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flametrashiraarchive · 9 months

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I'm impatient...

Here is the prologue of In Another Life. I may just wait to post the other chapters once the whole story is done.

Muzan x Reader- prologue revolves around sick human Muzan.

F!reader, some swearing, SFW (for now)

CW for reader's death (off page).

Prologue-

Heian Era- a thousand years ago.

One of the servants was sobbing in the kitchen again. You didn't need to ask why. Lately it had become a daily occurrence.

Your husband's doctor had been experimenting with new treatments, and each one only seemed to excel in providing a little more hope to be shattered.

Making your way through your house, your senses became cloyed with the overpowering perfume of incense. It promised healing and protection from evil, but in a more practical way, it covered the scent of sickness.

"Get out!" Muzan snarled from his futon as you stepped into his room. His long black hair was spilling down his back and shoulders like streaks of ink, his face pallid and covered in a sheen of sweat. "I don't want pity."

"Well, good, because I'm not here to give it to you," you said, stepping between the shattered pieces of a priceless vase littered across the floor. You'd loved that vase. It was a wedding gift.

"Then why are you here?"

"Do I need an excuse to see my husband?"

He said nothing, but averted his eyes as you crouched at the end of his futon.

Your brow knitted when you saw the blood on the sheets. "Your hands…"

Curling his fingers to try to cover the bleeding wounds, he made a disdainful "tch" sound and shook his head. "It's nothing."

You got up and went to fetch his wash basin and two rolls of bandages. "Well, that 'nothing' is staining the sheets–"

"To hell with the sheets." He glared at you as if daring you to challenge him. "Curse these fucking sheets. Curse this bed. Curse those good for nothing servants who tiptoe around me like their steps will shatter my body. Curse the fucking doctor and curse you too."

It took him a moment to catch his breath; a moment where you simply looked back at him and let him get his anger out. In his position you would be angry too. Hell, you were angry.

Finally, Muzan took a deeper breath and held out his bleeding hands, permitting you to tend to them.

Thankfully the wounds were not too severe. In fact, as you cleaned them it seemed absurd that such shallow cuts could bleed as much as they had.

Your eyes met his briefly as you bandaged his palms. "What did the vase do to anger you this time?"

His frown lessened. "I'm just… tired of this."

"I know."

There was nothing more you could say that Muzan hadn't heard a thousand times throughout his life. Everyone was sorry. Everyone said they would pray for him. Everyone knew someone who had been cured of similar illnesses by putting a little extra ginger in their tea, or meditating daily, or taking walks, or sleeping with an onion beside their bed, or a thousand other absurd and pointless "cures."

He had never admitted it, and likely never would, but you suspected that the only reason Muzan tolerated your company was because you spoke to him like a person, instead of some delicate and unpredictable thing.

Muzan looked down at his hands as you tied off the bandage. "Alright, your wifely fussing is done for the day. Leave me in peace."

"Absolutely not. You haven't performed a single husbandly duty in return." Brushing your thumbs across the backs of his wrists, you bowed your head and gently kissed the peaks of his knuckles.

A quiet chuckle finally emerged from him as he caresses the curvature of your cheek with his fingertips. "You only married me because you want my money."

"No, I was forced to marry you because my parents want your money."

His lips tilted into a faint smirk. "Is that so? Well, they probably won't have to wait long."

A sudden ache rose in your chest. Though the day you would have to be without him loomed ever closer, it wasn't something you were ready to confront yet. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth. Nothing that fraudulent doctor tries is working. I'm getting worse." He lowered his gaze to the sheets, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet. "Send the servants in to change these."

"The servants are cowering in the kitchen," you said, pulling the sheets from his futon and bundling them in your arms. "I'll go and wash them–"

"No." His hand on your arm halted you, his grip weak and unsteady. "Don't go. Don't… just stay a moment."

There was a side to Muzan that he only permitted you to see. Behind the snarls and the bad temper there was a frustrated and frightened man, desperate for an end to his pain.

Before your marriage, your parents had prepared you, telling you that Muzan had no redeeming qualities besides wealth. He was rude, cruel, humorless, and he was sick. The doctors did not expect he would make it past twenty, and then you would be a wealthy young widow with enough riches to give her parents a comfortable life. You were assured you wouldn't care about his passing; Muzan was a monster and the world was better off without him.

But as you lay on the futon beside him, wrapping your arms around his fragile frame, there was only one thing you would change about your husband.

"I wish I could take this pain from you," you whispered, stroking his hair back from his brow. "I wish I could endure it for you."

He closed his eyes and relaxed into your caress. "I wouldn't want that."

While his eyes were closed, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on the crease between his eyebrows, and then another on the bridge of his nose. There was nothing monstrous about him.

"Do you want to try to sit in the garden with me tomorrow? The flowers are all in bloom and the sunlight might do you some good– at least for your soul."

"I want to. I don't know if I'll have the strength–"

"Then I'll carry you on my back," you smiled as the corner of his lip curled ever so slightly.

"You would, wouldn't you? You damned stubborn headed woman." He chuckled softly, raising his hand to rest his fingers on your cheek. "When I finally face the gods and demand to know what the fuck they were thinking when they cursed me with this life, you will be their rebuttal. They'll say ah, yes Muzan, we gave you a weak body and a shit heart, but we also gave you that insane woman who refused to leave you and loved you more than you deserve to be loved."

You laughed and Muzan smiled fully for the first time that day. Lying there on the futon, surrounded by shattered porcelain, you held each other; your adoration like an island of calm amid a sea of pain.

The love between you was patient, quiet, and always whispered like a secret. Your husband's delicate fingers wrapped around yours, bringing your hand to his lips.

His breaths were gentle and warm against your skin as he kissed your fingertips. "I'm sorry I can't love you the way you deserve to be–"

"Don't. You love me in your way and I love you in mine. One day we'll be reborn and find each other again, and we'll do all the things we can't do in this life."

He hummed softly. "I doubt I'll be reborn. I'm probably going to hell."

"Then I'll go to hell with you and we'll perform unspeakable acts of passion in the flames."

He opened his eyes just enough for you to see the look of mock disdain in them. "Such a vulgar wife."

"Oh please, the filth that drips from your vicious tongue."

A smirk titled his lips. "You once said my tongue was my only redeeming feature."

"Hah, I did?"

"You did." He closed his eyes and let his lips linger on the pulse point of your wrist. "The next good day I have, I'll remind you of just how redeeming my tongue can be. You can be the one lying here helpless while your husband devours you."

This man. This terrible, wonderful man. You could love him for eons if the world would only let you.

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

The cicadas fell suddenly silent, snapping you from your sleep. It took you a moment to remember where you were, that you had fallen asleep in Muzan's arms on his futon. He had been nestled against your breast, your fingers gliding through the dark waves of his hair.

But now night pressed against the windows. You had slept through the entire evening and Muzan was no longer beside you.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, the fear that something was watching you from the bottom of the bed.

And then you saw him.

Muzan stood tall, straight-backed and firm, as if illness had never curved his posture. His smile was a sickle, his once deep, dark eyes now crimson. As crimson as the blood staining his nightshirt.

"Muzan?"

The air pulsed with danger. Every muscle and sinew in your body tensed as your nerves fired off warnings. This was not your husband. This was something else, neither human nor beast, wearing the visage of the man you loved.

"What are you?"

Those were the last words you ever spoke.

#muzan x y/n #muzan x you #muzan x reader #lord muzan #kny muzan #muzan kibutsuji #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kibutsuji muzan #demon slayer muzan

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mothxmoons · 1 year

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we need a part 2 of the self aware yan! leon kennedy 😭😭🙏🏻

When you woke up again, things were different. Way different. You felt different. With a groan you sat up, looking at your surroundings. This was definitely the setting of resident evil 4. This was most definitely Spain. So that wasn’t a weird dream you had, and no wonder you felt different. You had very dark veins running up your arms, a telltale sign of what happened. Does that mean this resident evil is different? Or will it mean that Leon will still get cured and save Ashley?

But if you’re here does that mean you’ve thrown off the timeline? With hesitation you swung your legs over the bed you were resting on, taking one more glance at your arm before standing up. You wobbled a bit but we’re all around fine. That’s when Leon opened the door and saw you standing up, and he was ecstatic, running over and lifting you off of the ground in a tight hug. His smile tugged at his cheeks as he twirled you around. You were very confused as he spun you around and smiled at you. So that that wasn’t a weird dream, his eyes were a dark red, there were dark veins along his arms. He’s infected. It was different this time. But why was it different?

