#warlock!soap

[icyblogs]

flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. (chapter 2!) Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 7.2K [AO3] First chapter -> Next Chapter Warnings: dark fic!! dubcon touching, noncon kissing, mentions of death, paranoia, gaslighting, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot, reader is a little silly, johnny being an overall menace, ghost doing ghost things.

Time came and passed, but it was nothing discernable. Consciousness not quite ever being fully up and running the times you did briefly wake up. There were voices- you think- but it was hard to tell. And with the sound came the feeling of phantom hands, fingers trailing over your skin. Limbs being moved, the brief moment of pain being settled with hushed whispers of apologies. It was hard to think, hard to function. Darkness spreads. Sand trickles through the hourglass. The sun rises and falls, the hours turning into days. 

It wasn’t waking up with a gasp, that would be too theatrical. Too novel of an idea, of waking up so sudden and everything being fine and dandy. That you’d be up and raring to go. It was a slow process, one that made every nerve flare up at once- merely the process of peeling your eyelids open enough to have some sort of idea of what had happened to you. Blearily looking around from your limited vantage point, gaze floating around aimlessly, not able to properly focus on anything. The area was dimly lit for one- almost to the point of making it even more difficult to properly take a look at everything. 

An attempt to lift your head from the object below it- soft yet solid- was made before a jolt of lightning seemed to shoot down your spine, curling through your nerve endings and then back again, ending back at the nape of your neck. A choked whimper makes it out through clenched teeth, a grimace painting your features. Your brain feels like mush, surroundings blurring to the point of becoming unrecognizable. Not wanting to move your head, let alone anything above your shoulders in fear of retribution striking down yet again.

The sound of a chair creaking resounds throughout the room, and it was difficult to remember any sense of self preservation, eyes continuing to roll around in a weak attempt to figure out exactly what was going on. It was hard exactly to remember what had happened- you .. were somewhere. The mountains, right? Where were you–

“Took ye long enough.” Too loud though his voice was barely above a normal volume, and your eyes squeeze close as if that would cause the onslaught of noise to dissipate. “Ah ‘m sorry hen, forgot you’d still be a wee bit sensitive.” Hushed this time, and when you mustered the strength- his blue eyes were staring straight back at you. Distant thoughts drift through your subconsciousness. The.. half-elf, right? The blue was darker than you’d remembered: Iolite, sodalite, lapis lazuli in a swirl of an emotion you couldn’t quite catch before his brow furrows in what seemed to be concern. He looked familiar- though.. Different. More rough- more aged; his hair longer in this style, flowing down to the nape of his neck. Scars covered his face, though it was hard to pick which one exactly to focus on: the one by his chin, over his eye, adorning his temple. Your eyes fall half-lidded, struggling to remain in the present.

A frown graces your lips, one he was quick to lean forwards to do something about. Encroaching in your personal space like he owned it, like you were friends, like you anything but strangers. There wasn’t a moment nor opportunity to move as one of his large hands cups the back of your head, careful of the wound near it- his other hand coming up and wiping the crust from your eyes, his fingers almost trembling. His skin was warm, but rough. You could only stare dumbfounded, letting the man move you like a doll as your tongue darts out to wet your chapped lips. He watches the motion unblinkingly, his own lips parting in response, breath catching in his chest.

“Y-You..” A cough, resulting in swallowing a few times to get your bearings. Voice hoarse, like sand coating your tongue. Your mouth opens and then closes, repeating that a few times as you then sniffle. Feeling the familiar burn rise to your eyes, tears further blurring what was already starting to become disconnected from the world, one of his thumbs brushing away the moisture trickling down your skin. Trying to move, but your limbs weren’t necessarily cooperating. Like a puppet with its strings cut off, privy to his hands which seemed to be holding the strings. Everything felt heavy. Lost. Disconnected. “Where..?”

To his credit, his expression didn’t even once waver that you could tell. Eyes fervently bright, betraying his weak attempt at comforting you. His head cocks, leaning forwards and nudging at your face with his nose, a grimace painting your features as he inhales deeply. An elven custom you didn’t know about maybe? “Shh.. Sh.. Yer safe now.” One hand still cupping the back of your head he leans back for a brief moment, procuring a silver chalice. He starts to lift your head and upon seeing the immediate discomfort at the movement, he only coos, hand leaving your cheek. His eyebrows furrow, scanning your face, and then he takes a swig of the liquid.

There was but a brief moment of still air before his lips came crashing against yours. Any thought you might’ve had immediately leaves as sheer panic makes its way through the foggy seams instead. Wiggling like a mouse scrambling to try and not get caught in a trap it hadn’t fully been aware of. And like adhesive, his hand firmly sticks to and cradles the back of your head, his other pressing against your sternum when another attempt to feebly twist away was made. Lukewarm liquid spills down your skin, as he squeezes a bit harder, your lips parting in a garbled gasp as he bullies his way into your mouth, transferring the fluid into your system.

There was a shift in the room as his body hovered over yours. What you now vaguely recognize was actually water going down your throat, similar to his tongue as it seems to ignore your lack of hygiene, trying to steal your breath away, licking your teeth, your gums, trying to consume your essence like a dog getting a bone as a treat- like he was trying desperately to get your soul intertwined with him; to connect you two together. More water spills as the bed shifts slightly against the wall in a rhythmic pattern for but a brief moment, glassy eyes wide as you stare back at his blissful expression as he groans into your mouth.

It was maybe a minute at most but it felt like ages, dizzy and lightheaded as he finally pulled back from you. “See, ‘s all good, isn’t it?” The blue eyed elf cheeks were flushed, the connected string of saliva between the two of you being taken away as his tongue ran from the corner of your lips up to your nose. He then proceeds to rest his forehead against yours, his even breathing combined with your haggard ones in the small space, as if finally recognizing you weren’t responding to what he just did. “Need mor’ water, hen?” You think you were going to be sick, eyes once more rolling to the side to try and peer away from him, feeling weighed down to the bed by more than just his hands.

Disbelief. Panic. Terror. So many emotions washes over your features in an amalgamation of just a whirlwind of ‘what the fuck’. Your head was pounding, the only sound in the room was a consistent pulse, badump badump badump. Unable to stop the steady trickles of teardrops as they fall, and his head tilts slightly against your skin once more, falling forwards as he rubs his temple against yours, his facial hair tickling your cheek. He inhales deeply once more, unabashedly, before letting out what seemed to be a sigh of content.

He speaks your name softly, a hushed whisper. “Why’re ye so quiet?” The tears start to fall faster and you hiccup, facial expression crumpling. He immediately pulls back, eyes scanning your expression, his own filtering into one of confusion and then adjusting itself to an easy going smile. You were definitely going to be sick. “‘S Johnny, remember? None of them tears, ye hear me? There’s nae need for ‘em. You’re safe now, yeah?” 

Johnny? John. Ah. Right, that was his name. How could you have forgotten?

Johnny adjusts his hands, one coming up to cup your cheek, squeezing ever so slightly as you start to speak. “I don’ feel so good-”

“Need a bucket?” Another wave of confusion hits you as you squint up at him, watching as he continues to smile, thumb brushing away one of the many tears despite how they just seem replaced by more twofold.  It was getting harder and harder to tell what was real and what was not- he.. kissed you, right? Shoved his tongue down your throat so why was he acting like nothing had happened? Was it truly a custom you weren’t aware of? You weren’t friends- hell, you barely remember the guy besides he was the one that gave you that dumb list you’ve spent years of your life on. And along with his stupidly blue eyes. And dumb haircut. 

Stomach twisting and churning, gulping hard as your eyebrows pull together. He must’ve known something you didn’t because his hands left you, and in but a brief moment, you were over the side of the bed, emptying nothing but water and stomach acid into the steel of a bucket. Ignoring the searing pain shooting up your spine as you cough out phlegm, gagging as you spill your guts. Your throat felt tight, constrained and small as one of his hands held back your hair the best he could, the other gently rubbing your back- the heat of his palm prominent even through the thick fabric of what you were wearing. “I ken, I ken, it’s hard the first time. Gets better ye know, the more you come into contact with ‘im.” 

You only hack up more bile, sniffling as snot and tears run down your face, finding it hard to breathe as you rasp into the bucket. As if purging the waste and exiling it from your body. Eventually the fit dies down, as does the pain in your neck falling to a dull throb. Noticeable, but not enough to make you want to never move again. He begins to slowly lead you out of bed, easily handling your weight as you stumble around like a newly born faun, trying not to trip over your own feet as he leads you to an ornate bathroom. A light fixture buzzes on- gold, blinding. 

Nothing was really.. Getting explained. Despite your garbled and weak protests, he helps you use the bathroom, not bothering to look away as he helps you clean up. His broad frame crowding you against the countertop as he brushes your teeth, holding your stare as he does so. Smile widening as he makes you squeak, one hand spread across your jugular, the other making your eyes flutter around as he scrubs at your tongue and teeth, choking on the bristles when he goes back too far. 

