#circle mage au

[picayune-artist]

WIP Wednesday of me being a one-ship pony. I continue to chip away at this! Smoochy smooch, now with keloid scar and Cullen with his ear in the right position.

[idolbound]

More seriously though, I actually think Meredith and the concept of having children was something she may have considered at some point, but entering the Templar Order and taking up a vow of chastity* made the idea become all but a distant memory. In addition, Meredith discovering her same-sex attraction in her early teens also became a hurdle to the idea of bearing a child, because in her view, even if she did want children, it would require having sexual relations with a man, and that in and of itself was something she considered repulsive.

However, regardless of her sexuality, Meredith's core reason against having a biological child is the deep-seated fear that she could possibly pass on the 'mage gene' to them. She witnessed the horrific events of her sister losing control all those years ago, and she couldn't bear the thought if she, as a templar, bore a magical child who could risk sharing the same fate as Amelia, or be forced to live their entire life in a Circle - which is ironic, of course, given how she runs the Gallows - but she knows that it is not an easy life for mages, who she believes must take responsibility for themselves.

Beyond her circumstances though, Meredith does not hate children; in fact, she does tend to have a soft spot for young children who get taken into the Circle as they remind her of her sister at that age, and of course, this extends to children who become wards of the Chantry like herself. She tends to take a bit of a softer approach with those children, though this is not widely known by most people, or even by most templar knights serving under her.

Relatedly, I think in some ways, Meredith giving the role of Knight-Captain to Cullen is akin to seeing him as a pseudo-son. It's two-fold in this sense; when he came to Kirkwall, she saw a young boy, traumatized by mages, who she could mould easily into following her strict system, so that he could inherit her role and continue to run the Gallows in her footsteps. On the other hand, Meredith saw someone she could take under her wing, much like how Ser Wentworth Kell took her in, and saw her as the daughter he never had. In this sense, Cullen is indeed her underling, but in some ways, she has an almost maternal yet still professional relationship with him.

In a modern verse, with greater access to technologies and control for having biological children, I think Meredith wouldn't necessarily be opposed to being a mother for the same reasons in the DA canon, obviously. But, it would depend on a few things, namely her extensive focus on her career in corrections, and of course, her partner. Meredith would most likely want her partner to 'bear' her child (e.g., by picking a donor that resembles her), and she would still likely not be the greatest parent in the world, given her upbringing and the resultant trauma of losing her family and adoptive father, and of course, her beliefs about strict routines and otherwise, hard-ass style of parenting.

...

* I think in some sense, the vow of 'chastity' in the context of the Kirkwall templars is more so focused on no marriage rather than no sex - exemplified with just how many templars go to the Blooming Rose.

[cosmic-cris-draws]

Flesh Colored Eve in Dragon age returns!

[gnawednoble]

adjacent to the last post, the most i have ever written for amelia was in a twin hawkes au and frankly i think she was much better off being the second-born, even with so little of an age gap, but jacek was probably doing worse

[euporie-art]

I'm in a writing mood.... do I write the darkspawn sitcom fic or the benbaro fic....

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 18: i tend to deflect when i'm feeling threatened

Tortured for Information + "Hit them harder."

3554 Words; Pearl & Seaglass

TW for kidnapping, torture, blood, injury

AO3 ver

Lizzie came to slowly.

Lizzie came to to the sound of wood creaking, a vague sense of nausea filling her throat before she registered anything else. Her head ached, some unseen force squeezing it like a vice. She tasted bile in the back of her mouth.

The last thing she remembered was the dance in the plaza, Gisu and Dion staring at each other with so much sap that Lizzie feared they might get stuck on it. Which, yeah, Lizzie was happy that her friend had someone who’d look at her like she hung the moon and stars, but it didn’t explain how Lizzie got here.

Here being… well, Lizzie couldn’t be certain, but it felt like a ship. The subtle rock of the room, the smell of the sea seeping in from somewhere behind her, the soft sound of waves against the hull if she strained her ears past the sound of footsteps above her—

Yeah, Lizzie was on a ship. Hopefully it wasn’t out over open water, but Lizzie doubted she’d be that lucky. She still didn’t know how she’d gone from lingering at the edge of a crowd on dry land to being tied to a chair on a seafaring vessel—which was probably what worried her most, that lack of knowledge. Not knowing the who or why put her at a severe disadvantage. Couple that with the vulnerability of being tied to a chair and missing most of her charms—she could no longer feel the protective enchantments she’d worked so hard to gather—and Lizzie was more worried than she’d like to admit.

The ship itself was well-built, she could tell that much. The room she was in had a heavy wooden door—this ship likely had multiple rooms, which meant it was big. And the big boats belonged to the powerful people.

It likely wasn’t an Explorer Corps ship, either—the Zanottos’ company didn’t randomly kidnap people. And the room was void of any of their usual iconography.

That only left a few possibilities. Either Lizzie had been drafted for the Navy in the weirdest way possible, or it was one of the few people rich enough to own a large ship like this.