When he let you down he went on and on, explaining how he received a gift and intended to use it to have you for himself. That’s all he ever wanted. Ever since he first became aware that you were his player. He wanted you to be his.

It was very different as you two ran around, the villagers didn’t seem interested in attacking you, Leon was a different story, but they seemed to go out of their way not to attack you. Leon enjoyed that they left you alone, although he didn’t seem to know why they did either. But he was grateful nonetheless.

You followed him around, you were pretty much glued to his side. Not that he minded of course. If it were up to him, he’d have you handcuffed to him. Even as both he and Ashley’s infection grew, you seemed to be unaffected by their same ailments. Where they grew violent from time to time, and sometimes mind controlled, you were unharmed by it. In fact the opposite seemed to happen.

Not that you became peaceful or anything, more in the sense you could control the other villagers. Anyone infected with Las Plagas just seemed to…bend to your will. Whatever you wanted. Leon was confused, you were confused, Luis was confused, Ashley was ecstatic.

When Saddler found out about your little…power. He was pissed. Only he can do that, excuse you. He tried to order his followers to kill you but with Leon by your side it never worked for him. All he could do was watch and wait. Even when Leon and Ashley got their plagas removed, your’s remained. Leon preferred it that way. It kept you safe. It kept you alive.

One way or another, you were going to end up at the end. You had to make sure of that. You were going to see this through, even though there might be a chance you won’t go home. You needed to see this through. With a level head, well as much as you could get a level head in this situation, you carried on with Leon. Meeting Ada was an experience though, she seemed…surprised that you were still alive. You know her story, you played through it in the original.

However…when you, Leon and Ashley got out of that place…you didn’t know Ada was in contact with a certain someone about you specifically.

“There was another person with him. I don’t know if they’re a rescue, a villager or his partner. But it seems the plagas doesn’t effect them..”

“Bring them to me.”

#asks!#resident evil x reader #yandere leon s kennedy #yandere leon kennedy #leon x reader #self aware au #leon kennedy x reader

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mumms-the-word · 4 days

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Ascension, Return

Pairing: Gale x You (Reader POV) Summary: You watch as Gale restores the Crown of Karsus and temporarily becomes a god before disappearing to return the crown to Mystra. And you can only hope, now that he is a god, that he will return. ao3 link A/N: I was thinking the other day about how in the ending for an Origin run for Gale, regardless of how he plans to deal with the crown business, he always shows up as God!Gale in front of Mystra before agreeing to hand over the crown or deciding to stay a god. And it got me thinking...wouldn't a romanced Tav who is expecting him to give up the crown see him ascend? So anyway I wrote this to get those thoughts out there. As usual pic of my Tav Dani because I keep forgetting to ask to borrow people’s better pictures

It doesn’t take long for you and Gale to make plans to retrieve the crown from the depths of the Chionthar River. The sooner you get this over with, the better, you think, and yet something about this endeavor has you on edge. You secretly wish you can just leave the crown down below the waters…but then, anyone could get it down there, with the right spells or the right technology. You can’t risk that.

You don’t want it in Mystra’s hands either, but what choice do you have? She, at least, is a goddess interested in balance, neither evil like the Dead Three, nor entirely good and thus subject to extreme corruption. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the crown, but she has offered one thing in exchange—a cure for your lover’s affliction.

He’ll be free of the dark hungering orb at last.

It’s enough to convince you. You retrieve your worn bedrolls from the Elfsong and shoulder your pack, ready for your next little adventure—a small boat ride to the other side of the river, and a few days spent with Gale as he searches the murky waters.

You join him on the banks of the Chionthar, well away from the bustle of the city as it is trying to rebuild, watching over him as he sits, eyes glazed with concentration, guiding simulacrums to walk the riverbeds and floors of the river, combing through the mud for the crown. He could have let his simulacrums search without him guiding them, but he wants to be sure, to search closely. He doesn’t want to waste his time turning away simulacrums who bring back scraps of metal, shrapnel from the Iron Throne, or bits from the carnage of the fight against the Netherbrain. So he looks through their eyes, seeing nothing for hours but hazy water, mud, and river plants.

Though you long to lie back and watch the sails of fishing vessels drift by like clouds on the breeze, reveling in a hard-won moment of peace, you don’t want to miss a moment where he might need you. You do not want him to be caught unawares by some curious animal, or worse, a lingering enemy. So you sit and watch, your stomach twisting into knots as you face what you know will be inevitable—the moment when he finally finds the crown.

It takes all of two days of searching. After hours upon hours of looking, he stiffens, his physical body reacting to something beyond your sight, and you know at last that he has found it. You both stand as his simulacrum emerges, dripping water, with the cold bronze of the crown in its hands.

The Crown of Karsus.

It’s so much smaller than you remember. When you faced it on the top of the Netherbrain it had easily been the size of a large carriage. Here, on the banks of the Chionthar, it’s no bigger than a normal crown. It looks innocent. Harmless.

But you know better.

The power it releases…you are no stranger to it. You readily recall the metallic taste on your tongue as you drew near it atop the Netherbrain and the way its very aura tried to drive you to your knees. Its power is weaker now, pulsating from the bronze metal like a faint heartbeat, but you know that it won’t stay that way.

You glance at Gale, wondering what you’ll see in his face. Dark hunger, perhaps, or something bittersweet. Reluctance, dread, or tired resignation. But his expression is surprisingly neutral. He doesn’t step forward to take the crown just yet. Instead, he studies it with his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose and turning to look at you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course,” you say. “Always.”

“That’s gratifying to hear. It will take me some time to restore the crown and the Netherstones to their original state, fit enough to give to Mystra. The process will be necessarily delicate, given the orb I carry. I should ask you to keep a safe distance. A city’s worth of space, perhaps, just in case, but—”

You cross your arms. “I’m not leaving your side, Gale. I’m here with you, for good or ill.”

He smiles then, as much relieved as he is amused and resigned. “I know. I expected as much. But I thought it best to offer or warn you regardless.” He takes a deep breath. “Very well, then. We stay together. I just hope you’ll be patient with me.”

You reach out and take his hand, threading your fingers between his. “I will be. I’m here for you. Take all the time you need, my love.”

He gives you a grateful look, squeezing your hand affectionately before leaning in to brush a sweet, gentle kiss against your lips. You let him pull away, slipping out of reach, and watch with bated breath as he steps forward to accept the crown, the mark on his chest glowing brighter and brighter as he nears and finally takes the crown in his hands.

You don’t know what you expect. A light show, perhaps. A wave of dark, Netherese magic, or a black hole effect. You steel yourself to the fear that he will simply evaporate or fall to his knees in pain.

But nothing spectacular happens, aside from his mark glowing brightly. To your eyes, the crown acts as little more than a normal crown. To him…

You see his chest expand with a deep breath, the orb flaring brighter, watch him blow the air slowly through his lips, his face tense. But without the tadpole in your heads, you can’t guess at what he’s thinking or feeling. He closes his eyes, simply breathing, concentrating. Fighting, perhaps. Wrestling with some unseen force. The glow on his chest dims slowly until it is only a faint purple tint on his skin. Only then does he finally tighten his hold on the crown and turn back to you.

You get the sense that he has just won a silent, unseen battle within himself. It occurs to you too late that putting the crown and the orb in close proximity might actually hurt him. But it seems that the danger has passed...for now. If he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it.

“Come,” he says. “Let us make sure we’re a safe distance from the city. Just in case.”

His words don't inspire confidence, but you say nothing. You merely follow him back to your camp further up hillside. You know he has work to do.

———

You give him time. That’s all he asked for. Time to concentrate on the magic. Time to manipulate threads of the Weave. The Mystran Weave and the Karsite Weave. Sometimes you think you understand what he’s doing, but more often than not, you don’t. The magic he is performing is beyond your comprehension, guided by notes in the Annals of Karsus which lays open in front of him. You suspect some of it comes innately to him, an understanding born from carrying Netherese magic for so long. The rest must come from Karsus himself, written down as instructions or incantations. You give up trying to understand and simply make yourself useful. Or you try to, anyway.

