#The Magic Circle still won’t accept me

[mister-a-z-fell]

No echoes tonight but the ones I choose for myself.

[marauder-misprint]

Hello, I sent you a request today, but I noticed that my internet was a little problematic, so I don’t know if it reached our request, if I sent it a second time, please don’t take me into account.

Main subject Sirius x Slytherin!Femreader exes, the reader is with one of the Slytherin boy to make Sirius jealous.

Preferably Barty Jr or Evan, Please don’t be Regulus because it’s not me to be with your ex-girlfriend’s brother.

And I know fandom Evanı writes as gay but we don’t know much about it, so why not

Hi! Thank you for the request! ❤︎ I hope you don't mind I went with Barty. Not sure how well I wrote the jealousy part, but hopefully it's good enough :) Also, I know Barty is way too chill at the end of this but it's whatever.

'Break up with Crouch'

Sirius Black x Slytherin!reader

2k words

cw: angst, drinking, jealousy

Pissing Sirius off wasn’t your goal. No. You were a decent enough person. You were trying to move on from him. It was clear that he was moving on from you as he graciously accepted the attention of a different girl every day. But still, even if it wasn’t your goal, something bloomed in your chest as you felt his hardened glare from across the Great Hall. 

You were comfortably tucked under Barty’s arm and leaning into his side. You shifted to be able to lean more into Barty. 

“Alright, love?” he purred, looking down at you.

“Brilliant.” 

Being with Barty so far had been good. You weren’t exactly in the same circle before. Barty had approached you after hearing that you and Sirius broke up – it had been quite the news of the week. Frankly, your entire relationship with Sirius had been a source of gossip for your classmates. Sirius with his entire anti-Slytherin agenda and you with your Slytherin princess behavior shouldn’t have worked. It did briefly, but then you fell apart. It had been a fairly vocal disagreement. 

Barty didn’t approach you right away. He gave you a few days to “get over it�� and then he started strategically placing himself near you. It didn’t take you long to notice him. He was loud and very in-your-face in a way that made you laugh. Then it was a casual arm draped over your shoulder and sitting next to you during meals. And then when you ended up sitting alone with him in the common room, it wasn’t awkward. It was actually pleasant. One thing led to another and you planned a Hogsmeade trip, – it went really well. 

“You got Charms, right?” Barty asked, standing up.

“Yeah. Flitwick will actually murder me if I’m late again,” you told him, his arm quickly wrapping around your waist as you excited the Great Hall. 

“Hmm, don’t think he’s the killing type.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Fine, detention for a week. Or fifty points. He won’t be happy.”

“Oh no, not fifty points,” he drawled sarcastically despite walking with you in the direction of your class.

“Please, the bigger issue would be detention. I’d rather not waste my time polishing trophies.” 

Barty gave your side a squeeze. “Especially when you can be wasting it with me.”

“Finally, he sees what I’m getting at,” you said with a smile. 

Barty walked with you, an arm around you the entire time, all the way to your desk. This had become commonplace since you started dating. Barty didn’t seem to care if he was late to his own classes if it meant spending more time with you. Somehow he didn’t get detention for being late and you weren’t sure how many points he had lost for Slytherin. 

When Charms ended, it didn’t take Barty long to find you on your way to your next lesson. To say that he was a bit obsessed with you would be an understatement. Once again, he was at your side until you sat down at your desk and Professor McGonagall shooed him out.

“I will see you next period, Mr. Crouch,” she said firmly. “Please do try to not be late.”

“Right-o, Professor,” he replied with a salute. 

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before leaving. You were certain that he would be late for History of Magic, but you knew that Binns didn’t actually care if any attended his lectures. He just taught. 

Throughout all of Transfiguration, you could feel Sirius’ eyes on you again. Whenever you glanced his direction, it was confirmed. He frowned deeper every time you made eye contact with him. If it was so upsetting to see you, why was he looking at you? You hated how distracting it was, knowing that Sirius was watching you. 

When McGonagall dismissed class, you packed up your notes and left the classroom with Pandora at your side. She was at your side about as much as Barty was, except her reasoning was more understandable being that you had almost identical schedules. It was good that she got along with Barty or your days would be very tense. 

You and Pandora got about halfway to the greenhouses when you were interrupted. You expected the hand on your shoulder to be Barty's. But then you heard the voice.

“Darling, a word.”

Sirius. 

You rolled your eyes but stopped. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest as you turned toward Sirius.

“What do you want, Black?” 

“D’you want me to wait?” Pandora asked, hesitating at the stairs. 

“No, go ahead. Cover for me if I’m late?”

“Sure thing,” she said before disappearing.

You turned your attention back to Sirius. “I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

“What’s going on with you?” he asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Nothing? And even if something was going on, certainly wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Nothing,” he echoed. “Being escorted by Crouch everywhere you go? That’s not you.”

“Hanging out with my boyfriend isn’t me? You sure? Seems like you don’t know me all that well then.” 

Sirius shook his head. 

“I know you pretty damn well, sweetheart. I know you well enough to know that he isn’t your type.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t my type? What, because he isn’t you?” You shook your head. “I don’t have a type, Black.”

“Whatever you say, princess, but be real. He’s not the guy for you.”

“Why do you even care? I thought you didn’t care for people like me, like Junior.”

Sirius stuttered over his next words, unable to form a coherent thought.

“I… Listen… uh… You… I… fuck…”

You gave him an amused look. 

“You made it very clear that I’m no longer your problem. No longer your concern. So act like it, yeah?” 

You turned away from him and continued your original path to the greenhouses. You were definitely late for Herbology. You knew you’d be coming face-to-face with either a disgruntled Professor Sprout or an annoyed Pandora with how long she had to cover for you. 

---

By the end of the week, you were ready to unwind. You heard about some Hufflepuffs throwing a party somewhere on the seventh floor and you wanted to check it out. Naturally, Barty tagged along. He swung your intertwined hands as you walked down a few corridors. 

“Sure would be nice if those badgers gave a better description of where they were throwing the party, hmm…” Barty mused as you turned another corner. 

“If we’d been personally invited, I’m sure they would’ve,” you replied. “Oh, check that door!” 

A door you didn’t quite recognize was up ahead. Barty hummed enthusiastically and pulled you forward. As soon as he opened the door, you were hit with a wave of sound. Someone was quite good at silencing charms. Very, very good. 

“I think we’ve found our party,” Barty said with a crooked smile. 

Once inside, it didn’t take long for the two of you to get drinks in your hands and to move onto the dance floor. As for any party, no one was questioning your presence without a personal invite. Personally, you thought parties were where you belonged. Outside of Hogwarts, the parties you attended were far more tame, which you weren’t as much as a fan of, but you made do. 

You loved being able to feel the vibrations from the music in your bones. If you couldn’t, you would argue that it wasn’t loud enough. You wanted to feel all of it. This party had the music loud enough and moving your body to the beat was easy enough, especially with Barty standing behind you. His hands were planted firmly on your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. 

Between the feeling of the bassline and Barty, for once you didn’t feel the gaze of Sirius, despite it being there. You hadn’t spotted him when the two of you entered the room. He had though. Your presence with Barty, with how you were dancing with him, was distracting for him. Sirius couldn’t focus on the pretty Hufflepuff in front of him anymore, not when he couldn’t take his eyes off you and all he could think about were the few times that you’d danced like that with him. He was practically fuming with his grip on his drink tightening. 

After another song, Sirius slammed the rest of his drink and moved the poor Hufflepuff out his way. He waited off to the side of the dance floor until you asked Barty to get you another drink. Barty nipped at your ear before leaving your side for the first time of the night. But as soon as he was gone, Sirius slipped in. His hands immediately replaced where Barty’s had been. You spun around and glared at him. 

“You are not my boyfriend,” you snapped quickly. 

“I was,” he replied, his voice lower than usual. 

You rolled your eyes but let Sirius move your hips to the music. 

“Junior will kill you if you keep your hands on me.” 

“I can handle him. But what about you? Will you be killing me?” 

You barked a laugh. “You know I’m able to.”

“I do,” he said, leaning in to say it into your ear. “Which is why I’m wondering why you’re wasting your time with Crouch. He’s below you.”

You took a step back, but Sirius just followed you, taking a step forward. 

“He cares about me, something you weren’t able to do.”

“Never said I didn’t care about you.”

You leaned forward. “But I’m a Slytherin.” 

“My favorite Slytherin.” 

You rolled your eyes again and made to move away from Sirius. Sirius, however, was determined to stay near you. Every step you took away from him, he took another closer to you. 

“Break up with him.”

“What?” you hissed. 

“Break up with Crouch.”

“And why would I do that?” 

“Because… because I care for you more than he does.”

You crossed your arms. Sirius stood a stride away from you, looking at you just as softly as he did before you broke up.

“You have no way to prove it,” you said firmly, trying to ignore the feeling in your stomach. 

“I will. I will make it up to you.” He took a half step toward you. “If you don’t feel anything for me, stay with him. But if you feel anything for me, anything… Break up with him and give us another chance.” 

You frowned and closed your eyes. You did still feel positive emotions for him. You hated that you did and you hated that you were considering what he was asking. You hated that he knew you were considering it. 

And then Barty showed up with your drink in hand. 

“Oi, this tosser bugging you, love?” Barty asked, eyeing Sirius cautiously. 

“Sadly, he isn’t,” you said. “I think it’s over between us.” 

“Shit…” Barty said, frowning. “Him?” 

You couldn’t look at Barty as you nodded. He put a hand on your shoulder. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’m smart enough to know when a rebound is a rebound.” 

You gaped as Barty handed you the drink he had just grabbed for you and then disappeared into the dancing crowd. 

“So, now that he’s out of the picture…” Sirius said, returning his hands to your hips. 

“You have to earn my forgiveness. And that you can love a Slytherin.”

Sirius now had you pressed against his body. “Oh, I can prove that.”

For some reason that you couldn’t pinpoint, you believed him. You believed that he would not only make it up to you, that he would do all he could to get back on your good side and stay there. Maybe it was the fact that you said love and he said he could prove it. He didn’t balk at the word like you thought he would. At least for the time being, you knew that Sirius would be more devoted to you than Barty was and with your history, Sirius would be around for a long time. He knew you and he knew that if he blew this chance with you, your revenge would have him at least in the hospital wings for weeks, if not worse. 

Tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

[weirdsht]

Hello! Good morning lol. I hope you're doing well :₱ i gotta say ur writing is good and addicting. I keep coming back it's eating me alive

I have a thought abt ur recent yan!cale post :₱

What if Cale actually got sum magical jewelry on the reader that prevents their risky, suic1d∆l powers from working? The reader realizes it's basically stuck to them and is unable to take it off, remaining stuck unless someone powerful in magic, like Eruhaben, removes it personally. They feel off about it at first, though they eventually accept it because it was Cale who really wanted it on them, and they believe that he's someone who wants nothing but the safety of his loved ones. But then---

Reader gets kidnapped, gets harmed in the worst way possible-

Lol sorry, idk why but yandere cale is so-

😆💞

Blood-Red Garnet - Yan!Cale/Reader

notes: my visualization for the bracelet

tags: gender-neutral reader, yandere cale, torture and injuries (nothing too graphic), hints of possessiveness, hints of unhealthy relationship and dependency but reader doesn't realise it

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read navi)

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A shiny gold bracelet with a piece of blood-red jewel in the middle was dangled in [name]’s face by Cale. It was a gift, or so he says. Told the ability user that it’s both an accessory and a preventative measure.

