#rules (a magical ward of sorts.)

[hoboblaidd]

Veilguard and post-Veilguard Verses

Before I do reblog a meme, I want to establish a Veilguard state so your Veilguard muses aren't boxed out by the logistics of the game.

While Solas' link to Rook is strongest, I'm creating ways for other muses to interact with him:

Solas can be spoken to in places where the Veil is particularly thin or at Fen'harel altars [I like to imagine Felassan and co. created these for easy communication and help, like fancy sending stones]. In addition, people who are sensitive to the Fade (like Emmrich) can also sometimes talk to him, like a more complex version of Emm talking to Spite.

Ending spoilers under the cut

This also works for a post-Veilguard atonement ending if he's in Fade jail. Note that I don't think he always necessarily has to go into Fade jail for this ending, but he does need to have had that catharsis with Mythal in order to grow. Also, he absolutely will get out of Fade jail - with the Mythal catharsis, he can start actually dealing with his regrets. Plus, he vowed to protect the Veil while he breathed. He never said where he had to do the breathing lol.

All other endings, you bet your ass he's working to escape that jail even if it takes him 1000 years. He wouldn't talk to Rooks (unless you're in there with him and not dead) and Veilguard companions, and to everyone else, he's not going to be very friendly.

[dirtytransmasc]

I need more selkie theon (and asha. I just think that would be a vibe. fuck the greyjoy sigil being a kraken for a moment and let them be seals) content.

like the opportunity to have theon's coat taken by ned when he's made his ward is right there and it is perfect and beautiful and tragic.

and you could build on that depending on the version of the selkie myth/story you're going off of (I personally love the song of the sea version of selkies for story writing). maybe he can't talk without it, maybe he gets sick, maybe his voice has magical properties of sorts.

I have this one concept in my head that I don't have the time to write, but it goes something along the lines of theon getting sick after years away from his coat and the stark kids have to find his coat and drag his slowly dying ass to the bay of seals (cause y'know bay of seals and theon's a selkie so he'll turn into a seal... I thought it was creative).

also, in a lot of versions of selkies, when they get sick, their hair turns white, which is on brand for theon. they're also pretty, their stories are typically soaked to the bone in tragedy, they're normally held captive/tortured, amongst other things, which are also very on brand for theon.

and maybe you get some selkie to selkie telepathy of sorts, so when theon finally enter the water a seal again, asha books it to come find him, cause its been years since she's been able to feel him (I'm soft for them, I will create the most improbable and ridiculous scenario's to bring them together and for them to have soft sibling moments).

all and all, theon being a selkie is something I need more content of, please and thank you.

[serpentandlily]

Lost in a Labyrinth - Azriel x Reader

Lost in a Labyrinth I - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine. 

Warnings: smut (minors dni), reader is a prostitute

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part I

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure house and pay for it, but stay away from her.” 

Rhysand’s words had played over and over again in his head since the Winter Solstice, three months ago. Azriel wasn't sure why he was taking him up on his shitty advice now but by some will of his own, he was standing in the shadows of the alley across the street from The Labyrinth—Hewn City’s most exclusive brothel. 

Azriel only knew of this place because some of the high ranking nobles he spied on talked about it often. It was known for its secrecy, for making sure their clientele had confidentiality. There were far more pleasure houses that were known to the public, even one in Velaris, but the last thing Azriel wanted was word getting around that he had been seen visiting one. Partly because he liked keeping his love affairs secret, but mostly because he didn’t want to give that satisfaction to Rhysand. 

When his shadows came back with no reports of any sightings of faeries nearby, Azriel crossed the distance to The Labyrinth. He knocked five times on the plain looking, unassuming door, following the instructions he had overheard. 

A sliding peephole opened revealing a pair of dark eyes. “A bargain, Shadowsinger,” a male voice said through the door. “A copper for your eyes.”

“A silver for your tongue,” Azriel agreed. He felt a burning sensation behind his ear, the bargain tattoo forming. 

This was another thing he had learned from spying— the secret bargain that would grant you access to The Labyrinth. A bargain that he wouldn’t speak of the people and things he might see here so long as they kept their silence in regards to his identity. 

The door swung open a second later and the male guard ushered him in. The guard gave him a once over, his eyes stopping on the dagger sheathed on his thigh. 

“No weapons allowed, Shadowsinger,” the guard ordered. “Especially around the girls.”

Azriel wordlessly unsheathed Truth-teller and let his shadows take it away. He didn’t tell the guard that it was pointless, that he could summon it back at any time regardless of whatever wards they had set up around here—his shadows didn’t abide by the typical rules of magic. But the guard didn’t need to know that. 

The guard held out a gloved hand. “The entrance fee.”

Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch filled with coins. He set it in the guard’s palm without question. 

The guard gave him a dip of the head, satisfied, before gesturing for him to continue on. Azriel strided down the dim hallway. He could already smell various aphrodisiacs and drugs amongst the intoxicating scent of arousal in the air. It spurred him on, kept his feet moving on the dark red carpet, not allowing him the chance to second guess his decision to come here. 

He wasn’t sure what magic was at play, or if they specifically scented the hallway to further get their clients in the mood, but something was tugging him forward. 

He finally made it to the other end of the hallway, where a black door was awaiting him. He opened it slowly, cautiously and when no threat appeared, stepped through the threshold. The door opened up into a large foyer of sorts with a large candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling. 

Straight ahead was a grand staircase that led to the second floor. On both sides of the foyer were large double doors with masked guards standing in front of them, swords strapped to their backs.

Waiting for him in the center of the room was an older, High Fae female with generous curves, dressed decadently. A polite smile graced her pretty but aging face as she took him in. 

“Shadowsinger,” she greeted with a dip of the head, her hands clasped in front of her. “Welcome to The Labyrinth. My name is Lydia. I will be your point of contact during your time here. Please follow me, I will show you to the girls so you may make your selection.” 

This wasn’t the first time Azriel had visited a pleasure house. Gods, when they were younger, him, Rhysand and Cassian had gone to some together. Had even taken the same girl once. But this felt…different. The atmosphere was soft, sensual—not rowdy like the other brothels he had been to. 

He followed Lydia into the first set of double doors, which led down another long corridor with more doors lining the wall, all numbered. Until they reached the end where another set of double doors waited. As soon as Lydia pushed them open and gestured for him to continue, soft music crept through the air.

Azriel walked into a heavily perfumed room, dimly lit much like everywhere else in this place. Dark red, velvet settees and cushions lined the walls and floors. Silks hanging from the ceilings gave each space a bit of privacy. A bar was on the opposite wall, fully stocked with various alcohols. Males and females, alike, were milling about the room in various states of undress, some paired up on the couches and chairs. 

At the front of the room was a wall made entirely of glass that overlooked a courtyard. Hanging plants and flowered vines decorated the space. A large fountain bubbled in the middle of it. Girls in lingerie and silk robes sat on the stone benches and cushions on the floor, lingered near the fountain, danced to the soft music in corners of the courtyard—all giggling and chattering with each other.

“These are the girls in The Labyrinth,” Lydia explained. “If you would like to see our selection of males, let me know.” 

His eyes wandered over the girls, all so beautiful and unique. Every single type of fae was here—from nymphs to firelings to High Fae. But his gaze was drawn towards a lone figure in one of the second story alcoves. 

His breath was sucked from his lungs the minute his eyes fell on her. She was…she was so beautiful. The most beautiful female he had ever seen in his five hundred years of living. She was dressed in a light pink lingerie set, a sheer robe hanging over it with white fur trims. She was alone, resting an elbow on the stone railing with her chin plopped in her hand as she gazed out into the carved mountainside within Hewn City. 

He couldn’t rip his eyes away from her. 

“Are any of them suited to your tastes, Shadowsinger?” Lydia questioned from beside him, knocking him out of whatever spell he had been put under. 

“Her,” he answered, his voice a mere whisper, as he dipped his head towards the female he couldn’t help but stare at. 

Lydia murmured something to one of the masked servants walking around with trays of champagne flutes. A moment later, one returned and handed the female a slip of paper. She clicked her tongue at whatever she read. 

“Apologies, Shadowsinger,” she said, “But it looks like she’s already been chosen for tonight. Do any—”

“By who?” Azriel growled before he even realized, his shadows whirling around him. Lydia looked up at him with a stern look that accentuated all the fine lines on her face. 

“You know I can’t tell you that,” she chided. Azriel gave her a sheepish look, not knowing what had come over him. “It looks like any of the other girls are still up for the taking if you’d like to choose another?” 

But Azriel couldn’t stop staring at the girl in the pink. Couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her. None of the other girls caught his attention. He had come here looking for a quick, no strings attached, fuck but that desire, that need—it was like it had been sucked right out of him. 

“I…” he trailed off, suddenly reeling back into his body. Lydia was staring up at him expectedly but he took a step away. “N-no. I’m sorry. I should…I should go.” 

Not a second later, his shadows swirled around him, whisking him away. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel wasn’t sure what drew him back to The Labyrinth the next night. Or the night after. Each time he came, he asked for that girl in pink, and each time, he was told she had already been booked for the night. It would’ve been easy to accompany Mor to Rita’s and find a plethora of females that would fuck him for free. But none of them would’ve been her. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was becoming so obsessed with a girl he’d never even talked to. Obsessed enough to travel to Hewn City, pay the copious entrance fee, just to leave when he was told she was still not available. 

But here he was. 

Again. 

Standing at the doors to The Labyrinth. 

It had become such a reoccurrence that Lydia would merely shake her head no at the sight of him, already knowing what he was there for. He was sure tonight would go more or less the same. But he was surprised when he caught sight of Lydia standing in the large, intricate foyer and she shook her head yes. 

“Well, Shadowsinger,” she said, “I admire your persistence. It seems it is your lucky day. The girl you’ve been waiting for is available. Please, continue on up the stairs and into The Labyrinth. She will be waiting for you behind the ninth door.” 

Azriel gave her a dip of the head before striding past her to the staircase. His shadows were swarming him—excited about something. He tuned them out, pushing open the black doors waiting for him at the top of the stairs. 

He paused for a second, feeling like he had suddenly been transported somewhere else. Instead of one long hallway like he’d been expecting, the doors opened to a maze of large pillars, multiple pathways lit by candles placed on the floor. 

He sent his shadows forward to scout the place and locate the ninth door that Lydia had mentioned. He followed their trail which led him to a red door with a number nine painted on it in a darker shade of red that looked suspiciously like blood. 

He let out the breath he had been holding as he wrapped his scarred fingers around the doorknob and slowly pushed it open. 

Slow, sultry music met his ears and the scent of pomegranates and cardamom flooded his senses. It was intoxicating, beckoning him forward. He softly shut the door behind him before he completely paused in his tracks as he turned to face the room. 

There, standing with her back to him, was the girl who had been utterly consuming his mind since he had first laid eyes on her. She was wearing a light pink nightgown that laced down her lower back. She was bent forward slightly, lighting a candle on a coffee table set up in front of a pair of red velvet couches. 

His eyes trailed over the room for a second, trying to gather his bearings. It was a large room, large enough to have a sitting area separate from the four-poster bed covered in silk and textured fabrics. Everything fit the same color scheme as the other rooms he’d been in, red and black. Lit only by candles, the soft lighting only added to the sultry atmosphere. 

Some smoke lingered in the air, making everything a bit more hazy. He recognized the scent as a popular aphrodisiac often used during parties with high nobility. His shadows seemed lulled by the music, drifting around him lazily as he stood in place. 

He stood frozen as she finally turned around and met his gaze. He had thought her beautiful that day he had seen her up on the balcony, but this close, well… beautiful was not strong enough of a word. She looked crafted for the Gods, a being not meant to walk alongside man. His breath was sucked right out of his lungs again, his eyes widened as his shadows reacted by lowering themselves onto the ground, leaving him bare. 

“There you are,” she purred, her voice as smooth as silk and honey. “I’ve heard you’ve been waiting for me.”

Azriel swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing with the motion. He watched her eyes track it, watched how her smirk slipped into a soft smile instead. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but it was like no thoughts existed in his head except for an image of her. 

“A bit shy, are you?” She teased after he failed to speak, walking towards him and holding out a hand with well manicured nails. “That’s okay, my love, let me take care of you.” 

She grasped his hand in her much smaller one, not even flinching when her skin met contact with his brutal scars. He let her guide him to the couch and push him to sit, entranced by her very presence. She moved to the bar cart behind him, running a delicate hand over his shoulders as she did, before pouring two glasses of whiskey. 

She meandered back over to him, plopping on the couch next to him before handing him one of the glasses. She clinked her glass against his. “For the nerves, my love.”

Azriel wanted to tell her that he wasn’t nervous, but that would be a lie. He had no idea why he had been reduced to the shy teenage boy he had been in his youth but he couldn’t shake himself from the feeling. Her presence was overwhelming, intimidating. Like she somehow held his entire being in the palm of her hands. 

“Thank you,” he grunted out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before downing his glass of whiskey in one go. She followed his lead, her smoky eyes never leaving his as she swallowed her whiskey. Beneath the exaggerated desire he found in them was a more calculating look, like she was trying to figure him out. 

A bit of the whiskey slipped out of the side of her mouth, dripping down her chin and neck to the crevice between her breasts. Azriel’s gaze followed it, his cock tightening in his pants as he wished to lick it off her gleaming skin. 

“Oops,” she giggled, swiping it up with a finger and sucking it into her mouth. “Would you like another glass?” 

He shook his head. He didn’t want to be drunk for this. He wanted to savor every second of his time with her, the girl who had been plaguing his thoughts night and day. 

“You seem tense, Shadowsinger,” she purred with a pout, making his eyes dip to her full, red painted lips. “I can fix that.” 

She reached forward and ran a slender hand up his chest and he nearly moaned at the feeling of her touching him. His hand latched onto hers, stopping it in its tracks. 