All you can really do is linger nearby, keeping an eye out for anything that might interrupt his work. You barely interrupt him yourself, save to place some food and water near him with a soft reminder that he needs to eat to keep his energy up. He’s not a god yet, you tease, but the words taste sour on your tongue.

Yet. But soon.

You don’t feel ready for it. You know it’ll only be temporary. You hope so, anyway. But you’re still not ready.

The day passes by without you noticing. Gale sits with the crown, working, weaving, an illuminated aura around him filled with heavy magic. You leave him to his work as the sun moves slowly overhead toward the horizon, painting the sky in tones of orange, red, and purple. You lay down to watch the swirls of violet and indigo magic that gather around him as night falls, until in your exhaustion, you close your eyes for a moment to rest.

You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by his hand on your shoulder. You stir, blinking groggily up at him.

“It’s time,” he says softly. He helps you sit up, hands lingering on your arms, your hands. The crown isn’t with him, but sits on top of his pack several feet away. “I’ve done all I can. The stones and the crown are together again. Functionally the crown is complete, but…there is one last step I need to take.”

He kneels in front of you, dark eyes searching your face in the dim firelight. No, you realize. Memorizing. You feel a sudden knot in your throat and though you are seated safely on the ground, it feels as though a yawning void is opening up around you, threatening to swallow you whole should you tip too far to one side.

This feels like a goodbye.

“Once I put on the crown, the magic of the orb will finally combine with that of the crown. And I will…change,” he explains quietly, while you try to calm the surge of fear that grips your heart. “The magic of the crown and orb will become one and give me the power at last to meet with Mystra as an equal.”

An equal. He doesn’t say as a god. But you both know the truth.

You can scarcely breathe. You want to trust him. You want so desperately to believe in him. And he is looking at you so lovingly, but the very air seems tinged with sorrow. Nothing is certain. Nothing save his love for you, and even then, the tiniest doubt worms its way into your head and your heart.

Once he is a god…will he even remember to come back to you?

“And then?” you ask, your voice no more than a whisper.

“And then…I will hand the crown over to Mystra. And hope she keeps her word.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I trust you, my love.” You use the words, saying them out loud, to dispel your doubts and fears. You do trust him. With your life, with your heart, with your all.

If only you could trust Mystra. Can she be trusted to cure him? Can she be trusted to let him return? And if he does return, can she be trusted to let him return unchanged? Chosen or not, will he still be Gale Dekarios, the man you love? You don’t know. But you hope so.

He smiles at you and brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, his fingertips trailing along the line of your jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans in for a kiss and you, selfishly, wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly to you as your lips move against his, wanting to never let go. You rise to your knees, following him as he tries to pull away, kissing him deeply, tangling your fingers in his hair, until at last you are both breathless and you have to hide your face in his shoulder. You cling to him, reluctant to let him go just yet.

“Just come back to me,” you whisper. “Whatever happens.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel the bob of his throat as he swallows with difficulty. He strokes your hair and your back, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your head. You can feel it in every touch and breath he takes. He doesn’t want to let go yet either.

“I will, my love,” he whispers back. “I swear it.”

It’s enough for now. It has to be. You could delay this day for a thousand days and still never be ready to let him go. But you have to. If he wants to be whole again, free of the orb, perhaps even free of Mystra…he has to do this.

You reluctantly loosen your hold on him and sit back on your heels, meeting his dark-eyed gaze in the early hours of the morning. He takes your hands and lifts them to his lips, brushing kisses against your knuckles, turning your hands over to kiss the center of your palms. Each touch of his lips to your skin is a reverent confession of love and longing and it only makes your heart ache more.

Please don’t let this be goodbye.

“Wait for me,” he says.

You cradle his cheek in your hand, gazing earnestly at him, soaking in every detail of his handsome face, committing it all to memory. “I will, my love. I swear it.”

He smiles at you then, full of love and happiness. He steals one last kiss from your lips before finally pulling away and standing, taking several steps back.

You stand too, preparing yourself for what is about to happen, even though you scarcely have any idea. You expect some of what you expected before, with light shows and waves of magic at best, disintegration and death at the worst, but now it feels even more real. Even more likely. You don’t know what will happen, so you brace yourself for the worst, heart pounding in your throat, gut churning with dread, and hope, desperately hope, for the best, even though you don’t know what that will look like.

You hold your breath as he moves several paces away from you and bends to pick up the crown. This image, too, you commit to memory. The way he looks illuminated by the firelight, the lights of the city glimmering behind and below him, the stars glittering above him. The sight of him with the crown in his hands, contemplating it with an expression of deep gravity. The crown looks small and harmless, despite the sharp curls and the soft glow of the purple, orange, and pink Netherstones that are now set once more in the bronze. But he looks serious, regal even, with it cradled in his hands. Like a king mulling over the weight of his position and the choices that lay ahead. He is beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. You wish this moment could stretch on forever, if only because it means not losing him to the crown. To godhood.

He turns to give you one last lingering look, your eyes meeting over the distance between you, before he slowly raises the crown to his head and settles it over his brown and gray locks.

The effect is instantaneous. A blast of magic blows outward from him, kicking up wind and dust and flashing bright enough to rival the sun. You cover your eyes, shielding your face, the light blinding you. Suddenly the air feels electric, tasting of metal and ozone, as though you’re about to be struck by lightning at any second. Wind swirls around you, picking up speed, a cyclone of power and magic with you caught in the edges. You struggle to stay on your feet, your body resisting the pull into the vortex. What little you can see is naught but a haze of magic, purple, blue, and inky black, rushing around you and mixing with the wind. Threads of blue and silver lightning dance around you, passing close enough to make your hair stand on end, shocking you when you take an unsteady step backward. The vortex of wind, lightning, and magic threatens to suck the very air from your lungs until, with crack like thunder, everything around you stops.

The air grows still. It is as though you suspended in time. Held fast by magic. Your ears are ringing with the sudden silence.

You cautiously lower your hand. You have to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, the sight of Gale causes a flurry of emotions within you.

He stands before you as something…more. A god in all but name. He’s taller, you swear he must be, or else his very presence makes him seem bigger. His skin has turned a shade of hard silver, his hair ashen gray. The mark of the orb stands out in stark black on his chest and when he turns his head to examine his hands, his body, you see splintered blue lightning crackling at his temples and down the sides of his face. His brown eyes now glow blue-white with magic, any trace of his former warmth consumed by the light of the power within him. He’s striking, awe-inspiring…

And you can’t help but fear him, just a little.

On instinct you have the compulsion to kneel, but you don’t. You force yourself to stay on your feet and look at him, really look at him, and try to find the man you love behind this new godly veneer. He has to be in there somewhere. He has to be.

“Amazing,” he murmurs, and his voice is layered two or three times over with a strange echo, one that gives you unpleasant shivers. Even his voice carries tiny waves of power. You already miss the warm tones of his mortal voice with its Waterdhavian accent.

He flexes his hands, raising them before his face, his expression one of wonder and awe. With but a gesture, he summons threads of the Weave together in glyphs and effects you can barely make sense of, though you feel the thrum of magic deep in your chest and know, instinctively, that he is capable of snapping your mind with a thought or destroying you with a word. He smiles, and the effect is strange. He looks like himself but he doesn’t. Something about it seems wrong to you. Uncanny. Familiar and unfamiliar.

The pit of dread in your stomach grows.

But then he catches sight of you, waiting, watching breathlessly, nervously, hoping that he’ll remember his promise to you. His smile fades and for the briefest moment you catch a glimpse of the man you love. Even his blue-white eyes, shining eerily from his familiar face, can’t hide the love he has for you.

He lowers his hands to his sides. “It is done. The crown is fully restored once more.”

You nod. You haven’t the faintest clue what to say next. You’re still trying to make sense of the man-god before you.

He smiles again, and something about it is both patronizing, as though he pities you for not understanding, and sincere, an echo of his mortal kindness and patience. He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, I’d best be off then.”

“Wait—” You reach out as if to stop him and he pauses. Your hand hovers uncertainly in the air before you lower it to your side. "One last kiss, before you go. Please."

His smile softens. "I can deny you nothing, my love," he murmurs. He crosses the distance between you with a strange grace he didn't have before. Before he was elegant, but at times a little awkward. None of the awkwardness remains in him now.

You look up as he stops in front of you, his fingers curling beneath your chin the way he does when he wants to lift your face or guide your lips to his. You stare into his glowing eyes a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed. His lips touch yours...and it's different.