“Preventative measure? For what?”

“For your abilities. I don’t want you dying on me because of your reckless power.”

[Name] wore the bracelet even though they were hesitant at first. Their ability was their primary way of fighting. However, Cale was right. That ability is too dangerous. Plus, they still know how to wield a sword and fight hand-to-hand combats so they should be fine.

“By the way you can only use your abilities if I allow it or if a dragon dispels the magic on that thing.”

Right..?

Apparently not.

[Name] desperately stares at the three pieces of garnet in their bracelet. As if it would magically come off if they stared at it hard enough.

When the ability user first got the bracelet they were happy whenever they looked at the garnet it holds. The colour reminds them of Cale’s hair. Reminds them that the young master gifted it to them because he was concerned for their well-being.

However, now the jewel brings them frustration. The enchantment was placed on those three small circles. If only [name] can remove them.

Then maybe they won’t be subjected to this torture anymore.

“Your beloved commander won't save you. Just tell us where he is right now and whether or not his unconscious. We’ll let you have a quick death once you do.”

“If I’m gonna die either way then I’ll gladly keep everything to my– AHHH!”

[Name]’s words got cut off as another one of their fingers was broken by the torturer interrogating them.

“Are you sure you can take more of this? I can still break your toes if you’re so adamant.”

The torturer mocked them. Gently caressing his fingers over their feet before looking back again at their messed-up fingers.

[Name] merely laughs. They might be beaten up and have no way of fighting as their ability is suppressed, but they won’t say anything. Not now, not ever.

“Torture me all you– keugh! All you want. You won’t get an ounce of information from me.”

Despite being beaten up and coughing up blood, the ability user still had a smile on their face. A mocking smile that seems to rival their torturer’s mocking tone earlier.

The torturer’s face contorts in anger. He looked as if his ready to kill the ability user. Honestly, [name] thinks that would be better. They were getting tired too, they didn’t know how much more pain they could take.

Craaaaack! Psshhh

Just about when the torturer was raising a sword to inflict more pain on [name], a red thunderbolt suddenly fried the man. He was thoroughly burned to a crisp, almost like chicken deep fried in oil.

It was so strong that everyone within the vicinity could feel the anger of those thunderbolts.

And [name] didn’t need to see where it came from to know that it was Cale who did that.

“[Name]! We’re here to rescue you! I’m sorry for being late, I’m sure Saint Jack can heal you…”

Raon spoke in their head while supporting their back. His voice sounded as if he was crying. [Name] could also feel their back becoming wet.

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine”

The ability user comforted the toddler. They want to pet him but it’s impossible due to the state of their hands. Raon nodded, his cheeks squishing on [name]’s back. Once he regained his composure he used flight magic on them so they could get out of the cell.

Crash! Bang! Tak!

Outside was chaotic. At the centre of that chaos was Cale and all of his ancient powers running rampant. His face was contorted in something that can only be described as fury. All their other friends had to keep their distance because it almost looked as if the redhead was not in the right state of mind.

“The human has been like that ever since you got kidnapped! I don’t think I’ve seen him that angry.”

Raon tattled as they went closer to Cale. Despite looking like his out of his mind he had enough sanity left to create a path for [name] and Raon.

Cale’s face softened for a moment when he was face to face with [name]. However, it didn’t last long once he saw their state. There’s blood flowing out of their mouth. Wounds of varying degrees littered across their body. Not to mention the absolute wreck of a state their hands are in.

“I’ll be fine.”

[Name] tried to assure Cale who was stroking their cheek. But he isn’t having it. He could see how the ability user is using every fibre of their being to not wince. Probably so that Raon won’t cry anymore.

“Yes, you’ll be fine.”

Cale will make sure of it.

But for now, he must take care of these lowlifes that dare touch what’s his.

“Sleep. When you wake up we’ll be back home.”

Following Cale’s words, [name] closed their eyes. Succumbing to sleep as if the chaos happening behind them didn’t exist.

“Raon, Saint Jack is down there with Rosalyn. Tell him to make sure not a single scar will remain on [name]’s body.”

His negligence already allowed someone else to take his [name], he’ll be damned if he allows another man’s mark to linger on their body.

“Once we get home let’s ask Eruhaben-nim to put some defensive spell in that bracelet.”

“Let’s do that human! We’ll be going now! Be careful, I know you’re angry but you can’t cough blood!”

With that, the toddler used his magic to [name] to where Jack is. Leaving Cale to run wild.

Best to say that no enemy got out of that place alive after Cale was done with them.

[floatingcatacombs]

Go Nagai was insane for this one

12 Days of Aniblogging 2023, Day 8

I like to always have manga of dubious quality on tap for when I’m having trouble sleeping. Ideally, reading a few chapters will distract me, but I won’t want to stay up late shotgunning volumes. Devilman Lady was the ideal manga for this, and this is maybe the last time anyone will ever describe Devilman Lady as "ideal".

An extremely brief introduction is in order. If Osamu Tezuka is the godfather of manga, then Go Nagai is manga’s weird horny uncle. He’s arguably just as influential, the two of them just moved in different circles, each reifying entire genres. Nagai is more or less responsible for magical girls, super robot, and ecchi, and also spent a lot of time in the sphere of supernatural and post-apocalyptic manga. These are fundamentally genres of extremity and ridiculousness, and Nagai dials every one of his works up to 11 by the end, one way or another. Devilman is probably his most famous work over here, and it’s a stone-cold classic for a reason. Nagai has kept revisiting it over the years, with side stories, alternate universes, manga cameos, and even entirely new series that function as stealth sequels such as Violence Jack. But his most notable attempt is Devilman Lady, which is far more than a simple gender-swap of the original.

Devilman Lady is about swimming deep in filth. It’s easily the most disgust-provoking manga I’ve read, with pretty much every content warning under the sun applicable. This is a truly rotten and conspiratorial world that Nagai is depicting. Societal decay manifests in countless forms, including rape, child abuse, homophobia, militarism, and hatred towards immigrants. Anything that could be potentially understood as fanservice is placed right next to or directly within the atrocities at hand, and it's genuinely unclear how much Nagai intended that as commentary. His intentions throughout this whole manga are a bit of an enigma, but what's clear that he is firing on all cylinders.

This is an extremely zeitgeisty 90’s work, with intelligent design debates, the mapping of the human genome, new age paranoia, religious zealotry, and anxiety over pollution all playing out on the pages. Where it breaks from many of its contemporaries is a decisive rejection of the end of history. This is the kind of thing you write when you’re still reeling from the subway sarin gas attacks and your country's role in the Gulf War and subsequent militarization. It’s the perfect manga for capturing a time period when ten to twenty percent of Japan’s population were estimated to have belonged to a new religious movement.

The punchline to all of this is that he doesn’t know how to draw women.

By the back half of Devilman Lady, Nagai’s depictions of hellscapes and grotesque monsters reach near-Berserk levels of detail and technical competency. And yet his female protagonists are still drawn in a drastically simpler 70's style, only now with giant spheres grafted to their chests. Either humans and the infernal are two completely different skillsets, or this was a deliberate artistic decision, and both are difficult to swallow. Either way, we just have to accept the juxtapositions.

one of my favorite pages to show people devoid of context

The finale is just nuts. Go Nagai makes textual the homoeroticism and gender deviance of the original Devilman manga, as the world burns in both nuclear warfare and demonic hellfire. The story starts accelerating at an unfathomable pace, the most inscrutable double mobius reacharound yaoiyuri occurs, and the universe resets once or twice. It makes the endings of Jojo Part 6 and 7 look tame by comparison. There is no way to parse this like a normal manga with a plot and narrative. It is raw id.

This has been a year where I’ve tried to deliberately broaden my comfort zone by engaging with more potentially upsetting works if I think they'll have something interesting to say. This was like jumping into the deep end. Devilman Lady may very well be Go Nagai’s magnum opus. It’s not nearly as tight as the original manga, but it’s a glorious mess, just as radical to its own time as Devilman must have been in the 70s. It made for spectacular insomnia reading. And there’s no way in hell I can ever recommend it.

At age 19, Nagai went through a bout of diarrhea so bad that he convinced himself it was colon cancer, and that he was at death's door. He vowed to leave something behind for the world to remember him by, and began laboring away on manga. And for the last 60 years of his career, he’s written and drawn with the fervor of a man who’s about to shit himself to death. Maybe that’s the real secret.

[sergeantsporks]

Witch Switch 7.4

[Sighs and resets the "Days since Phillip has projected real hard on a Boiling Isles Resident" counter back to 0]

(First) (Previous) (Next)

Masterpost

Transcript Under Cut

[Phillip stumbles out of the bush, swiping at the abomination on him]

Phillip: Get it off, get it off, get it—

Alador: Whoa—sorry. [he draws a circle, and the abomination bit flies to his hand] It’s just an abomination, though. No need to be squeamish.

P: I’M NOT SQUEAMISH!

A: Alright, alright. What are you doing out here, anyway? Actually, you know what, tell me later. I don’t have time. I’ve got to get this thing working.

P: For your… [makes a face] school project? That’s what the other one said, right? Not that I was listening in or anything. You were loud. Work on that.

[Alador has tears in his eyes]

A: It’s not about school! I mean, it is, but my grades are… whatever, I don’t care! Nobody thinks I can do this, nobody thinks I can get these things to work! And I just… I want to impress them.

[Phillip experiences a rare moment of empathy, and sighs]

P: Especially your friend, Darius?

A: He’s incredible; top of the class, most talented witch of our generation. I don’t know why he hangs out with me, to be honest, but I just… I want him to think I’m incredible, too.

[Phillip squeezes his eyes shut, hating himself intensely]

P: What if. I. Helped you.

A: You’re familiar with mechanics and abomination magic? Man, what are the odds?

P: No, I’m not familiar with your witchcr… okay, well, mechanics I have a handhold in, but we obviously don’t have time for that.

A: Then what are you suggesting?

P: That I [sigh] …get inside and make it move around.

A: But that’s not… the abomaton still won’t really be working. It’s cheating.

P: You’d do anything to impress your friend, right? Anything to fit in? Then just accept the offer, and quit worrying about it!

A: [unsure] I guess so... You’re sure it won’t be a problem? I mean… it’s pretty slimy in there. No big deal for me, but if you’re—

P: I’M NOT SQUEAMISH! I will prove it! Just watch me! I’m Phillip Wittebane, and I can take anything this realm throws at me!

[Alador plasters on a fake, ‘we are so doomed’ grin]

A: Alrighty, then. I’m Alador. This is… this is going to be great.