And when he brings your befuddled form back to what you can now see is a bedroom of sorts- also grand, embellished. Larger than what anything you’ve seen before- than what you felt you deserved: it was easy to think you’re in Castle Waterdeep or Dragonspear Castle. Tucked away and brought to a place far above where a person of your status should be, somewhere that should’ve been inaccessible. During all this you try to talk to the man as he dragged you to one of the wardrobes; the questions you ask never getting a real answer- always something cryptic that you couldn't digest properly. Honestly it felt like riddles, like he was trying to imitate a sphinx- purposefully being cryptic to mess with your head further. 

“I- I can dress.. myself.” He only shushes you like you were some sort of fussy child, as if you didn’t know any better yet. Maneuvering you as he pleases, dressing you in a long, drapey gown, embroidered with gold, layers upon layers. Unashamedly pawing at skin, hands lingering far too long to be considered ‘gentlemanly’, squeezing as he pleases. You were dressed and adorned like some sort of lady of high nobility, extravagant jewelry hanging from your neck, from your wrists- loud and noisy, like a bell going off saying ‘here I am!’ every time you moved.

“You wan’ breakfast, hen?” His voice was a low murmur, nose rubbing against your neck absentmindedly, hands trailing down the long sleeves to your hands, interlacing the fingers together. “Of course ye do, you’ve been out cold fer a week.” He moves your hands to your stomach, chin hooking into place on your shoulder, body towering over yours. The bracelets chime in response. 

This..must’ve been some sort of fever dream.. Right? What was happening? Why was he here with you- so many ‘whys’, and yet no answer seems to be greeting you. Maybe this was the feywild, and you’ve fallen under a charm; perhaps this is just an odd hallucination. Or maybe.. The afterlife? The fugue plane, somewhere within the City of Judgement, waiting to be taken to the Crystal Spire, my soul to be judged and appraised by Kelemvor. 

There was only one reasonable conclusion- one that made sense considering you’d saw him all those years ago after the incident, like a grim reaper ready to claim its prize or like a devil scoping out its next contract- “Are you a Baatezu?” It was a mere mumble, and he huffs out a laugh, tightening his grip on you for a brief moment, before letting go and spinning you towards him. 

“Do I look like a devil to ye?” He muses, eyes filled with amusement. As if the thought of him being from the Nine Hells was humorous. He continues to smile despite your clear hesitance- so warm as it carves lines into his cheeks, his eyes crinkling. It felt so genuine; hospitable and welcoming that you almost had a hard time imagining him being a bad guy. This all must’ve been some big miscommunication right? Something got lost in translation; he.. He’s helped you. There’s a roof over your head, he has kept you alive for the past supposed- he hasn’t necessarily harmed you right? Kissed you sure- but he was just.. Giving you water. Johnny.. is just a bit too touchy for your liking, but harmless, you think- like an overzealous dog with too much energy to go around. 

“Well, maybe- I..” Your neck throbs as you eye him apprehensively, and then the same gaze drifts down to the bracelets donning your wrists, experimentally flexing your fingers, hearing the metals cling against each-other as your wrists move. “..I just.. I’m not dead?” That sparks a laugh out of him, a full bodied one that makes your ears burn with embarrassment, faltering as you start to backtrack. “I- Well- I only meant-” 

“I ken, I ken- I know what ye meant. It’s scary for ye, isn’t tha’ right? A new place. But yer here now, okay?” He interrupts you off gently, reassuring you through your clear apprehension, as he starts to herd your body towards the door. A shepherd leading a lamb, blindly to whatever fate waits them. 

A grandiose hallway greets you, one side being doors, the other sprawling windows: the views simply breathtaking. The scenery is enough to momentarily distract you from the situation- offering a brief moment of solace. Endless rolling hills stretch as far as the eye could see, adorned with a vibrant tapestry of flowers in every hue of the rainbow. The sunlight shines brightly over the landscape; casting a sort of glow over it that makes it seem like one of those places straight out of a fairytale- like something only seen in a book. It was enough to make your steps falter and Johnny accounts for the movement, or lack thereof, slowing to a halt as he too peers out the scenery beyond the panes.

“Oh it’s.. Beautiful.. But where exactly is ‘here’?” 

“I know it is. What’da see hen?” He asks instead- voice hushed as if afraid he’d break the atmosphere, no longer looking outside but at you instead.

Your mouth opens and then closes, and you gesture outwardly with your arm, one of the bangles glinting in the light. Your eyebrows furrow as a sudden realization hits you, wasn’t it almost Midwinter? “Well..  well there’s flowers I-.. in Midwinter. And the sun.. I- Are we even along the Sword Coast? Or..” You try to pick your brain, thinking, unsure. You were in Faerûn, right? Your stomach twists, swallowing down the bile- forcing a smile on your lips. He saved you, you repeat, unsure if you were just trying to convince yourself at this point or not. Making it easier that way- not wanting to confront the truth. “Maybe up at the Dalelands?”

He makes a sort of noncommittal hum, and as you twist your head to look up at him, he nods. His gaze travels to the window once more, almost melancholic, before his jaw clenches and then he looks back at you with a smile, just a little bit tighter than before. “Yeah. Now how ‘bout a wee bit of breakfast, hm?”

More questions add to the ever expanding stack as you walk alongside him. The marble feels borderline warm beneath your bare feet as he leads you down to a pair of doors, and upon entering it was large, with a sprawling table: fit for a small country it seemed. What must’ve been a hundred chairs lined the grand hall. The ceiling soars high above, reminiscent of a cathedral back in the city, adorned with oversized chandeliers that seem to dwarf any you’ve seen before. The crystals catch the light from the rose window, creating a mesmerizing display of refracted colors that seem to dance along the wooden surfaces. It looked like a place for Gods to dine in- or a king or queen; not you. You used to be of nobility, sure, but that lifestyle had died and the title with it all those years ago. Practically living as a commoner for the past five years rather than someone of high class, and well, you certainly didn’t belong here, despite being dressed in the part to be. Out of touch and way out of your element. 

Johnny escorts you to the table, making a point to sit you down next to the chair at the end of the table. The elf sort of hesitates, eyes glancing at the floor next to the chair before making his place known across from you. He makes some sort of gesture- and mute, placid faces approach- seemingly out of the dark recesses of the room as they start to work around the table efficiently. No words were exchanged, solely focused on the singular task at hand- not even stopping when you’d ask what was being served. 

“Naw bonnie, you’ll like it- made sure they knew to get all yer favorites.” Johnny starts to eat, devouring the meal with such gusto as if he hadn’t had a morsel in days- his words not fully registering in your mind. But as soon as they do it’s all you hear. They play like a broken record, causing you to stiffen, the room spinning as your gaze travels down to your plate. Lo and behold- there it all was all laid out before you. Your gaze travels from item to item- a sense of unease creeping up on you- everything you loved is there, down to the little honeycakes your mother used to make, decorated with powdered sugar and frosting swirled on top.  

Your hands firmly clasp one over the other, biting down on your lip harshly, the wound on the back of your neck beginning to tingle. “I’m not hungry.” 

“Of course ye are.” He remarks dismissively, mouth full of food. “Just open yer bonnie mouth and eat. Unless ye need me tae feed you?” 

It might have been a joke- but his heavy gaze was anything but funny. Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Hunger does gnaw at your stomach, but at this point you think you might be sick again. “Are we in the feywild?” His fork drops, and you hold your gaze on the table before raising it to meet his. His eyes seemed darker- the shadows more prominent, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. 

“Naw why’re you continuing on and on and on. I told ye-” Johnny’s eyebrows furrow as he scowls, like he was reprimanding an unruly pet, looking annoyed in every sense of the word. “-Ye were safe now, and yet you’re tryin’ tae make it seem like ah’m the bad guy here. Dae ye wan’ to make ‘im mad? Cause’ ye won’ like ‘im for a welcoming party. I’ve been so nice to ye. I’m the one here-” His voice was growing louder, starting to look angry more than sad- looking one moment away from going across the table. Blue eyes wide, nails digging into the wood grooves of the table, scratching little crescent shaped indents into them. “Ah’m the one whose gone through all the trouble cause i’d knew ye’d be perfect and now all ‘m seeing is an ungrateful little-”

He recoils slightly, as if suddenly choked and he coughs, face contorting in dismay. His complexion drains of color, betraying his unease and he gulps hard. You shift uncomfortably, a grimace of your own painting your features- too much happening at once to properly digest what was being said. Only the fact that you needed to get out and leave. He tilts his head, muttering something in a language- Elvish, you think, before he picks up his fork, stabbing a piece of meat with more force than necessary. “Naw, ‘m sorry bonnie, didn’t mean to scare ye.” He apologizes, gaze meeting yours with a pitiful attempt at reassurance, though his smile seems strained. Trying to calm you down, if you were to take a guess. But his teeth were just a bit too sharp- eyes too wild, reminding you that at the end of the day he was a stranger, one that was easily set off at the slightest bit of provocation it seemed. Admitting it to yourself was only inevitable despite how you were trying to make excuses: you could banter back and forth endlessly, but he abducted you. ..You think. The logistics aren’t fully there. Saved you from certain death sure- thinking back to the fuzzy memories on the mountain, the ritual that yielded no results. But if feigning cooperation for now meant finding an opportunity to go back home then so be it.