“What’s your name?” Azriel asked, finally speaking. He needed to know. Needed to taste the way it felt to say it on his tongue as much as he needed to taste her. 

“Serenity,” she replied with a coy smile. “But you can call me anything you like, my love.” 

His eyes searched hers. “That’s not your real name, is it?” 

“Of course not, darling,” she giggled. She leaned towards him, close enough that her breath fluttered over his ear. His cock twitched in his pants, his skin heated. “I think the real question is, what would you like me to call you, Shadowsinger?”

“Azriel,” he breathed out. “Just…just Azriel.” 

“Azriel,” she repeated in that voice of silk and honey. 

His eyes darted down to her lips again. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help how turned on he felt. Was it the aphrodisiacs in the room? Or perhaps the whiskey had hit just right? He didn’t care. All he knew was he needed to have her. 

Azriel let go of her hand, letting her continue her travel up his chest until she grabbed the empty glass in his hand and set it down on the table in front of them. She made eye contact with him again, slowly moving to straddle him on the couch, wrapping her arms around his neck lightly. He bit back a groan as her weight fell on his hardening member.

“What is it you’re here for, Azriel?”

His brain couldn’t focus with her in his lap. Her eyes were so mesmerizing, her scent one he could get high off. His hands found her waist, the silk fabric of her nightgown so smooth against his rough skin. 

“You,” he whispered, honestly. Because that was the truth. He had seen her and knew he needed to have her. 

“I’m yours, Azriel,” she giggled. “Any way you want me.” 

If he were a better male, perhaps now would be the time he realized this might be a mistake. But he wasn’t a better male. He couldn’t be. Not when her body was pressed against his, not when she looked so beautiful staring up at him with her large, expressive eyes, and certainly not when his body was singing for her—hungering for her like she was the only sustenance he needed. 

So Azriel surged forward and kissed her. 

Lightning exploded, skittering over his skin, the moment his lips touched hers. He groaned at the feeling of their softness. She let out a small sigh as she kissed him back, melting in his lap, pressing herself closer to him. 

Azriel slid a hand up her exposed back until he grasped her by the back of the neck and tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss, finally taking control of the situation. His cock hardened painfully as she spread her legs further, allowing her heat to rub against him. 

He kissed her like a starved male, licking along her bottom lip, compelling her to part her lips for him. She let him consume her, let him slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her fully. 

So sweet. 

So divine. 

Azriel broke the kiss, letting her gasp for air. The scent of her arousal had his eyes rolling back in his head. Still holding her by the back of the neck, he twisted her head to the side and pressed his lips just below her ear before trailing down her jaw and to her delicate neck. 

She moaned, squirming in his lap and rubbing against his hard length, only spurring him on more. His other hand started working on unlacing her nightgown. His fingers fumbled over the ribbon, until finally, it came undone and fell, pooling at her waist. 

Azriel pulled back to look at her, now bare before him from the waist up. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly with her breathing, her eyes dilated and full of lust, her lips swollen. The perfect image of desire. 

“So beautiful,” he growled, before leaning forward and latching his mouth around her right nipple. She gasped, arching into his mouth as her hands fisted his hair. 

“Azriel,” she whimpered, pushing her hips down against his bulge. He growled again, thrusting his hips up to meet hers. 

His lips made a path back up to hers, taking her breasts in his palms as he kissed her deeply. She grinded down on his cock again, pulling a whine from the back of his throat that had her smiling against his lips. 

He wanted to take his time with her, wanting to draw this out as long as he could. But he knew he wouldn’t last. Not when the need to be in her was causing him to strain against his pants to the point of pain. 

Azriel stood, lifting her up with him with an arm under her ass and the other wrapped around her. He let his shadows swarm them, stepping out right in front of the bed. She was breathless as he dropped her onto the soft pillows and sheets, her hair fanning around her head like a halo. 

An Angel. 

That’s what she was. 

A godsdamn Angel. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, running them down her body as he pulled her nightgown all the way off, leaving her entirely bare before her. She moved to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt but he lightly grasped her throat in his hand and pushed her back down.

“How do you want me, Azriel?” She hummed, seductively, wrapping her hands around his wrist.

Azriel leaned down, running his nose along the column of her throat until his mouth was beside her ear. 

“First, I want you coming on my fingers,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire. “Then my tongue. And then my cock. Do you understand?”

She swallowed audibly, nodding her head. 

“Words, angel,” he smirked. “Use your words.” 

“Yes, Azriel, I understand,” she whimpered, the scent of her arousal peaking. 

He inhaled deeply before pulling away and dropping to his knees before her. She sat up on her elbows, letting out a small cry as he hooked his arms around her thighs and yanked her towards the end of the bed. 

Her sex was glistening with her want and Azriel groaned at the sight, unlacing his pants with one hand to relieve some pressure. He watched her as he dipped forward and ran his tongue up her slit, his eyes rolling back at the sweet taste of her. 

She tossed her head back with a moan, spreading her legs wider for him. Azriel didn’t waste any time. He sucked and licked at her clit with a hunger he’d never felt before, his cock twitching every time he drew out a moan or cry from her lips. 

True to his word, his finger swirled around her entrance, causing her hips to thrust closer and closer. He continued his ministrations as he slid a single finger inside of her, cursing as he felt how tight she was wrapped around him. 

“Azriel,” she cried out as he added a second finger before slowly thrusting in and out of her. “Fuck.” 

He continued to suck that spot that had her crying out, pure waves of euphoria crashing through her body. His fingers began to thrust inside of her faster and faster as her moans became more frequent.

“That’s it, angel,” he praised as she rutted against his fingers. “Fuck yourself with my fingers.” 

She whimpered, her movements frenzied as he latched his mouth back on her clit, sucking in rhythm with his fingers. One of her hands gripped his hair while the other fisted the sheets and she squirmed in pleasure until he pushed her over the edge. 

“Az…Azriel,” she cried, arching her back as flames licked their way through her body. “I’m gonna—”

Azriel didn’t stop, palming himself with his free hand as she orgasmed, pulsating around his fingers with a loud moan. He slipped his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue just in time to feel the aftershock ripple through her. 

She tried to pull his head away, but he didn’t relent. He needed her on his tongue, needed to fulfill the hunger inside of him. It wasn’t long before he had her screaming through her second orgasm, lapping at the wetness pooling between her thighs. Azriel didn’t let up as he rode out her orgasm with his tongue, not until her body was writhing in pleasure and she was begging him to stop. 

He stood, sticking one of the fingers covered in her juices into his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head as he groaned. “Gods, you taste so good.” 

He left her panting on the bed as he made quick work of ripping his clothes off. His eyes were black with lust, his shadows spilling all around him in his craze. Gods, he needed her so bad. Every piece of her. 

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over her and crashing his lips against hers. His tongue was still claiming her mouth as her hands roamed the muscles of his chest, sliding down to his cock. He groaned into her mouth as she ran her hand up and down his shaft. 

“Please,” she begged. 

“Please what, angel?” He nipped at her bottom lip. “What is it you want?” 

“Please fuck me, Azriel,” she whined. 

The noise that came out of his throat at her words was one he’d never made before. He sat back on his haunches, replacing her hand with his as he guided himself towards her entrance, rubbing up and down against the wetness that was waiting for him. 

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he slid himself inside of her slowly. She moaned as Azriel let out an animalistic growl at the feeling of her wrapped around him. It wasn’t until he was all the way in her when they both finally released a breath.

“Fuck,” he grunted, falling forward and peppering kisses along her throat. “You feel so good.”

She whimpered at his praise and felt him smirk against her neck before he started to finally move, pulling himself all the way out her before thrusting back in, faster this time. She cried out as he slammed into her.

Azriel set a punishing pace, thrusting into her again and again. His shadows seeped from him until nearly every crevice of the room was taken over by his darkness. 

Her nails raked down his back, between his wings as she let him take her. He claimed her mouth again, passionately swallowing each moan he pulled from her. Her hips began to meet his with each thrust, pushing him deeper and deeper inside of her. 

“Gods, Azriel,” she cried, squeezing around him as he hit that sweet spot inside her. 

“Are you going to come on my cock, angel?” he cooed. 

“Yes,” she mewled. “Yes, gods, yes.” 

“Good girl,” he growled, nipping at her throat with his canines. 

His words pushed her over the edge into the hot bliss of pleasure. She screamed his name as the lightning shot through her, her core pulsating with each strike.

“Fuck,” Azriel groaned. He rode out her orgasm and then his thrusts became harder, faster but sloppy with no rhythm as his own release slid up on him.

His tongue swirled around the base of her neck before an utterly feral growl ripped through him. And then he bit down on that spot. His canines ripped through the skin, sinking down into her flesh as he came, thrusting once, twice and one final time—burying himself in her. 

They both panted in silence for a moment, coming down from their highs before Azriel slowly slipped out of her with a small whimper. He pulled away from her and she smiled up at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure and satisfaction. 

And then something happened. Something he never thought would. Something he had only dreamed about but never wished for because he had thought it a waste of breath. 

A golden string of light unwound itself and shot across the darkness, all the way to the beautiful girl before him. 

The mating bond snapped. 

His mating bond.

Azriel let out a choked noise, rising fully. He stumbled back in shock, his eyes wide as he stared down at her. Her brows furrowed in confusion and she sat up. 

Fuck, his mate…

She was his mate.

His godsdamn mate. 

This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not after he had just paid her to have sex with him. Not after he had come here for a shameless fuck. She’d never want him now. Why would she? 

He hastily began picking up his discarded clothes and dressing himself. She did the same in her confusion, slipping her nightgown back on as she frowned at him. 

“What happened?” Her voice was meek as she hugged an arm around herself, looking at him. “Have I…have I done something wrong?”

“N-no,” he stuttered, not looking her in the eyes. Gods, she would hate him if he told her now. She would not want anything to do with him. “No, I’m sorry. I-I need to go.” 

“But you paid for the whole night,” she said, perplexed with a hint of insecurity. “Please, if I wasn’t good…if you didn’t enjoy it…I can do better, I swear it.” 

He finally looked at her, at his mate. His heart sank in his chest at her words. Fuck, he was making this worse. He couldn’t stand the sight of her looking at him like she’d done something wrong. She was perfect. She had been perfect. It was him who fucked up.

“No, no, don’t. It’s not you," Azriel tried to reassure her. “I…it’s me. I need to go. I’m so sorry.” 

“At least let me get you your money back,” she said, rubbing her arm. He felt sick to his stomach.

“No! No, please keep it,” he murmured, buttoning up his shirt as fast as he could. “I’m…I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

And then he disappeared in his shadows, her confused and hurt face the last thing he saw. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

a/n: so obvious this was entirely from Az's perspective but it will be reader y/n just in case it wasn't super obvious! Hope you guys enjoyed it! If you asked to be tagged but don't see your username, it wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :((

(also, now that the whole chapters out, if this isn't what you thought you were signing up for, no hard feelings if you asked to be removed from the taglist)

taglist: @itsswritten @impossibelle @lilah-asteria @heartless-tate @sheblogs @jesskidding3 @landofpetrichor @thecollegecowgirl @5onedirection5 @cherry-cin @fayeatheart @brieflyclassymortal @saltedcoffeescotch @glitterypirateduck @eyebagsanonymous @chxosangxl @daardyrnitta

[angsty-art-ist]

part 2 of the NPMD Monster High AU! seriously thank you guys for all the love on part 1, it means a lot that you like my silly hyperfixation crossover :]

a little lore note: in this AU, monsters can use magic to blend in with humans during the day, sort of like in the g3 cartoon. Hatchetfield is kind of split into the normie side and smaller monster side. the monster part of town is magically warded to make humans want to leave quickly, and monsters don’t tend to cross over into the human areas (with the exception of adults with normie jobs, like Mayor Lauter and most of the adult HF cast). Hatchetfield High is a “exclusive private school�� in the monster part of town, and the normie teens, like Grace and Max, go to Sycamore.

why are Grace and Max humans if this is a monster AU, you ask? don’t worry, i have plans for them :)

Steph:

she’s a vampire because… well because she’s rich. you’ve heard of old money? these Lauters are ancient money

i had a hard time with her outfit because my main references were Draculaura and Elissabat, who are both very dressy, but i wanted to stay true to Steph’s casual grungy style… and then i remembered The Lost Boys were THEE original grunge vampires, so i mashed David and Paul’s jackets together and gave her a Santa Carla tee as a shout-out

the chains and plaid pattern tie back to Pete’s design, like the plaid of her flannel and his bow tie in the show <3

her father isn’t technically actually a king, but runs Hatchetfield’s monster community like he is one. a close encounter with a band of monster hunters the better part of a century ago forced the monsters into hiding under his command, and Steph’s mother ended up staked. Solomon hasn’t been the same since…

Max:

his design is simpler than the others, but that’s for a reason :) the mansters usually have more boring outfits than the ghouls, so it’s not that out of place for Monster High, right? i plan to make a few more ‘doll lines’ for this au- i’m thinking Dawn of the Dance next ;)

his jacket is based on the G1 varsity jackets that Heath Burns and Slo Mo had in their first waves, but with Max’s iconic blue. i got rid of the Hatchetfield ‘H’ since he goes to Sycamore with the other normies in this AU. go Timberwolves, i guess?

his striped shirt is based on Freddy Krueger’s iconic sweater, because Max in the musical seems to take a lot of cues from Freddy; coming back from the dead to get revenge on his killers, vulgar one-liners, gruesome kills, and even a parody of the Freddy rhyme painted on the set background. one, two, Jäger’s coming for you…

side note but i had a really hard time getting Will’s likeness in this pseudo-MH style. i think he ended up a bit too Bruce Campbell-y. maybe it’s the chin.