There's a magnetism there now that wasn't there before. You seem drawn in as if by gravity. He tastes of metal and magic, his skin cold but not unyielding. Your lips tingle with each kiss and the moment you seek to deepen the kiss—you gasp as a blue electric shock drives your mouths apart, your teeth practically rattling, your lips suddenly hot, almost burned. You press a hand to your mouth, looking up at him in shock, but he's just as surprised as you are. He seems unharmed, despite the tiny sparks of white-blue lightning still skittering over his lips.

"Ah...what an interesting side effect," he says, touching his hand to his mouth. The lightning calms. "Are you all right?"

You nod, rubbing your lips lightly as the numbness from the shock begins to subside and the tingling begins to fade. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't unpleasant either. Still, you're wary of trying it again.

He watches you, looking torn, before a new resolve settles his features. "Then I suppose that is my signal to go. The sooner I depart, the sooner I can return." He takes your hand carefully, moving it away from your face, and presses a cautious kiss to the back of your hand. His lips impart another, smaller shock to your skin, but this time you're ready for it. Your fingertips go a little numb, but you manage not to wince.

"Wait for me, my love," he says, finally letting go of your hand. "I won’t be long."

You step back, giving him room to do whatever he needs to do, and watch as he begins to glow, brighter than your eyes can stand. You keep your gaze on his until the very last second, when the light grows too bright to stare at. You blink—and then he’s gone, disappearing in a shower of starlight that fades too quickly.

You are left alone in the cool night, with naught but a dying fire for company.

———

You don’t sleep. You barely bring yourself to tend to the dying embers of your campfire and stoke it back into warm flames. After that, all you can do is sit.

And wait.

And wonder.

And pray.

“Come back to me, my love,” you whisper into the cool night air. "Please."

You half-wonder if he can hear you. If, on some level, you’re praying to him, the newest of the gods. You don’t know if that thought comforts you or worsens your dread. How does he think of you now, now that his mind is that of a god, capable of seeing beyond the constraints of a mortal’s limited view? If he hears your prayers, does he think less of you, or love you more? Will he remember his promise, or will the power he now holds tempt him to break it? You want to have faith in him—you do have faith in him—but doubt creeps in despite your best efforts.

Come back to me.

You recall what it was like to wait for him at Mystra’s shrine at the Stormshore Tabernacle. How he had explained that time runs differently in the Outer Planes. How he would only be gone for a moment. Each second that had ticked by during that time felt like a year.

Now, sitting on the hillside, every second that passes feels like an eternity.

The fire crackles. The lights of the city begin to dim. One by one the stars fade out, hiding from view as the black of night begins to lighten into the blue hues of pre-dawn. And still, he isn’t back.

Wait for me, he said. And you will. You’ll wait as long as you have to.

But what if…?

No. You can’t bring yourself to put your fears into words anymore. Doing so will only make them seem more real. More feasible. There could be a thousand explanations for why he isn’t back quickly. You just have to have faith in him.

You get up and begin to pace. You start breaking little sticks and twigs into tiny pieces to feed to the fire, piece by tiny piece, just for something to do with your hands. You pluck blades of grass one by one or count the stars you can see. And you wait.

And wait.

Your thoughts are your own worst enemy and you wish you had called an ally to come and sit with you. Even Scratch with his favorite ball would have been enough to quiet your heart and mind. But instead, you sit alone, the crackle of a fire the only sound to break the silence.

Your eyelids are heavy now and your body longs to drag you down into slumber, but you resist. You want to be there when he comes back. If he comes back. When he comes back.

You get up to pace again, rubbing warmth into your stiff fingers, amusing yourself with memories of him. His smile. His sly jests and silly puns. His hands on your body and his body against yours, yours against his. The smell of him, as much as you can remember. The way he looked during battles, magic crackling and swirling around him. The way he looked in your bed, fast asleep. Gale Dekarios in all his mortal glory, the man you fell in love with. The man you wish was at your side once more.

Gods, but you miss him. You press your hands to your chest, feeling your heart beat beneath your palms. What is taking so long?

The first hints of pink and orange appear on the horizon as you turn to pace away from the fire again, your steps wearing a noticeable path through the grass. At this rate, you fear the sun will arrive before your love does.

You contemplate how you’re supposed to face the whole of a new day alone when a flash of light illuminates the darkness behind you. You whirl, heart racing, to see a shower of starlight once more—and out of it steps Gale.

Mortal. Human. Alive.

“Gale!”

You fly into his arms, which he is already holding out wide for you, nearly toppling you both into the ground with the force of your embrace. You both stagger, but you don’t let go, and his arms around you are as fierce in their hold on you as yours are around him. He practically lifts you off your feet. You can’t put into words how much it means to you that he’s solid your arms—warm, breathing, alive in your arms.

“You’re back,” you gasp, the tears in your eyes and clogging your throat making it difficult to speak. You don’t want to sob and make it seem like you doubted him, but the emotions welling up inside you are hard to suppress. “You came back.”

“Of course, my love,” he says soothingly, not yet relinquishing his hold of you. “You are everything to me. I could do nothing else.”

You untangle yourself from him to wipe the tears from your face and look at him, looking for any changes wrought by his visit to the Outer Planes or from his brief time at godhood. He looks like himself again, his lightly tanned skin flush with warmth and love, his dark brown eyes as rich and deep as ever. You comb your fingers through his soft hair, once more brown and shot through with hints of gray, rather than all over ashen as it was a while ago. Your fingers linger on his cheek, noticing for the first time that the dark vein-like threads that trailed from his eye to his chest are no longer visible.

The mark of the orb is gone.

In its place are a series of faint scars in the same threads and shapes as the old mark, appearing just below his jaw and flowing down to form a circle over his chest. The tattoo-like color has faded away entirely and there is no dark bruise at the center of the circular marking. Any trace of Netherese magic is gone, leaving behind little more than scars faint enough to be missed by any who are not actively searching for them.

You trace the circular scar lightly with the tips of your fingers. “Does this mean…?”

“It does,” he says, pressing his hand over yours so that both of your hands are pressed flat to his chest. You feel his heart beating, his pulse perhaps a little elevated, but every beat strong and vibrant. “Mystra has cured me of the orb. Completely.”

You want to hate her, and perhaps you still do, and always will on some level. But in that moment you’re grateful and relieved too. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight, overwhelmed with happiness and relief and joy. Your love is cured at last. The threat of losing him to Netherese magic is at last put to rest. He is whole again. Restored.

And he is yours. Not hers.

As dawn colors the sky overhead and spills pink-golden light over the both of you, you kiss him, reveling in the taste of him, in the warmth and weight of him, in his hands on you. Not a single spark of lightning threatens to drive you apart, so you deepen your kisses as much as you please. You simultaneously want to push him down into the grass and make love to him there and kiss him for an eternity you know you both don’t have and simply gaze at him in awe and wonder that even while he had godhood in grasp and a crown on his head, he gave it all up for you.

He gave up godhood for you.

You never realized you could love him more than you already did. But you do. Your every heartbeat sings love for him.

You lose track of time kissing him. It could be moments or hours. You don’t know nor do you care. But at last, when you finally pull away from him, it takes you a second to remember where you are, standing out on the hillside across the river from the city. The sun is rising over the horizon now, painting the world in gold and shifting the hue of the sky to a beautiful, cloudless blue. A new day is beginning.

A whole future awaits. And it is yours to shape with your love at your side.

“What’s next, my love?” you ask. “Now that we have everything we both want.”

“Next? For us?” He chuckles and takes your hand, bringing it up to press a tiny kiss on your empty ring finger. “If you still want me, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

“I will always want you, Gale Dekarios. Now and forever.”

“Is that a yes to planning the wedding? Because I’ll have you know that Waterdhavian weddings are quite the large-scale affair.”

You laugh, his humor clearing the air like the sunlight warming away the fog of a morning and the dew on the grass. “Yes. Come on, let’s find some food to eat and get started. I can’t wait to begin a new life together with you.”

“My love, that new life starts now,” he says, bringing you in for another kiss. You smile against his lips and allow yourself to be corrected. He is right, of course.

