#The Magic Circle still won’t accept me

[mister-a-z-fell]

No echoes tonight but the ones I choose for myself.

[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.

[imsofuckinggayforwomen]

RENGOKU HEAD CANONS AND THANK YOU MESSAGE!

❗️this post involves NSFW, minors do not read past the part labeled NSFW❗️

HOLY JAMOLY YALL RLLY LIKED MY SANEMI HEAD CANONS AND I GOT A TON OF LIKES AND REBLOGS ON THAT THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE 😭😭💖

I was not expecting that to go anywhere, when I woke up this morning and saw my notifications I was like 😦

ANYWHO here’s the part 2 to that poll where rengoku and sanemi tied, this is rengoku’s part !

LAST THING I PROMISE, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

feel free to request any scenarios, head canons, kink lists, fic ideas, thirsts, or whatever. I’ll answer what I can and get to writing for you all!! ok now let’s get this post on the roadddd

WARNINGS: SMUT (MINORS DNI), Fem reader

Kyojuro Rengoku

SFW

Literally such a sweet guy

Always holds the door, always pulls your chair out for you, carries all of your bags.

If you want something, it magically appears in your room the next day.

Constantly professes his love for you, very loudly.

If you whisper something in his ear, he’s going to overreact to the point where whispering was basically pointless

Compliments you daily, won’t allow you to think even one negative thought about yourself

“HELLO DEAR CAN I HOLD YOUR HAND?” Probably goes “WOOPPEEE!” After you accept

Introduces you to every single stranger the two of you come across. “I AM RENGOKU AND THIS IS MY LOVELY GIRLFRIEND!”

Has the cutest but cringiest nicknames for you, unironically calls you snookums or something

Bro is not private about your relationship unless you specifically ask him to be.

“HEY TENGEN, ME AND MY GIRLFRIEND MADE LOVE LAST NIGHT!” cue the high-five

but he’s super considerate about your boundaries and comfort

Never lets you get anywhere near danger, protects you with all of his life

If you get along with his little brother, he’s going to marry you.

Hesitant about introducing you to his dad

Other than that his family welcomes you in with open arms!

He’s always making sure you feel safe. Personally brings you to bed when you fall asleep elsewhere, making sure to tuck you in all nice and snug.

NSFW

Sweetheart In the streets, sweetheart in the sheets. Sometimes.

Overstimulation to no end, bro is obsessed with making you feel good.

Another local munch, always manages to get you on top of his face.

You could be just standing there and he’d lay on the bed and put his arms out like 🙆‍♂️

If you accept and take a seat, you are never getting up.

Does not tease whatsoever, gives you exactly what you want over and over again.

Was originally inexperienced, so you prolly had to show him where and what the clit was 😭

He was probably amazed like “This little thing can do that much??!! WELL OK!!”

Never forgot that lesson and never will.

After that y’all never had sex without him giving you head in some sort of way.

Once you manage to pry him off of your clit, he’s in game mode.

Like I said, he aims to please. Still managing to focus on your pleasure whilst he’s pounding his length into you.

Definitely made you go and show him where all the best spots to hit were, HE MEMORIZED THAT SHIT.

Takes note of every noise/reaction you make.

Eventually loses himself in the feeling of you, relentlessly thrusting his hips to meet yours.

His fingers gently circle your clit, like muscle memory.

B o d y W o r s h i p

He praises you until all you can think of is how utterly beautiful you are.

Kisses every inch of your body as the snap of his hips makes your back arch in overwhelming pleasure.

You’re probably barely awake by the time he realizes it’s been hours.

However, makes sure that you both have a safe word in case it gets too much.

btw everytime you cum he celebrates.

Cheers you on like he’s your coach or something 😭

Once the both of you are too tired to continue, he wills himself up so he can take care of your sore, tired body.

Cleans you with a warm washcloth, checks for any bruises or marks he could’ve caused.

Wraps you up into a comfy blanket burrito and curls up to you until you’re r both sound asleep.

HELLOOOO GUYS ONCE AGAIN THANKS FOR ALL OF THE ATTENTION ON MY LAST POST💕

I HOPE YALL ENJOY THIS, SORRY IT TOOK A BIT LONGER THAN INTENDED I GOT CAUGHT UP WITH IRL STUFF!

all comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated! Also as I said before, my requests are now open! My rules entail some of the stuff I do and don’t write, those are pinned on my page!

[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.

[holylulusworld]

Broken Rose (2)

Summary: He may have stolen your kingdom and freedom – but he’ll never own your heart. Right?

