#my silly little death mage has never found living so fucking hard

[mekanikaltrifle]

act 2 of the story ended, for Malcolm, in a way he's too familiar with now-- coping with a sudden grief in a hospital.

he's starting to hate hospitals, and mages, and magic.

[sasskarian]

First Line Meme

I was tagged by @asaara-writes. Thank you, my dearest! <3 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

My Heart and I -

If there’s one thing about Evelyn Swann that the entire Commonwealth knows by now, it is her love of music. Silence does not mark Evelyn’s arrival anywhere— instead, the soft tones of Billie Holiday do, crooning about mountains moved for love. Or the sultry voice of Lady Day herself, Ella Fitzgerald, floating around her and the companions like a bubble of the past, dreaming on into the future. Heavy footsteps beat out a tempo contrasting Butcher Pete and his big old ‘knife’ and everywhere she goes, she trails ribbons of jazz and cheer.

Like Afterimages - 

The settlers call her a survivor. Sanctuary calls her a savior. Codsworth cries when she returns from the wastelands, dragging in another minute— heh— victory for the Minutemen, or another rescued synth she doesn’t tell anyone about. But Mama Murphy just calls her a ghost.

That’s what she is, after all. Just a two hundred year old ghost. Like a mirage, superimposed on the darkness, burned into immortality by nuclear fallout and tragedy. Evelyn is only sometimes here, those dark gray eyes a pair of rain clouds on the distant horizon, drifting on invisible fronts. The thunder is inside of her, too, a raging storm swirling in her chest, beating fists made of babies crying and gunshots rimmed in frost ringing out against her ribs.

The Thrill of Your Hand - 

Danse has been a soldier too long to be a deep sleeper.

That’s the first thing the Brotherhood trains you out of. The indoctrination comes later, because only a good soldier can be indoctrinated, and a good soldier has to wake up at the first hint of danger. So when he hears the first whimper from across the room, his eyes snap open.

Paladin’s Bubble - 

The Commonwealth is quiet tonight.

It’s not silent, by any stretch: Evie can hear the hounds in the distance, their mutated throats sending their boofs echoing through the streets of Boston even from a long distance, and somewhere— a mile or more— the whoop of a raiding party rises over the station’s lookout, too far away to do anything but pity the poor prey they’ve caught. Dogmeat grunts, his paws pushing against her armored thigh as he stretches. His ears are perked, though, so he’s just catching some rest while he can. Even the thwomp-and-hiss of her partner’s power armor is missing from the darkness, the red light of his scope the only thing highlighting his face in their little bubble of quiet.

After the Glitter Fades - 

“If there is a future to be had,” Fenris murmured, his lips hovering near Hawke’s, “I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

His gorgeous green eyes were fixed on hers and Hawke fumbled for a moment, a half-smile playing across her mouth as her fingers played with the crumbling stone behind her. Silly, but part of her almost wanted to believe him. With the smallest sound, Fenris leaned in, his gauntleted fingers sliding through her hair as he kissed her— it started out soft, a chaste brush of warm lips and warmer breath, but within a couple of heartbeats, it deepened into something that promised wildness and fire.

Glitter: Marginalia - (E)

She can’t remember what dragged her awake— only that it left a sour, desperate taste in her mouth like old coppers and the cheapest bottle of whatever would get her drunk enough to sleep.

Waking up with nightmares is nothing new. The Amell curse, as most of the Kirkwall film crews call it, has yet to hit Hawke directly, but it had taken her father (a stunt gone wrong) and her mother and uncle (an unlucky intruder)– had struck Carver, too. She and Garrett and Bethie are safe, so far, but it's only a matter of time until it circles back around. The curse is a generations-long predator, still and patient, and it will hunt them down one at a time if it has to  

Ah, Kirkwall, she thinks, some blend of annoyance and fondness and adrenaline mixing uneasily in her heart. You fuck with us again and again and still, here we are.