“It’s alright.” You utter, though the sentiment was far from genuine. Yet his face seemed to light up at the words, seemingly oblivious to your lack of sincerity. Accepting it at face value. You reluctantly pick up the fork, his keen gaze fixed upon you as you force yourself to take a bite of the food. “Oh this is delightful.” You lie, a weak attempt to mend the fractured atmosphere. The falsehood tastes as bitter and lifeless as the food in your mouth.

He beams, looking like the incarnate of the sun- seeming to light up the room. “Ah’m glad you think so. Had the chefs making food every day, till’ you woke up. Took yer sweet time though huh? Like our own precious sleeping beauty you were- a bonnie thing.” He winks when he meets your gaze again, and you gulp hard- cheeks hurting from how hard you were trying to keep your smile afloat. And like a ship in a storm, its hull damaged- filling with water, trying to make it to shore. It’s only a matter of time before it sinks.

This time though- you weren’t stupid; you caught the word. The fork mindlessly pushing around food comes to a pause, poking at the bear. “Hey how’d you find me anyway? There was a blizzard.”

“Donnae matter, does it? Yer here now, safe.” He reaches out with another plate of the honeycakes, and you eye the sickly sweet glaze cascading down onto the plate. And vaguely you’re brought back to the present- feeling a bit like a fly caught in a vat of syrup or amber. Stuck. 

“I want a real answer.”

“And I gave ye one- now what’s the problem hen? I haven’t mistreated ye have I?” His tone sharpens, and you unwittingly deepen your own predicament. Digging your grave- shoveling out another foot of dirt every time you open your mouth- maybe he’ll do you the courtesy of taking you to where your family was buried when he kills you. Your throat constricts, watching as his grip around the plate tightens. 

“That’s not the point. I- I want to go home.”

In a sudden, jerky movement he rises out of his chair, and you hastily follow suit, stumbling over the hem of your dress, eyes wide. Your jewelry clanking loudly as he maneuvers around the table, looking like bull with far too much energy- “Naw, what did I jus’ say?” He snarls, advancing with two strides forwards for every one step back you make. His words tumble out almost incoherently, hands gesturing erratically as he closes in on you, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. Spittle flying and landing on your cheek in his fervor. “This whole place was designed with ye in mind- and ye want to go home? To where huh? Where is yer home- tell me hen.” 

Your mouth opens and then closes, words stammering, taking a hesitant step back and he only follows, encroaching in your space. His hands linger near you, but refrains from grabbing you- instead choosing to grip the chair next to him. “I want you tae tell me where’d ye go.” He finally breathes out, chest falling and rising with huff, nostrils flaring as he stares down at you. A long bang resounds through the room as his fist hits the table- and at your startled reaction his lips stretch into a grin at your silence- swallowing thickly as your eyes dart around like a stuck rabbit. “Tha’s right, ye don’ know do yah bonnie? Las’ five years you’ve been following tha’ little list down right to the last T, getting far far awae from that shithole you called home.” 

Your pulse seems to falter, arteries constricting, the flow of blood in your veins slowing to a near standstill, as if coagulating with fear, and ultimately slowing to a halt. Every nerve in your body tingles with dread, every sound feeling amplified. The air feels heavy, suffocating, as if pressing down on your chest, making it hard to draw in a full breath. It only made sense that he knew about it, I mean he was the one that gave the list to you- but the implication of how he’s been watching you– you struggle to steady your trembling limbs and calm the racing thoughts in your mind. The unbridled urge to run arises.

 “I- I don’t-”

“You don’t- You don’t what? Ye don’ know what ahm talkin’ about hen? Tha’ what yer trying tae tell me?” He mocks, head tilting- taking advantage of the way you stumble for something to say. He leans further into your personal bubble, leering down at you. 

“Stay back.” You manage in a shaky gasp stumbling backwards as you hold your hands out in front of you. 

“What’s the problem?” His laugh seems to echo around the room, and he follows you, blue eyes wide and unblinking- “It’s fate. This is where ye were meant to be- Here with us-”

“Stay away from me!” There was another word spoken- one foreign to your lips but not to his- and his eyes widened, unable to do anything in time as embers spark in the air. A rush of something equally foreign and unnerving washes over you as it leaves your tongue, like a sudden wave crashing upon a shore. The feeling was indescribable- the sense of connection thrumming through your very being; as if awakening something long dormant in you- untapped potential. Something hot- embers?- begins to manifest, a sense of otherworldly energy fills the air, crackling with a palpable intensity. A surge of heat wells up inside of you, building up to a crescendo as thin sheets of flame bursts out of your fingertips, and he barely has a second to drop before the torrent of searing heat engulfs everything above him. The heat is intense, blistering hot, and the smell of singed air fills your nostrils. Burnt meat and honey was there- charred, smokey, slightly sweet.

You can only stare dumbfounded- looking down at your hands and then at the aftermath, stumbling back. You throw a hand to your mouth, still warm from the unexpected surge of power- stomach rolling with unease. What? How did you- How was this possible– Johnny looks equally surprised- his face flushed, tilting his head back to look at the burnt wood and then back at your stunned form. His eyes fall half-lidded, making a movement to rise, expression twisting into something you can’t quite put your finger on, lips tugging into a grin. You don’t wait to try and decipher what he was thinking, instinctively turning and fleeing- heart pounding in your chest.

Gathering up your dress to the best of your ability- you turn pivot on your heel and sprint away, the clatter of your jewelry like a warning bell with each frantic step. It felt like the jewelry were more cursed collars and shackles the more you think of it, each jangle announcing your presence to anyone who might be listening. You burst out of the dining room, tearing down the hallway from which you came- desperate for escape, gasping for breath as panic tightens its grip around your throat. Sentences come to mind- each one stirring conflicting feelings.

‘The ritual would give you great power.’

‘It would provide you strength.’

‘Protection for yourself.’

You continue to flee as fast as your unsteady legs can carry you, though your pace hardly qualifies as swift, your wobbly strides barely enough to keep you upright. The hallway seems to warp and narrow before your eyes, blurring with each frantic blink. “Bonnie!” His voice echoes out loudly behind you and you only hobble along faster. Like a faun trying to outrun a predator, each step a scramble for safety. 

The sound of his pursuit fades gradually until it suddenly ceases, leaving you to wonder as you steal a glance backwards, only to see Johnny faltering in his step- expression looking almost reverent. Dare you say almost excited- dazed, and then your attention snaps back to the present as you collide with something unexpectedly soft- a wall that shouldn’t have been there. And you don’t remember there being anything necessarily obstructing in the hallway. 

The impact leaves you stunned- a buzzing in your head becoming known before swiftly dissipating as if it was never there. Your eyes drift up, up, up- and towering above you is the tallest, broadest man you’ve ever encountered. Crossing eyes with death itself- you find yourself entranced. It was fitting, with a skull over his face- skin pale as a ghost- terrifying. They say eyes are the window to the soul. So what kind of soul would it be when the eyes you were staring at were a deep abyss- as tainted as his seemed to be? Dark pools of tiger’s eye, mali garnet, topaz, amber- dravite tourmaline. Clouded and hardened by something you couldn’t quite understand- and you recoil, all but shoving yourself off of the imposing figure. His hands twitch in response, tilting his head down at you.

“I- ‘m sorry.” You almost instinctively skitter back a few feet, jewelry jingling noisily in the tense silence. 

“Johnny causin’ you trouble?” Though sounding much more human compared to before, the gruff familiarity of his voice is not lost on you and you’re brought back to a cold mountain- a warm touch, a promise. Your neck burns, eyes squeezing shut before you hesitantly raise them back to the broad expanse of his chest. You force yourself to give some sort of indication that you heard him, trembling before the being in front of you- shaking your head curtly- hands scrunching up your dress in a tight grip.

His dark eyes look down at you, and not even looking up at him, the weight of his stare was heavy.. you’ve never felt so small in your life, unable to muster the courage nor the willpower to look him in the face again. Not wanting to see death personified glaring back at you. It wasn’t too often you’ve pondered your existence in life but in this monster’s presence you’ve found yourself contemplating it more often than not. And with that, it was painstakingly easy to realize how absolutely inferior you were to him.

