#i could have summoned so many mage hands

[magical-girl-coral]

brb, im going to throw myself into the fucking ocean

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

YASASHII NO DE

HE CAME IN 20 PULLS……………….. ……… ….. …. . … …. .. .. . . … . .. . .. . . . TRULY YASaSHii OF YOu, GOOD SiR 😭

***Crowley Groovy, chibi sprite, lesson lines, and vignette spoilers below the cut!***

Unfortunately, we do not get any more details on his profile. It’s the same as the profile he had before the update. Age and birthplace unknown, 185 cm tall, favorite food is wild game, and his hobby is vacationing.

SDFHEGYOGYFQEN;jkhaCWIDODB A LOT OF CROWLEY'S LINES ARE VERY CHILDISH OR GOOFY... Like he has one where he complains about Grim eating his snacks, tells on students who are sleeping in class, and gets distracted by shiny objects (which, I guess, is par for the course for a crow).

Crowley cannot attend Alchemy class and does not have Chats. His Buddies are Deuce, Vil, and Grim (with Grim being his Duo Magic partner). Deuce and Vil are interesting choices, I wonder why those two in particular... (Some friends and I were memeing earlier about how "all those characters have single parents so Crowley must be a single parent" and, "Vil is the Evil Queen and Meleanor is a princess of evil", etc.) Crowley can, however, attend the other lessons and it’s every bit as awkward as you think it is. (He has a pre-lesson line where he expresses surprise taht he has to do homework 🤡)

THE CROWLEY DOPPLEGANGER ALLEGATIONS ARE TRUE 💀 He can just straight up run into a clone of himself during lessons… THE DEVS KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING, they even goofily have Crowley say, “Oh! Hello, me!” while the other Crowley is in class for the special lesson… THEY KNEW HOW DUMB THIS WOULD BE 😭 (The dialogue states the Crowley that barges into class is a magical projection…?)

Here are some of his chibi sprites, as well as his Groovy candy. Crowley is not only very yasashii, but also very cute!!

He does, in fact, have vignettes but they are unvoiced. The first part is him running an assembly with the dorm leaders present. Crowley discusses the health of an adolescent apple tree in the school's courtyard, and no one seems to be interested in his speech. Malleus barges in late and, in a fit of anger at having not been invited, starts unleashing lightning. Wow, just like how Meleanor shoots lightning at Lilia... Like husband, like wife/j Everyone retires to their dorms, leaving Crowley to deal with an upset Malleus. The second part features Crowley having lunch with the other staff members (Sam included!). Each staff member is eating something different (Vargas is of course having eggs), and Crowley is revealed to have a great appetite in spite of his age. Crewel and Trein wonder how many decades old Crowley is, since he was apparently still headmaster when Crewel was a student and when Trein started teaching at NRC. Finally, Crowley is walking down main street and spots Yuu, Grim, and some mob students skipping class… so he uses his Lash of Love to discipline them! He binds everyone together and proceeds to drag them back to class. (It was surprising, we haven’t seen the Lash of Love since like… what, the prologue? I almost forgot about it.) Crowley alludes to the fact that even though the students joke about him, he is actually a very powerful mage that shouldn't be taken lightly, you know?? The vignettes end with Crowley referring to his students as "apple trees" that he is nourishing and watching over as they grow, which rounds us nicely back to the apple tree he mentioned in his first vignette.

BUT ANYWay HEREmS thE GROOviY in JUICy DETAIL INkjoW YOU WERE ALL WAiTING FOR

It’s so pretty AaAAaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaAaaAHHHHH 🥺 His grotesquely detailed hand reaching out to the viewer, who appears to be awaking from within a coffin… and do I have to mention the parallel between Crowley here and the mysterious hand that is offered to us in the mirror at the very beginning of the game????? Which could imply that Crowley is beckoning/summoning us into another world... The dim room, light spilling onto the Mirror of Darkness… So atmospheric!! If Crowley knows how to do one thing well and consistently, it’s drama~ The Groovy totally reminds me a lot of the prologue when Crowley tells Yuu to go before the mirror to get sorted. Omg guys... He's posted like Masquerade Malleus/j

One detail I super appreciate in this illustration is that you can see the dorm leaders in the background! If you squint, you’ll realize that there are 5 of them posing exactly like how they are in the following promotional artwork:

The one without a matching pose is Idia, who is present via his tablet. Though… I feel like we’re forgetting something 🤔 … Eh, I’m sure it’s nothing, nothing at allllllllll~

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt II

Part 2 of my Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys fic

Content Warnings: Dark!Rhys, mental manipulation, brief mentions of sacrifices/blood

------------------------------

“Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”

His clawed hand still grips my throat, tight enough to make stars start dancing across my vision. All attempts at pulling him off, pushing him away, fail miserably. 

“You’re shaking, Witchling,” he coos, his breath warm on my neck as he brushes his lips over the shell of my ear, laughing in dark amusement to my plight. “What’s the matter?”

I bash my fists against his solid, and very bare, chest uselessly. “Let go!”

Rhysand, Prince of Hel, hums, as if thinking, then suddenly drops me in a rush, my limp body falling onto the cracked stone floor without the support of his weight. Dried anise and rosemary crushes under my palms--another failed attempt at warding off evil. Our books are clearly outdated. 

My coughing must attract attention, because the door leading down into our decrypt little basement swings open, the old wood hitting the door with a horrendous crack. I glance at the demon I’d accidentally summoned in a panic, if he gets out, I’ve doomed my entire coven!

But the violet eyed demon merely grins wickedly as he dissolves into shadow and smoke, taking my grandmother’s tome, and the spell that would rid me of him, with him into the dark recesses of the basement. I can still feel him there, his icy power chilling the room, but he has no solid shape.

“What are you doing down here?” My grandmother, the leader of our coven, sounds worn and tired and she has used that weathered lilt to worm her way into many enemy’s houses, just to smite them with a snap of her fingers. She may look old and feeble, but it is all a ruse to get people to let their guard down, and once that happens, she can pluck whatever she wants from their open hands.

I’d idolized her as a child. I wanted so badly to prove to her and my mother that I could be just as good a witch as them, but I have nothing to show for it but the scattering of obsidian salt and a Prince of Hel I just let into our home.

I scramble to my feet, mind spinning as I try to figure out how I will explain all this. Though, that becomes useless a moment later when the evidence of my transgressions disappears, as if they never existed. All the dried herbs, the salt in the summoning circle, even my chalk runes are gone. It is just me and a couple of candles in the basement by the time my grandmother makes it down the stairs.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, child,” she snarls, her gnarled cane stomping angrily against the final step. 

She can’t see or smell what I have done. Does that free me or doom me? And how the Hel did it disappear like that? It certainly wasn’t me, which means Rhysand, for some reason, is hiding the evidence.  

“I was…” my throat burns, I run a hand over it absently, hoping the darkness hides the claw shaped indents in my skin. There will surely be bruises too. “Practicing! For the Solstice!” The lie isn’t as smooth as I’d like, but it will be better than the truth.

My grandmother’s worn head swivels to look around the empty basement, her wrinkled mouth pinched in a permanent frown that looks extra deep today. “What have you decided to show us?” There is nothing but disappointment in her tone, even though there is nothing here for her to be disappointed in. 

“It’s a surprise,” I say.

Her cane is made from the first tree ever planted in this town, scared with runes and blessings and imbued with enough magic to power the city’s mage lights for a year; she uses it to smack me in the shoulder, her strength still startling even though I know there’s more to her than the slight hunchback. 

“Do not disappoint me as you always do,” she hisses. 

Shame floods me. I am always the disappointment. Always the let down. My sisters are natural talents. My aunts born with such intense magic they have to go on annual retreats to expel it. My mother hunts men for sport. And I am the girl who was so desperate to be something, she went to a book of dark magic for help.

I hang my head. “Grandmother, I have a confession.” I should just get it over with. There is no point in delaying the inevitable. I don’t possess enough magic to send a demon back to its realm. I will need her help. Better to break the bargain I’d made than wait for it to blow up in my face. 

She sighs like this conversation just might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. “What now?”

“I-” I try to tell her, really I do, but when I open my mouth, no words come out. It feels as if something’s lodged itself in my throat.

Shit, maybe Rhysand damaged my vocal chords!

“I-” I try again the words catch as before. It is not as if I am choking, there is nothing redistricting my airway, I’m not struggling to breathe, but no matter how hard I try to admit my sins, the words stick.

She smacks me with the cane again. “Stop messing around!”

“I’m not, I-” A dark, sensual laugh slithers its way into my head, as if he’d done it in my ear.

She throws up her hands and turns away. “I better not see any of this nonsense at the Solstice. Or you’ll be the sacrifice to the Goddess.”

“Come now, Darling, did you really think I’d let you tell her about our little bargain?” Even mentally his voice is a deep purr that makes a shiver run down my spine. He is thoroughly embedded in my head, I can feel the dark shadow of him sitting like a cat curled up in the back of my skull. Every time I try to mention him, his icy power flows through me.

My grandmother slams the basement door shut behind her, and only then does Rhysand materialize from the corner of the room, leisurely stretching out his great wings as if awakening from a nap. Whatever magic he used to hide the room falls away, leaving the salt and herbs visible once more.

“What did you do to me?” I snarl.

He chuckles as he tucks his wings back behind his lythe body. “We had a bargain, any interference with that bargain will leave you in a similar state of discomfort. If not worse.”

I rub a hand over my throat. “You’re a bastard!”

He saunters closer, footsteps silent on the worn stones. I find myself shrinking back against the wall as he approaches again. 

“You summoned me, Darling, this is the bed you get to lie in.”

“You tricked me,” I snarl.

He’s close enough now that I can smell the jasmine and citrus scent of him, mingled with a faint hint of smoke. Close enough that I can read the runes etched into his bronze skin, the markings ancient and sharp. If he was anyone else, anything else, I would be tempted to reach out and touch, trace the swirling shapes over his defined chest and shoulders.

“Tricked you?” He frowns as he braces his hand on the wall above my head, effectively caging me in against the rough stone. “You summoned me, Witchling, and in case you missed that delightful little threat from the crone, I am your only salvation from a Solstice sacrifice.”

“What kind of demon could be my salvation?” I retort.

He uses the hand not bracing himself against the wall to take my chin between two of his claws, tilting my head up to look at him. I have never felt smaller than I do at this moment. 

“You have no idea what I could give you, if you only asked,” he says, voice dropping to a husky whisper. His eyes drift to my lips, and his tongue slips out to wet his own as he watches the way my breath hitches in my throat when he speaks. “I could show you power you have only dreamed of; offer cities on their knees to you. There is nothing I can’t give you.”

I can see it, as clearly as if it was happening in front of my eyes: Power, glittering and dark pouring from my fingertips, consuming everything in its path; droves of fragile, powerless humans bowing at my feet, their arms laden with gifts and tribute. I didn’t think I wanted things like that. Power was the pursuit of my grandmother, never an option for me. But the feeling of it, even in a vision is enough to make my head spin. Could I really feel like that? 

“You desire power, Witchling, that’s why you summoned me, isn’t it?” He whispers, claws drifting down my throat in a sensual caress.

I nod, too scared to speak, too ashamed to admit that he is right, to admit that I am gullible and weak willed enough to even entertain the possibilities spinning through my head.

“Aren’t you tired of being forgotten? Cast aside? Belittled?”

His hand drifts lower, following the stuttering pulse of my heartbeat down my chest. I should shy away from his touch, but my body shivers under his ministrations instead. I can’t look away from him, from the pretty images he spins round and round in my head like it’s his own personal movie screen. 

“Aren’t you tired of being good and quiet and ignored?” 

He’s so close now if I tilt my head up I’ll brush my lips against his. My own gaze flicks to those full, sensual lips. Perhaps power is not the only thing I want, and I cannot, for the life of me, remember why I don’t want him. It’s like everything has been emptied out of my head except for him.

“Yes,” I whisper. My voice doesn’t sound like mine, like I’m entranced somehow but I don’t know how to break the spell, how to tell if this is me or if it’s him.

“Just a taste is all it takes, Darling,” he closes the gap just enough to brush his lips over mine. It isn’t cold or unyielding like last time, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my suddenly flushed skin. 

My body chases after him like it’s starved, hand reaching up to tangle in the long strands of his dark hair. He lets me pull him back, lets me slot my lips over his. When he kisses me back there is no longer ice in it, only an all consuming warmth that floods my system like water breaking through a damn. 

He kisses like a desperate male; all tongue and teeth, fangs scraping against my lower lip as he takes and takes from me. And I let him. Damn me! I let him push me back against the wall, let his hands slide down my body until he can lift me up and wrap my legs around his trim waist. He tastes like smoke and jasmine and endless possibilities. When his lips are on mine I feel infinite. Under his grip I should feel helpless and frail as I always do, but like this, I think I might just be able to be anything.

A bit of shadow slips from his lips when he finally pulls away, the smoky haze drifting along our shared breath as he puts his lips to my throat. He’s everywhere, in my head and under my skin, everywhere but where I think I need him the most.

His fangs scrape against my throat as I tilt my head back against the wall, letting him have free reign to do with my body as he pleases. “Doesn’t this feel better?” He purrs, the vibrations of his voice against my flushed skin making a shiver race down my spine. 

