#ic: the crimson monster

[cryptidsncurios]

@experimentalfma continued from [ X ]

Kimbley had always been like an animal in more ways than one. Sometimes his prey fought back after managing to escape containment in such rare cases of fury and adrenaline---yet, in the end, like the predatory creature he was, his teeth would prove sharper, his claws more deadly, and the corpse hauled back to whence it had come within his "private study."

But the wounds would remain, deadly scalpel marks across the flesh of his left lower arm---so close to the radial artery that it could have spelled quite a bit of trouble had the blade met its mark. Accompanying these scarce incidents was nearly always a mild sense of displeasure---this time, the sense occurred to him---and, just like an animal, would carry it with him as he skulked away to metaphorically lick those wounds, within the privacy of his bedroom, as his "private study" was devoid of the tools he required to tend to his predicament (careless---he would have to remedy this slip-up straightaway).

And, alas, he was to further scold himself for yet another act of carelessness after having pressed some cloth against the injury---perhaps it was in the throes of his numbing pain that he'd neglected to stifle the drops of blood along the pathway. Barging in came the Homunculus, right through his door and entering without invitation before Kimbley could bar access to his domain.

Of course he knew how to remove blood stains---what sort of fool with hobbies similar to his would not?---but his response was interrupted before he could utter a single word, and the ridiculous second question was greeted with the slightest tilt of his mouth in an upward slant, his personal medical kit produced with practiced ease from its hiding place.

“You think me so unwise that I would be unable to tend to myself?” he answered, taking a seat upon his bed and opening the lid to reveal the perfectly-organized contents, then began to prepare for stitches. Thankfully, his jacket had already removed from his previous activities, so that barrier would cause him no issue. Admittedly, it was still awkward to make such ministrations with a single hand, so as to not worsen the bleeding, but he had managed far more difficult situations.

“My history is fraught with such incidents---” then, golden eyes darting upward to lock upon the Homunculus’ visage. “If you wish to watch, by all means, you’ve already forced your way into being my unwelcome guest.”

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Diana showed up with a handmade cake shaped like onikabuto. It took her several days to get right but she holds it out for Itto. "Happy birthday!!"

( his birthday is on the 1st of june)

Itto was already chilling under a tree but he heard someone walking over to look. His eyes open seeing Diana. "Hey Diana! How are-" as he started to say, his eyes widen seeing something in her hands. "Woah, cool cake and thank you! Did you make this for me?" he smiled to her happy she did.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Author’s note: I am stuck in a slump so I’m going to write a guilty pleasure of mine… the body swap trope except this time, with a twist. And of course with the one that got away trope. I adore it so very much like black cherry ice-cream.

Yandere Head Canons:

The Husband Swap

Yandere Shapeshifter x Married Fem Elf Reader x Neglectful Drow Husband

TW: yandere content!! Mentions of smut, dubcon, tentacles, monster fucking, size kink, manipulation, voyeurism, oral, and unhealthy relationship.

Art from Veil Manga

You had been married to your husband, Nikolai Sokolov, for many years. An arranged marriage set up amongst your people as a peace treaty… you, a high elf, wed to a drow, dark elf. And Nikolai was often cold to you… despite how often you attempted to bond with him.

Nikolai refused to eat any of the food you made and he constantly brushed aside your attempts to get to know him. He cared little for this arranged relationship and treated you as if you were some mere commoner, a fact that only made your heart sting.

Nikolai would occasionally share a bed with you, but it was often out of fulfilling his needs. He cared little for your pleasure and only cared to satiate his own.

One day, Nikolai bought you a servant just to get you to leave him alone (outside of sex). A shapeshifter.

A magic collar was bound tightly around their silver neck as a preventative to their ability to shift. They were now powerless and subservient. A trait that most shapeshifters didn’t have since they were quite sly by nature. You wondered what this creature had done to have been reduced to a servant…

Their name was Lev Snegur and they were close in age to you and Nikolai. The shapeshifter was somewhat masculine looking with sharp features and pitch black eyes. A genderless species that never uttered a sound, what wonderful company to have.

You often tried to engage in small talk with them, but they remained as silent as the depth of night. Not a peep left their lips to ever give you input. It unnerved you.

You were very sweet to them and even offered to share meals, but they only stared at you. Talking to Lev was like talking to a brick wall that nodded at times. Lev was an incredibly good listener.

Lev’s company did little to satiate the ache in your heart and the all consuming loneliness. You were so isolated in this empty home filled with bitterness. And you started to accept that you’d never find any warmth with him. Nor would you find solace in your silent servant’s company.

Occasionally you’d wake up covered in a slight sweat, a puddle of dampness below you. The room would always feel of sex, yet you hardly had any of that… but you were always a bit sore between your legs when you’d wake up on mornings like this. Had you been having wet dreams due to your consistent loneliness? Or was there something foul at play?

So it was a surprise when Nikolai bounced into your room like a puppy one morning. His arms wrapped around your side while he inhaled your scent. What on earth was he doing?

“Nikolai?” Nikolai placed a finger on your lips, a mischievous look in his crimson eyes.

“Shh, I have a surprise for you!” Nikolai gave you a bright grin that made you do a double take. You’ve never seen your grumpy husband smile in his entire life. This had to be a dream… you gave yourself a pinch and hissed at the pain you inflicted on your poor arm. Nope. Not a dream.

Nikolai lead you out of the room to where a grand meal was set before you consisting of all of your favorite delicacies. You had no idea your husband even knew you adored such food…

“Do you like it?” His face was hopeful as he took your hand in his. “I’ve come to a realization that you genuinely care for me… so I will treat you better.”

And from that day forth, Nikolai was more attentive than he ever had been. He insisted you should move into his room and he often cuddled with you… it was so odd. This entire situation was bizarre, almost as if this was another person and not your husband.

It was when Nikolai went down on you for the first time that your mind truly began to believe he was another man. When did he learn how to please you and why did he eat you out like a man starved? This wasn’t your husband… this was an imposter.

When ‘Nikolai’ made love to you, he felt bigger. You swore he was nearly two to three inches than he used to be, which made your stomach protrude like you had a baby bump. And his hands ardently grasped at every bit of your body as he could.

It wasn’t too uncommon for you to find your husband sniffing your hair like some sort of animal. You were so scared…

The longer you spent time with ‘Nikolai,’ the more paranoid you became. There were less and less drows around now and your servant was missing… you were starting to become afraid.

But you never were able to get much time to think about it too much since ‘Nikolai’ was always dutifully by your side. There was never any time to ask questions… until tonight. You decided to ask him… for you feared you’d fall off the deep end into insanity if you didn’t.

“Where’s Lev?” You softly asked Nikolai whose fingers paused their dance over your scalp. His crimson eyes glanced over to your face.

“And why do you care so much about a shifter when your husband is here?” Nikolai asked in a bitter tone, but you could see a bit of excitement in his eye. And it made your heart pulse in your brain.

“Well, I miss Lev.” You softly whispered. It wasn’t a complete lie. You did miss your servant who always listened to you, but you preferred his silent company over the overbearing presence of your changed husband.

“Hmm… well, we can go see him if you’d like.” Nikolai rose up from the bed and wrapped a black robe over his bare chest. “He’s in the dungeon.”

You were a bit shocked by your husband’s words. “What do you mean? Lev never did anything wrong-“

“My wife is too kind for her own good.” Nikolai held your chin to pause you from rambling on even more. His eyes were filled with so much emotion, it froze you in place. “It’s what I love most about you.”

You gulped and averted your gaze, your cheeks felt hot.

Lev lead you down the hallway and down the winding stairs to the dungeon, his hand gently held yours. You felt dread creep up into your stomach the closer you went to the dingy dungeon. Your nerves felt as if they were on fire…

And the sight before you terrified you to your core, the angled corpse of Nikolai laid sprawled out on the brick flooring. His lifeless eyes turned toward the door and his mouth agape in a horrific scream forever frozen on his rotting face.

You tried to flee but your ‘Nikolai’ began to shift, slender hands now held you firmly in place while your captor’s face slowly morphed into the bewitching creature named Lev.

“It didn’t take much to overpower him. Your husband was too cocky to notice I figured out how to disarm the collar.” Lev’s voice made your blood run cold from how raspy it was. His voice low and monotonous despite the various emotions that hid beneath the surface of his eyes. “To whack him over the back of the head with a sword hilt and drag him down here. It was child’s play really.”

“Are you going to kill me too?” You whimpered when his grip tightened around your arms. His face filled with concern.

“Kill you? Nonsense, I’d never kill my wife!” Lev began to pepper your face with numerous kisses while his arms snaked around your waist. “I mean it when I say I love you, I love you more than that bastard ever could.”

You try to protest, but you feel something slimy wrap around your legs and give them a squeeze. Your eyes are wide in terror at the black tendrils that snaked around your plush thighs. What on earth?!

“And I can certainly fuck you better than he ever could… I can show you things no other monster could ever show you, so won’t you indulge me? I promise I’ll blow your mind.”

[cryptidsncurios]

"Ah, how very dull. Just when it seemed you were about to promise quite the pleasant evening, here you are, shooting my offer down so heartlessly. And I thought my suggestion was perfectly valid."

Despite his words implying some form of disappointment, the teasing behind his tone never drops.

"Don't ya dare eat me for dinner." He's not needing this today, he'd prefer to eat than be eating, especially by Kimbley. "I'm supposed to be eatin' too."

[agustdiv1ne]

𖤐⋆°·.3:13 a.m. (m) — choi beomgyu

genre: smսt (mdni! ageless blogs dni!!), vampire boyfriend!beomgyu, fem!human!reader, mc gets her period, oral (f receiving), bloodplay (ig), i would say i'm sorry but i'm not <3

wc: 3.2k

beomgyu awakes to the smell of blood flooding his nostrils.

bleary eyes snap open as he shakes himself from his suspended state of consciousness, only for him to squint at the glaring crimson numbers of the alarm clock sitting upon the nightstand. it's terribly early. early enough that the stars still glitter against the sable background of the sky outside, early enough that this particular bedroom of his manor remains bathed in darkness. the dimness of the room, however, proves to be no issue for beomgyu's enhanced sight; he watches as your chest rises and falls in steady succession, your sleeping form blissfully unaware of his current predicament. 

oh god, it's you. the blood is yours. the sweet, saliva-inducing perfume of the crimson ichor overwhelms your typically clean, subtle scent; and yet according to his keen senses, the aroma is richer this time, somehow. more potent — he has not smelt anything as addicting in decades. it makes it all the easier for him to want to give into the primal urge to absolutely devour you, to feed and feed and fucking feed from your pretty little neck until he’s sated and you’re halfway brainless. with a jerky shake of his head, he pushes those instincts swirling in his chest into a dark corner of his mind. he’d never feed from you without your permission. he’s not like that; no, he’s not like his former coven that would hunt defenseless humans like you for sport, taking turns drinking from the victim’s body until their veins ran dry. no, he is far from being like them. he loves you, and he’d never do anything that could hurt you.

another wave of sweet iron wafts into his nose, and he exhales sharply, sitting up against the headboard. shit, he really should leave. he should run far away until he can no longer smell you, but he remains frozen in place. sitting there, he takes in how you begin to curl in on yourself, your brows furrowing as if you're in pain. the sight snaps him out of his bloodlust-induced daze, blinking hard when you groan and turn away from him on the bed, your arms wrapped around your midsection — cramps. you’re cramping.

blood, cramping…oh, beomgyu realizes, your period must have started.

the two of you are typically more careful than this, tracking your cycle and ensuring that he is far, far away when it inevitably does hit you. perhaps you’ve both become too complacent in your safety measures after being together so long. it’s easy to forget that he could pose a threat to you when he’s never given you a reason to fear him. he is considered a monster by many, yes, but not by you — and that’s all that really matters to him. besides, beomgyu likes to think he could control himself no matter what, especially when it comes to you and your safety; but when he looks down to his hands, he finds that the fabric of the comforter has been torn open due to his unrelenting grip. his eyes squeeze shut. he needs to leave. he needs to leave right now. you’re too tempting, too testing for his natural instincts. run. run far away before he loses control.

rolling over, your head lands on his lap, arms curling around his left leg as you nuzzle your nose into the smooth skin of his thigh. it’s stronger now, that overwhelming scent. he feels like there’s a frog stuck in his throat, ice in his veins — he needs to get out of here. right fucking now. gently, he tries to peel your body from his, but your arms have become vines, curled tightly around his leg, the side of his knee pressed into the valley between your breasts. they curl tighter as he tries to slip his hands beneath them, but he refuses to use the full extent of his strength on you. 