Grace:

sorry, Grace, i’m changing your name a bit. if you need a refresher on the G1 MH lore; Van Hellscream is the Monster High expy of Van Helsing. his niece Lilith appears in the Ghouls Rule movie, but i’m stretching out the timeline a bit so let’s say Lilith is Grace’s aunt or something. Chasity is her maiden name, which the family goes by because “Hellscream doesn’t sound very Christian”

these days, the Van Hellscream’s monster-hunting legacy is more of a family legend than history, and her parents don’t even believe that monsters exist… but Grace knows that something unholy is going on at that “private school”. she may not have Great-Uncle Abraham’s arsenal, but she has the power of God and years of repressed rage on her side

design wise she changed the least from her canon outfit. she’s covered in monster-killing weapons- crosses, stakes, silver bullets, and the flowers on her blouse and jeans are alliums, aka garlic flowers- which, fun fact, were originally thought to be what repelled vampires, rather than garlic bulbs!

her blouse is based on Nancy’s nightdress in Nightmare on Elm Street to match with Max’s Freddy stripes

[vigilskeep]

various and sundry artbook tidbits i found interesting (SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE VEILGUARD ARTBOOK. obviously)

faction & location stuff:

a sketch page from the very early days exploring shape languages for factions like elves, dwarves, wardens, the necropolis, tevinter, and rivain, also includes concepts for the mages’ college and the ben-hassrath

early rivain concept arts have npcs with a similar armour patterning to duncan’s, suggesting it’s a mark of his rivaini heritage like i always thought!

the depiction of the ““creation story”” suggests elves were mimicking the bodies of dwarves when they formed their own, not humans like i think mythal says in game flashbacks, which would make more sense timeline wise

there’s concept art of the city of ventus, which i believe is of particular relevance to mercar players? it’s right on the border of arlathan forest, and surrounded by magical statues holding out raised hands forming a ward along the tree line to keep it from encroaching

the home base was going to be a lovable fixer-upper of a ship given to us by isabela, named the dumat. this didn’t fit the spy theme they were originally going for, so they tried really really hard to make it a submarine without feeling anachronistic by making it sort of sea monster shaped. there are a lot of cutaways and schematics. they were going to give it a mystery engine that you would get light fetch quests to feed random objects: “ten dried lavender flowers, five quail’s eggs, three brass belt buckles, etc.....” the submarine then turned into an undersea mansion on the back of some giant shambling sea creature you would never get a good look at

later on there were some funny takes on the lighthouse specifically, like bringing back the sea creature theme to put it on the back of an interdimensional veil whale, or having it be the true location of the black emporium with a collection of eluvians that xenon the antiquarian lets you use

there’s a tiny concept art for a “high-speed aravel chase” in a canyon like a western

tevinter gladiators are mentioned a couple times. we WEREEE going to get to see the minrathous proving grounds :( there’s also a dwarven embassy concept art somebody take me out back and shoot me

there are a lot of ghilan’nain creature designs that didn’t make it into the game which is a shame but i can see why they would have been resource heavy

the antiva concept arts are so gorgeous. a lot of it got through! and definitely the overall Vibe made it. at some point it seems to have been antiva city itself; they don’t call it treviso and they mention the circle of magi as a major landmark

“The entrance to the Necropolis is like an inverted Tower of Babel. They seek knowledge in the grave instead of heaven.” <- this just rules as a line

for arlathan: “To differentiate it from previous forest and jungle locations in Dragon Age, we went with an autumnal colour palette. It has the benefit to feeling ominously like the end.”

the veil jumpers have a “skull halla” symbol that “implies their willingness to risk death”. did that end up in the game?

“With each faction, we explored a range of aspirational fantasies. For the Wardens, this ranged from knights in shining armour to butal tanks to a Nietzche quote: ‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.’”

there’s this concept among the warden armours for an insane orlesian noblewoman look with the winter palace morrigan corset and a piled high wig, but the skirts torn knee length and a serrated fan in hand. i’m kind of obsessed

“To bring more life to the world, we thought about what industries would keep the Anderfels afloat. We took the prominent Warden blue colour and envisioned an industry harvesting flowers, creating dye, and then weaving copious amounts of blue fabric.” this is probably where the flower quests in the hossberg wetlands started off conceptually? v cute

character stuff:

in completely different early versions of the game, solas had a “bad cop” right hand woman called reva

imshael the desire demon/choice spirit from the masked empire and inquisition was going to be a two-handed weapon warrior companion, and also sexualised now while in largely feminine form, which would have been a Choice. there is one art of him in masculine form, also sexy but still not showing as much skin as the feminine one

as i said, neve was going to be calpernia

taash was a rogue. (they’re still a light-armoured dual wielder so that checks out.) it seems like davrin was briefly a mage. at some points harding seems to have inherited bianca

saarbrak, another qunari companion, seems to have lastest the longest of the abandoned concepts. he’s the only non-canon one who got as far as having a place for him sketched into designs of the lighthouse: “saarbrak’s planning room”. mentions and sightings of what might be him are sporadic and i think you only see his name on that sketch, but i’m connecting it to the description “a potential qunari companion evolved from saarebas to dapper qunari spy, offering a deeper look into qunari culture”

the embroidery on harding’s clothes is how she passes the time while “waiting for days in a sniper perch” on missions. i just thought that was cute

[warning-heckboop]

A little something based on a sort of spin-off of @bunnieswithknives's Nature au that my partner and I came up with while chatting. The premise is under the cut because it's kinda of long :')

Conversation taken directly from Discord for efficiency's sake. Regular text is my own, bolded is @adhdemizel

The animal they witness the shooting as is a deer. The last animal Dale sees them as before they reveal their true form is a wolf

I have this concept based on the Nature au in my head of an actual changeling witnessing Dale shoot Dev, and because fae are all about rules and stuff, the changeling travels across the land as various animals until it finds Dale again, only to then reveal its true, monstrous form in the process of ripping Dale's own leg off. Because an eye for an eye and all that jazz

Using magic to blend in or to cover more ground, and finally finding them and SERVING JUSTICE--

After they rip Dale's leg off, Peri comes to investigate all the screaming because he's worried for Dev's safety, and he and the now-a-wolf-again fae, who's soaked in blood, lock eyes, and Peri sees the familar glint of magic, and he knows

Just an actual random changeling who lived in the forest. They aren't a god parent, but rather an independent fae

They have no tie to Dev, other than witnessing his injury, and then feeling the urge to restore the balance that Dale disturbed

They're acting on their own, but do you think they see Peri, another magic creature, and feel like he failed? Disappointed that they had to step up and make things right for another fae's human?

Mmmm not necessarily! I feel like an independent fae would still know the basics about god parents, and how strict the rules they're bound by are. I think they'd be more so angry at the god parent system overall

Peri, also angry at the god parent system

Secretly grateful for this other fae doing what he couldn't

Maybe he's supposed to report to Jorgen about this rogue fae, to keep them from hurting anyone else. But he doesn't

Turning away to let something huge slide because it was in defense of a kid he couldn't protect

I like to think that even Jorgen would have let it slide, if he'd known. Dale deserved it

He'd tell Peri he dealt with it as needed, but literally all he did was go "nice" and shred the report

The other fae goes back home and let's others in the area know to watch out for a one-legged fae hunter with sharp red hair, just in case he tries again

He probably would try again. Now that he knows they're real, he's determined to catch one

That might have been one benefit of Peri actually telling Jorgen--Jorgen would have wiped Dale's memory and made it seem like a normal animal attack

Do you think he'd drag Dev along again?

Oh, certainly. He needs bait, and he can't risk anymore of his own limbs. It was Dev's fault he messed up as bait the first time. He needs to make up for that failure

He plates his prosthetic with iron for extra protection

Not permanently, because it's unsightly, but also not for Dev. He doesn't want anything to ward fae away from Dev.

Surely any changelings who saw Dev would know he's much too young to be the hunter they were told about.... Right?

Fae have impossibly long lifespans, he might look like a child, but all humans seem too young to them

You're right. And he matches the description so perfectly...

I guess it will have to be up to Peri to protect him, when he comes down to it. Lord knows Dale has better things to do

Dale, not-so-secretly hoping Dev gets into a confrontation so he can swoop in- not to play the hero in any way, but so Dev doesn't get in the way again

[biggie-chcese]

Why I think Yomi Hellsmile should've died in Chapter 4

(this essay isnt what you think it is. spoilers for the whole game btw)

Alright so let me preface this by saying that this is not a Yomi Hellsmile hate essay. I like Yomi. He's my favorite peacekeeper. He's funny, he's entertaining, and he makes for a very effective antagonist. So why have him die? Well, for the same reason I wouldn't have Yakou live: I think it makes for a better story.

So here's the true title of my essay: A Critique of how Rain Code's Narrative Handles the Peacekeepers (and by Extension, Yomi) and their Downfall

Let's start with Yomi's downfall in canon. Yuma and Vivia find out his role in Huesca's murder and, ultimately, Yakou's death, and are angry beyond belief. But they're also helpless to do anything as they escape the labyrinth with vengeance on their minds. Of course, this gets shut down immediately, and then Makoto ex machina comes in with Martina in tow to arrest Yomi for his money laundering and bribery. And right then and there, in one fell swoop, the peacekeepers are completely eliminated as a threat in the story to be replaced by Makoto.

But okay... isn't that super underwhelming? The peacekeepers and Amaterasu corp have been the main driving force of the game's primary conflict, and yet somehow they are completely eliminated as a threat because Makoto grabbed a few files off screen. And also, this brings me to my first major issue I have with this ending:

Part 1: Why the fuck do they care?

No I'm serious. Why do the peacekeepers care? So what if Yomi bribed his way to the top? You mean to tell me that the cops who spent the entire game assaulting and antagonizing civilians give a shit? They're never shown to have any sort of problem with their corruption. They send people to be executed on whims and knowingly, regularly falsify evidence on murder cases. At best the peacekeepers are indifferent to the suffering they cause, and at worst they are gleefully complicit in it. So, again, why do they care about Yomi's money schemes? In fact, they only benefit from Yomi's rule because he gives them the power to freely instill fear in Kanai Ward's citizens. The game never, at any point, has an "are we the baddies?" moment from them nor does it ever even try to have at least one peacekeeper question Yomi's authority, even when he's throwing them under the bus. Throughout the whole game, they stand as a completely one-note, cartoonishly evil representation of police corruption.

So why the sudden heel turn? The resolution of chapter 4 feels so jarring to me because the game has zero buildup to it. This also applies to Martina's return. Actually let's also talk about her.

Part 2: So... Martina's return lowkey is kinda lame

Don't get me wrong, I was pretty hype when she came back. But also, the magic wore off pretty quickly for me because I didn't understand why she was suddenly a whole different character. I suppose her brush with death gave her some time to contemplate her actions, or perhaps she felt indebted to Makoto and asked him what she should do, or maybe Makoto held her life over her head and told her to change her act or he's letting her get cubed. Who knows? We get nothing expanding on this so it could be anything.

I feel like people kinda forget that Martina was just as corrupt as Yomi? Like, she is not his helpless victim. I'd even argue that their relationship isn't abusive. Martina is in it with her own interests in mind in addition to just being a massive sadomasochist. I cannot stress this enough: whatever tf she and Yomi had going on, she was completely into it. Even at the end of chapter 2, she was drooling over him and the idea of punishment... until Yomi crossed a line.

Y'see, Martina thought she was special. She thought that whatever punishment Yomi had for her Aetheria Academy blunder, she'd come out of it alive, because she's his beloved right hand. Yomi then showed her that she's just as disposable as the rest of his underlings by ordering her to be brutally executed. That is when she becomes a victim.

Anyway, I'm saying all this to make a point that Martina hasn't shown any interest in being an honest cop until chapter 4. It's completely out of nowhere, just like with the other peacekeepers.

"But Biggie," you may be thinking, "why would Yomi dying fix these issues?" Well I'm so glad you hypothetically asked!

Part 3: We love missed potential, baby!

Kodaka sometimes does this thing where he introduces an interesting concept that plays with the rules of the game... and then doesn't commit to it. Think like the double murder clause in Danganronpa V3 chapter 3, where they mention that if two separate murderers act in the same day then only one of those murders counts. Then they do nothing with this, and instead create a very weak chapter.

This is a similar problem I have with the tail end of chapter 4's mystery labyrinth, which is a really amazing labyrinth that introduces a really amazing concept: taking down a secret mastermind. After reaping the culprit's soul, they have this cool, brand new secret area that... does nothing. No, I'm serious. Nothing happens. All it does is piss Yuma and Vivia off and waste everyone's time. They find out Yomi's involvement in the case, but they still don't do anything with that. Sure it brings a whole new feeling of hopelessness, but doesn't that make Yomi's downfall literally five minutes later through the mundane actions of someone else off screen seem all the more underwhelming? From a gameplay and storytelling standpoint, I think this is just... a cop-out. I think it'd be cool if he was involved enough in Huesca's murder to count as an accomplice, then with Vivia and Shinigami at his side, Yuma reaps Yomi's soul. It's a decent payoff for the NDA and the player while supporting the game's message about the importance of finding the truth. And god does the game need support in that regard, because the Mystery Labyrinth almost never helps and Yuma instead gets saved by someone else (which would've been nice to expand on if we go this route bc there's something interesting about Yuma calling for the labyrinth to kill people for ultimately no reason, but they don't do anything with that and that is a WHOLE other essay lol).

But this is not my main reason that Yomi should've died here. I wouldn't feel so strongly if that was the case. No, my problem lies with a character that isn't Yomi, and what is part of the entire reason Rain Code's plot exists.

Part 4: Is Makoto fucking stupid?

"/lh" by the way. Makoto is my second favorite character in this game behind Yuma, and I adore him. His story, his motivations, his undying will to be a protector of a people that no one else will protect, by any means necessary... he is such an incredible character and antagonist and I genuinely adore him. But I have one eensy weensy, teeny weeny little issue with him:

Why did he need the detectives to oust Yomi?

Makoto claims in the ch 5 labyrinth that the reason the detectives were brought over was to oust Yomi, which leads me to believe the command for the detectives to come to Kanai Ward was his work, not Number One's, then Number One simply caught onto this and took advantage of the situation to sneak in. Though, that's just a guess on my part, mind you. So I suppose he was just desperately hoping at least one of them would take care of Yomi, but isn't that weird?