[optiwashere]

I don’t know if you’re still taking kiss prompts, but if so, I would love to see “A kiss where it doesn’t hurt” for Asheera/Shadowheart!!

Aww, this one sounds cute. It turned into a hurt/comfort thing in the writing of it, but such is life lol. Thank you for requesting!💜

5. A kiss where it doesn't hurt.

---

A spark of violet energy coruscated around Shadowheart’s hand, burning a dark hole through her concentration until all she could focus on was the pain. The wound on the back of her right hand, constant and unyielding, stabbed at her again for something so simple. Something so… wanted.

The night spent in Last Light, alone in a room set aside just for them, was a welcome change from the bedrolls and rocks sticking into her lower back. Close, alone, she could trail her fingers through the Orcish fishtail braid Asheera always wore her hair in, and she delighted in the sensation of Asheera’s lips against hers. Again, again, and again. At least, until Shar demanded her attention in a violent rush.

Asheera pulled away from her, brows turned up in concern. Her eyes flicked down to the scar. “It’s her again, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Shadowheart whispered, her voice coming out frustratingly fragile. She tried to steel herself against the agony. “She must make room for you. I know She will.”

Concern melted away into something harsher on Asheera’s face. The same look in her eyes as when they spent an evening at a cliffside edge. It was the same as when she tried, foolishly, to mend the wound with her own healing magic, suffering an enormous backlash of energy as Shar rebuffed her the magic of her paladin’s oath.

Instead, she pulled Shadowheart closer, holding her tight in her arms. Rather than the healing energy of magic, she pressed faint kisses against Shadowheart’s cheek, against her temple, and finally to the expanse of skin between her brows. She stroked circles against Shadowheart’s back, fingers digging into flesh deep enough to relax the muscles underneath.

“What is this?” Shadowheart asked, eyelids drooping.

“If Shar won’t let me heal it,” she whispered against Shadowheart’s ear, “then I can help you through the pain.”

Shadowheart wanted to reply that she wanted this, but her bones melted in her body and every nerve turned gelatinous in response to Asheera’s embrace. More enchanting than a kiss against a searing wound, she fell into it as Asheera kept her closer, warmer, tighter against her body than ever before.

Not since a kiss under a dome of silver light had she felt this close, her limbs and her breath entwining with Shadowheart so that her pulse galloped in her chest. Thundered across her body as she fell, somehow, into a drowsy state of peace, quiet. Against the pain and against the excitement, she had never felt so comfortable than when Asheera held her and kissed her and promised, in the sweetest whispers against her skin, that she was safe.

With her, she was safe. An oath forged in battle and terrors that no one but Asheera understood.

With her, the pain did not disappear, but it did not control her. Shar’s spiteful slashes across the back of her hand faded under the crushing weight of acceptance, and though Shadowheart struggled to find the voice for her words, she clutched Asheera’s back with both hands and held onto her for dear life.

With her, Shadowheart knew nothing but the tender relief of their joined lips, quickened breaths, and the sense of a brighter tomorrow.

[chosen-confessions]

Hey there. Never made one of these "Rotomblrs" so bear with me.

You can call me S. He/him but I don’t really care. Made this blog because I recently found out there are others like me and my friends out there across the multiverse and, not really surprisingly if I'm being honest, shit sucks for them too.

Since it doesn't look like there's any therapist out there centered around working with (mostly) children who have saved the world and deal with divine responsibilities, I thought at least maybe making a blog like this would help. Feel free to come here to vent about any of your chosen-related frustrations. You’re not alone.

More info under cut.

QnA:

“What’s a chosen?”:

To sum it up, someone who has some sort of special connection with a Legendary Pokémon. The… details of what this entails varies from universe to universe.

“How do you know if you’re a chosen?”:

Like I said, varies heavily from universe to universe. Owning a Legendary doesn’t automatically make you one necessarily, but like, it could depending on how things work where you’re from. I wouldn’t know. In most circumstances I see, telltale signs of being a chosen are usually: Telepathic communication with your patron deity, the appearance of powers, fleshing out, having SOME kind of duty that involves working with your patron in one way or another, etc. Again, these might not be the case at all in some universes, or maybe some are and some aren’t. I really have no way of knowing. Either way, if you think you might fall under this umbrella in any sorta way, you’re welcome here.

“What’s fleshing out?”:

(Warning, this one is gross. Discussions of blood and vomiting ahead.)

Basically the process of… becoming a demigod, for lack of better word. ‘Least that’s what we consider it in my world. Not every universe has it I’m pretty sure, but who knows. The most common symptom of this is… ichor or “god’s blood” appearing in your veins. Which means evicting whatever’s in there right now. Through your mouth, typically. THAT part usually lasts about a night. (I think I’ve seen universes where it also involves growing new body parts similar to your patron’s, but we don’t have anything like that in mine.)

If you have any other questions, let me know. My knowledge is, once again, mostly restricted to my universe, but I’ll try and help the best I can.

About me:

I won’t try and go too much into my personal life, but I’m an adult. Chosen of Lugia, I helped save the world with it when I was a kid. It’s still with me, but still goes off to tend to its own deity business now and then. I’m a Elite Four member, and I have a husband who I love very much. He’s a chosen of Celebi and a Pokéathlete. You might see him on here from time to time, call him E.

I also like Weavile a lot, which explains the profile picture. Might change it to something more fitting later.

Anyways, some general rules: While I might have some decent life advice here and there, I’m not qualified to give out professional therapy advice. Please keep that in mind. I won’t be adding my two cents on most submissions anyways, unless I really think it might be needed. This is mainly a vent zone.

Confession posts will be tagged with #confessions.

OOC:

hi! @scrappyscales here again. thought this type of blog would be fun and relatively easy to run, especially since I have a lot of characters who are heavily involved with the chosen side of rotomblr.

also: I’d like to credit my friend Deerly so the “fleshing out” concept! it something me and a lotta other folks on the chosen discord accepted into our canons, but you don’t have to if you don’t want

same universe as @pinkpoweredpunk !

Pelipper Mail/Variants: ON

Mystery Gift: ON

Magic Anons: OFF

Union Circle: ON (ask me first)

[cricketnationrise]

Oooh I'd LOVE a ficlet!! Have been loving your fics <3

[Congrats on the followers, bud! Same name on AO3]

a time stamp - 5:25

a location - coffee shop

a character - Alex or Henry

a song title/lyric for vibes - enchanted by tswif: The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks

HELLO AND THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT 💜 I freaking love this song and this scene basically popped into my head fully formed so I'm so glad to be finally getting to it!

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

5:25am, coffee shop

One fine day, Henry won’t have to get up before the sun has even risen. But until that magical day, Henry stops by Brews & Books for his first Earl Grey of the day with a for-fun novel while he waits in line. It may be before six in the morning, but the small, family-run shop is already packed. 

A quiet, but emphatic “fuck me” catches Henry’s attention, but it’s the thump, slide, and contact of a heavy book with his foot that pulls him completely out of his novel. He glances down to see some sort of textbook and stoops to pick it up, fingers brushing with a strange spark as someone else reaches for it at the same time. Henry glances up to find the single most attractive man he’s ever seen. 

His dark circles rival Henry’s own, but the combination of a riot of dark curls, warm brown skin, and eyes like molten chocolate knock the breath from Henry’s lungs. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.” Henry wants to wrap himself in the man’s accent. Normally, the stranger’s beauty would have Henry clamming up, but there’s something so welcoming in the exhausted smile flashed his way that makes Henry practically bloom. 

“Not to worry, love. I wouldn’t expect much from anyone before being caffeinated.” Henry stands and reaches down to help the man up after him. 

“Two problems with that,” he says, ruefully as he accepts the help and straightens up with his textbook. “One, this will be my second cup already.” Henry’s eyebrow raises of its own accord. “I know, I know, I have a problem, but consider this: it keeps me functional.”

The man’s hand is still in his. It’s warm, despite the bite of the early morning air. Henry doesn’t let go either. 

“You said there were two problems?” Henry asks, proud when his voice comes out even and a touch teasing rather than stuttering from an abundance of gay pining. 

“Right! The other problem is that I’m this clumsy all the fucking time. My sister and her girlfriend have decided to classify my clumsiness as an ‘outlier of nature,’” the man says with a truly devastating grin. 

Henry can’t help a little huff of laughter at that. “I’m well versed in the despairing older sister department.”

“Did yours treat you like a personal dress up doll, or is that just me?”

“Constantly. I tried to get out of it exactly once growing up and Bea turned on the waterworks so quickly I thought she was auditioning for a hose pipe. It did guilt me into letting her do it though.”

“Dios mío, if June had any ability to cry on command she would have pulled the same shit, I’m sure.”

Their shared laughter draws the man’s attention to their still-joined hands. He pulls away at last—not that Henry would have minded holding his hand for the rest of the day—the hint of a blush showing up on his cheeks.

“I—ah, sor—”

“Next!”

The call interrupts the unwanted apology. Henry sends a rueful look behind him as he goes to order. The man shrugs, a smile tinged with what Henry’s romantic heart hopes is disappointment at their conversation getting cut short. He orders quickly and asks after Linda’s children as she punches in his order. Henry’s about to pay when a brilliant idea strikes.

“Linda, I’d like to pay for the man with the curly hair behind me.”

“A little pay it forward moment?”

“Something like that. May I borrow your sharpie?”

She grins wickedly. “Oh I see, go right ahead, honey.”

Writing quickly while Linda runs his card, Henry prints his number and a note: I don’t usually do this, but it seems you’re an outlier in more ways than one. Dinner tonight? - Henry.

By the time he’s done and collected back his card, his tea is ready at the end of the counter. He picks it up and turns back to see the stranger watching him, a sort of wistful look on his face. Henry can feel himself blushing, but lets himself look back at the man who upended his morning. The man’s face splits into a blinding grin and if Henry didn’t know any better he’d say the sun rose just to shine on his curls. Henry salutes the man with his tea before backing out of the shop and off towards his classes. He barely makes two blocks before his phone buzzes with a series of texts. Henry beams down at his phone as he reads.

Unknown Number: holy shit that was smooth i bet i can be an outlier in a BUNCH of different ways actually 😉 (i’m saying yes to dinner in case that wasn’t clear) i’m Alex by the way it was fucking enchanting to meet you Henry can’t wait for tonight

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

You mentioned that Crane was running around half-naked in Arkham Asylum during some kind of manic period. And that got me thinking.

How can Batman even cope with such things? You have a kind of criminal boyfriend who's going through a manic period. He talks only about fear and can't think of anything else. What to do?

Send him to Arkham? Are the doctors competent enough? Shove the medicine down Crane's throat on your own? Just lock him in a Bat-Cave and hope for the best?

i tend to think, that down the line, when it happens, bruce have nearly a sense of acceptance hanging over him. it’s unavoidable, after all. even if jonathan would try his hardest, eventually smth will set him off or his mind would slide back into spiral. he’s not a super strong willed person, when it comes to his devices. an’ considering, that fear was jonathan’s main companion for almost as long as he can remember himself, it’s basically impossible to tear it out of him. from bruce’s perspective, it’s one of those things, where all he can do is try to minimize the damage, despite how it still upsets him. 

bruce is well aware that he can’t magically fix jon’s brain nor change his perception. in fact, meds can’t truly fix none of those things either, just keep crane from going into the deep end. so in a way, every option is pretty temporal an’ that’s kinda disheartening on its own. but in a way, i feel like it’s more jonathan’s personal view on the situation vs bruce’s. out of two of them, the big bad bat known to be so ridiculously stubborn. jon would sooner give up on himself, before bruce would do it. or in other words, bruce be willing to ‘run in circles’ for jonathan in that case. even if smth doesn’t work, just try again. it’s not like he won’t ever get frustrated with the fact, that nothing seems to do what he wishes it would. but bruce's general view on sickness of mind is quite a silver lining. there is just gotta be smth that will do the trick, right? just need to figure out what it might be. 

either way, in timelines where scarebat have some sort of form or even stalls in the beginning stage, arkham asylum prob won’t be bruce’s first or even fourth choice. i’m pretty sure, that he was always aware, that arkham is less of a place to heal the disturbed, an’ more of a cage to contain them. it doesn't take a genious to notice, that jonathan always comes back way worse after being there, than he was before. instead of curing him, that place allows all of his worst thoughts to fester an’ fester further. not to mention, i believe that bruce’s ‘hero complex’ toward jon would eventually evolve in a way, where he would subconsciously view himself as the only one, who can help / save him. combined with his control freak stick, where he can’t seem to trust even the closest of his allies to do certain stuff an’ prefers to do it himself just to be sure … welp, here you have it. the ultimate ‘he is MY responsibility’, but taken to the max level. the unselfaware possessive declaration.

it's almost funny. since it’s not like jonathan doesn’t already consider this to be true as well. that only batman *could* would save him. even if he also thinks this subconsciously lol. they have this common ground, despite how neither of them actually reflects on it. i mean, the whole deal of arkham knight is literally jonathan being robbed of his delusion an’ ‘anchor’, hence reacting to it very badly. an’ bruce no longer being able to maintain the savior mantle, which leads to their mutual destruction.

howerer, for the sake of it, let’s imagine that bruce manages to save jonathan in arkham asylum, who is still maniacal an’ still insists on being half-naked. clearly, not all that much can be done here. but with the joker’s death hanging over bruce as an unwanted reminder that this is most likely how all of his rogues would eventually go out, he has to do smth. he’s too paranoid not to. he can’t trust crane to somehow get better on his own.

so, what indeed, can bruce do then? pills might help to sustain jon for time being, but it doesn’t really solve the problem for long. once, jon be off them, he’d be way more aggressive an’ erratic than he was beforehand. hormones inside his brain will go wild as they won’t be ‘clogged’ by valium, an’ back to rampage he will go. like, batman still might attempt to do it in some cases, but not before trying smth else first. but that's if we talk about arkhamverse one, specifically. i think, that depending on the version of the bat, each of them would try slightly different approaches to the problem. ak!bruce is also prob more aware about how it would also take a fairly huge dose of medicine to 'take' jon down, when he's like that.

now, in comparison to this, containing crane somewhere ‘safe’ during that time isn’t such a bad idea. keeping him in the same place can prove to be tricky, when he’s like that, but still managable. after all, a sheer crux of jon’s fear obsession always leads back to batman, so it’s safe to assume that if he will have access to him, he would most likely leave an unfortunate bystander alone. in arkham asylum, while he had injected guards an’ randos with ft, his primal focus was still trained on the bat. an’ once they met ‘face to face’, it was only this. he didn’t come after anyone else. nor he seemed to communicate with any other rogues, or even care that they existed. the part of what made that segment of the game magical is the feeling of flimsy reality. of isolation. as there wasn’t anyone else in that nightmare world, just jon an’ the ‘little bat’. batman’s fear is the most intoxicating one for jonathan. the sort that he’s very greedy for, an’ can never get enough of. so if bruce will ‘lure’ him into a make-shift trap to stale the time, jon would follow. 

i honestly, think that if bruce will drive them to some desolate cornfield an’ let jonathan ‘haunt’ him there, that it might kinda help. it’s the feel of thrill an’ terror an’ chace, that might ‘sedate’ scarecrow’s appetite for fear an’ tremors, at least for some time. he wants to scare an’ to be afraid. bruce simply needs to create a ‘playpen’ for them during those times. akin to the kinds jonathan himself tends to create for them. he could also put him into ‘gay jail’ inside bat-cave too. on the paper, this sounds kinda hilarious. bruce be trying to piece together some case, an’ jon would be like ‘feeeear’ from some corner of the cave, like a parrot or a ghost. i can see arkhamverse bruce actually doing it tbh. he way less ‘cuddly’ with scarecrow vs BTAS or comicverse batman, who can appear somewhat gentle with them in some instances. him building jon his own fear baby cage is ridiculously accurate. he could even feed him through the bars, as it’s almost familiar sort of interaction. 

but overall, i think, bruce himself is the best ‘medicine’ for jon. be it via delivering a knockout punch, or way more unusual methods. 

on other hand, i think it’s hella frustrating for jonathan, when bruce has his own mania, which is often displayed in how he begins throwing himself into his vigilante work, after some big accident had occurred an’ many people got killed / got hurt. it’s like almost non-stop crime preventing, saving people for him an’ crane not sure what he can even do. his ‘they were clearly too stupid to live. it’s not your fault’ doesn’t really help anything lol. but what he will attempt to do is talk for another time, i suppose. 

[hphmmatthewluther]

HPHM Ship Week: Day 3 - Sunset

Here we are at the end of this amazing event! Thanks so much to @hphm-ship-week for putting all of this together for everyone! It's been so much fun writing and seeing everyone's creations!

It had been a long day. A lot of Matthew’s most physical classes had all coalesced on his timetable, and so had spent the day doing Quidditch Practice, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and even had time to stop a gargoyle that had broken free from one of the school’s roofs. Suffice to say, he felt shattered. Having just returned the gargoyle to its spot, he went to climb back down before feeling a wave of exhaustion crash into him and drive him forward, forcing him down onto the tiled roof. He sighed, and leant his head back. The sky was that very light shade of blue it goes before going into the yellows and oranges, and the few clouds that circled overhead were tinted pink in the glow of the setting sun.

He must have spent a few minutes simply lying there, letting his body ache itself out and admiring the view. He watched as the sun sank lower, and the crowds of students below were enveloped in the growing shadows of the castle. It wasn’t long, however, before he heard a window below him open, and a grunt as someone else climbed up to the roof. Matthew felt another wave of exhaustion getting ready to hit him before it all seemed to dissipate at once as he saw Merula’s messy hair appear, followed by the rest of her.

“Neat spot you’ve found, Luther…hell of a climb getting up here, though…” she wheezed, lying down next to him and catching her breath. “I’m guessing that’s the gargoyle everyone was talking about?”

She pointed over to the stone statue on the far edge of the roof, which rolled its eyes and started to shuffle away, muttering something about “teenagers”. Matthew nodded in return. “Yeah, that’s him. I think Peeves must have talked him into it or something. He’s probably learnt his lesson now, though. Hopefully, hah…” he trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I’m just, um…”

Merula turned on her side and looked at him. “I know. You’re overworking yourself. This happened last year, remember? You’d drained yourself of energy and I had to be you for the day.”

Matthew smiled. “Yeah, you were pretty good at it. The only bit you struggled with was doing it quietly.”

“I was…I was fairly quiet!”

“You burst into a room and yelled out “It’s Merula o’clock!”, I really don’t think you can say that-”

Merula shoved him playfully, her cheeks going pink. “Oh…hush. I still did well. You want me to have another go?”

“I…I think I’ll be alright, but thank you.” Matthew said, now turning on his side to look at her. The sun’s rays were falling upon her face, illuminating her brown hair as if it were an orange and golden flame. “I wouldn’t mind working with you, though.”

“Charmer.” Merula chuckled, “But I nonetheless accept. As long as…well. I suppose we’d have to be careful about how we do it.”

Matthew nodded. They already didn’t want any of the students knowing about the two of them, and certainly not the staff. “I think we could pass it off as us still being in denial. They’ve caught us being a lot closer and-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Merula said, bluntly. “Look…you’ve spent the last three years here trying to “make up” for your first two. I’ve seen you go through it each time, and now we’re…well, whatever we are…I’m going to be nudging you an awful lot more than I already was.”

Matthew nodded, his face still red, and not just from the setting sun. When she wasn’t trying to provoke him, she could read him like an open book. “Y-You’re right, um…I guess trying to do absolutely everything isn’t a complete solution to doing nothing. I guess I’m just…afraid of going back to that.”

“You won’t.” Merula promised, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Because…you never were there. I mean, sure, maybe at the very beginning when you sulked in Ravenclaw Tower all the time, but trust me when I say that just by being around, you seem to make other people feel better…” she said, her smile more genuine than Matthew had ever seen it, “...I should know.”

Matthew suddenly felt immobilised, only able to blink and open and close his mouth once or twice. Merula had stumbled upon a weakness of his: the inability to accept a compliment. “I…I, um, you, you really mean, but that’s, um-”

She simply laughed, in that way she sometimes did where her nose wrinkled and her head tilted back, a soft pink covering her cheeks and nose. “I mean it. It’s why it pisses me off seeing you forced to work like this because nobody else can be arsed.”

Matthew tilted his head. He knew where Merula was coming from, but to him, at least, his friends did more than enough for him. “...You know…I could say the same thing about you.”

“What?”

“Well, I think you’ve had just as much influence on this place as I have. You’ve pushed people to get better, and you’ve grown in response to it.”

“Well, maybe, but…I never meant to-”

“Neither did I. But you did. You never stay still, and that’s why I try to keep up with you…because being on pace with you is a feeling like nothing else.”

She blinked. She would have said, if asked, that she was shielding her eyes from the setting sun, and not that she was trying to cover the red across her face. It seemed that they shared a weakness, despite all their differences. She briefly leant over the roof, and seeing that nobody was around, removed the hand from her face and placed it on his other shoulder. “Nobody does it like us, do they? We’re like the knights of this castle.”

Matthew leant forward a little, not needing Legilimency to know what Merula had in mind. He watched as the sky around them became a fiery orange, as on the other side of the horizon the dark blue of the night began to creep in. “I always saw myself more as a caretaker, but knight sounds a lot cooler.” he admitted, smiling softly.

“It certainly does.” she said, leaning even closer. “If anyone catches us, I’m hexing them off the roof.” she whispered, her eyes beginning to close.

“Fair enough.” Matthew whispered back, before closing his own eyes, seeing only a fiery gold as their lips found each other. His arms moved to her shoulders as one of her hands slowly moved up into his long brown hair. The exhaustion that had previously covered his body had faded, and he suddenly felt a great deal more energised as the two leant further into their kiss. Matthew wasn’t sure how long they spent up there, but when he opened his eyes again the sky was visibly darker, and the face of the woman he admired was now illuminated by the final few embers of the sun before it dipped below the horizon. But to Matthew, she still looked radiant as ever.