“baby,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder only to receive no response. he grits his teeth together, he gulps, he tries again. “baby, wake up. you need to let go.”

you let out a sleepy mumble of his name, hooded eyes just beginning to focus as you look up at him. slowly, you take in the stiffness in his posture, his fleeting gaze illuminated by the moonlight. frowning, you set your chin on his thigh, eyes fluttering to a close once again. “what’s going on?”

“i need to leave, darling,” he grits out — he wants to bite you. he can’t bite you. he can’t. he fucking won’t. 

any fatigue remaining in your body drains from your system the moment he utters those words, worry flooding your veins in its wake. you sit up, arms curling around yourself as you lean closer to him, barely registering the pain in your abdomen. his eyes squeeze shut, dark brows furrowing as he shifts away. “why? did something happen? are you in danger—”

how are you so selfless? why, of all things, is the first thing that comes to your mind is his safety? you’re the one that may be in danger here, and he is the reason why you might be. 

you’re on his lap now, hands sliding over the planes of his face and down to cup his jaw. “gyu, c’mon. why do you need to leave?”

his eyes glint red before returning back to normal, razor-sharp fangs elongating before retracting again. his hands remain by his side while he shakes his head, gripping the sheets so cruelly that the threads are on the verge of tearing. now that your legs are parted, he can barely think straight. he needs to taste you, he has to—

“your period just started.”

his voice has lowered to a snarl, resounding from deep within his chest and straight into the pit that has opened up in your stomach. restraint pulls his words taut, hungry, feral — he needs something. he needs blood. you know he’s been depriving himself lately, though you’re unsure why, but now…now feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you with this divine timing. at the sound of another feral groan passing from his lips, you freeze. the fingers brushing over his jaw tense up, pressing into his skin ever so slightly, your voice whisper-quiet. breathy, shock coating each word, “oh. oh shit, um. i’m so sorry, i didn’t. i thought i had another week until—”

your attempt at climbing off of his lap proves to worsen the situation. in the blink of an eye, he’s grabbed ahold of your hips, halting your movements. crimson tinges the edges of his irises, fangs poking out from his upper lip as he pants. “don’t move. please don’t move. i don’t want—fuck, i don’t want to hurt you, baby, please.” 

you sit there for a moment, taking in his pained grimace. he’s fighting himself, he’s fighting every single primal instinct within him telling him to pounce, yet his terribly gentle fingers pressing into your hips indicates that he is still in full control. it’s okay, you think. you’d be okay if he fed.

fingers sliding down to his shoulders, you squeeze. “gyu, you need blood. i know you’re hungry, and it’s okay. i don’t mind.” 

in response, he shakes his head. “no, i can’t. i might hurt you, i can’t.”

your lips purse. what could you do? you’re stuck here, in the precarious position, with no clear way out. figure something out, come on. deep breath. in, out. in, out.

suddenly, an idea unearths itself within the walls of your mind, blooms like the moonflowers that so easily captures your attention when you go on walks with your lover. he doesn’t have to feed in the typical way. he could…oh, he could…

“you don’t have to feed from me, baby,” you coo, watching as his eyes flutter open and meet yours. vermillion now, not one speck of brown in sight. with a gentle, encouraging smile, a hand comes up to swipe through his hair. he shivers at the contact, but you can tell he’s still there. he’s still your gyu, hungry or not. in silence, you take the hand that still holds your left hip and guide it down to the apex of your thighs, allowing his fingers to brush over your panty-clad core. “just…taste me from here.”

he inhales sharply at the contact, at your words, wrenching his arm away. his other hand leaves you completely, palms dragging over his face as he attempts to compose himself. every fiber of his being is screaming at him to take the offer, just take the offer and eat you out — you want it, he really wants it… 

“i can’t,” he chokes out from behind his hands. with a sigh, you shift your face closer to his, grabbing his wrists to remove his hands. he lets you, he always lets you. his eyes remain closed this time, but you work with it; you know he can hear your heartbeat and the rustling of your shirt, smell your sweetness, feel the warmth radiating off of your face as you press a peck to his cheek.

“i trust you,” you whisper against the corner of his lips. he whispers out a weak refusal, and you shift against him, just a tiny motion of your hips that causes him to hiss. lower lip wobbling, his hands find your hips once more, eyes silently pleading with you to quit moving before he loses it. as you cup his cheeks, you tilt your head. “i know, baby. i know you don’t want to hurt me — and you won’t, i know you won’t. but don’t you want a taste? it smells good, doesn’t it? there’s nothing stopping you from taking what you need.”

his resolve crumbles before your very eyes as you continue to encourage him. he doesn’t even need to bite you, it’ll be okay, you’ll be safe. it’ll feel good for you too, rid you of your cramps in the process — doesn’t he want to help you feel better? you’ll both feel better if he does this. 

that’s enough for his composure to splinter, cracks forming and spreading like the roots of a tree until it shatters. there’s little holding him back as he flips you onto your back, him towering over you with wide eyes and a parted mouth. pausing, he stares down at you, voice barely louder than a whisper. “tell me to stop.” 

“i don’t want you to,” you murmur back. “take what you need.”

that’s all he needs to hear.

his fangs glint under the moonlight as he swoops in to capture your lips, aggressive, tongue slinking its way past your lips to curl with your own. the kiss itself doesn’t last long, not when one of his fangs slices into your lip, pulling a squeal from you. easily, he tongue locates the wound, laves over it as blood bubbles up to the surface of the flesh. he moans against your mouth at the taste. the sting subsides as the wound closes, and he pulls away. 

“need more,” beomgyu rasps. he’s wide-eyed, on the verge of absolute ruin, but you love seeing him like this. you crave to see him lose control. you are not the glass doll he’s made you out to be. you can take it, you can take him, and he needs to realize that sooner or later — preferably now. 

so you open your legs that have wrapped themselves around his hips, watch as his eyes roll back into his head, and say, “then have more.”

your panties are torn away from your center with ease, and while he can’t technically die, beomgyu thinks that this might just be the nail in his metaphorical coffin. with the barrier of clothes now eliminated, your scent is no longer obstructed, and you smell absolutely fucking divine. his head spins, nose filled with base notes of iron and sugar and a richness that he’s never experienced before. oh. oh fuck, he’s done for. 

sliding down your body until he’s settled between your legs, he holds you open and takes in how blood drips from your fluttering hole. you’re aroused, that much he can tell, and it excites that untamed side of him that he constantly tries to tuck away. it’s out in full force right now, and he doesn’t have it in him to hide it anymore, not when you smell like this, not when your blood is right there for the taking, especially not when you’re inviting him to taste with that sweet little voice of yours, breathy and needy and wanton, pleading for him to touch you. 

and fuck, he can’t take it anymore.

he doesn’t buy time with teasing your thighs like he usually does whenever he eats you out — no, he goes in straight for the kill, tongue licking a strip up your pussy, his groans reverberating against your clit as your saccharine blood hits his taste buds. he doesn’t pull away to comment, but you know just by the way his tongue slips into your hole that he likes what he finds. sometimes, you forget that your lover is no longer human — until these moments in which you are brutally reminded, his tongue extending far into your walls as he gives in to his basest desires. you cry out as the muscle curls up against the spongy spot inside you, thighs closing around his head, but not for long; fingers curl under your thighs, spreading you open for him as he removes his tongue from your entrance, beginning to lick your folds, your inner thighs, cleaning up the blood that has found its way there. his tongue does not slowly savor your skin. rather, he laps at you like a starved man, pulling you closer and closer to his face. if he were human, you’d be worried if he could breathe. 

this must be heaven, he thinks, as he returns back to your folds, tongue swirling around your entrance, his nose bumping against your weeping pearl while his tongue explores your walls as deep as his fingers could go. the sensation is far different from fingers, however — hotter, wetter, you can feel his desperation with every lick and drag, the roughness stimulating every single nerve ending it touches. his hands hold your hips up, holding you as close as possible as he shoves his tongue deeper, the tip of his nose now grinding against your clit. 

“g-gyu! fuck, oh my god, gyuuu!” you repeat over and over again, feeling your high approach. the knot in your stomach pulls tighter, and you reach down to rub your clit with sloppy circles. beomgyu growls at this. he knows you’re close, he knows so well, and he wants to get you there. he needs you to experience the nirvana he has reached right now — he needs you right here with him. 

his tongue leaves your hole again, but the aching emptiness is quickly remedied with three fingers filling you to the brim. back arching, you plead for mercy, for him to let you cum, for anything. please, god, you’ll take anything. he finds your bud, suckling it between his lips, moans muffled against your core and the knot pulls tighter and tighter and the fire rushing through your veins grows white hot—

the knot snaps.

“fu-uckkk!” you scream, voice cracking as your vision spots white, pleasure rushing through every crevice of your body, thighs quaking and back arching and hands finding hair and yanking. your body feels like it’s floating, the waves of pure bliss unending as he continues his ministrations, removing his fingers so he can revel in the taste of your sweet, sweet blood that gushes from your hole. unable to come down, you remain in the throes of pleasure even as he flips the both of you over, your thighs now cushioning his head as you sit atop his face.

you gasp at the position, his eyes now glowing a bright scarlet in the darkness as he looks up at you. you’ve never seen such a shade on him, and arousal sparks in your stomach once again. “gyu, what—”

“more, need more,” he grunts out, now tracing your folds with his tongue. your gyu is still there, just…hungrier, frantic for more. 

if he could taste this for the rest of his life, he would never tire.

“gyu, i don’t— ohhh, shit!” your voice pitches up as he begins to lap at your core, little in his mind other than taking and taking until he’s sated and full. your clit aches with overstimulation, your walls quivering with each pass of his eager tongue as he holds you against him. soon enough, your torso collapses into the mattress, sheets curled between your fingers while you whimper, sweat beading across your heated skin. you can’t. you can’t cum again, and you tell him this again and again, yet he doesn’t heed your cries, building you up and making you cum on his tongue again and again until you can’t even think. your words are incoherent, garbled and tearful against the sheets, begging for him to let up.

“baby, baby i can’t,” you sob as you reach what you think is your fifth orgasm. “gyu!”

finally — fucking finally — he lets up, helps you ride out your high before slipping out from between your thighs. helping you onto your back, he holds your face between his palms, a small trace of blood from his fingers staining your cheek. your blood covers the majority of his lower face, smeared across his chin and lips and even a little on the tip of his nose. if you had enough energy to, you would laugh at the sight. 

“gonna go clean up real quick, okay? i’ll be right back,” he murmurs, squeezing your cheeks when you nod. he’s back within mere seconds, irises now back their normal umber and fangs retracted, no longer more animal than human, no traces of your blood on his face anymore.

“you okay?” he asks softly, smiling when you offer a lethargic nod. he climbs over you, sliding his lips over yours, wet, languid kisses exchanged as he slides his hands up and down your sides. “y’did so well for me, darling. thank you for trusting me.”

“told you it would be worth it,” you shoot back, tiredly giggling when his eyes narrow. 

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies, eyes softening around the edges as he drinks you in, every curve and edge — perfect. you are perfect to him. hands slides up to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “you wanna take a bath, love?”

leaning up, you give him a small peck. “that sounds wonderful.”

as beomgyu gathers you in his arm, commenting how he should just burn these sheets since they’re basically ruined, you find yourself thinking that there’s no one else that you would rather spend the rest of your life with — the rest of eternity with, if he’ll allow it. for now, however, you’ll let him tend to you in the bath, pressing butterfly kisses to your neck from behind as you bask in each other’s presence, the sky outside fading from a deep black into a muted azure. 

for now, this is enough.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[dalishious]

Catching up with Thedas

We’re getting another time-skip between Dragon Age: Inquisition’s Trespasser DLC and Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Here’s a summary of things that have happened in the supplementary material leading up to this. Obviously, major spoiler warning for everything discussed here.

If this summary intrigues you, I would definitely suggest checking out the full stories for yourself. They’re all great—especially the comics. The characters in the comics are so good and that’s not something you get to appreciate just in summaries.