“Yes,” I gasp when he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, the coppery scent of blood in the air telling me he’s marked me as his before the pain registers. 

Rhys laves over the wound with his tongue. “Never again will you feel small, or powerless,” he says lowly. “Your coven will bow to you. They will regret ever doubting you.”

I rock my hips into his, desperate for some sort of friction. “You-you could really do that?” Words are hard against the images still spinning around inside my head, competing with the feel of his warm body between my legs and his teeth still nipping at my shoulder.

“You need only to say two little words, and all of it is yours, Witchling,” he purrs, lips making their way back up my throat. 

When he kisses me again, there’s the coppery tang of my own blood on his tongue. “Tell me your mine and it will be done.”

My head is starting to feel fuzzy, the room spinning as the images in my head all start to blur together. The stars in his eyes start to twirl around his irises, for a second the movement takes all the color out of his irises, until there is nothing but black emptiness. I blink away the strange vision.

“I-” Upon my hesitation, his lips are back on mine again, his hands exploring my body, slipping beneath my shirt to trace patterns in my skin. I think his claws might scratch marks into my sensitive flesh but my head is too empty to pay it any mind. What’s a little blood?

“Say it,” he presses, voice a husky whisper that makes heat flare in my core. I want to know what other things he might whisper in my ear with that tone. “Say your mine. Let me give you everything you deserve.”

I do deserve more than this. For too long I have been forgotten and ignored or belittled for being a waste of space. I’m tired of it! For once, I want to make people fear what I am capable of. I want people to regret casting me aside when they see me.

“I’m yours, Rhysand,” I say.

Something hot, like a brand inks its way across my spine. So intense and blistering that I scream. He swallows that sound with another kiss, tongue swiping behind my teeth as my body writhes against the blinding pain. 

“It’s ok,” he coos, “just my sigil, so everyone knows who you belong to. It won’t hurt much longer.”

Another kiss is all it takes for me to forget entirely why there are tears streaming down my cheeks. My head feels so incredibly emtpy. 

He runs his tongue over my cheek, licking away the tear streaks that feel so foreign on my flushed skin. “See, that’s better, isn’t it, Witchling?”

I nod even though I can’t remember what he’s referring to. Of course I feel good, he’s here, holding me, whispering sweet things in my ear while his hands roam over my skin. 

He grins, fangs glinting in the candlelight. “We will have everything we deserve, Darling, and more when we’re done with them.”

“Them?” Were we talking about someone? I don’t remember.

The stars really do wink out of his eyes, the violet rapidly disappearing until there is nothing but unending darkness. His wings flare out behind him, apex talons sharpening until the form points. Shadows seep from his shoulders in rolling waves, until their darkness fills the room. “The witches of course. We have unfinished business with them.”

I think, maybe, there is something wrong with the way he looks, some old instinct in me trying to warn me to run. But I reach out a hand and brush it curiously over the ridge of his wing, feeling the leathery membrane shutter beneath my touch. 

“What do you need me to do?” I ask.

He lowers me onto the floor and places a big, worn tome in my hands. I feel a flash of recognition in the back of my mind, but before I can place it, the memory is ripped away by a tendril of shadow. “Let’s start with burning a few books, hm? Then we have some Solstice sacrifices to make.”

------

Tag List: @girl-math-aint-mathing / @hjgdhghoe / @gloomy-hag / @barb00235

[lightan117]

Cake

Lucanis X FRook (Mage/Mourn Watch)

**This is a little snippet of my ongoing story that I have inside my head. I have no idea what will happen in the game, so I am creating shit to fill my days until I do.**

(Fluffly story)

Daisy didn't know what was going wrong.

She's been stuck in the kitchen for almost two hours, and it felt like the walls were starting to close around her after her second attempt at baking a dessert. It doesn't help that she's trying to rely on memory alone rather than simply caving into asking her mothers for the recipe. It's not that she doesn't want to contact them; she just saw them not long ago. And it went...as well as one would expect.

Daisy and her comrades were on a rather rough mission to stop a group of Venatori mages from disrupting a special rite in Navarra. Once Daisy heard what was about to happen, she grabbed Emmrich and Lucanis to stop them. Of course, the undead turned against them, along with the mages summoning demons every five seconds, which wasn't helping at all. Emmrich and Daisy did what they could to turn the undead while Lucanis took out the mages. Oh no, it gets better. Somehow, the vints managed to pull off summoning a pride demon at the last second. Daisy was cursing left and right over the thought that she should have brought Davrin along to help. Until, of course, they had some unexpected help from her mothers.

Her mothers. How embarrassing.

Madam Valentina Dupont and Lady Catalina Chastain. Two of the small handful of influential women of Nevarran nobility. Of course, the gossip about them is only heard in the quietest of whispers as no one would ever dare to imply that the two ladies (one of whom was married at one point to Lord Adrian Dupont before his untimely demise). Those two ladies, however, were a force to be reckoned with. And it absolutely scared Daisy shitless.

To say that the pressure intensified tenfold while her mothers gave them backup was an understatement. Daisy did the best she could between healing her friends and pushing back more of the undead. Emmrich, of course, was beside her, commenting that her mothers would most likely give her an earful once everything was taken care of. "Shut it, Grandpa, or else I am going to tell them that you were the one who broke Lady Duflur's vase at her salon after one too many glasses of wine." Emmrich shot her a glaring look, which caused Daisy to giggle.

"My dear child, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh? That so? I think I strongly remember you flirting with a serving girl before your lanky limbs decided to uproot from under you, causing you to stumble quite a ways into Lady Duflur's family vase that she never shuts up about. After that, you politely excused yourself, leaving me to deal with the mess I happened to just have walked into." Daisy rounded on the necromancer, pointing a finger in his chest. "Try me, Gramps. You owe me."

"Well then, it seems we've come to an impasse." Emmrich took the girl and spun her around to block an incoming hit for her. Daisy, in turn, let out a magical blast to throw some skeletons backward from them. "And I would prefer if you stop calling me Gramps. I am not that old."

"Never gonna happen, Grandpa!" Daisy called back to him.

Of course, Lucanis shouted at both of them, "If you two would focus for five minutes until this is over!!" Daisy threw the Crow a smile and a barrier over him before returning to the fight again.

Once the mages were dead and the undead themselves had returned to normal—as normal as one would say about the undead—Daisy's mothers, of course, came down upon her like birds of prey. Lady Catalina began fretting over her as soon as Daisy was within reach, pulling on her face, asking if she got hurt, whether any scratches needed tending to, and why she was there in the first place; the questions kept coming until Madam Valentina stepped in. Madam Valentina, being a hard woman, asked Daisy if she was truly hurt, and Daisy replied that she was indeed in good health. Lying to her mothers would put her in even more hot water, so she answered what she could to their questions. That was until Emmrich interrupted with a cough.

"My dear Emmrich, I didn't see you there." Madam Valentina commented with a smirk, which caused Emmrich's eye to twitch in annoyance. "I see you are in relatively good health."

"Madam Dupont, Lady Chastain. It's a pleasure to see you both, as always." Emmrich gave them a short bow. "Fortune smiles upon us that you happened to join our little scuffle."

"Indeed, we were not expecting my daughter to be here, but it seems trouble continues to follow you wherever my dear." Madam Valentina's mouth curled upwards into a smirk. "Who is your friend, my child? You have yet to introduce us officially. I'm afraid last time was cut rather short."

"Oh! Forgive me, mother, this is Lucanis Dellamorte. Lucanis, this is my mother, Madam Valentina of House Dupont. Besides her is Lady Catalina Chastain." Each lady gave a short curtsy in response. Lucanis went to bow in return, but Lady Catalina broke the formality of the meeting with a rather unladylike squeal.

"Oh my dear, this is the Crow you've written us about!" Lady Catalina smiled brightly as she gushed over the revelation. Daisy felt her face heat up at the sudden disclosure of information in front of said Crow. She could feel his eyes on her as she stared down her mother in shock.

"No, my dear. I believe this is the same Crow that threatened to kill the rat-face man should anything happy to our dear." Madam Valentina admitted, which caused Daisy to suddenly direct her attention to the Crow, who found himself looking anywhere but the woman next to him. "I must say, Dellamorte, you being so protective of my daughter was surprising, to say the least. It's lovely to know my daughter has such devoted friends." Emmrich, being the gossip that he is, continued to make fun of his two comrades until it was time to leave.

Hours afterward, Daisy found herself in the lighthouse kitchen, trying her hardest to create a simple cake from memory. Seeing her mothers again when she was not at death's door brought back faint memories of Lady Catalina coming to their home with sweets to share between them. Those moments of happiness were few in her childhood and very precious. With the friends she'd made along the way, she wanted to bring them a piece of that happiness. Even if it was just for a few moments.

Now, if she could only figure out why the cake wasn't tasting like she remembered,

"What did she do, add lyrium?!" Daisy threw her hands into her hair to stop herself from throwing her work against the wall. Sure, the first two times tasted fine, but something was missing. They didn't taste the same. "I am not going to call her, I am not going to call her, and I am certainly not going to call her."

"You are still down here?" A voice shattered Daisy's concentration, causing her to spin around with ethereal cerulean butterflies swirling around her.

"Lucanis! Oh, look what you made me do!" Daisy waved her hands around to try to get rid of her unfortunate habit. Lucanis chuckled softly as a few landed on him. "I know I've probably been in forever. I apologize. I'll try to hurry up. Spite hates me, doesn't he?"

"He doesn't hate you, strangely enough. More the opposite, he suggested seeing if you needed any help. I do not wish to bother you if you want to be alone." Lucanis stepped closer to see what she was making. One half of the table contained two piles of cake, while the other half was covered in every ingredient you could think of to throw into the cake.  

"Honestly, I need some help. For all of the holy undead, I can't figure out why these do not taste as I remember. Something needs to be added." Daisy said as she approached him with her current batter. Lucanis rarely saw their Rook in this state, covered in flour and stunning in an apron. When they first met, he thought she was annoying and borderline childish. Her always sunshiny disposition confused him, and it was her outlook on death that continued to confound him every time they fought alongside each other. But over time, Lucanis witnessed the kindness she held for everyone, living and dead. Daisy prayed even for the vints they fight everyday even when no one bothers to do so. She forgives people who have wronged her and leaves them frustrated that she does not show more anger towards them. And when Spite appeared in front of her when he lost control...

Daisy could have demanded him to leave. She could have killed him on the spot, but all she did was smile and say everything would be fine as he held a dagger to her throat. Her eyes held no anger or pity, just a softness that he hungers for with every moment they are caught together. Spite lost that fight then and retreated back inside Lucanis with no words. Spite was quiet for a long while after that and softly spoke Daisy's name from now on.

"Lucanis?" A hand waved before his face, drawing his attention back to the woman before him. "Spite talking to you again? Does he want something?" She sounded so concerned for him, and his heart continued to ache.

"Yes, he's interested in trying your creation. What is it supposed to be?" Lucanis could hear Spite calling him a coward and a liar inside his head.

"All I know is that it's supposed to be a citrus cake. Lady Catalina would always bring one over for tea, and I swear I almost ate the whole thing once. Since seeing them, I've find myself craving it. Not sure if she even-" Something wet hit Daisy's face. Lucanis chucked when she stood there, annoyed when she realized the crow had just taken the spoon to splatter her face. "Really?"

"I blame Spite." He smiled that dazzling smile that made Daisy's knees just a tad weak. He brought the spoon back to her face, but it was much closer to her mouth this time. In that short span of what felt like forever, Lucanis's head slowly lowered, his tongue eagerly tasting the batter on her lips before sealing his mouth over her own. When his lips touched hers, her eyes fluttered closed, and a sigh came from deep inside her. She neither fought him nor responded, but the shock wore off as his lips moved gently over hers.

With a mind of their own, Daisy's hand lifted, slipping around his lean waist while her other hand shakily placed the bowl on the table. Beneath her fingers, she felt the softness of his shirt and the firm muscled flesh beneath. Lucanis deepened the kiss immediately as he sensed her blooming response, no longer pleading but demanding. His own hand reached up to cradle her neck, tilting her face the way he wanted to as his tongue took to exploring her mouth with a thrust of possession. His other hand drifted to her waist, pulling her even closer to him where she was flushed against him. She could feel the heat of his body burning her like a band, adding fuel to the fire raging within her. Daisy wanted more, craved it, and didn't care who could walk in on them at that moment. She wanted to drown in whatever Lucanis was feeding her from his sinful mouth.

Lucanis's mouth finally left hers, returning to give her soft pecks before resting his forehead against hers. His nose rubbed against hers as he muttered words against her pleading lips. "What?" Daisy muttered back.

"Almonds." He gave her one more peck. "It's missing almonds." Daisy pulled away gently, blinking up at him with wide eyes. Lucanis chuckled as he watched her process the information he provided to her. When it finally clicked, she spun out of his arms, grabbed the bowl, and proceeded to finish baking. More butterflies emerged from her as she got more excited, words flying out of her mouth quickly in thanks to him and 'Oh how could she not have thought of that.' Once the cake was in the oven, she bounced over to him, took his face in her hands, and then proceeded to pepper his face with kisses.

