#mage archive

[m4g3ofblood]

And I am the fire and I am the forest

And I am a witness watching it

*2023 redraw below + closeups

[brbarou]

weird girls with multiple personas....i love you....

[brighter-star]

Meet Kaede Honoko, an oc of mine from a dnd campaign primarily based on Madoka Magica who sold her soul to become a magical girl after a housefire killed her cat

[suzuberto]

Would you fall in love with me again?

last song for their final moments together (until next time)

[chaifootsteps]

(Artist Salem)

Can we have a reminder on what happened with Salem? Because I tend to confuse that situation with Kendraws. Salem is such a creative talent I’d be sad to lose an employee like that.

I don't think they've come out with the full story, but Viv failed to credit them for their work on the show, and there was also this.

[tim-stroker]

Grimdark mage of mind Jon if you even care 🙄

[minrathous]

it's so frustrating they don't take the necropolis as an opportunity to explore spirits with more depth in veilguard. or even Manfred's whole thing. Manfred being able to learn to speak implies that any wisp is capable of it with time. they have preferences and emotions and comprehend speech but you still shouldn't be concerned that they are used for slave labour in the necropolis. you're supposed to be horrified that Hezenkoss is abusing spirits but not at that. engaging with spirits as people introduces too much nuance to the situation and veilguard is absolutely incapable of dealing with it. otherwise they'd have to engage with why Solas wants to tear the veil down

[chaotic-snowflake]

At the end of the world, there is no one left but Viktor. Viktor, a broken world, and the remains of the one thing he had that was already perfect. What he wouldn't do to undo his ruin. What he wouldn't give to have his partner back.

the endless stream of arcane brainrot continues...as does my continual apology to viktor nation. the genshin fandom knows what i've been doing to kaeya since the year of our lord 2022, and i fully intend to bring that very same really horrendous energy to this side of the internet <3

anyway, happy reading, and don't be afraid to comment- i promise i don't bite :)

[pathfinderslog]

🔸 Morning Ritual

Inner Demons (7/?)

Full chapter on AO3

She picked up the small box containing her morning ritual kit, with lyrium-infused paints, and sat cross-legged in front of the room's large aquarium. She could not leave without reinforcing the seals, so she took all the time she needed to go over the lines on her body one by one.

She grasped the brush firmly in her right hand and began to trace the patterns on the left side of her body, starting at the ankle, moving gently up the leg, lingering on the thigh and torso, then tracing the lines on the arm as well. As she concentrated she began to intone a litany in ancient Tevinter, adjusting her breathing, one breath after another, falling in a sort of trance.

𝐹𝑢𝑟𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑜𝑟𝑢𝑚, 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑎 𝑎𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎,

𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒, 𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑜.

𝐻𝑖𝑐 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑚 𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑜.

No one had ever explained the meaning of those words to her, she had simply learnt them by heart since she was a child, assimilating the sound, intoning the dirge in an absorbed voice, just as she had been taught. Her movements were fluid and precise, never detaching the bristles from her skin except to dip in another colour.

𝑃𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑚 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑚, 𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑚 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑖.

𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑝𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑢𝑚 𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑠 𝑡𝑢𝑢𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑢𝑠

In the end she went on to trace the marks on her face. This last step was always the most painful. She felt a jolt run through her whole body, through those freshly drawn lines, which when they reached her face seemed almost to tighten into a vice, as if her whole body were being chained by burning coils.

𝑁𝑢𝑛𝑐 𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑖, 𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠, 𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑡𝑢𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑡.

𝐷𝑢𝑚 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑜. 𝑈𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑒.

When the last syllable was uttered, the lines she had just traced lit up with a soft orange glow, sizzling along their length. She gritted his teeth. They burned terribly, but it was a sensation to which she was accustomed.

[confusedgeckotree]

I enjoy media by getting so into it that anything I say is incomprehensible to a non fan. Sometimes even to a very casual fan.

Examples:

"MACKEREL!"

"Octokittens." / "The ship is biomechanical. The ship is sentient. The ship was also once a moon. This means that the ship, as a moon, was sentient and also at least somewhat fleshly."

"Oh. Yknow. The giant fucking angler fish god?"

"Oh. Yknow. The homophobic vase."

"Okay, but how did no-one see two children dragging a corpse to a tree?"

"The candy is a sedative!?" / "Bagged children"

"Five pebsi: triple affirmative." / "Catboy Pebbles."

"Where did you go, Tidedad?"

"If I read the word preternatural one more time I'm going to scream."

"Oh. Yknow. Erika."

[m4g3ofblood]

Second child, restless child

[perlen-gold]

Something in Fenris stirs too like ash inside a ruin.

It is already too late, by then.

A prodigious silence, crinkling inertly, has melted the air like the blunt edge of an axe pooling silvery on the ground. A word, a stunned noise smoking somewhere to his right.

Too late.

They have never learned. They have never learned what true fear is, let their senses become jaded by power and arrogance; they have never learned how to fight, genuinely fight, whatever they are believing of themselves, Fenris’ mind flashes with a stroke of disgust.

He hears the arrow’s singing aim, let loose from the only fingers not hopelessly lost in almighty trust, just when his own inexorable feet slap onto the first step before the throne.

Fenris lets the arrow strike right through him, allowing the lyrium’s flaring blaze of pain to breeze his physical form away and it sticks fast driving right into the wooden throne, quivering with the force of the impact.

The figure is half-rising from her throne, hair shining in a long ink-black sheen, reaching, when Fenris already grabs her shoulder and her neck and the glass inlay of the magnificent window sprays as rainbow drops with vibrating shatters as both he and she collide with it.

Fenris knows a human, elven, dwarven body as well and precisely as a surgeon. Place veins and bones he can, muscles and hearts and lungs and livers as though they were palpitating and pouring blood into his very own throbbing body. But it is his sword’s silver he has summoned, sizzling and darting like lighting’s verge.