Major takeaways:

The Venatori are still active, especially in Tevinter, where a woman named Aelia (who is now imprisoned by the templars) took over after Corypheus was defeated and attempted to raise a powerful demon buried under Minrathous. The demon is still resting there, and the remains of the Venatori are still about. Although, the Antivan Crows have been hired to assassinate Venatori agents, and are picking them off one by one

The Qunari are invading the north again, and the following cities have been taken over: Ventus (Tevinter), Carastes (Tevinter), Neromenian (Tevinter), and Treviso (Antiva). They plan to move further into Rivain. However, the Antaam are on thin ice with the rest of the Qun, having acted against orders in the city of Ventus – suggesting there may be fracturing of leadership. This is further implied through the Ben-Hassrath declaring neutrality on the war with Tevinter. At the same time, the Qunari are also searching elven ruins trying to gather information about the Dread Wolf

There is a group of elves known as the Agents of Fen’Harel infiltrated all over Thedas and stirring up shit, including fanning the flames of war between Tevinter and the Qunari

The red lyrium idol has been everywhere, man… It was taken out of Meredith’s statue by the Carta, somehow wound up Tevinter, possessed by House Qintara, where it was traded it for information to House Danarius, where it was then stolen by Cedric Marquette, who gave it to Tractus Danarius, who brought it to Nevarra hoping Mortalitasi would help unlock it, where it was then taken back to Tevinter, only to somehow end up in Solas’s hands

Speaking of red lyrium, guess who is also still active? The red templars. And they are serving none other than an awakened but still crystalized Meredith Stannard in Kirkwall, who is known as “The Crimson Knight” by her followers

All Grey Wardens have been summoned to Weisshaupt for reasons unknown

The Grey Wardens have uncovered the remains of a dwarven thaig called Hormok, where beneath it they found elven ruins with signs it was a place of worship for Ghilan’nain. In these elven ruins, they find a magic pool that turns creatures into spliced-up monsters with parts of different beings melded together. While the wardens destroy this place, there are still eleven others out there somewhere

The Arlathan Forest has come alive with magic, changing place and time within it

Solas is in possession of an elven artifact called “the crucious stone”, with unknown powers

Dragon Age: Knight Errant (9:44)

Vaea is an elven squire to wandering knight Ser Aaron Hawthorne. She is recruited by Charter to rescue Tessa Forsythia and Marius (from the Magekiller comics) from where they were caught on their mission. They were sent by the Inquisition to infiltrate Starkhaven’s palace and steal a book with research on red lyrium in Sebastian Vael’s possession. Vaea successfully rescues them and then steals the book herself, but not without a fight with Cedric Marquette, an Orlesian scholar who is also after the book on behalf of the lingering Venatori. It’s found out from the book that the Venatori may already be in possession of red lyrium, and Vaea offers to go to Tevinter to investigate. Aaron agrees to join her, aware and supportive of her work for the Inquisition.

Dragon Age: Deception (9:44)

Olivia Pryde is a con artist working in Ventus, Tevinter. The city is under high tension because of an imminent Qunari invasion. She pretends to be a Magister investigating Calix Qintara, the son of a reclusive fellow Magister, until it’s discovered that Calix is also a con artist. They try to outdo one another in a con contest against sister and brother, Francesca and Florian Invidus, but both are revealed as liars. In their fleeing, they run into Ser Aaron Hawthorne, who coaxes them into helping with his and Vaea’s mission. Vaea’s goal is to steal the red lyrium that was taken from Kirkwall supposedly held in the Qintara estate. Also ending up as part of their plan is a deal with two Antivan Crows, (later revealed in Tevinter Nights to be Teia Cantori and Viago De Riva). While the Crows create a distraction—though one that ends up with the death of Florian—Olivia and Calix con their way into getting floor plans of the Qintara estate, which Vaea uses to successfully break in. Unfortunately for everyone, Francesca pushes her way through and demands to speak to Magister Qintara to reveal Calix has been posing as his son, only to find out that Magister Qintara has been dead for years, and his former elven slave Gaius has been posing as him in order to collect valuable information to pass on to the Agents of Fen’Harel. Vaea discovers that the vault that was supposed to contain the red lyrium is empty, having already been sold to House Danarius. At the exact same time, the Qunari attack the city of Ventus, throwing their mission into a very time sensitive window to escape. Olivia sacrifices herself in order for Vaea, Aaron, Calix, and Francesca to flee the city.

Dragon Age: Blue Wraith (9:45)

Outside Carastes, which has been overrun by Qunari, Cedric Marquette flees from a chasing squad of them with a strange sarcophagus-like device in his possession that he is taking to Magister Nenealeus, who trains slaves into perrepatae; mage-killers. (He was the Magister who trained Marius.) Also chasing after Cedric is Vaea and her crew, hoping he will lead them to Castellum Tenebris, home of House Danarius, where they want to recover the red lyrium. Francesca leaves the group, and Vaea decides to chase after her to convince her to stay with them. Francesca is told by a family friend that her father was taken by the mysterious Blue Wraith (AKA Fenris). She decides to pursue Fenris and rescue her father in an attempt to prove her worth to him, with Vaea tagging along. They find Fenris, but it turns out he did not in fact take Francesca’s father, but rather her father is working with Magister Nenealeus. Inside the Nenealeus’s estate, they discover it has been overrun by Qunari, and overhear an enslaved elf tell the Qunari that the Magisters plan on using an elven sarcophagus artifact to infuse an elven perrepatae with lyrium. Fenris flips out and attacks, recognizing that they have restored the means of which he was experimented on. Meanwhile, Aaron and co. track Cedric down to his meeting with Nenealeus, and the Magister, realizing they are being watched, uses the sarcophagus on a human slave. The slave goes crazy and attacks Aaron’s party, before exploding. With Aaron’s party as well as the Qunari in pursuit of Nenealeus, Cedric, and Francesca’s father, they launch several more human explosives to escape, but Francesca “rescues” her father. He is furious at her for this, and attacks, forcing Francesca to kill him. Calix realizes he’s not cut out for such death and destruction, and departs from the group. Fenris joins them, and together Vaea, Aaron, Francesca, Tessa, Marius, and Fenris head for Castellum Tenebris.

Dragon Age: Dark Fortress (9:45)

Tractus Danarius, bastard son of Magister Danarius, welcomes Nenealeus and Cedric to Castellum Tenebris, which sits on the outskirts of Neromenian. Nenealeus reveals his plan to infuse the elven perrepatae, Shirallas, with red lyrium, believing he will be so powerful as to drive out the Qunari and then expand Tevinter’s control of Thedas back to the glory days of the empire. Vaea and Fenris capture and interrogate Tractus while the others act as lookout, and gather the information needed. Fenris wants to kill Tractus, but Vaea convinces him not to, as they need to get out of Neromenian ASAP since the Qunari picked the perfect time to invade. The Qunari find Tractus still tied up and he tells them about the ritual as well, so they prepare to go to Castellum Tenebris too. Vaea manages to sneak into the castle and then lets in the others through a secret passage. At the end of the tunnel they find a chained up high dragon. Vaea and Fenris attempt to flee the dragon while Aaron, Francesca, Tessa and Marius fight off the Venatori, while the Qunari attempt to break in through the front gate. While all this is going on, Nenealeus completes the ritual on Shirallas, infusing him with red lyrium. Fenris makes a deal with the Qunari to join forces against the Venatori. Marius and Vaea are able to take out Nenealeus, and Fenris and Aaron are able to defeat Shirallas, with the help of Cedric who switches sides at the last minute and reveals his weakness. This comes at the cost of Aaron’s life, though. Tractus gets away, and forces Cedric to hand over the red lyrium idol he stole. Solas watches this from an eluvian.

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights (post-9:44, exact times unknown)

[RELATED POST – Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights Review]

(For more information on Tevinter Nights, I recommend checking out my review linked above.)

Three Trees to Midnight

After the Qunari took over the city of Ventus, they sent the healthy men into work camps on the outskirts of the Arlathan Forest, put to work cutting down trees. Myrion is one such worker, but is secretly a mage. He is chained up to an elf named Strife and immediately calls him a “filthy knife-ear” three times in the same paragraph, insulted to be paired with him. (He continues to do so the entire story, by the way.) They get in trouble for fighting. Strife is revealed to be an undercover Dalish, (though originally from Starkhaven). He was sent to rescue another Dalish elf named Thantiel who uncovered the Qunari invasion plans, though Thantiel was poisoned with an overdose of qamek, irreversibly turning him into a mindless labourer as well. Strife uncovers the plans and he and Myrion escape into the Arlathan Forest, after Myrion uses his magic to help them get away. In the forest they meet up with Irelin, a shapeshifting member of Strife’s clan, who takes off to spread word to other Dalish Clans of the Qunari plans to move into Rivain. The Qunari are also tracking the two escapees, and when the lead Qunari catches up to them, they take him out with the power of teamwork. When the rest of the Qunari catch up, the Huntsmaster reveals himself to actually be Saarbrak of the Ben-Hassrath, sent to investigate the Antaam working against the Qun’s orders in Ventus. Saarbrak kills the lead Qunari and lets the escaped prisoners go. They free themselves from the chains tying them together, and Strife leaves with Irelin, who came back for him.

Down Among the Dead Men

Audric Felhausen, a new member of the Funeral Guard, is recruited by the Mortalitasi’s Mourn Watch, (an elite fraternity among the Mortalitasi that act as guardians of the Grand Necropolis,) to track down and find the pre-maturely possessed corpse of nobleman Penrick Karn in the Grand Necropolis. Karn is after Duke Janus Van Markham, who also died in the mutually-fatal duel Karn perished from. Audric and Mourn Watcher Myrna head into the tombs after Karn. In their exploration, Audric comes to realize that the human Audric was killed at Karn’s funeral, and is actually a spirit possessing Audric’s body. Myrna hoped that taking Audric with her would help settle him into peace. In the end, Audric challenges Karn to a duel, but when Karn breaks the rules of the duel, Myrna rids the body of the spirit of Pride within it. Back in the Mourn Watch headquarters, Audric is offered a position in their library.

The Horror of Hormak

I actually already wrote out a long summary of this story here: [LINK]

Callback

(I’ll be honest: I only skimmed this one. It’s boring as fuck and I told myself I’d never read it again the first time I slogged through it, but here we are… So if I missed something actually important, my apologies. But I doubt it.)

Sutherland and Company, as well as a bunch of other NPCs from Skyhold, return to the Skyhold fortress to investigate why the remaining caretakers have gone silent. They end up fighting a demon of Regret, formed out of the plaster of Solas’s murals. They send the spirit back to the Fade, and leave Skyhold abandoned.

Luck in the Gardens

This story is told in the form of “Hollix” (an alias), the Lord of Fortune protagonist who is a master of disguise, recounting it at a tavern in Dairsmuid. Hollix tells a story about how they were hired by Dorian Pavus and Maevaris Tilani to hunt down a monster that was terrorizing Minrathous, called the Cekorax. The monster was first encountered by the Venatori, who were searching for an old cave under the city. It steals the heads of its victims and makes them part of it. They are able to destroy the Cekorax with the help of Dorian and a little girl named Mizzy.

Hunger

On their way to Weisshaupt, the dwarven woman Evka Ivo from Orzammar and elven man Antoine from Orlais, both Grey Wardens, stop in a small Anderfells village called Eichweill. They come to find out that people are disappearing in the village. The two come to uncover that it is werewolves responsible for the disappearances. The son of a noble named Renke starved in the woods and attracted a hunger demon, turning him into the first werewolf. Evka and Antoine hunt Renke down and fight him, and Antoine ends up getting bitten himself. However, they set a successful trap back at the village and kill Renke, believing Antoine and the others affected are now safe from the curse with its source defeated, and the demon banished.

Murder by Death Mages

Lord Henrik, a Mortalitasi, tips off the Inquisition that there is a plot to assassinate a noble in Nevarra. Sidony (from Dragon Age Inquisition’s multiplayer) is sent by the Inquisition to stop this, as she was raised by Henrik. She goes to meet Antonia, another Mortalitasi mage and friend of Henrik, who invites Sidony to attend a party hosted by a noble named Nicolas Reinhardt, where she will be able to meet with a man named Cyrros. Cyrros is an elf who has everyone in debt to him by knowing the secrets of every noble in the city, and Antonia suggests he will be able to help Sidony discover the assassin. Sidony recruits Cyrros as a partner in her investigation, after he says he believes it’s a Mortalitasi responsible. They find Reinhardt’s dead wife, and Cyrros attacks Sidony. She wakes up and overhears Nicolas Reinhardt reveal that he hired Cyrros to assassinate his political rivals and blame it on the Mortalitasi, but now thinks Cyrros killed his wife, which Cyrros denies. Sidony raises the corpse of Reinhardt’s wife and commands it to attack them both, killing Reinhardt and Cyrros. Sidony believes everything to be over, and goes to Henrik’s funeral, where she meets Antonia again. Antonia spills that she was the one who killed Henrick and Reinhardt’s wife, and traps Sidony in the tomb. Sidony somehow escapes though and goes after Antonia, planning to kill her.

The Streets of Minrathous

Neve Gallus is a private investigator hired by Otho Calla to uncover if Quentin Calla (his nephew) has fallen back in with the remains of the Venatori. Neve follows Quentin and witnesses his fatal stabbing by a figure in a bronze mask. The next day, Neve is told by Knight-Templar Rana Savas that another suspected Venatori was murdered the same night, named Lady Varantus. Neve is invited into the Templar investigation, up until the Varantus family request it closed to avoid bad press. Neve then meets a mysterious man who tells her the murderer, named Aelia, is after a set of clay discs held by Venatori agents, and gives her one of these discs. Aelia ends up attacking Neve for the disc—or rather, the “seal” as she calls it, and leaves Neve for dead. Neve saves herself though, and meets the mysterious man again, who is really a man named Flavian Bataris. Flavian reveals that there is an extremely powerful demon sealed beneath the city of Minrathous, and Corypheus planned on releasing it to destroy the city and build the centre of his new empire over it. The plan fell to the wayside when Corypheus was defeated, up until Aelia took over the remains of the cult, and now plans on summoning the demon herself. Neve informs Knight-Templar Savas of this plan, but storms out in frustration over the Order’s lack of willingness to do anything about it. Neve then heads into the Catacombs where Flavian told her the ritual would be held, and tries to stop it. At first she is unsuccessful on her own, but then three templars, including Savas, show up to back her up. They defeat the Venatori and arrest Aelia.

The Wigmaker Job

In Vyrantium, Ambrose Forfex, a successful wigmaker, is told by Crispin Kavlo and Felicia Erimond that he should cancel his wig show because The Antivan Crows have been assassinating Venatori agents. Ambrose decides to put on the show anyway. Sure enough, Lucanis Dellamorte and his cousin Illario Dellamorte prepare to infiltrate the party. There is a bit of tension between them, because Illario wants to become the next head of the House after their grandmother Caterina steps down, but people talk about how Lucanis should take that position, despite him having no desire to do so. They are interrupted by someone poorly trying to listen in on their conversation, and kill the eavesdropper. In his pocket, they find a letter sighed ‘A’, believing him to be sent by Ambrose. After sneaking into the party in the courtyard, Illario distracts a guard with his charm in order for Lucanis to get the keys to the place. They regroup after Lucanis kills the other guards inside. They find an enslaved elf girl, but Lucanis refuses to kill her, and she is all too happy that they are there to kill Ambrose, so they let her go. In Ambrose’s work room, they uncover the secret to his perfect wigs: He feeds his slaves red lyrium to create red-lyrium infused hair. Lucanis destroys the elven artifact Ambrose keeps in his workshop to prevent the veil from tearing, and while the party is erupted with demons. Illario leads the slaves of the estate that are able to escape to safety and freedom, while Lucanis confronts Ambrose. Ambrose shovels his magic wig hair into his mouth and becomes an abomination, but Lucanis still successfully kills him. The following day, Crispin and Felicia visit Magister Zara Renata and inform her that Ambrose is dead. Crispin says Zara will likely soon be a target herself, to which she responds that she has plans to take down Lucanis.

Genitivi Dies in the End

This story is impossible to make a summary of, because it’s told in the form of Philliam writing down what happened but full of fabrication, making it unclear what is real and what is fake. So nothing really matters. The only known fact is Rasaan, (a Qunari tamassran introduced in the Those Who Speak comics,) is leading a search for elven ruins trying to find information on the Dread Wolf. That’s really all that matters, I promise.

Herold Had the Plan

Dwarf Bharv and elf Elim, two Lords of Fortune, were after an amulet held at the Grand Tourney. Their friend Herold already died, and now they are on the run from Starkhaven guardsmen, along with their hired help, Panzstott. It turns out Panzstott is the real reason they guards are after them, as he stole the precious Celebrant sword, supposed to be given to the winner of the Tourney. He is working for a woman named Lady Lucie, who promises that she will help Panzstott find his sister, who left to become a Grey Warden and has never been heard of since. Lucie believes the Celebrant belongs to her, because her dead husband was the last Champion. A fight between everyone and the guards ensues, where Elim and Bharv are mortally wounded—however, it turns out the amulet has magic healing powers, and saves Bharv’s life. He heads to the pre-arranged meeting spot and gives the amulet to Vaea (from the Knight Errant-onward comics.)

An Old Crow's Old Tricks

After a group of Tevinter soldiers led by Magister Bicklius attack the Dalish clan Oranavra, the remaining clan members reach out to make a contract with the Antivan Crows to kill the soldiers. Lessef, an elderly Crow but still deadly, fulfills the contract, killing the soldiers one by one. In the end, she stands off with Bicklius, and in addition to killing him, steals back a precious halla statue he stole from the clan. Lessef then runs to her getaway boat yelling in Qunlat so that the soldiers she let chase her believe the attack was from the Qunari. Her partner Tainsley sails them away, happy that his uncle’s clan will get their halla statue back.

Eight Little Talons 🖤

All Eight Talons (the leaders of the most powerful Crow branches) are called to a meeting at the Verdant Isle of Lago di Novo by First Talon Caterina Dellamorte, to discuss the impending Qunari invasion of Antiva. Fifth Talon Viago De Riva is the last to arrive, where he meets Seventh Talon Andarateia “Teia” Cantori, (both of whom were first introduced in the Deception comics.) At their first meal together, the group argue while Third Talon Lera Valisti is notably absent. Viago and Teia are sent to investigate where Lera is, and find her dead, with her body displayed mimicking an infamous Crow murder of the past. The finger-pointing starts immediately and Caterina puts Verdant Isle on lockdown, forbidding anyone from leaving. This especially pisses off Sixth Talon Bolivar Nero. The next morning, they find all the servants have been murdered. Eighth Talon Giuli Arainai was also murdered the same night. Both again, in the style of famous Crow events. Caterina orders Viago and Second Talon Dante Balazar confined to their quarters, as they are the number one suspects. Teia ignores the rule about no visitors and breaks into Viago’s room anyway, where the two come up with a plan to coax the truth out of Dante, with a mixture of Teia’s natural silver tongue and a truth poison of Viago’s making. They are able to confirm Dante is not the killer. That evening, Teia and Fourth Talon Emil Kortez find Dante dead, while at the same time, Viago is attacked by a poisonous snake hidden in his clothing. Before he perishes, Teia returns to his room and finds anti-venom among Viago’s many alchemical vials. They figure out the killer is Emil, and upon confronting him, Catrina takes him out with her cane. Before Emil dies, he reveals he was contacted by the Qunari, and made an agreement with them that if he could destroy the Crows, they would invade peacefully and Antivans could keep their way of life, without submitting to the Qun. The remaining Crows then all stab Emil to death. With the killer dealt with, Catrina, Viago and Teia all make a plan, and send written orders to the head of each House, (the heirs, in the case of those now dead.)

Half up Front

Vadis, runaway daughter of a Magister, and Irian Cestes, former elven servant, are thieves for hire working in Minrathous. They are hired by a mysterious elven woman to steal back an artifact known as Dumat's Folly, which is said to be a piece of the Black City, from the Archon’s palace. They discover that the artefact has been stolen by the Qunari, and are able to track the thieves to Kont-aar in Rivain using blood magic. The two travel to Kont-aar and sneak onto a dreadnaught holding a ton of magic objects the Qunari are studying. But the whole thing turns out to be a set-up by the mysterious elf. She reveals several things in her villainous gloating: That she works for the Dread Wolf, that she has possession of the real Dumat’s Folly, and that the “Dumat’s Folly” that Vadis found on the dreadnaught is actually a magic bomb soon to explode. Her goal is to implicate a Tevinter mage in the destruction of Kont-aar. Vadis and Irian overpower the elf, but the elf bites down on a poison pill hidden in her mouth and dies. Vadis blows the dreadnaught out to sea using wind magic, and she and Irian escape on a lifeboat just in time to avoid the giant explosion. Back on shore, they are interrogated by Ben-Hassrath agent Gatt (from Dragon Age Inquisition), who shares that they were tricked into stealing the artifact in the first place by an Agent of Fen’Harel among their ranks. Gatt says that the Ben-Hassrath will remain officially neutral on the invasion. Gatt suggests they go to Kirkwall, but Vadis and Irian decide to go to Val Royeaux for a vacation instead.

The Dread Wolf Take You

Charter (from Dragon Age Inquisition) attends a meeting with some of the best spies across Thedas at a place called the Teahouse in Hunter Fell, Nevarra. At the table is a dwarf from the Carta, an Orlesian bard, a Mortalitasi mage, and a mysterious Executor from across the sea. She says she invited someone from Tevinter and the Ben-Hassrath, but they both declined. First, the dwarf tells a tale about how he and his crew used a special solvent that softens lyrium, allowing them to extract the red lyrium idol from Meredith’s statue in Kirkwall. At the meeting location a man from House Qintara (from the Deception comics) shows up and takes the idol. Also at the meeting were former templars looking for the solvent that softens red lyrium, but they were all killed in their sleep by the Dread Wolf. The Mortalitasi speaks next, about how a man from House Danarius, (that being Tractus from the Dark Fortress comics), brought the idol to her group of mages, asking for help unlocking it. They do so in a ritual, but it draws the attention of the Dread Wolf, who is angered by them using his idol to “vandalize the sea of dreams”. One of the Mortalitasi mages fled with the idol leaving the rest to die, but the speaker managed to escape with her life. Finally the Orlesian bard speaks of how the idol wound up in auction house in Llomerryn, where the Dread Wolf himself took possession of it. By this time though, Charter has come to realize that the Orlesian Bard is actually Solas in disguise, and asks for her life. Solas kills the other attendees, but spares Charter. She tells him he doesn’t have to do this, but Solas insists he does, before leaving.

Dragon Age: Absolution (post-9:44, exact time unknown)

Elven rogue Miriam and Orlesian human warrior Roland, a couple of mercenaries, are recruited by Fairbanks (DA:I) to join his group, who are tasked by the remains of the Inquisition to steal a magic artifact known as the Circulum Infinitus from the Summer Palace of Nessum in Tevinter. The group also consists of the dwarf warrior Lacklon, the tal-vashoth mage Qwydion, and lastly human mage Hira, who Miriam has a romantic history with. Miriam and her deceased twin brother Neb were formerly enslaved by the man now studying the Circulum, Rezaren Ammosine. She is reluctant to return to Nessum, but Hira convinces her to help. Their heist does not go as planned however, and Hira is captured while Miriam is gravely wounded, but the others scoop her up and flee. Rezaren uses blood magic to contact Miriam in her dreams and tries to convince her to return to him so they can be like his idea of a family, but she refuses. It’s also revealed through flashbacks that Miriam was forced to kill Neb when Rezaren’s mother put a demon inside him to prevent Rezaren from failing his Harrowing, except Rezaren used blood magic to bind a spirit to his body that he now controls. Rezaren’s hope is to use the Circulum to bring Neb back to life for real. Miriam and the rest of the gang stage a rescue mission for Hira, but when they regroup back at their base, it’s revealed that Hira was planning on betraying them to “The Crimson Knight”. Rezaren chases after them, and manages to begin the blood ritual to try and bring Neb back. Neb’s spirit destroys his body rather than return though, and Miriam is able to kill Rezaren. She then asks Hira to choose their relationship over her quest to destroy the Tevinter Imperium, which Hira refuses, and flees with the Circulum, intending to bring it to none other than an alive once more Meredith Stannard from DA:2. Meredith is leading what remains of the red templars. Miriam and her friends vow to chase after Hira and stop her.