Throughout your life, you at least knew of your place in the world you lived. A human, where you wish you could’ve had the chance to be born as a half-orc, at least then you’d be strong. Or an aasimar, maybe then you’d be able to live up properly to others expectations and be worthy of something- take up an oath and be a paladin or a cleric, being able to properly protect those closest to you. No.. you know you are. Though making up a large majority of the population, it was easy to forget that sometimes. You.. were you. Plain. Unordinary. You don’t hear of humans winning in wars or becoming rulers. You don’t hear tales of humans doing all this- no. You hear tales of dragons soaring through the skies. Of a whole life surrounded by beings who were just.. Ascended from bloodlines so much more interesting than yours. Hell, this is why you’ve spent years of your life looking for something to give you that power. To make you special. And now that you had it.. It was weird. 

So it honestly wasn’t too hard to describe how you thought he was looking at you; how you thought he viewed you. What you imagined his expression to look like, had you actually looked back at him: Like an executioner with one hand on the lever to drop the floor beneath you, to have the rope tighten around your neck. Like a butcher as their cleaver comes swinging down towards a cow’s neck, ready to provide a merciful death or prolonging its misery. A falcon ready to swoop down for its next meal. Or a boot as it comes down on an ant whether or not to squash it out of existence. Like a wolf ready to shut its maws around you and shake until you’ve gone limp in its grasp. Compliant. Lifeless. 

But instead your gaze was planted firmly on the pristine marble, bottom lip quivering as you blink slowly, vision blurring and turning the sharp edges fuzzy. Cotton filling your ears, sounds becoming muffled, save for the steady rapidfire pulse resounding through your head. This was the protection that was promised- this was the life that you wanted right? So what was this overwhelming pressure being in his presence? This was who you summoned- you think. Ultimately, it felt like broken promises, shattered ideals- forced to live in what reality you had conjured up for yourself. No- you could tell now that this is what you had called for- what you had asked for was a fiend- no an eldritch being, maybe a God? God might be too pure of a word for him- the devil was more akin to what you’d imagine him being. There was no mistaking it; there was no wolf in sheep’s clothing. No, he knew what he was. He was confident in it even. A predator. 

It felt like the space was closing in, the long hallway forcing the pair of you to be in close proximity- a sort of draw, a leash if you would. Taking another step back was a thought, a good one really- except for the fact that the shadows seemed to slink forwards, grasping at the soles of your feet, rising up your calves and grounding you in place, chaining you down. The mere idea of trying to move away from him was a mistake in itself.

There was a momentary lapse in time as this happened, and then immediately your breath catches in your throat as the back of your neck burns as if ignited. Sending jolts of pure energy into your flesh, dark magic swirling around the air that your untrained eyes couldn’t see, but your body could certainly feel the effects of. The power that exudes off his very being. Knees crumpling to the ground beneath you, not given the right to stand, to even be at some sort of the same level as him. Flesh crawling, skin rippling- that morning’s breakfast threatening to come up, tasting the acidic taste on your tongue- bitter and pungent.

Cold sweat drips down your temple as you rasp for air at his feet, falling to all fours as each breath feels like it might be the last. Tremors run down your spine, shaking as you urge your muscles to move to no avail. Society talks of fight or flight, but always seems to forget the most common one: freeze. “Pl— ease.” Trying to get out the words; trying to beg, trying to get him to understand, not even knowing if he’d even care to give what you had to say a moment of his time. Of his consideration. Asking to be let go, to leave- for mercy- it was difficult to place what you had wanted in that moment. You were just a human and he was something beyond your comprehension.

 You didn’t realize he had dropped to a crouch, cold fingers brushing over the raised skin with a deep rumble: a hum, it was hard to decipher. You flinch anyway. His nail traces over the freshly acquired wound, drawing a low whimper out of your throat as he just kept petting and prodding- as if wanting the pain to be a reminder. 

A pause.

Maybe two.

“Settle, little bird.” Another choked sob rips out of your throat- wet and sticky with phlegm, eyes squeezing shut as his hand- calloused, large- dips down, cupping your jaw and raising you to meet his eyes, though you refuse to open them. He didn’t sound angry, at least not outright. It somehow felt worse to hear a lilt of disappointment brushes along his tone, and it causes more tears to fall. Upon the realization that you weren’t going to open your eyes, his hand moves to your cheeks, squishing them together and making your mouth into a little ‘o’ shape. “Gave you a chance and you’d rather run than stay ‘ere under my protection.” His grip tightens, and this time you don’t dare to open your eyes, afraid to see the beast mere inches from you. His breath fans across your face- surprisingly warm. “Do I have to provide a reminder that you’re mine, hm? Is that it? Have you already forgotten who was providing you a new life?”  

“N-No-” His grip tightens further, cutting you off what you had to say. It’s a familiar sensation, one that’s become far too common lately. 

“Wasn’t a question.” His low voice rumbles, and you whimper- footsteps approaching that you now recognize as Johnny’s. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, prodding at the space he had created- and you grit your teeth, a defiant response that causes him to click his tongue at your actions. Your neck sparks with more pain before you unhinge your jaw and the sensation fades. He hums thoughtfully. “It’s alright though, you didn’t know any better, Johnny wasn’t treating you right huh?”

“That’s naw true sir- she’s just upset cause she wants tae go home-” 

“I wasn’t asking you.” The pad of his thumb rubs along your teeth, and he removes his fingers, grasping your chin and jerking your head upwards. There was a sort of whine behind you, and you gulp hard. “You were just scared weren’t ya? You wanted the devil you summoned to be the first thing you saw when you woke up?” His words, though blunt, strike a nerve that makes you cringe- nose scrunching up as more tears fall. “It’s all right now- pretty little bird is just confused and lost. Isn’t tha’ right?” 

His words cause you to peer open your eyes hesitantly, dark pools staring down at you. Your gaze drops to the hand holding your head, which then trails up to a pale arm, decorated with what seemed to be swirling black ink- symbols and hieroglyphs of things you didn’t quite recognize. You sniffle, shrugging unsurely- and he coos, fingers lifting up one of the many necklaces, looking down at one of the shining jewels with a smile on his scarred lips. He lifts the gem so it is within eyesight; green glittering in the light. Emerald.

He lets it fall back against your skin, a deep sigh leaving his lips- “I should’ve been there when you woke up, ‘s all my fault really.” The warm light from the outside seems to grow even warmer, the colors in the hallway shifting to shades of red- darker and darker. “Wouldn't have let you leave that room if i’d known you be such a fussy girl.” 

“No- That’s- that’s not–” Your facial expression crumples, hands jutting out in front of you- repeating the same word from before. Only this time.. No embers shootout- nothing. Not even a hint of well, anything happens. Johnny takes a step closer, hovering. Waiting.

The man- the devil- chuckles- a low rumble. “You think i’d let you use my own magic against me? Don’t be daft- did being up in the cold make you lose all sense?” He breathes in deeply, guiding you up to your feet- and your eyes catch to the outside, choking back a sob at the vastly different change of scenery. The sky was a crimson, an artificial moon casting an eerie glow over the ground below. What seemed like flowers had morphed into some sort of city- a labyrinthine structure sprawling beneath from how high up you were. In the distance seemed to be volcanoes- billowing smoke, threatening to erupt, and you feel your legs start to give beneath you- as you let out a garbled gasp, eyes wide. He only steadies you, wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you to his chest. “You just need a reminder that you’re gonna be loved now, isn’t that right? That this is where you’re gonna be from now on. It’s okay, Johnny and I will give you one, yes?” One of his fingers tugs at the corner of your lip, coaxing a smile, “Smile. You’re home now.”

[emmster]

I curse you two with domestic bliss (with missions inbetween helping keep Sol safe)

[crayonurchin]

Soaps and Dragons has a new product on her shelves... Bubble Class!

Vegan friendly and sensitive skin kind foaming bubbles for your baths, showers and sinks, and all featuring some of your favourite Dungeons and Dragons classes!

Monk, Druid, Warlock and Bard!

Head on over to Soaps and Dragons and grab a bottle of Bubble Class today!

[benjisstims]

i looooove youre other good omens stimboards so i must request one of my beloved Warlock Dowling. specifically with some stars but i'm giving you liberty with the rest

Warlock Dowling from Good Omens stimboard :3

With: Star, slime, soap cutting, and gameboy stims, with a gray+blue color scheme!

Made for: @v4guelyv4mpiric ! I really enjoyed making this one. Hope you like it!

Gif credits: 🤍/💫/🤍 - 💫/🤍 - 💫/🤍/💫

[ghclassic]

[narcobarbies]

Carly Roberts married AJ Quartermaine (05/28/1999)

General Hospital

[doodling-doodle]

A Modern Great War (PT.12)

He found the others. They were safe, for now, but he had to help them.

Kortifex was there. He was ready to kill.

And he stopped it...

... With a twist from Maxis.

He had gone to the comms tent, which was also empty, and tried to track everyone down. They had emergency trackers, mostly for rescue missions after him almost being captured. After all, if it wasn’t for Alex seeing it, he might’ve never been found.

“Russia.” He said after finding them. “Back in fucking Stalingrad.”

“Let’s get you there.”

The portal opened, and he went through it…

Red and purple crystals everywhere. Undead bodies on the ground. Footprints.

Footprints- bootprints. 