Lizzie was still testing her bonds—her hands were bound behind her, but she could move her fingers, so if she could just get enough leverage—when footsteps outside the door caught her attention. She heard the lock slowly turn and click, and then the door swung open slowly.

Three different people walked in—

All of Lizzie’s thoughts came to a halt as she recognized the sharply dressed man in the middle of the group. Oh, she had never met him personally, but his face was everywhere—as was his caviar and roe business, which had been trying to buy the Explorer Corps’ ships for the past several months. Lizzie couldn’t not recognize the weasel of a man before her, in his gaudy tailcoat and captain’s hat, shrewd eyes staring her down.

It was still a surprise, though. Why was she tied up on a ship belonging to Gristol Malik, of all people?

The other two people were unknown to Lizzie—she recognized the person on the right as a mage, though, the embroidery on their robe a web of protective sigils. Lizzie thought to her own missing charms and a twinge of jealousy flashed through her.

But the person on the left…

Lizzie had never seen an Inquisitor in person, but the pin on their coat was unmistakable. This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good.

Okay, Lizzie, you got this, she told herself. Play it cool. Whatever they ask, you don’t know anything. She could do this. She could do this.

Gristol regarded her primly, hands folded behind his back. “Young lady,” He started, and oh, Lizzie did not like that form of address, “Do you know why you’re here?”

Lizzie shrugged. Play it cool. She could do that. “No.” She could guess, but she didn’t feel like playing any games.

Gristol huffed. “You have information that I want.” He groused, “And I’m going to get my answers one way or another.”

Lizzie stared him down. Gristol’s rivalry with Truman was well-known—Gristol’s attempts to buy out the Explorer Corps had been going on long enough to become part of the local gossip. Whatever Gristol wanted to know about the Explorer Corps, whatever information he thought he could get from her—he wasn’t getting it. Lizzie would rather die than betray the Explorer Corps like that. Especially with an Inquisitor involved—though this one was likely on private contract.

At Lizzie’s continued silence, Gristol frowned. He turned to the mage and muttered something about translation spells.

Lizzie continued to stare at him. She wasn’t stupid—and she wasn’t going to squeal, either.

The mage muttered back, shifting nervously. After a few moments of whispered conversation, they stepped forwards, pulling out a scroll.

A spell scroll! An actual spell scroll! Oh, what Lizzie wouldn’t give to get her hands on an honest-to-gods spell scroll. Actually learning spells was far superior, sure, but it wasn’t about the spells—spell scrolls were only available to accomplished mages, not witches in training who still got treated like little girls by the guild. Not that Lizzie was bitter, or anything.

The mage read the text, and the scroll burst into flame. Light glowed around Lizzie for a moment, luminous silver that left a cool feeling in her throat. She was almost offended at the waste of a good spell scroll.

“Now then,” Gristol began, “Let’s begin properly.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small object. Lizzie regarded the item in Gristol’s hands suspiciously. He held it out in front of her—

Lizzie’s eyes widened. That was—

Gristol smirked. “Ah, good, you recognize this. Can you tell me what it is?”

It was a shell, Lizzie knew that much. A shimmery spiral shell about as big as her palm, with blue bands all along the spiral. There was something carved at the opening, a set of symbols that Lizzie didn’t recognize. It had shown up on her desk the morning prior, with no explanation.

That was all Lizzie knew, though. And she wasn’t going to say anything, anyway.

“This,” Gristol continued, seemingly unbothered by Lizzie’s continued silence, “Is a boon. Boons come in a variety of forms, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He turned the shell over in his hands. “But this is no regular boon.” Gristol tilted the shell so that the symbols carved into the opening caught the light of the oil lamp. “This boon was made by mermaids.” He spoke like it was some dramatic revelation—and on some level, Lizzie supposed it was. But she kept her expression as neutral as she could, even as her mind began to race.

“You got this from someone.” Gristol said. “And I want to know who.”

Lizzie glared at him. “No.”

Gristol sniffed, turning his nose up haughtily. He gestured to the Inquisitor. “Make her talk.” He ordered, stepping back.

The Inquisitor pulled a small dagger out of her jacket. Lizzie had only a moment to register a flame-shaped pommel and red-dyed leather around the hilt before the tip of the blade touched the exposed skin of her collarbone—

Pain!

Fire lanced through her veins until the blade was withdrawn. Lizzie’s chest heaved, the ropes digging into her from her thrashing. She’d avoided screaming, barely, but ow.

Lizzie hissed. Ugh, enchanted blades always seemed so cool until she was at the sharp end.

“Now that you see what being obstinate gets you, are you ready to cooperate?” Gristol’s voice was as slimy as the caviar his company sold. Lizzie wished she could punch him.

Lizzie wheezed, waiting until her chest stopped heaving to speak. “Nope.” Her voice came out strained, but spite was powering her now—she’d drag this out until the cows came home if she had to.

Gristol’s face turned to the color of puce. He turned to the mage. “Do something.” He urged, in what was technically a whisper but was audible to Lizzie all the same.

The mage floundered. “What do you want me to do?” They whispered back, still perfectly audible to Lizzie.

“What about a truth spell?” Gristol whispered. “Why didn’t we start with that?”

“I don’t have the ingredients for that, sir.” the mage responded, “And while it might compel her to speak, and would certainly force her to be honest, she could still remain silent with enough force of will.”

“Then what do I pay you for?” Gristol whisper-shouted. “Can’t you be useful?”

Lizzie struggled not to laugh. What a joke. The Inquisitor was doing a good job of ignoring the whisper-argument happening next to her, her expression betraying nothing. So she was the real deal. That’d be pretty cool if it wasn’t Lizzie who was being interrogated. And if Inquisitors weren’t primarily agents of the powerful bourgeoisie or the government.

The enchanted blade was sick as hell, though. Even though it was a torture instrument.

Eventually, Gristol huffed. “Go stand in the corner and be useless, then.” He hissed, before turning back to Lizzie.

“You have two options.” He said, folding his hands behind his back once again. “Either you tell me where you got that boon, and I reward you for your compliance, or—” His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into an ominous tone, “if you continue to defy me, then I will simply rip the answers out of you.” He grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I get what I want either way, girl, so I would suggest you become more agreeable.”

Lizzie snorted. Yeah, right. If that shell had come from a mer, then that was all the more reason to not tell Gristol anything—not that Lizzie would sell out anyone to this man. Not even her worst enemy.

Gristol scowled at her continued silence. He nodded to the Inquisitor—

Lizzie’s breath cut off as the knife dug into her skin, fire cutting through her like a million burning knives. She struggled to breathe past the pain, past the burning burning burning crawling under her skin.

The knife withdrew. A warm trickle of blood dripped down Lizzie’s chest.

Spots danced behind her eyes, her head pounding. She glared Gristol down, her mouth clenched shut. He could have her stabbed as many times as he wanted, she was not talking. Not to him.

“Again.” Gristol ordered, as a fresh wave of burning shot through Lizzie. “As many times as it takes.” He added.

Lizzie thrashed against her restraints, trying her best to keep her cool. The Inquisitor attacked her shoulder, now, pressing the flat of the blade against the skin until the smell of burnt flesh filled Lizzie’s nose. Still, Lizzie refused to scream.

“Keep at it.” Gristol decided. He turned to the mage. “Figure out what you need for a truth spell, and don’t come back until you have one.” They wasted no time in leaving the room, and Gristol made his way to the now-open door. He turned to Lizzie one last time. “I pray you’re in a better mood when I return.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Lizzie alone with the Inquisitor. She regarded Lizzie carefully, squeezing the hilt of her dagger.

Lizzie glared back.

“If simple pain won’t do the trick,” the Inquisitor mused, “Then I will simply have to wear you down.” The Inquisitor grabbed Lizzie’s face in a gloved hand, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Her grip was iron. “Hold still.”

Lizzie squirmed. The Inquisitor tsked, shifted her grip ever-so-slightly, and gently drew the tip of the blade down Lizzie’s cheek, just beside her thumb.

Lizzie gasped at the pain, her eyes widening. But she didn’t scream.

“This would be easier if you weren’t tied to a chair,” The Inquisitor groused. “But I dislike easy.” She tipped Lizzie’s face back, forcing Lizzie to look at the ceiling. The heat of the blade disappeared from her face, then, and Lizzie struggled to free herself from the Inquisitor’s grip to follow it—

The blade stabbed into her thigh. Pain burning hot scorching pain pain pain exploded in Lizzie’s leg, and her breath hitched. She breathed out a strained hiss, but she didn’t scream. She wouldn’t.

The blade swiped over her thigh, cutting through both her pants and her skin. Lizzie gasped, but she didn’t scream.

Another cut. Another swallowed scream.

The Inquisitor growled, letting go of Lizzie’s face. Lizzie struggled to breathe around the pain, her face smarting and her leg aching. There was dried blood on her collarbone. When she looked down at her leg, she could see three shallow cuts, and one deep wound. Blood was starting to trickle down her leg.

Another cut, made while the Inquisitor rifled through her pockets with her other hand. Lizzie panted, exhaustion starting to creep into her edges. But she didn’t scream.

The Inquisitor pulled out a vial, the glass shimmering in the lamplight. She popped the cork out with her thumb, and tilted to vial over Lizzie’s cuts—

Lizzie screamed.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristol returned with the mage in tow.

The truth spell didn’t take long to cast, and Lizzie didn’t have the components for a counterspell. She didn’t even have the energy—the acid in her cuts had sapped most of her strength.

Still, she grit her teeth. She couldn’t tell Gristol anything if she didn’t speak at all.

The room was starting to spin when Gristol next held up the shell. “Where did you get this? Who did you get it from?”