"Oh, you wonderful man. Thank you!" He stopped her, gently grasping her chin, and slowly brought her to him for another deep kiss before releasing her.

"I call the first slice once you are done, cara mia."

[loousir]

[Dragon] Unfamiliar

Male Dragon x Male Reader

Azazel

Prompt posted by @writing-prompt-s:

During the annual Familiar summoning course for first year students at the magic academy, some students end up with creatures like Beetles to bunnies to even a lion, you on the other hand wound up summoning an Arch-Dragon in his human form

Masterlist

Notes/Warnings: This one is LONG. I was gonna do two parts but... HOLY FUCK I HATE POSTING THROUGH MOBILE THIS ISNT FINISHED I JUST WANTED TO SAVE IT 😭😭😭

No one knew how you did it. Not even you knew how you did it. You followed the familiar summoning spell just like everyone else. At first you, like many, were shocked. A human as a familiar? Classmates mumbled and talked amongst themselves before the smoke cleared and you could see their features. He was tall and broad. He had horns sprouting from his head and faint scales lining his cheeks and naked torso. His eyes were a bright blue with slit pupils. There was also a dragon-like tail curled up behind him. He is the definition of beauty to most humans.

He didn't seem confused on why he was here, rather, as if he had expected to be here. "Strange, I was just about to bathe..." He mumbled out to himself, eyes scanning the room with a sharp gaze. A small smirk crossed his lips once he found who he was looking for. He saw the most confused and concerned gaze which happened to be yours "So it was you?" He questioned, walking over to you. It became clear just how much he towered over you. You couldn't so much as even nod your head, still not processing what had just happened.

His sharp eyes squinted as he examined your features. His clawed fingers grabbed your chin and used it as a way to examine your face closer. The man laughed and pulled his hand away. "There's no possible way you of all mages summoned me!" He still continued to laugh, voice echoing through the room. "You're not worth my time." He said, walking back to the summoning circle where he had originated from. The man looked to cast his own spell but it failed, only offering an embarrassingly small puff of smoke. He tried it again and failed once more. The tone of the room quickly changed. The mumbles went silent and the air stilled as his burning gaze traced everyone in the room, ultimately coming back to you. "What did you do." He growled, feet leaving faint, searing imprints on the floor as he walked over to you again.

"Nothing..!" You manage to get out one word and it doesn't seem to be the one he wanted to hear. He roughly gripped your jaw, angling your head up to face him. "What. Did. You. Do." He paused between his words that were spoken through clenched teeth. "I summoned... My familiar..." You said, struggling a bit due to his strong grip that will more than likely leave a few marks. He didn't seem as jovial as he was before, eyes holding a sharp glare. "Tell me what you really did." He growled, not taking his eyes off of yours. It was hard to say anything else as you had already told the truth of what happened. "Please let me go." You managed to squeak out. A moment passed before he dropped you, as if he had done so unwillingly. "Well, it seems it is true..." The teacher finally stepped in, having been watching but not intervening. He moved over to the half-naked man and walked circles around him, examining his frame and features. "By God's, you really did it..."

The teacher turned to you and cupped your face with his hands, albeit a little gentler than the mysterious man. "You've got a dragon familiar!" He said excitedly, clearly a little giddy about the circumstances. 'What's' and 'hows' could be heard around the room, most not believing what's happened either. "What?" The man growled. "You my sir are a dragon no?" The teacher asked, quickly turning to face the man who, upon looking at, did resemble a dragon. He didn't respond until you spoke up. "Answer." His eyes flicked to you, harsh glare still prevalent. "Yes." His answer seemed unwilling like when he had let go of you.

The teacher laughed triphantly, celebrating cartoonishly. "Oh it confirms everything! You are by far the strongest here!" He said, pulling you into his little happy spin. You still couldn't comprehend what was going on, it was all spinning, literally, too fast for you. "I still don't get it..." You mumbled out once he stopped spinning you. "What's your name?" The teacher asked, focusing back on the man. It was clear he was about to reject sharing but the stare you held on him seemed to get him to answer. "Azazel." He growled out half-heartedly. You were finally processing that it was true, you really got a dragon as your familiar. Familiars don't disobey their masters here and he hadn't once disobeyed you yet.

"Can we talk? Privately?" You asked, walking over to Azazel. He stared down to you, clearly pissed at the situation before walking to the door and stepping out. His long strides left you behind and you exited not too long after him. He didnt speak and just glared down at you. "I know you think I did something to you. But I didn't. It's our familiar summoning course and we don't exactly pick what we get." Azazel just rolled his eyes. He knew all well how magic worked. He was just pissed that you of all mages had gotten him as a familiar. "Let me tell you something." His tone still held anger.

"I refuse to be your familiar. Once before I've been deemed as a familiar. That was millenias ago. He was the first to ever have a beast like me. You are not deserving to be the second." Azazel had gotten closer with each sentence, effectively pinning you against the wall as he stared down at you. You looked up to him with slightly shocked but soft eyes. "Look. You don't have to stay... But, I will call you when I need you. I can't exactly exchange familiars." You said, walking past him and back into the classroom.

Azazel watched as you went back in, not understanding what you were thinking. He had been alive and alone for so long he had forgotten how to interact with people. Or forgot what it felt like. He hated that you had been the one to get him as a familiar. You were just like the one he had before, your words almost verbatim to the first time. "Fuck." He mumbled to himself, raising a hand to rub his chest before walking back in. People seemed a little shocked that he had followed you back in, assuming he would have left judging by what you had said. Of course they listened in but didn't say anything.

He didn't say a word as he stood behind you, eyes watching another class mate summon their familiar as well. They got a small bunny. Even though it wasn't nearly as impressive the teacher still applauded and congratulated them. The rest of the class went on as normal but you couldn't help to feel the cold stare that occasionally made its way to your back. "Alright class! I've got a new assignment for your break next week. Please read over the paper carefully and take your time to do this. I'll need it back by the end of the two weeks at least. Giving those who procrastinate a little more time" He said, handing out papers to everyone but you. "I have a special assignment for you. We'll speak after they've left." He said quietly so that only you and Azazel could hear. You nodded and he stood up fully. "Right! Class is dismissed, enjoy your break!" He said, making a little pop of confetti appear from his hand.

It didn't take long for students and their familiars to clear out, leaving Azazel, the teacher, and you. It was a bit awkward as they didn't say anything. "Your assignment for the next two weeks is to keep a journal." He said, pulling out a small note book. "Its just a daily thing. I want the both of you to try and get along. Understand each other." He paused and looked up to the other who towered over both of you. "I know of your history as a familiar. For one, I'm sorry. And secondly... Please take care of him just like before." He said with a soft smile before letting them know they could leave.

Azazel's brows furrowed at the comment but it wasn't hard to tell that the teacher knew some things. "You can do whatever. I'm gonna go home and get some sleep." You said, looking up to him for a moment before leaving first. Azazel looked at the teacher for a moment longer before poofing away. He had gone back to his home to put some clothes on since he had been in just a pair of loose fitting boxers that whole time. This gave him some time to think about all the things that happened so quickly.

---

With a yawn and a stretch, you started getting ready for bed early. The magic you had used during class wore you out and you couldn't be bothered to cook dinner. It was mostly quiet until you hear something in the living room. You didn't think much of it at first until you heard the TV in the living room turn on. Sitting up in bed, you stared at the door for a moment before grabbing your wand and quietly stepping out into the hall. The colorful light flickered on the walls and you could see the silhouette of a man sitting on the couch. You quietly made your way over to him and pointed the wand to the back of his head.

"What are you doing in my house." You demanded more than asked. He didn't respond and you asked again. He turned back to you with an unamused expression for a moment before turning back to watch the TV again. You sighed and turned on the light, your guard dropping. Your heart was still pounding as you tried to calm down. "You can't just invade like that. I never called for you." You said, moving to lean against the kitchen counter. He had noticed your unease and stood up, walking over to you. Azazel pinned you to the counter, hands on either side of you. "As of earlier today, I'm officially your guard, if you will." He said lowly, making your heart beat quicken again.

Azazel didn't think much of the position he had put the two of you in while you were slightly freaking out again at your proximity. "Ok just. Maybe knock on my front door next time? It's not very fun being half asleep and having to deal with what you think is an intruder." You said, wiggling your way out of his grasp. You opted to just go back to laying down, not wanting to deal with him anymore than you already have. Azazel watched you walk away and eventually followed you. He peaked through your cracked door to see you laying down and getting comfortable again. After watching for a moment, he stepped in and sat at the edge of the bed. You felt the shift but didn't care, brain too tired to even look.

"Is there something you need?" You asked, voice slightly muffled by your covers. He didn't say anything and you could feel the bed shift again, this time, towards where you were laying. Azazel sat down next to you before laying down, opting for his back. The bed was big enough to hold both of you and he made sure his arm didn't brush up against your back. You were too tired to care at this rate and just thought that as long as he stayed over there, you were good. He was your familiar after all... You had to get used to it at some point.

---

The night came and went. Your sleep was usually pretty rough but you felt like you slept well for once. The sun shines through the sheer curtains hanging over the window. As you started to wake up, you could feel a semi-hard, yet still soft heat source under you. Without thinking, you snuggled up to the heat more, not wanting to wake up just yet. "And here I thought you didn't like me..." A rough but sexy voice spoke up, making you instantly look up. It was clear by your expression you were still tired and werent quite sure what was happening but that was also when you noticed the strong arm wrapped around you. He smiled and pulled you closer. "Let's enjoy this for a moment before we go back to hating each other..." He said softly, head falling back against the pillows.

Your tired brain liked the sound of that as you snuggled up to him again, closing your eyes.

About an hour of you two cuddling had passed before you woke up again. You instantly sat up out of bed and rubbed your face, a yawn forcing its way out. Azazel didn't seem phased by your sudden movement and stayed relaxed. His eyes though, trailed you and your movements throughout the bedroom, unbeknownst to you. Thinking he was still asleep, you changed into your normal day clothes. And in turn he saw you fully naked. Azazel let you have "privacy" for a moment longer before feigning his awakening. He stretched and sat up from the bed, one leg hanging off the side as he let out a mighty yawn. You turned to look back at him for a moment to see he was only in a tight tank top and briefs, causing your cheeks to flush as the fabric didn't hide anything.

"You have clothes to wear right?" You asked, turning your head away from him. You were feeling a little awkward and fiddled with some small decor that sat on top of your dresser. "Of course. I'm going to bathe and change." He said standing up. He brushed past you and went straight to the bathroom. You weren't sure if he explored while you were sleeping but you wouldn't be surprised. Once the shower started to run, you sighed and left for the kitchen, your decision to not eat coming back to bite you in the ass. A ham and cheese croissant sounded good. Even though your feelings on Azazel were mixed, you made him one as well, knowing you would feel bad if you didn't. In the middle of making his, you were too lost in thought to hear him join you. He leaned back on the counter and watched you cook. "How sweet." He teased, voice echoing around the kitchen. You jumped at his "sudden" appearance and looked over at him from the corner of your eye. "You like to assume things don't you?" You snipped back, focusing again on the food cooking in front of you.

He pulled himself away and sat on the bar stool, his little dragon tail flicking back and fourth. You could feel his eyes watching you as you cooked and neither of you spoke, making you feel a little awkward. When the food was finished, you plated one for yourself and one for him. He stayed at the counter and you took yours into the living room to watch TV while you ate.

[abysswalkersknight]

No. No, how could this have happened. It was unconscionable, inconceivable!

Don’t panic, there’s nothing to worry about… other than a disgusting, foul fiend has somehow infiltrated the impregnable fortress that was his room. He stands frozen in place, as still as his beloved gargoyles, he dared not blink lest this creature disappears into who knows where. 

Its disgusting limbs wave about in the air, as if taunting the prince as a sinking sensation befell his stomach, compose yourself fool, it is only a mere insect, it is beneath you, how dare you paralyse in fear before something so insignificant! And yet Malleus is unable to move a muscle, as if staying ramrod straight would willfully keep the interloper in place. He could just summon a little fire and smite it where it stood, it could be over in a matter of seconds he was the prince of Briar Valley for goodness sake! One of the strongest mages in the world! He was feared by many, Malleus would be damned if he were defeated by this small- knock, knock.

‘My lord Malleus, you summoned me?’ Thank the seven it was Silver, he had originally called him over for their weekly coffee break, but right now… ‘Silver, come attend me.’ He called out, praying that his voice betrayed nothing, it is prudent that the prince showed no weakness before anyone, especially his human charge. Behind him he heard the door unlock and the faint delicate tap tap of Silver’s heels as he strode up to him ‘is everything alright, my lord? You seem a little… tense’ he didn’t need to look at the boy to know that his brows were furrowed in concern, no doubt that seeing his prince freeze like a deer was unsettling “remove that abomination at once please, Silver’ he ordered finally tearing his eyes away to see Silver tilt his head ‘beg pardon sir?’