The detectives don't ever find the evidence of Yomi's money laundering and bribery. Makoto does. The detectives don't ever bring Yomi's corruption to light. Yomi... already does that without their help. Actually, why didn't he secretly team up with the Resistance for that? Too busy ignoring Dohya District's glaring issues, Makoto? Too busy turning a blind eye to your people's suffering?

Uh. Anyway, the only detective that actually does something beneficial for Makoto and kills Huesca is Yakou, who was already in Kanai Ward. And don't tell me that Makoto accounted for Fubuki and Desuhiko's fortes here because that part of the plan was all Yakou's idea. If Makoto could've predicted this, he would've just called the detectives necessary to this plan instead of luring in a bunch of them at once to get slaughtered.

Tons of detectives died coming to Kanai Ward to do... what? Distract Yomi? Could the World's Greatest Mind truly never come up with a better distraction for a guy who didn't even realize his Martina Cube™ order never came in? Yomi isn't shown to be some sort of hypervigilant supergenius nor is he nearly on Makoto's level. Could he truly not have outsmarted Yomi and led him astray long enough to grab a little binder of paper?

So, once again, you may be wondering how Yomi's death would fix this. Well, Yuma, a detective, is the one who kills Yomi.

Makoto is well aware of Yuma using the Book of Death at this point. So what better way to get rid of Yomi than to carefully manipulate the detective who has the Perfect Criminal Murder Tool™? Makoto can't just assassinate Yomi himself- that would make him the main suspect and he'd have to do a lot of PR maintenance to get the rest of Amaterasu Corp off his back. But Yomi mysteriously dying of a heart attack while Makoto isn't anywhere around... well, that's different.

"But wait," you may be thinking, "doesn't Makoto want to keep Yomi alive because he's a Kanai Ward citizen, and he loves Kanai Ward?"

Good point! But doesn't that also apply to Yakou, whom he also had a hand in manipulating into that crazy sui-homocide of Dr. Huesca? Or, what about Fink? Remember him? Makoto killed him for "knowing too much." I know that information is missable, but it's there. And don't tell me it's just because he's a hitman and has killed other Kanai Ward residents, because Yomi has sent many residents to their deaths without trial... not a huge difference. So a body count isn't really on Makoto's "should I kill them" conditions, it seems.

If Fink gets killed for "knowing too much," then Yomi shouldn't be exempt from this, especially when he was leaking homunculus information to the outside world. That goes far beyond "knowing too much." It just doesn't make sense.

But you know what does? Makoto actually using the detectives to wipe his hands clean of Yomi's mess. Yakou is used to take care of Huesca, Yuma is used to take care of Yomi, and Makoto gets to sit back, relax, and watch everything play out just as planned.

And later, in the next chapter, when Yuma learns about Makoto using him like this, he realizes that he's truly been had.

Part 5: How I think it should play out

I'm not being a hater. In fact, I deeply love this game and have a lot of respect for Kodaka and the writing team, so please don't take my little rant as some sort of effort to bash on my favorite video game because that's not what this is. I'm not gonna prop myself up as a better writer than anyone on the team because I'm not, but I'll still try my hand at rewriting this scene to fit my personal taste. So I would like for you to imagine with me, the end of chapter 4...

Yuma and Vivia find the secret area of the labyrinth and find out that Yomi has been masterminding Huesca's murder. Shinigami points out that, hey, that's why the labyrinth is falling so slowly: we haven't finished it off! Vivia stands by Yuma's side, and all of them, driven by their rage and desire to see justice be done, reap the soul of the true mastermind through one final strike of the solution blade. Labyrinth collapses, snap back to reality, oop there goes gravity, oop there goes Yomi, who collapses on the ground.

The peacekeepers are surprised and approach the body. They find that Yomi is dead. They're shocked, and as this is happening, Yuma isn't sure what to feel. Is he glad that he managed to avenge Yakou? Not quite, because Yakou is still gone, the hitman is still out there, and everything still hurts. But a part of him feels... vindicated. Vivia seems to have equally complicated feelings about this. For once, it was... kind of worth it to find the truth, even if a bit messy.

Well now the peacekeepers confirmed Yomi is dead, but now they're accusing the detectives of this. And they're honestly kinda right. Yuma and Vivia realize that they're in kind of deep shit, but the sound of Martina's voice comes from off screen asking what on earth is going on here, making everyone freeze.

Enter her, Makoto, and Seth (I'll say why he's here too in a moment). They're surprised at the sight before them, but Makoto only pretends to be. Then you see it... Martina and Seth go from visibly suprised... to relieved. And there's something oddly triumphant, yet a bit chilling about Makoto and the two people we've witnessed Yomi throw under the bus standing over his corpse. It feels thematic now, as if righteous judgement has come. And... it also solves the "what happened to Seth" question, lol.

Makoto shakes his head and sighs, stepping over the corpse and approaching Yuma and Vivia as he comes up with an excuse: "I always told him that those temper tantrums weren't good for his blood pressure. I guess his heart couldn't take it anymore."

He then nods to the others. Seth instructs the peacekeepers to clean up the body, as they rot quickly in this city. There's this foreboding feeling in the peacekeepers' obedience and efficiency, and Yuma begins to wonder if he did a good thing. Did his actions change the peacekeepers for the better, he asks himself, or did he simply shift the power over to someone worse? Shinigami tells him she doesn't know.

Makoto approaches them with good news: they found and arrested the hitman! Yuma, frightened, does not address that and instead asks him why the other high ranking peacekeepers are here. Makoto says that they... owe him a favor. Martina expresses her gratefulness for him stopping her execution order and asks if they can do anything else, to which Makoto replies telling her no, they're doing an excellent job. After some more conversation, Seth, Martina, and the peacekeepers then leave with Yomi's body to let Makoto talk privately to Yuma and Vivia. Makoto apologizes for their loss of Yakou and offers some faux sympathy. They're both... still conflicted about this conclusion, but Makoto tells them they're free to go, so they'll think about it later. Oh, but before they leave, he gives Yuma a little gift: a suspicious black box. Of course, Yuma can't open it just yet- it's a surprise!

Then the rest could play out pretty much normally (though an encounter with zombie Yomi chapter 5 seems inevitable and also awesome).

I think this alone would solve every issue I addressed before. The peacekeepers do not change out of nowhere. They simply reallocate power and there's still this feeling of them being a threat as they're now directly connected to the game's true antagonist. There's now a theme to Martina's return with Seth's presence as well. There's now a narrative purpose to that final section of the mystery labyrinth with proper payoff. And, most importantly, Makoto's motivations to use the detectives make more sense.

By the way, if any Yomi lovers think that he should stay alive for a potential return in the sequel... isn't it such a blessing that Yakou's DLC introduced this pretty neat little pill that could still make that possible? Just saying.

So yeah. Yuma, for the sake of narrative payoff and character writing consistency, please kill this clown. Thanks for reading <3

[fanfoolishness]

Need Met, and Answered

Rook Ingellvar speaks to the Caretaker after Tearstone Island, searching for something she needs. Spoilers. Grief, sorrow, the knowledge that some things can never be fully known. ~700 words.

---

Rook’s feet carried her to the courtyard, moving of their own volition. The Fade wheeled overhead, Elgar’nan’s magic searing the hidden sun into the void. The sky boiled in reds and pinks and oranges.

She did not look at the path to Harding’s garden.

“Welcome, dweller.”

She lifted her head, squinting at the Caretaker in the flame-red light. Its spirit form still burned clean and true, its purpose untouched by Elgar’nan’s tyranny. 

“You’re still here,” she said, half-dazed.

“There is much that is wrong,” the Caretaker said. “Yet I remain.” It spread its spectral hands wide, a soothing gesture. “You are troubled, dweller.”

Was troubled the word for knowing Elgar’nan was still out there, for having learned that Varric had been dead for months, that Solas had poisoned her mind with blood magic, that Lace had sacrificed herself for all of them? She nearly opened her mouth and unleashed a torrent of pain at the hapless spirit.

But she hesitated. She knew the rules of dealing with spirits. Every Watcher knew them from their earliest lessons. Discussions were meant to be kept to the spirit’s focus, to ward against the possibility of leading them astray from their purpose. How could a spirit of caretaking be expected to deal with the world ending, with the deaths of her friends, with the sun itself a plaything? 

She took a deep breath, and tried to sort the maelstrom within her into something safe for the spirit. 

The Lighthouse. You can ask about -- what happened here.

She swallowed, gazing up at the Caretaker. It seemed to lean forward as if listening intently.

“Varric,” was all she managed before tears threatened again. She let out a sharp, frustrated curse under her breath, and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of a shaky hand. She tried again, standing up straight as if she was addressing one of the greater spirits of the Necropolis. “Please. Was he a spirit? Or was he only Solas? Or… was it my own denial? Did I fool myself?” Shame burned within her.

“Need met and answered,” the Caretaker said, lowering itself closer to her level. It regarded her curiously. “A trusted guide. Memory of comfort. A twist of perception, shifted. Not an entity of singular will, but perhaps a fragment.”

“You don’t know?” she asked, her heart sinking.

“Ineffable,” said the Caretaker. “Care offered, when needed.”

“But Solas was in my mind. Fen’harel was there. Deceiving me. Using me!” Her voice rose, but the sound sank and vanished in the empty courtyard. “How was that care?” Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

“Illusion, crafted finely through belief, bolstered by care. A trap. A shield. A friend. There are many truths in this place,” the Caretaker said, its voice somehow gentled. “They cannot all be known.”

Rook rested her hands on smooth marble, fingers inching along its cool surface, searching for flaws or imperfections and finding none. She took a deep, shuddering breath. 

Hey, kid. You got this.

“I did need him,” she whispered. “I needed him, and he died. And I -- I don’t know if I would have got this far without him. Whatever he was in this place.” She wrapped her arms around herself, giving the spirit a watery smile. “Perhaps that’s all I need to know. Thank you, Caretaker.”

The spirit nodded, once. “Answered, dweller.” It faded into the air and she was left alone.

Rook nodded to herself. It would do. 

It would have to.

She knew where she needed to be, turning to the right. Stone gave way to mighty branches, then to soft mosses underfoot. Spindleweed brushed against her ankles. Crystal grace drowsed, its blue bells glimmering in the scarlet sunlight.

Rook sank to her knees amongst the green, brushing her hand over strong rich leaves. “Lace,” she said into the quiet air. “Lace, I’m here.”

She bowed her head, closing her eyes. Her cheeks were damp, but she did not wipe them; the greenhouse filled with the sounds of grief, memories of dear friends gone too soon, the ritual of loss at last given voice. She murmured the Chant of Light in Trade. She hummed the grave-songs of the Watchers. She breathed the Dalish words of loss. She sat there long into the flame-lit day, and grief was not her enemy.

Need met, and answered.

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Thirteen

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Eris slanders everybody, including (but not limited to) Rhysand, Cassian, Tarquin, Morrigan, Nesta, and Elain. Misogyny, racism, implied off-screen cannibalism, victim blaming, discussions of domestic abuse (Autumn Court, you know the drill), fucked up family dynamics - Mama Vanserra isn't all sweetness and light. Eris is pretty hard on her here.

This chapter's political machination-heavy to get to where we need to go.

The letter was sitting on his desk innocuously. Thick, pale parchment with a wax seal, stacked on top of a pile of other letters in hands he recognised.

He placed the wax seal immediately – an eye balanced between the tines of a tipped crescent moon, stamped in deep navy wax. Aisling’s family crest. The whole letter was enchanted, glamoured and sealed and warded against prying so heavily it hadn’t collected even a smudge of dirt from its journey to him in Autumn. Turning it over in his hands, Eris decided he could bear it no longer.

He pried off the seal with the edge of his dagger, the letter immediately unfolding neatly, but it wasn’t Aisling’s elegant, looping hand – rather a hasty scrawl penned by her handmaiden, who apologised for contacting him.

I would not write to you unless I felt this were an urgent matter. I understand you had some business with the lady and wished to inform you as quickly as possible. I fear I have upsetting news, so will address it quickly: she has not returned home within a fortnight. There was a collapse within the mine while she was there, and she has not been seen since. The lords of the City are attempting to disperse her estate. I will write to you again if her body is found, but I fear it is unlikely.

Eris knew she wasn’t dead. He knew that in his heart where it beat in time with hers, but he still reached instinctively for that golden thread. He was reassured despite himself when he found it whole, the magic of whatever united them snug against his ribs where it had woven in with his own. Aisling was alive, somewhere on the end of it; if not happy, then at least whole. The pain from a dead mate was said to be more than could be borne. He had always thought it was romantic fantasy, just tripe and folk tales, but if she died –

The letter burst into flames in his hands. She was not dead, and the bond was intact. She was as much an extension of him now as a limb. Eris had decided, somewhere along the way, that she was his; death couldn’t have her.

And neither could Rhysand. It was the only place she could be – she couldn’t leave the Hewn City without its Lord’s permission, and if she wasn’t dead then she been removed.

It was the highhanded, manipulative sort of move Rhysand would make, a lazy bid for control. Either that or a test to see if Eris would come running – to see which of his limbs would move when Rhysand pulled this string.

Eris loathed being manipulated. His strength had always been his unpredictability and his foresight; anticipating what others wanted and their motivations, keeping his own obscured. He could hazard a guess at what Rhysand would try to extract from him for Aisling: a shoring up of their tenuous alliance by ensuring his obedience, an end to the bargain Rhysand had struck to protect Feyre that left him so vulnerable.

He had other levers Eris could pull.

Eris sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The sun was shining, dappled by the branches of the ancient oaks outside. Ticru had located the strongest patch of sunlight and was currently stretched out in it, long legs akimbo and pale belly to the sky as he slept.