Lizzie glared. Words gathered in her throat. She swallowed them down—though not without effort.

The blade pressed against her thigh, and Lizzie yelped.

“I don’t know!” She blurted out, much to her own horror. No no no—don’t talk, don’t talk, stop talking.

Gristol became puce once again. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” He demanded, his voice coming out in a screech.

Lizzie stared him down, even as the answer bubbled to the surface in her mind. She didn’t know—she wasn’t even sure that mer were real. Oh, sure, she’d heard legends, and the shell certainly seemed real, but she’d never met one—not to her knowledge.

Gristol took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The things I do for good caviar…” He muttered. Lizzie felt her hatred for him rise another notch.

“Think, girl.” Gristol urged. “Surely you at least suspect where this boon came from.” He leaned in closer, and Lizzie fought to keep her head through the dizziness. “Someone had to have given it to you, and that someone must think very highly of you.” He leaned back, tapping his chin contemplatively. “Perhaps some friend of yours? One who does not live here, but who still passes through?” He turned and paced a little bit. “Someone accomplished in magic—they’d have to be, to be a mer in disguise.” He looked at Lizzie, his face seeming to melt into the slow spin of the room around her. “Who gave you this boon?”

Lizzie didn’t know. The only people she was close enough to were Morris, who had lived in this town longer than Lizzie had; Norma, her literal sister; Sam, who was certainly an anomaly but whose family lived further inland than Lizzie’s; and—

Realization hit Lizzie like a horse had kicked her. There was only one person she could have gotten the mysterious shell from—no, there were two.

It made so much sense. Too much sense. No wonder Gisu always had rare ingredients from the ocean—she lived there. Lizzie had always thought that Gisu was a good diver, that the reason she came and went by ship—though that was probably a lie, now that Lizzie thought about it—was so that she could get her hands on the sea’s bounties. But no, Gisu had those things, those rare spells that Lizzie had never heard of before, that knowledge of the ocean because she was a mer.

And if Gisu was a mer…

Gisu was careful about what she told Lizzie. Never gave away too much. So it didn’t seem likely for her to just leave a dead giveaway like the boon—not without an explanation, at least. Which meant that it could have only come from one person.

The sting of magic pricked at Lizzie’s brain. Oh, fuck.

“I’ve got a face.” The mage said, the magic fading from their hands.

Gristol beamed. “Excellent!” He turned to the Inquisitor, pulling out a small bag. “Your payment.” He tossed the bag to her. It was a clear dismissal; the Inquisitor left without another word.

With that, Gristol turned back to the door, pocketing the shell once again. “Prepare a counterspell for transformations,” he ordered, as the mage hurried to follow behind him. Before the door closed, Lizzie heard Gristol’s ecstatic “I’m getting a mer!” as he skipped down the hall and out of view.

The door slammed shut. Lizzie trembled, her head spinning.

Gisu was a mer. Gisu lived in the ocean and probably had the entire time that Lizzie had known her. Gisu had been lying to her—

No. No, that was stupid. Of course Gisu never told her, the girl had trust issues a mile wide. And it didn’t matter where Gisu was from or what she was—she was Lizzie’s friend. Gills and fins wouldn’t change that.

And if Gisu was a mer, then that meant that Dion probably was, too. That would explain the general… everything about him, honestly. From the anxiety to the unfamiliarity with everyday conventions. Lizzie had attributed it to him being a foreign prince—and in a way, Lizzie supposed he probably was—he was just from a more aquatic kingdom than she was thinking.

Lizzie needed to get out of here. She needed to get out of here so she could get to Gisu and Dion because she needed to warn them—

Getting out of here was easier said than done, though. Lizzie had been left to her own devices, sure, but she was still tied to this chair.

The ropes were loose in some places, though, and Lizzie could faintly smell the scent of burned rope. If her whole body didn’t feel like overcooked meat, then maybe she could wriggle free. But exhaustion weighed her down, the sting of her cuts making her arms heavy.

Right. Only one thing to do, then.

Quietly, trying not to alert anyone who might be outside the door, Lizzie spoke. It was a spell that Gisu had taught her, back when they had first met—and more importantly, all it required was a fuel source. The blood trickling from Lizzie’s cuts would be enough.

“Vanish.” Lizzie urged. She felt the burn of magic on her arms—

The world complied. The ropes around her disappeared—so did the chair, bursting into dust.

Lizzie fell to the floor with a thunk. Ooookay, maybe she overdid it. But nothing else appeared to be missing, so now all she had to do was get out of here unseen. She rose to her feet on less-than-steady legs—fuck, she’d need to do something about those wounds if she wanted to get anywhere.

She had none of her protective charms. All of the healing spells she knew required ingredients she didn’t have.

“Oh, damn it all.” Lizzie yanked off her jacket and pulled off her shirt. She threw the jacket back on, grabbed her shirt, and tore. She didn’t have the resources for any healing spells, but, as she whispered reinforcement into the strips of fabric—she could still brace herself against the pain.