“We’ll have to remember this place. It seems like a nice, quiet spot, especially now we’ve scared the gargoyles off.” Merula observed, her hand still running through Matthew’s hair. “You feeling better now, Matthew?”

Matthew pushed himself up from the roof, that same flustered smile still on his face. No matter how many times they found themselves alone like this, Matthew still couldn’t quite believe that Merula had trusted this side of her to him, and him alone. “Definitely. Ready to go and grab dinner?”

Their hands found each other as they walked away as one, breaking only to climb back down through the window. As Matthew looked back at Merula, his knight in emerald armour, he somehow already knew that as wonderful and sacred as the orange sky was, it could only ever be temporary. It would need to give way to what came next, and whether that was day or night, Matthew knew that it was with her that he could find the strength to meet it.

[broodwoof]

Merrill meta

cw: canon character death; blood magic; discussion of anti blood magic sentiment beyond that, general heads up for discussion of the fate of Clan Sabrae, culture shock, grief, guilt, Chantry/Circle propaganda, etc.

So far, I haven’t written meta specifically and exclusively about Merrill, although I do have a lot of thoughts about her. A caveat: I am many years removed from playing DA2 and have no real plans to replay it (it’s a good game, but it’s very heavy for me for certain reasons), so I won’t be as specific here as I might be in other meta. This is going to be more about the sense I get of her overall character and her arc within the narrative.

First, I want to talk a bit about her history.

Merrill comes from the Sabrae clan, but was born in the Alerion clan, in Nevarra. But Alerion had sufficient mages and Sabrae did not, so Merrill was transferred to the Sabrae clan when she was four years old. At that age, she may be able to remember her prior clan, or she may not, especially if any part of the journey or transition was traumatic to her—which I find likely. Not because the Dalish are abusive or anything like that, but because the simple nature of leaving the familiar for the new can be traumatic, especially for a child, doubly so for one new to her magic. So it’s not clear what, exactly, her feelings about this are, but I think it’s safe to say that she does have feelings about it. She had what could easily be considered a tumultuous and possibly traumatic experience as a young child.

The Sabrae clan loses Tamlen for sure, and possibly Mahariel as well, depending on the origin the player chooses. Merrill does not contract the Blight, but she does lose one—and possibly two—clanmates to it, and the Keeper insists that they move on, despite her wanting to stay and research the Eluvian. I think there’s a lot of room for interpretation about why she wanted so badly to stay: it could have been primarily rooted in a desperate attempt to save Tamlen, and possibly cure Mahariel; alternatively, it could have been primarily rooted in a desire for her people to know more of their history. Regardless of primacy, I think both aspects were present, and would be shaped by the specifics of her relationship with Tamlen and possibly Mahariel.

I’m a little fuzzy on the exact timeline here so I’m gonna be generalizing, but she took a piece of the Eluvian with her; she contacted a demon at some point; she became a blood mage; she was rejected by her Keeper; her Keeper taught her clan to fear her; and she ended up in Kirkwall with Hawke and the rest of them. Both the demon and the blood magic were things her Keeper knew about, so they happened prior to Hawke approaching the Sabrae clan and ending up with Merrill joining, and if memory serves, her clanmates were wary about her at this point, but not as fearful as they later became.

The point of this meta is not to explore matters of fault, only Merrill as a character, but as an aside I will say that I think a great deal of this was the Keeper’s fault, but I also understand where she was coming from. We as players are accustomed to blood magic being more nuanced than it is presented culturally in-game, but I think it’s worth remembering and recognizing just how reviled blood magic truly is in-world. The Dalish are not a monolith, each clan individual, but among those we see they seem to share the opposition to blood magic with much of Thedas, with the obvious exception of Tevinter. Although even that is more complex than “Tevinter thinks blood magic is good!” but again, not the point of this meta.

I am, however, bringing this up in part to acknowledge that this in-world bias is at play with the DA2 companions. Anders has been raised with Chantry and Circle propaganda, and still believes much of it; Fenris is an ex-slave from Tevinter, where he saw blood magic at its worst. And I think even among those who accept her more—Varric and Isabela, for instance—they are still deeply prejudiced against and wary about blood magic. And I’m certain she recognizes that. How can she not?

So I think during the course of the game, she feels very much on the outside of the little group Hawke has assembled. There are certainly moments of kindness and camaraderie between her and the other companions, as well as moments of paternalistic contempt, but overall I think she views herself as being on the outside. And she’s also on the outside in her home life. Whether Alerion or Sabrae, she has spent her life with Dalish clans, but is now living in an alienage with city elves. There’s a huge culture shock going on here. There’s also no cultural familiarity between her and the companions. And if Hawke romances her (I’m ignoring rivalmance because I haven’t done it) then she’s with a human. I’m not saying that’s bad, but I am saying that Hawke could never be a cultural touchstone for her. And that’s okay, by itself! But I do think it contributes to and exacerbates the feeling of otherness, in her specific situation.

Now, the fate of Clan Sabrae. If they survive, Merrill has been shown as clearly as possible that her Keeper does not trust her and is actively working against her—whether it’s “for her own good” or not is immaterial (and shitty, condescending, and paternalistic as well, even if the Keeper truly thought this the best or was trying to save the many at the [potential] cost of the one), as it is still a major violation of trust. If they do not survive, then Merrill would feel—true or false—that it is her fault, at least in part. That it was the Keeper’s actions which endangered the clan would not mean that someone deep in grief would not draw the connection from their actions to the end result; this is a normal experience among people who grieve, although nothing about grief is a monolith, either.

So at this point, Merrill has felt: some kind of way about being transferred between clans; a loss due to Tamlen (and possibly Mahariel); rejected for her ideas about the Eluvian; judged by her clan for her use of blood magic; rejected by her clan as a whole; disrupted due to intense culture shock; judged and demeaned pretty heavily for said culture shock; also judged and demeaned for the blood magic, this time by those she works with/may consider friends in Kirkwall. 

So I think that it makes sense how, in a romance with Hawke, she’s… not really there so much? There are comments, I think from Bodahn, about how she doesn’t seem to be acting/feeling very much at home in Hawke’s estate. And of course she’s still going back to her home in the alienage, both because of her continued efforts to restore the Eluvian and because she has begun to build a life there for herself and is still connected to the other elves there, even if there is still a degree of mutual wariness. But I think her long history of rejection after rejection has made her—understandably!—wary to trust anyone. 

However kind and compassionate Hawke may be in this situation, they would not be able to cure Merrill of all her trauma through love, even within the entire lengthy span of the game. So I don’t find it surprising that she continues to exist on the periphery. It would be easy and natural for her to feel like she’s only being provisionally accepted. And at the end of the day, I think that sense has less to do with how Hawke is treating her or how sincere their feelings are, and more to do with Merrill’s background and history.

However, I do think it would be a bit different with a blood mage Hawke. I think under those circumstances, she would feel more deeply accepted. I don’t think it would get rid of the feeling of it being provisional entirely, being far too simple a cure for far too complex a wound, but I think the familiarity and shared basis would help put her at ease. She’s not being accepted despite the form of magic she chooses to employ. Of course, this interpretation depends a bit on Hawke and their point of view on blood magic, whether it varies between their own use and how others use it or if it’s more broadly accepting, but I’m going with the idea that a blood mage Hawke would likely be tolerant of blood magic, even if they only used it as a last resort or out of desperation or for any other of the many, varied reasons why someone might choose to utilize such a loathed type of magic.

So tempted to continue this into “and this is why I ship her with—” territory but I’ll leave it here so that those who just want Merrill content don’t have to sit through my shipping conversation lmao.

[clover-and-spice]

Spoilers for Veilguard under the cut, just some musings about Amira’s narrative trajectory over the 4 games

Okay so I just keep thinking about how Varric’s death in Veilguard factors in to the endless cycle of rebirth and reinvention Amira seems to be caught in.

Like- when @world-of-thedas and I first made our multiple Wardens AU and decided Cassian would break up Amira and Alistair and it eventually led to me making Amira my main Inquisitor I started out trying to pair her with one of the canon love interests. So at first I was shipping her with Cullen and that was cute but not particularly compelling? And then world-of-Theda’s pointed out I wasn’t bound to the canon romance options and like— I realized how much in our fic I’d already been writing Varric and Amira interacting, and how easy their banter came. Then I realized they had basically matching traumas what with the whole ‘lost my first love to an arranged marriage and I’m still not over it’s and ‘my brother betrayed me and left me to die but I still love him and want to save him from the not himself state he’s been left in’. And it completely revitalized my interest in our AU and I got so invested in them and was like “they take ages to get together but I’ll never break them up once they are, this is Amira’s happy ending”

Then Veilguard came out. And Varric died and now it’s like

Amira’s fatal flaw is loyalty. All she wants is somewhere she can stay, a home she can keep.

Amira is six and she lives with her mom in the Deneriem alienage. They’re poor and she doesn’t have a father, but their home is full of love and she is happy. Then suddenly Amira has magic and her mother is holding her close and telling her to be good. That she has to go to a new home now. Her mother ties a blue ribbon in her hair before the Templar takes her by the hand and she looks back at her mom for the last time.

In the Circle she knew Irving was grooming her to be his successor. The Circle wasn’t perfect but it was her home and she was determined to become First Enchanter and improve the lives of her fellow mages. Only then the Chantry is going to make Jowan tranquil and Irving is letting it happen and Amira has to betray everything she’s held dear to save her brother because she believes him when he tells her he’s not a blood mage. Except he’s lying and now she’s a criminal for aiding a maleificarum. She looks at the closest thing she has to a father as she’s conscripted into the Wardens and he tells her the Wardens are her family now.

Amira is determined to be a good Warden, to atone for her (in her mind) mistakes. She is joined and watches only one other recruit survive, an elf who won’t even speak to her and then she watches every Warden besides two die. She falls in love with Alistair. And then just as she thinks she’s found someone who she can keep he’s telling her he has to marry for the good of Fereldan. He wants to keep her but she can’t accepted having to be the King’s dirty secret so she ends it.

Cassian makes a deal that means he’ll take command of Vigil’s Keep so Amira can go and travel on her own. Finish unfinished business only that doesn’t last long before he’s fucking off to the Wilds to be with Morrigan and Amira has to take charge. And so she throws herself into it. She takes on a student, tries and fails at having a relationship again and decides she missed her chance at romance. It’s not perfect but it’s a life she’s built for herself that she thinks she’ll get to keep.

And then war breaks out between mages and templars. And then she gets a letter from Leliana. She goes to the conclave hoping to help broker peace because no matter what else she is she is. Child of the Circle. The conclave explodes and even though she doesn’t know it yet the mark everyone is trying to convince her is holy has burned the blight from her veins. She will never be a Warden again. She is the Herald of a religion she doesn’t know she believes in and the Inquisitor and everyone is looking to her to save them again. So she fights, because it’s the only thing she can do and she finds herself building a new home for herself again. And despite having long given up on the idea somehow when she’s too busy fighting to notice it’s happening she falls in love.