Your new life with him begins now.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale #baldur's gate 3 #my fic #gale x reader #gale x you #I’m not super happy with this one but if I keep staring at it I’ll hate it #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

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riacte · 6 months

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update on hermitgals precure au: i’ve decided to make the mascot kingdom the hermit kingdom and they protect the genesis block (?) which is the macguffin that facilitates communal creation and sharing of art and inspiring each other with their own creations in their peaceful hermit kingdom, which then ripples out to the human world.

the evil corporation (yes it’s a corporation) wants to steal the genesis block so they can control all the art output and mash it together like a soulless meat grinder for capitalist profit. pearl is a particularly creative person, the evil corporation viewed her as a big threat to their evil monopoly, so they straight up brainwashed her from birth. she still broke free because her adventurous and free spirit cannot be contained!

i’ve decided to make ren have a human form because the logistics nightmare of making the cures carry the mascots to safety every time they fight is… not good lmao. anyways he can be a human because he’s the king and the tiny crown of the dog gives him extra powers. he easily transforms back though. his main job is to run to safety with iskall and protect the genesis block. (eventually he lends the crown to cleo in a cleo-related arc and they’re both 🥺)

towards the boss fight, the corporation captures four cures and drains their vitality from them and keeps them captured/ otherwise frozen, and gem is the one who has to save them all and she laments about being so powerful that she’s the one who’s left behind 🥺 (but there is at least one mascot with her for moral support)

i want to make stress turn evil temporarily so everyone’s gonna be disheartened that their cheerful pink cure has succumbed to despair but they save her with the power of love and hugs.

the cures throw ren around like a stuffed doll and hold him up by the scruff of his neck. he’s just a guy. false keeps on forgetting she can’t punch ren in human form because he’ll transform back if he’s weakened.

#ria.txt #hermitcraft #hermitgals #precure au #i watched the finale of gogo and hm. the angst. and also the anti-colonialist messaging

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tumblingxelian · 6 months

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You know, I think complaints about RWBY not fixing bigotry and class inequality show less respect for these ideas than CRWBY ever did at their worst.

Cos like, CRWBY acknowledge that these issues are vast, intergenerational and systemic. A recurring element of Blake's specific struggle is about how immense the task before her is but the vast challenges of these issues are underline everything .

They cannot be fixed by four teenagers who kind of have a lot on their plate right now already. What's more a "Very special episode" addressing it or "Fixing" it. Be it by unrealistically speedy activism or by killing "the right people" would only come off as disrespectful to the task at hand.

A decent comparison might be how how Reed Richards cannot cure cancer in the comics. On a purely technical level he may be able to but this would do nothing to magically fix cancer in the real world. Thus it would just end up feeling disrespectful to the subject matter.

The same logic applies here, maybe Ruby's silver eyes could erase evil, maybe Robyn Hill could kill all the elitist Atlesians or Blake magically inspire total peace and reparations by doing some activism. But none of these issues would b fixed by such things in the real world, not even close.

So again, we are left with either CRWBY being realistic or embracing childish power fantasy that disrespect the very topics they are grappling with.

#RWBY #CRWBY #Meta #Anlysis

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spacebarbarianweird · 2 months

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Hello Dear! It's me again 🤭 thank you for answering my ask earlier. 🙏

Can you do an Evil Durge x Spawn Astarion instead pretty please 🙏 i guess angst is expected but let's see what you think about it. 🤭

Thank you so much!! 🥹🥹🥹

Hmm… Ok, let's see what we can do!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Evil Durge

You are scared, but you know you have no choice.

You need to end what you started, and you can't do it without Bhaal's powers.

Astarion is shocked with your choice, but you both hope you have some time together before madness takes over you again.

But he will leave once you aren't yourself anymore. Once you are too dangerous, you are doomed.

"In a thousand years, when I've all but forgotten how to love yet again, you'll flit back into my heart, and I'll weep wondering what happened to my mad love."

How much do you have?

What are you now exactly?

You turn into the Slayer to strike fear in your enemies, and you are sometimes so drunk with violence you can't turn back.

And Astarion goes looking for you, catching you and dragging you back to your normal form.

He isn't afraid. But he should be.

You keep asking him why he is still with you.

But you know the answer without his bantering.

You are so much worse than him. Astarion did horrible things. Astarion's body is tainted, and dirty - there is nothing but horrors in his past.

If someone else was in your place, Astarion would contemplate if he ruined you.

Not with you.

Necrophilia, infanticide, all sorts of assaults, and body horrors. You don't remember that but you were a much bigger monster than he is.

"I will save you. I will find the way," he tells you.

You hope for at least a decade of peaceful life. It's enough to find a cure, to condemn the curse.

Unfortunately, you never get what you want.

Once the tadpoles are removed, your lover has to go into hiding, and you...

You lose yourself to the madness.

The bloodlust, the fury, the violence… You unleash it all and go to commit the unimaginable horrors in the name of Bhaal.

Years pass, then decades, then centuries. Sometimes you hibernate. Like a sleeping dragon, sometimes mercenaries are sent after you, and you flay them alive.

Sometimes you see dreams, blissful and soft.

You see an elf with white curls and red eyes who promises you something.

Something you can't understand.

But nothing lasts forever.

Bhaal is overthrown - maybe it was another, younger god, or maybe the higher deities are tired of him.

Or the immense army of bhaalspawns finally ate him alive.

You don't know.

Your sanity is back.

You vomit at the sight of blood and gore, and you hope memories faded away along with your cursed skills.

The world has changed. It's been a century.

The only person you know, the only person you still love can be anywhere. You have no idea where to search.

But there is a thing about Astarion.

The man can't keep a low profile.

Once he realized he was no longer a spawn but a lesser vampire, he started his own journey of accumulating power and money.

Why bother making deals with devils and risk his own safety, if he can just… achieve everything himself?

Power, money, and skills. Nothing a vampire can't do.

Once you step inside the borders of his own realm, Astarion catches your scent, and he can't believe it's you.

Actually, his first thought is that he has pissed Bhaal, and you've been sent after him.

But his undead heart has been longing for you.

He dares to meet you.

Astarion expects a fight. He expects to see the deranged Dark Urge he's seen twice.

But instead, he sees you, wounded, exhausted, desperate, sick, barely alive.

It's been a century for him, but just a few sane days for you.

He carries you back to his castle and helps you heal.

He's changed - but not for the worst.

Astarion is a powerful vampire lord, running business from the shadows.

And you are his partner, his spouse, his only love - returned to him from hell.

You suffer from nightmares, and your past haunts you.

Astarion knows everything about it, and he cradles you in his arms before the darkness goes.

One day, you ask him to make you a vampire - Astarion can create spawns, maybe not so many, as his former master, but it's in his powers.

He spends a month telling you that it sucks being a vampire.

"You will never see the sun, you won't be able to taste food, you will suffer from hunger."

But he eventually gives up. He can't say "no" to his Bhaal Baby.

He drinks your blood, and you die.

To wake up buried in the ground.

You crawl your way back, and Astarion immediately lets you drink his blood.

From now on, you are a true vampire as well.

Bhaal is forgotten, and so is everything.

There is only eternity ahead shared with the person who loves you and your darkness.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe

#spacebarbarian headcanon #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x reader #durge spoilers #astarion x durge #bg3 durge #durge #dark urge #durgestarion #durge x astarion #evil durge #astarion vampire lord

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katasstrophy · 1 year

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STAY—

cw. spoilers for tokyo rev manga ending. mikey x gn! reader. angst w/ happy ending. swearing + bit suggestive at the end. i’m oh so in my feels about him, my forever man <3

currently sobbing over the thought of you finding manjiro in every single timeline – except for the last, true one.

you find him, always, when the worst has already befallen him and he’s haunted by it, knee-deep in the gore of his own inky dark, impulsive thoughts that suck him in like a chasm, the self-promised responsibility of keeping everyone that’s still alive and precious to him out of harm’s way weighing his entire skeleton down. a shadow of a man, he is, the beginning of something truly monstrous, when you find him. and yet, you don’t shy away. you do something even worse, what he thought unthinkable – you stay.

he is not kind to you. far from it, however much his behaviour shames him and coats the walls of his stomach sticky with guilt. he lashes out at you, calls you cruel words he doesn’t take back even though he never means them. he pushes, and pushes, and pushes you away where he thinks he can finally keep you out beyond the electric wire wrapped around his heart – both to protect himself and to make him bleed. he makes you cry – your tears a waterfall of genuine hurt, carving their path over and over on your reddened cheeks. and yet, you’re stubborn, and you stay. you tell him he’s a fucking asshole for upsetting you, that he was never popular with girls, was he? that what he’s doing is not okay, and for all the life of you, you’ll probably never fully understand what he went through, but you know he’s hurt beyond words. you tell him you feel it, his suffering, so very obviously from just a single look into those dead fish eyes of his – what colour even are they? – so he can be a pissy little baby about it, but you’ve planted your fucking feet and you fear they’ve already taken root so he might as well make his peace with your presence, because you’re not going anywhere.

you linger. you flutter about, like some otherworldly, soothing-balm butterfly. you follow, even though he hasn’t had the desire to go anywhere for a long, long time. you stay, and suddenly it’s a little easier to breathe. he breathes, takes huge gulps of air into his lungs in what feels like ages, and tastes the salt of the breeze nipping at the tip of his tongue. suddenly, he can stomach looking at a sunrise again without wanting to crush something under his palm. an emptiness still clangs inside of him like a great gong that, even if you wanted to fill, you’d be unable to. but even those wounds have dulled from an ache to a throb, because now there’s you – a great, roaring, raging fire. you, who doesn’t give him the luxury of taking his hand, but instead beckon and beckon until he grits his teeth rising from his knees to his feet to reach for and accept your warmth. now, it’s not so dark anymore. now, there are some good days in between the bad and the really bad ones. sometimes, he even smiles. rarely, he laughs, rusty like an old faucet, smoky like a burning house, a weak imitation of his past joy. but still, he laughs, and you’re there to hear it and grin back.

mikey wishes your murmured words and soft caresses against the hard planes of his skin could have cured the unfixable black hole festering in his soul. he wishes your kisses could have sucked out the uncontrollable evil within him, swallow it whole and breathe it out as carbon dioxide, as harmless, used-up, recycled air, because he’s convinced you’re an angel with a touch that turns everything – both splendid and foul – golden. you’re an angel that was meant to show him there’s still good in the world, maybe even in him, but you were never meant to save him. fate’s cruel like that. he was always meant to be saved by another, for everything to come full circle, but he wishes all the same it could have been you.

when takemichi tells him everything – the time leaping and the curse on him – when he goes through another awful, roach-like existence and learns of sinichiro’s sacrifice, the catalyst of everything; when he finally gets the chance to make and do it right with all the knowledge of how to, when he’s grown up and successful with all his friends flushed with health and happy by his side – he remembers you. he finally, finally remembers you. how you met him, always, when he was drowning, and stayed and made him want to thrash and wade to the surface so he could share the same breath as you. he cries – the waterfall of his tears carving a path into his cheeks, at what you did for him, over and over again. the life you offered instead of the plain drifting he was stuck in. and manjiro decides you’ve fought enough. you’ve done more than enough.

so this time, he finds you.

he searches, picks apart the whole city, until he finds you. you don’t remember him, but that’s okay, because he remembers you, and he’s not going anywhere. you’re still so lovely, so golden, appreciative of his advances even though he knows he must come off as strong so early, but you laugh and tell him you find it refreshing. charming, if not a little confusing. and he laughs back this time, fizzy like a bubble bath and rumbling like a fireplace. mikey tells you he wants to stay, with you, so earnestly it strikes you that you might know him, after all. you don’t tell him that, of course, because it’s a bit silly of you, isn’t it?

(you tell him – ask him – later, when he’s been yours for years, when he’s put a ring on your finger and you took his last name. you ask him, after both of your breathings have calmed from a night of pleasurable tangling in the sheets. you ask him, enamoured and so, so in love with him, if he believes in past lives, because you’re so sure of it that he was meant for you. and your husband merely smiles like he’s privy to all the knowledge in the world. he kisses your knuckles sunlight-soft and tells you you were destined for each other from the very start. it leaves a gasp frozen in your throat and a thrill skittering down your spine that makes you want to ravish him once more.)

but that comes later. for now, it’s still a little silly, no matter how adamant this handsome man seems about courting you. so you smile and dip your chin in a bashful nod and say that you’d very much like for him to stay. so manjiro does. he stays by your side and lives the life he was always meant to, with you.

#tumblr let me post this challenge 🙏#i wrote this yesterday at 1am bc he makes me insane so yep that’s the vibe pls be kind lmao <3 and enjoy!#—riv.fic!#mikey x reader #sano manjiro x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #mikey x you #mikey x y/n #sano manjiro x y/n #sano manjiro x you #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n #mikey angst #sano manjiro angst

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artist-issues · 3 months

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I have loved reading your posts on various fiction from Christian perspective. I am wondering your opinion on when fantasy/"magic" fiction becomes too much? I used to encounter a lot of people talking about how basically -anything- fantasy was evil. I have struggled with scrupulosity OCD for many years now so I tend to think things towards a legalistic lens. I'd like to be able to enjoy fantasy again, while carefully discerning, so I'd love to hear what you think are the merits/limits of fantasy

Hi! First off, Jesus said: "These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world." When you're wrestling with scrupulousity, sometimes it helps to see or hear out loud the reminder that life in Christ is one that's supposed to give you peace, not constant worry about doing everything right--even if you've heard that before and you already know it, sometimes it can help to hear it over again from outside your own head. So there it is! 🤝

Next: thank you for asking me! I'm no professional. But someone did ask me this question once before. I am having a hard time finding it on my blog right now, otherwise I'd link to it, but I'll try to summarize at the end of this post!

EDIT: You asked me to talk about the merits and limits of fantasy and I got carried away explaining why fantasy fiction is not outright evil according to the Bible. I moved that to the end of the post 😅 here's what I think the merits are:

All of Reality, our world, our timeline, was invented by God. That makes Him the storyteller, us His characters, and reality His narrative. Just like any storyteller, He made up a system of rules for His world: rules like, "humans sink in water," and "humans can't be cured of sickness by touching other humans," and "the weather doesn't change just because humans tell it to." Then God, the storyteller, broke His own world-building rules. On purpose. He wrote Himself (Jesus) into the story as a human who COULD walk on water and COULD heal other humans with a touch and COULD tell the weather what to do, and it obeyed.

In fantasy stories, when a character can break the established rules of the created world, we call that "magic." We call it "magic" when the storyteller brings in a supernatural element to show that this character is special, powerful, capable, set apart from all the others.

So that's what I think the merits are. Fantasy stories have a special kind of closeness to The Storyteller Who Invented Stories, because of that very element of "make the rules then bring in rule-breaking specialness" that He uses.

That's where you get Gandalf, or even the Fairy Godmother, or of course Aslan and the Deep Magic.

The limitations to the genre, I would say, is that fantasy stories are very tempting for storytellers' egos. Because of Tolkien, there's this generation of storytellers who think that inventing a fantasy world with rules and races and magical systems and cultures and, to sum it all up, a whole universe of their own design, is the POINT.

They think the themes and the message of their story comes second to how thorough and clever they can be with their made-up magical systems, or fantasy-race-relations, or made-up languages.

Basically, in no other genre have I observed storytellers getting so excited to play god-of-their-own-clever-world than in fantasy. Then they forget that the important part of a story is the message, not the brain that's capable of inventing worlds and languages and cool-sounding names and ancestries. What they have to say basically gets lost in how flashy and cool they can be while saying it.

But that's another soap box for another time. Those are basically the merits and limitations, I think, broad-strokes.

On to the Biblical worldview for magic in stories below!

"Magic" is mentioned in the Bible. It's sorcery. Specifically, the Bible is telling Christians to stay away from "real" magic...which is basically just "trying to connect with spiritual forces to accomplish anything supernatural." We were created to have relationship with one Spirit: God. Anything outside of that is like a fish trying to breathe oxygen: it hurts us. So the Bible says, "no real magic."

But.

"Fantasy fiction magic" is not "a real live human trying to connect with real demonic forces and accomplish something supernatural." Instead, "fantasy fiction magic" is just "a real live human making up a story. Playing pretend."

The Bible has no commands, no rules, against that. Jesus told stories. His servants tell stories. We're made to tell stories.

And the Bible has no commands against telling a story that includes magic in it.

Think of it this way: God said "do not murder" right? But then in Matthew 18 Jesus tells a parable where one man tries to choke another man. There's attempted murder in the story Jesus is telling: but just because God disapproves of the act of murder, does not mean He disapproves of telling a story that features murder.