Would Aisling like the Forest House? It wasn’t the Hewn City, but would she be happy here? He refused to consider the possibility that she liked Velaris, grimacing at the thought of her living so far from him and in the rather careless hands of the Night Court. He didn’t trust Rhysand and Feyre not to hurt her, even inadvertently. These were the fae who had released three death gods and then lost one.

Eris couldn’t help but compare the shape of the dance in Autumn with Night, the better to assess how Aisling would fit. How she would keep up, how she would fare. Autumn was much more restrained than Night, in many ways. Just as bloody, but in the correct spaces – wives struck behind closed doors, sons caned in the classroom, lesser fae whipped in private basements and courtyards. In public, all buttons were fastened. Night was extravagant and ostentatious in all things: its beauty, its ugliness, its cruelty. They flaunted all their flesh and diamonds and viciousness out in the open.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the servant’s knock, reminded that he was currently late for lunch with his mother. He’d spent too long stewing over this, furious and fearful in equal measures.

Eris would have rather been at his private estate to the west, the seat of the territory he governed, but he had been absent from the Forest House for too long. Beron liked everyone where he could see them and keep them under his watchful eye – as if they couldn’t scheme behind his back and hadn’t been doing so since they were boys.

Lunch with his mother – a strained affair for them both, but she kept insisting on it, at least monthly. Perhaps for appearances, perhaps to reassure herself that he hadn’t fallen before his final hurdle. The Mother help her in that case, she’d need to rely on Damien or Cato to free her from the shackles of her misery here, and she’d spent far too much time shaping Eris into what she needed to change horse mid race.

She never enjoyed these lunches, or the company of any of his brothers. Their mother’s affection had thorns that cut both them and her; they had too much of their sire to be anything but painful for her.

Eris didn’t want to blame his mother, but he did regardless. Perhaps her love would not have been enough to save them from their father but it could have been a guy line to hold them down, something to cling to. They had certainly contorted themselves trying to earn it, Elias and Cato even more than him – but when his mother erred, Eris had always been willing to step between her and the consequences, to cause whatever diversion or mistake he needed to in order to take the brunt of Beron’s need to punish and control. Anara never thanked him for it.

Sometimes he woke to her tending his poisoned, festering wounds with a mother’s care; sometimes he was helped, heavy and staggering, to his chambers by Damien and Cato. Sometimes he woke alone in the dungeons and crawled up the steps by himself.

When he was younger it tore at him, even worse than whatever Beron could inflict; he felt the waning and waxing of his mother’s care more deeply than the hounds he’d killed at Beron’s command, than the boyhood friends he’d been forced to whip, than the times he’d had to beat his brothers into unconsciousness. Eventually he learned to expect nothing from her, and so he was never disappointed when that was what he received.

Ever his shadows, his brothers followed suit; what else could they do? Their father’s machinations had taught them to rely on nothing but the surety of misery. Their brotherhood was shored up by the understanding that they would be compelled to cut each other again and again; they’d each had their time as the favoured son, only to learn how fickle Beron’s favour was when it was violently wrested from them by another brother. They had learned that they could bleed for their mother and Anara would let them do it, too withdrawn into her own head to give much care.

The Mother damned him with a heart, though, because Eris would take Beron’s fury for her again. Eris would set her free, one day; he doubted she would look back even once at the Court and the sons she’d been shackled to. Four snakes with hungry black pits for hearts, weaned on violence.

He was in a rotten mood now, dragging himself into a bad temper as he strode through the halls.

The sentry immediately opened the door to his mother’s courtyard for him as he approached. The space was warm with sunlight – true spring meant warmer weather in Autumn, more golden sun and ripe wheatfields than the frosty mornings and dark evenings that would be on them in six months’ time. Autumn oscillated between the two. Anara sat at her customary table, a faerie queen from a storybook even now after centuries beside Beron: her red hair was unbound, spilling down over her emerald brocade dress; her skin luminous with the dappled woodland light. The enchanter’s nightshade and rosehips that lined the pathway seemed to bend towards her, as did the branches overhead.

Lady, they all seemed to whisper. Lady lady lady. We love you so.

His mother’s russet eyes studied him as he approached. They burned him, those eyes. They were the first thing he ever saw. Eris kissed her hand and took his seat beside her, plates of venison cooked with ramsons appearing before them.

“You were late today, Eris,” Anara said mildly, a gentle rebuke that his act was slipping.

“Apologies, mother,” Eris said immediately. He had been distracted, the bond an aching pull on his ribs, pressing him to go cut his way through the Night Court until he found her. It was a liar, whispering the sweet fantasy into his blood that everything would be better if only Aisling were beside him.

That was pure delusion. His life would never be better until he made it so.

He asked after Anara’s day, how she was faring; all mild questions when what he wanted was to ask how she had borne it all these centuries. How she had walked around whole on the surface, but with her heart split in two, and whether the sacrifice had been worth it; if the ache of knowing but not ever having had lessened. If he would ever feel like part of his soul wasn’t now living outside of his body. That was the secret they never addressed though, not in three hundred years – once they put words to it, it would once more become real enough to kill them all.

“There is a change in you,” his mother observed.

“I am as I have ever been,” Eris replied, looking at his plate to escape her watchful, sad gaze.

“You have only ever been changeable,” she insisted with a small smile. Her voice was sweet and warm, deceptive as all things were in Autumn. “You are of me, Eris. I know you.”

Their plates vanished, a tea service re-appearing. His mother always preferred being served by magic rather than servants, though Beron preferred it the other way round – most everyone had a drop of magic, but fewer had High Fae servants.

“Damien said you’ve been courting a female,” Anara said finally. Eris groaned, scrubbing his face in his hands. His mother took it for an admission of guilt. Fucking Damien – of course he’d sussed that his suggestion about Summer had been a lie, and Eris taking advantage of it meant he had something to hide. It was foul play to tell their mother, knowing she’d want details.

“Mother,” he said finally, fiercely. “You know-”

“The Mother blesses us for a reason, Eris,” she cut him off. “Only She knows the currents of the Cauldron, but all things are to Her design.”

Eris gave her a bored look, the strongest rebuke he dared.

“It’s foolish to squander a blessing,” she insisted pointedly, sipping her tea. She was mincing around what she wanted to say, wary of speaking too plainly. Everyone thought he and his brothers learned their ways from Beron, but those in Autumn knew it was his mother who gave them their silver tongues and skill at lying. What other sort of female could survive Beron for centuries?

“I’m not squandering anything, mother,” Eris said through gritted teeth.

She gave him a look as if she regretted having borne him. You plodding idiot, her disappointed eyes seemed to say.

“Your glamour needs work,” she finally sniffed.

-------

Eris had weighed up whether or not to approach Rhysand for days. Dreams of Aisling haunted him at night – ones his own mind conjured, spurred on by the restless, unsatisfied bond, though he’d crawl on his hands and knees for one sent by her. Anything to let him know she was faring well, even if she was still angry at him for leaving her behind. He’d wake in the middle of the night with an aching cock, chest tight and gasping for breath. The moon would mock him from the window.

He hoped she could see it, wherever Rhysand was keeping her. If it was somewhere she couldn’t, then Eris would do everything he could to taint every bit of their fucking City of Starlight. He’d poison the well until they couldn’t look out the window of their mansion without cursing his name.

It took him a few days, but he landed on a course of action.

Eris had nearly all the pieces he needed: Keir’s loyalty, given that Autumn was greatly enriching him by means of that trade agreement; a boon from Rhysand, bought and paid for when he delayed Keir’s arrival to Velaris as a display of goodwill – an eyerolling measure if there ever was one, given that Rhysand had fucked over his cherished cousin in the first place and was futilely trying to backtrack. Still, he had done it, leveraging the wealth of Autumn against Keir.

Or perhaps he’d won it when he’d kept their secrets from Beron even after Cassian’s idiocy fucked him over, or in their repossession of the Made knife they gifted him. There were quite a few instances, really; and still, they were likely telling themselves they were doing the just, right thing by keeping Aisling from him.

All Aisling wanted was to leave that place, to have power over herself. He’d earn her forgiveness and her loyalty with this. She’d belong to him, not just by the bond but in spirit as well, in her heart. That thought spurred him on as he winnowed to the Hewn City, a deep and hungry instinct that was slowly devouring him the more he tried to ignore it.

The last loose piece was Thanatos, pushing back against Keir and Rhysand too quickly. If Eris could just find something to leverage him, to bring him to heel –

The energy in the Hewn City was manic, something crackling round like lightening as he arrived.

A group of fae were dancing together in a circle around a goblin playing the fiddle. The music was reedy and high. As he drew past them he heard that they were singing as well.

His boot’s on the mountain but his head’s in the West, they were singing, moving in a complicated chain. He’ll smash up the city into a rat’s nest! Born in the dark, kills on a lark, father knows best!

An enterprising poet had been at work though his ambition outpaced his skill, in Eris’ estimation. He sneered as he went, weaving around another group of nobles laughing around a brazier with a turning spit, where they were roasting –

He didn’t look closely. The scent of charred flesh was pungent.

Half the court dead, hid in the Queen’s bed, father knows best!

The refrain followed him behind the throne room, slipping through that familiar carved doorway. Stone gargoyles leered down at him from the top of the columns as they always did.

Eris hated this ugly room. The impractical table, the gouges Rhysand left as a show of force – all of it was gauche.

The Hewn City had some beautiful places – the lovely moon garden; his intimate, moody chambers with the carved and gilded walls; Aisling’s elegant, towering home – but they insisted on conducting business here.

“The Darkbringers are eager for battle,” Thanatos told him as he took his seat. “They grow angry and restless. Hungry for blood.”

“Are they not always?” Eris asked. He didn’t trust Thanatos, wasn’t entirely convinced of his motivations. Anyone who came to him for duplicity would work against him just as easily. Eris, of course, was duplicitous himself, so felt this created a natural thread of understanding.

“More so now. The City is collapsing,” Thanatos informed him, almost boredly. “Structurally, not politically, although that will ideally follow.”

Eris smoothed his face instinctively, affecting his usual air of aloof amusement. He quirked a brow and waited Thanatos out.

“A tragedy,” he finally intoned. “At the mine. Several missing and dead, though the true tragedy is that Keir was not among them. He is furious, given that much of his personal wealth derives from it. The gentry are clamouring for Rhysand to act, though he has surprised no one by failing to grace us with his noble presence.”

A sword without a hilt, Thanatos had called the Hewn City. No way to safely grasp it. A boiling pot with a lid so hot it couldn’t be lifted. Eris hadn’t realised how he had intended to go about that, and it was only centuries of control that kept him centred as he stared Thanatos down.

“I suppose that will affect your agreement with Keir as well,” Thanatos continued, depthless black eyes alight. The greyish faelights cast an unflattering tint to his pale skin, leeching him of colour. “It seems we’ll all be worse off. But it’s for the best. The hottest fires make the best blades, and no fire burns hotter than anger.”

He had collapsed the mine himself? A sickening feeling lurched through his stomach, but Eris had endured plenty of these meetings with Beron. He knew the manoeuvre well: something miserable being dumped on his head just to study any reaction, any weakness, anything that could be exploited.

Thanatos was right, in a way; all he felt was angry. A clean, pure burn, right through his chest. Was there anything more humiliating than being reduced to another’s pawn, being made to dance for their amusement? It was debasing, and he’d grown sick of the sour taste. Yet this was all the Night Court understood: power and control and force. There were far more refined ways to manoeuvre.

They only spoke one language here. It was Under the Mountain all over again. Eris had to speak the same way, or else any influence he’d accrued would shatter like glass.

“If you want to destroy yourselves to spite Rhysand then it’s your choice,” Eris sneered, leaning back in his chair, away from the sharp edge of the jagged table. “The trade agreement has already set rates, you’ve cost me nothing. But losing my consort as part of your efforts is an inexcusable fuckup.”

“The female?” Thanatos was visibly surprised by the change of direction, then waved a hand dismissively, covering it. “Pick another. I didn’t think you so sentimental.”

“That one was mine,” Eris snapped, adjusting his cuffs boredly. Thanatos tracked the movement with disdain, no doubt thinking him a spoiled, fussy princeling. “Don’t mistake it for sentimentality – if I wanted her dead I would have killed her myself, because she is my property.”

“Was your property,” Thanatos corrected snidely, but he had the good sense to start looking worried.

Eris had had enough. He should have taken Aisling from this place as soon as he finished fucking her, twisted Rhysand’s arm into letting her go. He could have hidden her in some bolthole in Autumn or Spring – Tarquin was shaping up to be a weak-willed bitch, he could have pressured him into allowing her in Summer –

“Find her body or I will ensure Rhysand never lets you leave that fucking mine until you do,” Eris demanded, knowing full well Aisling’s body wasn’t there because she was neither dead nor in the Hewn City.

That didn’t matter. Let Thanatos sweat and panic; it would be good for him. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, winnowing directly from the chamber and back to Autumn. Time and space passed by in a rush, and then the forest overhead rustled its welcome, trees greeting their lord and master.

He had one more house call to make, tonight or tomorrow. The timing was lucky.

-------

In the end he waited an extra day, counting on Cassian’s laziness and lack of curiosity.

Eris almost felt bad, as he winnowed to that bleak human manor. The landscape, owned by humans and reluctant to accept magical interference from Lucien, was still bleak and blighted from the war, only starting to fill in several years along.

“Baby brother,” he crooned to Lucien, strolling in after popping his way through the wards and physically locked door. He had enough shared blood with his brother that he could generally work his way through, though lately Lucien hadn’t been trying as hard to keep him out. For a Vanserra, it was practically an invitation.

Lucien was in their sitting room, on a plush, comfortable-looking sofa. He didn’t seem surprised to see him, likely alerted by his wards as soon as Eris winnowed. He had likely been expecting him anyways – Eris never did like the way the Night Court had poached him, and even less the way they used him to liaise with Tamlin.

The manor was quaint, all worn stone and overstuffed bookshelves. Still, it had a distinctly human quality about it that made Eris uncomfortable; even more so to see Lucien among it like he belonged there.