Dragon Age: The Missing (post-9:44, exact time unknown)

Varric Tethras and Lace Harding are tasked by Charter to try and track down Solas, all the while stalked by a mysterious figure in Venatori Assassin clothes. Their adventure first takes them to the Deep Roads under Marnas Pell in Tevinter, where they encounter two Grey Wardens, Evka Ivo and Antoine (from the Tevinter Nights story, Hunger). They find an abandoned hideout with an invitation to the home of Lady Crysanthus in Vyrantium, where they investigate next. When they arrive in Vyrantium though, they find it under siege by the Qunari. This doesn’t stop them from breaking into Lady Crysanthus’s estate though, where they meet the Antivan Crows Viago De Riva and Teia Cantori (from the Tevinter Nights story, Eight Little Talons). Viago and Teia were there to kill Lady Crysanthus, but Solas beat them to it by turning her to stone. They discover evidence that Crysanthus was working for the Venatori, who are after an elven artifact called “the crucious stone” located in the Arlathan Forest. Viago and Teia share that the Crows are working against the Venatori, before they all part ways. In the Arlathan Forest, Varric and Harding encounter a group of “Veil Jumpers”, led by Strife (from the Tevinter Nights story, Three Trees to Midnight). The Arlathan Forest has turned into a place of chaotic magic, where space and time mix and mingle in strange ways. The Veil Jumpers help Varric and Harding get to the temple where the crucious stone is said to be located. Within the temple though, they only find a note left by Solas asking them to stop interfering with his plans – Solas now has the stone. Varric and Harding next travel with Minrathous to meet private investigator, Neve Gallus (from the Tevinter Nights story, The Streets of Minrathous). Neve says that Solas has been busy in Minrathous, attacking Venatori, stealing their artifacts, and freeing their elven slaves, who in turn are rising up in his name. Neve shares that there is a group called the Shadow Dragons that helps those who have escaped slavery as a lead about the elven rebels. They find an elf that Solas freed, who shares that there’s a meeting of escaped slaves planned that night at the docks, but Varric and Harding piece together that the Venatori know about the meeting and will attack. They decide to give up chasing Solas in order to help the elves. Varric realizes that there’s no way they will catch Solas at this point, because he knows them too well – so he says they need new help.

Short Stories

Minrathous Shadows (post-9:44, exact time unknown)

A templar named Tarquin plays a card game with a magister, and confronts her on being a Venatori cultist. It’s revealed that Tarquin and the deal are part of a group called “the Viper”?

Ruins of Reality (post-9:44, exact time unknown)

Strife and Irelin (from Tevinter Nights) are lost in the Arlathan Forest, as the forest has come alive with magic, changing and shifting to the point where Strife’s map is no longer reliable, nor is the passage of time. Strife carries an ancestral journal from the Morlyn that began rewriting itself. They find copies of themselves—Irelin says either a mirage or an echo—running around. Irelin turns into a bird to snatch a crystal halla figurine off a statue they find, and the spell ends for a time.

The Wake (post-9:44, exact time unknown)

Viago de Riva, Illario Dellamorte, and Teia Cantori (from Tevinter Nights) all attend an Antivan Crow funeral, implied to be Lucanis’s from Illario’s drunken story-telling about the two as children and him saying “I was always right behind him, you know? Now there’s nobody for me to follow.”

Won't Know When (post-9:44, exact time unknown)

Evka Ivo and Antoine (from Tevinter Nights) fight off a darkspawn horde so a group of miners can escape. They ponder the dangerous nature of being Grey Wardens, before Antoine asks Evka to marry him, and Evka says yes.

As We Fly (post-9:44, exact time unknown)

Neri de Acutis and his sister Noa are old Antivan Crows fighting the Qunari occupation of Treviso.

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[cryptidsncurios]

"Perhaps a form of 'friendship' would be a bit of a stretch, true---but after all that we've been through, you could at least acknowledge some form of camaraderie between us."

Not that he necessarily cares, really---he's just here to be an outright nuisance today.

@cryptidsncurios replied to this post: "What, no 'hello' for you dear pal Kimbley? I'm disappointed."

"We're pals now? When did that happen?"

[cryptidsncurios]

@cursedfortune sent: "You’re a whore and that makes me sad." The witch drawled as she entered the office, reading off one of the pieces of mail she had received since joining as his advisor--consultant, whatever the term was this era. At least she wasn't referring to him as a whore? Crumbling up the paper she dropped it into the trash, "And this one? He proclaimed his undying fidelity and asked me to do the same. I had to overcome my desire to laugh." Into the trash it went before she handed Kimbley his own stack. "Hopefully your letters are just as amusing."

Kimbley was fully aware that she was reading off lines from her “fanmail” as she entered, for he had heard similar, quite inappropriate sentiments directed towards her before---human men that simply did not know how to behave.

His thinking was that if one was going to insult or entice someone with their words, at least be creative in those efforts.

“Alas, the mortal glass ceiling has yet again proven a hindrance to you and a boon for myself,” Kimbley commented, rather dispassionately, taking the first envelope off the top and---with a letter-opener of such ornate quality that it would do the most gloriously gaudy blades to shame---tearing it open with one graceful motion. Amicable correspondence, professional penmanship, etcetera---the following one much the same, then the next.

“I can hardly understand such trivialities as gender---truly, what does it matter?” and with that, he tossed all of the letters onto his desk in a worthless heap to be properly disposed-of---so many meaningless, verbose meanderings that, when watered down, were simply humans dying to kiss his feet. (And they would, literally, quite soon.)

“In the end, everyone is made up of the same meat.”

Then, golden eyes shifting to the trash can into which Miss Mortem had tossed her offensive refuse, “I request the use of the shredder, dear---we needn’t give any ideas to dumpster-divers desperately in search of a smear campaign.”

[diejager]

Eldritch

He was a monster in the flesh, power and magic cursed into his body, he was a beast in the skin of man hidden under the drobe of a military man and a veil. Under the facade of an anxious yet powerfully ranked operator, he was power incarnate, a creature of darkness and menace. Under the haze of anger or hunger, his ice - the palest you’d ever seen - blue eyes turned red, a bright crimson that mimicked blood in the dark ended shroud of his sclera. Under his protective veil were long, moist and strong limbs, tentacles tipped with sensitive suckers that attached to everything they touched.

He was big and strong, his palms he size of your face when he gaze down at you, his imposing and ever hungry gleam stuck on your figure, naked and tied to the headboard. You were at his mercy in and outside your shared room. He hungered like a famished wolf, crazed eyes and devouring touch, wandering the scarred expanse of your chest, rough calloused fingers pulling at your swollen nubs.

He could be gentle and loving, a romantic lover, if he wanted, but he was hungry, caresses hurried, hold tight and thrusts rough. He growled into your ear, whispering the filthiest slurs on earth and over when he plowed into you. His tentacles held your face, curling around your throat, threatening to tighten his hold and deprive you of air; and you simply bared yourself, body oozing of thrust and respect for the man you loved.

The slick texture of his tentacles made you shiver, the trails of mucus he left of you with agile and purposeful motion. He liked the warmth of your mouth, lips closing around a muscle or two that writhed inside of you while your tongue flicked over the sensitive suckers. They twitched and latched onto your tongue, curling around it and thrusting into the back of your throat. You gagged but never complained, he loved it, so let him do it.

Although his gaze was animalistic, feral to the point of derangement, he looked at you with adoration, love and amazement that you could love a being like him. It warmed his heart through the roughness of his hips, rocking and rolling them until you gasped and mewled around his tentacle, until your hole tightened around him in a vice, clinging onto the edge of your pleasure.

He was hungry and feral, but he always put you first, you were his priority in every aspect of his immortal life, the human he would want to form an unbreakable bond that would transcend time and space itself. König, the king of kings, gave you his heart as you gave yours to him, a fair exchange made under his and your team’s watchful gaze.

[slut4evanpeters]

Haunted

james patrick march x reader

song i recommend listening to: dead to me by melanie martinez

warnings: isolation, cheating, toxic relationships, emotional distress, murder, violence, intent to kill, obsession, psychological trauma, angst, haunting

word count: 2.1k

notes: oh my god i need james so bad (also writes a fic about killing him) BUT ANYWAY. hes so baddie. everyone seems to be on the james brainrot and so am i so here ya go!

The rain was unrelenting that night, a downpour that blurred the city outside the towering windows of the Hotel Cortez. The air inside the suite was damp and heavy, clinging to your skin as if the walls themselves were aware of what you had learned. In the glow of the low lights, your gaze fell to the delicate silver bracelet around your wrist. The one he’d given you on your wedding night. You remembered his hands fastening it around you, a token of his love, he’d said. A lie. Like so much else.

Now, the image of her haunted you. The Countess. Ger otherworldly beauty, her crimson lips and ice-cold eyes. She had him now, stolen what had once belonged to you, and he had let her.

You turned at the sound of the door creaking open, his figure filling the doorway. James Patrick March, dressed to perfection as always, his tailored suit fitting like a second skin. He stepped in casually, his gaze finding you with slight amusement.

“My dearest,” he drawled, his voice smooth as dark silk. “You look positively… haunted.”

He knew. He knew, and he was reveling in it. Rage twisted within you, but you forced yourself to speak, each word measured. “Tell me, James…how long have you been with her?”

He sighed, stepping into the room with his hands folded behind his back, a picture of unbothered elegance. “My dear, whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend with me,” you said sharply, fists clenching as you felt the weight of his betrayal pressing against your chest. “I found her scarf. I know it was hers, I could still smell her perfume on it. So, tell me…did you ever love me? Or was I just another acquisition, another project for you to mold to your liking?”

James’s smirk remained, though something darker sparked in his eyes. “Love, my dear? Is that what you seek from a man like me? Love is a fickle, fleeting thing. You should know better.”

You took a step toward him, anger drowning out the pain that had been clawing at your heart. “You made promises to me. You said I was yours, that we’d build this empire together. And yet, you lie to my face with that smirk, knowing you’ve betrayed me.”

His eyes narrowed, the smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “Do you think I am without loyalty, then? Is that what you believe?”

You scoffed, unable to hold back the bitterness that had been festering within you. “You are a man without morals, without loyalty to anyone but yourself. I have been loyal to you in every way. Devoted, loving, but it’s never enough for you, is it?”

James’s expression darkened. “Enough, my Darling,” he said, voice laced with a dangerous edge. “You think you know me, but you don’t. You’ve merely seen what I allow you to see. I am a man of…diverse needs, shall we say.”

Your heart shattered as you realized there was no regret in his eyes, no flicker of remorse for what he had done. “So I was nothing but another game to you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Just another thrill.”

James tilted his head, his smirk returning, infuriatingly smug. “Games, thrills, they are all part of life’s delicious banquet, my darling. And you. You are an essential course.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, not in front of him. “You are the very definition of a monster, James Patrick March.”

He chuckled, taking another step toward you, his voice a low, mocking murmur. “Perhaps, but that is why you married me, is it not? You, of all people, should appreciate the…darker appetites.”

You couldn’t bear it anymore. Every word, every cold, calculated sentence sent another wave of bitterness flooding through you. He was right. He had twisted you. Had woven his influence into the very fabric of your being until you could no longer imagine a life free from his shadow.

That was when the idea struck you.

It was the only way you’d ever be free from him, the only way to silence his laughter and those whispered promises that meant nothing. If he would haunt you forever, then you’d ensure that he did so from beyond the grave.

It was late, past midnight, when you met him again in the lavish suite, the room bathed in the flickering glow of firelight. The rain outside was still unceasing, a relentless rhythm that matched the pulsing of your heartbeat.

James was pouring himself a glass of bourbon, entirely oblivious to the weight of your gaze upon him. “Care for a drink, my darling?” he asked without looking up, his voice carrying that familiar trace of arrogance.

You approached him slowly, hands shaking as you concealed the small pistol within the folds of your dress. “No, thank you,” you replied, voice tight. “I’ve come for something else.”

He turned, his brow arching in mild interest as he took a sip of his drink. “Oh? And what might that be?”

The moment hung between you, and for a second, you felt the pang of doubt. But then his smirk returned, and you were reminded of all those empty promises, those lies that had bound you to him. You raised the pistol, your hand steady.

James’s eyes flickered with surprise, and he let out a low chuckle. “Is this a game, my darling? Are you playing the femme fatale?”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “No, James. I am ending you.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—amusement, perhaps, mixed with disbelief. “You think you can be free of me?” he asked, his tone dripping with contempt. “That killing me would make you rid of my presence?”

But you were done listening, done letting him weave his darkness into your life. You pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, echoing through the room as James’s body jerked, blood staining his crisp white shirt. His hand reached up, touching the wound, his expression shifting from disbelief to something almost…admiring. He staggered, collapsing against the wall before finally crumpling to the floor, his eyes still locked on you.

