he circles the group like a carrion bird. “Did you know Shar enthralled me and tried to convince me to steal Mystra’s silver fire a century ago? Things got very messy. Had to go to the Hells to rescue Elminster to make up for the ordeal.” He says to Gale. 

“I’m well aware of your history, Halistar-”

“I’m not.” Nocturne cuts him off. “You rescued Elminster from Avernus?”

The more Celeste came to know the tiefling, the more she admired her thirst for lore, collecting stories like one would collect precious gems.  

“I tried, but Alassra Silverhand beat me to it, bastard. Still, Mystra forgave me and cured me.”

“Cured you? Of what?” 

“Of my insanity, of course.” 

“Right...” Wyll says under his breath, pulling Nocturne closer with a subtle touch on her belt. 

The Mad Mage pauses in front of Celeste and Astarion, his eyes narrowing. 

“You two reek of the heavens.” He lifts a wrinkled hand to lift up Celeste’s chin, and she stiffens, trying to remain composed as his gnarled fingernails come dangerously close to grazing her skin. He releases his hold on her and turns to Astarion. “And a fresh blood oath. Intriguing.”

“He can smell magic?” Celeste hears Karlach whisper to Gale behind her. 

“Our lives are bound.” Celeste explains before more intrusive questions might be asked, “In order to free me from an oath my father made to Shar before my birth.” 

“Broke Fangy, she did!” Shovel squeals, pointing an accusatory claw in Celeste’s direction. “Used to stink of blood and sweet undeath, now just rotting fleshbag like the rest!” 

“A free vampire spawn?” Halaster muses, somehow gleaming the information from the quasit’s lamenting. Perhaps in their madness, he and Shovel had formed their own language. “And cured, at that. Rare, indeed.”

“More or less.” Astarion mutters, avoiding eye contact.

“How?”

“I’m Selûne’s granddaughter, in a sense, I’m Moonborn. It was the moonmaiden’s promise, in exchange for freeing me from Shar’s claim.” 

“I doubt he needed much convincing to be bound to such an alluring anomaly of magic...” He muses, before addressing Gale. “I’d love to add them to my collection.” 

“Excuse me, we’re not cattle to be bought and sold!” Astarion snarls. 

“He’s right, Halaster. I brought them as a courtesy, so you might witness the way the weave has affected them, but I believe you’ve misunderstood my intentions…”

“Fine, fine.” The archmage grumbles, “Though the last of her kind and the first vampire spawn to walk in the sun in millennia, you’ll have to excuse my enthusiasm.”

“As long as my head doesn’t end up stuffed on your wall of horrors.” Astarion says in disgust. 

“Come,” Halaster ushers them into an adjoining room, “I have maps.”

On a spacious table, a replica of the Undermountain is on display, hidden tunnels and passageways carved into its surface. Dependent on the angle of viewing, fragments disappear to reveal more detail. Beside lies a hand-drawn map, notes scrawled in the margins. Underneath the table, Tara naps in a wicker basket, her wings wrapped around a small, black mass of fur naps, its back rising and falling with its breath. The creature’s three tails hang over the side of the basket, appearing almost like tentacles.

“Is that a…displacer beast?” Wyll inquires with some disbelief. 

“What? Oh, yes.” Halaster says, disinterested. “An orphaned cub. I traded a Wish spell to a Warlock for it. Seems to have taken to the tressym quite nicely, but despises me.”

“Her mothering nature does usually get the best of her…” Gale muses. Tara yawns and stretches before blinking at him expectantly, and he stoops and scratches behind her ears. 

As if summoned, the kitten - roughly the same size as Tara herself - jumps out of its bed and sniffs at the air before weaving between Celeste’s ankles. 

“Seems to prefer the company of women.” Halaster grumbles. 

“Nasty kitty.” Shovel growls with displeasure. The displacer beast turns on her, tackling her to the ground and chewing on her leg.

“Master!” the quasit shrieks in dismay, before Halaster plucks the small creature off by the scruff and shoves it towards Celeste. 

“Take it.” The archmage says, “They’re expensive to feed.”

“I-” Celeste is interrupted by the creature being forced into her open arms. She squeaks in surprise, adjusting her grip as the cub squirms. 

“A fine gift.” Minthara says, “A formidable ally, given the right training.”

“Absolutely not!” Astarion cries, taking a step back when it swats at his curls from Celeste’s arms. 

“Astarion, it’s just a baby.” Karlach says, suppressing a smile as he struggles to keep himself out of its reach.

“That will grow into a full sized, uncontrollable beast!” He seethes, ducking as the cub gives his hair a pull. “A bloody abomination is what it is.”