Malleus gestured to the statue Sebek had given him ‘that. Remove it please,’ 

Silver’s gaze searched for a little bit longer before widening at the sight of the large spider ‘oh, alright’ he said glancing questionably at the prince, Malleus huffed in response tossing his head to the side. To which the boy smiled ‘excuse me little one? Yes, I’m afraid you can’t stay here as my lord would not permit it. Oh don’t worry there’s a lovely crevice next to the window outside that should do wonders for you.’ Gently, as if coaxing one of his bird companions onto his finger, Silver guiding the little creature onto his hand, walked over to the window and patiently held it out until the spider had safely latched onto the wall ‘there, all better now’ he said brushing his hands together ‘yes, thank you Silver, you have my gratitude.’ Malleus sighs ‘though I ask that you keep this between us, heavens forbid Lilia ever finding out’ his old guardian would have a field day if ever he found out that the formidable prince of Briar Valley was terrorised by a spider of all things. Thankfully his retainer nodded ‘of course sir, is that all?’

‘No, I happen to have procured a lovely coffee blend from Kalim that I would be happy to share if you’d be so inclined.’

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Azul Ashengrotto - Masquerade Voice Lines

When Summoned: Now, shall we dance? It seems even the sound of the bells echoing through the city are giving us a warm welcome.

Summon Line: A gathering of mages...! There is no way I could afford to not take advantage of this chance of a lifetime.

Groooovy!!: You may leave it to me to lead us in this dance. Allow me to show you just how much effort I've put forth.

Home: We should head towards the venue.

Swap Looks: I need to pay attention to my footwork.

Home Idle 1: Rollo-san is quite a naive fellow. Well, I find that once you befriend such a person, everything afterwards is smooth sailing.

Home Idle 2: The flour they use here in the City of Flowers is truly delicious. If only there was some inexpensive way to order it so it stays fresh...

Home Idle 3: The aroma of butter and sugar permeates the air... The City of Flowers is overflowing with temptation. I must be more strict with myself than usual.

Home Idle - Login: It isn't every day that one can interact with this many mages at one occasion. I would love to make connections with many people.

Home Idle - Groovy: You wish me to take your picture? Of course, I don't mind whatsoever. Now, what should I ask for in return?

Home Tap 1: Rook-san quickly became friendly with the people of the City of Flowers. It may be due to his method of speaking... I wonder if I should adopt it as well.

Home Tap 2: There is much I can learn from this city. I'll bring Jade and Floyd next time so we can share in the learning experience.

Home Tap 3: You say these round-framed glasses suit me? Well, that's wonderful. It isn't a shape I would have chosen as a frame for myself, so I was somewhat apprehensive.

Home Tap 4: Today, I decided to put my bangs up. The hat's design is so lovely that I wanted to keep my forehead clear of anything else to show it off.

Home Tap 5: Oh, my, are you sharing your pastries with me? I would be elated to take some off your hands. It is rather nice that I can try so many in smaller portions.

Home Tap - Groovy: What is it? Eh, oh, I look good in this outfit? ...Fufufu, whatever are you scheming? Please, do tell.

Duo: [AZUL]: I am so honored to be paired with you, Jamil-san. [JAMIL]: Get moving instead of just flapping your lips, Azul.

Requested by @pianostarinwonderland.

[axonthegoat]

Wild magic mayhem a little thing for some wild magic fun :) 52, If you have a bag of holding, it empties onto the ground beside you

The sun was slowly moving across the sky as everyone set up their bedrolls, Wild was at the center of Camp making dinner as the rest of the chain were scattered about, finding ways to entertain themselves and pass the time once all their basic chores were done.

Legend sat across from Vio, Four having split earlier that day in an ambush, Hyrule between them as Vio tends to Hyrules wounds, Legend was helping scold Hyrule and make sure he didn't make his injuries worse as vines and moss coated it's way around his broken leg,

“Honestly, your the only cleric we have Hyrule, Wars may be a good field medic, and I have a lot of healing spells but you **need** to be more careful! You're the only one who knows revivify, and with how reckless so many of you are, it's a very important spell to have! It's why we keep such a high stock of diamonds!” Vio scolded, lightly smacking Hyrules side with their tail as they tightened the bandages around his leg,

Legend snorted at the display, startling a bit as he felt something run Into their side and tug at his arm, turning to the sailor he raised an eyebrow curiosity piqued at the look in the other's eyes and the wild wagging of his tail, something had the sailor excited and that could only mean good things “What can I do for you Sailor?” He laughed tilting his head to the side, and Wind grinned, nodding over towards where War’s was talking with Time, back turned to them, “you know how to use mage hand right?” Wind snickered, “aaand you know how Wars is bad with sensing magic stuff?”

Legend snorted, thinking he see’s where this is going, so with a simple wave of his hand, a spectral hand appeared next to him as he grinned at Wind, sending the hand off where it tugged at the back of the captains scarf, making him jump and turn around, though the hand had already moved around to behind him, pulling at the scarf before being dismissed, making the captain turn around once more, “what in the- Sprout was that you? What was that just now? I swear I felt something pulling at my scarf!” Wars stood up looking over at time who just shrugged

“I didn’t see anything captain, maybe it was just the wind” Time laughed, blinking a bit ....blinking? Legend snorted, was he trying to wink at Wars? As Warriors argued with Time about something tugging at his scarf Legend went to go summon the mage hand again…when he felt a familiar shift in the magic around him, it flowed smoothly bending to his will when it suddenly took a sharp branching out and dancing like lightning and wildfire, when suddenly, the camp found itself covered in just…STUFF! HIS STUFF! Legend flopped down onto his back, burying his face into his hands as a sudden commotion at what in the world just happened broke the quiet of camp,

“Wait…is this legends stuff?” Sky pointed out picking up a spar cap

“Well that definitely felt like wild magic!” Red Piped up from besides Wild

“So that was you messing with me!” Wars shouted as laughter rang out through the camp, interspersed with Legends noises of distress “I hate wild magic.” he bemoaned

[nadas-dirthalen]

she, the mender; he, the break (1)

solas/lavellan, rated T.

synopsis: The one unfortunate enough to take in the Mark has, astoundingly, survived it. Whether that is a miracle or a terrible omen remains to be seen.

content warnings: canon-typical violence, depiction of a canonical seizure, canon-typical profanity, canon-typical religious references, canon-typical depictions of depression.

read on ao3!

One Solas

Four hours after a Dalish mage stumbles from a tear in the Veil, a thumb runs across her limp palm. Its wielder furrows his brow.

A pair of eyes seeks to burn a hole between his shoulder blades, judging by the force of the glare behind him.

“I have no answers,” he tells the human without looking over a shoulder, though it’s not what she—or anyone who knows what befell the Conclave—wants to hear. It’s true enough, at least.

He has no answers as to how this Dalish mage survived what he knows, with grim certainty, should have killed her. Would have killed her lessers. He had counted on it: that his focus, pent up with millennia’s worth of neglected, unspent energy, would eliminate the one unfortunate enough to open it.

The first survivor is enough of a loose end. A walking, talking threat of peril upon all Thedas.

The second is a miracle, for she, at least, is mortal.

Probably.

Under his touch, the mark of his magic thrums, rattling up her nerve. Mercifully unconscious, she does not stir—but even through the thick robe covering most of her form, the summer-grass glow brightens her arm enough for the Seeker behind him to audibly wince.

The magic, from what he can tell, forges deeper into her tissue. Whether to twine with the fabric of her being or rip it apart at the seams, he cannot rightly say.

In these early hours, the only clue she gives is the quick rise and fall of her chest, her breaths shallow. Kept on the floor of a cell, robbed of dignity that she cannot fight to keep, much of her pale blonde hair has fallen free of its high braid. Sweat beads on her forehead one minute, only to cool before the hour’s up.

“You have no answers?” the Seeker behind him prods.

He forces his shoulders not to tighten, knelt by the Dalish’s side as he is. Smiles falsely, even where the Seeker cannot see, so his tone stays congenial. “Not yet.”

Would that he were alone, that he could knock on the bounds of this survivor’s dreams and ask.

What would she offer him, if he did? Would she confess to what ails her, or turn her nose up at his unmarked face, as so many of her kin? Or, so far from home, would she turn a kinder eye to the human behind him, paying an elven apostate no heed?

In the Fade, none might delay him much: none left alive can rightly keep the skies of their dreams from darkening with their unspoken fear. And when the realm folds around them, confounding mortal senses, none can truly flee far.

Whatever the truth of her prognosis, one thing is certain. Even under the press of his thumb, summoned by his silent call, the magic of his focus will not uncoil from her bones.

Whatever the Dread Wolf of her people’s legend has unwillingly given her, she is doomed to the consequence.

He could almost call it irony.

~

As day lapses into night, the Dalish survivor is unaware that every witness within a mile bickers over her fate.

They are calling her a miracle. They are calling her a monster.

It has not dawned on any of them that she could ever be a victim.

He has, in spite of the Seeker’s objections to flame and ammunition, been generously afforded a candle. Its light throws long shadows over the survivor’s drawn expression. Like this, he must lower himself from resting on his heels to squint, inches from her face, in order to track the movement of her eyes behind their lids.

She is dreaming. At least there is that.

His mark has buried itself into her left hand, the green of rifts lighting a slice in her palm despite her skin remaining unbroken. Thus he sits on her left, now, furthest from the cell door. A better vantage for the Seeker, who has left to argue, to scowl at him from all evening.

A poorer vantage to scowl back unseen, but one must accept their occasional losses.

At least like this, his back can rest against the cell’s rear wall, and he can watch the door when he is not watching over the survivor. He keeps it in his periphery while his gaze lowers, half-lidded, as he once again puts two fingers to her wrist to measure her pulse.

Two hours ago, he insisted to the human healer that he could count it perfectly well. The healer looked down at the survivor’s valasslin while he passed over a clipboard, mumbling a request that her pulse be measured and recorded every hour through the night.

That human healer neglected to leave any thanks.

The Dalish’s heartbeat is almost furious against his touch, pounding as though her limp body is sprinting: a pulse that would roar in her ears, if she could hear it. He counts sixty beats in thirty seconds, ignoring the twist of his insides when he releases her to record the finding.

Ten higher than last count. A battle her body has begun to lose.

The healer should be measuring more than her pulse, but his efforts are farcical at best: make a play of trying to keep the survivor alive, keep meticulous record of all the ways this prison has failed her, justify her death was unpreventable because so many watched it unfold. To those yelling over the Dalish’s fate beyond this row of cells, that would be enough to satisfy.

It would assuage their worry, to watch her fade to nothing. To some, it would provide relief. Their Chantry, no longer under threat—nor scrutiny.

They should be measuring her temperature. Whether she perspires. Whether, and how often, she stirs.

It is due diligence—and perhaps atonement—that an elven apostate from nowhere does all three in their stead.

Her brow is warm against his knuckles, but less than it was. Her body adapts to fight the mark. In the harsher chill of night, the cell damp and lightless, her brow is free of sweat, the loose curls once plastered to it hanging free over her temples.

He thinks the barest trace of a frown passes over her at his touch, but it vanishes, her face again serene at rest, too fast for his tired eyes to register.

Once he makes record of all three, writing in the margins of the healer’s notes, he rests his head on the cool stone behind him, allowing his eyes to fall shut until the next hour demands he rise anew.

~

The survivor screams before the sun can crest the mountains.

He must give her credit: it earns her the attention of all those who’d been content to debate her survival from afar. Within moments, the cell is crowded with everyone endowed with both local renown and an opinion.

The Seeker’s voice is loudest. He supposes he should have expected as much.

“Surely you know what this means, Adan?”

The healer—Adan—is clearly in the Seeker’s good graces enough that his sneer doesn’t earn him retribution. “I don’t understand. Her pulse is normal now. Her fever, gone. And the screaming comes in fits… but why?”

Then, naturally, he turns his puzzled frustration on the nearest apostate.

“You wrote her pulse was high through the night.”

That nearest apostate, still knelt at her side, commendably ignoring the bruising on his tailbone, keeps his voice perfectly level. “I did.”

“And that it didn’t change until the thrashing began.”

“I did, yes.”

“And after administering elfroot to hasten her wakening, it had stopped—”

“Very observant.”

That earns him a scowl from the Seeker and more than a fair few muttered insults from the other half-dozen people inside the cell. More soldiers, someone in Chantry robes convincingly pretending not to tremble behind them.

“Don’t play coy with me, elf,” Adan sneers, pulling the apostate’s attention back.

Before he can brace for some spit curse, the survivor’s hand jerks out from under his. Her spine arches, her ear scraping over the stone when her neck follows suit. His palm lands gently on her shoulder before she can tip herself onto her back, but does nothing to stop the kick of her leg.

“The grey,” she slurs, lips catching the dirt of the cell floor. “The grey…”

“Maker’s fucking breath,” Adan hisses, reeling back. “What is she…?”

“The grey,” the survivor groans again, muscles still tense, unconscious eyes screwed shut.

Every gaze in the room finds his mark on her palm—save for hers. The magic lights stronger, rift-green blazing up the veins of her wrist. Only when it dims do her convulsions ease.

“So it is true,” the Chantry member mutters, soft as prayer. “She is chosen.”

“Chosen?” Adan echoes, whipping back long enough to fire off what is probably a scowl. By the time his attention returns to the Dalish survivor, a more dangerous sort of ire has hardened on his features. “No. This—this mage shit cannot be a sign of anything good.”