They save the world only to realize the real threat is someone she called friend. but even if she loses her arm, if the Inquistion falls apart she still has Varric. He holds her hand and reminds her there’s a home that’s waiting for her in Kirkwall, with him.

They keep living, they have kids (some adopted, one not) and they agree that they are going to save their friend from himself. And despite all the danger, all the risks, Amira lets herself believe she’ll be allowed to keep this. That for once she’ll be allowed to have something that stays.

And then Varric dies and the Elvhen Gods have been unleashed and she has to keep the South from falling apart despite the gaping hole in her heart where Varric is supposed to be.

Amira’s youngest child is six, and doesn’t have a father anymore. She holds her youngest close before handing her off to her eldest daughter, her eldest daughter who has no stomach for fighting, who has learned to wield paintbrushes not weapons and sends them both as far from the frontlines as she can. She tells herself Leliana will protect them, and tries not to worry about her children who refuse to be swayed from the fight. Her six year old looks back at her and Amira wonders if this is the last time she will see her mom.

[ashs-random-writing]

Mushroom Circles

Chapter ten

Ao3

—

When an accidental blood sacrifice leaves him in a strange new world, Roman has to hide

Logan would like to know what has been eating all the fruit

—

Logan took note of every reaction Tiny had, and to what. They were startled by Patton’s sudden touch on their arm, but that was just as obvious as the way they were scared when Janus was nearby.

They evidently didn’t forgive Janus for what he had done. Janus had attempted to claim that it was because they mustn’t have understood the apology, but Logan knew for sure that they did. Their reaction was far from the non-comprehending stare they often had when hearing words they didn’t understand.

In addition, they had heard apologies from Logan and Patton enough times that he was almost a hundred percent certain that they must understand it. He figured that they simply had not liked Janus’s (admittedly not the best) apology, and had reacted as such.

Logan not only didn’t disagree with their assessment of the apology, but in fact he would have thought about doing the same as them had someone given such a lacking apology to him. Of course, he wouldn’t have done the same, despite thinking it, as he never acted that dramatically, and quite frankly, he’d have simply walked away from the conversation if it were him.

Tiny didn’t have the same luxuries of leaving the situation, but could still show their unimpressed attitude in their own way. Logan almost felt a smile creep onto his face.

All six of Janus’s arms were crossed stubbornly.

“Why should I have apologised if they won’t even give me a chance?” He was complaining, as Patton was checking on Tiny.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up accidentally in the process.

“You apologised because you were told to, and you sounded like it, I doubt I’d have accepted that apology either,” Logan informed him bluntly.

Janus, turned away from him in much the same manner that Tiny did to Janus, which Logan had to admit was quite amusing. He still had his questions about Tiny, not one of them having been answered.

What were they? Why were they here? Why hadn’t they shared their name? Why were they so tiny? Why didn’t they have any magic? Why were they so faerie-like, but so different?

They had basic features replicated, though on a much smaller scale, but the only colours that they had as a part of their skin and hair were shades of beige and brown. Their eyes were green, but that was the only colourful thing about them other than their clothes.

They had a noticeable lack of wings. And a noticeable lack of extra limbs. Their ears were rounded rather than pointed, and their teeth had barely any that were sharp.

He had no clue what they were.

He wondered if they felt the same about him. Were they just as clueless as he, when it came to each others’ species? Or did they know more about him than the very little he knew about them?

At the very least, they likely knew how they got here, which Logan didn’t know. He sighed.

A few weeks later, he still knew next to nothing about them. They had become more vocal over the few weeks, though he understood very little. They greeted him when he greeted them, clearly having learnt the greeting from him and Patton (Logan pretended not to be amused at the way they blatantly ignored Janus if he ever tried to say hello to them)

He was still having to resort to calling them Tiny, due to the fact that they still hadn’t shared their name, and any time they tried to ask, they’d freeze up, becoming more nervous again. They’d stopped asking them for it- they clearly had a reason for not sharing it, perhaps something cultural. Logan knew nothing of them.

Janus had not been tormenting them, in Patton’s words, for the past few weeks- at least not at the same extent that he was beforehand.

He was still annoying them, poking and prodding them, and making snide little comments. Janus was banned from being the one to bring them their food, as he’d attempt to annoy them by stealing the food off their plate, often making little comments about how they’d never be able to eat all of it, anyway.

Tiny didn’t often get all pale and scared because of it, anymore, but did often get very visibly annoyed. He noticed that they often crossed their arms when they were annoyed, and they tended to mutter and grumble in their own language.

Logan found the language extremely interesting- but he had not yet figured out the meaning of any words. He hoped that could be remedied at some stage.

He was voicing his concerns about what they were to Janus in a different room than Tiny was in, and doing so quietly- he didn’t entirely know how much Tiny understood at this point- when Janus spoke up.

“Y’know, I think there’s an old folktale about weird little tiny people, maybe that could give some insight,” he said, absentmindedly, as though this wasn’t information that might’ve been useful a while ago “I’m sure from what I remember that it matches at least a little with Tiny,”

Logan stared at him a few moments.

“And you didn’t tell me about this weeks ago?” He asked, barely concealing his annoyance.

Janus shrugged, checking his nails “Never came up,”

Logan groaned.

“Alright,” he said through gritted teeth, trying not to shout at him for deciding that this wasn’t important information. “I’m going to go to the library and look up different stories. You will stay here, okay?”

Janus looked up from his nails in disbelief.

“What? On my own?” He asked, with wide eyes.

Logan nodded, grabbing his bag.

“Tiny won’t like that,” Janus replied, with a forcefully smooth tone, which suggested that he was also nervous about the idea.

Logan ignored that.

“Then don’t bother them,” he responded shortly, beginning to leave.

Truth be told, he also wasn’t 100% on board with the idea of Tiny and Janus being on their own here, but he also didn’t like the idea of Tiny being actually alone. Patton was out for a while, tending to some plants for the day as a favour

It didn’t take long for Logan to fly to the library, luckily. He brought out three books of folk tales and began reading, searching for any mention of tiny people.

It took an hour or two before he found it, but Janus was right. It matched up. It was one of the less popular stories, and it was old.

The tale detailed a race of tiny people from another world. Non-magical, and fragile. There was an illustration of one of these ‘humans’ and Logan was almost startled by how similar it looked to Tiny. He carried on reading.

There was some kind of natural portal between the worlds, only activated by certain actions. And then he read part of the tale that had one of his questions answered, but left him extremely concerned.

Humans, according to all recollections of the tale, have no magic. But they do have something strange; something in them reacts with faerie magic, meaning that they can be controlled if you learn their name. Most humans in the tales couldn’t speak, so it’s supposedly hard to wrest the information from them, but they could become a valuable tool if you do find yourself faced with the fabled creature.

Logan read it and reread it again, trying to expel the sour taste in his mouth that came from the words and the implications of them. They could be controlled? No wonder they refused to say their name- they clearly knew about this. It certainly gave him an explanation as to why they got so nervous at the idea of it.

He silently checked out the book and put it in his bag and began flying back to Patton’s house.

Strangely, the rope ladder that Janus liked to use to get in and out of the house due to his lack of wings was down. He ignored that and entered the house

The first thing he noticed when he walked in was that Janus was nowhere to be found. The second thing was that Tiny was asleep on their blanket on the table- their sleep schedule had been very random since he’d first found them, and hadn’t much fixed itself. The third thing he noticed was a note on the kitchen counter

“Something interesting happening a little while away, I’ll be back soon,” he read under his breath, careful not to wake Tiny.

Logan grumbled slightly and watched out of the window for Janus’s return

After a few minutes, he did return, seemingly uncaring to Logan’s disapproving stare

“So, what was so interesting that you left Tiny alone after I specified that you were to stay here?”

Janus rolled his eyes

“Oh please, they were asleep when I left, I doubt they minded. But, you might wanna wake them for this,”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows

“Why,” he asked in a suspicious tone “What was this interesting thing you went out to see?”

Janus grinned and reached into his pocket with one of his hands, bringing out another tiny person. Another human.

This one had slightly paler skin, darker clothes, and different hair. They had strange smudges under their eyes that looked like some form of makeup. And they looked entirely terrified.

He could only see half of their face but what he could see was absolutely filled with fear. He looked away from them and back up to Janus

“What- where did you find them?” He asked desperately, adjusting his glasses

“Just a few minutes walk away from here,” Janus asked, dangling the new human in front of his face

Logan frowned

“I thought you learned from Tiny not to dangle them, it scares them,” he said gesturing for him to place the human down on the table, which Janus did. The human stumbled backwards, eyes flittering between them both with clear and pure terror

Logan and Janus talked between themselves for a few moments, discussing how best to go about this, before deciding to wake Tiny up (something Logan almost never did- he knew they didn’t sleep well), and put the other human on the table with them

Both humans stared at each other but Tiny began to speak, though the second one didn’t at first, still staring at he and Janus, as though they were scared of what would happen to them. Logan pushed his feelings down

He’d have a lot to catch Patton up on when he got back

—

@a-chilly-pepper @da3dm @betamash

[sweetjulieapples]

"Dear Commander" Chapter Seven - Modest In Temper.

Cullen x Trevelyan

AO3 MASTERLIST

The stress of war and troubled pasts begin to take their toll.

full chapter below

Particles of dust look like magic in the sunlight. There is beauty here in the mundane. It is safe among the walls of tomes. No stories, but there is guidance.

“Congratulations, my dear cousin.”

He shouldn’t be here! They’ll be cross with him again. Why won’t he listen? Can he not hear me? The armour is cold against my face. Red sword is listening. They’ll find us! What is the cost of this embrace?

“Everyone knows about the harrowing. They’re all speaking of it.”

Why is he laughing? Run, now! His hazel eyes show no fear. Or were they green? How much time? Time is a circle.

My mouth is open. Run, Jon. Please! Swords are drawn, footsteps approaching! Her voice is echoing. Is she me? I am no longer her. Listen to her if not me!

“Cousin!” his voice is saying it over and over. A chant. A threat? Distorted Pleas!

His kind face now sinister. Jon’s eyes are red. Red like the sword.

My hands are burning! Blood? Why is there blood?

“Herald.”

How does he know? Jon can’t know.

“Wake up, Herald!”

Juliette sat up straight, eyes wide and breath heavy. Shadows from the trees outside swayed upon the walls of her tent. She exhaled a sigh of relief when she noticed Cassandra kneeling by her side. The seeker watched her closely while her face bore a look of deep concern.

Juliette let herself flop back onto the bedroll. “Was I doing it again?”

“What do you think?” Cassandra asked with heavy sarcasm. Her previous look of worry had quickly given way to her usual cold gaze of focus.

“I’m sorry,” Juliette wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“This is the second night in a row.” Cassandra stood and looked down at The Herald with hands on her hips. “Do you do this often?”