Sin being in a story isn't a bad thing. It's realistic, because sin exists. What really matters is whether or not the story treats the sin like sin, and not like an admirable thing. Because the point of all stories is to tell the truth in a compelling way. If the story treats something sinful like it's not sinful, that wouldn't be truthful. But if the story treats sin like it's definitely bad, then it's doing what God invented stories to do: tell the truth.

Now here's where you might say, "yeah, but most fantasy stories treat magic like it's a good thing."

Right. But remember: most fantasy stories don't have what the Bible calls "magic" in them at all.

When the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella says "bibbidi bobbidi boo," she's not calling upon demons to give her supernatural power (which is what the Bible is talking about when it condemns magic.) She's using a pretend superpower that the storyteller made up, on the spot, for the story. Her "magic" is not what the Bible calls "magic," so it doesn't even matter if it's portrayed as "good" or "bad" morally.

Fantasy fiction is fine. There is no reason, Biblically, for Christians not to read fantasy fiction if their only reason for it is "well there's magic in it."

There's nothing wrong with telling a story that has a supernatural element in it. It's only a story. As long as it's not real humans doing creation-worshipping or demon-contacting practices, in real life it's okay to write and it's okay to read.

Let me know if that makes sense!

#Christianity #critical thinking #magic #fantasy #Christian fantasy #asked #answered #sorcery #Christians #Tolkien

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chillinrpmemes · 10 months

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'Paradise Lost' - from John Milton sentence starters

originally from @ladys-roleplay-memes but had since been deleted.

❝ Man’s disobedience brings death❞

❝ Rest can never dwell for hope will never come❞

❝ All is not lost ❞

❝ Courage is never to submit or yield ❞

❝ Strongly suffer and support your pains ❞

❝ Out of evil seek to bring forth good ❞

❝ There is fire that burns, and fire that gives warmth❞

❝ What reinforcement we may gain from hope ❞

❝ What resolution we gain from despair ❞

❝ The mind is its own place ❞

❝ The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.❞

❝ What does it matter if I will stay the same❞

❝ Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heaven ❞

❝ Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen ❞

❝ Devils are adored for deities❞

❝ Your eyes are cruel but cast remorse and passions to behold ❞

❝ No one admires the riches that grow in Hell ❞

❝ Behold a wonder! ❞

❝ From this descent virtues will appear ❞

❝ What fear we then? ❞

❝ Our only cure is to be no more❞

❝ This horror will grow mild, this darkness light ❞

❝ What hope is worth waiting for❞

❝ Being happy but ill is not the worst❞

❝ Our torments also may become our elements❞

❝ Purge off this gloom ❞

❝ Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep ❞

❝ Lower still I fall ❞

❝ I beg of peace ❞

❝ Knowledge of good is enguled by knowing ill❞

❝ What do my eyes with grief behold?❞

❝ Should I at your harmless innocence melt as I do❞

❝ To what else should I abhor ❞

❝ The happier to Eden shall enjoy their fill while I am thrust to Hell❞

❝ It is because one is already in Hell that one kills themselves❞

❝ Who overcomes by force hath overcome but half his foe❞

❝ Neither man nor angel can discern Hypocrisy❞

❝ New conscience wakes despair ❞

❝ Whichever way I go is Hell; I myself am Hell ❞

❝ So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, ❞

❝ Only ignorance brings a truly happy state❞

❝ I forget all time when I converse with you❞

❝ You are made of all the shades of night❞

❝ To love or not? This is where we stand or fall❞

❝ Revenge, at first though sweet, recoils bitter long back on itself ❞

❝Solitude sometimes is best society, ❞

❝ Short retirement urges sweet return❞

❝ Hope elevates and joy brightens❞

❝I feel the link of nature draw me ❞

❝ Our state cannot be severed; we are one ❞

❝ To lose you would be to lose myself ❞

#rp memes #sentence starters #askbox memes #roleplay memes

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ask-dcf · 15 days

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*There is silence… in the air… Frisk looks absolutely horrified…*

*Frisk has the face of absolute trauma and fear… as this almost sounds similar to their life before they met Data… While Chara stares… and looks ready to burst*

*She gets up*

*Before she could continue they spoke once again*

”Once upon a time. There was a colony of cats. They lived in a cave. All of them black and not allowed to be apart of society. They hunted anything from bugs to tiny animals. They were so many that they even hunted bulls and humans. The worse offense, was they ate their own kind. These black cats were the most hated creatures. But they lived in a society where they believed they were above the rules of Mother Nature. One day. A gentle kitten born from this colony who’s as destined to lead this clan, was quite a coward. And so she ran from her cave. She ran and ran and fell off a cliff. When she came to she found herself on a farm. A baby goat found her and brought her to his herd. The goat herd did not know of the evil cats and lived in peace. So they took her in as their own. They taught her to leap, they taught her to bump heads, and taught her to play. However, the cat only ate grass… and she could not live off it. A hunger grew inside her, foam frothed at her mouth. She tricked the goat who saved her to go on a hill. And tell him she was dying of hunger. She said that if he let her eat him, they would be together forever. The baby goat naively believed her. And as she ate the goat, she cried out in anguish. As this hunger she blamed on her own kind. And so. She went back to her colony. And began killing every cat in the cave. The males, females, kits, even the unborn from the females in labor. The more she killed the bigger she became. Until there was no cat left. She couldn’t be satisfied. She hated them. She hated herself. And she hated the world. She left the cave in hopes the herd would take her in. But when she came back. The herd was all but dead. As the baby goat they had held a cure to a disease they had. That the farmer who tended the land was preparing. The cat now finally realized that she was cursed. Everything she touched did nothing but destroy. And so she lost herself in her anger and hate. She prowled the farm. Eating some mice she found. One of which fell in front of her. She did not care. She ate. She killed. It was all she knew now. Until a loud bang was heard upon the farm. The cursed kitten was shot. By the farmer. And so she was buried. But it is said that she still prowls on the farm. Hunting and eating. Because for her…. It was now fun to her…. Because she knew what she did… was for LOVE.”

*Chara stares. With her eye twitching*

*She looks up in horror realizing she may be next*

*Meanwhile Chara grits her teeth and her wings turn sharp like knives again. Her claws come out slowly as she scrapes the ground with them in an angry grip*

*she slashes at the two eggs but they turn to fog and reappear in the air, looking a bit different, as if puppets dangling by strings*

“There was a baby rabbit. Who was left on the porch of a human family. The mother was sick and was dying. So she left her there all alone in the rain. The humans took her in. But they had many other pets who were mean. And the children handled the pets poorly. The snake would choke the rabbit. The hamster would bite the rabbit. And the chicken would peck at the rabbit. The human kids were not smart when it came to handling the baby rabbit. Holding her by the ears. Tossing her around. And dressing her up clothing that was too tight around her. One day the family bought a goat. The rabbit was treated fairly by the goat. And so the rabbit believed foolishly that he was her father. For she did not know what love was until this goat took care of her. However. One day… the goat disappeared. As he was sold off to a farm. Leaving the rabbit all alone. The rabbit soon died as she was thrown at a wall by one of the human parents in a drunken fit of rage. The baby rabbit died crying out for her fake father to come find her. Only to never see him again. As he had died during an accident at the farm. He grew sick as the rabbits mother did. As the disease took them both. In the end. The rabbit was reunited with her mother and father. In the beyond of the void.”

*Alice couldn't quite understand it, but the story hit her personally. The way it was worded… It struck a nerve. She could feel tears streaming down her face as she absorbed the story, trying to process it all. Alice soon broke down into a heaping, sobbing mess on the ground, clutching her head. She couldn't understand why the story was effecting her this way.*

*These stories… Were clearly… about our young heroes…*

#undertale #datatale #datatale au #datatale lore #deltarune #frisk #chara #charisk #alice #ask blog #ask dcf #ch 3 #darkner #dark world #tweedles #darkerland arc

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myechoecho · 4 months

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Moon in the Day, ep 14

Honestly, I really loved how they ended this. There are some minor questions that I have but nothing too important.

I suspected we'd get a bit of a flashback before dealing with So Ri Bu and it was the sweetest scene of them in the morning. We also get a bit of an extended scene from where they bought the rings. Do Ha, was expecting his father to find them. Hoping he wouldn't but suspecting he would.

In many ways, I think that the fight between Ri Bu and Do Ha is seeing which is stronger - Do Ha's love for Yeong Hwa and need to protect her vs Ri Bu's resentment and revenge now that they both have physical form.