“Is that what you call it?” Indignation burns up the apostate’s throat before he can think to smother it. “What you belittle with the profane may well be the only hope you have against the demons amassing beyond these doors.”

“Watch yourself, apostate,” the Seeker warns, a hand on the pommel of her blade.

This time, he meets her glare. “Are you so sure that I am wrong?”

“Enough of this fucking charade,” Adan declares, throwing up his hands in distaste. “Andraste’s ass—there’s not a healer alive who could understand what so possesses her. If she makes it past midday, someone pry me from my drink.”

With that, he shoves through a half-dozen humans, neither sword nor glare leveled against him on the way out. Instead, the prattling Chantry member follows on the healer’s heels, and the Seeker on the Chantry’s, and the soldiers on the Seeker’s.

With them gone, the cell falls silent. Not for the first time, death and the Dread Wolf loom together over the body of a mortal.

The next spasm starts: rigid spine, arching neck. This time, his hand finds not her shoulder, but her wrist. Thumb driven deep into the meat of her palm, he feeds the mark a morsel of his own magic, a beacon sent out over the churning forces inside the survivor’s skin.

A flare of dull green light, and the spasm stops.

Rather than a scream, she surrenders a murmur. “The grey…”

He eases her onto her back, careful not to relinquish her marked palm. Smooths hair from her face with his free hand, another sliver of his magic employed to mend her abraded ear. Dignities the Chantry, the Seeker, and the prison guards, for all their talk of prophecy, still do not afford their Dalish charge.

“I know. I know, lethallan,” he answers, once he is sure no human ears are near enough to question his tongue. “Ir abelas.”

~

The first attempt on the survivor’s life comes, brazenly, at dusk on the second day.

While the apostate takes a meal a floor above her cell—only at the Seeker’s stubborn insistence—the cell lies guarded by another. When he returns, that other is bent over her motionless body, a dagger unsheathed from their belt.

At his shout, the Seeker barrels down the stairwell past him, shield drawn. She collides with the would-be assailant a second after the noise turns their attention away from the survivor, pinning their body to the floor. Another soldier clamps manacles around the assailant’s wrists, but murmurs assurances that certainly, all was done with the best of intentions.

It is all the apostate can do to quell the urge to send a streak of rift-green sailing past both their faces, goading them to speak their so-called assurances for all the fortress to hear.

As they draw close to move up the stairwell, he meets the assailant’s gaze and mutters, “You know not what you trifle with.”

The Seeker, though she is in earshot, does not listen to the assailant’s bitter retort. Rather, she faces the apostate after several moments, dark circles under her topaz eyes, a hand raking through her short mop of dark hair.

“Do you really think…” she pauses, folding her arms. “Do you really think she could be our only hope?”

She will not look at the survivor, so he does. His mark burns bright even across the room, steadier now. If it hasn’t killed her by now, it won’t.

“I am certain,” he answers. Then, because it is what most everyone here has already decided: “She is a miracle.”

But they have not lived to see millennia wax and wane. They forget a crucial detail.

Miracles, be they borne of flesh or circumstance, have one thing in common.

They should never have been real.

~

The second attempt on the survivor’s life comes far past nightfall, when the apostate’s eyes are closed.

This time, her would-be killer is the very soldier to have clamped manacles on the first.

When heavy footfalls thunder down the stairwell in answer to the screaming, the apostate watches as they rush toward the soldier—only to reel back when their torchlight glints in the ice pinning their comrade to the wall.

The apostate claims it was self-defense with hardly more than a shrug, failing to flinch in the face of six pointed blades.

Afterward, the Seeker only leaves the cell to sleep.

~

The dawn of the third day is the last he has the survivor alone.

Bleary-eyed, he parts her lips with the knuckle of his thumb to administer three more drops of elf-root tincture on her tongue, disparaging the common name. When he does, he whispers its name in the language her people have taught her—vhenanalas, heart-root—because it is similar enough to the one he knows.

Once, it was said that all elvhen would wake to their own tongue, like a mother calling children home.

All the Dalish survivor has done, thus far, is frown.

Through the night, the roar of demons from beyond the cell climbed louder. Whiling away the hours, pretending not to hear, he found that the magic of his mark swims through her veins to follow his touch, unless he wills it not to.

Three days, and still he does not know if the mark pains her, or if she’ll do more than knot her brows together or press her lips white-thin when she’s conscious of the new power in her marrow. What he does know is that each hourly administration of elf-root twists her face the same way. When she stirs enough to tilt her jaw, the digits of her right hand curl, but not her left. When the mark of his magic flares brighter, a noise always rises from her throat—one that stops sooner if he makes a single sound, like it had only been seeking an answer. Any answer, he found, once he’d made a series of unintelligible syllables in reply to test the theory.

She fights it on her own, now, even though he no longer risks the press of his thumb over the gash-shaped green. He does not know her name, and yet is powerless to deny her stubborn will.

“Perhaps that is why they have marked you for the Keeper of Secrets,” he mutters to no one, watching the blood-markings beneath her lower lip smooth as she falls motionless once more.

No tip of the jaw, no curled fingers on right hand or left. She slips into relative peace, the ailment of his magic overcome, for now.

He almost laughs, but the sound cuts short. Instead, he whispers, “You will need that stubborn streak, with what lies ahead.”

She never gives him an answer. The next time she frowns, and the next and the next, he speaks in her language until the Seeker wakes.

Vhenanalas. Vhenanalas. Vhenanalas.

Ir abelas. Ir abelas. Ir abelas.

~

Demons encroach too close to the prison, nearer by the hour. The derisive look the Seeker snaps to him says that where she goes, so, too, will he.

He leaves the survivor because there is more he can do to ensure she lives by holding back the horde outside these walls. He swears she stirs at his hushed goodbye, mouth hanging parted the last time he looks back.

The sun strikes him too brightly, after days without it, worse for its glint on the snow outdoors. The first demon to fall before him collapses with a splinter of ice through its core, and the apology he cannot speak aloud sticks thorns in his chest. There is nothing he can do for it, or anyone, without the focus he’d so callously lost.

By the fifth, a haze settles over his awareness, a guard against the lapping tide of remorse.

The thrum of his magic outside his skin pulls him out of it. Every shriek of these unwilling spirits, painful against his eardrums. Worse, when crossbow bolts find their mark, when the Seeker’s sword sings as it is pulled from her sheath.

He cannot turn with a shade pressing its advantage, instead forced to arc his staff and pull forth the power behind another icy blast. The green of his mark careens into his periphery while he stands rooted, and then the survivor pulls it back—

To shove a lone blade through the demon with her opposite hand, crackling with violet energy. 

Then, with his vision still blurred, his ears still ringing… quiet. The last demon of this rift, vanquished. Only his erratic pulse and the remains of his focus thrumming in time with it from the gash-shaped glow in the survivor’s palm.

“Quickly,” he gasps, already moving. Just enough to alert her to what is to come. “Before more come through!”

He has no time to process that she is awake, standing, before his grip curls around her wrist, thumb pressed into the soft of her palm. As with each time before, the magic within—his magic—follows his touch.

In a mockery of his every hope for the Veil, a verdant ray erupts from her skin. Its power plunges into the rift above them both and, under his guidance, sews it shut.

After, only wintry sky remains in its place: no touch of Fade nor lick of its magic. This time there is no great urgency to the quiet that falls. Only the rhythm of the survivor’s ragged breath, as fast it had been the first night.

She slips the mark—her hand—from his grasp. A sliver of warmth leaves his core as it goes.

When he pries his eyes from where the rift once existed, she is already peering up at him. The sight drives another guilty lance through his sternum before any haze can dull the blow.

The green of rifts is threaded around her pupils, tainting even her otherwise stone-grey gaze. His mark—the one that’ll end her life—rooted in her every inch.

Her white-blonde hair is still streaked with the dirt of her cell floor. Her ear’s still red from where he mended scrapes. Dark circles beneath her eyes betray the weakness these days have awarded her.

And under, her panting mouth curves into a disbelieving smile.

“What did you do?”

“I did nothing,” he answers, too fast, avoiding the Seeker’s cutting stare that looms behind the survivor. He neglects to append save for cause the curse that’ll end your life. Instead, amid the stench of slain demons, heedless of the cries of battle still raging on ahead, he summons a pleasing smile. “The credit is all yours.”

The Dalish lowers her eyes, brow furrowing. His world narrows on the way she studies her palm, her own thumb running over the mark, following the curve his had just taken. She concentrates on the motion, repeating it, a thin press to her mouth not unlike the one she makes when heart-root lands on her tongue.

Calculating, now that she is conscious. No longer a simple show of distaste, but an equation she visibly puzzles over.

Her eyes lift to greet his again, something in them hardened now. “You mean this.”

He tries to ignore the way the mark’s thrum strengthens in response to his own dogged pulse. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” he says, just as he’d told the Seeker hours ago. He leaves out and I’m sorry for my role in it. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake—and it seems I was correct.”

The Seeker seems just as pleased now as then: barely. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly,” he says, just true enough. Something guaranteed, from millennia of knowing, is indeed also possible.

The survivor, meanwhile, watches him still with open curiosity—the sort that borders dangerously on hope. The expression is a dozen questions in itself.

He scrapes another apology from his tongue, searching for some other answer to her wordless prying. Something that will buy them all a little more peace, a little more time. 

He manages, if only just, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know!” the dwarf from the cells near theirs interjects, striding closer to the survivor in spite of how her muscles tense. Bearing a wide grin, he jests, “I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

The survivor flexes her fingers around the hilt of her dagger, a mirror of the way her right hand would curl in discomfort. Deliberate, now. Alive. Alive.

The dwarf goes on, “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

The wink he gives the Seeker is met with a scowl.

“It’s…” Blearily, the survivor manages a nod, a new set to her jaw she hadn’t had the mind to employ before. The line of it is sharper as she forces a smile. “Good to meet you, Varric.”

She hadn’t heard his idle chatter in the cell, then—or anything else, apology or otherwise. 

“You may reconsider that stance, in time,” the apostate asserts, suppressing a flinch at the line he knows he’s toed. He affixes that careful smile to his face as three sets of eyes land upon him, though only watches the survivor’s.

He’d assumed something of her. Too much. He looks for disdain in her raised brow, or perhaps for ire in the line of her mouth.

“Awww,” Varric mocks, wrenching him from the study. “I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

Chuckles, in truth, can do no else but blink, just once. The survivor weighs the expression, watching in silence—whether a haze like his, simple fatigue, or something else.

“Absolutely not,” the Seeker takes over, voice stern. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

The raven blood-marked in the Dalish’s face shifts as she borders on a smirk. Haughty, irreverent, when it is her braids pulled half-free from days of unconscious tumult, her ill-fitting armor stained with all manner of dirt and damp.

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” the dwarf goes on a distant two steps away. Neither the apostate or the survivor turn to watch. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

“Ugh.”

“My name is Solas,” spills from the apostate’s mouth, heedless of his will, near an entire minute too late. “If there are to be introductions.”

Varric and the Seeker stop to raise their brows in unison. The survivor, understandably, fails to mask her confusion.

“I am…” Pinned under three stares, he has no hope of uttering even a false explanation, nor an apology, nor anything to explain away the same dirt and damp staining his coat, three days and nights of foregone hygiene. “Pleased to see you still live.”

Pleased does not touch the bone-deep relief, nor the chill of dread that none of them can hope to grasp, but he still does not know her name. This will have to suffice.

Varric only laughs sharper, grins wider. “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

That, too, Solas supposes.

The survivor hums the beginnings of a laugh, low in her throat. Her crooked smile dimples a cheek, undeterred by the biting wind tousling the knotted strands of her hair. The green of his mark blazes in her eyes, crinkled at their corners. “Then I owe you my thanks.”

And her wrath, but that seems inconsequential, with demons in uproar higher on the hill.

Everything does, outside of the fact that she still draws breath. That all this might yet be undone.

“Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process,” he tells her. And, because three days and nights with her life in his hands is too long not to know: “Tell me your name.”

~

Ithalia.

One of the many names rippling across Haven on whispering tongues. Ithalia Haleir Lavellan. Herald. Miracle. Divine.

They can afford to whisper, to do anything but run for their lives, because it is she—without his touch—that has sealed the Breach and mended the heavens.

Three more days and nights she sleeps, but this time, no seed of doubt roots in Solas’ core.

He is certain: she will live long enough to mend the very world he aims to break, before it can be made whole again.

[iris-of-bliss]

Chaotic Desires [18+]

Summary: You and Havik form an allegiance to bring anarchy upon the realms. At one point, your ally desires something unexpected…

Pairing(s): Havik/Demon F!Reader

Warning(s): Size Difference, Teasing, Edging

A/N: My first Havik x Reader I wrote, so I hope this one isn’t too bad.

Departing the Netherrealm in order to assist Havik in his schemes proved all the more useful. Partaking in the many evildoings of inflicting the realms with anarchy was his primary objective. He wished for more power and control. Anything that may satisfy the Orderrealmer gladly. The planned negotiation between Havik and Rain was an excellent start. Wrecking havoc against Seido thanks to the Edenian mage summoning a giant tsunami, drowning its inhabitants within the depths. Havik could not stand the realm’s strict government and its hectic punishments for disobeying a single rule. He’d rather enjoy more freedom and endless chaos instead. Luckily for you, a cunning demon from the Netherrealm, were more than happy causing damage to create anew. You have always imagined seeking chaos for your own desires, and you discovered another being who chased after the same goal. Since your first encounter, Havik has admired your capabilities as a demon. However, there was more than that running in his mind.