“Oh come now, it’s the size of your head. What’s it going to do, nibble your ankles to death?” Wyll mocks him, assessing the small creature. 

“I will not be hunted in my own home.” 

“Well, it’s my home, so I suppose that settles it.” Gale announces, giving Shadowheart a wink. She beams in response and holds out her hands towards Celeste, requesting a turn with the cub. 

“Fine. Can we be done with the godsdamned petting zoo? I thought we came here for information.” Astarion mutters, eyeing the animal with a scowl.

“Yes, quite right. Down to business.” Gale agrees, joining Halaster at the table. He leans over the map as the archmage traces a route with his finger. 

“If you take this passageway, you’ll gain covert entry to Vanrakdoom. I’ve installed several traps planted along the passage, but you should have no trouble…”

———————————————————————

After their meeting with Halaster, he granted them a quick portal back to Gale’s Tower. Although the amenities of the attic paled - and paled was hardly a strong enough word - compared to the lavish offerings of the House of the Moon. When Celeste dropped her bag on the bed, she somehow felt at home.

With a frown, Astarion walks over to the boarded windows, splintering planks of wood as he pries them backwards. The nails that held them in place separate from the frame, with sharp cracks, leaving behind tattered and peeled wallpaper in their wake. He discards the wreckage in the corner and continues his demolition, lip jutting out in determination. The moon filters through what could only classify as a gaping, square hole in the wall, and Astarion smiles at his work. 

Celeste pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“We’re going to get all sorts of pests in here.” 

———————————————————————

Upon discovering Astarion missing following a much-needed nap, Celeste makes her way downstairs to find him sitting at the kitchen table with their companions, engaged in an unfamiliar game of cards. Tara and the displacer cub are tucked away beneath the table, dozing atop Gale’s feet as he appraises Astarion with a disgruntled expression.

“Darling, come, join us. You can watch me decimate our friends at Azoun’s Hold ‘Em.” 

Astarion fans his cards in one hand and holds out the other to invite her into his lap. She takes a seat, crossing her legs, and he secures her to him with an arm wrapped around her middle, showing her his draw. 

She examines the game laid out before her. “I’ve never played.”

“Funny, Astarion said the same thing when we started an hour ago, and somehow he’s won every hand.” Gale says irritably, not looking up from his cards. 

“You were a fool to believe a vampire who spent nearly two centuries haunting the taverns of Baldur’s Gate would not know how to gamble.” Minthara’s glare shifts towards Astarion as she speaks. 

“Ah, ah! Former vampire.” Astarion drawls, sipping at his wine and returning his attention to Celeste. “Lucky for you, it’s a simple game.” He hands his cards over to her so she can see what he’s holding, then drops the arm at her waist a bit lower to rest his hand on her hip. “All you have to know is that I’m going to win.” 

Wyll snorts, drawing a card from the top of the deck and laying it face up on the table. “Alright, show ‘em.” 

“Watch this.” Astarion purrs in Celeste’s ear, before tossing three nines out. He grins as Gale drags a palm across his face and slams his head against the table, slapping down a pair of twos and a seven. 

“Bullshit!“ Karlach roars, rising from her chair. “That’s your third time with pocket triples.” 

“Easy, Karlach.” Shadowheart says with an amused smirk, leaning behind Gale with her arms encircling his neck as she observes the game. “You’ll get him next round.” 

“Dishonest wretch.” Wyll mumbles. 

“Is it so hard to believe I’m just lucky?” Astarion asks with feigned offense, gold scraping against the surface of the table as he rakes in his winnings. “Honestly, you all take this so seriously. It’s like you hate fun.” 

“Easy to say when you’re winning.” Karlach grumbles. “Sleep with one eye open tonight.” 

“Oh darling, I don’t sleep at all.” Astarion chuckles. Under the table, he parts the slit of Celeste’s dress and slips a card into the waistband of her underwear, snagging its corners on the lace. The edges scrape against her skin and his fingertips trace circles on her thigh, a quiet request for her discretion before he draws his next hand. 

“I never agreed to helping you cheat,” Celeste hisses in his ear. 

“But you agreed to be bound to me for a lifetime. Surely you considered the consequences.” He counters in a hushed tone, nipping at her earlobe. “Be a good girl and I’ll split the pot with you, hmm?”

She scowls as he deftly exchanges a ten from his hand with the queen at her hip to complete his royal straight.

“Oi, lovebirds! No private conversations. Let’s keep things moving.” Karlach gripes, pulling a cigar from her pocket and trimming it. “Someone get me a light, please. I can’t do these myself anymore.” She says, holding it out. Before Gale can utter a spell, Celeste reaches forward, ignoring Astarion’s grunt of surprise as she shifts in his lap, and takes it from the tiefling. As she flicks her wrist, it ignites with a pop, and a cherry burns at the end. A trail of smoke drifts trails behind as she hands it back.