You watched, heart pounding as he breathed his last, the life draining from his gaze.

The rain was unyielding, its steady beat drumming against the windows as you stood over James’s lifeless body. The stillness of the room pressed in on you, and for the first time, there was a dreadful quiet that settled around you, almost mocking you. You’d finally done it, freed yourself from him. Or so you thought.

You took a trembling breath, your gaze locked on the man you had once loved, the man who had twisted your heart until it bled. His face, even in death, wore that maddening smirk. Cold dread crept over you, but you pushed it down, telling yourself that this was over. With him gone, you’d be free, finally able to move on.

Yet, the moment you left the suite, you could feel an unsettling weight in the air, an almost tangible sense of wrongness that clung to you. You shook it off, convincing yourself that it was merely the residue of a nightmarish decision. After all, how could a man like James be vanquished so easily?

Days passed, and the world outside the Cortez seemed brighter, the air lighter, everything seemed as though it were trying to convince you of your freedom. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was lurking, watching, waiting. In the late hours of the night, when the hotel grew silent, you’d catch yourself holding your breath, listening for sounds that weren’t there.

It began subtly, almost as though your own mind were playing tricks on you. First, it was the scent of his cologne, smoky, rich, unmistakably him. You’d smell it faintly in the halls, just a wisp that vanished as quickly as it came, and you’d shake it off as a phantom memory.

But then, his scent began to linger.

It would seep through your room late at night, filling the air, curling around you like a shroud. It was suffocating, stirring memories that you had tried to bury. His hand on your wrist, his laughter echoing in your mind. You’d wake in a cold sweat, the smell clinging to your sheets, fading only in the first light of dawn.

You told yourself it was guilt, remnants of his presence in your mind. But then, you began to hear his voice.

At first, it was nothing but a whisper, almost too faint to catch, so quiet you could dismiss it as the settling of the old hotel walls or a draft sweeping through the corridors. But the whispers grew louder, words twisting and forming from the darkness.

“Darling…”

The first time you heard it clearly, you froze, your breath caught in your chest as the single word echoed in the quiet of your suite. You searched the empty room, but it was only you, alone, your reflection staring back from the darkened window. “James?” you whispered, barely daring to breathe, your voice trembling. But there was no answer. Just the silence pressing down on you, thick and oppressive.

But the whispers didn’t stop. Each night, they grew clearer, his voice brushing against your ear like a cold breeze. “Did you think you could escape me?” it would murmur, soft and venomous, curling around you, poisoning every thought. “You are mine, my love. You always will be.”

The nights stretched on, and sleep became an elusive dream as his whispers seeped into your mind, filling the silence, never stopping. You’d catch yourself looking over your shoulder, waiting for him to appear from the shadows, certain that he was lurking just out of sight, watching with those cold, predatory eyes.

Then came the sightings.

It started with glimpses. Fleeting shadows in the corner of your eye, just a flicker that vanished before you could focus. But they began to linger, and you could see his silhouette in the mirrors, watching you from the shadows. His face would stare back at you in the reflection, his eyes filled with a dark amusement as if mocking your attempts to escape him. The first time you saw him fully, you screamed, spinning around to find the room empty. But every time you looked back at the mirror, there he was, his smirk taunting you.

“Did you truly think I’d leave so easily?” his voice echoed, seeming to seep from the walls themselves, surrounding you in every corner. “You’re a fool, my love. Death means nothing to a man like me.”

One night, the haunting reached a crescendo. You awoke to the sound of footsteps pacing around your bed, slow, deliberate. Your heart thundered as you lay frozen, listening to the familiar rhythm, a sound you’d known for years. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it to be a nightmare. But the footsteps drew closer, and then you felt it. A cold hand brushing against your cheek, lingering just long enough to send an icy shiver down your spine.

Your eyes snapped open, and there he was, looming over you, his face pale and hollow, eyes glinting with that same cruel delight. His smile widened as he leaned closer, his breath chilling against your skin. “You thought you could kill me,” he whispered, his voice a cruel, mocking lullaby. “But I am a part of you, my darling. I will haunt you until the end of your days.”

You scrambled out of bed, backing away as he advanced, his form dissipating into shadows yet his presence filling every inch of the room. His laughter echoed around you, a dark, sinister melody that seemed to resonate within your very bones.

From that night on, he became your shadow, his voice filling your mind, his image lurking in every mirror, every dark corner. You’d hear him humming as you walked through the halls, feel his gaze prickling the back of your neck whenever you were alone. You could no longer escape him. He was there, always there, haunting you, reminding you of the darkness he’d woven into your soul.

And in the quietest hours of the night, as the hotel lay silent, you would sometimes feel his hand trace down your arm, his cold fingers pressing against your wrist, a cruel mockery of the warmth he had once feigned. You’d hear his voice in your ear, soft and possessive.

“You can’t run from me, my love. We are bound. Forever.”

And with every passing day, you felt yourself slipping further, dragged down into the darkness he had left behind, bound to him in death as you had been in life, his haunting presence being a constant reminder that there truly is no escape.

[cryptidsncurios]

"You'll have to excuse my errors---seven years rotting away in prison, one tends to forget the more," the slightest hum of a chuckle underneath his breath, "---useless details."

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised, we technically work in the same field."

@cryptidsncurios

[armandsfangs]

Daniel Molloy right after Devils Minion ends travels to Antarctica to investigate the disappearance of researchers at a station. Armand is listening in on Daniel's thoughts as a comfort but the thoughts suddenly get very distressed. Cue frantic journey and confrontation with Daniel...who is now infected by the Thing and doesn't know it. But Armand can sense it.

Anon, this is brilliant but I've never watched The Thing so I read the wikipedia article to write this so if anything is grossly wrong that is why, also warning for gore bc this is based on a horror movie lol

---

Black smoke rises in the white out sky. The snow is splattered with crimson. The acrid smell of burning kerosene stings Armand's throat as he runs with preternatural speed to the smoking wreck of an antarctic base. He passes a charred lump of flesh, and the vile, unnatural scent that wafts past him almost makes him gag. Something terrible happened here, something that he is beginning to grasp with mounting anxiety.

Trying to suppress his own panic, he hones in on Daniel's panicked thoughts.

Gotta get outta here. The fucking generator's broken. I'll freeze! No, I have to live, I have to live, I HAVE TO LIVE, DAMMIT!

Armand slams through the scrap metal excuse for a door.

Huddled in the corner with a wrecked generator, with blood and ash streaking his face and a wild, terrified tremor in his shrunken pupils, is -

"Daniel!" The broken relief in Armand's voice cuts through the snow-dampened silence.

But the boy shrinks back. With shaking arms, he holds up a screwdriver like a weapon. Maybe it is. The end of it is unmistakably stained with blood. "W-Who are you?" His teeth are chattering.

Armand swallows and compresses the worryanxietylongingmissyouloveyou that swells in his chest. He made his choice before.

"I'm here to take you home," Armand says. He shrugs off his coat and holds it out. A peace offering. His vampiric body does not feel the cold the same way as a human. He resists the urge to bundle up Daniel in his coat and kiss his blue tinged cheeks until proper colour returns to them.

Daniel does not lower the screwdriver as he inches closer. Clever boy. His heartbeat pulses, fast and strong, no doubt running high on adrenaline. Slowly and carefully, he reaches out to take Armand's coat.

As soon as Daniel's hand makes contact, Armand smells it. The faintest trace of that vile, unnatural, alien scent.

Then he hears it. Beneath the beat of Daniel's heart is a second pulse. It's not quite a heartbeat, but a low thrum like the vibrations of taut elastic. And it's getting louder. It's spreading from Daniel's blood soaked wrist up his forearm to his elbow and it's not stopping.

Ice pierces Armand's lungs.

Daniel is shrugging on his coat, completely unaware. He looks up at Armand, wide green eyes stark against the ashen pallour of his face. "Thanks, man. I thought I was gonna die alone out here. You're gonna think I'm crazy but the others all turned into fuckin' monsters and attacked each other. You can look at the bodies if you don't believe me."

While he's talking, the - whatever it is - the Thing is reaching for Daniel's vital organs, elastic tendrils vibrating in a horrible harmony.

Armand will not let it. He lunges.

"FUCK NOT AGAIN - "

His fangs strike true. Daniel's scream dies as a wet gurgle that slips down Armand's throat.

Armand drains him, drains the vile Thing from Daniel's blood, and feels its angry thrumming in his own body, fighting to break free. With a concerted effort, he slashes open his own neck and presses Daniel's mouth to the wound.

Daniel barely takes a few mouthfuls before Armand has to push him away, doubling over as what feels like a thousand serrated limbs are clawing at his insides. He retches. The noxious taste of infected blood pours over his tongue as he vomits.

Then a great, wrenching agony wells up from deep within and splits Armand's jaw from his skull. His jawbone falls to the floor with a wet skidding clatter. Armand cannot scream. His trachea hangs in bloody tatters as a blood-slick pentapedal Thing pries itself out of the viscera.

Armand falls to his knees, scrabbling at the Thing. It struggles against him, screeching unnaturally from a round, sawtoothed orifice that gnashes at Armand's face as his claws score bloody gashes on its pulsing, squishy thorax.

Suddenly, a screwdriver is jammed into the gnashing orifice. Another set of hands seize the Thing and wrenches it off Armand and flings it away. It lands with a splatter of blood, its crablike legs writhing like a horrid, diseased arachid around the screwdriver lodged in its orifice.

Armand, dazed and bleeding profusely, fixes his burning orange eyes on the Thing. It ignites. Its shrieks are consumed in the roar of the flames. Armand does not look away until its nothing but a pile of ash.

When Armand falls, it is not onto the cold floor like he expects. He is cushioned by a thick coat and trembling arms. Through the haze of pain, he looks up into mirrored amber eyes, spilling over with tears.

"Armand... Don't fucking do that again..." Daniel whispers.

---

They cause another horror movie to happen by eating another antarctic base of researchers (ANTARCTICULA: Coming to a theatre near you!) to heal themselves and then Armand has to piggyback fledgling Daniel to fly back to civilization.

[shatteredearth-if]

SHATTERED EARTH INTRO POST

DEMO | DISCORD

Shattered Earth is an Interactive Sci-Fi/Fantasy Fiction about retreading old ground and working for your good ending. less formally, this is meant to go on my portfolio

Five years ago, you watched the world split open, bore witness to what you could only refer to as "dragons" made manifest in scale, flesh and skin. You saw cities razed to the ground, asphalt streets shattered like ice. Fleets of dragons and foreign—almost alien—aircrafts alike seared across the skies, while towers of dirt and metal tore free from the landscape. The world has inexplicably, incomprehensibly changed, but you know this to be true: Earth never really stood a chance.

With your world now overrun by dragons and dangers alike, you've lived alone, hiding from the world you once called home, scrounging for scraps and surviving by the skin of your teeth. But when a chance encounter with a mercenary ship leaves you reeling with the realization that you're not the average-joe of a human that you thought you once were, you're forced into an ultimatum: enlist with the Seekers, or live out the rest of your life in a Human compound on Therius. But your horrors extend far beyond the threat of the dragons; your monsters are at home in your head, but they might just be the key to stopping all of this madness… if they don't take you out first.

The gears turn, the worlds spin inwards like ever-onwards like painted tops. You will undergo a journey of self-discovery, of potential romances and of incredible loss. And somehow, you can't shake the sensation that this has all happened before…

A customizable protagonist: Customize your gender, your body type, your pronouns, and personality.

Five ROs to romantically pursue—some in the most conventional sense, others in… a not so conventional sense.

Engage in brief flings, one of which is... an RO's estranged divorced mother. (Your crewmates will disapprove.)

Train your body or your mind to perfection. Are you a frontline fighter, or do you prefer the aethereal arts?

Cute cat dog wolfboy…?

The female version of a himbo

There's no good way to put this: you remember things you shouldn't. The end of your story is not the end; something awaits you at the place where your endings converge. What is it? What are you?

There's an egotistical mind entity in your head, and the flags aren't just red; they're blood-crimson. Romanceable, but at a steep cost to your sanity. Or maybe…

Skippable, customizable NSFW content. My friends have advised me not to continue.

Avett Ironsturm

Role: RO

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Kattish

Age: 20

Specialization: Arms specialist

Appearance: Avett is a Kattish man of average height. His complexion is fair. Perched upon his head are two swivelling cat-like ears, and at the base of his spine is a prehensile tail that is about the length of his arm—both are adorned with soft, black fur. His hair is black, hangs just below the shoulders, and he keeps most of it in a messy ponytail. Most of his frontal hair frames his boyish, youthful face. His irises are copper colored, his pupils slitted.