Dawn has taken over the Living Forest as you and your ally plan out your next course of action. You could use some recruitment with more allies. The more people you could gather, the more power you and Havik achieved together. Havik was pondering in his thoughts as you spoke about your ideas in mind.

“We shouldn’t linger around for long. We can try having Darrius lend a hand, maybe Nitara as well,” you point out, “You have not a single issue with them from your experience. Or is that somehow a concern?”

Havik’s thinking was interrupted before turning to walk slowly towards you. His eyes scan across your body from head to toe, relishing your fine figure. He was so huge compared to you. Little did you know that Havik developed a keen interest in you after a while. You remain clueless during the sudden silence. Was something wrong?

Before you could speak, the Orderrealmer lifted your lower jaw with his whole hand for your attention. The metal thumb of his gauntlet traces along your skin. It then stops at your lip, gently pressing its edge on the soft flesh. This made you blush intensely from his sly act. Havik then raises your chin and drags his thumb over it continuously.

“Worry not about our progress. I have already formed plans earlier,” he lessens your worries, “Besides, there is something rather…peculiar about you.”

“What do you mean by that, Havik?”

“I know you cannot notice how I feel, but about you…it’s something delicious,” his voice lowered.

The Orderrealmer brings his hands to your sides, gripping them tight just enough to produce light marks. You two were so close to each other, you brought your hands to his biceps before taking one step towards Havik. A knot in your stomach with feelings being revealed carefully wasn’t easy to manage while he stood right in front. A small piece of you wanted more than an allegiance. It is somehow a lifelong choice.

Your voice sounded hesitant, “But our mission. I don’t want us to delay our timing.”

As you grew anxious, you look down to the ground with guilt. Your lustful desires rose within you. It was simple for Havik to recognize as he lifts your chin back up. His face was inches close to yours. He slips in a promising whisper, “No need to worry, Y/N. I know your body is excited as mine is now.”

He grabs your head to lean to the side followed by a seductive lick to the neck. You lightly whimper from the sense of wetness across skin and his breathing showing a slight hint of hunger. Oh you wanted this so badly. You bite your lip whilst pulling in close with both hands around Havik’s neck. His attack on your spot continued though you were backing up to a large tree stump. You bump into it before the teasing came to a halt. Regardless, Havik quickly resumed by biting your skin. His hand trails down to your hip so he could squeeze. You release a moan as you wrap your leg around Havik’s waist. You can feel a sharp boner through his cloth. Pressing against your body, Havik pushes you onto the stump’s surface.

He whispers in your ear, “I know you crave for me. Your delicious body doesn’t lie.”

You knew he was right. Ever since you met, your odd attraction to him elevated quick. The way he would carry himself. His relying desire for power. Even his intimidating appearance itself led you to form something closer. You can’t even think properly with his words arousing you this fast.

“I never thought that I would find a demon so beautiful.”

Those words made your heart jump with joy. There was no going back after that question is already answered: Does he ever love you back at some point?

“Please me, Havik. I need you,” you cry out for him.

“Ah, such a filthy little heathen you are.”

He pulls away to help remove all of your attire so that you only remain nude. He then manages to spring his cock out. You found Havik to be large in size while beginning to feel it rest on your thigh. It was erect and ready to ejaculate inside of you. The seeping wetness running out your pussy, you wrap your legs around Havik’s torso. Laying on a tree stump felt uncomfortable, but that didn’t concern you too much. You were ready to take in his size to get filled up into oblivion.

The Orderrealmer strokes his cock and presses the head against your entry, earning an airy moan. He spoke with a dark chuckle, “Better be prepared, Y/N.”

After sliding himself in, you cry with pleasure due to his large size. It stretched your soaked walls as this caused them to throb around him. Havik’s breath hitched through his teeth while squeezing your sides. You felt so tight from his perspective. He is careless about getting caught making a filthy mess like this in the forest. Where you were having sex doesn’t matter to him either.

You hold him by the shoulders and mewl, “You’re so…big around me. Move, please…”

“Anything for my precious heathen.”

Slow thrusts began to take place within you. Havik lifts himself upward to fix his gaze on your figure. Your hands move up to your breasts, massaging them with glee. Havik watches your self-teasing with awe. The satisfaction of earning a show would lead him to quickening the pace. You shut your eyes tight as you kept moaning. You were completely drenched on him, and it was worth it. It was unexpected for an Orderrealmer such as Havik to feel this big from what you thought. How lustfully impure your mind was. His thrusting became quicker and harder. Every hit he makes keeps you excited for this man.

Suddenly, you get distracted by strange dripping on your chest. It felt warm and slid across your skin. Out of curiosity, you open your eyes to notice a mix of saliva and blood falling from Havik’s mouth. It was a display of hunger as he craved for his demonic mistress. The shameless laments shared with him. He needed more as he swiped the saliva off you with his fingers, swiftly inserting them in your mouth. You hummed at the savory taste of blood. You were getting close to your orgasm with your back arching. Havik groans and claws into your side with his armored glove, puncturing through your skin. He seemed to be approaching close, too.

He sighed after pulling his fingers out, “Ready to be mine, Y/N?”

You nod in response until he wraps an arm around your torso. He tugs the back of your head and brought you close to his. You embrace him back and grip his hair. Havik pounded inside as deep and hard as he could, causing you to flinch nonstop. Your stomach tenses with legs faltering by each hard thrust. You feel his tongue lick your face and teeth bite into your lower jaw. Every aroused moan drove him wild.

“The way you shiver underneath me. I love it so much,” Havik whispers, “Let us relish this moment.”

He presses his teeth against your lips, sliding his tongue out again for entry. You allow his tongue to clash with yours through panting breaths. A hollered moan escapes you which led Havik to chuckle between the exchanges of saliva. Animalistic noises erupt from the Orderrealmer whilst the wet slapping of skin arose. He abruptly bottoms you out and pulls away, achieving a desperate whine. The flinching of your stomach begged for him to make you climax. The eagerness for his cock had been displayed.

Havik then questioned teasingly, “You want me to make you cum, don’t you?”

“Ooh…please, Havik! Satisfy me!” you whine.

“That’s right. Good girl.”

After a few rough thrusts then and there, you both end up orgasming with pleasure. Your legs had been weakened thanks to his size and movements combined. Havik’s thrusting was getting slower with his warm fluid still releasing. He groans after finally pulling out due to your tightness. Catching his breath, he hides his cock back in his pants before detaching his head from his body. He gives it to you to hold while relaxing from the intense sex you had. You kept his head close to your chest, his ear hearing your heart beat. Listening to your heart beat would turn out to be something special to him.

“The endless beating of your heart, it is a sound of beauty to me,” Havik compliments you.

You give light scratches and caresses to his head. His body remained still right in front of you, yet this did not disturb you in the slightest. You have seen plenty of morbid shit before. Still, there was no time to waste laying there and contemplating on your thoughts. There was also an important job to do. Settling down for a few minutes will be just enough.

You speak breathlessly, “We cannot stay here for long. We need to move soon…”

[funnyscienceman]

do you think mages in runeterra ever feel shitty about being different from their peers. do you think the idea of being less than human or more than human or not entirely human or not even being counted as human kinda just chips away at their mental? how does it feel like to be looked at as dangerous or weird just because you can — what, flick water over from the stream to a bowl because you have a natural connection to it? because you can feel the potential for fire in the air if the right gasses or materials hit at just a certain spot? well what the hell do you mean you can't feel it? is that supposed to make you distinct from human?

i get the whole thing abt superpowers being a bad or inaccurate metaphor for IRL minorities bec the entire reason irl discrimination is bad in the first place is because it's so arbitrary and made up of lies and hatred and fear, but runeterra is literally just the words magic earth. magic is normal for runeterra. magic is literally the air and the trees and the sky and the ground. some people are connected to it, some are not, and that's fine. maybe we don't know why or how mages and non-mages happen but does the reason matter so much as whether or not a person's gonna be shitty about it?

i keep thinking about graves not having even 1 hint of a superpower, just a guy with a gun and a lotta grit, and about that devt video for the A New Dawn short where they wanted him to be completely unfazed by the magic and the spectacle. and there's twisted fate beside him, whose magic is totally unique from every other champion in the roster; we have no idea where it comes from, why it is the way it is, all that stuff — we just know that twisted fate is a mage, he's got some kind of gift of prophecy or omniscience or something to that effect, he channels it all through cards… and he just uses it to scam people and steal shit. same as anyone who's equipped with lockpicks or knives or their own wits instead.

sona's story implies demacia doesn't really have its own sign language, or at least the prejudice against magic is so deeply ingrained that sign language could be mistaken for performing magic, and so she can't really communicate comfortably with her family in public. and it's like, jesus christ, at that point exactly how many steps is that from assuming someone's summoning demons just because they're not speaking english?

arcane season 2's story is so weird to me because of this. like what exactly is the arcane? is it a separate type of force from spiritual magc, celestial magic, elemental, all that stuff? it uses runes, is it rune magic then, the stuff ryze works with? in brand's short story, ryze describes magic as wanting to be used, so i guess it wouldn't be too far off

how is it like to be a plain human in runeterra? nevermind piltover and zaun and demacia, ionia seems to be doing fine, right? noxus is just like yeah, use whatever skills and talents you have at your disposal. magic or tech or weaponry or whatever, glory for noxus smth smth. half the bilgewater cast is normal people with guns rather than magic or spooky fish stuff so it can't be all that bad

there wasnt really a point to this it's just 3am and league lore is rotting my brain. i think canonizing arcane was a mistake. or at least it wouldn't have been if riot realized they could just leave it at s1 and seamlessly integrate it into existing lore but like fuck all of that i guess. writing that first paragraph felt like describing transness but with extra steps so im now declaring both TF and taliyah as trans. you can try prying that from my cold dead hands.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*Ghost A appears*

Ghost A:Wazzupp! You must be the new temporary student I was hearing about! My pal, Prefect wanted to gift you this since you staying here for a short amount of time. Hope you like em'! *gives Rollo a plastic covered basket of goods with orange and red decorations around it, with a tag that reads 'For Rollo, from Prefect =)'*

He’s so mad and friendless :((

Like Fire, Hellfire.

He startled slightly at the ghost's appearance, taking a tentative step back from the spot it occupied. Not that it would have mattered--there was no corporeal form to them. The ghost was a staunch thing, face round and nose bulbous... and, most importantly, far too friendly for Rollo's liking.

"The temporary student... Yes, I suppose that would be me," he stated evenly, careful to not let his contempt slip through his facade.

"Hey, I got the right guy on my first try! What are the odds, huh?"

"Pretty good, considering that I'm the only person wandering about campus in a completely different uniform than the others," Rollo grumbled under his breath.

"Prefect didn't tell me you had a killer sense of humor on top of the fancy-lookin' clothes!" Ghost A laughed heartily, setting a hefty covered wicker basket into Rollo's arms. "Here ya go! Knock yourself out!"

He summoned a tight smile. "You have my thanks. Please send them my regards as well."

"Will do, kid!" The ghost gave a salute. He then slowly vanished into thin air, becoming one with the whipping autumn winds. "Hasta la vista...!"

Rollo tensed, opting to wait a full 5 minutes to ensure the pesky presence was gone before he pulled back the cloth covering his basket and inspected what was hidden underneath. Various items were shoved inside: a candle, stationary supplies, a few meal coupons, a sleeping mask... The Prefect had even taken care to dress the basket up with shredded tissue paper in warm colors, little plastic flowers in the same shades sticking out.

For Rollo, from Prefect =), read a little tag attached to the welcoming gift. Enjoy your stay at Night Raven College!

Rollo sneered at the sentiment. Enjoy himself? Here? At a school teeming with scoundrels and sinners? Surely they had to be making a joke in poor taste.

But then why go to the trouble of preparing this...?

A worrying thought gathered in the back of his mind. Something vaguely warm and fuzzy, a similar high that many mages chased. Not magic, but the warmth of an outstretched hand.

Companionship, connection.

His stomach lurched, sickened by the concept. He furiously batted it away with a scowl. Not them, not the mage sympathizer.

They were a fool to offer an olive branch, to attempt to make friends with him. As though we could ever see eye-to-eye.

Rollo could picture it now: their silly face contorted in a lazy grin, calling out to him from afar. Eyes gleaming so brightly. Waving as they drew near. Closer and closer, to clasp his hand in theirs.

"Let's be friends, Rollo!" they'd say insistently.

He found himself frowning--or rather, trying to.

“… How troublesome.”