“Impressive.” Karlach examines it before puffing at it satisfactorily. “New trick?” 

“What else have you learned?” Gale interjects, leaning forward, eager to abandon the game in favor of discussion.

“I haven’t done a lot of experimenting.”

“Fascinating, nonetheless. I would surmise that after the ritual, your abilities may rival Aylin’s. If you were limited to enhanced skill with a blade and illusionary magic before, the expanse into even the simplest of evocation magic could indicate much further reaching-”

“Can’t this all wait?” Astarion whines.

“Jealous, all that power used to bring you back from the dead burned out before you could perform a few spells, too?” Shadowheart sneers. 

Astarion scowls, and his grip on Celeste’s waist tightens. 

“On second thought, perhaps I’ll collect my winnings and turn in for the night.” He says, snatching his bag of gold and hoisting Celeste over his shoulder. “After all, we have a day full of Sharran slaying ahead of us tomorrow. Best get some rest where we can.”

“What in the hells!” Celeste pounds at his back with her fist as she hangs upside down, the card in her waistband slipping loose and fluttering to the floor. Karlach stands, chair flying back against the stove, and points.

“I knew it!” She calls out, “You owe me fifty coppers, fucker!”

Astarion smirks and continues up the stairs.———————————————————————

a/n: I just finished my honor mode run and earned my golden dice and somehow, Shovel did not die during my playthrough? Our little quasit friend had so few lines (presumably because their health was so low, it probably isn't intended for them to withstand so much of the game?) that I found myself making up headcannon about her.

August was a long month, and I think we could all use a little levity (particularly since the next chapter may or may not be heavy. Don't say I didn't warn you.)

[thechaoticgoblin]

My take on the Bayverse Boys MOB!AU

Greetings from the woods!

This is something I’ve been working on for a while but always been unsure on posting. However, I’ve recently understood that we only live once so, why not try this?

Might become a series later on, who knows?

GENERAL

I am taking HUGE inspiration from Jade City and Six of Crows for this part, so stay with me on this.

- I’m team lab experiment. In my view it could very well be kept the way the movie has portrayed them. So, let’s begin with the principle.

- While I can see the turtles being hatched in the lab, I think Splinter wasn’t born there, but rather in a sort of pet shop but his reminiscence on that period in his life has always been kind of blurry. The only thing he remembers is that he was quite old by the time he was bought by a little girl named April and his father, becoming her pet. April has always been loving and careful with Splinter, and that he would always remember.

- At some point April’s father decided to start using Splinter for some of his experiments and that, once more, has been quite a blurry period in the rat’s life.

- The whole ordeal with the lab basically follows the bay!movies quite religiously until a certain point.

- One night, the four brothers ran out of the lair out of curiosity. It was on Halloween, the perfect night for them to get a glimpse of the outer world before being forced back into the sewers. Once out for what should have just been a small stroll out of their home, they all started to find new attraction for the world. The lights, the smells, the taste of the world above the surface was all too much for such small and inexperienced boys; but the most interesting attraction they found was a parade, the classic type you could find in the streets every mystical night of the year, with performers moving from one side to the other of the street. The boys ended up becoming part of it before even realising it. It could have been the best night of their lives, but none of the four boys knew that night would become their turning point.

- But it didn't take much for people to notice that they weren't children in costumes.

- the moment people understood, the boys were assaulted and it took all their willpower and strenght to get out of that situation, crawling back to the lair in tears and with bruises everywhere.

- the worse of them was Raphael, who someone had hit with a broken bottle, leaving a wound on the side of his face. He now has a scar, reminding him of that night.

- Of course, Splinter was furious for his sons' insubordination.

- he gave all four of them a different punishment, something he called the HASHI.

- But the thing is that Splinter learnt quite fast that he and his sons will never be accepted in the world, so he needed to find a way to ensure that, to some degree, his sons would be able to defend themselves. Did he find a book on martial arts in the sewers while sweeping the floor? Absolutely not.

- See, I like to think he came in contact with the Foot Clan by accident, in particular with Shredder.

- Let's say that the man was surveyign some of his men's activity down the docks and walked into splinter gathering food for his sons and himself.

- The man was flabbergasted.

- Now, Shredder isn's stupid. He knew about the experiements Sacks was making in the lab and, seeing a giant rat running around the docks, it doesn't take much for him to put 2 and 2 together.

- So he decides to take that opportunity.