Personality: Avett is bristly, prickly, and very easy to anger if he's not trying to get into your pants. He's a flirt through and through, and knows how and when to be charming, just… not with his coworkers. Or you. Though if you can get him to let his guard around you, you might just find him a lot more bearable.

Your impression: Once upon a time, you saw his old ID, stuffed in a cabinet along with his boxers and body spray, and you realized he was smiling in his photo. Not outwardly—they don't want you smiling on those cards, but behind those eyes was a laugh ready to bust out at any moment. That was four years ago. Now? All he does now is sulk and yell at people. Something happened in those four, long years, and those years have only been getting longer since.

Sexuality: Bisexual (woman-leaning)

Yuda Hellsbridge

Role: RO

Gender: Female (she/her)

Race: Half Gallian, Half Kattish

Age: Secret?

Specialization: Restrainer

Appearance: Yuda is a half-Gallian, half-Kattish woman of above average height. Her complexion is a pale, seafoam green—common for most Gallians. Her hair is white with blue undertones in the right lighting, and is short and choppy. If you look too closely into her metallic gray eyes, you will notice a swirling, foggy substance within her irises, as is common for all Gallians who are at least a bit adept in magic… which is to say, almost all of them. Yuda is extremely fit and exercises often, and as a result her build is stocky and muscular—very uncommon for a Gallian, though she claims that she's half Kattish.

Personality: Yuda is outwardly cheerful, loud, and brash—tact is not her forte. But behind every sunny smile is a shadow, and Yuda keeps her shadows well away from the spotlight.

Your impression: It's not trauma. It's not a blip in her personality. There is something genuinely terrifying hiding behind Yuda's eyes, and that's not including the fact that you don't know how old she is. Oh, she's nice, and she's got no ulterior motives, you'll give her that. But it's like she's wearing her own body like a shadow.

Sexuality: doesn't care for labels, but for clarity's sake she is pansexual.

Ysh'vanna O'Raal

Role: RO

Gender: Female (she/her)

Race: Draconian

Age: 26

Specialization: Captain/Pilot

Appearance: Ysh'vanna is a short girl with wispy, white hair that topples down to her waist—if she doesn't brush it out of her face, it has a tendency to smother her slight frame like an oversized scarf. Her irises are orange, with a ring of emerald green around her pupils. Trailing from her ears are two, small, green webs that resemble translucent dragon wings.

Personality: Everyone onboard the Seeker is a wreck, yes, but Ysh'vanna is always at least two crises away from a mental breakdown everyday. Sorting through admin, funds, Avett's shenanigans and the odd dragon attack has left her riddled with anxieties. She has difficulty forming bonds outside of work because of this, so her relationship with Avett isn't great. After any particularly grueling mission, she will often be found comatose in front of the navigation panels, staring off into the skyline. Otherwise, Ysh'vanna tries to be cheerful. Most of the time. Some of the time.

Your impression: She's probably by far the most average person on this ship. Every morning she takes her coffee with three sugars and a cupful of milk; every night she takes a nail-sized tablet along with a full glass of water. "For the anxiety," she says. She's incredibly open about most things... until it comes to her family. What's the deal?

Sexuality: bisexual (woman-leaning)

Auren Draksparrow

Role: Platonic Option

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Gallian

Age: According to Avett, "Like, a hundred or something." He looks about forty in Human years to you.

Specialization: Warder

Appearance: Auren is a Gallian man of above average height. His frame is gaunt, almost frail; his hair is platinum blond, and is secured in a low ponytail that reaches down to his waist. His complexion is seafoam green, and his eyes are a faint violet. Swimming in his irises is a fog, a trait most Gallians share. His facial features are long and soft, but his cheekbones sit high upon his face.

Personality: Auren is cold, aloof, and it can be difficult to discern what he's thinking from speech and body language alone. He is clear in mind, even during high-pressure situations, until his abilities as a caster fail him.

Your impression: Here's the deal about living past one hundred and one; you're going to mess up. You're going to mess up a lot more than the average person, and your book of guilt's going to be pushing a trilogy if you don't start forgiving yourself for some of those mess-ups. You know for a fact that Auren has never forgiven himself, not even once, because he's yet to save the Seekers. Because he's yet to, in his eyes, make himself useful. But you're his lucky break: he's the only one on the ship who can see that thing in your head for what it is, and he knows it's a threat.

Sexuality: he's not looking for a relationship right now, if ever. He's married to his tomes and the study of aether.

Liam Salazar

Role: RO

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Human

Age: 24

Specialization: Researcher

Appearance: Liam is tall with an athletic frame and broad shoulders. He usually keeps his dark brown hair in a nest of curls atop his head. His skin is a deep umber, and his eyes are an even deeper shade of brown. He often wears a white lab coat over a simple sweater and dress shirt.

Personality: Quiet, but goofy; aloof, but sensitive. You sense that this boy would rather bury his head in a good book or some other complicated research than look you in the eye. That's not to say he's meek, though—come any threat, and he'll lash out swinging. You had to be a special kind of tough to have survived the Migration as a Human, and Liam is no exception.

Your impression: You didn't expect to make friends at the IRC training facility—most Humans there wanted your head on a stick for the cardinal sin of having a deal with a merc ship already. The Migration wore everyone's patience thin, but not Liam's. For a hot moment at that facility, you were two renegades against the hateful world. Until your training period finished up.

Sexuality: Panromantic demisexual, though initially he believes that he's straight.

The Entity

Role: RO

Gender: Customizable/it

Race: Something intangible. A voice in your head.

Age: It laughs when you ask this. "How old is a concept? The fear of death, the love of life? How old? Are you counting? Think about that."

Appearance: A dark wisp of smoke that occasionally shifts to form parts of a person.

Personality: Loves you, like an overbearing parent. Punishes you, like a torturer gleaning for answers. It maims you and calls it affection.

Your impression: When you're not talking to it, it's rummaging through your memories. Why? For fun. It knows about that time you did this and that in the locker room and almost got caught for it. It knows about that time you stopped someone from leaving after class just so you could hit on them, unsuccessfully, for ten minutes before they had to beg you to leave. It knows everything about you, all the bad, all the good—and it loves you anyway. That's the purest kind of love, isn't it?

Sexuality: Wouldn't you like to know.

With that all said, thank you for checking out this post, and DOUBLE thank you if you decide to try out Shattered Earth. 🙇🙇

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Diana was stuck trying to prevent Calidora and Raymundo from arguing like their parents did with each other. The kitsune got angry at the two demons and smacked their heads together. "Stop arguing! They will like you both a equal amount." She sighed. Calidora and Raymundo rubbed there now sore heads. "Sorry mom..." she facepalmed.

"Come on you two! I think they are here. I wonder if this Diana likes huge piles of candies for a hello?" He was holding a huge bag over his shoulder with both Tanjiro and Hu Tao following holding presents too.

"That depends if this other likes them. Just give them to her and I'm sure she will." Tanjiro sighed walking but sees Hu Tao smiling.

"I can't wait to meet them!" she was excited for the three to still walk when hearing some argument. They look to see Diana, Calidora, and Raymundo there.

"...Uhhhh, hello there." Itto smiled to the group with the other two giving a friendly hello.

[srovtl]

(Judgment on the blasphemous) Figaro SSR Card Story Translation

An encounter with a magical tool - Episode 1

That day, we were visiting a mansion full of sculptures in the eastern country to investigate the strange phenomenon of "monsters appearing in the forest."

Akira: Figaro. Did you find anything suspicious there?

Figaro: This area is probably okay. There were no sculptures with strange magical powers either.

Figaro: Ah, but I did find something nostalgic. Check this out.

In the palm of his outstretched hand was a brooch with a crimson gem set into a slightly tarnished gold base.

Akira: Wow, what a beautiful brooch...! The shape of the gemstone and the design of the base are both so delicate and beautiful!

Figaro: Right. This is actually a magical tool.

Akira: Really? How is it used?

Figaro: You see—

Mithra: I've seen that brooch somewhere before.

Akira: Mithra…!

Figaro: Oh, hey. Don't take it so forcefully 

Mithra suddenly appeared, grabbed the brooch, and stared at it closely.

Akira: Mithra Do you know about it too?

Mithra: just vaguely. how did it work again.....?

Figaro: It's a magic tool that absorbs the light in the surrounding area and creates a small explosion. It was often used in the northern country.

Akira: An explosion...? Why was that in the north...

Figaro: It has a fair amount of destructive power, and is useful for destroying huge ice blocks and rock walls.

Figaro: In the north, things like that often get in the way of living.

Akira: Ah, I see... It's a pretty practical magical tool.

Mithra: Now that I think about it, haven't we ever had a fight over this?

Figaro: Aaah…... You keep only remembering useless things, don't you?

Akira: Fight? But with both of your magical powers, it's not really necessary...

Mithra: True. Why were we fighting?

Figaro: Because you wanted to test its power and tried to use it near the village.

Akira: What, near the village...?

Figaro: : Right? So, when I stopped him so that damage would not occur to the village, a fight broke out.

Mithra: Really? Doesn't ring a bell for me.

Figaro: You...

Mithra: Whatever the reason, remembering fighting with you makes me irritated, so I'm going to use this to erase that memory.

Akira: What!? Just like that on the spot!?

Mithra: 《Arthim》

Figaro: Nope~ you stop that.

An encounter with a magical tool - Episode 2

Mithra: Huh? Why should I follow your orders?

Figaro: If you use that magical tool and blow up the surrounding area, the sage's Wizards won't stay quiet.

Figaro: And what if, I said I'm going to call Oz?

Mithra: …….

Figaro: If your actions cause the mission to fail, it will give the sage's Wizards a bad impression, and it will cause trouble for Arthur.

Figaro: When that happens, Oz will cooperate with us. As the second, you're no match for him.

Mithra frowned in genuine displeasure.

Mithra: ...stop talking so much, how noisy. I don't want to live worrying about what's going on around me all the time.

Mithra: I'm just going to do what I want to do.

Mithra: 《Arthim》

Akira: (N-no way...?)

Without the slightest hesitation, like breathing, Mithra cast the spell.

Seeing the magical tool begin to glow faintly, Figaro quickly hid me behind his back—

Mithra: ……

Akira: ..Huh..? It's not exploding...?

The faint light emitted by the magical tool slowly faded away, and nothing happened.

Mithra: Hey, isn't this broken?

Figaro: Well yeah. Do you remember when we fought? It was hundreds of years ago.

Figaro: That magic tool was a bit broken even back then and now it's just junk. It's not causing any explosions.

Mithra: Haah, I guess that's how it is.

Mithra: Never mind, I'm not interested anymore. Well then.

Akira: Oh... he's gone…

Figaro: Seriously.... He said what he wanted to say, did what he wanted to do, and then disappeared...

Figaro: He really hasn't changed at all since the old days.

With a big sigh, Figaro turns to me.

Figaro: Are you okay, Sage? I scared you.

Akira: Ah, no… I was surprised, but Nothing happened so it's fine.

Figaro: I see, that's good.

Figaro: That guy is really annoying. He's so free-spirited and only thinks about his own convenience.

Figaro: Maybe it's because he's a Wizard of the North.

Akira: Hmm… Rather than because he's a Wizard of the North, I think it's because he's Mithra.

Figaro: Why do you think so?

Akira: I mean, Figaro, even though you were originally a wizard from the north, you're well-liked in the south and you watch out for us and care about us.

Figaro: Sage...

Akira: Of course, I like Mithra too, who's so free-spirited and sometimes stands at the lead...

Akira: I'm grateful to Figaro for leading us as our teacher at the magic manor, and I think he's wonderful.

Figaro: …….

Figaro: I see. Thank you Sage.

An encounter with a magical tool - Episode 3

Akira: Is it okay to put this brooch back where it was?

I picked up the brooch that Mithra had tossed and handed it to Figaro.

Figaro: Yeah. It's almost out of magic and shouldn't function anymore, so there's no need to worry.

Akira: Then shouldn't you have told Mithra from the beginning that it couldn't be used anymore...?

Figaro: I'm pretty sure he knew too. He just wanted to cause trouble.

Figaro: Well, it's good to clarify the hierarchy sometimes, so this was a good opportunity. It would be troublesome if he got carried away too?