[grailfinders]

Grailfinders Viewers' Choice #26: Nrvnqsr Chaos

today on Grailfinders, I’d say we’re due for a big ol’ storm of chaos! Nrvnqsr Chaos specifically, though you’ll have to forgive me if I simply call him Nero throughout the build- I’m not going to remember that alphabet soup of a name.

anyway, our dear friend Keysmash Chaos is an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer to pick up some spicier summons and some flexibility, as well as a Shepherd Druid for summoned beasts out the wazoo that can really pack a punch. check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Ancestry & Background

Nero was a human but now he’s chaos, which is a bunch of animals grafted together in a semi-humanoid shape. you could go Simic Hybrid here if you love the smell of fish, but since there’s no way in hell I’ll find another chance for this I’m going to make him a Plasmoid instead. that gives him +2 Charisma and +1 Constitution, as well as an Amorphous body type that lets you squeeze through small spaces and get advantage on making and escaping grapples. you also get Darkvision up to 60’, and can Hold Breath for up to an hour with no negative consequences. you’ve got 666 pairs of lungs, I’m sure it’ll all work out. your unique body plan also gives you a Natural Resistance against acid and poison damage as well as the poison condition, and you can Shape Self as an action to add or remove limbs and a head from your general shape, or use a bonus action to send a bit of you up to 10’ away in a little cord that can manipulate lightweight objects. chaos doesn’t keep a solid form, go figure.

you used to be part of a reclusive bunch of mages that threw themselves out of normal reality, so calling you a Hermit is pretty spot on. you get proficiency in Medicine and Arcana instead of religion bc I said so, and the Wandering Sea is definitely more about science/magic than gods. I’d argue your backround’s flavor feat Discovery is also pretty in-character for once since it gives you a reason you became goo to begin with, but it’s not totally necessary.

Ability Scores

nero’s highest score is his Charisma. his magic comes from inside, and I mean that literally. next is Wisdom, animals tend to have a high wisdom score, and you are animals. also, mind-controlling you is probably pretty hard given how many you have. third is Constitution, because you don’t die til your beasts do, and your beasts don’t die til you do. a real catch-666 here. this does make your Dexterity a little lower than I’m 100% comfortable giving a caster, but with a healing factor like yours getting out of the way isn’t an issue. your Intelligence is only average- you were smart, and probably still are, but your brain’s been getting eaten by wolves the last millennium, I wouldn’t bet too much on it. that means we’re dumping Strength, which feels weird for a super strong vampire, but we can patch that up with magic better than most other abilities.

Class Levels

1. Sorcerer 1: starting off as a sorcerer gets you proficiency with Constitution and Charisma saves. you can survive the eyes of death perception, which is definitely a high save DC for one of those. you also get proficiency in Intimidation and Insight checks. you have 600+ beasts inside you- that’s a lot of growling and a lot of eyes.

at level one your Aberrant Mind lets you use Telepathic Speech, linking up with a nearby creature for a couple minutes so you can speak with just your minds. you also gain Psionic Spells, which are kind of like a regular extended spell list, but you can swap these out with other divination or enchantment spells as you go. if we do that, we’ll be sure to bring it up.

speaking of, at level one you get Arms of Hadar and Mind Sliver which we’re keeping, but we’re swapping out Dissonant Whispers for Identify. you’ve been around a while, you know what magic is. you also get regular spells this level- Mage Hand lets you send out a lil bird to carry something light for you, Sword Burst flings claws everywhere for some cheap damage, Chill Touch deals damage and blocks healing, and Blade Ward lets you goop up to block the worst of incoming physical damage. for your leveled spells, Mage Armor is practically a necessity since it gives you an extra +3 to AC, and Catapult is nice too, letting you fling a nearby object at a creature, possibly damaging both in the process.

2. Sorcerer 2: second level sorcerers are a Font of Magic, which right now just means you can cast an extra 1st level spell each day by doing some rigamarole. a 1st level spell like Feather Fall perhaps. you’ve got a lot of birds in you, I’m sure they can help break your fall.

3. Sorcerer 3: at third level your font of magic actually becomes interesting, because you can use your sorcery points from that to make Metamagic, altering the effects of your spells to your liking. most of your summons are literally you pulling something out of you, so they’re pretty Subtle. subtle spells don’t require somatic or verbal components, so they’re a lot harder to counterspell too!  speaking of, those summons are basically animals when they’re not in you, so they last a while- an Extended spell can help with that, doubling the duration of whatever you cast.

you also get second level spells now! we’re swapping out Calm Emotions for Hold Person for your weak shitty eyes of enchantment, and Detect Thoughts. mortal mages can do that, and you’ve been around ten times as long, so I can’t imagine it’s that difficult for you. you also get Enhance Ability, giving you advantage on one kind of skill check for up to an hour. and all the options are flavored after animals, score!

4. Sorcerer 4: fourth level sorcerers get their first Ability Score Improvement, so bump up that Charisma for stronger spell, like the cantrip Infestation to sic bugs on people and Shatter to break shit! I think adding a swarm of poisonous insects to your chaos would probably bump you up to at least 6,666 beasts but I’ll allow them to all count as one.

5. Sorcerer 5: at fifth level, everything just kind of goes right for you thanks to your Magical Guidance- spend a sorcery point, re-roll a failed check. you’re a villain, so you have plot armor right up to the end of the story.

you also get third level spells- Haste lets you move fast enough to keep up with arcueid (probably), and your freebies Hunger of Hadar and Sending let you blast some goo to slow down enemies and chaos them to death, or use a cell phone. you were born in the 900s, an iphone might as well be magic to you.

6. Sorcerer 6: a sixth level weirdo gets Psionic Sorcery, so any of your psionic spells can now be cast purely through sorcery points, and doing so makes it subtle as well as allowing you to ignore material components unless they are spent by the spell. that’s important for later.

you also get Psychic Defenses, giving you resistance to psychic damage as well as charms and spooks. you have a lot of brains in there, it’s going to be hard to freak all of them out at once. which is good bc the rabbit one is always freaked out.

also you can finally eat people now! with Vampiric Touch, you can touch people and drain their life force, regaining half the damage you deal as HP!

7. Sorcerer 7: seventh level of a spellcaster means fourth level spells! as for nero, it’s Polymorphin’ time! now you can turn into a beast with a CR equal to your level or less for up to an hour, changing all your stats and basically giving you a big beast-shaped shield to your HP. you also get your new psionic spells, Evard’s Black Tentacles and Summon Aberration! the former’s basically hunger of hadar but again, and the latter’s our very first summoning spell for phantasmals! yeah it took a while to get going, but if putting animals in people was easy everyone’d be a furry already. don’t worry, we’ll speed things up next level.

8. Druid 1: bouncing over to druid gives you more Spells that you cast and prepare using your Wisdom. multiclassing spellcasters gets a lil complicated, so check the PHB to see what spell slots you have at any given time.

the important thing is you get Primal Savagery and Shillelagh, giving you more melee options to avoid having to punch people with your puny caster hands. you can further enhance your physicality with spells like Jump and Longstrider, or drag people into your chaos with Entangle. you even learn druidic! it’s a language!

9. Druid 2: at second level you get to enter the Circle of the Shepherd, which teaches you the Speech of the Woods. not only does it teach you Sylvan, famous for being a language, but you can talk to beasts now as well!

more excitingly, you can summon a Spirit Totem as a bonus action, bringing a phantasmal to the battlefield for up to a minute per short rest. you can pick between three options- the bear giving creatures you choose extra HP and advantage on strength checks and saves, the Hawk letting you grant advantage on an attack as a reaction and giving advantage freely to perception checks, and the Unicorn gives advantage on checks to find creatures and extra HP from healing spells.

to get even beastlier, you can now Wild Shape twice per short rest to turn into a beast without using a spell slot. the CR for this one is a lot more limited, but free HP is free HP. alternatively, you can do the more in-character thing and summon a Wild Companion, letting you spend a wild shape use to cast Find Familiar without materials. it’s not that strong, but a flying spy camera can be pretty useful.

10. Druid 3: if you need a long-distance helper, you can always use Animal Messenger or Beast Sense instead. the former will fursonally deliver a message to someone you describe, while the latter lets you see and hear through a beast for up to an hour, but without any control over what it does.

you can also Summon Beast which is nice. we’re still a ways away from mass chaos, but it’s a cheaper summon option.  hell, it’s honestly the better option for a fourth level spell slot anyway, unless you’re hyped about having a regenerating chaos.

11. Druid 4: at fourth level you can turn into CR 1 creatures that can swim thanks to your Wild Shape Improvement, and you can also use this ASI to bump up your Charisma and Wisdom to max out the former and set up the latter for later.

you also get another cantrip, so I say weaponize that pseudopod of yours with a Thorn Whip. it whips! it thorns!

12. Druid 5: the real reason we’re here is third level spells, and the only one I care about here is Conjure Animals. by using a third level spell slot, you can summon a single beast of CR 2, or twice as many by halving the CR, all the way to 8 CR ¼ beasts. it says the DM has the stats for whatever you summon, but tbh if you’re going to summon eight extra fighters every combat you should probably just bookmark your own PHB to help out.

13. Druid 6: one last pit stop before we head back to sorcerer- at level six shepherd druids become Mighty Summoners, adding an extra 2 HP per hit die to your summoned beasts/fey, and giving them magical attacks to boot.

14. Sorcerer 8: another ASI, this time you’re Resilient in Wisdom saves, giving you advantage and also rounding up your wisdom score for a cool plus 1 to all your spells and such.

also you can summon a Spirit of Death now, which lets you track whatever it’s zero’d in on anywhere in the material plane.

15. Sorcerer 9: with fifth level spells, it’s time for things to get real spicy. your freebies this level are Scrying to send out a spy bird with none of the fuss (esp. since you can use psionic casting to get around the 1000 gold casting cost) and Telekinesis to lift stuff like the big strong man you’re supposed to be. you can also Summon Draconic Spirits now, giving you access to the most powerful phantasmals available. not only can it deal adequate damage with breath attacks, but it also protects you from elemental damage to boot!

16. Sorcerer 10: now that you’ve spent some time vamping it up, your magic can now be Empowered, forcing disadvantage on one person trying to save themselves from it. you also get the Message cantrip bc I’m running out of good cantrips to give you, and the Enervation spell for a more chaos-flavored way of consuming your prey. you slap a target with a tentacle, and if they fail their first save it latches on, letting you drain their health each turn for up to a minute.

17. Sorcerer 11: I’ll be honest I’m kind of on the fence as to whether Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise should be called your 999th beast or not. on one hand it makes you look more demonic and gives you all kinds of cool abilities, but tbh I think turning into a T rex makes you a lot tougher for less magic cost. either way, you definitely have it now.

18. Sorcerer 12: use your last ASI to bump up your Dexterity to not die as much. yeah you’ve got plenty of spare lives, but it’s a pain to use them, y’know?

19. Sorcerer 13: our final spell of the day is the Finger of Death, which is a big single-target attack that can even turn a person into part of your chaos if it kills a humanoid target. really your whole body is Of Death, but a finger works too I guess.

20. Sorcerer 14: our capstone ability makes you a Revelation in Flesh, letting you transform yourself as a bonus action for ten minutes. for each sorcery point spent to transform, you get one of the four available bonuses. the first lets you see invisible creatures, the second gives you a flying speed, and the third lets you swim and breathe underwater. the last and both most- and least-important turns you into chaos good, letting you and anything you’re wearing move through a 1-inch space, or spend 5’ to break any grapple. it’s technically something you could’ve done already, but now you can do it without getting naked.

Pros & Cons:

Pros:

you have pretty good health for a caster, but it gets even better when you include all the extra health you can get from your uses of Polymorph, Wild Shape, and of course your vampiric spells. unless they can rush you down, you can cling to life in a fight for a good long while.

your spells are also very flexible, as are you. yes, you can summon 32 wolves or transform into a T Rex to cause havoc, but you can also summon or become smaller creatures for the sake of stealth or reconnaissance. and of course while using these spells on just yourself is in-character, a lot of them can be used on teammates as well to help them out.

you’re hard to deal with, magically speaking. you have solid saves in two of the big three saves, and you resist some common status effects really freaking well, so other mages can have a hard time taking out your HP faster than you can regrow it.

Cons:

your AC isn’t great, so melee fighters can still carve you up pretty easily. and if one of those happen to get creative with their mystic eyes of death perception you’ll definitely still be in trouble.

also, almost all of your summons are super weak compared to other spells of the same level. Conjure Animals is great for area denial or dealing with large groups of weak enemies, but using a ninth level spell for 32 wolves that’ll survive all of one turn before being fireballed to death just feels bad. the extra health from Mighty Summons is nice, but you’re getting at most 14 extra HP from that if you’re making CR 2 beasts, and that won’t last long at higher levels.

you yourself isn’t that strong either- while you don’t have to worry much about getting grappled, but you’re still easy to push around or fall into a magical strength-save spell.

[fakesurprise]

Dangerous Drop-Offs

Finding a door that leads to Dunedin Airport is not difficult when one is the wandering magician of an age. Large places tend to attract doors or at least Ways into them, only some of which are used by anything humans can see. Some doors are harder to open, others more dangerous to use or even to know about. Some are more difficult to close after, but that is a problem for the future. Being the wandering magicians means I can get anywhere I need to be, even if I never know why I need to.

The magic only goes so far. At some point everything becomes a series of guesses. Or the need of another, in this case.

