#disappears into the crypts once again

[kaijucat01artblog]

Phighting! Swap AU Excerpt

“I’ll need you to remove the mask.” The earthshaking command was simple, plain, and painstakingly monotone delivered through Medkit’s voice - but for Boombox, Medkit might’ve well as ordered him to turn towards Skateboard and shoot him in the head. It was a death sentence. If not for Skateboard, for him. The swift battering of disapproval that always followed after he did what he was told was his silver bullet.

At his stillness, the doctor’s remaining eye narrowed, his gaze already riddled with the distaste Boombox despised. The quack doctor was probably used to everyone yielding under his glare the first time he utilized it; Boombox didn’t move an inch, provoking its cold iron to flip into even colder steel. 

“The mask,” He repeated. Skateboard visibly bristled out of the corner of Boomboxes’ eye, as spiky with rage as the prickly horn outcroppings jutting out of the doctor’s antlers.  “I cannot properly gauge your condition without seeing the extent of its damage.”

Only if you do the same, Boombox thought with a few inklings of humor. The guy’s mad-scientist’s-project eyepatch was an eyesore. “Can’t you?” He responded gravely. “The problem’s the horns, not my entire head.”

That earned him a sardonic snort unique to Medkit’s stuck-up self, only reserved for defamatory gossip about Subspace and people he called “impudent patients.” 

“Remains to be seen,” He exclaimed. “Your unintelligence is extraordinary.” Bringing a gloved hand to his face, he mimed a thinking motion. “You know what else remains to be seen? Your face so I can do what your petulant self asked me to and find out if this injury of yours is rectifiable.”

Skateboard returned the fatigued old man sassiness tenfold. “I thought Ultimate Healing could save anything,” He countered smoothly, sticking his nose into the air. “That’s what you bragged about, anyways. You shouldn’t need to see anything.”

Watching Medkit’s expression darken after his friend’s quip was actually a bit worrying. The maliciousness shining in his eye was something familiar, him having seen it countless times before when Medkit bore down on an enemy in rounds like a raving dog. Boombox didn’t want two demons with broken horns.

“Okay,” He interrupted Medkit before he could manage a rebuttal or bite Skateboard or inject him with cyanide or something. “Fine. I’ll take it off.”

Skateboard shot him a concerned look that he just barely caught before he lifted both of his hands to the sides of his helmet. The smooth material it was made out of seemed to cling to his fingertips, almost as if it didn’t want to be taken off.

Sorry, he mused. I don’t want you to go, either. He didn’t know why he felt so reluctant. He could care less about Medkit’s opinion and Skateboard had made it quite clear that he didn’t mind his face before. For some reason, whatever obstacle that caused his pause was intangible - flitting away whenever he tried to pin it down, like a bird. Maybe it was scared of him too. Maybe he was just so rotten that even his own mind didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

He wished he could fly away, too. He knew Skateboard didn’t mean to, but both his and Medkit’s gazes felt like metaphysical dissections. The issue wasn’t even his face. It was his horns. He had said that himself. 

Something light brushed his shoulder. He blinked under his part way off visor, meeting Skateboard’s stare. His red eyes were wide, see-through like stained glass - so easy to dust off and observe the going-ons behind them.

Boombox slipped the mask off. The hand on his shoulder squeezed reassuringly.

Medkit gave him a vapid smile, clearly ticked off. “There we go,” He said. “Not so hard, was it?”

[losts-art-shit]

Art dump? Art dump

Also artfight- wahoo https://artfight.net/~elementalCrypt

[artiststarme]

Dead or Alive

After Spring Break, no one could find Eddie Munson dead or alive. His Uncle Wayne, the angry mob, even the police couldn’t locate him so everyone assumed he was dead. Some grieved his loss but most celebrated his apparent demise believing it to be what he deserved after killing Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Jason and hurting poor Max Mayfield.

Once the town recovered enough, Wayne bought a headstone for an empty grave and dutifully washed off the new graffiti that appeared each day. The kids of the Party mourned the loss of their idealistic Dungeon Master and disbanded Hellfire Club out of respect to him. And Robin and Steve disappeared to Steve’s empty house to grieve the loss of a friend (or so it seemed).

Because while everyone thought they were grieving and finding support in each other, they were actually caring for Eddie’s wounds and watching gay movies on Steve’s couch. They are junk food, cuddled in front of the TV, and appreciated being alive.

Steve couldn’t be around the party because he was supposed to be broken-hearted but it was the opposite. While he left the Upside Down the most recent time with more scars, both mental and physical, it also gave him everything he’d ever wanted. It took him away from the job he hated, gave him more time to spend with Robin, and it gave him a prospective boyfriend.

He felt bad keeping Eddie a secret away from the kids and his uncle but he had no other choice. Until he and Robin could brainstorm a logical explanation for his innocence and return from the dead, it’d be the three of them in hiding. Which to him, wasn’t a bad thing. Between the love of Robin and Eddie, his house felt less like a crypt and more like a home.

After a few weeks, they’d all gotten used to their solitary. Imagine their surprise when someone walks in on the three of them watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show right on the scene of Rocky showing off his fishnet clad calves. Imagine Officer Phil Callahan’s horror when his eyes landed on an injured homicidal maniac sitting half on his brother’s lap while drooling over Tim Curry. And imagine Steve’s mortification when his brother stood unmoving in the doorway of the living room with one hand on his hip and the other held over his open mouth in shock.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK IS EDWARD MUNSON DOING IN OUR PARENT’S LIVING ROOM?!” Phil shrieked, his face going red in barely concealed rage.

Steve, Eddie, and Robin all spoke at once.

“Is he? Oh my goodness, I didn’t notice. Steve, Eddie is in your house!”

“It’s just Eddie, you piece of shit.”

“Ok technically, I can explain.”

Phil just looked at them like all three of them were insane. “HE’S A KILLER!”

“No he’s not. He’s just a metalhead, Phil.”

“What is that supposed to do with anything, Steve?! I don’t care that he’s a metalhead, I care that he murdered at least three people in a week!”

Steve shot up from his seat so he was nearly eye-level with Phil. “Woah, he did not! I was with him the entire week and neither of us killed anyone.”

Phil just shook his head in confused exhaustion. “Is he dangerous?”

Steve looked him directly in the eye, “no! He didn’t do anything and he’s one of my best friends now.”

“Fine. I’m not dealing with this shit tonight. You,” he pointed at Eddie, “don’t kill anyone. And Steve, do not wake me up before ten AM unless someone is getting killed. Jesus Christ.”

He stomped up the stairs, grumbling under his breath the entire way. Meanwhile, Steve sat back down next to Eddie and gave him a small smile. “Well, that went better than expected.”

Eddie looked at him in disbelief, “did it Steve? Did it?”

(It, in fact, did not. The next morning, Steve had to tackle Phil away from the phone when he tried to call the chief and then had to hold him down while Robin rambled the entire story in an impressive four minutes. He only gave up once Steve threatened to disappear himself and Eddie (and Robin) forever without ever contacting Phil again.)

Should I make this into a longer fic? Let me know in the comments please!

[catcas22]

Maedros in Troy AU

Long, long post about my very niche obsession. Original AU by @sweetteaanddragons can be found here.

Every so often when I'm listening to EPIC, my mind will play six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon and I'll end up back at this AU. This particular addition was inspired by my remembering that Achilles was a redhead (Or maybe strawberry-blonde, idk enough about the Greek language to say for sure. His son was a redhead, and he once went by the alias of "the redheaded girl.")

The morning after the sack of Troy is a somber affair, even, surprisingly, amongst the victors. The surviving Achaean princes limp their way back to the feet of the horse, finally able to take a headcount. Odysseus and Ajax the Lesser are missing, Neoptolemus is nursing a nasty leg-wound, and less concerning but equally inconvenient, Menelaus and Helen have absconded to Sparta to start their second honeymoon.

Neoptolemus, in particular, has been having a day. First he got paired with Odysseus, which he has come to learn means he's going to be acting as the muscle while the Ithacan takes the credit. Then Odysseus was granted the honor of ending Hector's bloodline, and Neo couldn't even say anything because the order came directly from the mouth of Zeus. (Odysseus already took his father's armor. Could Neo not at least be allowed his vengeance?) Then Hector's woman took a swipe at him with a dagger, which Neo handled quite easily, then a madman burst out of the crypts and nearly cut his leg off, which presented a bit more of a challenge.

The princes compare notes, slowly piecing together a picture of The Stranger who carved a bloody swath through their armies and then disappeared as quickly as he materialized. Finally, Eurylochus says what everyone else has been thinking (fearing). Towering in stature, redhaired, wearing armor that turned their blades and wielding a sword that pierced through bronze like soft clay? They all know who that sounds like.

Yes, the others reluctantly admit, The Stranger is most definitely the ghost of Achilles, returned from the grave to once again punish them all for the sake of some personal slight. (Neo can't stop thinking about the look in the man's eyes, that look of pity or maybe disappointment before he left the youth bleeding on the steps of Hector's tomb).

Diomedes is the only one to object. Aside from Neo, he was the only one to get a good look at The Stranger and live to tell about it. That wasn't Achilles. In fact, he made the man bleed, so he wasn't a ghost either. No one else seems convinced.

Neo confirms that Odysseus went into Hector's tomb alone, and only The Stranger emerged. Sage nods are exchanged amongst the other princes -- Achilles must have returned to avenge his old comrade, Greater Ajax. But then why would he kill so many Achaeans after presumably taking his vengeance on Odysseus? (Agamemnon scoffs. As if Achilles ever needed a reason to be a pain.)

Then a messenger arrives, breathlessly announcing that Ajax the Lesser has been found. Specifically, he has been found dead by a blow from The Stranger's magic sword, lying at the feet of a toppled statue of Athena.

Now that's clearly an omen of some sort, though no one can agree on what message to take from it. Athena is Odysseus's patron, but is the toppled statue a sign of judgement or of disrespect? Does this have anything to do with The Lesser's cousin The Greater? Nestor suggests consulting the Trojan oracle Helenus. They left the boy tied up on Agamemnon's ship after Odysseus finished with him, and he was still alive the last time they checked. Perhaps he can interpret the omen.