Pairing: Alpha!Geralt of Rivia x Queen(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of forced/arranged marriage trope, a/b/o, magic, mentions of character’s death

Broken Rose masterlist

Broken Rose (1)

“You won’t walk away from me like that, omega!” Geralt calls after you. He’s walking faster to catch up with you. “I told you to stop.”

“You conquered these lands, and the castle, but I am still the queen of this kingdom. Someone must look out for the people who are not under your spell! The knights only listen to your command and don’t care for my people any longer.”

“I did not say that.” Geralt’s features darken. “Your knights follow their usual routine. The only difference is that I forced them to accept me as their king and alpha.”

“You promised me to free them!” You twirl around to glare at Geralt. “You lied! Just like back then, you lied!”

“I did not lie back then!” He yells back. “I wanted to court you! I asked your father for your hand, and the honor to claim you. I wasn’t good enough!”

“You’re a liar! I know you left to whore around with that witch,” you sneer at him. “What was her name?”

“This doesn’t…” He grits his teeth. “I was with her to gain more powers. It was the only way! She meant nothing to me!”

“She meant enough to you to fuck her!” You raise your voice, and walls start to shake. “Do not lie to me!”

“What are you doing?” Geralt watches you with darkened eyes. “Stop this! I will force you into submission if you don’t stop angering me.”

“Yennefer, that was her name,” you step closer to Geralt to run your hand over his chest. He follows the motion, wondering what you are up to. “Did you never question her disappearance?”

You laugh darkly when his stoic mask slips for a moment. Worry flashes in his eyes for a second. “Y/N, stop talking about the past.”

“Did she mean so little to you that you don’t care if she’s dead or alive?” You coo the words, a smile on your lips. “Did you not call her your love too?” You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Or did you lie to her too?”

“How’d you find out about Yennefer?” He watches you walk around the room, fingertips sliding over the bust of your father. “Y/N! How did you find out about her?”

Geralt raises his voice. Yennefer was close to winning his heart over. He almost forgot about his plan to get you back and take over your kingdom.

She was a sly witch. Yennefer enchanted him with her beauty and magic, almost breaking his resolve to never give his heart to anyone else. 

“Father,” you place your hand onto the bust, tapping your fingers. “I pleaded with him. One last time I tried to convince him that a bond between you and me would strengthen our kingdom.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can be very convincing,” you push the bust off its rightful place, watching it crack into two halves. “Father was almost convinced.” You dip your head and smirk. “That was, of course, until he found out about your wench.”

“I—” He swallows thickly. Geralt you can be hard, and unforgiving. “What did you do?”

“I accepted a bond with his friend’s son, a prince,” you walk toward the next bust showing your father at a younger age. “A nasty man who only wanted one thing.” This time you punch the bust, making it tumble and fall to the ground. 

“Let me guess,” Geralt steps toward the next bust. He gently runs his hand over it, admiring the handiwork. “He wanted to tame you.”

“All men want to tame a woman,” you step next to Geralt to look at the bust of your younger self. “He’s not alone.”

“…and they failed. One, after another,” Gerald muses. “Like your knights when they tried to stop me. They fell. One, by one, by one.”

“They didn’t fall,” you snap and turn your attention toward the last bust. The one they made shortly before your father passed away. “You used your magic. This has nothing to do with strength or talent.” 

“Strength, talent, magic,” he shrugs while circling you like prey. “It doesn’t matter, Y/N. In the end, they were weak and let it happen. You on the other hand,” his eyes glow when he looks at you again. “Still nothing. I cannot enchant you with my powers. Even if I wanted to.”

You cock your head, mirroring his smirk. “Did you ever wonder why?”

“Your will is too strong,” he replies. “You inherit a different kind of magic deep within your soul. A magic so strong that it cannot be broken by my powers. 

“Back to your lover,” you push against the last bust, watching it shatter on the ground. “Do you miss her?” 

“Y/N let’s not talk about the past. We have a future to build. I want these lands to grow and blossom. At the moment, it’s rotten and not fruitful.”

“Like your seed,” you smirk darkly, knowing about the price Geralt paid for his powers. “It’s rotten, just like your wench’s womb. Isn’t it?”

“What happened to her?” Geralt watches you caress your mother’s bust. “Y/N, what happened to her?”

“She paid the price for conspiring with my father to make me forget about you,” you chuckle darkly. “Imagine her surprise when her powers did nothing for her. She was powerless while facing me.”

“She conspired with your father. This cannot be true,” he shakes his head. Geralt is proud of his sharp mind, and his talent to see through any lie. “No.”

You kiss your mother’s bust and sigh. While she was still around, your father was a different man. He would’ve never tricked you into marrying another man than Geralt.