He followed them.

Sure enough.

“That’s Kortifex, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He looked over more.

The crystal of his Artifact. Floating next to him in the air.

And the 141 looking up up it from a cliff.

“Fuck it.”

He had found out how to properly use his powers.

So he teleported up there.

“Is that really your Scepter?” He said teasingly, and chuckled. He noticed his voice had an effect.

“You…”

“I know what your trying Kortiex. I won’t let it happen.”

“You're a mere mortal. A red blood.”

“Not really. I’m not fully human anymore. I spent a long time in the Dark Aether. There’s no chance I’m human now…” He looked down at his glowing hands, “Plus, the power of five Elder Gods? I’m not even close to being human."

"What more can you do then, red blood?"

He chuckled

"You know what to do, Seedling. Summon the dead!"

He did.

And the dead corpses of the dead soldiers, and long buried, rose at his command.

He saw Kortifex’s face change.

He cackled as he opened a Portal and slid back into it, opening another one to appear infront of the 141.

“Don’t ask questions right now, just help me get these things killed and stop the Blood Rite, I’ll explain when we’re safe. Now go!” 

And he disappeared again.

He didn’t need his guns, all he needed was those powers.

It had been hours. But, they finally managed to stop the Blood Rite.

It wasn’t fully over yet.

He managed to put a Rune Wall up to protect the others while Kortifex tried to do… something. He wasn't sure what, but he knew it wasn’t good.

“Keep trying, red blood. You will never win.”

“Watch me.”

“What more can you do, mortal?!”

He heard something. 

“I’m sorry… I must.”

“What- Maxis, what are you-!”

He blacked out.

…

Alex just watched as Kyle put up some sort of dome over them while Kortifex tried… Something. Fuck…

"Keep trying, red blood. You'll never win."

"Watch me." Kyle replied, glaring at him.

Yes. He knew damn well that Kyle would be able to win. He was stronger.

"What more can you do, mortal?!"

"Kill you." He said, though no one could hear it.

"We need to get out of this thing!" Price yelled.

He watched as Kyle… chuckled. Eyes closed.

He snapped his fingers.

And thick, black fog surrounded them

He opened his eyes.

They were bright yellow.

"No… impossible!!"

Kyle- no. That was not Kyle. It was someone else. They smirked before yelling out.

"FETCH ME THEIR SOULS!"

And cackled before falling backward and disappearing into a puff of smoke.

It didn't end there. No, it was just starting.

Fucking… hellhounds, he'd call them, started appearing out of nowhere. Killing the rest of Kortifex's army.

He just watched. Almost in horror.

That… person? Controlling Kyle reappeared on the ground, finishing the job with powers and powers alone.

They made a dome around themselves when Kortifex tried to… grab them, probably. And he backed down while they smiled.

"Did you miss me, Kortifex?!! I sure as hell missed you!!" They yelled. His voice sounded different. Still him, but the accent that he loved to hear was gone. Replaced. German. "Not really, but we all need a little validation sometimes, ja?"

"What do you want, Maxis?!!"

Maxis? Maxis? Samatha Maxis?!

"Could ask the same to you, you know."

"No playing games!"

"Oh, this is your game, I see. I don't have to play by your rules. I'm as much in control of the Dark Aether as you are. Und Garrick, for that matter."

"What does the red blood have to do with this? He is nothing."

"He is far from nothing." Alex whispered.

"Oh, you poor thing. You have no clue what I am doing."

"Humor me, then, Maxis. What are you doing?!"

"Taking control. Poor Garrick just happens to be the… 'victim'."

What?!

"What are you talking about?!"

"Oh, Kortifex… I am in control. You know what that means, right?"

"You little brat!!"

"That's right. You have about… forty-eight hours until Kyle Garrick is gone, along with all of the intel that you desperately want. And he becomes just another pawn to me."

"What?!!" He yelled.

"So, good luck! Auf Wiedersehen!" She cackled, and disappeared again.

Alex just watched. In horror.

A portal opened behind them.

They went through it. 

They caught a quick glimpse of Maxis before she disappeared into a different portal. Probably to hide until the forty-eight hours were over.

But Price said what they all were thinking:

"We need to find Kyle before it's too late."

[juliepinsononline]

After a little drama, soap stars' lives mesh Julie Pinson, Billy Warlock see their styles unite

By Diana McKeon Charkalis Special for USA TODAY July 6, 2007

LOS ANGELES — If marriage is about compromise, Julie Pinson and Billy Warlock got a crash course after their wedding last summer. That's when the daytime TV stars decided to renovate part of the 1930 three-bedroom, Spanish-style house that Pinson purchased in 2001.

Pinson, who stars as femme fatale Billie Reed on NBC's Days of Our Lives, looked around her living room, with its floral sofa and pink accents, and realized the ultra-girly stuff had to go. "I wanted to have a front room where I could be proud to have a cocktail party and not be embarrassed about my furniture," says Pinson, 39.

Warlock, 46, who plays political campaign manager Ben Hollander on CBS' The Young and the Restless, also had his preferences — like making sure he kept his oversized black leather massage chair. "My main criteria was that I wanted the house to be comfortable with a place for us to put our feet up."

To help them figure out how to make it work, they hired celebrity designer Kenneth Brown, whose reDesign airs on HGTV. "We decided to start with a clean slate and then bring in pieces they both agreed on," Brown says. "I think starting fresh allows people to see things with new eyes."

By switching from white walls to a warmer palette and adding details like crown molding, the house matured. "This was very much a single girl's house," Brown says. "Now it's a very sophisticated married celebrity couple's home."

Feminine elements still populate the kitchen, which remains the domain of Pinson, a highly skilled baker. She has a new cake-decorating station, a slab of counter Brown designed at a convenient height that allows Pinson to sit and work for hours. On this day she created a pink, three-layer cake adorned with 40 roses and "about 10 pounds of butter-cream frosting" for a family celebration.

"My cake decorating is where I get my artistry out," Pinson says. "It's very creative. And it tastes good after you're done."

Just off the kitchen is the den, a small room with a large TV where Warlock's massage chair found a home. "We put my stuff in the back of the house where nobody goes," Warlock says. "Each person has to have their own space. I have mine, and she has hers."

Pinson smiles and closes the door separating the kitchen from the den. "I can just put Billy back here with the Xbox or sports on TV, and I won't see him for hours."

Brown says clients most often experience "renovation breakdown" when work is being done on the kitchen. But for Pinson, it happened when the dining room walls were painted chocolate brown.

When Brown arrived at the house, he found Pinson in tears, clutching her Yorkie, Harry. "I never wanted to be one of those people I see on his show freaking out, but I became that person. I think I had a breakdown," Pinson says. "I like this color, and I appreciate it for what it is. It's just not my taste."

Warlock, meanwhile, approved of the paint, but he didn't press the point. "I like things more cozy; she likes them bright and airy. It's all about picking the battles. This room isn't that important to me. If she wants to change it, we'll change it."

Brown took it all in stride and suggested they take some time and live with it before making a decision.

In the living room, the couple most easily combined their senses of style. Brown replaced the white walls with a warm sandstone-colored paint and filled it with custom furniture accented by both masculine and feminine accessories.

For example, a pair of prints Brown chose to hang above a small table happily remind Pinson of her old floral sofa. "It's about finding that balance," Brown says. "We didn't want it to feel too flowery, but we didn't want it to have a billiards table."

Two new honey-colored leather chairs sit against one wall. They're beneath Warlock's colorful vintage French liquor poster that depicts a woman in a flowing dress. "He's had it for 24 years, and he's proud to say she's the only girl who's been in his life for that long besides his mom," Pinson says.

Pinson and Warlock themselves have a long history and were engaged once before, in 1999, but ended up calling off the wedding. They didn't see each other for years, but they reconnected when Warlock returned to Los Angeles for work. "Getting back together was a different feeling than the giddiness you have when you first meet someone," he says. "It's a much richer feeling."

Pinson says one reason she married Warlock is that he enjoys the feminine touches she adds to the home. Pinson suspected she'd met the man of her dreams the moment she laid eyes on his bedding. "I remember walking into his room and noticing the sheets were Ralph Lauren cabbage roses. All by himself he did that. I thought, 'This is a good sign.' "

Credit: USA Today

[trashmouth-richie]

⁂ 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 + 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 || a mini series || eddie x you

“soul ties” based but with a spin — 1.2k PART 2

[reader and her lover are souls bound to one another for eons and eons, they always find their way back to one another no matter how long it takes or what bodies they might be in, but when reader feels the magnetic pull of her other half and wills the girl’s body she is in to find her lover— the body her lover belongs to is a boy— none other than the meanest boy in hawkins, eddie munson] 

trigger warnings: 18+ smut, bisexual! eddie, mean! eddie, shy! girl, smut. etc eddie and the body reader lives in are mostly referred to as “the girl” and “the boy”, they are both 18 in this story. 

reader (you) is a “soul” in this story, meaning you are only bound to the body you are inhabiting during this lifetime. The girl will have features mentioned— but again— you (the reader) are a soul, which i imagine to be a flame of all colors. 