This plan only makes it as far as the beach, where the gang discovers that both the oracle and Agamemnon's flagship have been stolen.

Suddenly it all makes perfect sense. Diomedes explodes -- yet again, Achilles is punishing them all for the sake of his feud with Agamemnon. The High King sputters out a denial -- he and Achilles were square when the man died. His conscience is perfectly clean. He still looks as if he is actively having a heart attack.

Nestor attempts to intervene. Diomedes shouldn't jump to conclusions... But if Agamemnon knows of anything that might have brought a vengeful Achilles back from the grave, he really should tell them. They promise they won't be mad.

Agamemnon has the horrible, sinking feeling that this might be about the fact that he took a leak on the ashes of Achille's funeral pyre. But he's certainly not going to admit to that. Wounded or no, Neo has a good couple of inches on him, and the kid is built like he strangles oxen for a hobby. He has that same twitchy look in his eye that his father always had.

This man cannot have been Achilles, he insists, and Agamemnon is going to bring back his head to prove it! (No one else is willing to set sail while the son of a Nereid might be after their heads, and Agamemnon is quite sure that they're one more bad omen away from sacrificing him to appease Achilles. It's what he would do, were he in their position.) Eurylochus and his crew quickly get pressed into service -- they need a captain, and Agamemnon needs a boat. And don't they want to avenge their fallen king?

Neo insists on coming along, much to Agamemnon's horror.

Maedhros isn't ready to panic just yet. Disorienting as that first night was, he's now fairly certain that he knows where he is. He's on the eastern side of the Sea of Rhûn. This is an inland sea, and the climate and general look of the people suggest that he's somewhere south and east of Dorwinion. He's a long way from home, to be sure, but at least he knows how to get back. He takes a moment to privately curse that storm Maia for dragging him so far out of his way.

He's fairly certain that the woman he rescued is the baby's mother. At least, she seemed very relieved to have him back. So if he recalls the storm Maia's threats correctly, that would make her the prince's widow. The others seem to tentatively consider her to be in charge, and she's at least attempted to communicate with him. Maybe she can help him get his bearings.

Unfortunately, she doesn't speak any of the Easterling tongues he learned from Bór. That's not terribly surprising. Rhûn is a land of many nations, and this particular clan must be rather isolated if they're still casting weapons out of bronze. That's fine. He might not invent new languages on a whim as his father did, but he does enjoy learning them.

The golden-haired girl hasn't stopped watching him. She looks away with a pained expression every time he catches her at it, but even now he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. He saw eyes like that once before -- the first time he saw a mirror after Thangorodrim.

The others give her a wide berth, though she does nothing apart from sit curled under the mast, arms around her knees. During their flight, she broke from her stupor long enough to lead them to this ship -- the same ship where they found the prisoner who Maedhros assumes to be her twin brother. It almost seemed as if she knew where...

But that would be ridiculous. She couldn't have known. Maedhros rather forcibly shrugs the notion off. They're twins. He's seen Amrod and Amras do far stranger.

On his first night, Maedhros was too preoccupied to look up. Even had he chanced to look at the sky, the smoke of the city's burning would have blotted out the stars. He spends the following day tending to the wounded, despite having nothing but torn clothing and seawater, and offering what comfort he can, despite speaking not a word of their language. When the sun sets, he forces himself to stay awake. One look at the stars will give him his heading, and from there he can plan the route home...

Oh. Maedhros doesn't know those stars.

Maedhros is beginning to suspect that he isn't in Rhûn.

More coming soon, by request of @sweetteaanddragons !

[biserker-kadan]

The one thing that I love and will honestly never change with Dragon Age is the fact that canon is whatever the fuck I say it is. This means you can pry Princess of the Mourn Watch Saoirse Ingellvar from my cold dead hands!

-

Baby Ingellvar stomping her feet and pouting up at Vorgoth when the wisps won't listen to her and do what she says. Big green eyes full of tears, lips trembling. She's seconds away from crying because she just wants the skeletons to dance again and it's not fair!

Cue Vorgoth practically begging the wisps to do it, just this once because he cannot handle another tantrum (it's his fault, he knows, he spoilers her - he knows)

Grown up Rook stomping her way through the Necropolis because her favourite book has mysteriously disappeared from her quarters and she wants it back!

Cue Vorgoth searching desperately to find it because he barely survived this morning when she realised that there was no coffee left because she slept in.

Myrna finds all of this hilarious and cannot stress enough the consequences of his own actions. She warned him to no avail - do not spoil the feral crypt child.

Emmrich has no idea how much of a brat she can be because she is also so genuinely nice. He knows she can be passive aggressive and she doesn't let things slide but he's never seen her in her element before aka spoiled, apple of her fathers eye, first born daughter.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 30 - Vain

Wolfstar, January 30, word count 671

Previous part First part

One year previously

Sirius stood at the front of the church, greeting all his parents, associates, and other guests. Most of them had never even met Regulus. He gritted his teeth as politicians, bankers, CEOs and other supposed mourners who had only come to get in good with his father. He hated this so much. His parents had made it into a circus. It should have been a simple private affair. Regulus would have hated this. 

The service, while extravagant, felt almost nice. The priest was respectful and Sirius was able to mourn in peace. His mother had forbidden him to help carry the casket outside, so he walked behind it, following his brother outside to the family crypt. 

Disturbance at the doors halted the procession. Walburga brushed past him, disappearing around the casket. 

“How dare you come here,” She hissed. 

“I just want to say goodbye,” Shit, Barty. Sirius hurried after his mother. 

“You are not wanted here, leave. Now,” Walburga ordered. 

“Please, I just want to say goodbye, please.” Barty pleaded, his jaw quivered, and his eyes filled with tears. Sirius quickly stepped in, putting a firm hand on Barty’s shoulder in a vain attempt to diffuse the situation.

“I’ll deal with him Mother,” He said in a bored drawl, before marching Barty out of the doors and into the churchyard. They turned away from the graves and walked away from the church into a little wildlife area. Once they were hidden in the tall grass, Sirius found a bend and dragged Barty down onto it. The other man collapsed into him. Sirius held him as Barty broke apart. His sobs were muffled by Sirius’s thick wool coat. 

“Shhhh, we’ll go say goodbye once they’re gone,” Sirius murmured softly, stroking Barty’s soft hair. “He’d prefer it if it was just us anyway,” Barty sniffled as the last of his tears petered out. 

“I’m sorry, I should have known better. I just, I just wanted him to know that I came. I needed him to know I’m still his.” 

“He knows, don’t worry about that,” They sat on the bench until the sound of Range Rovers, Austin Martins and Jaguars starting filled the air and waited some more until everything was still and quiet again. “Come on, let’s go say goodbye,” Sirius helped Barty to his feet and led him to the Black family crypt. 

The door was already sealed again, Regulus locked away for eternity. 

“I really loved him, you know?” Barty told him, walking forward and laying his hand on the door. “I love you Regulus, always will, always,” He shook his head and turned away. “Can we go get a drink and talk about him for a bit, or do you need to get off?” 

“Yeah, let’s go. Pub?” Sirius looped Barty’s arm through his, and together they walked to the local pub.

“They drank far too much while they mourned Regulus, so much that when Sirius wiped the fresh wave of tears from Barty’s cheeks with his hands, Barty leant in and kissed him. Sirius kissed him back. There was no spark, no urgency, they were simply finding solace in each other. They pulled away at the same time and Barty rested his head on Sirius’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know how to live without him,” Barty confessed. Sirius wrapped his arms firmly around him. 

“He wouldn’t want you to mope about Barty. In fact, he’d kick your arse if you tried,” Barty choked out a laugh, and they called it a night. They shared one final kiss outside the pub and went their separate ways. Sirius truly hoped that Barty would be alright. He looked up at the night sky, easily spotting his own star and letting his eyes drift to the left until they landed on Regulus’s. “Look out for him, Reggie. He needs you still,” He called a taxi and went back to his empty house and opened the bottle of whisky, drowning his sorrows, not wanting to remember what had happened that day. 

Next part

[secretwhumplair]

Beneath the temple

909 words | Under the eyes of the sun (start!)

Content | Captivity, stress position (kind of), sensory deprivation, religious themes, implied beating & non-con

Notes | My hand slipped. Meet an unfortunate little nobleman and his new divine, uh. Caretaker?!

I nicked the word "Ledan" from this excellent linguistics post bread clip Vetinari lives in my heart

At first, Tileno had cursed and screamed for help. Then, when he had realized it was true no one could hear him down here, he had started crying and begging the priest for mercy.

By now, if he managed anything, he was praying.

He was praying to Zaava, uncertain if any other gods could even hear him, here in the sacred ground of the sun temple — except of course the gods below, this being a crypt, and he wanted no dealings with them.

Maybe he would, eventually, pray to them to take him.

Sometimes, he felt like he couldn’t breathe, wrapped in the pitch-darkness of the crypt. With nothing else to focus on, the aches of his body became all-encompassing, accompanied only by his ragged breath and yet-flowing blood in his ears.

The cold on his naked body eased the burn of the ties around his wrists and ankles, the weight of his own body over the unforgiving stone coffin that had long since become painful, the bruises that bloomed all over his back and legs where the priest had struck him, over and over — or worse, when Tileno’s form so sinfully tempted him. Sometimes, he could imagine being wholly numb.

Time had become an incomprehsible thing. The priest arrived or didn’t arrive like a creature from another world, one Tileno was now banished from, the world of the living and virtuous.

He knew his eyes were losing their purpose when he saw a flicker of light in the darkness that simply couldn’t have been there, like daylight breaking through the solid earthen walls, cutting sharply into his eyes after so long in the dark before it disappeared.

He heard the familiar sound of the door above being unlocked, and the more plausible light of the little lantern the priest would carry with him on his visits licked the edges of his vision. The steps were only too familiar. Tileno had once regretted counting them, but now he knew them so well he could tell how close the priest was without a single coherent thought.

It was almost better than the nothingness that enveloped him when he was alone.

»I hope you accept justice today, child,« the priest’s cold voice said.

And that was when the light flooded the crypt.