- He approaches Splinter and the two -although with some reluctance on Splinter's side for obvious reasons- start talking.

- Splinter sees right then and there the chance to make himself and his sons not only able to fend themselves, but also a way not to live forever in the sewers.

- It takes a while for him to take a decision but he eventually sides with Shredder, joining the Foot Clan and learning from the man how to deal with a business.

- In a certain way, it was Shredder that introduced Splinter to the world of business.

- He also made sure Splinter and the turtles learnt martial arts

- Shredder is a patient man, after all, he will take what he wants, but he'll make sure that it will be done on his own terms, according to his needs.

- Splinter quickly rises in the organisation, becoming Shredder's collaborator. The old rat would go as far as to say he was friends with the man, much like the 2012 series,

- But I wouldn't be here to tell you this story if it had all ended well, right?

- Splinter finds out about Shredder true plans thanks to Donatello, who had learnt to hack into any computer and database. At first the boy had not understood, after all he had been little more than a hatchling back when he, his borthers and his father had been experimented on.

- but once he shows the rusults of his research to Splinter, boy, the rat is FURIOUS.

- cue fall out with Shredder (that is way too long to write about, but I will in the future. Maybe)

- After that Splinter splits from Shredder.

- His methods, quite different from the leader of the Foot Clan, made many men inside the organisation change their minds and side with him instead than with Shredder.

- So he quickly created his own business, always antagonising Shredder and the Foot.

- Splinter's whole persona changed after that betrayal, he doesn't trust anyone else after that.

- Apart from his sons and April, who he had met once more and with whom he has rebuilt a strong friendship, sometimes even referring to her as the daughter he never had.

- He led the organisation until a certain point before being assassinated by the Foot Clan.

- In his will, he had appointed Leonardo as his heir and successor, which wasn't very unexpected, but in truth the business has been somehow divided between the four brothers, in order to avoid any kind of bad blood between the four brothers.

Leonardo

You’ll never be half the man Splinter was.

- Leo was 15 when Splinter and Shredder had their fall out, at present he's 25 and main Head to the business since the moment Splinter died.

- He was actually the one who _found_ him dead in his office, and he still has nightmares about it.

- He has severe confidence problems because he thinks he'll never live up to the expectations that have been forced upon him, and if someone brings up his father in front of him, he WILL take it as a personal attack.

- His brothers secretly all think he has had it easier because he has always been Splinter's favourite,

- spoiler alert: he hasn’t.

- He had to set the example, being the one the others would look up to, he needed to be a second parent for his siblings, which sometimes led him to act like a dick to each one of them.

- Also, I don't think people point this out enough, but the man has an OCD so terrible he might go insane any moment if something isn't exactly as he wants it to be or if something goes in an unexpected way.

- In his mind, tho, outside he’s perfectly calm and collected.

- He's also the one who will opt for violence as a last resort, because killing isn't really his cup of tea, actually: it's too messy and he doesn’t like the dirty feeling he gets. Like, if a drop of blood falls on his jacket he'll be pissed. He much prefers leaving the reins to Raphael when it comes to it.

- What he DOES do is giving the order. There is nothing in the organisation that happens without his say so.

- Did I mention that he's a control freak?

- Literally nobody moves until he gives his command on an operation, whatever that is.

- He's also kind of spoiled, and he's not used to being told 'no.' He gets what he wants. End of story. And that applies to relationships too.

- Now, listen. He's lowkey the second-top-tear-gangsta-boyfriends, but he will always pick his family over anything or anyone. That is not up for discussions. You okay with it? great. You're not? the door's that way.

- That doesn't mean he doesn’t love, tho.

- I can see him having very few relationships in the past, all of them very serious ones, but he tries his best never to get his s/o into the business, because he knows things will get risky.

- After Splinter's death, he has cut off all ties.

- He can't, for the love of him, fall in love after that. Casual fuck? sure, why not. But love is off the table, because he knows that if he finds himself in the same situation he had been when he had found Splinter's corpse... Let's say that his mental state will only get worse.

Raphael

My kind of rebirth tasted like blood.

- Raphael just turned 25 rn, and while he and Leo can and will most likely bang their heads together in multiple occasions, he doesn’t mind that his brother is the actual lead of the business.

- ⁠He just cares to be respected and to be recognized as important in the business.

- ⁠He’s responsible for the dealing of weapons and in charge of taking care of the subjects that Leo thinks is right to eliminate for the wellbeing of the business

- ⁠Raphael used to have a very conflicted relationship with splinter, being the rebellious child that he is; but when his father died, Raphael developed severe depression and has been on meds for a few years.

- ⁠If you name his father, he’ll probably need to start therapy all over again, so please don’t do it.