Her legs were still unsteady when she was done, but at least she’d be able to walk without limping (much).

Gristol had left the door unlocked. Lizzie pushed it open slowly, keeping an ear out for passing footsteps.

The hall was empty.

Carefully, one hand braced against the wall, Lizzie made her way towards the stairs. She could hear people moving about on the deck above her—someone came down the stairs, and Lizzie just barely managed to duck into a side room in time.

“Captain says we gotta get the nets ready.” They said. Lizzie didn’t hear the response, both sets of steps disappearing down the hall.

Fuck.

How the hell was she going to get off this ship at this rate? She couldn’t just walk across the deck in broad daylight.

Or… morninglight, actually, looking at the porthole across the room. The sun had cleared the horizon, but not by a whole lot.

Wait.

Lizzie crept past the bunks in the room and examined the porthole. It was just big enough to fit through, and the latch wasn’t hard to figure out. She pushed it open.

Carefully, Lizzie poked her head outside, glancing around.

The water below was dark, reflecting the light of the rising sun. The ship she was on was still moored in the harbor—Lizzie could see the docks towards the bow—so Lizzie wouldn’t have far to swim. Hopefully.

The water was going to be cold. Lizzie didn’t have her charms to protect her—but she knew how to swim, and she was good at it, too.

(Would she still be good with injured legs? With exhaustion clinging to her bones?)

There was no other choice. Lizzie needed to get out of here, and get to Gisu. She needed to warn her friend.

Lizzie inhaled, steeled herself, and took the plunge.

[flashhwing]

after having outlined 11 chapters (outline is still not complete) and written most of the first chapter, I realize there is a whole recurring OC in this fic that has not been accounted for

[iamthescalesofjustice]

idk if anyone has done this before but da2 au where you think at first its a both twins lived au and then find out bethany died and thats actually non-warden amell posing as her. something something escaped with jowan maybe, found her relatives in lothering, sought refuge with them and when bethany ended up dying it was way lower profile for amell to take the place of her cousin than try to get in to kirkwall with them as a non-immediate family member (especially given that leandra is publicly coming in as an amell and theres a resemblance and its known revka had mage kids taken to the circle and im sure theres a bulletin out or whatever for an escaped apostate matching amells description). points if people comment on how ‘bethany’ clearly takes after her mother. leandra is not normal about it. aveline knew the real bethany at least in passing bc of living in the same town and treats this as a reason for her distrust of hawke and co and one of the reason she sabotages carvers application with the guard. 

[houseaeducan]

It occurred to me that a Champion of Kirkwall AU!Lyra would be an Anders rivalmancer and for the past few weeks I just go about my life until I remember that and take another drastic hit of psychic damage

[persephoneggsy]

... has anyone considered a Mage!Sebastian AU

instead of being exiled from Starkhaven for drunken shenanigans and sleeping around, Sebastian gets sent away much earlier because he unexpectedly manifests magic (maybe he sets one of his brothers on fire a little).

i think he resents his magic for a long time, maybe even thinking his parents were relieved he turned out to be a mage so they could wash their hands of an inconvenient third son early. of course, his parents also hate the fact that he’s a mage, if only because it brings shame to their family and makes arranging marriages with their other two sons much harder, since everyone now fears that magic will pop up in their heirs, too.

as a noble, he’d probably get sent to one of the “nicer” circles, list Ostwick or Montsimmard (i personally like Montsimmard so Vivienne can be his mentor uwu). so he grows up kind of sheltered, not experiencing the worst the circle has to offer, though he’s aware that abuses happen. i can almost see him being like a pre-grey warden anders, sneaking out for his own amusement until the templars drag him back, with the added bonus that because he’s got royal blood they’re not gonna risk executing him or making him tranquil.

maybe the thrill of his repeated escape attempts wears off, or he gets properly chastised by his mentor, and he realizes he has an opportunity to be an example: a “good” mage, someone to prove to the common people of Thedas that they don’t all fall to demons and blood magic.

then for whatever reason he gets transferred to Kirkwall’s Gallows. maybe to help mentor the mages there, i don’t know. there, he finds his status means much less to Meredith and her templars, and he sees the horrors his fellow mages face much more openly. 

my trail of thought is drifting off, but i imagine he still meets (mage) Hawke & Co. (though i’m not sure how he’d be allowed to travel with them). Hawke is the first apostate he’s had extended contact with, and he’s fascinated by her; she’s definitely dangerous, but he can’t bring himself to be afraid of her. he’s also curious about Merrill, having never met a Dalish mage; he probably asks her all sorts of questions about magic in their culture. and I think with Anders he’s definitely friendlier, but the relationship fractures as time goes on because he finds Anders’ methods to be too extreme, whereas Anders thinks he’s too complacent.

[fcredragonslyr]

Natsu & friends

[picayune-artist]

WIP *checks calendar* Tuesday.