“Eris,” Lucien greeted him, already sounding resigned.

“Shithead,” Jurian greeted him in the same tone. Eris didn’t stoop to respond to that, merely taking a seat on the ugly pink chaise.

“Where’s the lovely Vassa? A shame she wasn’t the one made fae,” Eris sighed. “We could have replaced you with her, Lucien. She’d make an excellent Vanserra.”

Jurian glowered murderously at him for that, somehow louder than the volume of Lucien’s sigh. “She’s visiting Rask, her former kingdom. Are you here for a purpose, Eris?”

“You don’t care to spend time with me?” Eris asked, but Lucien had grown up in Autumn and was too savvy to be drawn in by easy baiting. “Fraternal loyalty aside, I’m here to speak about Calanmai. As I’m sure you know, Tamlin could not find it in himself to complete the Rite.”

“Blonde cunt always was a bit of a wet rag,” Jurian added grimly.

He wasn’t here to speak about Calanmai, but Cassian would be. Rhysand never sent Azriel to deal with Lucien and wouldn’t deign to go himself. He wouldn’t send Morrigan – she avoided anything with red hair and a cock now – and Amren couldn’t winnow.

“You’d walk that back if you ever saw him in his peak,” Lucien said idly, looking towards the ceiling. “The blonde hair did most of the work for him.”

Eris smirked at that as Lucien stood before Cassian could even knock. As the brute himself shouldered into the room behind his brother, Eris glanced boredly in his direction. He tromped dried mud into the room, leaving clumps of it on the rug.

“Isn’t this familiar,” Eris drawled, propping one ankle on his knee. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, brow furrowing in an expression that made him look even dumber than usual. “It feels like we’re all getting to be dear friends.”

Jurian snorted, but Lucien heaved another sigh.

“Thought you might be here,” Cassian said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. Lucien suddenly bristled at that, turning to stare at Eris accusingly.

Eris shrugged. “And you flew all this way to inflict your presence upon me? Delightful.”

“No, I’m here to see Lucien. Rhys wants your report on Spring, about Calanmai,” Cassian said, turning away and dismissing Eris.

Lucien balked. He was loyal, his brother, perhaps to a fault – to causes, to people. Whatever bound him and Tamlin still existed. Flaying himself and his old friend open to the brute of all people, stripping it down for secrets and gossip to further Rhys’ influence – it had to hurt him.

“You couldn’t get in to Spring? And yet your High Lord was so keen to constantly barge in on Tamlin. Does he need a new hobby, now that he needs to mind his own affairs?” Eris asked, eyes narrowing. “He must have so few, what with only ruling one city.”

Cassian glared at that, at any perceived slight against his master, right on cue. Eris wondered idly if Nesta minded being the third in their relationship or if Cassian had succeeded in convincing her it was all she deserved.

Once he had her, Eris would never humiliate Aisling like that. Like Beron did to his mother – the world was already so eager to make females feel small, and Aisling had already spent her life stooping to fit in her cage. If she was to stand beside him it would be with her spine straight, looking down on them all.

“You’re pissy,” Cassian observed, a grin suddenly spreading across his features. “Not getting enough company?”

Here it fucking was. Eris kept silent, staring Cassian down, daring him to say more. He would – the brute couldn’t help but run his mouth, gloat about any perceived advantage like an arrogant child.

“We’ve left her alone with Az,” Cassian continued, smirking as he held Eris’ gaze. “I’ve heard they’re keeping all their rooms pitch black. They must be getting on, we barely see him, but then – females always play nicely with him.”

Cassian was trying to bait him. The attempt was so obvious, so lacking in any finesse, and still Eris bristled. Cassian laughed at whatever he thought he saw on his face.

He let himself picture a miserable, frightened Aisling being dragged around like Rhysand’s captive –

A log popped in the hearth in a shower of sparks, the flame blazing so hot it was near blue.

“Eris,” Lucien cautioned quietly as the room heated. Cassian’s smarmy grin broadened. Jurian was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching the tension unfold like a sporting match. This was light work, compared to everything he’d witnessed as an enchanted eyeball.

“Should I go say hello to her? Give her a little kiss from you, make sure Az is keeping her at his heel? Don’t worry, he treats his females so well.” Cassian crooned,

“It may have worked on Nesta to lock her in with you until she agreed to fuck you, but Aisling’s a different breed,” Eris said smoothly, feeling vicious, feral satisfaction as he saw the blow land. Cassian wore his insecurities on his sleeve; there was almost no sport in it. His eyes grew dark, any mocking look dropping straight off his face. “She’s well used to your High Lord’s preferred treatment. You lot do salivate over imprisoning females. But what else can we expect from Illyrians?”

Jurian chuckled at that, mad brown eyes delighted as Cassian snarled at the room.

“Who even told you that I locked Nes up, that’s fucking ridiculous-” Cassian seethed while Lucien studied the ceiling innocuously. Eris only smiled in response, the sort of arrogant, aloof smirk that drove a lash against Cassian’s anger.

“It verges on a fetish, really,” Eris told Jurian casually, watching the doorframe creak under Cassian’s grip. “Rather embarrassing when Rhysand made such a production of telling all of Prythian he was so enlightened.”

Lucien didn’t react but the corners of his mouth did kick up ever so slightly. He must be bored by Rhysand and his bats; the work he had Lucien doing was certainly tedious enough. Overseeing humans and Tamlin? It was only to keep him away from his insipid little mate.

Unfortunately for Rhysand, that trick wouldn’t work twice. Eris had far fewer scruples than Lucien, and much more ambition.

“If you’re thinking about smashing the place up then get the fuck out,” Jurian ordered, looking dangerous despite the casual posture. He was watching Cassian’s shoulders bunch, his wings flaring in that Illyrian base instinct.

“That’s enough,” Lucien said sternly. It was sufficient warning that Cassian suddenly seemed to remember he wasn’t among friends here.

“I’ll travel back to Velaris and give my report to Rhys in person,” Lucien said firmly, ever courtly. His baby brother was a treasure, well trained to the last. “Do let him know I’ll be there within the week.”

“Of course,” Cassian seemed to recover, casting another surly glower at Eris.

Eris watched him go, striding out the door angrily. Lucien was looking sidelong at him as they heard the thunderclap of wings departing in a strop. Good – let Cassian lick his wounds at Rhysand’s feet and tell him what a venomous, miserable snake he was. Let Rhysand wonder when Eris would come calling, especially if Thanatos and Keir came calling for Aisling as well. He owed him a bargain, and Eris fully intended to shatter Rhysand’s illusion that he was untouchable.

He was losing his grip on his anger. All the old slights and offenses were bubbling up, every arrogant, nasty little comeuppance they’d every dishes out. He remembered them all – Nesta’s unflattering snigger as Cassian smugly informed him of his exposure to Beron, the delight in their eyes as they mocked the threat to his life. Cassian dubbing him a coward after he kept their petty secrets under Beron’s knife, faebane still heavy on his tongue. The slaughter of his soldiers, the repossession of the Made dagger. And before, Feyre’s fire scorching his mother and the absurd violence at the meeting they had called and assured would be peaceful. Breaking into his brothers’ minds to erase the memory of Feyre’s stolen magic. He remembered all the insults, all the disdain, every trampling of boundaries. He could picture the preening, gloating victory in their eyes as they held Aisling in their little city. But he knew how tricky Aisling was to hold. Smoke, ready to slip straight through his hands.

“What,” Eris finally said as he heard Lucien’s eye clicking, making him shake his head. “Is whatever you’re up to going to cost me a job?” Lucien finally asked, russet eye narrowed as he sized Eris up. Lucien had made that face when he was a child, too, squinting exactly like that when they played games and Eris cheated his way to victory, and Lucien tried to work out how.

“You have three,” Eris said peevishly, suddenly a mere fifty years old again and arguing with his brother. “Rhysand should know better than to take from the Autumn Court. You’ve let him insult you for too long, he’s grown comfortable with it.”

The moment grew long, and the flame in Lucien’s eye – he was Autumn through and through, that was their mother’s blood – suddenly softened.

“I’ll see to her,” Lucien said gently. Damn him, Eris had only come here to prod Cassian into being his messenger. Lucien always was so much more intuitive, so much more giving, than Eris could ever expect.

Eris swallowed and said, “Living among humans has made you soft,” because he never did learn how to say the words thank you.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #47 – City of Last Chances by Adrian Tchaikovsky

This book was recommended to me by a few different people, and in any case I am generally a pretty big Tchaikovsky fan. So of course I’m only getting around to reading it now, however many months later. Having put it off so long for no good reason at all, I can say that the book is in fact very good. Not Tchaikovsky’s best work (that’s still Children of Time in a walk), but a good read and one that left me curious (if not exactly excited) about checking out the sequel.

The story takes place in Illmar, the eponymous City of Last Chances – scarred and oppressed, tyrannized by cursed dukes and conquering imperialists, built upon a dangerous and unreliable route to other worlds and forever attracting the sort of people with no better options available to them. While the book has any number of characters, it’s really the city itself that is the star of the story – a story of how the theft of an imperial magistrate’s ward before he makes an experimental voyage through the gateway in the woods leads to a whole series of byzantine intrigues and bloody misadventures, culminating in an abortive revolution against the Pallseen who occupy and rule them. Which in one sense is an absolutely massive spoiler and in another just feels like stating an inevitability that was obvious from the first chapter.

The book was apparently quite heavily marketed as harking back to the whole New Weird trend of a decade or two ago – marketing that is lived up to wholly and entirely. The whole book absolutely drips with Mieville and Vandermeer. The oblique worldbuilding, the mundane day-to-day life built around the opportunities and inconveniences of some intrusion of the sublime, the awkward intersection of ancient magic and industrial bureaucracy, and so on, and so forth. The Reproach in particular feels very Area X (or very Roadside Picnic, as you prefer), but in general the city feels like absolutely nothing so much as Bas-Lag with the weirdness dial turned down from an 11 to a 5 or 6.

It’s a real triumph of the book, I think, that the world genuinely feels vast and strange even beyond the points where it matters to the story - that all the little asides and the ways something affects a certain character feel like just small parts of something far grander and more uncanny than anyone can hope to understand. Maybe I’m just painfully tired of rpg-system worldbuilding, but it’s an effect I dearly love.

Much like Bas-Lag, Ilmar is very clearly a magical fantasy city going through a magical fantasy 19th century industrial revolution (instead of steam engines its demonic slave labor contracted and imported from the Kings Below). The meat of the book is playing into the whole tradition of the idealistic, virtuous but tragic liberal revolution – 1848 in Berlin or Vienna, the June Days and Commune in Paris, Warsaw a dozen different times, Les Mis. You know the type. Students singing patriotic old songs, workers rising up against class oppression, ‘revolutionaries’ who are mostly cowardly nobles pining after lost privileges and criminal syndicate putting on airs being caught flat-footed by events. You can probably tell the basic story in your sleep. But for such a venerable genre, this book's honestly probably the best rendition of ‘fantasy 1848’ I can recall. Something which won it my instant affection.

The other thing the book just overwhelming shares with the Mieville’s Bas-Lag books is a very keen sense of the necessity of revolution combined with an extreme cynicism towards anyone who might actually carry it out. The university students are sincere believers, and also naive sheep the narrative views with condescension (at best). The professional revolutionaries are all power-grabbing hypocrites who have wrapped themselves in the flag. The workers syndicates have a real sense of solidarity among themselves, and also none at all to the demon slaves that are used and broken powering the mills and factories. And so on. The overall thrust of the book is a tragedy not in the sense of railing against the inevitable, but in the sense that triumph and revolution were absolutely possible – indeed plausible – but for the flaws and frailities of the revolutionaries who might have accomplished it.

Not to say that it's misanthropic – the book is very humane towards the vast majority of its POVs. Of which there are enough for ‘vast majority’ to be a meaningful term. It was something like 130 pages in before any character got a second chapter through their eyes, a feat I had previously only seen in Malazan – and that’s not including the chorus chapters which just give a half-doze vignettes from across the city. But yes, most characters (even the ones who are really just viscerally repulsive) are shown through their own eyes as someone who is at least understandable, if not particularly sympathetic. The sheer size of the cast in a 500 page book mean that no one character or set gets that many chapters from their perspective (you could easily have written as long a book about roughly the same events with half or less of the cast), but some of the dynamics that are very lightly touched on are just incredibly compelling. Its enough to make you wish this was a series that would ever get any fanfiction written about it, really.

Given the way the book is so deeply concerned with oppression and violence on the basis of culture, class, and nation – imperial occupiers, native population, refugees and immigrants used and scapegoated by both – it is kind of fascinating that this is a world where misogyny and (possibly? Not very explored, the only example of a queer relationship we see is hardly going to be concerned by normative society) homophobia just flatly don’t exist. Which would be less interesting if it was unusual, really – the same could be said about very nearly every recent sci fi or fantasy book on the same lines I can recall. Interesting because it is very much not the case in Melville’s stuff – the cultural impact of Ancillary Justice continues to echo down the years, I guess. So yes the imperial police inspector will extort sex out of a brothel owner in exchange for not stringing up the entire workforce for peripheral involvement with the resistance, but also this is entirely gender-neutral. Something very modern about how oppression is imagined relative to the ‘90s or ‘00s (or just a different genre of self-consciously feminist novel a few book shelves to the left).

But yeah, great book, I am compelled. No idea where the sequel would be going, but will probably hunt it down sooner rather than later.