Juliette shook her head, “ Nobody has ever said anything about it.”

“Did you have these nightmares in The Circle?”

“Cassandra,” Juliette sat up and gave her a serious look. “The Circle was the nightmare.”

Turning to exit, Cassandra grunted affirmatively. “Join us if you can’t sleep. We’re all awake.”

Once alone, Juliette rolled her eyes and threw down her arms with force. She silently berated herself for mentioning The Circle, in such a dramatic fashion no less! The more she spoke of it the more she was convinced that people didn’t believe her. Ostwick somehow had the reputation of being sedate. The nightmares were new, the constant memories were not. It was hard to think about the fall of the Circles of Magi without guilt. She made it out alive. She should be grateful.

Val Royeaux was a shit show -- Varric’s words, although Juliette whole-heartedly agreed. Instead of smoothing things over with The Chantry, they were met with a public display of power abuse by The Lord Seeker and his templars. An embarrassing blow for The Inquisition’s reputation. The ordeal had Cassandra fuming. Her temper was on show with less patience and far more aggression in her actions. The camp’s makeshift training dummy didn't stand a chance.

Juliette was met with the warm glow of a camp fire when she crawled out of her tent. Swirling embers, fragrant smoke and the hum of chatter lingered in the air. She wrapped a blanket over her shoulders and embraced the cool night breeze with a smile. This kind of freedom was something that she could get used to.

“Lady!” Varric sang out with a grin. “Can’t sleep?”

Cassandra stood up from the opposite side of the fire and walked over behind him. He expected as much, yet still flinched when her hand clipped him over the ear. “Have some respect,” she spat out before retreating to her own tent. Juliette stood watching with tired eyes, hardly surprised by what she had just seen.

“She’s in fine form,” Varric muttered sarcastically. “Have a seat?” he asked The Herald. With a soft smile she accepted and carefully huddled towards the log that he sat on, careful not to let her blanket drag on the ground. “So, nightmares huh?” he asked, reaching for a glass bottle beside him. “Want something to drink?”

“No,” Juliette shook her head quickly. “Thank you.”

“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot. Are you holding up alright?” Varric asked between gulps of, whatever that horrid smelling drink was.

Juliette chuckled under her breath and shrugged. “It’s one of those situations where you either laugh or cry. Sometimes a bit of both.”

“Or squeal in your sleep loud enough for half of Thedas to hear.”

A faint smile and a sharp exhale was Juliette’s response. “Or that.” She sounded defeated.

“I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful.” Varric turned to Juliette and cocked an eyebrow. “Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“Not bad for a girl who spent most of her life locked in a tower.” Juliette’s grin was an attempt at deflecting the less than amusing reality of her situation.

“I couldn’t write this shit.” Varric looked up at the stars and continued, “You know I’m from Kirkwall, right?”

“Yes, you may have mentioned it several times or so,” Juliette was amused with her sarcastic remark. Although she joked about Varric’s on-road storytelling, she loved every moment of it. She often wondered that if, when all this mess was over, she could someday read his novels.

“Well, get ready for the eighth. Mages and templars, and innocent people caught in the middle. Some things never change.” Varric sighed, “What happened there , that shit is hard to forget.”

“We heard about it in my circle. I thought it was all just silly rumours at first. We couldn’t see what was happening outside the walls.” Juliette looked down at her feet, glumly. “Until…”

“Yeah, you chantry kids are the very definition of traumatised.” Varric held up another bottle. “ Now you want to drink?”

“No,” Juliette laughed. “There’s a hole in the sky, yet that liquid scares me more.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he took a swig and let out a satisfied “Ah.” There was a moment of silence while they sat, contemplating the weight of the conversation that hid behind jests and stifled laughter. “Cullen was there in Kirkwall,” Varric spoke with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

Juliette was caught off guard when she heard his name. For days she had tried to avoid thinking about him, and given that there was plenty else racing through her mind, she’d found some success. Being away helped, of course. All the progress that she thought she was making unraveled with the mention of his name. Juliette did well to conceal a nervous gulp before listening closely to what Varric had to say next.

“After all that happened it’s hardly a surprise that Curly spends so much time with a serious look on his face. You could almost forgive the brooding.” Varric paused when he noticed Juliette’s expression. “What’s that look for?”

Sporting an awkward grin, Juliette answered with, “nothing.” She was thankful for the questions that popped into her mind so that she could move the conversation along without lingering on the dumb way her face reacts at the thought of Cullen. “You call The Commander ‘Curly’? That’s funny.”

“He’s doing something weird with his hair, I don’t know. Catch him in the rain and I’m sure the curls will come back.”

Swiftly pushing the image of Cullen soaked in rain away from her mind, Juliette blinked a few times and continued. “You call Cassandra ‘Seeker’. And Solas…” she smirked and slowly asked “Chuckles?”

“That’s right,” Varric said proudly.

“Do I have a name?” she asked .

“Lady,” he replied with raised brows as though it was an obvious question.

“Oh, that’s underwhelming,” Juliette pouted.

“Is it not enough that people are calling you The Herald of Andraste?” he laughed.

“How about The Lady? It has much more flair.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You last a day without Bianca and I saving your ass, then maybe you’ll earn your title.”

Juliette nodded and playfully rolled her eyes. “I won’t go holding my breath.”

“We had your back you know,” Varric said seriously.

Juliette looked his way mid-yawn. “When?”

“In the plaza at Val Royeaux. The look on your face when the templars tried to drag you away said enough.” Varric’s voice softened, showing compassion. “If you’re shaken by all that’s happened, nobody would blame you.”

Juliette could feel her nose and cheeks tingle underneath her eyes as tears almost began to form. She looked forward and watched the flames of the campfire. Her blurry eyes saw swirls of orange while a lump of emotions formed in her throat. She swallowed before whispering, “Thank you, Varric.”

She couldn’t remember a time where someone had let her feel like it was ok to…feel. Since she was a small child, Juliette was taught to hide her emotions.

Modest in temper, bold in deed.

Lady Trevelyan often forgets her family’s motto, however not without guilt and shame.

“Anyway,” Varric broke the silence. “Cassandra would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

The Inquisition insignia glistened with every slash of the sword as sunlight and snow reflected from the steel. Skilled manoeuvres ensured a thrilling clash of blades in a sparring session that began to draw crowds from the tavern. Patrons watched with excitement as the men competed, exhibiting their strength and impressive ability. The clang of colliding metal and low grunts of exertion rang out through Haven’s grounds before a few gasps could be heard from those spectating. A well timed parry ensured that a sword fell to the ground, the snow catching its fall.

The scar tugged at Cullen’s lip when he smirked, “I think you’ve had enough.” Without protest, the lieutenant retrieved his sword, accustomed to the Commander’s smug victories. “You’re improving,” Cullen admitted, turning his back and averting his focus to the trebuchet site.

“I think you’re slowing down, Commander,” the lieutenant remarked with a grin. Surely he was mocking in the wake of defeat, yet his words stung more than he knew. It had been a few months now since Cullen had accepted Cassandra’s offer to join as The Inquisition’s Commander. He saw this as a chance to redeem himself, a new path shown to him by The Maker. Cullen chose to leave Kirkwall and in doing so he decided to break free of the templar order, including it’s Lyrium leash. The withdrawal had proven challenging, nevertheless Cullen persevered. He was confident that he had made the right decision, although insecurities made way for intrusive thoughts. He worried that he was losing strength, and more importantly, focus.

Ignoring the taunt, Cullen turned to the lieutenant. “Save your energy, The Herald is due back any moment now. I believe Seeker Pentaghast will want that training session sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, Commander,” the lieutenant nodded. “I’ve a brief plan for our session but is there anything specific you’d suggest?”

“No,” Cullen replied. “I trust you’ll have plenty of input from Cassandra and…” He noticed Leliana standing by the steps with folded arms. No words were needed, her glare spoke volumes. “Excuse me,” Cullen spoke and rushed away.

Leliana held notes in her hand and wasted no time with greetings. As soon as Cullen was close enough to hear, she began, “They were met with resistance, you should hear this.” She spoke while walking back towards the chantry, expecting that Cullen would follow.

“Are they all right?” he asked with worry.

Leliana simply replied, “Yes.”

“Well?” Cullen asked, sounding irritated.

“They’re descending the mountain as we speak. Come to the war table.”

Once inside, Cullen managed to get a less cryptic summary of what transpired in Val Royeaux. He shook his head and tugged at his hair in frustration. “You can’t be serious!”

“And in the middle of the market, no less,” Josephine said with an unimpressed tone.

“I told you this was a terrible idea!” With furrowed brows and a huff, Cullen held out his hand, gesturing for Josephine to pass back the report.

“We had to do something, Commander,” she glared, hoping that Leliana would come to her defence. Instead, the spymaster walked out of the room.

“The Lord seeker did what?” Cullen scoffed and slammed the report onto the table. “Just as well that Cassandra and Varric were able to step in when they did. This could have ended up a lot worse.”

“How would you have done things differently, then?” Josephine asked with folded arms.

“I wouldn’t have sent The Herald into an ambush for a start!” Cullen snapped.

“They’re back,”Leliana poked her head in the door, silencing the argument. Josephine rushed out the door leaving Cullen alone at the war table.

His headache intensified when he looked over the report in full. He had hoped that gathering support from the Templars would be simple, that it would make some sense. The Chantry was supposed step in and templars are supposed to protect. The possibility of allying with mages terrified him more than he was willing to admit. It baffled him that the others encouraged its consideration. The war was trying enough without any clear indication of who is the actual enemy. Politics and power were a looming shadow over everything he stood for. He needed The Inquisition to work. He needed to be a part of something better, something good. If not to atone for his past mistakes, perhaps to at least soften the screams of the memories that haunt him at night.

Through the open door he could hear conversation. Cassandra’s shocked voice echoed through the chantry when she learned from Josephine that they already knew what had happened. Leliana informed of her agents in the city and greeted The Herald graciously.

The Herald.

It was quite an ask to put his faith into a person he barely knew. Even as a devout Andrastian, the pragmatic in him longed for answers. Nonetheless, he realised the importance of her position. Her title held enough weight to benefit their cause and he had no trouble respecting that. What that meant for him on a personal level, he was unsure. Cullen had let too many thoughts slip into his mind and that lack of control was frightening. He couldn’t deny the attraction that he felt for her. He would often become frustrated with himself when he failed to resist a glance in her direction or the excitement that he would feel upon hearing of her achievements while she was away. Juliette had him curious in ways that made him feel almost grateful for their time apart. He wanted to get closer, to know more about her. He found himself wondering if, there wasn’t an impending doom upon the world, could he ever become close with a mage?

Cullen closed his eyes and sighed heavily. The world was falling apart and he had a job to do.

Mid-conversation, The Commander joined. “It’s a shame that the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

Juliette looked up at him with scornful eyes. “That’s what you Templars do best though, isn’t it?” Her gaze was cold as ice when she spoke further, “Turning a blind eye to corruption and abusing their strength.”