He Might Like That - 

“So. Let me get this straight.” Greef lifts his bad knee with a groan, settling it over his other leg so he can sprawl a little more indolently. Din’s HUD focuses in, shows the elevated temperature in the joint in a dark red, and he turns it off with a flicker of his eye. Greef lifts his glass again, takes a sip, and gestures with it before continuing. “You two. Not together?��

Where I Can’t Follow - 

The day Geralt of Rivia dies, he hears the whistle of the sword which almost kills him. There’s a series of tiny holes stamped along the spine of the blade, keeping weight down and adding a sinister shrill hiss through the air on each pass. The raiding party - if it can be dignified with such language - are nearly all armed with similar steel, with hunting horns, rattling chime-spangled shields, and bullroarer slings wailing and droning like an oncoming swarm of giant wasps. The effect is deafening, overpowering all efforts to coordinate the various companies on this mission.

Malicious Compliance - (M)

So this is how it feels to have a galaxy tremble at your feet.

Not just the galaxy, though— millions of lives shuddering under the weight of your boot on their necks cannot compare to the half-lidded gray-blue eyes drinking you in like you’re his salvation and damnation both. No, there is power in this, in these stolen moments with him, that rivals nothing else you’ve found anywhere among the stars.

He’s a brave man, your Captain.

Counting the Days (since Exegol) - 

“That’s good, Finn.”

Rey smiles, feeling the Force ebb and flow around Finn as he manages to lift himself a few inches off the ground-- along with the meditation mat, two glasses of water, and the plate of snacks they keep for anyone who comes to visit. Finn cracks an eye open, smiles back at her, and lands with a thump. For half a moment, she almost expects him to be disappointed that his training is progressing slowly: hyper-competency is a Stormtrooper trait he’ll never outgrow.

Star by Star - 

The galaxy looks different now.

It’s not just the cautious celebrations still happening, weeks later. And it’s not just the way people step back from her now, too much reverence in them for her comfort. It’s in the way she looks at the sky and sees the color of Luke’s eyes, and the gentle wind that feels so much like Leia’s hand, she cries. The way that Poe’s back straightens at the podium, broadcasting Republic news to everyone, and Finn’s hand clutching his under the table, their life forces bright and right in her senses.

Stardust and Memory (and a little bit of romance) - 

“Wow.”

Jaal chuckled against her ear, hands firmly on her waist; a good thing, probably, or she’d be on her face on the floor. “It is… a lot, I know.”

“No!” Sara protested, only wilting when Jaal tilted his head at her. “...okay, maybe a little. There’s just— a lot of them?”

Scars and Holes and Broken Things - 

Whispers follow him wherever he goes.

What’s left of the crew whispers in the halls, the mess, on the bridge, and conversations trail off when his ghost walks through, haunting the only place that's ever felt like home. Whatever they’re saying doesn’t matter, though—he doesn’t care. He’s too tired to care. He hasn’t slept more than his body demands in weeks. Tali’s immune system has already begun to destroy itself, and even though the Normandy is stocked with more dextro rations than it’s ever carried before—

Almost like Shepard knew. Always prepared, that’s my girl.

Heart of the Woods - (E)

You left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Can you think of me as anything more?

Less than a fortnight of sweet words, gentle touches, and stolen kisses are the only weapons she could levy against the trauma that shaped a man’s youth. And for a moment in time, Isera hoped.

Common Ground (isn’t so hard to find) - 

“Skkut! Ryder!”

“Sorry, Enroh— oh!” Sara tried to stop, bounced into a low bench, and crashed into a pile of bruised, groaning Pathfinder on the other side. At least this time, she remembered to shield her head as she skidded to rest against the wall. Lexi would be pleased. Another concussion would get her put back under the scanner and that just ruined everyone’s day. “...ow.”

A Language Reserved for Lovers - (M)

The first time you touch him, his skin flushes red; the first time he touches you back, he trembles. Interesting, since if there is a word to describe him, it is steadfast. But there is more beneath the easy surface, beneath the deadly grace and unflagging stamina. He is loyal, and good, and so fascinating under the burden of his name. But nineteen is a young age, even if you're only a little older, and he seemed so young at first, unsure and innocent— then he gave you that crooked little grin, and stole your heart with it.