[snugglesquiggle]

there's a fantasy trope that's bothered me for a long time. it shows up in all sorts of stories (and fanfics of stories) with advanced magics systems.

the breadth of magic system is always a told-not-shown informed attribute. one distinct pet peeve i have is whenever characters need to have a confidential conversations, they always cast various privacy spells or activate privacy wards or whatever, and it's never spelled out (heh) what privacy they actually, specifically afford you do, their differences and strengths, the utility of layering them

worse, there's frequently a beat where the strength and/or number and/or rarity of the privacy effects that a characters applies is a marker of how seriously they're taking the situation

and this is entirely informed! we're given no tools to actually understand or appreciate anything about the privacy spells, besides the reassurance that they're really powerful, trust me

and just once, i want to see an author get autistic about it. hell, make a challenge of it — make every spell cast on the page named (if not exhaustively spelled out). in the appendices if you have to.

i'm probably going to try to do this with a black nerve story, someday

and like, obviously this is going to lead to writing issues. there's a very popular superhero story available online that intends to portray a superhero origin story in all its gory details. no timeskips or montages, no skills they picked up in the backstory — and people have already cited pacing problems with this story

but there's a better analogue. i have similar frustrations with counting bullets or mana pool percentages — i'm disappointed stories are always so vague about resource management, and leads the stakes and resolution of the fight to feel like they come down to author fiat.

and yet, if you try actually writing like this, you quickly understand exactly why almost as a rule authors approach the way they do

(uncharitably, privacy wards are the author signalling "don't worry about people overhearing, it doesn't matter, shut up")

still, i want it, just as a indulgence, for bragging rights or as a cautionary tale.

[hoboblaidd]

Today's headcanon is a bit different. It's about people knowing whether Solas is the Dread Wolf during Inquisition.

tl;dr - absent a very compelling reason, normal people wouldn't know he's Fen'harel. He is cagey about his past,and at a certain point it’s clear something is going on, but there is no connective tissue between him and Fen'harel until we learn that last piece of information.

In hindsight, yes, there are clues all over the place that he's the Dread Wolf. He's got a lot of little giveaways in dialogue, but they're more subtle than say Blackwall's dancing around his reveal. It's like "a puzzle with only half of the pieces", to quote Dorian, or trying to figure out a message hidden in a picture without the cipher that unlocks its meaning. Once you have the cipher - Solas is Fen'harel - the clues are obvious. But without it, he's just an increasingly enigmatic font of knowledge on all things related to the Fade. Even the Evanuris warned that he excels at disguising himself. If they couldn’t ferret him out, neither can a normal person.

Solas' lies are founded in truth, which makes them more believable. Look at his conversation with Blackwall about Skyhold: "How did you find this place?" "I looked." It's cagey, but it's also true and in character. It fits perfectly with what the game has told us about him since Haven. All of his half-truths do. When asked why he's guarded, he believably explains it away as being a wary apostate surrounded by a Chantry that would turn him Tranquil if he was in a Circle. He says as much to Vivienne. As the game goes on, there are more cracks in his story ("when were you last at court?"), but none of them lead to the "Dread Wolf."

The Temple of Mythal is a place where I can reasonably see people being like "hang on." I was when I first played. But I didn't connect it to "Dread Wolf" because there wasn't that cipher/connective tissue we need to reach that conclusion. At most, I thought he might actually be a sentinel. That's a more logical step than "he knows a lot about elves so he must be the elven god of trickery and rebellion." There's simply no foundation for that leap.

My measuring tape for this is Vivienne and Bull. They're both incredibly clever, and if anyone was to ferret out his secret based on his guarded responses, it'd be them. They are suspicious of his "lack of personal history" and unique style of magic. But even they, shrewd as they are, don't reach the Dread Wolf conclusion. No one does unless the Inquisitor finds the 4 clues in Trespasser, and that's two years after Corypheus' defeat.

Yes, his magic is very old, but during Inquisition he's not at full power. He's basically half of himself. Compare his magic in Inquisition versus Trespasser: in Trespasser, it's effortless, while in Inquisition, his magic is nothing more than what we see from Dorian or Vivienne. Neither Dorian nor Vivienne comment on him having great power. Vivienne even digs that his magic is unrefined. The only times we see him exhibit more power than we'd expect are: (1) the effortless torch lighting right before the journey to Skyhold; (2) his removal of the vallaslin; and (3) his shutting down Cole's empathetic reach into his feelings/memories.

People can't "sense" he's the Dread Wolf, or even someone with a huge powerbase. Cole is an exception, one I might make for other spirit muses. They might clock him as very old, living in a time where "the songs were the same", but even Cole's lines about him are not explicitly "Dread Wolf" related until Trespasser.

[petra-creat0r]

Deltarune: Fool's Fate Chapter 1 Bosses

Now that I've posted Remie's ref, time for the main bosses of Chapter 1 of Fool's Fate! Why are there two? Why not? (Really it's to make it easier to cram like, 14, 15ish tarot cards into 10 chapters?)

The rulers of the attic Dark World. Or more accurately, the leader and her right hand man. Upon entering the attic Dark World and after meeting Remie, Chicago and CK (and Broadway) run into The Magician (aka The Magnificent Magician Magico) first as he barges through Remie's little fortress to stop the Lightners from closing the Dark Fountain in the name of the The High Priestess (or High Priestess Bailette who isn't properly met until the very end of the chapter.)

Magician fills a sort of Lancer/Queen role, following and trying to thwart the party as they traverse the attic world, all the while, idolizing his Priestess. Being very active and eccentric as well as trying to test the party's (pr specifically Chicago's) potential.

The Priestess, meanwhile, is only mentioned throughout the chapter until you fight her and Magician in the final battle. Her presence is felt but she's rarely seen. Even when you do finally meet her, she's cool,, level-headed, and quiet.

Even in the final battle, Priestess isn't actually shown to attack that much, mostly providing support by boosting Magician's attack and using some support attacks that are easy to dodge on their own.

Their names (at least the ones they tend to go by) are derived from the tarot cards that inspire them. Magician being, well, the Magician, and Priestess being the High Priestess. (For the names Magico and Bailette, Bailette comes from a previous iteration of this story, The Puppet and The Real Boy, and is a pun on ballet, baile, and the name suffix -ette. Magico is just derived from magic and I added an -o to the end) Asides from being inspired by tarot cards in both name and personalities, their actual Light World items are a magic kit and a ballerina music box.

Backstory under the cut

Once just a simple Pirolette among the choir, Bailette wasn't really anyone of note. She played her role, she sung her part, as just another voice in the crowd of sopranos representing the populus of the attic world.

Yet even despite her small role, Magico (head of the Baritone/Bass section) was completely enamored with her. He found her voice alluring, its soft and quiet notes matching her gentle and subdued personality. ... And so it turns out, Magico wasn't the only one whom Bailette had caught the eye of either...

For one day a Knight arrived to the land. Twisted ribbons dancing in the wind as they stabbed into the earth to give this world its form. A great geyser of darkness flowing forth and amazing all the Darkners who witnessed. After wards, the Knight declared the Lightners the Darkners worshipped abandoned them long ago, leaving them up here to rot and collect dust.

The Knight then pointed to Bailette, appointing her the land's new Priestess and leader and warning her that soon a group of Lightners will arrive, only to try and seal the Fountain the Knight just opened. Soon after, the Knight disappeared, leaving the attic world to it's own devices.

Now left on the throne, Priestess went a bit mad with power. She locked up anyone who dared to oppose her and started plotting silent revenge against the Lightners who had abandoned them and their world. She appointed Magico as her head Magician and right hand, her loyal guard who was tasked with carrying out her will. The Magician was happy to oblige, still madly in love. She was his Priestess, and he was her loyal Magician. Together they ruled from the top of the Choral Chapel. ... Until a group of Lightners stumbled into the world, just as the Knight foretold.

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

🏱︎♋︎ ❍︎♐︎⌧︎ ❍︎⬧︎⌘︎♌︎♒︎●︎⌧︎❖︎ ⍓︎🙰♒︎♎︎⬥︎ ✠︎♎︎⬧︎♒︎⌧︎❖︎⌘︎ ♌︎⧫︎⍓︎□︎⬧︎⬧︎♑︎♎︎ ◆︎⌘︎♒︎🙵 ❍︎□︎♓︎ 🙰□︎♐︎♏︎⬥︎ 😐︎♋︎♑︎♏︎⬧︎♍︎ ♌︎⬥︎♌︎□︎ ⌧︎♌︎ ◆︎🙰♒︎♎︎⬥︎ ☞︎♌︎❒︎ ♏︎⬥︎❍︎ ♏︎⍓︎♑︎🙵 ❍︎⍓︎ ⧫︎⬥︎⬥︎♋︎♋︎ ◻︎♑︎❍︎□︎ ❑︎■︎♐︎♒︎⬧︎

✞︎❑︎🙵🙰 ❖︎⬧︎♏︎♓︎ ⬥︎♌︎ ●︎♑︎◆︎♒︎◻︎ ☪︎⬧︎❍︎⌧︎♒︎⬧︎⍓︎⌧︎❖︎⌘︎ ⌘︎🙵◻︎🙵❍︎♒︎ ⬥︎⍓︎ ♓︎◻︎⌧︎ ♌︎⧫︎⍓︎□︎ ✠︎❖︎□︎□︎♎︎♏︎●︎ ♏︎🙵❖︎♋︎⌧︎ ❒︎□︎♍︎⌘︎❍︎🙵 ✡︎♑︎🙵 ❒︎🙰🙵 ⌧︎⌘︎🙰⌘︎♑︎♍︎❒︎ ⌘︎●︎🙰 ⬧︎♋︎❍︎◻︎⌘︎♎︎❑︎

✌︎●︎❖︎ ❒︎⬥︎♌︎□︎ ❒︎♓︎♑︎🕯︎❒︎ ♋︎●︎◻︎◆︎ ♒︎❖︎⧫︎♍︎⬧︎ ☟︎●︎ ◻︎□︎♍︎ ❍︎⬧︎♐︎◻︎ ♎︎■︎ ⧫︎🙰♏︎ ⬥︎◻︎♐︎❑︎⬧︎♎︎ 💧︎❑︎⬥︎ ♐︎⌧︎ ♋︎♓︎❑︎⌘︎ ❖︎◻︎♑︎ ♋︎♌︎●︎♎︎ ☪︎●︎♐︎♐︎♎︎ ❍︎♋︎♓︎⬥︎♍︎ ♌︎◆︎⌧︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♍︎♍︎ ⬥︎❑︎●︎ ■︎🙵♒︎❍︎⌧︎⬧︎♑︎

☹︎ ●︎⬥︎🙵🙰⬥︎ ❖︎🙰 ✋︎□︎♐︎❖︎📪︎ ◻︎ ♏︎♒︎◻︎♏︎🙵 ⬧︎🙵 ☪︎⬥︎❒︎⬥︎♌︎ ❄︎ ♏︎♌︎⍓︎◻︎ ⌧︎♍︎ ⧫︎⌘︎♎︎⧫︎♌︎❑︎♋︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ♑︎⬧︎❑︎⌘︎♌︎❍︎ ❍︎♐︎⌧︎ ❒︎❒︎■︎◆︎❖︎♏︎

[queenmuzz]

Number 8 and/or 19 for "putting your Rook through the horrors" ask game.

8. What kind of demon would emerge from them had they been subject to Zara's experiments? 

“Ah,” Zara’s hand caresses Zea’s cheek, “This will be interesting, experimenting on one of Nevarra’s famed Watchers.”  Zea can only glare at her, hands bound, mouth gagged.   How the Venatori had gotten so deep in the Necropolis without alerting the wards, she has no idea.  Not that it matters now.  She might as well be on the other side of Thedas for all she knows.  She should have been paying attention, should have not been so impulsive to charge in on her own, getting overwhelmed and knocked out.

“They say your people are attuned to the Fade and spirits, even the ones that have no magic.  Perhaps you might be a better subject than others”

Zea struggles once more against her bindings, only succeeding at drawing blood at her wrists, which drips down to the floor.

“Begin the ritual!” Zara proclaims, and several mages cut their palms, their blood dripping down, and mingling with her own.  The blood seems to have a mind of its own, converging in the center of the ritual area, forming into a red gash, a wound in the air.  Zea braces for whatever comes out.

‘Hmmm…’ a voice buzzes in her head.  Neither male nor female, it’s monotone, yet sturdy?  ‘So this is the world of mortals.”  It sounds mildly annoyed, like it has been awoken out of a pleasurable nap.  ‘I don’t like it.  Too noisy.  Too...chaotic.”

“What Spirit are you?”  She asks within her mind, not knowing if the Venatori can hear the Spirit.  She hopes they can’t.  They can do what they want with her, she’ll endure it, as she has with most things in her life.  But the way they’ve tormented spirits has made her sick.

“I am Patience.” comes the response,  “I am stillness of mind, body, and time.  You…” There's a bit of a pause, as it examines her, examines as the Venatori watch her, waiting for some sort of change.  Do they expect her to grow tentacles, for her eyes to bleed black ichor?  “You wish to prevent change… you wish to stop things from happening.  Hmmmm… perhaps we are more alike than I first thought.” A thought goes through her mind, she can stop these Venatori in their tracks.  Stop them from tormenting mortal prisoners and immortal spirits.  All she has to do is…remain still.

Zara tuts, disappointed.  “A failure.  Nothing is taking with her.  Still,” she nods to one of her subordinates, who pulls out a dagger, “Her blood will have some use for our future experiments.  Once we get our hands on the Demon of Vyrantium, we will need an ample supply…”

The Venatori strides towards her, his knife glittering like ice.   Zea does not resist as her head is yanked back, neck exposed for the blade.  She has a serene look on her face.  

She is no longer Zea.  

She is no longer Patience.

She is…Inertia.

The blood at her feet begins to freeze, its ice frosting up her body at an impossibly fast speed.  The man yelps as he tries to pull away, but is cut off as his body turns to ice.  The rest of the Venatori, including Zara, attempt to flee, only to be frozen in their tracks.  

Within a matter of minutes, the entire complex, from its deepest dungeons, to its pinnacle, becomes encased in a nigh unbreakable sheet of ice.  

There is a legend, they say.  That deep within the waters off the coast of Treviso, there is an underwater palace, ruled by a princess with hair as white as snow.  But be warned, do not approach it.  For this princess has cursed the palace and denizens to remain frozen in ice and time, and that any that attempt to disturb her will suffer the same fate.