The mage who calls me to the airport serves the city of Dunedin proper. Short, nervous and young as a magician though not perhaps in years. Being a magician is dangerous, a danger some survive longer than others. I have lasted longer than most wandering magicians solely due to friends.

“Welcome to Dunedin,” the magician says quickly, staring behind me in worry and only relaxing slightly that I’m alone. “My surname is Li, my personal name is Fang. Fang is what you can call me, if you want to?” A smile follows, a flash of braces and intense worry.

I pause. Airports are liminal points and places both. This one has wards that have developed naturally over the decades, weaving into and with each other to protect the people within from harm. Nothing about any of it jumps out, and I take a moment to spread my senses further. Nothing unusual catches my attention, save that Fang is terrified in ways magicians learn to hide as part of being magicians.

I hold out a hand. “I am the wandering magician; I haven’t been here before.”

Fang shakes my hand. “I – I wasn’t sure you would come. Or how to call you. There are stories of ways to – to summon you, but I didn’t want any other involvement.” Fang gulps. “You are alone, yes?”

“As far as I know. Should I not be?”

“I don’t know.” Fang lets out a breath. “Probably? It’s safer. Definitely safer. I’m not doing this well, am I?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, precisely?” I say mildly.

Fang’s eyes widen. “Trying to. Ah. Trying to prevent something terrible?”

“Fang. Relax.” I don’t put power into the worlds, but other magician acts as though I do. “You called me across time zones with your need, and an intensity that is borderline apocalyptic. I’m not seeing a source for that, so an explanation could help?” “I didn’t mean it like that. To be like that. The calling.”

I wait.

“I didn’t know about it until recently. The situation. And I thought if I didn’t, you might not as well. And that you should?”

I wait, this time a little louder.

Fang gets the hint, and we move out of a hallway between two food courts and through the airport. There are nice chairs and benches, but nothing that seems unusual until we reach the drop-off zone.

“They changed it recently to improve traffic flow in the airport,” Fang says, voice cracking only a little.

I stare up at the sign.

‘Max hug time 3 minutes.’ A picture of two people hugging. ‘For fonder farewells please use the car park.’

“It’s meant to break up airport congestion?” Fang whispers into my silence.

“I can see how it would do that. And why you called me.”

The other mage nods, looking relieved.

The reputation I’ve earned can scare others, even if some of it isn’t my own. When you’re friends with a god eater and a boy from far Outside the universe, stories attach themselves to you. To Jay, hugs are Important and things that are important to Jay tend to develop a certain weight. It’s not magic. It’s not even ‘bindings’ that Jay does: it’s simply just part of him, and the universe becoming a part of that as well.

Explaining that tends to scare people even more, for many reasons.

“This isn’t my city. I can’t convince the CEO to change their mind and have it stick, not without abusing my power as your guest in this place.” That’s not strictly true: I can do whatever I need to, but I often try not to do much of that. The scariest part about limits is always the places where they aren’t. “You’ll need to have a chat with them, never mention my friend by name, and that something very – intent – may show if those signs don’t get altered.”

“I think it was intended to be quirky.”

“Yes, well, it could attract a different kind of quirky.” I smile. “Most airports can only handle so much at once I think.”

Fang laughs at that, looking a little better. “That’s true. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you. For warning me about this.” I pause, and reach into a space where I don’t often. Jay is bound to me, in ways at once deep and very simple. I touch power, and shift bindings of my own very slightly to make a Forgetting. “My friend won’t heard about this place: I’ve added that much to the wards, but nothing is perfect and no magic can be permanent.”

Fang starts, staring at me in awe. I don’t know how much Fang sensed, but it is enough for a state of shock that won’t go away for a while.

I leave the other magician to think this was all my power, because sometimes the myth of me is more useful than the reality. Right now Fang needs a myth for grounding, and I provide that. I find a door, and return back to the hotel, closing it right behind me before Fang can ask anything else.

If Fang hasn’t fixed the situation in a week, I suspect I might need to act directly. But for now I set the matter aside as Jay appears beside me.

“I made a soup with extra hugs,” he says. “Which is like coffee, but! Charlie says coffee never needs extra hugs!”

I glance over at the eleven year old who is impossible in every way that matters. Today he is wearing jeans and a kilt, because he wears whatever clothing wants to be worn, according to some criteria only the clothing knows. “A soup.”

“I think it wanted to be a stew,” Jay says, quite seriously. “But stews get weirdy so it’s totally a soup!”

I get a bowl and head into the kitchen of the suite to eat soup. Which is probably safe, unless it isn’t. There is a metaphor in that, but Jay would simple say he’s never met a phor he didn’t like, and also be quite serious in that. Which sometimes balances out the parts of him that can terrify, if only sometimes.

And sometimes is often enough.

[blububblgum]

Arya stark: bloodhunter, order of the ghostslayer.

Once again, reasoning in incredible detail under the cut

Ok for arya, i once again wanted to subvert obvious expectations (and play more in the dnd space) so instead of the rogue subclass (with either thief or assassin as her subclass) i settled on bloodhunter for her class. First, to be clear on why not rogue; its not really that different from how she is in the actual world of asoiaf, and if i'm committing to an au then i might as well branch out (the same reasons stand for why not fighter). Bloodhunter is a class that was created by matthew mercer for campaign 2 of critical role, and it is deeply interesting to me (as well as being suited to arya)

Bloodhunters are a martial class that is based around the use of blood magic in order to destroy evils in the world, while resisting giving into the dangerous magic they work with. The subclass that i chose for arya is Ghostslayer, which is "the oldest of the bloodhunter orders" and they focus on everything around death, with an obsession with ridding the world of the undead. While the House of Black and White is not like, focused on ridding the world of undead, it does align well with how she could have come into these powers/fighting style. Beyond the House of Black and White, arya herself has so many personal vendettas that work with the motivations of ghostslayers (especially when you think of the white walkers, though i know she doesn't know about them).

Though ghostslayer (and bloodhunter really) have some magic, it doesn't really give the specific power of changing appearance, and that is kinda crucial to what arya learns in the House of Black and White. So!! In order to make this work, i think dnd arya is not a human (or at least, not a human anymore). Instead she is a shifter, which is descended from a were-creature. The shifter option that suits arya best is swiftstride (which isn't the one that is recommended for werewolves but whatever), since it gives extra movement/increased speed, and matches how arya fights. However, arya still can't change her faces, so this is where feats come in. The Eldritch initiate feat allows one invocation (something that warlocks get as part of their deal) and though arya is definitely not a warlock (though i did think about hexblade for her, i just couldn't figure out what her patron would be), the Mask of many faces invocation allows the character to cast disguise self at will, which works as a dnd take on changing faces. If she were higher level then Master of myriad forms makes more sense (it gives the spell alter self at will, which actually changes the form of the caster, whereas disguise self   is an illusion spell) but i decided to plan her at about 8th level, so whatever lol.

Some bonus thoughts (i know i have already rambled a lot oopsies); her fighting style is either duelling or two-weapon fighting, depending on whether she uses exclusively needle or if she also fights with a dagger. Her crimson rite damage would be cold, as a little nod to her stark side. For her blood maledicts (bonuses that are useful in fighting) i decided on the Blood curse of the Eyeless which lets her temp blind people (fun!) and Blood curse of Binding which reduces peoples speed to zero for a bit (good for just fucking sprinting away). Since i'm thinking of her as 8th level, she can have another feat (which is more interesting than an ability score improvement) and i decided on magic initiate (wizard, since its intelligence based), which gives 2 cantrips (spells that don't require spell slots) and 1 first level spell. For the two cantrips, mage hand and booming blade would give some helpful bonuses to her both in and out of combat. For the one spell, i thought find familiar would be fun! Find familiar doesn't have wolf, but if you just  use cat stats for wolf then that's fine, find familiar is cool cause the caster can look through the eyes of the familiar when they are in range, and they can be summoned in a different form when it is recast. Lastly, i think her stats (highest to lowest) are: dexterity, intelligence, constitution, wisdom, strength, charisma.

Again, if you read all this, thank you!!!! I hope it made sense and lmk ur thoughts.

[thelealinhypehouse]

Mains from FFXIV Intorduction (open for rp!)

Name: Nava Reed (fake name)

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male He/Him

Orientation: Homosexual

Age: 27

Race: Half Elezen (Ishgard) with awaken dragon blood

Occupation: Member of Rogue's Gulid, Adventurer

Home/Origin: Born at Flaceon Nest but raised at Limsa Lominsa

Goal/Motivation: Revenge on Ishgardian Inquisitors and Parents

Strength: Cooking, Torturing, Acrobatic

Weakness: Reading and writing (he can but its slow), hot headed

Likes: Food, fights, pretty clothing (he is alwyas amazend about lace work, how patient you need to be for it and how stunning it looks)

Dislikes: Betreyal, bugs, snow

Class: Red Mage/Dark Knight/Rogue/Machinist

Family/Childhood: Born at Flacon Nest to Ul'dah merchant and Elezen from High House of Ishgard, She gone against the will fo her family to marry the merchant. The war with dragons was raging on and one his village was attacked. During this his mother when was pregnant with him got injuried and few drops of dragon blood fallen on her. She didn't turn. All was absorbed by the baby. When Nava was born his eyes was white, at first they thought he was born blind but it was not. When he was 5 the horns started to slowly show up. At first they tried to hide them under bandanas, hats ect, but they still growing. Cutting them ended up causing alot of pain, because they had veins. Somebody from the village contacted the Ishgardian Inqusition to investigate probally the dragon spawn. They wanted to to Nava away and kill him or something. Parents was acused of heresy but they get the option to repent the sins. Nava before was taking away he just escape the village and thanks to merchant wo was on the way to Limsa he hide himself in one of thier boxes. At Limsa he become street thief. Probally meet Thranced once or twice before he was took by Archon Louisoix. Nava other hand was took by Thief Gulid. This is where meet Jacke Swallow, the future Capitan Jacke of Rogue's Gulid. With him created this gulid and Nava become one of the more fierce member. Taking out more scummy people than normaly. Not before tet more info if there is bigger fish to take out... Years go by, he tried to help people as he could during Calamity. It was hard, there are so many things that happend that time... With Gulid they helped with rebuilding Limsa and areas that was affected. This is when Nava started to think about traveling, to try new things, be at new places, meet new people. He decided to be adventurer, but still hoding Code to his heart and helping when needed.

Quirks:

Great as coinkeeper for gulid.

Always having pair of daggers if magic not gonna work

He is cruel, if somebody hurt people dear to Nava, he will not be gentle.

Master culinarian, took grwreat time at culinarian gulid.

Quote: May gods have mercy for my enemies because I won't.

Introduction: Sitting at on one of the Ul'dah tavern you spot the hyur sitting not farr form you. On second look you spoted the pointy ears. On third look you spotted the horns. You thoght they are maybe some kind fancy decoration? Than you see they finishied thier dring with few big glups, and stand from seat, levaing the gil. He was observing someone that was leaving tavern too. Before he gone he just "fixed" position of his dagger on the belt.

Random info: - He and Jacke where FwB - Can eat alot and loves to try new food

Name: Alden Lush

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male He/Him

Orientation: Homosexual

Age: 25

Race: Hyur

Associated God: Thalik

Occupation: Studium Absolvent, Thaliak chosen

Home/Origin: Old Sharlayan

Goal/Motivation: Unravel mystery of parents “death” and what they investigate. The Truth

Strength: Memory, Alchemy, Perceptive, lots of aether (all carby are the chonky ones), fast reader.

Weakness: Cooking, No Street Smart, Lots of times lost in thoughts and not looking around, shy with talking. Zero social skills.

Likes: Food, books, sunny days,

Dislikes: Surprises, Mimics

Class: Summoner/Scholar

Family/Childhood: Born at Old Sharlayan to a pair of scholars. They go on expeditions lots of the time, but one in the while Alden joins them as a kid. Once at Costa del Sol met a blonde Miqo'te and became friends. Sadly Alden needed to go back home but promised to go back one day. That never happened, but why? Sadly on the next expedition they went without him, and they didn't come back. The rescue mission was created, but they come back mostly empty handed. They found the destroyed ship, bodies of the crew and a few personal items of his parents including the father book he used as a summoner. They were called dead and now what to do with Alden? There were no other relatives there. Finally was adopted by one of the Forum members, and the era of traveling has come to an end. His guardian told him he can leave Sharlayan only when he graduates Studium. So Alden studied hard to enter there. He chose Aeather Archeology as specialization. Finally when finished his studies and became a full titled scholar, he began to prepare for the journey. To unravel the mystery of his parents and what they found.

Quirks:

When lost in thoughts he walks, and doesn't look where. That show he learned how to swim

Don’t need a book to cast, he only needs some ink and surface to write, but books are handy

Even with perfect memory he always has the book with notes and checks lots of times.

Have favorite seal plushie from childhood

Blessing: Thaliak Blessing - Absolute Memory

Quote: Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.

Introduction: As you live peacefully in Limsa minding your own business you see young hyur on streets that seem lost. Always checking his book in hands and muttering to himself. You see him going one direction, and not even a minute pass you see him going back the same road. Only a miracle that he didn't end up at Limsa water…yet.

Radom info: - Just can't cook, boiling water are his max skills - Few times he broke his glasses, so he have a spare at his coat.