Cullen was shocked. The last time that he and The Herald had talked, she spoke softly and with kindness - to him at least. Her sweet giggle at his chancellor joke hadn’t gone unnoticed. Her shy smile and rosy cheeks were a startling contrast to the woman that now stood before him, bitter and resentful. Her words cut through him like a knife and the answer to the question that he asked himself in secrecy was clear. She couldn’t trust a templar.

He wrinkled his nose in anger. “Do not think for a moment that I condone The Lord Seeker’s actions, Herald. Or any other ill doing on a templar’s part in Val Royeaux."  Juliette looked to the floor with her arms folded tight. Cullen stared at her with a disappointed expression.

“We made contact and now we have options,” Josephine said with optimism, breaking the tension in the room with her words.

“Do we?” Cassandra asked, sarcastically.

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe - the mages may be worth the risk.” Josephine looked up from her clipboard, expecting a reaction from her statement.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” Cullen argued.

Juliette shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “I just got back and I’m not going to argue about this.” She turned towards the door and said “Now if you’ll excuse me I —”

“We need to discuss this,” Cassandra said with a stern voice. ”Properly and now.”

“Uh,” Juliette exhaled dramatically. “You people aren’t going to let me rest, are you?”

A few hours had passed and Juliette was exhausted. She huffed with slouched shoulders and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. She glared ahead and grumpily muttered to herself, “No rest for The Herald.”

“Now,” the lieutenant began. “There’s apostates to the right, renegade templars approaching from the left.” He pointed towards the trebuchet construction site. “And over there is one of those…”

“Rifts,” Cassandra added with folded arms and watchful eyes.

“Right,” he nodded. “Demons are spewing out towards you, Herald.” He walked closer to where Juliette stood before asking, “What will you do?”

“Well, Lieutenant,” she began with a hint of snark in her voice. She folded her arms and looked towards the sky. Staring at the breach that thundered above could have given her inspiration, if not bought her time to make up an answer.

“The enemy is approaching, Herald!” the lieutenant yelled, startling Juliette. “Will you stand there or take action?”

“I…um…” she flinched as he moved closer towards her.

“What do you do, Herald?” he boomed.

“Hide behind Solas!” she shouted.

“Ugh,” Cassandra dropped her face into her palms. The lieutenant scrunched his brows and shook his head in confusion.

Juliette jumped at the noise of low sniggering behind her. She spun around with wide eyes, only to scoff when she was met with the sight of Cullen. “And The Commander has stabbed you in the back,” the lieutenant said with an arrogant grin.

“Very funny,” she rolled her eyes. “Was this the plan all along? To sneak up behind me?”

“I’m just on my way to the trebuchet, Herald.” He cleared his throat when his eyes met hers. She looked tired but less angry than earlier in the chantry. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to overstep, as entertaining as he thought this training session could be. “Good luck, you’ll need it,” he murmured towards the lieutenant when walking away.

Cassandra soon approached and hastily asked, “Can we move this along? There’s much to cover and little time.” While Cassandra and the lieutenant discussed strategy, Juliette watched Cullen from afar. He spoke with the men working on construction with expressive hands and paced the area carefully. He seemed to be completely engrossed with the building site, something Juliette didn’t understand. It was just piles of wood and complicated drawings to her.

Juliette knew that she should have felt ashamed for the way that she had spoke to Cullen earlier in the day. It wasn’t fair to take her anger out on him. While her behaviour was embarrassing, she didn’t regret it. Memories of Val Royeaux and the circle clashed together in her mind and her fear was becoming harder to ignore. She wondered, and worried, that if she were to wake and find that her mark had disappeared, would she still be here? Would the people turn on her? Would she be tossed aside by The Inquisition like the way that her father had denounced his daughter after the magic manifested? Would Cullen want her locked away, like the Templars that chased her from Ostwick?

Being around Cullen was harder than she anticipated. Her attraction towards him was undeniable, though hardly appropriate. She had no expectations, a life in the Circle had taught her that much. Yet working alongside him, trying not to let thoughts of him consume her mind - it was frustrating. He was frustrating. A representation of all she resented, no matter how many times he would say ‘I am no longer a Templar.’

She couldn’t shake the fear, the little voice nagging at her, that he’d send her back to a circle given the first opportunity. His rigid defiance, the way he tenses up when someone suggests approaching mages for support - his stance on the matter was clear. A shame, really. There was something about him that she found alluring, his smug smile and those moments at the war table where their eyes would accidently meet. It gave her butterflies. But it was far easier to be angry at him than to be infatuated from afar.

Juliette sighed heavily. Her hand itched and the edges where the green glow radiated stung like a sunburn. She held up her palm and stood still until both Cassandra and the lieutenant had noticed.

“I’d like my nap now.”

[kyokimidori]

Hello! ✨ I saw you are accepting prompts today! Here is one for Tomione:

17. “Do you even listen to yourself?”

Hello! Thank you for the ask! I love to get them and see what I can do with prompts! Thank you for joining in the fun! Hope you enjoy!

@hauscrashburn @littlemulattokitten @jinrosemoon

Tom watched silently as the bushy haired girl paced in front of the fire, her anger palpable as she paced, her hair even more frizzy due to her untamed magic. Did she know how her magic reacted to her anger, how it sparked around her like an electric current. 

It fascinated Tom, she fascinated him. 

Hermione Granger was not like most girls. She was like himself in many ways, ambitious, cunning, intelligent. It was the reason she had been his best friend since they were 11 years old, the only girl in his circle of friends. He had known back then, despite her know it all attitude, that she was going to be a powerful witch one day.

He had befriended her before he knew of her blood status, before he had known anything about blood statuses really. It had been her who informed him of such things, had warned him that because he was from a muggle orphanage, it was likely people would think he was muggleborn. It had been the first time he had truly despised the word muggle. 

“Hermione, calm down” Tom finally said “It isn’t that big a deal. Noone will find out it was me.” he told her, watching as she stopped in place, turning toward him slowly.

“Isn't that a big deal?” She asked, “You killed someone, Tom.” she whispered the words, knowing no one could hear them in the room of requirement, as they were currently alone, but still, she kept her voice down.

“It was an accident” he supplied “she wasn’t supposed to be there”

“It was bound to happen with that monster lurking around at every turn, you know its only attacked muggle born students since you let it out..” she paused, looking at him for a moment “tell me that's a coincidence Tom.”

Tom said nothing, watching silently as her anger morphed into something else, something that twisted his stomach to see on her face. Fear. 

“Tom, I’m muggleborn” she snapped “you are telling me you are telling it to attack muggleborns?”

“He knows better than to attack you, Hermione,” he explained, getting up from his chair and crossing to her. Gently he placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her into his body “You Don't need to fret for your safety”

“Why?” she asked “why attack them and not me” she pulled away from his grasp, shrugging his hands from her body, taking a step away from him

“You’re different. You aren’t like them. You aren’t dirty”

“ Do you even listen to yourself?” Hermione snapped, taking another step back from him, “I’m exactly like them. I was born as a muggle, I had no clue about magic. Hell, you were raised as a muggle as well, what makes you and I so different from them when they were in the exact same positions as ourselves?” she asked.

“I knew i was special, you knew you were special.” he supplied. “We aren’t like the others”

“You think they didn’t feel that way as well? Didn’t feel ostracized by their peers because they were different. Merlin's beard Tom, grow up” Hermione took another step back from him, “You think that you are above everyone, that no one is your equal, and that's going to lead you down a lonely path”

“You are my equal Hermione,” he replied, taking a step towards her again, not liking the distance between them. “You and no other. I will stop his attacks, its too dangerous now as it is. We can find a different way.”

“A different way to what Tom? Murder more children?” Hermione took a deep breath “I won’t be apart of that, I won’t be a part of this new world you want to create based of Grindlewald’s convictions. Not when I myself am muggleborn, when I know I am as talented as any of your coveted purebloods.” she took another step back from him “I’ll keep your secret Tom, for I believe it was truly an accident, but I won’t be a part of this world you want to create. Leave me out of it” she said.

Tom opened his mouth to say something but she was already halfway to the door.

“You can’t leave me Hermione” he called after her “You can’t leave me behind”

“I’m not leaving you behind Tom, I'm giving you a choice, a different path, it's you who is choosing to go down the wrong path, the one without me.” she opened the door, turning back to look at him “I’m not the one leaving someone behind.” she smiled at him sadly before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. 

[madforhoran]

You could start a cult - a flashback 

A little something I thought of to add to the original I posted a while ago here and on ao3. I will maybe add a bit more later.

“Remember how back in the forest I asked you if you enjoyed it because it didn’t seem like you were fully there?” asked Leliana. It was a quiet night at camp and what else it could be anyway, right in the middle of the wretched shadow curse. Astarion nodded, pressing his lips in a tight line. 

“I wasn’t fully there either. And neither the second time we slept together,” she admitted. The truth had to come out at some point. 

“What do you mean?” his softened voice was marked with concern. 

“Look at me and then look at Shadowheart. With her beautiful symmetrical face and ideally curved body. I look at myself in the mirror how everything is off balance, weird, and unattractive. My breasts are uneven, my stomach is pudgy. I’ve always felt ashamed getting naked…and to add insult to injury I’ve always felt pain down there, discomfort I cannot properly describe. I’ve never climaxed.”

“But,” Astarion started, a flash of anger crossing his beautiful features. “First of all, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your sweet face, nor your body! You are beautiful. Second of all, why did you agree to sleep with me, darling, you should’ve said — uhm,” he suddenly went silent, not finishing the sentence because they both knew if she said no, it would’ve ruined his nice simple plan right at the very beginning.

She sighed. “I’ve always thought I need to have sex to be with someone. I wanted to be close to you so I just did it despite everything. Haven’t you wondered why I so readily accepted us taking a break from it? That I wasn’t offended at all?”

“I must admit, I did wonder. I thought you’re going to end whatever-this-is,” he said. He struggled to call what they had a relationship but she wasn’t putting it against him. It was complicated.  

“You haven’t manipulated my feelings with sex, I was already there. And when you confessed, I thought of course him seducing me had nothing to do with my appearance or personality when literally everyone in our camp is more attractive and more interesting than me.”

Astarion huffed. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Oh, I know,” Leliana rolled her eyes. Astarion smirked. “We sure are a delightful pair, aren’t we?” He placed his skilled hand on top of Leliana’s stomach then slipped it under her shirt, making her belly twitch. It was a thing she couldn’t control, an automatic reaction her body developed on its own. She hated her torso. “What are you doing?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her and started making circles with his thumb. “I’m checking off a mental list. Because clearly telling you that you’re a vision wasn’t enough. I have to put more thought into showing you.”

“Astarion, please don’t, you don’t need to,” she protested, slightly ashamed. 

“I believe I do. I promise I won’t go any further. We’re in this intimacy mess together, albeit having different problems but still.”

“Are you going to magically make all the things I hate about myself disappear with your hands?”

“No,” he scoffed. “With my mouth too. But one thing at a time, darling.”