- ⁠Anger issues stayed tho, and if anything, they worsened instead of getting better.

- ⁠He argues a lot with Leo when it comes to take action because diplomacy can’t be the solution to everything, sometimes you have to show that you’re stronger than others.

- ⁠But sometimes he takes things a bit too personally

- ⁠like that time when someone cheated on his brother and he wanted to hang them out the headquarters and kill the bastard who they cheated with in the worse way possible.

- ⁠he was told off, but he still managed to get the two involved in a severe accident and send them both to the hospital.

- ⁠did I mention that he’s fiercely loyal?

- ⁠Among his brothers, this man probably would rather die than betray his family.

- ⁠Does that include his s/o? it depends.

- ⁠If it comes down to choosing between his s/o or his family, meh…

- ⁠Blood runs thicker than water.

- ⁠He’s a passionate lover, always present when he needs to be, but it’s most likely that he will have jealous outbursts more times than he’s had breakfast.

- ⁠Fact is, he loves. A lot. He’s like a match burning. So either you understand that, and you burn forever, or he’s going to burn too quickly and the relationship dies.

- ⁠Now, everyone says that he’s in a toxic relationship

- ⁠I think so too, but not in the same way.

- ⁠I can see him being with this girl for something like a month or two and then problems starting.

- ⁠The thing is that this relationship at this point is hanging by a thread

- ⁠a very strong one, actually.

- ⁠They have a daughter.

- ⁠Raphael is the only one between his brothers to have a child (a legitimate one, at least), and he will kill for his daughter.

- ⁠Also, the child was born before Splinter died, and against all odds, he was happy to become grandfather.

- ⁠I think that’s important to mention that it’s extremely hard to have children with a mutant, so ofc everyone was happy

- ⁠but now he needs to figure out his relationship with the mother of his child

Donatello

Suffering feels religious if you do it right.

- Donnie has just turned 25 but his back feels like he’s 65

- ⁠Is actually the one who’s most mad about the succession after Splinter’s death and still feels kind of bitter over it

- ⁠responsible for the IS and trafficking of all sorts of information across the organisation and outside of it.

- ⁠Expert in hacking but also cyber security so he knows how to attack and defend on computing level

- ⁠has contacts all across the globe and can’t be bothered by anyone

- ⁠he suffer from severe anxiety but tries his best to keep it under control, no matter the amount of meds or weed that he consumes

- ⁠But still he will drink more coffee than water

- ⁠He also suffers from severe insomnia (same mate) and honestly? he can’t be bothered about it. (his brothers are trying to make him start an healthy sleeping schedule, tho)

- ⁠He had the most fucked up relationship with splinter and he grew up either being ignored or being mistreated, and that only made him lose more of his sanity than his life already had

- ⁠apart from Leo, with whom he has quite a conflicted relationship at times, he’s in good terms with Mikey and Raph, especially the latter since they are the “middle twins”

- ⁠Donnie is also in charge of the interrogations and torture (if it ever comes to it), but he’s very efficient at both

- ⁠As I said, everyone in the family has a twisted mind but he’s kind of the worse

- ⁠because he’s grown to be very reclusive of his feelings and so he has to let them out in some kind of way, right?

- ⁠Most of all, tho, he worries about the strategical and logical overview of the business and, even though he’s not in the best terms with Leo, he still is his right hand in making decisions that are pivotal to the organisation.

- ⁠Remember when I said that Leo is a control freak? this man too

- ⁠He also has a tendency to be pessimistic and paranoid so he has cams everywhere that he uses to make sure everything is good and all right.

- ⁠Will also do the same in relationships

- ⁠he has very low self esteem so he’ll never believe to be good enough for someone and that his s/o will cheat on him first chance they get

- ⁠so he takes precautions

- ⁠I can also see him being very hard to open up. He’s not shy, he’s just very hard to make him trust someone. He’ll think they want to try to get to him out of something they want and not because they’re really interested in him

- ⁠but when you do manage to get inside his ‘inner circle’ (it might take some time) he’s never going to let you go, be aware of that

- ⁠Still, the same drill applies to him too: will he ever choose his s/o over his family? unlikely.

- ⁠He’s not in a relationship at the moment but he doesn’t mind, he’s way too busy with work and with making sure his brothers stay out of trouble

- 100% has a scheming face (quoting Kaz Brekker)

Michelangelo

This darkness is my light.

- the baby of the family, how adorable

- ⁠He’s 24 and might as well be the one people underestimate the most

- ⁠He’s in charge of the communication department, and this man is good at what he does. Moves around the internal and external communication like a pro and he’s the top person you want to talk to when you have a problem

- ⁠except when he’s not in the right mood.

- ⁠This man can change his behavior in a matter of moments. Might be kind and smiling one moment and the next he’s going to hit someone with a hammer

- ⁠You have to pray he’s in a good mood if you ever want to ask him something

- ⁠The only one who can actually restrain his behavior is Leo. Mikey won’t listen to anyone but him and if you talk shit about his older brother he’s gonna throw fists.

- ⁠Don’t ever say anything bad about his family. He will hunt you down and make you regret your life choices.

- ⁠He’s the most loyal of his brothers. He will choose his family over and over again and there’s no way someone can make change his mind, no sir.

- ⁠He’s devoted to his family and yes, maybe he could make a few mistakes because he’s chatty most of the time, but he’ll make sure to fix everything to protect his brothers

- ⁠also he’s very protective

- ⁠He has ADHD and a dissociative personality disorder.

- ⁠He’s currently going to therapy but it’s not really helping, at least, that’s what he says

- he also likes gambling, he think he’s some kind of god of gamble. Legit.

-Has 100% played russian roulette or the knife game at least once

- ⁠He had a strange relationship with Splinter.

- ⁠His father loved him, and being the little one of the family clearly made him more in need of reassurance and affection, especially from his father

- ⁠But he also was overlooked quite a lot, at least by Splinter

- ⁠hence Leo becoming a sort of second father figure to him

- ⁠So while Leo is daddy’s boy, Mikey is his brothers’ boy

- ⁠Hence him being very protective of his older brothers

- ⁠Mikey has a lot of friends, like, A LOT.

- ⁠he knows how to read people and he knows how to manipulate them in the best way

- ⁠Be ready because this man takes pride in how well he can terrify someone or make them love him

- ⁠as about relationships,

- he suffers from erotomania (a form of delusional disorder in which an individual believes that another person is in love with them), so he’s being deluded one too many times but he’s had a bit of practice.

- ⁠He falls in love easily and hard, so he happens to often find his heartbroken because he can’t tell when someone is after him or after his money

- ⁠hence his brothers trying to teach him how to understand when someone is genuine or not

- ⁠he’s still learning

[thecreaturecodex]

Stegon

"Stegon render" © deviantArt user SuperSamYoshi, accessed at his gallery here

[Stegon is a Return of Ultraman kaiju that seems to be an homage to original Ultraman monster Seabozu. Both are skeletal dinosaur kaiju that are treated sympathetically, and Stegon uses a modified version of Seabozu's roar for a sound effect. This is somewhat striking because Stegon definitely kills people. Like, we see construction workers get melted. So I wanted my flavor text to pay homage to that, and to be a technically-against-the-rules-in-PF1e neutrally aligned undead. I'm also including a reference to a thematically similar kaiju who appears in the same series that I'm also intending to stat up in this project.]

Stegon CR 17 N Undead This creature resembles the skeleton of an oversized reptile, its stance quadrupedal. Its skull has a pointed snout and projecting teeth. Its bones are embedded in a tarry mass, giving the creature a bulky body.

A stegon is a chimeric undead creature made out of the bones of dinosaurs and other ancient megafauna. These bones are suspended in a black tarry mass, something like asphalt. When a bone bed is disturbed, not to uncover its secrets and learn about its former inhabitants, but in order to exploit the land, a stegon may rise to avenge the desecration of its grave. These grave sites are sometimes those guarded by an oxter, which can lead the two monsters to collaborating in their destructive vengeance. Once it has avenged itself, stegons tend to roam widely and target land developments, strip mines and other massive construction projects that devastate the land. As such, stegons are among the few undead creatures that are respected in druidic traditions, although a druid would be likely to try to lay the animal souls to rest after they have completed their mission.

Stegons typically attack their targets using their breath weapons and trampling feet. They can breathe a cloud of acidic mist. This acid is much more potent against flesh and bone than metals and minerals, and the gear of stegon victims may litter its lair. If creatures fight back, or attack it, it fights with its teeth and tail if cornered, but is just as likely to try to walk away, trusting to its natural armor and resistances to shrug off attacks.