19 One of their loved ones just got grievously injured by their enemies. Who was it? How do they react? 

She should have been paying attention.  The Antaan have a particular dislike for magic and mages, especially Necromancy.  Of course they would have targeted Emmrich.  It doesn’t matter that his spellcraft works with the consent of the Spirits, not compelling them, to them he’s a beast that must be put down.  What she should have been doing is staying close to his side, being his shield.  But no, she HAD to charge in, had to draw first blood.  

That’s why she doesn’t notice one of the brutes until its too late.  She assumes he’ll come for her, but no, he charges straight for   Emmrich.  She hears the sickening crunch of bone as her beloved takes the full brunt of the charge, hears his pained cry as he crashes to the ground.  She hears Bellara scream out his name as she comes running to his aid.  The oxman doesn’t get a chance to take advantage, as Zea races over and bashes him over the head with her hammer, crushing his skull.  

She doesn’t have time to do more than look on Emmrich’s limp body, partially lifted up by the elf.  But she can see him grimace, and blearily look at her through hair that’s matted with blood.  He’s alive… but barely.  And without prompt treatment, his death is a certainty.  His one fear.  And it’s all her fault.

“Bellara!  Get him out of here!” she orders, and as the elf slings his arm over her shoulder and heaving him towards the exit.  She pauses, and looks back at Zea with concern.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll hold them off!”

Bellara seems to want to protest, but Zea shakes her head.  She’ll have no more injury or death of others because of her actions.   Emmrich will be in good hands in the Lighthouse, provided he makes it in time.

There’s a pained look in Bellara’s eyes, but she nods, and drags the necromancer away.   Zea’s secretly thankful he’s only partially unconscious, because if he was aware, he’d know what she was planning, and would try to struggle, try to stop her from what she’s about to do.

Zea turns to face the horde.  She’s hopelessly outnumbered, and she knows it.  Even if Bellara manages to get help for her, it’ll be too late.   But she doesn’t seem to mind.  She’s willing to pay the price for her mistakes, with her life if that’s what it takes.  

She grips her greathammer, paying attention this time to what her first target will be, how to take down as many of these monsters before she’s overwhelmed.  Let them learn there are things they ought to fear more than an old mage casting necromancy.

Her Wrath.

[racfoam]

What are your top 5 favorites ff in the whole Harry Potter Fandom?

Oh boy, anon, this is a much broader answer. I'll try to sort them out. Ranked in no particular way. Most of these are M-rated.

Harrymort (M/M)

Entwined by @purplewitch156

AN: Voldemort tries to find Harry who went missing during the Hogwarts battle, and a beautiful ending paired with a wonderful sequel. I love it with all my heart. Voldemort crossed space to find Harry. Literally. Those snowflakes at the end of Entwined are forever in my mind, like a moving photograph.

Retreat Series by Lomonaaeren

Such wonderful characterization and story, of how they grow closer in their marriage. Voldemort is fantastically written.

Two Words in Green Ink by @riddleandpottersittinginatree

Soulmate AU. Harry has Avada Kedavra on his wrist. Voldemort finds out.

Speechless. Please go read this. It’s beautiful.

Love in the Dark by @shouldertallabyss

This is the Voldemort Wins that I need, starring snake-face Voldy. This is where it's at. Beautifully written slow-burn. It sucks you in and doesn't let go, just like Voldemort doesn't let go of Harry. I want to give Harry a big hug and wrap him in a blanket.

I Can't Carry This Anymore by lemonchase

Voldemort's Soup Delivery Service by @duplicitywrites

In Due Thyme by @rudehellion

Voldemort and Harry are married but Voldemort avoids Harry because he’s bad at feelings. Harry decorates for the holidays hoping to give a message across and there is wonderful symbolism. Such a heart-warming one shot. My heart melted.

Run Boy Run by @youknowmevj

A full 5k words of a hide and seek and chase scene, predator/prey of Harry trying to escape his snakey husband (they're married, your honour, Voldemort put a ring on it!) who enjoys the chase. The strategies Harry uses are so well-done and well thought of. The hiding and running are so well done and so wonderfully described in detail, I was holding my breath the entire time. How Harry hides and how intense it all is, and when Voldemort finds him it gets deliciously steamy. It ends with the married couple going back to bed with Vee holding Harry’s hand. There are even details about the current wizarding world sprinkled in how it is under Voldemort's rule. The best hide and seek Harrymort fic ever written. Wonderful one-shot.

Mirrored by brainstorm1001

This fic is the Harrymort treasure trove. The first chapter starts in the Malfoy Manor Scene and Voldemort manages to make it before Harry escapes. And Harry, the courageous, feral, favourite Gryffindor... punches the Dark Lord in the family jewels. The Heir of Slytherin sure won't be making any more Heirs of Slytherin now. xD If that doesn’t get you reading the fic, I don't know what will. It's a classic.

- recommended by @leafiloaf

Thank you, @leafiloaf for reminding me of it. ❤️

The Cave Incident by brainstorm1001

Another classic in the Harrymort fic treasure trove. Harry & Voldemort get trapped in a cave and have to work together to get out.

Tomarrymort (M/M)

draw me after you (let us run) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger

Harry runs. Voldemort chases. They fall in love in-between.

A wonderful trip around the world while a Dark Lord chases Harry and ends up vying for his hand? Beautiful. It has lore, it has great plot, side characters are interesting, it has magic, it has tension, Voldemort is a flirt, Harry is adorable when he blushes and his ears go all red, and my heart skips ten beats when I see an update e-mail on this fic because I am being fed very well.

Haunted and Hunted by @obsidianpen

Canon Divergence from 6th Year. Voldemort finds out Harry is his Horcrux after 5th Year and tells Harry he will come for him. Harry, bless his impulsive brain, leaves the safety of the wards and is captured and put into enchanted sleep. This is a Tomarrymort treasure trove.

Bring tissues for the sequel. You’ll need them.

Heir Apparent by @monsieurclavier

Harry time travels and crashed into Voldemort’s home. He speaks Parseltongue so Voldemort assumes that Harry is his son. After all, only his heir could speak Parseltongue. Harry goes along with it. Daddymort is very touchy with his son and is also a big sugar daddy to him, and a SIMP to boot. Also, Abraxas is lucky to have Morgane as his wife. Morgane Malfoy, ladies and gentlemen, slays in this fic. Absolutely. Slays. Queen. Also, Bellatrix vying for Harry (I think she'll jump him at some point, actually physically jump on the poor lad) and Vee being jealous and possessive is hilarious. A detail I love in the fic are the wizarding clothes, I love their descriptions.

(the world) and its quiet turning by @tommarvoloriddlesdiary

A cease of conflict is reached. Voldemort makes sure Harry is okay. They gravitate toward each other after that. It is such a sweet, lovely, heart-warming series and each fic is just wonderful. I love it very much.

Tomarry (M/M)

Terrible But Great by @isalisewrites

My boooys. Isa's Harry has me in a chokehold, I would do anything for him, I would brush his hair, I would cook for him, I would give him shoulder massages, I would wrap him up in a blanket and I would fight Voldemort for him. Nobody hurts him. They have to go through me. Tom is an oblivious baby Dark Lord and keeps underestimating Harry. I love them, your honour.

like a parasite (kill my butterflies) by @tommarvoloriddlesdiary

Tom finds himself dangling off the ledge. Literally. Harry offers a helping hand.

Female Harry (Tomarry, Harrymort, Tomarrymort)

she walks in beauty by @mayfriend

The Soulmate AU fic with soul marks that has me in a deadlock. My favourite Female Harry and the one that I re-read to this day.

I have three words for you all: Avada Kedavra and LIAR.

“Give me the stone, Harriet, and I will make you a queen. Give me the stone, Harriet. You were meant to be mine.”

I am in shambles. This line will haunt me to my grave. Do you know what it means, that a sentence is so in-character and that I can hear Voldemort say it to Harry, that it will follow me to the grave? Do you know how brilliant that is, that it will stick with me to the grave? I love you, mayfriend. Thank you.

Precious Horcrux by @loneamaryllis (Harrymort)

Me to Precious Horcrux: “I have crossed oceans of AO3 to find you.”

Voldemort Wins AU, Female Harry with snake-face Voldy (finally, finally, finally) hot smut, wonderful plot, everyone is in-character, Voldemort is horny for Harrie and Harrie only.I cried of joy when I found this fic. I'm not kidding. I cried with JOY. I needed this fic since the beginning of the Female Harry cave I fell into. I have been searching for this fic since forever. Thank you, author. Thank you.

for love is always with you by @cordeliawrites (Tomarry)

Another Soulmate & Soul Marks fic. I think most of the fandom knows of this one.

Voldemort finishing the words to Harri left me sobbing at 11pm. I need an AU with them ruling together, screw morals. Voldemort deserved to have his chance, too. Brb, I need to cry. My Tomarry heart was happy, but my Harrymort heart was shattered into pieces, and I'm still trying to find them.

(dishes out my credit card) Do you accept bribery? I will pay. I'm not kidding. I will pay.

Appetence by @elysian-drops (Tomarrymort)

Voldemort finds out Harri is his Horcrux on the graveyard. He wants her back to his side.

I've been following this one since the first chapter! It's amazing!

the one where she is head over heels for him by @latteloves (Tomarry)

🎶A little bit of fluffy Tomarry in my life, a little bit of Harry being absolutely in love with Tom by my side, a little bit of James & Lily alive is all I need, a jealous Tom is all I see, a little bit of Tomarry in the sun, a little bit of blushing Harry all night long, a cute kiss makes me a happy Tomarry shipper. 🎶

When Harry Met Tom by The_Carnivorous_Muffin (Tomarry)

This fic. This fic. This fic! I LOVE IT SO. Harry time travels and meets Tom. They spend a year at Hogwarts together. The fic is on-going.

To Become A Dark Lord by Blood_Stained_Fingers (Harrymort)

Boss ass bitch Harry wants to become the next Dark Lord, and all the schemes she schemes and the friends/allies she makes. A bit of dark Harry, I love it very much. At the end, Voldemort is very interested in helping Harry along. A wonderful, enchanting one shot.

To Be One by wynnebat (Tomarrymort)

Female Voldemort with Canon Harry

Closer the Better by @youknowmevj

Lady Voldemort takes her handsome, human Horcrux Harry Potter into her care after finding out he is her Horcrux. Harrymort shenanigans ensues, including Harry carrying other Horcruxes. What do they all have in common? Wanting to be atop Harry, of course!

I need Voldemort atop Harry. Vish! (rattling the bars of my cage) Vish, when is Voldemort gonna top Harry? I need it, Vish! Pleaaaase!

Voldemort Adopts Harry

Methods of Humanity by local_doom_void

DADA Professor Harry

Invisible Man by RenderedReversed (Harrymort)

Hogwarts, to welcome you home by gedsparrowhawk (FaceChanger)

“You understand, Professor,” Harry began, after a moment, “that I don’t have my N.E.W.T.s. I never even finished seventh year. Between everything, I never had a chance the first time around, and then afterwards there didn’t seem to be much point. Hermione argued for it, of course, but I was so tired of Britain. So technically, I am completely unqualified for the position.”

“Quite a way to begin an interview, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, dryly.

Or, three years after the war, Harry Potter becomes Hogwarts' newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Princeps by Lomonaaeren

Harry makes a plan. He time-travels to the 1970s and becomes the DADA Professor, keeping an eye on the Slytherins and trying to keep them out of trouble. The trouble being joining Voldemort’s ranks.

There are other ships, but for now this is for the Tomarry/Harrymort/Tomarrymort since they are my OTP. If you want, send me an ask for other ships.

[planet4546b]

OH THAT CONCEPT FUCKING RULES. how do they access the containment structures upon completion? can u enter them when they're done? how are they constructed? how do they identify the tumors, is it easy to tell when one is there or nearby, or it is subtle? what does it feel like, approaching a chamber? has a tumor ever breached its containment structure? what would that look like?

(was gonna just reply to the post but i have many many questions so maybe an ask is better!)

hiya fable!!!! these are GREAT questions tysm. okay:

1. containment structures are not meant to be entered upon completion, and are unenterable once they’re constructed. the intent is that the area in which construction is currently occurring will one day be a new city, which will be built just like. On top of the containment structures. No issues there!

2. i’m being very literal with this story being about construction workers even though there is also magic (kind of) happening so building them is pretty literal: put up a framework, mix up some concrete, and encase that thang! + then sit around for a while babysitting the concrete while it sets. when you get down to the specifics of this is where there’s sort of magic happening, as there’s ways to temporarily neutralize the tumor during construction as well as ‘warding’ elements on the framework to reduce the chance of it breaking

3. they’re very easy to see!!! i’m imagining something between solaris’ ocean constructions/@/starryguykai’s work on here with superstructures/the brush property you can turn on where each stamp is a slightly different color that i don’t know the name of. anywhere in size from palm sized (dangerous, hard to spot) and a couple of miles across

4. most people are unable to detect when they’re approaching a chamber, or it registers as a feeling as ‘part of the environment’ in a way that’s hard to recognize (like, when i’m at work there’s a ton of ambient fan/equipment noises. when someone turns on the sink in the other room, i can hear it for a second, and then it fades into ambient near instantly. it’s essentially like that!!)

5. yes, EXTREMELY regularly. i want anthell to be About Labor and About Labor Issues so the company managing tumor containment isn’t particularly careful and uses cheap materials often, meaning actually most of the work that druzy’s crew is doing is repairing old chambers that have cracked open, because this isn’t a thing that Actually Works even a little bit. containment failure happens in the last stages of construction EXTREMELY often, nearly always resulting in the death of the entire crew. arronax has been on 4 seperate crews that were killed this way before joining druzy’s, and she’s a little bit thought to be a bad luck omen (or a straight up saboteur) by other workers