Every Beautiful Thing - 

I would prefer to be Mary Shelley. She died a widow.

Despite a foolhardy counter, thrown in indifference and pride, Edith never really thought she would be a widow. Despite her foolish quip so many years ago, she is no Mary Shelley. And despite moderate success as an author and teller of stories, the only thing she and Shelley have in common is a belief in a world outside of the everyday, and widowhood.

Yesterdays - 

He’s always thought she was invincible.

Sure, Morrigan told them the truth of the Archdemon’s death, an account more grisly and heartbreaking than the one Riordan gave; just the sort of tale that might ensnare a young boy’s heart, give him delusions of grandeur, while an older man might look upon it with resignation. But the truth doesn’t sink in until now.

If You Ever did Believe - 

“There are people dying,” Isera repeated slowly, as if she could make her advisers understand what she'd seen. As if giving her memories voice might lift some of their weight in her heart. “We couldn’t even get to Redcliffe because of the fighting.”

Three days of being stuck on a horse, only to have to turn around after three skirmishes— their first mission to the Hinterlands had been a remarkable experiment in failure. Isera had learned her skills at the hands of the best of her clan, had fought alone for years, and yet the shock of tripping over Varric and accidentally hitting Cassandra with a ball of ice had made their first fight a near loss.

Some saviors, Varric had laughed afterward, staggering around like baby nugs.

Glitter: Velvet over Veridium - 

If anyone had ever accused Marian Hawke of being a reasonable adult human being, she might have laughed at them. No, she'd have pointed and then laughed at them. But under all her bluster, and all her immature jokes, her dirty one-liners and cheesy pick-up lines, there was an adult hidden in there somewhere.

Okay, maybe I put more than one opening line, but I have a thing for context, dammit! 

This got so long -- mobile users, I’m sorry omg. 

Forwarding the tag (no pressure as always!) to @mayihavethisdanse @athreehundredthirtythree @thebisexualmandalorian @natsora @loquaciousquark @valdomarx @theggning @cullywullycurlywurly @systlin and @third-rail-vip 

[nutella0mutt]

Out for Themselves- Ch 2

After two more days, Keith stocks up on food and supplies. And then he works. He works on building his strength back up, works on finding safe, cheap places to stay, and works on finding an easy job he can do as he recovers. The food and warmth has done wonders, and by being able to afford inns, he no longer has to live in survival mode. It gives his brain a break, and that is the single biggest relief.

He’s looking for better boots and checking out the stands for potential work when the wizard calls to him as he passes. He’s the old, twisted sort. Looking older than his years with the beard and layers of robes. He’s nothing like the mage that caught and subsequently saved him less than a week ago.

“I have what you seek, boy.”

Silently, Keith curls his mouth into a snarl. There’s only two people who can call him that, now. And they’re long gone. The man can’t see his face from his stall behind him, but Keith’s shoulders tense as he continues walking. He wants to remain invisible.

“Invisible, huh? That may be the way of your mind, but your hearts speaks differently.”

Keith freezes, rooted to the ground. How did the wizard read his thoughts?! Keith spins, frantic, and the wizard raises his hands in surrender, likely moved by his expression.

“No, it’s alright! I’m a seer.”

Keith scoffs, and turns to leave.

“You want to find them, don’t you? I can help you get to them.”

Again, Keith stops. This time he gets a proper look at the wizard. The look on his face is not unkind. There’s no cruelty here. The shop is old and dusty, full of trinkets and treasures that might entice a normal person. Unfortunately, Keith hasn’t been normal in a long time. He decides to humor the old man. He’s got nothing to lose, and if the wizard does try anything, Keith’s confident he can take the old guy on.

As if reading his thoughts, the man smiles, but does not comment.

“What you seek is here. I know you do not what that you are looking for yet, but the answer lies here. Come, to the attic.”

Read on ao3

Before Keith can decline the wizard leads the way up the rickety stairs. Intrigued, Keith follows. A black chest rests in the middle of the room. It’s covered in a thick layer of dust, evidence of it’s time being left undisturbed. Keith approaches, as if summoned. It’s calling to him. He kneels and wipes away dust from the lid with his sleeves.