“I was surprised too, Geralt. I heard rumors and believed you simply found a better mate,” your voice cracks. “Imagine my surprise when the very same woman came to collect on my wedding day.”

“Wedding day?” Geralt gasps. “No. You’re not married! You’re my queen, no one else’s!”

“I didn’t say I got married,” you chuckle darkly as you grab his hand to place it onto your heart. “Can you feel this? This heart got broken one too many times. I’ve had enough and took matters into my hands.”

“Y/N, what did you do?” 

“What had to be done,” you hold his hand in a tight grip. “He denied me my future so…”

“So…” Geralt furrows his brows, already knowing he answer.

“I took his…”

Tags in reblog.

[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.

[alexanderlightweight]

How about like a post winter soldier-ification. So someone got a hold of Alec to make him into the perfect weapon. So the finding and healing after the fact?

Uh… this is definitely sort of like that. It’s based on the prompt I just… it went places

:) I hope you enjoy!

—

“I know you have a weapon, stolen from the clave.” Clarissa says, eager as she finally explains why the young, apparently runed shadowhunter gets to her point. She’d cornered Magnus in a club, her blonde scowling bodyguard scowling at her side.

Magnus accepted only to get information and now he finds that he has gained quite a bit.

After all, he didn’t know the clave was still spouting those lies.

“I stole nothing from the clave.” Magnus hisses and any goodwill he had for the little girl he remembers allowing to hide with her mother in his territory is gone. “I took back something they stole from me and what I took was not a weapon, Clarissa Fray.”

“But it was something that can help! Whatever it is! It’s powerful enough that even the Inquisitor wants it!”

Magnus doesn’t hesitate to lift her by the neck, magic circling around her neck.

“Who told you to come here?” Magnus demands, his magic flaring as he demands the truth.

“Isabelle Lightwood!” Clarissa gasps out, “she's the weapons specialist of the Iron Sisters, she said to come and ask you for help. When we asked Jace’s grandmother about you, she told us you’d stolen a weapon.”

“So it only took Isabelle forty-three years to betray us.” Magnus sneers and he laughs, bitter and bold as his magic flexes, threatening to crush Carissa’s larynx.

Blondie is still unconscious in the foyer and Magnus laughs, because Clarissa is struggling and she looks betrayed.

She can never feel as betrayed as Magnus has and does.

“When you see Isabelle Lightwood next, remind her of what happened the last time she spoke without thinking. She seems to have forgotten

“My darling Alexander.” Magnus murmurs longingly as he traces the smooth plane of Alexander’s face. He presses his lips to Alexander’s brow and then slowly lets his magic wake his love up.

“Magnus?” His perfect, amazing boy asks, voice hoarse with days upon days of forced sleep. “It’s morning?”

Magnus always wakes his darling at night, easing him back to their world in the time they know the best.

“Alexander.” Magnus breathes out, letting the cold facade he’s worn for nearly half a century melt away. “Beloved, say my name again?”

“Magnus—“ Alexander whispers immediately and he reaches out, fingers trembling as they clutch Magnus' skin.

“Isabelle betrayed us.” Magnus whispers and Alexander stiffens in his arms, “the clave sent hunters sniffing around for a weapon. We need to speed it up darling.”

“You said no, last time. That you wouldn’t do it.”

“I did.” Magnus whispers because he'd rather only have Alexander for a single day a year than risk losing him or even put him through more pain. However, he also will not allow the clave to think they can claim Alexander as a weapon.

Magnus has hoarded and protected his rightfully claimed treasure for decades now. He will not let the clave think they can still what they consider a relic for him, not when their supposed weapon is the love of his life.

“I’ve reconsidered.” Is all Magnus will say, because he will cause Alexander pain if it means keeping him. “I’ll contact Ragnor and Catarina, let them know I’ll need them. The Labyrinth is ready, I’ve paid to keep a warded wing ready at all times for our use.”

Alexander gives him a weak smile as he leans away, yawning as he blinks away sleep.

“I won’t have long, this time.” He warns and Magnus can feel the ache in his voice.

“I know—“ Magnus whispers because he can feel the angelic horror twining around his love’s soul. The pain Magnus already feels.

The same pain that led to Magnus slaughtering an entire coven of vampires.

And perchance, as Magnus tries new arrays and rituals, a few warlocks who annoy him disappear.

Perhaps a dozen or so werewolves disappear during the super moons and eclipses disappear.

The seelie queen has lost a few hundred of her subjects, payment for her many missteps.

One of which cost Magnus dearly. He plucks them over the years, the power of their immortal lives helping him subjugate the angelic curse into submission.