Tileno couldn’t really know, after the dark. But his whole aching body, the warmth on his skin, told him this was daylight; the light of the sun.

He yelped with the pain of it, pressing his eyes closed as hard as he could.

Only belatedly did he register the scream of terror that had emanated from where the priest must stand; a soft thump followed, as if a pair of knees dressed in thick robes had hit the ground.

»My Ledan,« the priest whimpered. »My-«

»Silence.«

The voice echoed through the crypt with the same force as the light.

»Is this just? Answer me.«

»It — I-«

A sharp hiss, as if from a wild animal, and the priest screamed again.

»No, no,« the priest sobbed.

»You vowed to me service in furthering justice in the world.«

To me? Tileno’s breath caught. It made sense. It all made perfect sense, and he felt a terror grip him like nothing before. He had prayed to Them for help, for forgiveness, but would They-?

»You vowed to me as a sacrifice your celibacy, as well.«

Tileno’s heart stuttered. Zaava was still not talking to him — he knew now he would recognize with certainty if They were — but it was his fault, as well. He had seduced the priest.

»And you lied.«

»Mercy, my Ledan,« the priest whispered.

»Mercy is not justice.« The deity’s voice was a growl that drew goosebumps all over Tileno’s skin, even in Their warm light.

The priest made a strangled noise before he fell silent again, and Tileno only heard a whisper hissing in his direction, interrupted by occasional sobs. Then, »Leave.«

Hasty steps retreated up the stairs, and now it was Tileno who sobbed with fear. The light was still here; he was alone with the deity, and he didn’t know what They would do to him.

He blinked his eyes open, desperate for at least a hint. He had grown a little better accustomed to the light over the minutes that had passed, but it was still too bright, and the fact that he could see their soft-pawed feet on the ground before him with such clarity only underlined the sense that what he was really looking at was merely a mask, a trick of the mind, wrapping something far more incomprehensible.

A warm hand grabbed him by the chin and raised him. His restraints were gone, but his body still ached with the movement, joints breaking free from the positions they had been locked in, damaged skin stretching and shifting.

He found no words when he finally looked into Their golden eyes. They looked like the images found in their temples: the lioness’ face, the twelve-pronged antlers, the sun — the very sun — between them.

Zaava’s eyes seemed to look into his very soul.

»A great injustice has happened to you at the hands of one sworn to me. I will take care of you. Sleep now.«

And before Tileno could even process Their words, before he could feel more than a tentative sting of relief, before he could think and wonder and fear at what they meant, his soul had already obeyed the divine command.

[a-local-idiots-shitpost]

Mc get´s canceled

due to unforeseen business cuts and bad financial decisions on the Shareholders side we can´t afford to keep shipping the Sheep into the Devildom, Celestial Realm or the Human World so now you only get low quality reaction´s from everybody involved

Lucifer:

he spent every minute since he got the news to figure out if they can somehow fix this situation

if that doesn´t work into the Attic with you, as long as there aren´t any nosy Humans looking for you he knows nobody will find you

he´ll just get started on decorating the Attic for you and don´t worry he´ll make sure you have enough food in case anybody forget´s to feed you

and if the House is empty he will allow you to leave the Attic

he doesn´t trust anybody else with keeping the secret though, so you might have to be on your own for a while...

Mammon:

he´ll act tough but only for a second and then he´ll start crying like crazy and clinging onto you

he´ll never let go of you because now he´s scared that you will just disappear if he let´s you go

after Beelzebub managed to pry him of off you he had a brilliant idea to keep you around

just fake your death!

he has contacts and has first hand experience in faking his death so he knows it´s really easy

they´ll just dress you up as a Demon and they´ll never have have to lose you

Leviathan:

he fainted and after he woke up just assumed it was a horrible nightmare that you were forced to leave them forever

he´ll faint again if you tell him it´s the truth but this he´ll go crazy and that his favorite Normie can´t just leave him!

you already got plans with him, you can´t just leave and never come

saying goodbye once a year is already bad enough but now a forever goodbye…

besides what about Henry!? you can´t just leave him behind too!

he even shoved Henry in your face and the poor fish actually looked sad

if you won´t leave he will probably spend the entire time trying to talk in just staying, even if it isn´t by your choice they can hide you somewhere

Satan:

if anybody thought his tantrums when he was a freshly separated Demon where bad you don´t want to know how he is now

he would have happily killed everybody in all three Realms and even that wouldn´t even have been enough, not even all the books or Cats in the world´s could calm him down

so maybe just knock him out and hope that either the concussion or the nap will calm him down

if not the Realm´s can look forward to very dangerous and turbulent times

or just start a fundraiser and hope you get to keep the pink menace

Asmodeus:

he´s going to cry, what do you mean they´ll take away his favorite Human!?

actually him crying would be the least worrying thing, they are more scared that Asmo will try to kill somebody but they also wouldn´t really stop him

if it´s the right person they would just overlook it *cough* the person who took them *cough*

but yeah Asmo will take the news very badly and might lock himself in his room with Mc

because he won´t let them go no matter what, if he has to he would even follow them wherever they are forced to go

and make sure nobody will separate them

Beelzebub:

he would miss you but he´s sure they can find a way to keep you with them

he hopes at least…

but even if they can´t get you to visit them anymore he will find a way to see wherever you are

and maybe he´ll just take Belphie´s idea and they´ll try to kidnap you again

hm? oh no you didn´t hear anything let´s just go somewhere else, maybe outside of the Devildom for once?

It could be fun and who knows maybe something will happen so you can´t be taken away for good

Belphegor:

what do you mean they just got their Dumb (lovingly) Sheep back and now they have to live without it, not only that but forever!?

someone get the sack because he´ll and Beel make sure they´ll stay one way or another

the Attic might not be the most comfortable place to stay but it´s safer and warmer then the Crypt

and hey they´ll at least have Beel and him looking after them so they won´t get lonely, he might have told his Brother´s about his plan but if he wants to keep them so few people as possible should know

he might not have even told Beel if they weren´t twins, he loves Beel but he sometimes can´t keep a secret to save his life

[invinciblerodent]

for the rook/partner game: 14. for marcus and bellara, 4. for verbena and davrin (I think you talked about it before but I cannot remember for the life of me) 1nnd 16. for emmrich and tristan?

Ahh, I love these, thank you for asking! ❤️

Question list here!

14. Does your Rook get their partner any other gifts (besides the one already in-game)? Does the partner get Rook any? Any gifts that are particularly special?

Ooh, tough one! I think since neither of them have a lot (hey, neither crypt orphan turned glorified undertaker NOR underfunded Dalish historian who lives in a forest is a particularly well-paid profession), I want to say that... it's probably things like, experiences. Loaned books is for sure one, but I want to say that what they exchange most is just... time. Experiences. Small things that only prove that they're thinking of one another.

Like him taking her to skate the Minater and (unused to having money) buying them a bag of roasted chestnuts to share, or leaving a small bag of sweets on her desk. (Candied nuts, perhaps? Dry fruit? I get both the vibe that she likes those, and the feeling that if she were to mention at any point something like "oh, I LOVE honey-roasted almonds!", she'll get some honey-roasted almonds every time he sees some.) Or if she mentions once that it was nice the first time he made it, he'll be making her a cup of spiced tea when he makes one for himself in the evenings, and even if they had no plans, dropping it off for her on his way back to his room. A paper with one of her serials that he'll likely end up keeping, embarrassed, when he realizes that Neve had already bought it for her.

She in turn might blush her way through giving him the first chapter of her story to read. Eventually one of her many janglies (that's totally not a protection charm!) or a strip of fabric in her favorite color will perhaps find its way to the grip of his staff. Little things, sentimental things, ephemeral things that disappear like a shower of sparks in the air.

4. Do your Rook and their partner share the same faction? If so, does that affect their relationship at all? If not, what is your Rook's opinion of their partner's faction? What is the partner's opinion of Rook's faction?

Ooh, I have spoken in passing about something of the like, yes!! Due to her backstory, I gave her an overall... shall we say, healthy wariness of the Warden order in general.

Since there are no (known?) Warden strongholds in Tevinter, I like to think that Ver's experience with them is restricted to the odd wandering recruiter, picking through the prisons and such in search of able bodies to bolster their ranks.

And, due to her work as both a Shadow Dragon and a guard/errand girl in a poor district of the city, Ver unfortunately also meets and gets to know a comparatively large number of people who are down on their luck, or don't have a lot of options- who, when the Wardens come knocking and ask for brave souls, are prime candidates for joining up with them. (It certainly sounds like it beats starting their lives over from scratch either as runaway slaves who will be hunted for the rest of their days, or, if they're lucky, as Liberati always glancing back over their shoulder and one bad month away from slipping back.)

Naturally, of those who leave with the recruiters, not many are ever seen again- whether they perish in the Joining or after, or if they just never get to return to the city, is unclear.

Her best friend (and sort of lover/QPR partner/previous fuckbuddy) Adris was also one of those escaped slaves who got arrested (taking the fall for her entirely), and in order to escape the gallows, left with a Warden instead. He never did end up coming back, and for years, Ver didn't know if he had even survived. (to her excuse, he was a skinny, pale elf boy. like she's pretty sure she could have snapped his femurs like a pair of toothpicks by sitting on his lap, if she was so inclined. even if she had known what the Joining entailed, she thought it was as much a death sentence for him as the gallows.)

(originally I liked leaving it kind of ambiguous whether he lived, but now I'm more of the mind that against all odds, he'd survive the Joining AND Weisshaupt, just to be there in Hossberg to Cause Emotional Turmoil, lol.)

Her mistrust of the Warden order was like, on a very average level for a Tevinter citizen, but the bulk of it comes from how the recruiter, when she demanded that they take her too, rejected her, and that old resentment kind of just fermented into prejudice over time. She's more or less convinced early on that all Wardens are pompous assholes riding high on the old glory of a few, with hero complexes the size of the Anderfels, and their heads so far up their asses that they could tie their small intestine into a bow with their tongue as a party trick.

Initially, the First Warden only reinforces that (even though she knows very well that she sounded a few elephants short of a proper circus when they met)(she had far more than enough clowns tho), but it will take Evka, and Antoine, and most importantly Davrin to dismantle that.