Her soul knew his. 

Knew him before she’d even met him in this body. Knew him before her eyes caught his. A magnetic pull sought him out and there he was, and the two souls buzzed, destined to be together. 

As if every star had aligned, he found you, again.. 

You look different this time. His soul spoke. The body is shapely, but those eyes still burn through me like fire. 

My eyes only burn for you my love. You purred back, in this body, and the next and the one after that. 

Eons had come and gone and in each one you found each other. Sometimes it took longer than the last, having only minutes together instead of years. Other times you were reborn in the same city. But this time, your bodies were not friendly to one another. 

Your lover's body was tall, pale, human male species. A mop of wavy hair that he rarely seemed to comb. The body you lived in belonged to a human female species. But was more reserved than the boy, quieter… except when her conscience talked for her in her head, then she was funny. 

Judging by the years you had been here, you thought that possibly she was eighteen, and in those years you waited for him. 

A similar soul had reached out to you, pretending to be him. The body was handsome, fit, skin kissed by the sun. A wriggly mustache that tickled the girls lips.

This boy went by the name Billy, and he was kind to the girl at first. He bought her many gifts, and told her that he loved her. 

But where your lover smelled of soap and cedar, this soul smelled of rich smoke and his eyes were hurt and angry, unlike the kind ones you’d spent centuries finding in every different body imaginable. The soul was shielded behind a mask, pretending to be something he should be, not something he needed. 

The girl cried when he left, but you were proud of her, and you showed her in her dreams the happiness she would one day have, once she found him, your love. 

�� 

He looked for you for years. But this body was not like any others he had been attached to before. This boy went by many names:

Edward

Eddie

Dungeon Master

Eddie the Banished

Mr. Munson

and The Freak.

Mostly just Eddie though. His elders did not care for him, and in his younger years he spent nights writing about his sadness, tears leaking onto his scrawled handwriting. 

A man of some relation to the boy came to care for him, and the boy became happy once again, slowly, he gained trust. 

The boy had many hobbies that were new and interesting to him. He plucked a warlock and screamed into a microphone. He threw dice and moved figurines into position he had carefully planned out months in advance. Music and fantasy seemed to be a large part of the boy’s life. But where oh where, were you?

It wouldn’t be the first time he found you in a body similar to his, the same species with the same anatomy. When another boy who played basketball, and was well liked started noticing the boy, his heart raced. 

Steve was his name. His soul was sweet, smelling of roses and perfume. But it was not you, and the boy couldn’t love Steve the way he had hoped he could. 

It was mutual. No stars aligned for this engagement, it was merely physical, no soul bonds to tie together. 

One day, something pulsed and hummed. And he knew, he knew you were close, even if the boy was still asleep at noon, he could feel it. The pull, the stroke of his lover's touch. 

It was the magnet. 

—

The girl volunteered to tutor a smaller child somewhere in a Forest. You were excited for the adventure, excited to see the old trees and smell the pines, feel the humidity on her skin. But sadly there wasn’t a forest, only a lot made of brown earth. Houses scattered about that all looked similar in one way or another. Animals ran around freely, residing in trash cans and front steps, and it made you giggle. 

Would your lover remember the time he was a cat and you were a very small human child? The elders did not understand why the child adored the orange animal so much, or how the cat kept finding its way into their home. A few good years your lover and you had… until a fire consumed the home and you were both left spinning in darkness before landing home in new bodies, millions of miles apart.

Something about this place sent you buzzing the minute she opened her car door. You nearly screamed when that familiar tug pulled and buzzed. 

It was him! 

He was so very close, you could practically sniff him out. 

You did as you had always done when your lover was near, you sent star fire up to the girl’s brain, redirecting her to where she needed to go, where she would be happiest, where your lover had been staying. 

The home was painted in shades of light blue, and the stubborn girl questioned whether or not this was the correct house. 

I’m here! I’ve found you!

The boy suddenly woke, an irritating ache in his head as he rubbed sleep sand from his eyes. Your lover pushed and pushed the boy but he could not be hurried even if a hot poker was pressed into his rear. 

The girl felt dumb, a pickling sour of fear rose in her throat and she coughed to rid herself of the ache in her belly. You were swimming, dancing in her chest, warming her heart that you knew held so much love and was capable of destiny. 

Her knuckles raised to the door but the girl wasn’t given a chance to knock. The boy pinched his eyebrows together at the sight of this girl on his doorstep. Your lover shined in his eyes, waving back and blowing kisses. 

But the boy was annoyed. 

“What do you want?”

The girl felt warmth in her cheeks as she looked at her sneakers, “I— Sorry.. I was looking for Max Mayfield, I’m—.” 

“When I took a piss this morning I was standing up.”

The girl stared back in confusion but the boy only rolled his eyes before he looked down and pulled his waistband out enough so only he could see. 

“Yep, not a chick. Mayfield’s live across the road, brown trailer.” The door snapped shut before the girl could thank the boy. He stumbled back to bed, his headache felt like fire, as if his mind was being sawed in half. 

You were devastated, crestfallen! He was right there! In your grasp! Why was the boy being so difficult? Couldn’t he feel it in his chest? Couldn’t he feel the pull? 

The girl wiped a tear from her face as her feet hit the gravel, she muttered about how much she hated him, how awful he had always been to her. 

This would probably be the most difficult reunion you’d ever had with your lover, but in the eons you’d been together you had never failed, and you wouldn’t allow this year of 1985 be the first. 

[tsams-and-co-memes]

TSAMS Sunrise Canon Info

Updated - 11/10/24

Sun's likes:

Cats (he owns two)

Dressing up his cats

TF2

Listening to/watching documentaries while he cleans

Red Dead Redemption and Baldur's Gate 3

Cult of the Lamb

Yellow (his favorite color)

Snapple (his favorite drink)

Hamburgers (his favorite food)

Spiderman

Fallout

Electric eels

Retro gaming

Old-timey, black and white cartoons (with Popeye possibly being one of his favorites)

Sun's dislikes:

Squids

Insects

Balloon Boy

Hot water

Sea water

Taylor Swift

Garden gnomes

Sports

Salads

Kids (this was implied) <- (he might've made this implication jokingly, but he did end up saying that he does have a soft spot for them)

Eclipse

The creator

Bloodmoon

Roxanne

Minesweeper

Miscellaneous:

Soda/pop

Pumpkins/pumpkin carving/pumpkin guts

Sun tends to get very competitive with gaming

He’s watched the entirety of Dragon Ball Z

He has an obsession with cleaning and stacking the toy barrels/tumble barrels in the daycare. If they’re not adequately cleaned or stacked in a very specific way, he gets upset

He’s bought stilettos and tried on a dress before, while saying that he’s a pretty princess

He used to have a crush on Roxanne

He’s not good at dancing and really only moves the upper half of his body

Sun is pansexual (check for sources). He's not bisexual, so him being pan is slightly more likely (retconned. Sun is more than likely straight, at this point)

Sun has a car and knows how to drive

He isn’t very good at acting

He has a habit of cheating when playing competitive games

It’s been implied numerous times that Sun occasionally enjoys cross dressing

Old Moon has made a statement before, suggesting that Sun has kleptomania

Sun can read bar codes

He apparently knows the history of gravel and can talk about it for hours

He was programmed to know how to drive

His rays are made of plastic

He plays D&D and his character is a warlock

Sun grooms his rays like they’re his hair, and he uses ray polish to do so

Sun knows the history of Windex

Sun knows how to play Yu-Gi-Oh

Cleaning is one of the things that calms him and helps him focus

Sun panics sometimes when he's not doing anything, because he feels like he's not doing enough. Apparently this was triggered by Eclipse's return

Sun can't calm Moon down whenever Moon gets seriously upset, and Sun finds that "kinda scary" (<- exact wording from the therapy video). This means that on some level, Sun is afraid of Moon's anger, and of Moon acting irrationally when he's upset

Sun is the only janitor in the daycare

Sun's had a bird fly in his face before, and according to him, it's more annoying than scary

Sun's not good at bowling

He's eaten glitter glue at one point as a coping mechanism. He may or may not have also eaten sparkles

Sun knows how to grind coffee beans

He turned his basement into a cat den, and his cats have their own TV

Sun drinks (we don't know how often)

If he could be an animal, Sun would be a stingray

Sun doesn't clean the bottom of the ballpit

Sun received an offer to replace Glamrock Freddy as the face of the pizzaplex, but he refused. A lot of the refusal stems from him not wanting to be on a stage in front of so many people

Sun's never watched any classic Disney princess movies that occurred before Beauty and the Beast and Mulan. This would include ones like Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella, although he's had Cinderella play passively in the background before (knowing Earth though, she'll probably make him watch all the original princess movies eventually)

Sun goes through a lot of existential crises

Sun is very good at finding kids who wander from the group whenever he takes everyone somewhere outside the daycare

Sun knows how to set broken bones

Sun has a fear of heights

Sun buys animal shaped soaps

Sun puts down a lot of sticky notes in different places

In the earlier days of the daycare, Sun once tried to play hide and seek with a blind kid. It did not end well

Sun's watched Death Note 4 times through

Sun has a crush on Yor from Spy x Family (his type seems to be people that could beat him up, but this could change)

[scuttlingcrab]

So it's pretty obvious that Raphael would be a massive fan of luxury items. How would he react to Tav being able to make certain luxury items from scratch (such as lotions, massage oils, perfumes, soaps, etc.) and is really freaking good at it.

Maybe he learns this little fact about Tav when he receives a bundle of custom luxury items from one of his warlocks and it has a note which says, "To: Raphael. From: The mouse. A 'thank you' for the food." (assuming Tav filled a plate of food during the group's first encounter with the fiend)

Thank you for this awesome prompt. I took a liberty with this one, wanted to try something that maybe a writer hasn’t done before re: what luxury item Tav would make Raphael. I also referenced a few characters from my other stories. Marin, the composer from A Night at the Symphony and Dolofina, the warlock, from A Warlock is Born. I couldn’t resist! Hope you enjoy! And send on the next prompt if you haven’t already! :)

Summary: Raphael receives an unexpected gift from Tav.

Warnings: Mild violence/torture

––

A Perfect Fit 

(Image via violadesdragons)

The screams were like music to Raphael’s ears.

The torment that resonated from each shriek, every wail that echoed into his House of Hope, if directed well, could create a symphony that would feed Raphael for weeks. A melody almost as magnificent as Marin’s concertos. Raphael mastered what buttons to push, what minute threads to pull, to achieve perfection.

Every human was an instrument in their own right. They had a unique cord, an unsung talent, that Raphael knew how to excavate and mould. He had spent millennia fiddling with mortals, experimenting with different techniques to inflict pain or even less conspicuous means to really persecute his poor unfortunate pets. 

Nevertheless, Raphael despised it all. Torturing these creatures was so below his station, another idle role he had to play to keep up appearances in this never-ending farce to reach his objective, to reclaim the Crown of Karsus. He longed to see the players of his saga, his glorious ascension, leave the dark confines of the wings and enter the proscenium for all the planes to see.

Raphael listlessly looked up towards his current unfinished task, a withered mortal impaled on rusted spikes. No matter how hard Raphael stared at this rat, how tirelessly he worked his mind to calculate new methods to inflict agony, all Raphael could do was muster an apathetic groan in response. 

He was almost relieved to hear footsteps approaching the dungeon, identifying the bouncy gait of one of his warlocks almost immediately. Dolofina. 

Raphael smiled to himself, letting out a shallow breath as the doors slowly creaked open. He snapped his fingers, and another spike appeared, slowly lifting to meet the others.

“I do hope you have some interesting news for me. And think hard on your answer, or else I might swap you out with poor Boris.” 

Raphael turned to greet Dolofina, the whimpers of the tortured human slowly rising as he approached her. She stared back at him without any emotion, unmoved by the threat. He taught her well.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but a woman was insistent you receive this. She wouldn’t leave Korrilla alone until she confirmed we’d deliver it to you.”

Dolofina lifted the basket in her hands with a sigh, offering it to Raphael. 

“Pah! Which insolent creature is it this time? If it’s that damned–” 

“She only referred to herself as the, and I quote, ‘little mouse.’”

Dolofina seemed perplexed at the name, rolling her eyes as she waited for his response. Raphael’s mouth parted, his eyes instantly becoming more animated at the mention of her.

“Could she be crawling to me already?” So fast, and such a pity. He had been looking forward to a tussle.

Raphael gingerly picked up the basket, holding it in his hands and carefully inspecting every inch as if it was an ancient relic. What a simple little offering, merely a straw woven basket. Its contents were hidden under gold wrapping paper and held together delicately by a red bow.

“Don’t worry, we’ve already inspected it for traps.”

Raphael gave Dolofina a flat stare. 

“Do you think the creature would be so daft?”

Dolofina shrugged.

“I am merely a mortal, what would I know?” 

There was a hint of mischief in Dolofina’s eyes as she smiled back at Raphael, so pleased with herself. He growled, pointing towards the threshold of his dungeon. The skin on his human disguise hissed, verging on transformation. 

“You have overstayed your welcome. And might I remind you, I am your master. I can terminate our agreement whenever I see fit, be it from the smallest lapse in your performance. You know what that means for your future.”

“Yes, master.” Dolofina responded through tight lips. She promptly made her leave, but not without slamming the doors behind her. 

“Must every creature under my employment be so thickheaded?” Raphael whispered, taking a moment to massage the bridge of his nose. 

When Raphael was sure his boiling blood had cooled, he proceeded to focus his attention on the basket, now weighing heavy in his hands. It would’ve been a shame to have accidentally incinerated the gift with his temper, which was nearly uncontrollable in recent months, without even knowing what was inside.

Raphael started with the bow, carefully untying the knot. Once it was removed, he brought it to his nose, slowly taking in its scent. Cloves and roses. Oh how he relished it. Raphael placed the bow in his pocket and removed the wrapping paper. He discovered a small envelope sitting on top of a golden gift box. A sudden jolt of electricity shot through his veins as he opened the letter. 

To: Raphael  From: The Mouse  Thank you for the food. Please accept this gift in exchange for your hospitality. If the measurements are not sufficient, perhaps we can schedule a fitting. You know where to find me.

Raphael snapped his fingers, leaving the letter floating in the air beside him as he continued with the box. His fingers, usually so calm and still, twitched with excitement. 

Raphael gasped, removing a single doublet from the box, its red colour as dark as blood. The silk melted in his hands, the article of clothing sparkling against the roaring flames of the dungeon. Gold and silver markings were intricately embroidered throughout the jacket, infernal designs suiting Raphael’s tastes. The cuffs of the doublet were adorned with devil tails that swished and curled on a constant loop. 

“My, my, the little mouse has been busy indeed.”

And what artistry! It had been ages, no centuries, since his eyes fell on such an alluring piece. Is this what it would feel like once he held the Crown in his hands? 

Raphael snapped his fingers, the doublet now on his person. He sighed, oh it fit him perfectly, as if that creature knew Raphael’s body like the back of her hand. He raised his arms, bowed, did every possible movement that could come to his mind in that instant, and yet could find no imperfections. 

Raphael was a generous devil, perhaps often too generous. He wasn’t opposed to receiving such luxurious gifts on occasion, but it was dangerous to play with his food. He considered for a moment being harsher to his future clients. The little mouse had a long road ahead of her if she was to help Raphael get what he desired. She needed to focus. No more distractions. No more gifts. 

And yet… 

Raphael clapped his hands and a mirror appeared before him. He gave himself a little spin, grinning. It was a suitable doublet. Cursed creature! Perhaps he could make other uses of these tadpoled yet. What was that mortal saying he heard so often? Ah yes, all work, and no play… 

Raphael was pulled from his thoughts at the howls of the tortured mortal, still impaled above him. Raphael’s cheeks burned, he had been sloppy, overlooking that he was not alone.

He angrily snapped his fingers and the mortal combusted. Their screams died with the flames, leaving no signs of their previous existence as the ashes fluttered away. A waste of a soul, Zariel be damned. She’d never even notice it was missing. 

And with that, Raphael stormed out of the dungeon, proudly wearing his new doublet. 

[icyblogs]

flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! [AO3] -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year.

Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale. Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough. 

It is seldom worth the consequences. 

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind. 

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect. 

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. Dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle. 

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you. 

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth. 

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of my lungs– peine forte et dure. 

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your trachea, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

 A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?” 

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.  

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No. 

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you. 

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power. 

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain. 

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was  impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking. 

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home. 

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity. 

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation. 

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.  

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

— 

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks.  Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace. 

It really was no surprise when you’re found spending your nights in a shady tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species. 

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning it into a vice. 

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you the hell alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- hand squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his skin follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?” 

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer. 

Regardless, this stranger- Johnny you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you. 

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink. 

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort too, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it. 

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do at this point? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well instead. 

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape. 

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your now coagulating hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely asymmetrical and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones. 

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you’ve thrust yourself into? 

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

 You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself. 

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life. 

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, a numbness starting to make its way through your limbs.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

 “No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world- “Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations. 

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly. 

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and..  Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm. 

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and beholders and all these amazing things. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status- though not anymore– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp onto before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any idea be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment. 

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work? 

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.  

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting. 

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door. 

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation? 

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron. 

“Silly girl.” 

You writhe at the sensation, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires. 

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with. 

[emmster]

Remind me to never do 7 pages in a week.