Stegon CR 17 XP 102,400 N Colossal undead Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +24, scent Defense AC 31, touch 2, flat-footed 31 (-8 size, +33 natural) hp 300 (24d8+192) Fort +17, Ref +8, Will +16; channel resistance +2 DR 15/magic and bludgeoning; Immune acid, force, undead traits Offense Speed 50 ft. Melee bite +27 (2d8+16/19-20 plus 4d6 acid), tail slap +24 (3d8+8) Space 30 ft.; Reach 20 ft. Special Attacks breath weapon (60 foot cone, 18d6 acid, Ref DC 29, 1d4 rounds), trample (Ref DC 38, 2d6+24)  Statistics Str 43, Dex 10, Con -, Int 2, Wis 10, Cha 25 Base Atk +18; CMB +42 (+44 bull rush); CMD 52 (56 vs. trip) Feats Awesome Blow, Blind-fight, Great Fortitude, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Critical (bite), Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Multiattack, Power Attack, Skill Focus (Perception), Toughness, Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Climb +22, Perception +24, Swim +19 SQ organic acid Ecology Environment any land and underground Organization solitary Treasure incidental Special Abilities Breath Weapon (Su) When a stegon uses its breath weapon, the cone of acidic mist condenses into a 20 foot radius cloud at its origin point. This cloud obscures vision as a fog cloud spell and deals 2d6 acid damage every round to creatures and objects in the area (no save). This cloud lasts for 1d4+1 rounds before dissipating, and can be dissipated with strong or stronger wind. The save DC is Charisma based. Organic Acid (Ex) Acid damage dealt by a stegon’s breath weapon and bite deals minimum damage to creatures or objects made of stone or metal. It ignores the hardness of creatures or objects made of organic materials, such as wood or bone.

[serene-sun]

The Emeritus bloodline, and the devils

Chapter 4b of my series 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕱𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘

TW: mention of dead baby, details of murdur and sacrifice, mention of genitals and rapists

ENGLISH ISNT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

One of the oldest families in history, a bloodline said to have sprouted like a rose bush in the pull of blood under the divine crucifixion. The satanic church, the base of all Emeritus life, was essential to the family.

PaPa Emeritus, an unholy heir whom would soon sit upon the thrown of the beast. An old family, with old beliefs, rituals, traditions and heritage could never be forgotten…rather their message of sin was delivered through touch…or music. When a son is born, he is to reign as papa of the church. He will dedicate his life to his religion and people, and will be given a prime mover to gift the dark lord a new leader. 

Ghouls, devils, demons, which ever word you wish to call them, will be summoned amongst a pentagram to be dragged up form the fiery pits of hell by a mysterious masked mistress who remains anonymous. Devils that grew wild ideals were summoned at the birth of a son, The job of the ghoul is to work for their lord through the Emeritus family. Ghouls are feral and unruly creatures, to prevent the murdur or outrageous acts taking place by these inferno creatures, a bond would be put upon them. This bond is an ancient blood ritual, the papa will sacrifice a number of humans equivalent to the number of ghouls needed. An offering will be burned with the person during the sacrifice to bring upon a trait. For example, pure white rabbits symbolize innocence, charcoal will signal fire and wrath. The death of a virgin is key if you desire a new ghoul, a fresh soul tainted with the black oil of baphomets lair. 

The Emeritus blood is pure and sacred, as it shares half of what blood fills the fallen angel lucifer. Satans blood runs through this bloodline as they continue his work in a world he sees unfit. Creatures such as demons, vampires, strigoi, beasts and other entities share only little of his blood. This placed all Emeritus’s higher than any creature. 

The family has a dominate trait of each sin, every drop of emeritus blood swallows whole any normal traits. Emeritus DNA being much more powerful than an average humans.

With the chance of the lord, a daughter has only been born once, and she remains in exile ever since her mysterious death. 

There are many spirits special to this story, but there is the devil who brings the ghouls out of the pits of hell and into the cold human world.

Ajatar, one of the highest ranking devils.

A tall and curved woman, described only to be perfect. Her long black hair that curls at the end like wispy smoke. It is said that her eyes remain covered as they hold the final rays of heaven from the exile of Lucifer. A golden enchantment, that if you look into, you will be dragged away by hell hounds and locked away forever. Her pale skin is dressed in the finest of jeweled clothes, and a mask that covers her face. Her sword, long and sharp, carved from molten lava, slits the throat of any whom lie. She was created out of broken glass, molded together to kill man. She roams in the night, searching for men who are unworthy of life. Ajatar seduced them, humiliates them, and finishes it with a messy murdur. Some call her the karma god, or the revenge goddess. But most summon her to bring death or destruction upon someone. Often seen roaming the halls of the satanic temple, in her arms a bloodied still-born, skin as white as snow, for which she laments, constantly searching for an able womb to bestow her child upon.Others suggest she is seen slitting the throats of men in the halls, and dragging their nude bodies into the woods to be eaten by wolves. There have even been reports of her slicing the genitals of the filthy men, who fall guilty to rape and assault, and sewing them into clothes for the rich.

Ajater is known to push the lust in women over the precipice 

[blackbeeno3569]

I don't know what other people do on Mondays, but I made this neat map of the Lair...