On the flipside, I don't really think Davrin has many Shadow Dragon specific comments or issues, I think he's just... quite aware that she's of Tevinter, and of the city, so he isn't, like, immediately eager to defer to her. He doesn't know her, so he has his doubts, and right away, puts a little mental asterisk beside the statement that she outranks him. But the leadership she shows right after his recruitment and at Weisshaupt will dispel pretty much any doubts about her.

The way it affects their relationship is, I think, not super obvious either, because, well, they are professionals. Davrin gives the barbed comments as good as he gets, plus they are immediately pretty impressed with each other, right from the Minrathous dragonfight on.

also they're both hot, and they both have eyes. that might also skew things slightly.

16. How did your Rook react to getting trapped in the Fade and separated from their partner?

Oh, I'm looking very much forward to that on that playthrough, because I think Tristan is going to be losing his absolute shit in there. (But in like his own stoic, determined way.)

I mean, he's no mage, furthest thing from it in fact, but he's been in the Fade in his dreams before. He's been there physically this whole time. He's got a bloody spirit hitching a ride in his mind, it shouldn't be that different from what he's used to.

But that particular space in the Fade, that place... it's just wrong in there. It's a purgatory. It's a void, it's oppressive, the stench of Solas' rage, and pride, and despair, and just sheer, immense power is all over it, and while he's trying to stay calm, it feels like Purpose within him is in an absolute blind panic. And, with the two of them being so seamlessly fused together, so integrated over the past.... jfc, 22 years, Purpose trying all it can to escape, pulling at his soul... it feels fucking horrible.

It's like his very concept of self is trying to tear itself apart, like his soul is separating into two at a seam that doesn't exist, like his legs want to cleave themselves from his body and he has only his hands to hold them there.

Pile all that happens in there, all the revelations and worries, on top of that, and Tristan is having an awful fucking time.

And he can't even punch/kick/stab the source of his agony! It really is his personal torture chamber in there.

Honestly, though I like to think that Tristan, due to his unique and inexorable connection to the Fade, feels that it's been less than a day in that pocket, and can think somewhat clearly still (unlike Ver, who I think falls victim to the time distortion effect, and loses track immediately- could have been hours or months as far as she's concerned), but still distantly, at the back of his mind, feels how those weeks that pass outside of it are dragging along, day after day.

I think Emmrich, while there was no way of knowing in advance how something as peculiar as Tristan and Purpose's union would react to something like that, had what he thought was a pretty good guess as to what would happen- and I don't think there's any way for him to not have been worried out of his mind.

I think in the regard of their separation, Tristan is probably less worried than Emmrich, considering that he at least has the luxury of knowing that whatever is happening outside, Emmrich has the chance of fighting back, while Emmrich doesn't even know if Tristan is physically capable of staying alive in there.

If being in a place like that had torn Tristan and Purpose apart, it would have killed him instantly, and Emmrich needing to place his utmost trust in the courage of a spirit that can barely communicate (certainly not in words, and certainly not with him), it's... kind of horrifying. Especially with a spirit as malleable and kind of vulnerable as Purpose.

I guess it's very lucky that they are so enmeshed, Tristan and Purpose, because them being one means that their drive for self-preservation is also shared. Without that, they wouldn't have made it out of there alive, I think.

[sinking-in-a-gentle-pool-of-wine]

Seb Sallow x Reader Crucio Scene

FULL DISCLOSURE: this was inspired by a @toppersbitch post (“Cry All You Want”) in response to an anon prompt. I liked the prompt & wanted to riff off it--so check that one out toooooo okay - you (probs Ravenclaw), Sebastian, and Ominis are trapped oh no! (All characters 18+ & warning: descriptions of pain)

“If you cast Crucio, you will regret it forever.”

You’re inclined to believe Ominis. But that doesn’t help your situation at the present moment. You walk back to Sebastian, anxious to be out of the dank crypt.

“What do we do now? Ominis is not going to cast the Cruciatus Curse again.”

Sebastian swears.

“Ridiculous! As if dying in here is a better option than casting a damned spell.”

He kicks the floor and throws a glare in Ominis’s direction. He then looks back at you and sighs.

“It’s up to us,” he says. “I can teach you Crucio, or I can cast it on you.”

A jolt of shock shoots through you. Me, cast Crucio?

“Wait—you didn’t say you knew how to cast Crucio,” you say.

“Because I’m not sure I do.” Sebastian runs a tense hand through his hair. “Ominis knows that, yet he’s left us no choice—I don’t yearn to follow in Noctua Gaunt’s footsteps. I think I can cast it if I have to.”

You’ve always lived by the mantra that knowledge can never hurt you… but an Unforgivable Curse? And to cast it on Sebastian? No. You’ve made up your mind.

“I want to learn the curse, but I won’t cast it on you. You need to cast it on me.”

Sebastian nods once. You caught his eyes darken, though, in the flickering light of the torch on the wall beside you both. You hope he knows you won’t blame him.

“I shan’t forget this,” he says. “To cast Crucio, move your wand like so…”

He swings his wand in a terse motion, and you mimic his movements. It feels jagged and sharp in your wrist. Sebastian watches you, nodding.

“Right. And you’d aim at your target and say ‘Crucio’ as firmly as you can.”

“All right,” you say. “Thank you.”

He smiles tightly in response. You’re not sure how to feel about your newfound ability. Proud? Scared? The choice to cast the spell remains within your hands, but given the temptation…

“Ready?” Sebastian has positioned himself on the other side of the corridor, wand at the ready. You push the previous thoughts away and take a deep breath, gripping your wand tightly and setting your feet, sure to not keep your knees locked. In any other circumstance, you’d feel as if you were about to mount a broom.

“I’m ready.”

The air stands still, and it feels as though it's just you and Sebastian in the room as he swings his wand.

“Crucio!”

The effect is immediate. Your skin, your bones, your blood, boiling, stinging, burning, aching, bruising. A groan escapes you as you fall to the ground, all the breath knocked out of your lungs. You dimly hear Sebastian ask you if you’re all right, but even if you wanted to respond, you couldn’t force any sound out besides a pained moan. You hate crying, but you can’t stop tears from streaming down your face.

And yet, the stimulation—because you know the pain isn’t truly physical, it’s just a manipulation of your brain’s communication with the nerve endings in your body… it feels as though shockwaves of adrenaline are being pumped through your veins. You’ve never felt more alive.

And as the pain dulls and eventually disappears, your vision clears, and you feel Sebastian kneeling down next to you with a hand on your back, a tenderness in his eyes, you feel yourself laugh. You clap a hand over your mouth; Sebastian’s brow furrows.

“Are you all right? I’ve never heard of someone laughing after undergoing the Cruciatus Curse.”

“Yes,” you respond, breathless, beginning to wipe the wetness from your face. “Yes, the pain… it’s gone. I just feel so… exhilarated now… if that makes sense.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, and you feel your face flush. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you catch a bit of a smirk from him.

“I suppose. Cry all you want, I’m beginning to think you like this.”

As if it was possible, your face heats up even more, when Ominis mercifully cuts in to the conversation.

“Are you both all right?”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Semi-Finals, Poll 2

One Last Adventure v. Heart of the Mountain

THE POLL IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POST! CLICK “KEEP READING”.

One Last Adventure: (Post-Canon Adventure)

Honestly, Bilbo was only half listening to that part. He was much more interested in Thorin. He could hear the cadence of his voice though in Gimli’s story. It was enough to bring an ache to his heart. Just imagining those blue eyes again, those rough palms gripping Bilbo’s shoulder, his laugh that had been few and far between but worth more than any treasure. 

“And so he told us we would need a burglar, and he knew where the best one would be. That’s when he placed the acorn in my hand telling me it would be what would convince you.”

Bilbo’s hand tightened around the acorn in his pocket. Yes, that was certainly damning evidence. 

“So what happened then? Why didn’t he…why isn’t he going on this quest?” Bilbo asked softly.

Gimli shrugged. “He walked back down the other end of the tunnel and I went to chase after him, but he was gone.”

Bilbo’s brows furrowed. What did that mean?

“So then Gimli found us!” Gulrik jumped in. “And of course, we didn’t believe him. Thought he was dreaming the whole thing up. But we snuck down into the crypt and he’s gone!”

“Gone.” Bilbo repeated.

“The tomb was open and there was no body inside.” Brombrar explained.

Bilbo felt like his heart was leaving his chest. What more did he need than that to know that Thorin was alive? How? He still didn’t know. But if this was the only way for him to see him again and find out for himself…

“Alright, if I do this, we need to set some ground rules.” Bilbo demanded trying to ignore the way the three dwarves lit up. “First off, you are writing your father.” Bilbo stated pointing at Gimli. “And your parents if they are still around.” He told the other two.

Bilbo endured their whining and groaning at being ‘full grown adults’ but Bilbo was not about to budge in his decision. He’s already had to watch two very dear young dwarves die far before their prime. He would not go through that again with these three. Something ugly seized in his chest as he realized there was a chance this miracle didn’t extend to Fili and Kili, and he hadn’t once asked about them. He tried to tell himself that he couldn’t bear to know that there could be a world with Thorin Oakenshield but not his nephews. He knew the truth though. And it was a truth he would rather not speak of, lest he paint himself the selfish, miserable codger that he is. 

“Next, we are going to get help. If I’m remembering my map correctly, we will have to go right past Gundabad, and I doubt the orcs are any less active just because a few hundred thousand of them died in front of Erebor. In fact, I would think they would be more inclined to revenge, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I’m not worried about any orcs, Master Baggins.” Brombrar declared, arms crossed against his chest proudly.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him that he should be, but honestly, Bilbo knew there was no point in arguing with an overhyped tween. He could already feel himself getting a headache. This was going to be a long trip. Just what was Thorin thinking? Why did he ask children to complete this task and not the company he knows and trusts? 

A rather alarmed thought passed through Bilbo’s mind at that point. What if Thorin was still goldsick? It would explain why he wouldn’t go to the company, and perhaps he disappeared to the treasury and that’s why they couldn’t find him? But it didn’t explain why he told them to find Bilbo. He would think if Thorin was still sick, the last person he would want involved was the Arkenstone thief. Bilbo just could not make any good sense out of this mess.

“Ered Luin is in the opposite direction, and Erebor won’t exactly be on our way so what do you suggest, Master Baggins?” Gulrik asked.

Bilbo blinked, having forgotten for a moment what they were talking about. Ah yes, help. A thought crossed through his head that he knew the dwarves would object to, but he did know someone nearby who might be willing to join them. 

“Leave that to me, lads.” Bilbo declared. “We definitely are going to be making a couple of stops though. How are you on supplies?” 

“We refilled while we were in Bree just a few days ago.” Gimli assured.

“Good. Then let’s finish up our luncheon and be on our way.”

Bilbo didn’t interrupt the cheerful and excited chatter from the three dwarves as they compared their quest to others before them. Namely, Thorin’s quest for Erebor. Bilbo had finished up quickly, and decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to grab a smoke while he had the chance. He was actually doing this. He was going back on another journey. Wiser, more world-weary, and definitely remembered his handkerchief. He smirked around the stem of his pipe. Bofur would be so proud.

“Master Baggins, would you tell us about the quest you went on?” Gimli pleaded.

Bilbo took a last lungful before stamping his pipe out on a rock.

“Haven’t you already heard the stories?”

“But we want to hear it from you!” Gulrik stated. “What was it like facing down Smaug?!”

“How did you get the company out of the Mirkwood prison?” Brombrar asked.

“How many orcs did you kill?” Gimli tacked on.

Bilbo shook his head. He could only imagine the wild stories his friends were telling about him in Erebor. He felt a pang of longing hit him square in the chest. He shouldn’t have waited so long to write. 

“Here now. We have a long journey. There is plenty of time to talk along the way, but the best stories start at the beginning.”

Heart of the Mountain: (Evil Arkenstone AU)

He would extend the generosity of the mountain to Dale and rebuild the men’s city as well. Renew their trading partners and allyships. He saw it all so clearly in his head. But now…Now he didn’t know what to do.

***

It was late afternoon by the time Fili, Kili, Bofur, and Oin made it to the mountain. To be honest, Fili didn’t know what to expect. He wanted to believe that their company was safe and sound, but going up against a dragon couldn’t have been easy. After all, they barely escaped with their lives as it was. If it hadn’t been for Kili’s elf…well, a lot would be different. So when they stepped through the gaping doorway, it was a bit unnerving to be met with silence. 

“It’s a big mountain. They could be anywhere.” Bofur marveled.

Fili had a hunch where they could be, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it just yet. They passed through a massive hall with a river of gold straight down its center which led them through the forges which led through to another passage, eventually finding the treasury. The golden light played on the green walls making them all gasp when they saw the treasure hold of Thror for the first time. There was enough gold to rebuild Erebor ten times over! And still have enough remaining to do trade. He couldn’t believe such a vast amount of riches could exist and yet there it was. And amongst it’s coins, looking like ants amongst the giant hills, was the remainder of their company. Fili felt a tightness in his chest ease as he counted to make sure all nine still stood.

“Hail! Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain!” He called out.

The rest of the dwarves looked up, cheering at seeing them whole and hale. Bombur, Bifur, and Gloin all came running, but none nearly as fast as Thorin himself. He bounded up the stairs, immediately pulling Fili and Kili into his arms as soon as he got to them.

“My sister-sons! It is good to see you safe.” Thorin sighed.

Fili found himself relaxing in the hold. He didn’t know what he would be coming back to after the way they left things in Laketown. That, and his mother’s words for when they reached the mountain.

“Keep an eye on your uncle. I don’t trust the gold not to steal another family member of mine.”

“Are we still searching for the Arkenstone?” Kili asked.

“We found it.” Thorin frowned as he slowly revealed the glowing stone from his pocket.

Kili reached out for it, and Thorin pulled it back fast. Fast enough that it gave Fili pause. Kili merely pouted at not being able to touch the gem.

“I don’t want…” Thorin began before leaning into to speak to them. “Tell me, do you remember Bilbo?”

Who on Arda was Bilbo? Any relief Fili might have felt, immediately stiffened back up under the odd behavior of Thorin. Was this what he was supposed to look for? And what did he do if this was it?

“Bilbo…who?” Kili asked.

Rather than answer him, Thorin merely sighed and shook his head, looking off into the distance as if he were listening to someone before turning back to them. 

“How do you two recall the troll incident then?”

THE TROLL INCIDENT? Why was Thorin asking after that?! Fili was so out of his depth. He had no idea what Thorin was on about and it was starting to scare him.

“Well, Fili and I were in charge of watching the ponies.” Kili recounted. “Then we realized it was trolls and followed them to their camp. Then we went back to get the rest of you and…I charged in ahead for…some reason.”

Thorin’s eyes widened as he latched onto the hesitation. “What was the reason?” He demanded.

Kili shook his head. “I can’t remember. Must have been to save the ponies though, right?”

Thorin took a deep breath and released, disappointment clear in his eyes. 

“Right.” He mumbled.

“Anyways…” Fili decided to change the subject, still a bit perplexed. “If you have the Arkenstone, what is everyone looking for?”

Thorin shifted on his feet. “Something that…fits the Arkenstone.”

“Like a box?” Kili laughed. “We’ll leave it in your pocket for now. It can’t be that important, can it?”

“It’s more than just a box.” Thorin snapped, taking Fili and Kili both by surprise. “It’s like a…lock. And I have to have it.”

“Why is that, Uncle?” Fili asked softly.

Thorin gave him an exasperated look, his eyes swimming with frustration that Fili couldn’t understand. They had the mountain. Smaug was dead, and the Arkenstone in his possession. What could Thorin possibly have to be frustrated about? 

“You won’t understand until after we find it!” He declared before sweeping back towards the treasury.

Fili gave Kili a raised eyebrow with his brother merely shrugging in response. Thorin wasn’t making any sense. Fili didn’t know what it meant just yet, but he did know that the situation definitely deserved careful scrutiny. He watched Balin gaze after Thorin with a haunted expression. Yes, the sooner they could get Thorin out of this treasury, the better. 

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

The Night We Met

[Astarion x Named Tav]

Astarion gave her a beguiling smirk, his body moving fluidly as he waved his hand about, “Darling, I’m bored out here in the wilderness. I’m only trying to gossip.” “Then read a book. We found plenty.” She narrowed her eyes, hinting about the giant stack Gale had built near his tent with his finds from the crypt. Astarion's curiosity was genuinely peeked now. Was this little bard hiding a deep, dark, dirty secret? He kept his mouth closed as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

or...

Astarion tries to flirt, to keep setting his nice, simple plan in motion but fails, only succeeding in touching a nerve.

_

Can we all say a thank you to Larian for blessing us with patch 5? Cause omg

Also the song Phayelynn sang in the last chapter and the song I named this chapter after is "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron. I really love that song, and I think it's perfect for any Tav/Astarion relentionship, or even any Tav/companions. It's just a really cute song ❤️

(word count: 3,604)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist for Phayelynn's adventures here

The Night We Met

Phayelynn had found a little secluded spot for herself down by the river that ran by their camp. The moon reflected against the easy current, giving the air a soft glow, and for a moment, she felt at peace. The only sounds were cricket chirping and the crackling of the campfire a little ways away. 

She let out a deep sigh, willing away the tension that had been building up within. The peace only lasted a moment. She found herself growing restless again, her mind already spiraling on thoughts of back home. Her uncle- she didn’t want to think about what he must be going through right now after her disappearance. He was smart, and it wouldn’t take long for him to realize what had happened to her. They had arrived just outside of Baldur’s Gate a few days before the Nautiloid showed, and he knew Phayelynn’s curiosity for the city would’ve lured her in while he was getting word on their next job. 

She could only hope that’s what he assumed was her reasoning for venturing into the city alone. No god would save her from his wrath if he found out her true reasoning. If she survived this, she’d never speak of her attempted foolish endeavor and rush back to him and pretend non of this ever happened. 

Phayelynn let out another sigh, leaning back so her palms rested flat against the dirt floor and she could get a clear view of the starry night sky. Her hand came into contact with a scrap of paper, and a smile flashed across her face. She picked up the piece of parchment, eyes glancing over it once more. 

It was the story Mirkon had written for her, his way of thanking her for saving him from the harpies. The way his face lit up as she thanked him, encouraging his creativity was worth the scolding she had gotten later on from Shadowheart. 

The cleric had been furious, to put it lightly, when she had learned of their detours. She berated Phayelynn like a child. It was embarrassing- more embarrassing than her and Gale’s first meeting only a day ago. 

Why had she slapped his hand? That’s clearly not what he had meant. She shook her head and cringed at the memory. 

At least Lae’zel had her back. To an extent, of course. She’d been vocal since entering the grove that the druids were a waste of time. While in the marketplace, Lae’zel and Shadowheart had come across the tiefling Zorru, the gith had mentioned. He marked their map with the location of where there’d been Githyanki sightings. Phayelynn saved time by insulting Kagha and refusing help from their healer. Finding her people and a creche should be their only focus. 

Gale had intervened, telling them they should all rest and turn in for the night, having finished putting away their food supplies. He’d offer to cook, to which their stomachs had been grateful. He could sense Shadowheart’s desire not to drop the subject, and Astarion only encouraged her, egging her on at Phayelynn’s expense. As her companions started trickling off to their respective tents, Phayelynn made sure to shoot Gale a thankful look before heading off to her little spot. 

“It’s quite a sight.” 

Phayelynn jumped, shuffling where she sat at the sudden voice. She turned her head, eyes wide, her heart slowly settling when she saw that it was just Astarion. Her relief didn’t last long as she gave him a questioning look. 

What did he want now? 

Astarion wasn’t looking at her, standing a few feet away, staring out into the night sky. He finally craned his neck down, looking over her face with a grin. He waved his hands out towards the scenery before them, “The stars, I mean. I could take or leave your chin.” 

Phayelynn gave him a sour look, letting out a huff. She turned her back to him, not in the mood. She narrowed her eyes at the parchment in her hands when she heard his chuckle, followed by his footsteps against the gravel of the riverside shore. 

“Am I disturbing you?” He asked once he stood next to where she sat, looking down at what she was reading. He leaned down slightly to get a better look. 

“Actually, you kind of are,” Phayelynn said without looking up. She tried to focus on Mirkon’s words, on anything besides him. 

“Hmm….” Astarion began reading over her shoulder. “Very strong…killed the harpies in one blow-Ha! Want to be just like the greatest bard ever. Well, I guess embellishing the details comes with the profession, so he has potential.” 

Phayelynn folded the paper so he could no longer read it. She still didn’t want to meet his eye, knowing that he was being purposely nasty to her now at this point. She had thought they might be friends, but now she wasn’t so sure. 

However, something about him made her want to know more. To not completely toss out the idea of friendship. She could read this performance from a mile away. Why he felt the inclination to put on an act for her, she didn’t know but it was indiscreet,  She’d been doing the same for years- pretending to be someone she wasn’t. 

She gave him a pensive look, studying his face as his eyes met her at her folding of the parchment. They were all still practically strangers. They didn’t owe each other the truths of their backstories. She definitely wasn’t willing to share hers yet, so she couldn’t expect him to be ready to share his.

She could indulge him for now. 

With a playful shrug, she settled back comfortably. “I don’t know, I think it’s very cute. And sweet,” she gave him a teasing smile, and he tilted his head, amused and intrigued, “You’re just jealous there’s no mention of a grumpy pale fellow.” 

“A grumpy pale fellow?” his own smile straightened out with a huff, “Really?” 

“Well, I’m just saying,” she shrugged, turning away from him to look out into the water. “maybe if you’re a little nicer to people, you’ll get a story written about you someday.” 

“And will you be the one to write it?” he smirked, looking her up and down before moving to sit on a nearby stone not too far from her. He looked back out into the sky. 

“Like I said, maybe if you start being a little nicer. And if I don’t have anything better to do,” she kept the airiness in her tone. She didn’t sound too seriously invested in the conversation, but she also made sure to make herself not sound bored either. 

He let out a loud chuckle, his head falling back. She quirked an eyebrow. It had seemed rehearsed. Scripted. She bit back a frown, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. 

She rested her head on her knees as she looked over his features. His strong jaw, deep, ruby red eyes- the way his hair curled around his face. He looked too flawless. Too perfect, she settled on. It was drawing her in. 

What was he trying to gain from her with this? He wasn’t this way with the others. She got a flash of dread and panic but hid it just as well. 

“Did you want something?” she asked before he could speak. He opened his mouth, caught off guard by her question. She could tell this was already derailing from how he wanted this conversation to go. She continued, “It’s just, I thought you’d still be brooding after today.” 

Astarion laughed, this time seeming a little more genuine. He gave her another once over before looking away. “No, no, I just wanted a quiet place to think. Gale’s snoring- terrible.” he shuddered at the thought before looking back at the girl. “I wanted to reflect on the events of the day; how you have the irresistible urge to trifle in other’s business despite my best advice.” 

Phayelynn couldn’t stop the dramatic roll of her eyes. 

“You didn’t have to help.” She sighed, feeling a smidge bit guilty. He had gotten pretty diced up in their fight against the harpies. Shadowheart, thankfully, was able to heal the claw marks sliced across his face without leaving scars. The bitterness from earlier returned though, his and Shadowheart’s ganging up on her at dinner still not blown over. “I think you’ve all gotten your point across for the day.” 

Astarion loosened his shoulders. 

“I supposed,” he raised a hand, motioning about before clenching it into a fist, dropping his down to his lap, “It’s not an awful trait to have- rather too noble for my tastes, but I guess what you did for that boy and the little thief could be deemed admirable to most.” 

“I-I-” she stammered at first, “I couldn’t just stand by and not help. I’m sorry. I have a soft spot for kids.” 

“Noted,” Astarion nodded. “So our little trip to the old woman’s house should have no hitches.” 

Phayelynn couldn’t help but laugh, remembering Shadowheart mentioning that tomorrow she wanted them to meet with a woman she’d met in the market, who promised something that could help them. They only had to travel to her home at the edge of the woods. 

“Shadowheart says I’m the bad one.” she giggled. “Ten gold this woman she’s talking about is a witch or a hag- some fairytale creature. I mean, seriously? A little old lady who lives alone in the woods? I know she’s suffering from memory loss, but Shadowheart seems to have read at least one children’s tale as a child?” 

Astarion laughed heartily in agreement.

“Well, darling, I supposed you’ll be the one tomorrow to make Shadowheart eat her own words then?” 

She smiled. 

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the fire, crickets, and occasional owl hooting returning them to a calm. 

Astarion shifted, not wanting to sit in silence for long. 

“That song, the one you sang to break us out of the harpy’s spell?” he asked, “Did you write it?” 

“Oh, that? No,” she blushed, her hands suddenly needing to play with something. She started to fiddle with the parchment, bending it back and forth, forcing herself to stop so she wouldn’t wear it out and rip it. She started picking at the itchy fabric of her tunic. “My father wrote it. I- er, I have his journal. He was a bard, too, he traveled a lot. He’d write about his adventures, and then some of the songs he wrote are also there. He had written that about my mother.” 

Astarion felt her hesitation on the subject, hinting at an all too evidently unoriginal backstory for her. Boring, he hummed to himself, but he concealed it well. His hand trailed up to play with a curl behind his ear, having seen her eyes trace over them earlier. He gave her a specious smile, “Tell me, you’ve mentioned living with an uncle? Let me guess, you were orphaned at a young age, and all you have left is your father’s journal. You aspire to be just like him. Hmm?” 

Phayelynn looked uncomfortable, and Astarion had to keep himself from showing his panic. Maybe he dug deep a little too fast. He saw her shift, grasping at the paper and shoving it in her pocket. She was about to stand. 

He could easily still save this.

“Wait-” he stood as she did, reaching out a hand to keep her in place. Her jaw clenched, an ugly twist to her pink lips. He laid a hand against his breastbone, his shoulders pulled down low. “I’m not good at this. What I was trying to say, in a long, looped-around way, was that it was beautiful. Your voice was…” he paused, his voice growing deeper as he spoke. “beautiful.” 

“Oh,” she said dumbly. She bit her lip, nervously and stupidly falling for his charm. Part of her told her it was an act, but another voice told her this part wasn’t. She felt a slight itch. It was her tadpole reaching into his. 

Beautiful. 

Sincere. 

“You’re not far off.” She admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat hard. Maybe he would do the same if she opened herself up to him only a little. “I wasn’t that young. I was about 16 when I lost them.”

“Darling, I’m over 200 years old. That is young.” He laughed. He tried to gauge her age. “You’re a half-elf, but you are—-young? If 16 isn’t young to you, you can’t be more than a few decades old.” 

“I’m 28,” she confirmed sheepishly. 

“That does explain a lot.” he snickered as she rolled her eyes again at him. 

“My lack of self-preservation?” she cocked an eyebrow. 

“So you do listen to me when I talk?” He took a step forward, leaving less space between them. 

He recounted her back with the tiefling children when they had returned to Mirkon and went into their little cave hideout. She had said she knew what it was like to have to steal to survive. Her self-proclaimed soft spot for children- he was starting to paint a clear picture of her to work with. 

“What did you mean, back when we dropped the boy off? I take it you and your uncle didn’t live comfortably?” 

Her eyebrows pinched together, giving him a too-quick smile. She was unable to hide her caution. He was asking too many questions. Too many specific questions. She doubted he cared to learn about her. She felt a flare of nervousness. 

Did he know? 

Her eyes squinted at him. She tried to pull through to him through their connection, but she felt him close himself off to her. She tilted her head, and he did the same at her, knowing she had caught him. 

No, hells, there’d be no way he would know. 

He stood up straight, lightly scolding himself for not expecting her sudden shift in tone. He was only a few days out of Baldur’s Gate and already out of practice. He pulled a beguiling face, his body moving fluidly as he waved his hand about, “Darling, I’m bored out here in the wilderness. I’m only trying to gossip.” 

She narrowed her eyes a second time.

“Then read a book. We found plenty.” She hinted about the giant stack Gale had built near his tent with his finds from the crypt. 

His curiosity was genuinely peeked now. Was this little bard hiding a deep, dark, dirty secret? He kept his mouth closed as he ran his tongue over his teeth. 

“I touched a nerve,” he said flatly, leaving the statement up to her interpretation.

“Fine,” Phayelynn said abruptly, crossing her arms against her chest. “My mother got sick.” her voice was tight, never staggering as she gave him the gossip he wanted, “She died a year into her sickness, and my father was murdered by some asshole a few days later. My uncle took me in. We were constantly traveling, trying to make money to survive. We stole a lot. We had the whole act down. I would distract the audience with my playing, and then my uncle would go around pit-pocketing the crowd. Not very noble, but it kept us fed. That boy, Mattis, and his sister were using a charmed coin. It changes to whatever side the person who cast the charm says. It was one of the first tricks my uncle taught me. That’s how I knew the girl would steal from me. Every time I said heads or tail, and Mattis repeated after me, it was pretty clear what they were up to. Now, anything else?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to ask her one more question. 

“You can’t just end it there!” His eyes lit up, a little too delighted. “Murder? Your little thieving days? I want the details, darling! The most important parts are clearly being left out!” He pouted. 

She scoffed at him. She shouldn’t have put it past him to be this insensitive. 

“I told you everything you need to know. Maybe if you tell me more about yourself, I’ll be more inclined to further expand.” 

“What’s more to tell? I’m a magistrate back in the city- rather boring in comparison.” He sighed, looking at his nails. He quickly changed the subject. He gave her a nod, “I guess I should be giving you more credit than I have. When this little adventure of ours is over, will you return to your days of thieving and conning the innocent?” 

Phayelynn let out a heavy sigh. That was a question she hadn’t wanted to think about. It was almost more terrifying than the tadpole wiggling in her head. 

“I don’t know.” she looked to the side, back to the water hitting softly against the shore. “I left for Baldur’s Gate on my own. I had business there I wanted to do on my own.” 

“So the mystery behind the great bard continues,” he smirked slyly. 

She huffed; she didn’t owe him an explanation. She turned to face him, looking him over teasingly and with a mischievous grin. She could work this conversation just as well as he was trying to. “Why? Are you going to be sad when our little adventure together is over?” 

Astarion allowed her to change the subject, “Ha! You are quite the ally- even with the little hiccups we’ve had thus far on our journey. I guess the tiefling child did have some proper idea about you. Traversing Avernus? Surviving the crash? The Goblin pack? Standing up to the druid and then facing off against a flock of harpies?” he listed off on his fingers, titling his head side to side in a sing-song way to each. When he was done, he put his hand down, looking her square in the eye, making her breath hitch. “Jokes aside, I’m not easily impressed by people, and when I am, I don’t know how to really show it- and we do have our rather different views on things, but all that being, I have to say, out of all our companions, you’re the one I’ve grown to trust and want to stand by the most.” 

He blinked a few times at her, his face softening. 

Sincere. 

Phayelynn took a breath as their tadpoles connected again. 

“I don’t know if I want you to run off from me just yet.” 

Phayelynn let his words sink into her like the harpy’s song. Her face flushed. “Oh, I thought you didn’t like me.” 

Why was she suddenly so shy? 

“You have your quirks, but I rather not beat a dead horse,” he admitted, seeing her fall but he only allowed it for a moment. “You have your charms as well.” He looked at her with a dangerously pretty smile on his lips. He lowered his voice, “More than you think.” 

Phayelynn felt her heart start to beat fast. Uncontrollably so, for that matter. She tried to tell herself not to take too much stock in his words, but how could she not? Not when he said them while looking at her the way he was looking at her. Like she was some precious thing, and under the moonlight and stars to add to it.

“We could still travel together.” She pipped up before she could think about her words.

“A delicious thought,” Astarion said, making her heart flutter. He pulled her eagerness back, “But,” he trailed off, giving her a moment to jump in, seeing her flustered face at his choice of words. 

“I’m just joking. ” she tried to back peddle. “I have to return to my uncle once this is all said and done. And I’m sure you have some big life back in the city. Being a magistrate and all.”

Her comment threw him off as if he had forgotten he’d told her that. He quickly gathered himself, “Yes, of course. I can’t spend the rest of my life gallivanting in the wilderness. I miss civilization. A firm bed, plush pillows, good wine-” He tried to pick himself back up, but thoughts of what was actually waiting for him back in the city started to plague him. He let out a tired sigh. “Darling, I enjoyed this chat, truly, but I’m getting tired. I’m going to go rest my head.” 

“Oh,” Phayelynn looked a little surprised by his sudden shift. “Okay.” 

He flashed her one last smile for the night. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep tight.” 

“You too,” she frowned as he rushed off. 

She took a few minutes to replay the conversation, a sour feeling bubbling in her stomach. She felt entranced by their private moment alone, but also something felt wrong about the entire thing. She shook her head, not wanting to think about it anymore. She was getting tired. 

She stood and started heading back towards her bedroll near the fire, not realizing the chill that ran up her arms now. It was dark, the light of the fire not too far off, she couldn’t wait for her head to hit her pillow, she was so tired-

“We meet again, as I predicted.” 

“Hells!” Phayelynn nearly jumped out of her skin for a second time that night at the sound. She let out a shrill scream, surely alerting the others in the camp as she turned her head towards the direction of the voice, seeing the being from the dank crypt that had come out of the sarcophagus. 

Maybe Astarion was right; she missed civilization. 

___

[powdermelonkeg]

stares at you with the biggest possible eyes can u talk about crypt of the necrodancer more pls. theres no wiki am Storved of info

There's a wiki!!! It's fandom but it's here!

Okay but for real:

This is Cadence. At the time of the game, she's about 16. The story begins with her dying from a fall, her heart being stolen by the Necrodancer, which forces her to move to the beat of the Crypt just like all the monsters.

The story is revealed after the completion of each zone, so I'll tell you what I've got so far below the cut.

Cadence's Story

Her mom, Melody, died of an illness. At Melody's funeral, Cadence heard her father, Dorian, telling her uncle, Eli, that he had to go find the "gold and loot."

Dorian disappeared, abandoning his daughter to his brother's care. He's been gone for two years. Cadence decides to go after him, dies, gets her heart stolen, etc.

The boss of Zone 4, the final Zone, is named Dead Ringer. He's a guy with a bell on his head. When Cadence beats him, the bell breaks, and it turns out it's Dorian, semi-undead and cursed. You then team up against the Necrodancer (who has Dorian's heart too) and take the Golden Lute from him.

The Necrodancer's whole deal is that he was a bard named Octavian, who got ahold of the Golden Lute and became the Necrodancer, and all the monsters in the crypt dance to the tune of said lute. Cadence and Dorian are literally his captive audience—if you die in his fight, he says "Try again! Try again, my pets. I find this most amusing."

Melody's Story

So, they kill the Necrodancer, and get the lute, and bring it home. They use it to revive Melody. She has to keep playing the lute, or she dies.

Then you play Zones 1 through 4 again as her. The only weapon she can use is the lute, which deals damage whenever she moves next to something.

She's going into the crypt to revive the Necrodancer for answers on how to destroy the lute once and for all. Apparently the plague that killed her hit her town once before, and her house was near-mobbed by people looking for the lute, which her mother Aria had at the time.

Aria disappeared with the lute. Melody resented her for it.

So Melody revives the Necrodancer, who refuses to talk, so she kills him again. She then finds her revived mother with a knife in her chest. She and Aria had the same plan, to destroy the lute, and to revive the Necrodancer to get answers on how to do it—that's why the Necrodancer is alive and able to take Dorian when he does. Although in Aria's case, the Necrodancer won, and killed her.

Aria knows how to destroy the lute. She takes it and starts working her way OUT of the crypt. You start in Zone 4 and end in Zone 1.

That's as far as I've gotten. Aria is hard. She can only use the default weapon, and she dies if she's hit or if she misses the beat. I've beaten 4-1 a couple of times, but I have yet to beat 4-2 (there's always three levels and a boss). So I don't know the rest of Aria's story.

BUT I have a video for you that has all the cutscenes, so here you go!

[boombambaby]

Fictober 2024! - "I know you better!"

"I know you better!" - BoomBamBaby010 - Emperor's New Groove (2000) [Archive of Our Own]

Organized chaos is the best way to explain what happens once the pink vapor cloud of the potion finally begins to dissipate.

Within moments the royal guards have taken over, rushing towards the window Kronk had just appeared from to drag him and a still dazed, but highly agitated kitty Yzma away, and to figure out how to bring Kuzco and Pacha back inside safely. Kuzco blinks his eyes open to glance first across the platform at Pacha, who is staring back at him in what he assumes to be relieved shock and then down at his very human, very NAKED body.

“We did it! Hah! Look, Pach! I’m ME again! Yay for me!”

Hands scrabble to press against his chest, feeling his skin to make sure there isn’t any fur, and laughing a little as he makes sure everything is still in working order. Modest isn’t a word one could ever use to describe Kuzco, having grown up in a palace surrounded by servants who dress, massage and bathe you for special ceremonies (or for whenever he feels like it, honestly), so his current state of undress doesn’t even register until Pacha clears his throat to speak.

“Kuzco.”

Broken out of his thoughts at the sound of Pacha’s strained voice, Kuzco glances up only to find a poncho hovering in front of his face and blocking his line of sight. He blinks, confused and leans around the side of it to stare at Pacha, only to find the llama herder using his unoccupied hand to shield his eyes from the view.

“What are you, five?” He quips, amused.

“Kuzco, take the poncho. You can’t address your public and announce that you aren’t dead like that.” Pacha grits out, and the Emperor snickers as he takes the familiar clothing item and slips it over his head. This is the second time Pacha has offered it to him, the first time being when he was shivering and curled up on the ground in the jungle, and for reasons he doesn’t quite understand he can feel himself almost tearing up from the sentimentality of it.

Someone clears their throat above them, and they both look up to find the Royal Record Keepers head poking out of the window, staring down at them and gesturing wildly.

“Are you both okay? Oh! I can’t believe you’re alive, Kuzco! Thank Inti! We were so worried! Oh we have to—“

RRK quickly disappears, presumably to start barking orders at servants and the scribe to summon the council and schedule an audience and Kuzco sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sure didn’t miss all of that.” He mutters, just loud enough for Pacha to hear him over the wind.

Relief is a tangible thing in that moment, unseen but heavily felt in the air between them and they share a quiet look of amused understanding that only two people who have shared a figurative fox hole are capable of.

Sometime later, after he and Pacha are hoisted through the window and back onto solid ground, and Kuzco has been checked out by the Royal Healers to ensure there aren’t any injuries or side effects from the spell, the two of them are briefly separated while Kuzco speaks with his advisors and makes plans to announce his good health. It’s taxing, and all he wants to do is take the longest bath of his life, have a massage and curl up in bed for a solid week– responsibilities be damned. But it’s a necessary evil, and once he’s crossed all his t’s and dotted his i’s, the council and most of the guards finally leave him alone.

“What would you like done with them?”

The question catches him off guard, and Kuzco spins around to ask the guard who he’s talking about when he finally notices Kitty Yzma thrashing against the bars of a makeshift cat carrier sitting on the floor. Kronk is sitting beside her, unusually stoic and he wonders not for the first time how someone like him could get caught up with someone like the living crypt keeper.

“Well, I’m sure not taking them to dinner, chuckles.” It’s directed at the guard, but Kuzco is watching Kronk when he makes the comment and notices the visible flinch he gives at the mention of a ‘dinner’.

If he had to bet, he’d guess the big buffoon didn’t even realize what he was doing and was more interested in impressing him with that dinner than actively trying to hurt him. What a shame. “Take them to the dungeon. Let them rot down there for a while we figure out what to do with them. But first– I’d like a word with kitty kitty.”

Yzma hisses at the nickname, and that alone makes this inevitable conversation all the more worth it. Kuzco smirks as he heads over to the carrier, bending down so he’s not exactly face to face with the feline, but more than close enough to catch her eyes.

“Hey, look at the bright side! At least you have hair now!” Kuzco teases, grinning when he’s met with a nose twitching scowl.

“Kuzco, listen; this has all been one huge misunderstanding—“ Yzma starts, but she’s quickly interrupted by Kuzco lifting a hand. “Ah ah ah! That’s EMPEROR Kuzco to you. Now that I’m large and in charge again.”

Another scowl, and an irritated flick of her tail. “My apologies, Emperor Kuzco. As I was saying—“

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you. A ‘misunderstanding’.” He repeats, air quotes emphasizing the comment. “But you see, the funny thing is? I heard you back in that Jungle, Yzma. Telling Kronk all about tracking that llama down and killing him. It’s a little hard to misinterpret that, wouldn’t you say?”

For a moment there’s no reaction, Yzma’s furry little face distorted in shock at being caught red pawed, and Kuzco revels in his amusement at catching her off guard. Later, when he’s alone and he has time to reflect on the fact that Yzma, the closest thing to a parent he’s ever had, tried to kill him he’ll have a proper breakdown—but for now? He’s satisfied with putting on a mask and pretending all is right with the world.

“Please Kuzco, you must understand; I was merely trying to do what I thought was best for the Empire! That’s my only concern here.” She pleads, adopting as sweet a tone as she can muster. “If you just give me another chance- ”

“Give YOU another chance? Oh, you’re kidding right? How stupid do you think I am?” He pauses to lean in even closer, all traces of amusement wiped from his expression. “I know you better than that, Yzma. There’s not, and there never WILL be a ‘second chance’ for you.”

Yzma has the decency to look chagrined, and Kuzco stands and brushes his borrowed poncho off, giving her once final glance before turning his back on the pair; literally. “Your Highness? Rudy the janitor is here to see you.”

“Great—tell him to hang on a sec, I’m gonna need about five baths before I can put my robes back on and talk to anyone.” He turns to leave, waving over his shoulder in Yzma and Kronk’s direction as he does do. “As for Yzma? I’m done with her. You can take her away.”

Lifelong trauma, and a laundry list of making up for his past transgressions aside, and Kuzco is more than ready to get on with his life.

But first?

That much needed bath.

[comicintheheart]

The very little patience Dorian possesses is at its limit. Where is the Inquisitor? He already checked the library, the training grounds, the War Room, the Crypt, every one of his companions’ rooms. Sighing, the mage stops in the middle of the hall, one hand touching his forehead. All of this is Cole’s fault. Of all the memories the damn spirit could pick up in his head he had to go for that?

Rilienus, skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles. He would have said yes.

How long has it been since he last thought of Rilienus? But any reminiscence or nostalgia was washed away when Dorian saw the look in Alistair’s eyes. Curiosity, confusion, fear. The Inquisitor didn’t say a word. Not then and not when they returned to camp. The younger mage remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the day and the trip back to Skyhold. Even at night, when they would share a tent, Alistair just went to sleep curled on his side when he usually would seek Dorian’s embrace.

And now he can’t be found anywhere in the fortress. Dorian just wants this game to end so they can talk properly so he can be clear that Rilienus is past, and Alistair is the one he wants. The only one he loves. A small laugh escapes the mage’s lips, self-deprecated and bitter. Who would think that he would be in this type of situation? Sighing once again, Dorian walks to the gardens and just look at that! The Inquisitor is there, talking with Elrya. She notices him first and Dorian doesn’t really like the smile that shows up on his friend’s lips.

She leaves the Inquisitor and walks past him still smiling but rather than think about what his friend may be conjuring up, Dorian goes straight to Alistair, who looks a bit surprise to see him.

- Tired of hiding yourself, Lord Inquisitor? – Dorian questions to the younger mage's confusion.

- I wasn’t hiding, Dorian. I have been in Skyhold the whole time.

- Hiding from me. – the words are muttered, and Alistair can’t miss the anger in them.

- I wasn’t hiding. I just… - a sigh escapes the younger mage’s lips – I was just preparing myself before talking to you. In case… In case I didn’t like the answers waiting for me.

Alistair isn’t looking at him and the nervous stance in the Inquisitor makes all the anger in Dorian disappear. With all the praise and adoration always shower upon him is easy to forget that Alistair is just a man. And not a very confident one. Dorian knows that his magic, his eyes, his scars… All serve to dimmish Alistair self-confidence. And in Alistair nervousness Dorian can see himself from before. The fear of being tossed aside, of not being important enough or good enough, of being a second choice, a placeholder. Everything that Alistair definitely isn’t.

-I’m sure Elrya told you that there was nothing between Rilienus and me.

- She did. – and yet Dorian is kept from the white eyes he likes so much.

Stepping closer, Dorian invades the Inquisitor’s personal space, his lips almost touching a reddening cheek.

-You know… - the older mage whispers – I’m glad that never was. After all, I have something better now.

And finally, Alistair’s white eyes focus on him. A little hesitant at first, still uncertain and fearful. So, Dorian let his eyes show the truth of his words, of everything that he thought that he would never have but that he found with Alistair. Love. A real, deep and strong love. A place to be himself without fear. A home at Alistair’s side, in his arms.

-Better? – the Inquisitor repeats, the fear and doubt slowly leaving his eyes.

- Much better. – Dorian answers with a smile, one that grows at seeing Alistair smile too.

A kiss is the Inquisitor’s answer. Holding Dorian by the back of the neck, Alistair kisses him with passion and possessiveness, with a relief that only grows stronger when he is met with equal fervor, Dorian hands holding him by the hips in a strong grip.

Only when the kiss ends is that Dorian realizes that he was passionately kissing the Inquisitor in the middle of the gardens, and he feels his face heat with embarrassment. But Alistair just takes him by hand and guides them back to the fortress’ hall. And when the Inquisitor looks at him there is only happiness and love in Alistair’s eyes. And a smile on his lips. One that Dorian would do anything to keep seeing.

[beecreeper]

*vibrates excitedly*

We're doing asks again!?

5,6,26 for the gang please

5 answered here and the rest under the cut!

6.) How would the player go about meeting them in Act 1? What is their introduction?

Briar -- Briar would be found inside the dank crypt, having landed outside the cave entrance round the back and followed the smell of death and mildew inside. She was just about to try and ambush the thieves but then the player comes in and deals with them instead so Briar just waits and listens, preparing to ambush the player instead. If you fail a perception check she tries to jump you but the tadpole connection stops her and she immediately goes into “lying to get this person on my side” mode. “Oh sorry about that I thought you were with those bandits thank GOODNESS I found someone else who escaped that ship maybe we can help each other?” If you pass the perception check you can spot her and choose to attack or say something but the tadpole interrupts you either way.

Ferox -- If Ferox were a companion, you would him find having just killed a bunch of goblins. He got confronted and SNAPPED. The player would hear the sounds of a struggle somewhere outside of the deserted village. The encounter space would need to be set up in such a way that you can only see the combat happening when you’re close enough to be dragged into initiative (like down where you find scratch? But scratch would probably have to be moved somewhere else). There’d be a bunch of goblins already dead but a few more to pick off before you can talk to him. Once initiative ends, the dialogue tree starts immediately.

Molli -- If Molli was a companion, she would be found lost in Ethel’s swamp and getting accosted by something, though I haven’t precisely decided what. Gut instinct says some kinda plant thing, like being all tangled in vines or something and she’s calling for help. You can approach to help her but then the whatever it is attacks. If you save her but don’t recruit her there she shows up again at the grove and can still be recruited at any time but disappears after act one. If you leave act one without triggering the fight, then she can be found dead tangled up in the same vines.

Myrala – I'm struggling with Myrala the most because I have so many half ideas for her and none of them are singing to me just right. Gut instinct says she’d be near the grove, helping out with the tieflings and probably getting involved with the tiefling kids specifically because she’d have such an immediate soft spot for them. Another idea is that she could be encountered in various places (either determined randomly or by whatever you run into first) that are all little treasure stashes that she’s trying to lock pick into. Even though Myrala hasn’t been a thief in years, being flung into the wilderness has activated her survival instincts and she’s picking back up the habits she had in Menzoberranzan that kept her alive, justifying it to herself as necessary and telling herself that as long as she’s not stealing from/hurting people *directly* it’s still morally okay. Maybe you could confront her about stealing and she’d try to lie about what she was actually doing? I gotta stew more on this but I don’t wanna keep this reply waiting any longer lol

Poppy – Poppy would be in the goblin camp drinking in the main area, evidently having a great time. If you talk to her, she tadpole connects with you and says GET ME. THE FUCK. OUT OF HERE. She had landed in an area where she ran across the goblins first and was just rolling with the whole true soul thing to avoid getting gutted on the spot. If you don’t recruit her or specifically warn her, she’ll die if you poison the goblin ale.

26.) Give us one of your Tav’s secrets!

Ferox -- Ferox usually discloses his urges and the fragments of his past that he remembers but he deliberately chooses NOT to tell anyone how familiar that roasted dwarf smelled. He's taking that one to his grave.

Briar -- okay like. BESIDES the memory loss and murder urges that she hides from her companions that's old news. Pre-tadpole Briar kept her last name and hometown a secret, mostly because she considered that part of life completely worthless. As far as she was concerned she emerged fully formed at 14 covered in her foster parents blood. (Gortash tracks down this information anyway just to be petty with it)

Molli -- Something Molli doesn't tell anyone, even after the details of her situation with Gortash come out, is that she BEGGED to stay with him when he was sending her away to be tadpoled. Not only was she terrified for her life but she was also SO broken and dependent on him at that point. She was convinced that *she* must have done something wrong and was desperate to get back in his good graces because that's the pattern that had been so deeply ingrained into her.

Myrala -- that she *has* stolen things since coming to Baldur's Gate. She sets rules for herself (only from people who can afford it, never involve the people directly, only take what you need) but she feels awful about it anyway. She spends so much time preaching about how Eilistraee gave her a second chance, so stealing, even just to survive or to help her converts, feels so much like a betrayal of that. It's ESPECIALLY important to her that none of her little group of converts/refugees ever find out.

Poppy -- she's low-key scared of dogs but doesn't like to admit it so she just grits her teeth and bares it. Scratch makes her SUPER uncomfortable