She cries out not but narrows her widening eyes upon the impact, a myriad of color-bright shards of glass, a shimmering glitter fleeing in all directions, in unforeseen shock and confusion and something else Fenris cannot quite place as his blood-dried, dirt-streaked, hollowed face stares into hers. From the broken windows’ mosaic icy mountain air gushes inside, whipping her dark hair afly in a furious storm, surrounding the grief-whettled blade pressed against her slender throat. Fenris’ gray-skinned face, so distorted as to be monstrous.

“Let go of her or death be upon you!”

The words are meant to be a lash.

A woman spears them, pointed with the tint of lands Fenris’ remembers wandering through, the color of people who, in that language of their own, call themselves dragon slayers.

Too late.

Fenris has seen them already, his senses meticulously having studied them in the hitches of time it took him to stride up the hall, every single one of them.

The warrior woman who stands at the base of the stairs, prepared to take him on, slim and slender, sword raised high like her cheekbones – tight and skilled with strength, the only one, perhaps, to truly match his own ineluctable skill, fiery and determined, but unsuspecting of lyrium sorcery flying through her guard.

On the other side of the hall a Qunari warrior who swears in perfect Qunlat as the Tal-Vashot he is, so mighty and broad he could snap Fenris’ body into splinters, and way too powerful like so many of his kin to match his swiftness.

Talking in the filthy tongue of the alienages, on the balcony above the far gates, an elf girl, faster and quicker than the others, whose knife-edged arrow-point has whirred through him already.

Behind the Qunari a mage, a woman, proud and high-faced, whose carriage is different from other mages and not defenseless, no, against the swings of a silver blade, but prey to her own pride.

Next to her, another warrior, less proficient than the Nevarran woman, though alert, rimmed, sharp.

Left is an apostate mage, neither reclusive Dalish nor subjugated city elf, the only one Fenris has not assessed thoroughly yet, a man who carries himself like a servant but smells like smooth stone, like an age-old statue of a deity found in immemorial woods among fallen winter leaves.

And, at last, behind the Nevarran woman with the sign of the seeker, one last mage.

Fenris can discern it in the sheen of his garments. Taste it on the man’s rolling tongue. The gleam of his well-oiled hair. Fenris can stroke it, an answering call to the aching, pulsating lyrium inside his skin. The magic pulsing through the man’s limbs taught in prideful night-long lessons without any restrain or cover.

Every inch of him cries it. Magister.

But even this, that man whose skin reeks of the Imperium cannot permeate the strangulating screams inside Fenris threatening to tear his skin.

“Oy, elf!” Out of the color-blurred haze, Varric’s voice. Fenris senses his weapon, Bianca, grabbed in Varric’s white-knuckled fingers.

The second arrow croons like a siren’s song.

This time Fenris is almost too slow, its sleek point nicks his shoulder muscle before he lets it pass through his body, and it lodges into the Lady Inquisitor’s right shoulder instead. This time, she gasps.

The sound of another arrow, the bow strung, magic humming, deviating the air. Fenris grasps her neck and whirls her around until she is facing the crowd and her ink-sleek hair seems to be touching every inch of Fenris’ skin. Within the immediacy of the motion he lets his sword’ hilt sink against her upper body, pressed hard against her clothes, her back against Fenris’ chest, holding her body length to length to his like in a lover’s embrace.

Fenris’ hand, however, clings to the lower part of her neck. With a blinding azure-light glow his fingers sink beneath her skin. Veins and bones.

They stop, they all stop.

“Open the Fade and take me where you left him to die!” To say it, speak it, is too much.

His voice has become a feral thing, too beast-deep – fangs caught in on themselves – thrashing and clawing and coiling – winnowed and bare, too deep – yet quiet, quiet, quiet as a dead tree – too deep, catapulting the light thrown from under his skin into a thousand different directions, draining down upon him – too deep, and this is when the lyrium slips past him, past his control.

This time her screams pierce the roiling winds.

Whoa, wait, you're bringing up that angstful monster of an angsty fenhawke fic?! AGAIN??

I'll run fast enough this time!!!

Shameful self promotion AGAIN?!

Forget it, I'm not clicking on one of these stupid links!

[himbopunk]

audio is from mag 32 + blind by korn

watch on youtube (tiktok link keeps breaking but i am delsinning on there)

tfw you're haunted by the reflection of the fear you hold and others hold for you for so long that it becomes the only reliable presence in your life, eventually bringing you some twisted sense of comfort even as its terror sits in your heart

anyway. this audio in general is very mavcore but veilguards been on the brain so i went w dragon age au

(they/them only for this oc btw)

[highoncatfood]

welcome to my little Rainstuck hell everyone.

(click read more if ur interested in even more of my rambling...)

if u dont know already i am a huge homestuck nerd who LOVES classpecting so it is pretty much inevitable that i will make a homestuck au out of any media im currently into. and raincode is no exception!

so. heres a part one of i think 5 (unless i change my mind and include more than 2 characters per post) featuring yuma and makoto bcuz theyre the protag/main antag duo so its only expected to do them first i think.

ive written their descriptions first so theyre kinda shitty but the general idea is there. plz note that i am by no means a Writer and i do not have great Writing Skills so dont expect many convoluted sentences and stuff. this is mostly just for me and i try so hard to prioritize having fun over sounding cool or smart

so yeah idk i hope this ruins ur day i guess? LOL

[eric-the-bmo]

Do you ever just think about Mark from Archive 81 and what he did. What he became in order to try and save his friend who he didn't even know was alive or not. It makes me lose my mind

[tim-stroker]

jonathan sims is a mage of mind send tweet