On god, I am going to finish this.

[pikkuisesti-paskaa]

A demon twins au that I have been thinking about for a while

Danyal and Damian find out that Ra's intends to have them fight to death for the title of heir so they decide to have a duel during a mission and fake the loosers death. This way the stronger one gets to have the title, just like how Ra's wanted, but they wouldn't have to kill eachother. They don't want to disobey their grandfather, but surely this would have the same result without unneeded tragedy.

Damian wins so he claims that he killed Danny for being weak. They promised to never try to contact eachother so the league would not find out. They wouldn't know eachothers situations from the outside after all. They couldn't risk it. After years Danny knows that Damian is Robin in Gotham but doesn't know if hes out of the league or not. Damian has no idea where Danny is and never told the batfam.

Then some magican tries to kill Robin by summoning his dead brother to exact revenge. Damian is sure that the summoning will not work because Danny should be alive and well, only to be devastated to see the ghost of his brother appear from the summoning circle.

Additional thoughts. They have their own code made up of sign, gestures, and body language they can use to communicate hidden meanings behind their words or just completely different things. They have mastered the art of having a private conversation while to outsiders it looks like they're verbally ripping eachother to shreds. I can see them using this to figure out how to deal with the situation while keeping up the ruse. Maybe the bats come in and deal with the mage while Damian and Danny are "arguing" and "antagonizing" each other. While in reality Damian is convincing Danny that the bats can be trusted and Danny is debating if the risk of revealing everything is worth it, and if its already too late not to. And when they agree on dropping the act the bats get whiplash from the arguing turning into a tight hug in a second.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Ghost King Phantom answers a summons to a new dimension to find a sacrificial offering in three magic circles. One, holding Bizarro, another holding Artimus and the one in front holding Red Hood.

Phantom has no idea who these people are, but he knows the people in charge must be powerful mages or whatever. Doesn't matter. None of the mages hes ever had to face had known about his Halfa status so naturally thier wards and protections wouldn't work on him. He captures the kid with a naselly voice and his orange cat in a force field to give to Jazz later. She had been talking about wanting to study the psychology of a supernatural being for a while now so he'd help her out.

He made quick work of the other mages before turning around and facing the "sacrifices" the two in the back were still out cold but the one in front, the one in the red helm was radiating terror and rage. He was shaking even though Phantom hadn't done anything to him and had no intentions to. Danny landed outside the circle, trying to whisper something conforting as he stepped closer.

The moment he stepped into the ring however, the red runes turned into a bright green and the three circles disappeared. Danny didn't feel any different so he assumed it was nothing and he freed the captives before disappearing, none the wiser that Klarion the Witchboy had made a few translation mistakes in the slave contract and accidentally married a terrified Red Hood to Phantom, the High King of the Undead and King of the Lazarus dimension, also known as the Infinite Realms.

Danny probably learns he married that guy at some point but just kinda shrugs it off. Polygamy is legal in the realms and thier marriage doesn't change much. Sure, Danny is practically contractually obligated to save this guy if he's ever in mortal peril but Danny has no problems with that. He'd do it anyway.

So he just ignores the situation hoping it doesn't come up again.

It does.

Repeatedly.

I'm so surprised we don't have more Dead on Main ghost king marriage aus where Jason/the pit inside of him is terrified of Phantom. Let's change that

[occudo]

wait, yo there’s an entire mage magic system in this au? Might I ask for more details?

Sooo...

The short answer is that is a soft magic system, with no hard rules, it's just fun with the characters.

The long answer on the other hand...

I had a similar ask before, but since then some things changed, so I guess I try to explain it as best as I can.

So! This is a magical-fantasy-medieval AU, I was loosely inspired by arthurameslove 's fic This Lonely Knight, but since then I made my own version of a similar premise. The magic system is based on the original fears, the avatars are people who are affected by their magic, in one way or another. The more close to the fear the person is, the more magical effect it has.

The most known magic users are witches. They go to school to study, and from there, they can go and become advisors in small kingdoms where they can get gifted titles like Lady and Lord, but they don't get actual lands or servants.

Jon is not an advisor, but Elias' protégé and he can afford to employ Martin, who is a Knight, and previously worked for Lord Lucas. Elias is the advisor of King Magnus.

The kingdoms are based around the Fears, with most avatars being nobility or witches. (I wasn't sure if I wanted to make Simon a noble or a mage, maybe he is not so open about his skills) The witches are glass cannons- they can be really powerful in some situations but otherwise, kinda weak so is a common thing to have a designated knight bodyguarding them if they leave their palaces.

Martin is 'touched' but can't do magic the way Jon, or other witches.

If a witch finishes school, they are respected and believed that they can control powerful magic (with circles and runes) without it affecting their bodies and minds negatively - not like Jane Prentiss, for example. She was a noblewoman who got- corrupted.

Not every witch goes to serve nobility, there are plenty of small village witches, and Gertrude also tried to leave the palace and become a bog witch kinda deal.

Innisially for this au, I made the 'witch factor' the characters' connection to the eye in canon. I didn't see either Tim or Martin really eye-aligned, so I made them knights instead.

Since then I added Sky Mages for the Vast avatars- I just tought flying and stars and sky really deserve their own coven.

I'm not sure about the other fears names and schools jet. The phrase Seer Mage came from @skell3 's fanfic inspired by my comic, and I loved it so much that I baked it in my au. Also, the thought that eye-aligned mages are all about seeking truth and other's secrets, while can't really fly or fight mutch was funny to me.

So this is a loosy-goosy system that I'm still working on. I'm also open to suggestions- like with Basira and Daisy- they ended up being witch hunters.

or Georgie and Melanie

And I changed Michael from a jester to an actual noble/prince

So yeah, I hope this answers your question. Mostly a character-based, case-by-case thingy.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt

Summary: A little Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys AU for my Spooky Season Fic List

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My hands shake around the ancient text, the worn tome heavy and dust laden from years upon years of sitting on a shelf, untouched and forgotten. The old latin script is illegible in places, the ink faded and hidden under unidentifiable stains; the parchment is dog-eared and scribbled in, the margins full of strange, archaic markings I’ve never seen used in our Coven’s rune work. These are not the spells of my ancestors, not the runes my mother and grandmother cast upon the old foundations of our family home. We are a family of witches, dating back beyond the ages of written word; I am supposed to carry on that legacy, but truth be told, I’ve always been terrible at spellwork. My potions are mediocre; powers of persuasion abysmal. I truly am a poor excuse for a witch, and everyone in the coven knows it. Perhaps that is why Sister Ruth chose me to put on a demonstration at the Solstice Festival tomorrow. If I cannot prove my worth, well, maybe it is in the best interest of the coven to throw me out, or worse, make a sacrifice out of me. 

I would not be the first.

I grip the tome a little tighter. I must prove my usefulness. I cannot fail my sisters, or worse, my grandmother.  She raised eight successful witches, it would be to her utter shame to have been my teacher all these years for nothing. 

I draw a shaking breath. These spells are old magic. Dark magic. But I must get good at something quickly, and the gods know I will not get there on any natural talent. Perhaps I don’t need to be a natural. Perhaps I just need to summon something that is. 

On the old wood floor of our basement, I have laid the circle of obsidian salt in three overlapping circles, each etched with runes of chalk for protection. Just in case, I’ve dusted the floor with dried rosemary and anise seeds; an added barrier against whatever evil I might accidentally conjure if this goes wrong. My mother’s amulet feels heavy beneath my sweater, the cold iron biting against my skin as if in warning against what I am about to do.

I take another deep breath and ignore the warning. I must not fail.

The words are clunky, foreign on my tongue, the first couple of tries produces no results at all. Perhaps I really am the worst witch ever!

I grip the tome so tight the spine groans as I try again, slower this time, sounding out each word piece by piece. I will not fail.

The whole basement is lit with candles and as I finish the final words of the spell, the light suddenly snuffs itself out. 

The air in the room drops to near freezing temperatures. My hands so stiff and shaky around the old tome that the book slips from my hands and falls somewhere in the darkness. I make it onto my knees to look for it in a mad scramble before the sound of rushing wind fills the tiny room. It’s so loud I have to cover my ears with my shaking hands. 

In the center of the salt ring, dark shadows begin to slither out from a crack in the floor, hissing like a dozen tiny snakes. 

What have I done?!

I scramble to find the book in the dark, hands tearing over the anise seeds and clumps of rosemary. Perhaps the crushed scent of herbs will be enough to ward off whatever terrible shadow I’ve just called upon!

The temperature of the room continues to drop, lower and lower, even as the screeching wind gets louder and louder. The shadows within the circle grow darker and thicker by the moment, spinning now like a whirlwind. At least the salt holds. 

And then, as quickly as the noise had begun, it suddenly quiets. All the candles light themselves again, allowing me to see where I’d dropped the book: Directly into the circle, having bounced over the line, and it now sits at the feet of the most handsome male I’ve ever seen in my life.

I can do nothing but stare. I had meant to summon some help, the soul of an old mage or a spirit from another world, perhaps, but not… well, whatever he is. He’s definitely alive, his bronze, bair chest rising and falling, making the swirl of dark ink over his skin move in twining patterns. Not a spirit, though I do not know what to make of the great, bat-like wings that sprout from his back, the leathery membrane twitching as he brings them close to his body to avoid the barrier the salt creates. And his eyes! Gods, there like two blazing, violet suns inside the sharp planes of his face. 

“Well isn’t this interesting,” he purrs, voice smooth as velvet.

“Gods, what have I done?” I whisper to no one in particular.

His mouth twists in a devilish grin as he bends down to pick up my tome. From the tips of his fingers come dark claws. A bit of living shadow curls over his wrist, moving like snakes across the worn pages. “No gods here, Darling.”