Also you can find Whiskers there.

It's a logical continuation of this story:

LAYERS OF HOME

They were strolling through the forest, the weather was bright and sunny, calm and joyful. Spirits of fear and despair had their time off and they savoured it together, simply enjoying the day.

"...I've never spent that much time in the Lair until the Guardians almost chained me to it," Pitch was just saying.

"It has always been yours though, hasn't it?" Hazel asked.

"Well, in a way..." he shrugged, watching the spring nature around them, "I was one of those who built it. But... It was just a place where I returned to, time to time. Not like... a real home. At least I thought so. I didn't feel like I needed a home back then or that I needed to think about it. That became important only when they took that feeling from me," he concluded, touching a theme that was still painful.

Hazel knew that, so she smiled a bit: "Yet you have home, now."

"Thanks to you, I have," he smiled back.

"But you do have your own chamber there, don't you," she continued, still curious about the place she called home now, too, "which one in the Palace is it? You've never shown me."

But to her surprise he shook his head: "It's not in the Palace. And there's really nothing interesting about it, except maybe it's really far away from everything else. That can come handy sometimes."

Hazel chuckled and made a guess: "Then it's in the Lower Lair, right? The oldest part? And it will be somewhere in the bottom, because it will be one of the first chambers created?"

"Someone did their homework," he gave credit where credit was due.

"Take me there, if you can."

-----

The hallways were narrow, dark and descending in the series of steps. Some parts of the Lower Lair Hazel knew already. The Library, some of the storages, the kitchen... Then there were chambers that were closed and empty, whoever used them in past centuries was long gone.

"It's quite a labyrinth," she noted along the way.

"It's not that bad, you'll learn your way around," he answered over his shoulder and that made Hazel laugh.

"You know, it's one of the things I love about you. You can make the shopping list sound scary and sinister beyond measure - and yet you talk about this ominous, dark place like... well, like about a shopping list."

-----

Eventually they found the right door. Pitch opened them, really quietly for such an ancient piece of wood, and they stepped in.

"See, nothing interesting. I didn't take you here simply because there was no reason..." he explained.

Hazel looked around the small chamber. It was surprisingly simple and cosy. On the left there was just a bed carved from a rock, just like the whole room, with fur skins covering its surface and a woollen blanket neatly folded on the side. Hazel ran her fingers through the fur and glanced at Pitch with a silent question in her eyes.

He understood her inquiry: "From times before sheets. I've never really got to change it down here... Magic preserves things well."

Extremely well, Hazel thought. That meant these skins were thousands of years old. They seemed in a great shape, though.

Over the bed there was a niche with two wooden shelves that harboured few books and candles. Pitch could see in the dark perfectly, she knew that, but she also knew he preferred to have light for reading and working. He never explained her why and she never asked. But at least she understood the candles here. And on the other side of the chamber an old, weathered oil lamp sitting on the simple table with a glass that was a bit cracked, as if someone knocked it down on the floor once. Next to the table there was a chair and then only a pile of books on the desk. Hazel took one of them and opened it at random in the middle.

"Empty?" she looked up with surprise.

He watched her closely, when he admitted: "I haven't got to them for years. But before... I remember a lot of things. Some of them could be useful to someone else, too, others I don't want to risk forgetting as they could be useful much later."

She returned his gaze and then she slowly asked, the realisation dawning on her: "So... how many books in the Library are actually your work?"

"Quite a few," he said with a smile that could be almost called shy, "a lot of them on history, a couple on categorizations of our world, a few spell handbooks."

"How many did you give me to read without telling me?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Not that many, Hazel," he waved a hand, "you need to learn about our world from others, too."

"Will you tell me-?"

"I'll let you guess," he grinned.

She shook her head with a smile and put the empty book back. The chamber was a perfect picture of the feeling she had in his presence. It was also just as well hidden from the world under all the rest of the Lair in all its frightening glory.

"You were wrong, my love. This is a very interesting place. It's so very yours, so untarnished, it tells so many truths about you that I feel nearly guilty for standing here."

He looked away as if he needed a moment to accept what she just said and then he reached out a hand to her, which she gladly took. "If that's so, my dear, then you absolutely belong here. You are my new chapter and just you standing here... No one ever did before you. There was never a reason to invite anyone in, but you."

She let him draw her closer, a bit moved, to be honest. "What a sly old trick to take a girl to your chamber with a bunch of sweet words," she teased, nuzzling up against him.

"And yet look how well it works," he murmured back to her hair, not being able to hide the content tone of his voice.

One more little "mine" changed into "ours" so quietly that no one really noticed.

After all, they had each other to pay attention to, not the semantics.