And of course, any nephilim who stray into any traps Magnus lays are harvested.

For nothing can compare to the being Magnus currently holds between his palms.

He kisses Alexander, unable to resist him a moment longer and they share breath and caresses for rare, soft luxurious moments.

Until Alexander starts to stiffen against him and Magnus pulls away, spell already on his lips as Alexander’s eyes turn a cold unfeeling, unthinking blue.

As Alexander fades to a body containing too much angelic core for a personality to survive.

“Rest, my heart.” Magnus soothes quietly as his magic catches and puts Alexander to sleep. “I’ll protect you till you wake, my Alexander.”

[broodwolf221]

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.

[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

[starfall-spirit]

🍪 Cookies and Consequences 🍪

Based off of this HC by @shallyne

Thanks for letting me use it, lovely!

Summary: Rhys struggles for an excuse not to accept a late night snack from Feyre before she discovers the mating bond.

Word Count: 908

This wasn't supposed to be a heart-to-heart moment, but whatever.

~~~~~

Rhys needed a break. Fifty years. Five decades. Half a century. You could phrase it how you want it, but one fact remained constant. Fifty years had passed with a High Lord absent from both sides of his court. Even with months of work behind him, his family picking up tasks and correspondence that shouldn’t be theirs, things still needed done. He huffed, running a hand through his hair as he turned down the hall leading to his bedroom.

He glanced to the room adjacent to his, the action habitual at this point. He was surprised to find Feyre’s door cracked, a fae light providing a dim glow somewhere near the bed. Despite the late hour, he couldn’t resist checking in on her tonight.

A soft knock at the door and she called for him to come in. Though the town house was warmed by magic, Feyre was guarding against the chilly night under an impressive pile of ridiculously fuzzy blankets he knew his cousin favored. 

“Running a bit cold?” he teased, draping the final blanket around her hunched shoulders.

She drew her eyes from her book, giving him a look he knew was on the foreground of a sassy comment. “Your magic must be failing you oh Mighty High Lord. This house is freezing.”

He chuckled, settling into the chair against the other wall and watching her return to her book. Legs stretched in front of him, he let himself relax, content in the easy silence between them. A few months ago an evening like this was nothing short of a fantasy. And yet there were more and more evenings she accepted his offer of dining together and talking late into the night. He could only pray she wouldn’t discover something unforgivable about him and his past.

“You don’t have to play entertainer, you know.” He just realized his eyes were drooping closed as he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Rough day?”

“You have no idea.” She cocked her head slightly. “This is all I was raised for. All I let myself want to do. And yet some days I wonder what a simpler life would be like.”

Illyria couldn’t exactly be called simple.

“A life without a crown and mask? Velaris—”

“Velaris calls me by my name. Citizens are affectionate. But at the end of the day someone is still going to write stories of my reign. Stories of my friends' battle glory.”

Unspoken words hung between them. She too was training as a member of Rhys’ circle. And she too was a name historians would mark. Feyre Cursebreaker. Savior of Prythian. Darling of the people.

A queen among them, if he could have it his way.

She sighed, twisting towards her nightstand to pick up a plate of cookies, one of the three halfway eaten. She took the bitten cookie off, extending the plate in his direction. “Here. Join me in having some simple cookies.” His heart shot straight to his throat and he was left staring at that plate. At that simple, ignorant offering of a late night snack. One he couldn’t yet accept. “Rhys? Cookie?”

He laced his fingers together to keep them from trembling. “No, thank you,” he murmured, eyes glued to the plate.

“Are you sure, because it looks like you want one,” she said. The wraiths likely made them. If Feyre didn’t actually make them, would the presentation hold the same significance? What was he thinking? Food was food, his mate was his mate, whether she stood over the oven or not. “I made them myself. Well, I made the batter under the twins’ watch.” He gave a tense smile. She was not making this easy. “Rhys, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. The cookies are yours. I won’t snatch any away from you.” She narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious. “Besides, my brothers can still kick my ass with my healthy eating and exercise. Cookies won’t do me any favors in getting back in shape.” A pathetic excuse and she knew it.

Still, her eyes slowly swept down his figure, and with her shields down, unconsciously or not…

One cookie isn’t going to do a figure like that any harm.

A resonating laugh tore out of him then and she blushed, shields snapping into place once more. “Glad to see you're still attracted to me, Feyre darling.”

“Prick,” she hissed, chucking an offending cooking at his chest as her blush brightened. Oh what a shame, it hit the floor. What slow reflexes he had. “Besides," she snipped, eyes dipping to her book this time. An impressive novel that surpassed "Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord". “—Azriel’s the pretty one and we all know it.”

“Darling, you wound me.” A wave of his hand had the floor clean. “I should be going. We both need our beauty rest.”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Good night, Rhysand.”

He paused in the doorway, glancing back towards the bed. “Feyre, only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“And acquaintances. If we can’t even share cookies, are we friends?”

He suppressed a smirk, passing the theatrics off as a consequence of delirium. “Now, Feyre.”

“Good night, Rhysand.”

He sighed, turning and stooping down to brush his lips to the back of her hand. “Sleep well, Feyre. Dream of me, will you?”

Her snort followed him even as their two doors snicked shut. There closed another evening with the female who held his heart.

Taglist: Reach out to be added or removed.

@faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron

[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.” 

[pen-of-roses]

Lost

Eventually I will stop hurting these boys (gender-neutral), but maybe not for @ockissweek but hey, they've gotten somewhere!

It only registered that they had moved at all when he blinked into a dimly lit room.

He flinched at a harsh sound next to him—Oliver, moving something in front of the door. “Lost ‘em,” they said. “Should be safe for the moment.”

An answering noise echoed in the space.

Eldryn darted further into the place to—likely to do something important his lagging brain couldn’t be bothered to comprehend.

The ground was suddenly a lot closer than it had been a moment before. Oh, he had sat down. Probably for the best, couldn’t collapse if he was already on the ground.

She left footprints in the dust. This place hadn’t been used in some time then. Forgotten and left to fade from memory. Some things were safer that way, like the letters in a drawer he never opened. Others rotted and festered, poisoning everything around them, without any ever the wiser about why everything was so bad, why the whole thing was collapsing, why everyone was getting sick and dying.

That wasn’t right. Some had known, hadn’t they? Had worked very hard to keep it a secret, but not one that was forgotten and lost to time, but passed down and guarded. Planned it all. Planned to pass it down to him too, in time. Greys, would he have accepted? If they had sat him down, explained it all so clinically as the best possible option, would he have been fooled? Agreed even? Greys…

“Evan?”

A shaking hand, so very warm and rough and calloused and scarred, was pressed to his face. He blinked, and the spire and the Coven were gone, replaced by Oliver’s face, pinched in concern.

That ragged breathing was coming from him, wasn’t it?

“Stay, won’t ya?” they asked, hand still on his cheek. “Here, and now. Please Evan?”

He nodded.

Their eyes fell, he followed them down to his hands and—

“Fuck,” they whispered.

The skin, his skin, had gone completely ashen, the veins a dark gray, near black, as they snaked up his arms, disappearing under the stained fabric of the robe. That festering rot a part of him, a part of all of them.

He almost pulled them back to hide them from view on instinct, but their hands caught them before he could, rubbing circles into the skin, pressing them together. They brought them up towards their mouth and he could only stare dumbly.

Oliver was going to kiss his hand, like some knight in a child’s tale. An insane laugh threatened to spill out at the thought.

No, they were only moving them to fan hot breaths over them, trying to bring warmth back to the near dead flesh.

It's all too much, and he is forced to look away, even as he still felt their touch like a brand.

A stray beam of light highlights some of the particles in the air.

“No more excitement for a bit, yeah? No state to be Casting, that’s for sure, least. Can try to stay low and hidden. Know a few—”

“I didn’t know,” he cut them off. “You have to believe me that I didn’t know. Oliver, I swear to you, even if you think me the greatest fool for it. I swear.”

“I know.”

“I never would have gone along with it, any of it if I had known. I would have left the moment I found out. I swear to you. I swear. Please, you have to believe me, you have to know me better than that, you have to,” he’s pleading, though only the Veyrit know which of them he’s trying to convince.

“Evander. Evan. I know. Please.” Their voice is so soft. So gentle.

“Veyrit, I hated you. All this time, and I hated you for leaving them, for leaving me! For not even telling me why. And you let me. You let me, why did you let me?”

Their hands, their warmth, their grounding touch, leave him. Not that he can blame them. The state he must look, drained of magic, tears staining his face, trying not to shake apart, adrift, and utterly lost after everything. As if he had any right to be this broken and seek a claim on any comfort they could provide after how he had treated them.

But then their arms wrapped around him, pulled him to their chest, and he went easily, truly shaking apart now. His hands fist in their shirt and he clings desperately. If he let go, there’s no telling if he could come back. There’s no telling if he even could let go.

They press a kiss to his forehead, long and lingering, before they rest their chin on top of his hair. Their hands are clutched in his robe just as tightly. It felt too much like home and forgiveness.

Both of them had almost lost this. Had lost this. Had had this ripped away for far too long by powers that claimed to know better, know the right thing.

Fuck them. Damn them to the Abyss and let the Grey take them as they had every right.

He pulled back just enough to tilt his head up and look at them. For the first time in far too long, they are easy to read, his own emotions mirrored back at him. Neither of them has to say anything, before they both lean in to each other.

There’s nothing gentle about the kiss. It’s too desperate, too charged with everything that has happened and is still unsaid. The position isn’t ideal, his body bent and twisted to reach them, Oliver pressed to the hard floor. Teeth catch on lips and clash together. Both still cling almost too tightly to the other, as if they could press into each other, make a home in all the places they’ve carved into each other over the months and years.

And it's utterly perfect, and they’re both here and alive.

When they pull back, they’re both sharing ragged breaths between them.

“Whatever happens next,” he breathed, somehow finding his voice, “we do it together.”

“Together.”

[wisp-of-chaos]

Meet the OC - Vlassk

As the title suggests, this is a post about one of my OC's. The most recent and new one, to be specific: My illithid OC Vlassk.

He was created merely 2 weeks ago and meant to only be a filler character to never appear again but well, here we are. That idiot has grown way too much on me and gained quite a few fans, so ... why not introduce him properly?

Buckle up guys, this is going to be a long one.

(More infos under the cut for ease of scrolling)

To tell Vlassk’s story is to tell the story of Phileon: a half elf adventurer and explorer hailing from a long lost and forgotten druid circle.

He and his group of fellow adventurers eventually were hired by a secretive noble and tasked to retrieve an ancient and magical artifact for him from some illithid ruins in the Underdark. It was a tough job with many of them ending up injured and even suggesting to give up on the hunt, but Phileon persisted and eventually managed to succeed, proudly delivering the wanted artifact to their client.

Pleased with the outcome, the noble – introducing himself as Qirilissk – thanked him and promised to remember him if he ever should need services like this again, and – true to his word – Qirilissk hired Phileon many times more afterwards. And the more they worked together, the closer they got. Until – eventually – a relationship began to bloom. And it was then, that Qirilissk revealed his true identity.

After many doubtful discussions – “I fear you won’t like me anymore once you know who I truly am, my pearl.” – and whispered words of reassurance – “I will always love you, no matter what.” – Qirilissk finally unveiled his biggest secret. He was an illithid – a cave dwelling aberration feeding on sentient brains to sustain himself and with the ability to enthrall and enslave whomever he pleased.

And yet Phileon didn’t flinch. Didn’t abandon his lover because he was true to his word and loved Qirilissk not for what, but who he was. And for a while, they were happy. But then Phileon grew sick with an ailment nobody knew a cure of. He grew weaker by the day; his limbs thinning, his lips hoarse and broken, his eyes dry and inflamed, his throat hoarse and aching and his mind waning and slipping.

But he wasn’t alone. Qirilissk never once left his side and tried whatever he could to help – to ease his lovers pain. Yet nothing worked and in the end, all there was left was suffering and a slowly but steadily approaching end. Qirilissk, however, had an idea – a last spark of hope – on how to preserve his lover.

He presented an illithid tadpole to Phileon – knowing full well that ceremorphosis could destroy his lover but it was still a chance. A chance to keep his lover, to help and heal him. And Phileon accepted, not wanting to see Qirilissk in pain over his own cruel destiny.

Phileon accepted the tadpole and his condition worsened. He hallucinated and lost his hair; his skin grew damp and feverish and pale; his limbs elongated and reformed themselves. He bleed and bleed and bleed and then … then he was reborn.

Out of his old, discarded shell rose a newborn mind flayer. With pale blue skin, bright red eyes and frills adorning his head; and Vlassk was born.

Unfortunately, however that meant that Phileon was dead. Gone. Nothing of his personality or memories survived the transformation and that was a fact which Qirilissk would never be able to forget or forgive.

Qirilissk – along with the newborn illithid as his apprentice – returned to his colony in the Underdark and began the long and tiring task to educate and raise Vlassk, so that he – one day – would become a full member of their community.

Vlassk however, proved to be difficult. His mind was ever wandering, his eyes never where they should be and his emotions too strong and too wild to be contained by the young mind flayer. He caused many accidents – and almost accidents – due to foolish mistakes, and in the end Qirilissk had no choice but to contain him with a psionic seal.

It was a long, agonizing process but Vlassk was far more manageable and collected afterwards. Many of his fellow illithid praised Qirilissk for his patience with the young troublemaker and often reminded Vlassk how good his life was and that he should be thankful of Qirilissk for not giving up on him – as many thought he should have done many, many years ago.

What those illithid didn’t know however, was that Qirilissk was far from generous and benevolent. Behind closed doors and far away from prying eyes, Qirilissk let the young illithid feel his anger and ire. For each misstep or mistake, he beat and cut his skin; mangled his limbs and mutilated Vlassk’s uncommon physical traits – with his tails and head frills being a great favorite.

And yet Vlassk endured in silence, took each beating without raising his voice or hand against his master for it was his own fault for causing Qirilissk such stress and driving him to doing such horrible things to him. It was his own fault for being so clumsy and forgetful and too emotional. He had to do better. He had to make his master proud and happy.

… right?

And after each beating, there were sweet, comforting words and gentle touches – reassuring him that Qirilissk hadn’t wanted to lash out and hurt him but Vlassk was just so difficult. It truly wasn’t master’s fault but his own for being so imperfect.

… right?

Right. That had to be it. Vlassk just needed to try harder, to become better and stronger and handle his emotions and abilities better. Then master wouldn’t need to beat and cut him anymore. Then master would be happy, and – in extension – Vlassk would be happy.

And he tried. He tried so hard, yet nothing seemed to help. Neither his psionic abilities nor his emotions seemed willing to be controlled by him. And then, one day, he grew sick. Or so he thought.

When Qirilissk noticed the state he was in, he did something unexpected. He hugged Vlassk – pulled him close to his chest and wrapped his tentacles and arms around him and told him how proud he was of him. And when Vlassk naively asked him why, Qirilissk answered that he finally – after 40 years of teaching and causing problems and 20 more years than usual – had reached adulthood and his first reproduction cycle had started.

Qirilissk took good care of Vlassk as his body changed and accommodated to the upcoming event.

He gave him special potions to drink that would strengthen his mind and body and rise the chance to successfully produce viable eggs. He let him sleep beside him at night, curled up against his chest and their tentacles tangled into each other. He even allowed him additional brains with special spices and additives which tasted better than anything Vlassk had experienced ever before.

His body grew heavy and round and after almost a month of getting tenderly taken care of and sweet words and gentle touches and fond glances, Vlassk delivered his first clutch.

It was a long and painful and exhausting process and Qirilissk was there the whole time, holding and comforting Vlassk until the last egg left his trembling body. “So brave”, Qirilissk cooed at him as he caressed his face with a tentacle, “you did so good, my little pearl. I am proud of you.”

And for a short, fleeting moment, Vlassk felt true bliss.

But then their shared happiness was shattered when Qirilissk laid his eyes on the eggs and found all of them unfertilized and dead and something inside him snapped.

He shoved Vlassk away and started crying and screaming and throwing things; all the while calling Vlassk ugly, hurtful names and blaming him for everything that ever went wrong in his life despite the fact that Vlassk barely was alive for a quarter of it.

“You worthless slug!”, Qirilissk screamed at him. “I should’ve killed you the day your sorry, disfigured body crawled out of my pets shell. You don’t deserve the air you breathe! You don’t deserve to live or be in my company! Oh, if only I never had allowed you to exist!”

And Vlassk apologized and pleaded for forgiveness. Vowed to try – to do better. That he would do whatever master wanted him to do without questions or hesitance. Without failure. He would be good, he promised.

But Qirilissk only laughed. Cold and cruel and sharp and then revealed another secret. “Oh you poor, stupid thing”, he chuckled as he approached Vlassk. “Do you truly think you are anything else than a pet to me? A toy, just like your host? How adorable. How disgusting. Your only reason to live is to entertain and amuse me and yet you failed so very dazzlingly at that. Despite it being so very, very simple. Oh, how truly worthless you are! All you cause me is pain and distress and humiliation in front of my peers. But that ends today, my little slug.”

And then he lunged at Vlassk and a fight ensued. Qirilissk raging and blinded by hatred and Vlassk desperate and broken and fighting for his life. It ended with Vlassk losing his right eye and Qirilissk his life.

Coughing and laughing and crying, Qirilissk lay on the floor; bleeding and with a broken arm and Vlassk staring in disbelief as life left him at a horribly slow pace. His laughter turned into gurgling sounds, then coughing and gasping and then … silence.

And Vlassk stared, unable to fully process what happened and why and how … and with a fire burning inside his chest, hot and bright and consuming. And oh so painful. Those words his master had said couldn’t be true, could they? He had been mad with grief, surely. He couldn’t have meant those things. And yet …

Doubt nagged on Vlassk’s mind as he stared at his master’s dead and cold form and an idea crept into his head. There was only one way he could be sure that his master had been lying.

Reluctantly and with his mind filled with shame and guilt and desperation, Vlassk reached for his master’s body, dragged him close and then cracked his skull open and consumed his brain; absorbing his knowledge and memories. And his truth. And what he saw shattered him.

Qirilissk had said the truth. He never saw anything more than a pet in him – a plaything, a pupped. And he hadn’t been the first to fall victim to his sweet words and gentle touches.

