#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.

[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.

[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!

[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.

[chosen-confessions]

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

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

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

More info under cut.

QnA:

“What’s a chosen?”:

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

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

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

“What’s fleshing out?”:

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

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

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

About me:

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

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

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

Confession posts will be tagged with #confessions.

OOC:

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

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

same universe as @pinkpoweredpunk !

Pelipper Mail/Variants: ON

Mystery Gift: ON

Magic Anons: OFF

Union Circle: ON (ask me first)

[cricketnationrise]

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

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

a time stamp - 5:25

a location - coffee shop

a character - Alex or Henry

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

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

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

5:25am, coffee shop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—ah, sor—”

“Next!”

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

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

“A little pay it forward moment?”

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

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

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

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

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

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hphmmatthewluther]

HPHM Ship Week: Day 3 - Sunset

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was…I was fairly quiet!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Well, maybe, but…I never meant to-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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

[kyokimidori]

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

17. “Do you even listen to yourself?”

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

@hauscrashburn @littlemulattokitten @jinrosemoon

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

It fascinated Tom, she fascinated him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[madforhoran]

You could start a cult - a flashback 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Astarion huffed. “You’re unbelievable.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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.”