Anyways here’s Osiris and Sagira finally. And a little bit of a hint of O14. Hehe

[thegnomelord]

OMFG I FOUND THE ANGEL GHOST AND DEMON SOAP ART AND JUST LIKE-

ARTIST Sunday Cat 🍓COMMISSION OPEN!! 🍓 (@SundayCat3) / X (twitter.com)

I would so be down to be some dumb warlock who accidentally summons them because Good LORD this is doing something to me

[blackjackkent]

One of the things I've been excited about regarding reaching this point in the game is that @astreamofstars informed me that there is Additional Minsc Content which I missed during Hector's playthrough! Specifically, last time I was so excited to follow him and meet Boo that I completely missed that you can see Minsc's little hideout down in the sewers, with his living area and some of his keepsakes. c:

He's actually got kind of a cute little setup here - bed area (complete with a cute little divider), cooking firepit, washtub, dining table. A lot of random chests and boxes and papers lying around. It amused me that the first thing I noticed was that the only thing on the dining table is "Whole Chicken" which feels on-brand.

The washbasin has several soap bars and sponges next to it. I know I'm hung up on the presence of this washbasin but for some reason I am deeply charmed at Minsc living in a sewer with his rodent and nevertheless having an elaborate bathing setup. (Alternate interpretation - he has it because it is His Home and Should Have a Bath but never actually used it. XD )

On a table next to the bed is a book labeled "The Stone Lord's Sketches," which is both adorable and heartbreaking:

Buddy. :( It's okay, you can remember him and have him back now.

The real treasure trove, however, is in the next room, past the wall Minsc smashed through, which has a number of items in what seem to be places of honor on pedestals along the walls.

It seems like someone at Larian forgot to make models for these items, because all of them (with the exception of the "Cracked Wooden Mask" look in-game like inscribed stone tablets. But we can use our imaginations!

All of the characters have commentary on each one if they're the active character to click on them, although Minsc's comment takes precedence if he's in the party even if he's not the active character. I'm going to list out all of them because I like digging through the dialogue files, but obviously Minsc and Jaheira have the most relevant things to say about each.

-----

Starting with "A Mailed Fist":

Narrator: A mailed fist in the Firecam armor style. RAKHA: Gorgeous mail on that fist. ASTARION: A mailed fist, for all your punching needs. LAE'ZEL: A mailed fist? Brutal indeed, but I prefer weapons with a more elegant profile. GALE: The mailed fist of a paladin of Torm. No doubt many felt the steely grip of its wearer's righteous justice. SHADOWHEART: A mailed fist. There must be a story behind this. WYLL: A mailed fist? Great for a paladin. Not so much for a warlock. KARLACH: Nice mail. HALSIN: A mailed fist. What tale does this have to tell? MINTHARA: A mailed fist - an inelegant but brutal weapon. JAHEIRA: Keldorn Firecam. He tried to teach Minsc much - a happy thing, that paladins are so patient. MINSC: Keldorn Firecam! He spoke much of honor and faith, but he fought like a berserker when it counted.

Keldorn! In this worldstate he traveled with Caden for a little bit and was a good mentor to the young Bhaalspawn for a time - although Caden eventually forced him to stay home and fix his marital problems. XD

-----

Next, "A Turnip":

Narrator: A humble turnip, preserved by drying. RAKHA: Huh. Dinner? ASTARION: It's - it's a turnip. Just a turnip, for all to see. LAE'ZEL: A turnip. Or is it a swede? Could never tell them apart. GALE: A humble vegetable depicted amongst such adventurous company. That is a turnip for the books. SHADOWHEART: A turnip? Not the most exciting of keepsakes. WYLL: A turnip. That's, er, something all right. KARLACH: All right, explain the turnip. HALSIN: A turnip? Not my favorite of nature's root vegetables, I must admit. MINTHARA: Is this animal, mineral, or fungus? I have not seen its like before. JAHEIRA: Jan Jansen. I admired his respect for growing things. Less so, his disregard for his own ripe smell. MINSC: Jan. A strange little man, but a fine friend. I can forgive him his love of turnips.

LOL. Of the five past companions represented here, Jan is the only one Caden never traveled with. He witnessed the little gnome getting carted off to prison early in the game, promptly decided that was something well worth minding his own business about, and never followed up further.

Also holy shit, that world-class pun from Gale out of nowhere.

-----

"A Warhammer":

Narrator: A worn but still capable warhammer, sized for a halfling. RAKHA: What a hammer. Looks like it has a history, too. ASTARION: Ah, a warhammer. A beautifully messy weapon. LAE'ZEL: Quite the warhammer. I imagine it's crushed more than a few skulls. GALE: No ordinary warhammer. Carved with the Luiric symbol for the number three. I wonder why. SHADOWHEART: It must take quite some brawn to wield a warhammer like that. WYLL: A warhammer like this cracks your skull, and you won't ever be the same after. KARLACH: Oh, wow. I bet that can do some real damage. HALSIN: An impressive hammer. MINTHARA: This hammer could shatter even the thickest of skulls. JAHEIRA: Mazzy Fentan. A living lesson not to trade tankards with a halfling; they have much less distance to fall. MINSC: Mazzy Fentan. Hah - not even the gods dared deny her when she sought to become a paladin!

Mazzy! Definitely Caden's favorite of the "flex slot" companions he traveled with in BG2. She was a super fierce halfling and wasn't officially a paladin but wanted to be. Nice to hear that maybe she reached that pinnacle in the end. :) (And LOL Jaheira.)

I'm not sure what the significance is of Gale's comment about the number three, and Google is unrevealing.

-----

"A Pair of Wings":

Narrator: A woodcarving of a pair of wings, like an eagle's but longer somehow. RAKHA: A pair of wings. ASTARION: Some discarded... wings? All right... LAE'ZEL: A pair of wings... GALE: The sylvan pinions of an Avariel. No easy task to capture their hollow delicacy in stone. SHADOWHEART: Wings? Who did these belong to? WYLL: A pair of wings? Hm. KARLACH: Some... wings? HALSIN: A pair of wings? MINTHARA: Wings. Were these plucked from some unfortunate celestial? JAHEIRA: Aerie's wings. She didn't need them, in the end. MINSC: Aerie. A brave avariel, who agreed to be my witch while I needed. She went in search of new wings.

Haha, the whole Act 1 gang is pretty befuddled by this one apparently. (And it seems like there might have been some confusion among the writers about whether they were carved wings or real ones.)

But awwww, yay, Aerie! Jaheira's comment on her is very sweet. :3 In this worldstate, of course, Aerie is safely in Faenya-Dail with her husband Caden and (by this point) several generations worth of descendents. I choose to believe that Minsc is speaking in a poetic metaphor, and the new wings Aerie went in search of were those of her son Quayle. :)

-----

And finally... the "Cracked Wooden Mask":

Narrator: A cracked wooden mask with female features, in the Rashemi style. RAKHA: Nice mask. What's the story here? ASTARION: A wooden mask. Not bad, but it's seen better days. LAE'ZEL: A wooden mask, perhaps of some cultural significance? GALE: A wychlaran face veil, worn by powerful witches in the Urlingwood wilds of Rashemen. The adornment of a skilled spell-weaver. SHADOWHEART: A wooden mask. Looks old. WYLL: A wooden mask - the sort worn by Rashemen's witches. KARLACH: Nice wooden mask. HALSIN: A wooden mask. For what purpose? MINTHARA: This mask is beautiful. I envy the one who had the authority to wear it. JAHEIRA: Hah. Even the wychlaran's mask could not hide Dynaheir's beauty - nor dull her daggered eyes. MINSC: All over Rashemen, they raised statues to Dynaheir. But this is Minsc's true monument to her - her wychlara mask.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. <3 <3 Dynaheir. <3 Minsc is such a good, loyal boy.

I love that Gale was able to clock the significance of all of these items (except the turnip) on sight. Wyll picks up on this one too which is interesting; wonder if a Rashemi envoy or two came through Wyrm's Rock when he was younger.

-----

All in all I'm a big feels puddle about all of this. I love that (more or less by chance) these are almost all characters that Caden did indeed hang out with extensively in the past games. And it is very bittersweet to see Minsc, who had the past ripped away from him by force, clinging on to these little remnants of it - particularly pieces of his past witches - with all of his strength.

[ghcstao3]

omg swan lake ghostsoap au

ghost, cursed by roba, is forced to take shape of a swan every day for the rest of his life, only able to return to his human form at night, so long as the curse remains unbroken.

prince soap, who doesn’t want to choose a suitor from a selection of people he feels nothing for, fleeing from a ball and coming across ghost one night, this man that transforms from swan to human, and falling in love at first sight.

soap making a vow to break ghost’s curse if it’s the last thing he does. him returning night after night to visit ghost, and him then being tricked by roba and nearly incidentally killing the swan prince as a cause of falling for the warlock’s manipulations.

but in the end, soap and ghost’s love being powerful enough to break the spell and kill roba, finally freeing ghost after so long to be with soap how he’s so desperately wanted to from the start. happily ever after because they deserve it at least a few universes :)