His host had been a plaything as well. Seduced and groomed and bound to him with the sticky allure of companionship and love. Had gotten false promises and nice smiles and in exchange for being used and poisoned to make him more willing to agree to ceremorphosis. To keep his pretty, sweet pet for as long as he pleased.

But ceremorphosis had gone wrong, had destroyed his host and born a new mind flayer, void of any of his characteristics or memories and had forced Qirilissk to start from scratch once again. Oh, how he had loathed it. And how he had loathed Vlassk for it.

With a cry, Vlassk pulled back and curled up into a tight, small ball of quivering and writing limbs and sobs; his heart breaking and his mind racing as his claws reached out and dig into his neck to remove the cursed psionic seal that was used to subdue and control him.

When he was found, the skin on his neck was removed and he lay in a puddle of his own, pale blood; his throat hoarse and raw and his eyes dry and burning.

The elder concord made him stay trial; demanded answers and reasons as to why an apprentice had attacked and killed his mentor.

Vlassk was still numb, but obeyed their demands and presented his own and Qirilissk’s memories as evidence for his unjust treatment. For the abuse he had been subjected to for 40 years, how Qirilissk had held him low and orchestrated accidents and mistakes to blame on Vlassk and force a psionic seal on him to take full control of his protege. How he used him as a toy instead of properly training and teaching him.

And with that, the Elder Concord couldn’t punish Vlassk. Instead, they had to let him go and allowed him to take up the post as archivist of their colony. A quiet, secluded life far away from the rest of the colony.

And for the very first time in his life, Vlassk was free.

(Art by the lovely and talented @unaarista 🩵)

Vlassk is mild mannered – for illithid standards – and prefers the solitude of his archive over the company of others. He is prone to complain and nag a lot but values knowledge – no matter what kind – above all else. He even collects books and scrolls from other races and heretical texts about necromancy and gods, which often leads to conflicts with fellow illithids of his colony, but has never once lost an argument to them and isn’t above rubbing that fact into their faces.

Vlassk may put up an impassive, tough face but doesn’t believe in violence; yet happily throws insults and mockeries around, but is quick to crumble and bend when someone gets up and close. He also likes to slap people with his tentacles, now and then.

Vlassk is very secretive and private; doesn’t like to show off too much skin and doesn’t like to be touched nor does he appreciate frivolous flirting. He furthermore prefers his food bland and without any emotions or feelings or memories to keep his mind clean and without interference of others.

He isn’t the most truthful person and often lies and bends his words to obscure his true feelings and intentions, even to himself. Vlassk has a hard time admitting and acknowledging his weaknesses and is highly insecure about his bodily imperfections.

He doesn’t trust easily nor quickly but once he sees someone worthy of his time – and even friendship – he gets very protective and even shows signs of fatherly care.

Vlassk also has a complicated relationship with intimacy; shy and nervous about his body and own needs and wants yet capable and knowledgeable on how to please others. He has a very high pain tolerance, but doesn’t appreciate getting hurt and has a deep seated fear of knives.

Vlassk enjoys and appreciates music and loves the sea, preferring a stay at the shore over dark caves or forests or bustling cities and has the habit of decorating his home with flowers and collecting seashells.

Aside from the frills on his head and the tails on his back, Vlassk has a set of gills under his ribs and special salt-water adapted mucous glands that allow him to stay in saltwater without suffering any form of harm. Which comes of the cost of having to maintain a higher moisture level than other illithids and having to either take long soaks each day or to apply a special lotion he himself created.

His illithid scent is also affected by his special glands and makes him smell less sweet and more crisp, akin to the salty sea air with some faint hints of garlic and wet sand.

Due to boredom, Vlassk has picked up calligraphy and tried his hands on mother of pearl inlays and although the start was a bit unsteady, with time and patience and practice he’s become a master of both.

[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 and 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 traumatized.” 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 unravelled 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 sigil 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 adverting 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. This was a summoning. “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 alright?” 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 a part. 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 a part 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, nor could anything ever become of this. Whatever this was.

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?

She’d fancied a Templar once before , back at the circle, and it did not end well. Things were different now, some may argue worse even. She was happy to admit to herself that she found Cullen attractive and leave it at that. It was far easier to be angry at him than to be infatuated from afar. Dwelling on it was a waste of energy. 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.

“Can I have my nap now?”