The black lacquered lid is painted in dazzling designs. At first Keith can’t make it out. But after wiping more dust it clicks. The air seems to become energized, and it’s not the dust making it hard for Keith to breathe.

“Are these images...is this a…?”

“She’s been waiting for you for many years.”

Keith doesn’t have the air in his lungs to respond. His fingers hover just over the lock sealing the chest. At a brush of his fingers it snaps open and falls off the hook. The clasp pops open. Keith lifts the lid with trembling fingers.

Inside is a massive ruby, easily the size of a fist. It catches the light, sending stars and sparkles across the room. But that’s not what Keith seeks. He lifts the jewel and sets it aside, pulling up the velvet it was nestled in. Here lies his true treasure. Underneath is a large, red egg. It’s completely smooth and warm under his fingertips. Keith cradles it to his chest. He feels a connection. Like he’s found the other half to his soul. He feels her heartbeat, and is unaware of the tears streaming down his face.

“She is the last. The only remaining riding dragon. This is all that’s left of the dragon riders.”

Such an impossibility. Yet here lies the proof.

“Since you are not a dragon rider, you must heed the prophecy. A curse will be placed upon you should you attempt to accept the bond. What say you?”

Keith stands, egg in his arms.

“I accept. She’s mine, I can feel it. We were meant to be.”

“Very well.” The wizard lifts his staff and fire ignites, whirling around Keith like a tempest. He chants in a booming voice.

“A heart for a heart, is what you must pay. Until seven years time, with death you will play!”

The egg in Keith’s hands crack, and his vision goes white.

Over the next few days, Keith is a doting mother. The little dragon he lovingly calls Red has a voracious appetite, and needs to be kept nearly unbearably warm. Fortunately it’s the dead of winter, so he gets no complaints when his room becomes stuffy and warm. After three days of eating scraps of meat nearly nonstop, she sits in front of Keith and waits for him to wake up from where he has passed out learning over the table. He feels a prod on his forehead, and wakes with a bleary groan.

“Huh?”

Keith. My Light. My Fire.

Keith nearly falls off the chair in shock. What used to be a tiny creature the size of a chick is now a large cat-sized glossy red dragon.

“A-are you in my head? You can talk?”

Red scoffs.

Of course, my Spark. I am a Riding Dragon, after all. How else do you think the dragons and riders communicated? Try it. Think to me.

“Am I doing it right?”

Red seems to sigh, then shakes her head.

We’ll get there. Let’s go outside and cement our bond. I am of the right age, now.

“Do what now?” he squeaks, and she jumps to his legs and begins to shove and nip at him, herding him out the door.

Outside! I want to fly and we need to bond!

“Wait! People will see you!”

Red stops and seems to glare at him.

You think I cannot glamour myself to appear as another? Silly human.

With that, Red shivers and with a pop, she is a sleek hawk, rusty-colored feathers covering her head to tail.

Now! Out!

At Keith’s insistence, the two make their way to the forest bordering the town. He isn’t sure what this “bonding” entails, but he does not want to be caught out in the open and booted from the town. Red perches on his shoulder and clucks at him in annoyance.

When they reach a small clearing Keith deems acceptable, Red pops back into her dragon form and sits upon his head, kneading his tufts of hair. Keith swats at her, and she hisses back. He’s a little nervous about what his bonding will entail. Keith has a healthy suspicion of magic, having been on the receiving end of that in more than one intimate occasion. It becomes another thing on his long list of unpleasant things he doesn’t want to ever experience again, right between ropes and skirts.

Keith shakes his head to lose the visions, ignoring Red’s growl. That was him before. His past life. Now he’s been saved and has a dragon, and he never has to return to that. Keith steels his heart and prepares himself for this unknown ritual. Whatever it is, it’ll be worth it. It was certainly not his original reasoning for why he agreed to hatch Red, but having a dragon will be a huge ace up his sleeve. He can’t blow this. She is the last , and Keith will treasure her for as long as his short life will allow. That thought sparks a question.