Of course, Ri Bu tells Yeong Hwa that Do Ha will disappear if they break the curse. He also seems to be trying to convince Do Ha to let him kill Yeong Hwa or else they will be separated forever. Which shows again how much he does not understand Do Ha. If it means Yeong Hwa will be safe, and he never has to watch one of her reincarnations die, he will be at peace leaving her.

I was pleased with the tree branch stabbing death, though I'm not quite sure how that destroys him since he is a spirit but maybe Do Ha had to kill the physical body. Plus it could also be because he was already weak or maybe it was past midnight. Doesn't really matter because finally he is gone.

Their goodbye was heartbreaking - both of them. Just after destroying Ri Bu and under the tree (in a parallel to their Silla times). His love and devotion for her really knows no bounds.

Joon Oh coming back was a bit interesting. I hesitate to say it's implausible given the whole 1500 year curse, ghost and evil spirit aspect of the show. What I've come around to is that is the universe's (or maybe Do Ha's) way of saying thank you for the use of your body. The man was pretty dead and had terminal cancer, but he was given a second chance. I do like how he wasn't instantly cured but still had to go through chemo.

I also like that he had echos of Do Ha, similar to how Do Ha had some of his memories. But he was never the reincarnation of Do Ha despite being his doppleganger. Do Ha being Joon Oh seems to have matured him (plus going through chemo) because I cannot see pre Do Ha Joon Oh handling the box of trinkets or meeting Yeong Hwa that way.

I love that Joon Oh gave Yeong Hwa some closure and that they will both live their lives the best they can. The letter made me cry, but also reaffirms again that Do Ha was at peace with leaving her, though not happy about it. "But I couldn't put you in hell in which you can die at any moment. Because my only reason was to live was to protect you. Don't give up after losing me. You'll get to look back sometimes, but leave our farewell behind, and do your best to be devoted to today". As always, he wants her to live. And I think it helps that he knows he will be remembered.

I flat out adore that she had the dream of their end in Silla but makes a different choice. And he knows it's different and won't change anything just as she does. But she wants to make a different choice in her dreams so they can be together. Though they still meet a bad fate in this version of the dream.

I am beyond happy that we got a Bugasal/Sunny and Grim Reaper ending for them. It's not a coincidence that they meet in a historical setting and see the moon in the day. They are clearly connected, but without all the painful bloodshed.

This is one of my favourite shows of the year.

#moon in the day #kdrama

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sxugaryx · 7 months

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So please come to your senses (Fanfic)

HUGE SPOILER WARNING FOR THE END OF THE GAME

DON´T READ IF YOU DON´T WANT TO GET SPOILED

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Geppetto waited.

Waited for the battle to be over, he knew that he would succeed, and that soon, Carlo would be back, and things would be back to what they were.

When Carlo died, he felt as if he was being stabbed right in his chest, he fell to the ground, he could barely breathe, the world around him collapsed.

The ground above shaked, grounding Geppetto back to reality.

No, if he was going to reminisce about Carlo, it should be happy memories, the good times.

Holding him when he was born.

His first word.

When he learned to read, to write.

When he first went to school.

How he got in trouble at school…

Carlo´s teachers would call, to tell him to reprimand the boy, yet no matter how much he scolded him or how he grounded him, he just wouldn't listen.

Geppetto knew what Carlo wanted, attention, as an old man he regretted not being able to spend much time with his son back then. Carlo had no friends at school, partly due to his behavior, partly due to jealousy towards him.

His son was the world to him, he gave him everything he wanted and more, it was easy for him to make him a new friend.

Romeo.

They were thick as thieves, when he saw them play together, Carlo was truly happy.

He remembered the holidays they spent together as a family.

Christmas was always special, it was more consistent, he always had time for Christmas.

Carlo opened his presents with Romeo, he was smiling. Him and Carlo would fall asleep on the living room couch together.

The earth rumbled again, the combat above getting more fierce.

Geppetto never liked violence, although he understood why in circumstances like this it was justified.

Justified.

Like when Carlo got into a fight as a teen and broke a classmate's nose, but he was the one that started it, he was making fun of Carlo, it only made sense for Carlo to get mad and boys would be boys sometimes things got out of hand.

Carlo´s behavior got worse after that.

More fights.

He stole things.

Constantly pranked other students.

He almost got expelled, but Geppetto begged the school not to. He had excellent grades, to please just let him graduate the year.

Graduation.

Why didn't I attend his graduation?

“You don't care about me, you never have, you only care about your god damn job!”

Another dagger to his chest.

After that things only got worse, he saw Carlo less and less, and he got into trouble more.

And then…

And then he died.

Every time he remembered Carlo he would only focus on the happy times, those rose-tinted glasses were his truth. But now looking back, he sees the real truth.

Geppetto was a bad father.

Still is.

All this time, he had just been using Pinocchio.

No.

This was necessary.

Pinocchio was their only hope, and he succeeded.

He stopped the puppet frenzy, he helped make a cure for the petrification disease, he is just now protecting everyone, defeating Simon in his evil ways.

He had accomplished so much.

So why?

Why wasn't it enough for him?

… Because he wasn't Carlo.

A scream was heard in the walls of the tower, Simon had been defeated.

Simon would perish no doubt and it should stay that way.

Suddenly another memory is brought back, a recent one, at the hotel, talking with Lady Antonia not long after Pinocchio had rescued him from that stalker.

“Geppetto the dead out of remain so”

He was mad, granted, she told him in advance that the conversation wouldn't be a pleasant one, but he hadn't expected her to bring Carlo into this.

“Dear you have to move on, everyone dies, everything eventually dies, let his soul be at peace, not only for your sake but for the sake of Carlo as well.”

He simply walked away.

Snapping back to reality, he glanced at the box next to him.

The box where Carlo´s ergo, his very soul laid on, on his first try, on a puppet. When he first awoke he felt anger, hatred, Carlo attacked him, his own ergo wasn't enough, he needed more. That was the source of his anger, Carlo would never hurt his father, he loved his father and Geppetto loved his son.

“If you love him let him go”

Lady Antonia´s voice words echoed in his heart.

He was selfish.

A hypocrite.

How dare he criticize Simon for seeking immortality, when he was seeking to bring back his dead son.

The sound of the wires and gears now echoed through the walls, Pinocchio was descending.

He could finally have Carlo back.

He would see his precious son again.

Pinocchio just needed to give him his heart.

… But if he gave his heart away, he would die, he no longer would be Pinocchio.

Geppetto bit his lip.

The elevator kept descending.

This is it

You can do the right thing.

Fix all of your mistakes.

Be a good father to your son.

Geppetto opened the box.

He grabbed the small heart that rested in the Nameless puppet

A faint blue glow resonated, the ergo upon him.

Carlo´s very essence trying to speak to him.

Geppetto closed his eyes, tears ran down his face, as he crushed the heart his his bare hands, dropping the broken heart onto the floor.

He opened his eyes once more, he saw the ergo float in the air, it lay on his hands for a few seconds, seconds that were a painful eternity to Geppetto, then the ergo dispersed into thin air, finally, it was over.

Carlo was at peace now.

The elevator arrived at the destination, Geppetto quickly turned around to see the doors open, Pinocchio, alongside Gemini stepped outside, approaching him, until they were both face to face.

Pinocchio´s clothes were ripped apart, he could see his damaged body, one of his arms surely about to fall if a few more screws were loose, he looked tired, defeated even, despite his victory.

“Are you alright?” Geppetto asked, putting his hands on Pinocchio´s shoulders.

“Yes, father.”

That was a lie.

More tears fell out of Geppettos´s eyes.

He pulled Pinocchio into an embrace. Hugging him tightly.

“Pinocchio, my son, I´m just glad you are alive”

Pinocchio held his arms around him as well, both now embracing each other.

“I´m sorry”

“I´m sorry I've been neglecting you”

Pinocchio clung onto him more tightly, desperately not wanting to let go.

“I love you Pinocchio, I love you, the real you, not who I wanted you to be.”

In Pinocchio´s eyes, small tears had begun to shed.

“I´m proud of you, my good boy.”

They both felt warmth.

#lies of p #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p geppetto #liesofp #lies of p fanfic #pinocchio #geppetto #This is a geppetto redemption arc #Geppetto gets his shit togther #there is crying #lop #fanfic #writing #alternative ending

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