Figaro winks mischievously.

Akira: (Was that a joke? No, that's his actual feelings...)

Akira: Where did this brooch come from?

Figaro: It was buried in this sculpture. Look.

Figaro points to a nearby sculpture that is about knee-high.

Akira: Hmm, this...

The sculpture was in the shape of a person wrapped in rope. Looking closely, there was a mark where a brooch had been placed on the chest.

Perhaps it's because of the passage of time, the bumps on the body and face have smoothed out considerably, but there is still a pure atmosphere, like that of a priest.

Figaro: "Sage"...

Akira: Yes?

Figaro: Oh, sorry. I didn't call you. See here, "Sage.” It's carved into the base.

Akira: Umm…

Akira: So that means... is this a sage from a generation long before mine?

Figaro: Hmm, I think it's probably a creation of the imagination. Back then there was no magic manor and it must have been harder to meet the sage than it is now.

Figaro: Perhaps they tried to worship the "sage" they had heard rumors about, like a god.

Figaro: Humans always want to cling to a being that will save them.

Akira: Now that you mention it... There was a similar culture in my world.

Figaro: Well, it may be foolish to cling to it without even knowing the real thing.

Figaro quietly closes his eyes. His eyes are as deep as a lake, and it is impossible to see into them.

Akira: (Foolish, huh...? But…)

Akira: Still, isn't it true that this existence saved their heart?

Figaro: True?

Akira: Yes. This statue looks like it was cared for very well.

Akira: There are no noticeable scratches, and the statue has few bumps, which is probably because it was handled with care.

Akira: Maybe they buried the magical items that could have put them in danger because they wanted the sage to protect them.

Figaro: I see. So that's what you feel.

Figaro quietly gazes at the statue of the sage, still in his hands.

Figaro: If that's the case, perhaps the Worshipped themselves were saved by them…

Then, he slightly relaxed the corners of his mouth and gently stroked the sculptures.

His gaze was calm, as he was gazing into the distance.

Then let's line them up. - Card Episode

Akira: Hello, Figaro. Are you going out?

Figaro: Yeah. A little trip to the south.

Figaro: Apparently, a traveling sculptor who passed through Cloud City said they wanted to carve a wizard from the south.

Akira: Ooh, So there are traveling sculptors...

Akira: Huh? So are the other three going too?

Figaro: No, This time it's just me.

Figaro: While I've been painted before, I haven't had many statues, so I'll see how it goes.

Akira: I see, I hope it will be a wonderful encounter!

Akira: If all goes well, maybe we can get them to make sculptures of everyone else too...

Figaro: I'll check out the sculptor's personality and how they do things, if they look alright, maybe that will happen.

Akira: Yes! It would be more fun if we had all the statues instead of just one.

Figaro: It certainly would be lively if we had all the statues.

Figaro: Thank you, Sage. To be honest, I wasn't all that keen, but now I'm getting a bit excited.

Figaro: If they are nice, I'll introduce you too. Then we can line up the statues of us southern wizards and the Sage.

Homescreen voice line 

What kind of costume should I wear this time? Sage, in your world ghosts are a classic, right? I thought that might be good, but, you know, we have a real ghost at home, so I'm worried I might look inferior. Oh, I'll probably get scolded again for saying this kind of stuff.

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Color Spectrum Duo Origins Part 2: Run, Rabbit, Run

Part 1

Rating: Teen

Romantic Relationships: None

Cw: Minor swearing and alluding to Killer’s prior act of cannibalism

Synopsis: Color runs. A Killer chases.

Word Count: 1, 844

His opponent yelped, diving to the side just before Killer could reach them.

“Hang on! Can’t we just—fuck!” The skeleton rolled in the snow, a knife impaling the ground and sizzling through the quickly vaporized ice seconds where their torso had been.

“Sorry, I’d rather make LOVE,” Killer jokes, “not love.”

They kicked themselves back onto their feet, but it was too late. Killer had gotten close enough to pull them into an Encounter.

Usually, monster culture etiquette dictates an Encounter is commenced with cordiality. Souls are sacred, the very essence of a monster, the culmination of their entire beings, Souls and Intent could arguably be defined as the true heart of monsters. Folkways then are guided with a caution always for the fragile magical constructs.

His Intent is sharp and vicious, his magic wrenches his victim’s Soul from their chest and pulls it out to hover before them.

Killer disregards their alarmed, pained cry, determination burning him from the inside out. His magic pulses through his body when he sprints and spins his blade in his gloved palm.

A quick Check to reveal what exactly this interloper’s intentions are, and then lights out. The knife in his fisted palm glows an ominous crimson as he holds it aloft, prepared to strike—

—Only to falter at the Soul’s unusual appearance; cordate but not inverted, a pearlescent ivory center outlined by blinding colors rapidly shifting from one to the other — and the information that flickers before him.

* COLOR ATK 0 DEF 0

*A skeleton who absorbed six of the seven human Soul Traits.

*He’s a weak vessel in the wrong place at the wrong time.

*LV 1 HP 0/0

To survive, you need to adapt within a moment’s notice. To process any and all changes in the environment around you. To fight and defend yourself effectively even with limited information. To do anything and everything to survive without hesitation.

It was a lesson hard taught. Years of agony and torture and suffering his cruel teacher, but this lesson of utmost survival was ingrained into his Soul itself.

Never falter.

Never doubt his superior.

Never surrender unless brought to heel.

And yet, the momentum of his clenched fist stuttered. His thoughts ground to a halt as he absorbed this information. It echoes in his mind, his record player Soul spinning and crackling in wild red-white circles as he stares, frozen.

Something about it it’s not him it’s not him this is real this is real has a cold, tight grip around his Soul.

*A weak vessel in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No, no, no, that’s not possible. Killer was – this is just another – it had to be a trick. A game. A ploy, or, or challenge of some kind! Why—?!

Suffocating fear floods his body like he’d been dunked in an icy river and he shuts down, looped tape of orotund voices splitting his skull open and blasting from his irate scribbled mess of a Soul.

Killer faltered.

The interloper side-steps, narrowly missing Killer’s full-bodied lurch, and bolts, yanking his Soul back but it’s not a true monster Soul, right side up like a human’s and glows polychromatic like the flames to flee the Encounter, gunning for the inner forest.

His mind catches up to his failure before his staggering body could and once more, poleaxing fear withers him out and fixes him in place, even as his mind screams through the voices that he’s in danger and won’t survive—!

But Survival was not an option. It was a must.

Do what it takes to endure must outlast must persist failure is not an option

They are a Killer. It’s all that they know.

And they must never lose a hunt.

They take off after him.

Color curses as he dives behind a snow bank. Sanguine knives pierce the ground beside him and he lets out more colorful (he could already hear his friend’s snickers) curses.

He yelps when a knife with seething Intent flies through the flames pouring out his skull and thuds into a tree in front of him.

He flings himself back onto his feet and nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get away, stumbling over a rock hidden by puffs in the snow. His misstep is punished with a knife piercing his shoulder, and he hisses at the flare of pain the scrape against his glenohumeral joint sparks.

Color slides, ignoring the ache of dropping to one knee and bends the other back for support and evokes a blaster, the draconic vestige materializes on his right hand and its jaw unhinges, mana crackling before it surges out as a powerful rainbow blast. Once it’s fired it dematerializes as quickly as it had appeared.

He hears a startled noise but can’t make out if anything else is said. Already he’s back on his heels and pivots before bolting away once more.

As he runs, he curses how a previously pleasant day of landscape photography could have spiraled so far out of control so quickly.

Hysterical laughter bubbles in the back of his throat. His chest heaves with the exertion but he can’t teleport out, he needs to find the liminal space he entered through to get back to the Omega Timeline. The special portals hidden by Core are accessible only to those they’ve granted the Codes to. He just needed to get to the “door” and he’s home free.

If he could outrun the cannibal chasing him and survive long enough to make it, that is.

“You totally gotta go to this AU! He said,” Color sarcastically intones while replaying Epic’s earlier words. “It’s sanctioned by the Stars,” he pants, sweat dripping down his skull while his Soul frantically pounds in his chest, “and I heard it’s got the most beautiful forest, he said. Nothing could possibly go wrong, he said!”

He pauses mid rant to hunch over with his hands on his patellae, gulping down air he doesn’t need to soothe his frenzied mana.

Frightening snarls are followed by blades whirling passed him and impaling the snow.

“AAAaaaand we’re running again!” Color yelps and books it.

“Epic, I swear if I live through this, I’m gonna kick you right in the damn shin,” Color growled.

Apparently a supposedly pleasant, positive AU has cannibals running around. Why not? It’s just Color’s luck.

He needed to put as much distance between himself and his lethal assailant as he could.

On their end the Killer doesn’t let up on their assault. They pull knives from their jacket pockets and continue to throw dagger after dagger after the skeleton in a rapid fire series of attacks. If their prey slips even a bit one would land. They noticed how physical attacks incur minimal damage. Attacks laced with magic, rippling with malicious Intent, however, make their frightened prey stumble and keen in pain. Their victim is unusual, an abomination to the natural order of all things Chara’s giggle is a whisper “Sounds familiar” but they are a skilled hunter.

All prey have weaknesses to exploit.

They don’t care if this NPC or test from Nightmare or whatever the stars-damned fuck this “skeleton” is. They will not be the one who suffers, not this time.

With the taste of iron, of blood and their own ashes from their burned insides on their tongue, they persist. They are Unnas, spirit indestructible, and if they wish for him to die, then he will die.

With their newfound clarity they shift tactics. The hybrid summons their blaster and pours all the wrath and anguish they carry into the blast. Their blaster mirrors their own hateful countenance, Determination grows from black rivers to floods that pour out their sockets and mouths, cooking up their insides and boiling their marrow as they burn alive.

Blaster and evoker both unhinge their jaws and roar a deafening scream.

The moment the air burned with tangible hatred, Color drops, flinging himself to the snowy ground a fraction of a second just in time. The blast misses him, eviscerating instead several acres of forest.

Color’s Soul aches at the devastation. All that beautiful scenery, gone. Obliterated out of nothing but sheer misdirected hatred.

His mourning lightens when his eye spots a strange ripple in the air ahead of him, visible only to him.

He brightens, Soul lighting up with hope once more. That was the door!

Color plants both hands by his skull and kicks his legs up, flipping himself upright and lunges forward. Almost there, almost there, almost there!

His hand reaches for the translucent Codes shifting and humming within the liminal space.

Only for the sight of his freedom to be ripped from his visage as a katana impales him, sinking into his scapula and breaking through his sternum.

Color chokes on fire, his eyelight flaring and flames spiraling in pain. The cruel Intent tears through his mana network, buzzing angrily and disrupting his magic in its attempt to subdue and kill kill kill.

Blinded by pain, Color reacts on instinct.

He whirls around while the Killer closes in, another katana in hand, and with a slitted eyelight evokes his blaster. Firing right at the strange target hovering in front of the cannibal’s chest.

It lands, and Color is unprepared for the way the sound that it tears from his assailant shrieks through the forest, shrill visceral agony cracking in an anguished scream.

The impact blasts them back, skittering and tumbling several feet away onto their chest.

It…it made no sense…Color trembled, shaken by the sound and adrenaline and his instincts howling for him to run. His Intent was to protect himself, why were they spasming and mana flaring like he’d taken a shot at their Soul…?

Color stills with horrified realization as the cannibal’s claws dig into the snow and they slowly start crawling towards him. Despite their continued choking, hacking up splatters of bitter, black fluid, they force their trembling body towards him.

The strange, erratically spinning lines of crimson and ivory magic…that was their Soul.

And Color had shot his magic, powered by several human Traits, right at it.

Horrified revulsion simmers in his nonexistent gut and he doesn’t know what to do, wanting to apologize but knowing letting his guard down would mean his permanent end. He could escape, freedom was right there, right behind him. All he had to do was step through and he’d be out of the AU.

But then they lift their skull to stare at him. Voided sockets with ink-like fluid pouring out, stare into Color’s singular wide eye.

There’s not an ounce of hatred that he felt in the attacks prior. It’s empty and black. In those eyes there was no fear, only resignation. And yet they still crawl towards him, knife clasped in a shivering claw.

Color reaches out, mouth parted to say something, but before he can reach out something intangible shoves him and he falls through the door, the portal closing behind him and seals the exit locked.

The last he sees before he falls through it to the Omega Timeline are those empty eyes.