I, somehow, find it within me to stand, despite my shaking legs. It is still terribly cold in this basement; the source of it seems to be coming from him. “What are you?”

He chuckles as he flips through the pages, claws running affectionately over the runes written in the margins. “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

The longer I watch him the more off I realize he is. There are fangs in his mouth, the sharp tips of them glinting in the candlelight. Tiny, glittering drops of starlight glisten in the strands of his raven-black hair. Intertwined within the ink across his chest are smaller versions of the runes written within the pages of the book. 

“I’ll stay right here,” I say.

He sticks out his full lower lip in a pout. “That’s no fun!”

He takes a step closer to the line of salt, testing the barrier with the tip of his boot. At least I managed to summon him half-way decent in a dark, leather pair of pants and boots. I don’t know what I’d do if I had summoned him fully nude. 

My cheeks flush at the thought, drifting down to follow the defined V of his abs, and where his pants slide low on his hips. If he were human I’d climb him like a tree. 

“Don’t tell me you summoned me just to gawk?” He presses. When he catches where my eyes are on his body, he adds, “Although you’re welcome to enjoy the view for as long as you like.”

I let out a huff. “I didn’t summon you for anything! I was trying to talk to the spirits.”

“There’s only one spell that can summon me, and you picked it,” he turns the book to show me the exact page I’d been reading from. “So tell me, what is it you want, Witchling?”

The way he says Witchling makes my skin flush; the heat in his tone enough to make me second guess myself. Why did I think that spell would summon something else? 

Perhaps I am a fool for saying it, but I blurt, “I need help.”

“Do tell,” he purrs.

“I’m supposed to give my coven a display of my magic tomorrow, for the Solstice, and well… I’m kind of the worst witch ever.” 

He glances at the herbs on the floor, and then back up to me. I swear there are actual violet flames moving around within his irises. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think it’s anything that can help me. But how am I supposed to send him back without the book?

“I meant to summon a spirit to guide me in some quick magic. I didn’t mean to summon, well, whatever you are.”

“I am many things,” he says, walking a slow circle around the barrier, testing it. It’s like watching a recently caged animal at the zoo; he’s testing every point for a weak spot, and if he finds it, he’s using it. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. What do I do if he gets out?

“But you can call me Rhys.”

If there is any heat left in the room, it leaves in a rush. “As in Rhysand? One of the Princes of Hel?”

Rhys drags his claws over the invisible barrier the salt creates and I watch the magic ripple and pulse under those sharp tips. “Perhaps.”

“You need to go back,” I say in panic, even though I know it can’t work that way. I summoned him. I have to be the one to send him back. Without the book, Hel, even with the book, I can’t do anything. 

“Then send me back, Witchling.”

I’m going to have to get my grandmother, and everyone is going to know that not only am I a failure as a witch, but I am a danger to all of us. I can’t even read a spell book right! I summoned a Prince of Hel by accident!

I chew on my thumbnail, pacing now myself around the outside edges of the salt. What do I do? What do I do?

“Oh but you can’t, can you?” He teases, knocking the book against the barrier. “Not without this pretty little thing.”

The dried herbs crunch under my boots as I keep pacing. There are no other tomes like that accessible to me, not without the Elders knowledge. This one had slipped past unnoticed in my grandmother’s grand collection, I had found it by sheer luck. There were no other texts to help me out of this one, and at this rate, even if there was, could I even get it to work?

“So how about we do this my way, hmm?”

A shiver crawls its way up my spine. 

“You break the barrier, and I will help you with your little Solstice tomorrow.”

I finally turn to look at him. “You would do that?”

“After tomorrow night, you can send me back and we can pretend this whole thing was a bad dream.”

Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all! Maybe I can still turn this around!

“You won’t cause any trouble?” I ask.

He puts a clawed hand over his heart. “I will not cause any trouble.”

“You swear it?”

“I cannot break my word, Darling,” he returns. 

My hands shake. What other choice do I have? “Just until the Solstice passes.”

“I promise you, that is all the time I will need.” I have to admit, his voice is strangely soothing. He does not strike me as some malevolent ruler of darkness at all. 

I grab a broom off the wall. “It’s a bargain then.”

He grins wolfishly the entire time, watching my every step as I approach with the intensity of a wolf stalking a deer. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s only one night, what could one night hurt? With one last shaking breath, I drag the broom through the salt and break the seal.

The book clatters to the floor for a second time tonight, as he lunges forward, a clawed hand wrapping around my neck as his momentum propels me back against the wall. I hit the worn stones so hard dust rains down from the ceiling. 

Panic grips me; I have no magic to save me as a real witch ought. He’s taller than I thought he was, towering over me as his grip on me tightens to the point of pain, the tips of his claws leaving indents in my skin.  Rhys chuckles at my plight as he leans down and brushes his lips over mine in the ghost of a kiss. Ice fills my veins at the contact. “Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”