“By the way, Red, what will happen to you after I die?”

There’s a rough hissing in his mind, and it startles him, until he belatedly realizes that it’s her laughing.She’s laughing her ass off at him!

“Red, what the fuck! That was a serious question! I worry about you!”

Oh, young dragonling. Worry not yourself. It’s been not even a week. Much too early to think of such worrisome things.

And then she bites him. Right on the back of his neck.

“OW! RED!”

But she doesn’t let go. The bite begins to sting and burn, and Keith cries out.

“Red! Seriously, that fucking hurts!”

Patience, my Light. The venom of my fledgling teeth make the mark and solidify the bond. Once the mark heals and the scar takes, we are forever bonded. You will be mind and I will be yours.

“Great, so I get to bite you back?”

She laughs her annoying hissing laugh and Keith curses.

They work out a system. Red grows about a pound a day. Every morning Keith wakes, Red is a little bit bigger. They take to going out at night, seeking out the forest for prey for her which won’t be missed. Then after feeding they take to the skies. It’s about a three months until Red reaches a size where she can carry a rider. After the first heart-stopping flight, Keith can’t imagine ever truly living before he met Red.

Red is freedom, and companionship. She’s an ally and always has Keith’s back despite her snarkiness. Keith’s never had anyone on his side before, and he knows he shouldn’t let himself fall so hard so fast. After all, dragons are very different from humans and always seek their own gain first. But maybe it’s the bond. That’s the only explanation Keith has for their close connection. Keith comes to welcome the sarcastic voice in his head, and seeks Red’s guidance more often than not. Respect grows between then, then trust. Keith doesn’t know of any better way to put one’s trust to the test than flying. Red trusts Keith to work with her, and to guide her with good decisions, rather than risky ones. And Keith trusts Red not to let him fall to his death. As they perfect their flying techniques together, their love for one another grows as well.

Keith hates the cold. Cold meant working harder to survive. It meant little food and poor sleep. But the worst thing about the cold was the memories of hot hands on his body. When you were all on your own and looked like Keith, you did what you had to make it. Any other time of year, Keith could snatch samples from stalls and harvest from the woods. But in the winter vendors kept their wares close, and the woods were barren. Keith quickly learned begging wasn’t effective. When everybody had it tough, no one was willing to spare their precious little on others. But he did attract attention, even if it was the wrong type. He stood outsides inns and in the doorways of barracks. He’d lay back among straw or finger starchy sheets, ignoring the scent of alcohol and escaping from his mind for a bit. But the one thing he could never forget was the hot, heavy, rough hands that were responsible for his next morsel of food.

It’s nearly spring, but the nights are still unbearably cold outside. Keith whimpers in his sleep, dark thoughts and hot hands swirling in his mind. Red is now the size of a horse, and they are hidden in the stable of an abandoned farm. The red dragon purrs and curls herself carefully around her rider, hoping the warmth of her body will keep the nightmares at bay. Keith has never come straight to her about his difficult past, but she’s smart and has been cataloging the signs. Red does everything in her power to ensure Keith never has want for anything but human company. She hunts and provides fire and heat and protects. And in return Keith keeps her mind and body strong, and her heart alive with love. Keith has said many times that she is the best thing that has ever happened to him. Red will never let Keith return to that life.

But the secret he keeps burns near his heart. Red is the very last of her kind. She watches him bear that burden alone, and offers silly observations when his thoughts run heavy.

And then there’s the prophecy. Something not even Red can touch. He’s only got seven years until death comes calling. While he does a good job of brushing off her concerns, Keith keeps his fears inside. Red is privy to Keith’s inner thoughts, and so she watches. She watches as every moment he spends sitting around feels like another grain of sand falling through his hourglass. Another tick on his clock. She watches as Keith allows himself a single year to build up his coin, his dragon, and his strength, then begins his search. She watches as it takes Keith four frustrating years to find his saviors.

The ticking clock is always present in Keith’s head, and it echoes in hers, too.

Bios | Read on ao3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |