#that's how it rolls when you're all in it to kill mages who go out of control

[thesimpsbasement]

How do you think Azul would deal with having a s/o where he would say they would do crimes to people who would bully their s/o and s/o is like “That’s illegal, but awe 🥹”? Like if he paybacks someone, s/o is trying to be the voice of reason, but they’re smiling so it ruins it?

You're so right. omg, he'd be so extra about it, too

Azul is definitely the type to beat the shit out of your bullies no questions asked

But only after making sure you're okay of course,he has to take care of his precious angelfish before he gets his hands dirty

Even if the bullies didn't bother you that much, Azul is not having any of it.He's not going to let people disrespect you like that.He'd pamper you even I'd you protest,shower you in affection and after he's certain you're feeling better he excuses himself and leaves the room

You begin to worry when he still hasn't come back, that is until you hear a familiar voice or rather voices shriek in pain as 2 other familiar voices laugh hysterically. Rushing towards the VIP room,the scene you're met with was truly something.

Floyd and Jade holding your bullies still,said bullies bruised and bloodied.One might think the twins were responsible for this but as soon as you see the now injured bullies the dots connect. Despite not being the tallest or the most muscled man,Azul's physical strength shouldn't be underestimated. The damage on the now crying victims’ of Azul's wrath made you wince

Azul simply turns to you “hello darling,sorry for making you wait for so long,just have this mess to clean up” he says with a menacing smile. You want to feel bad for them especially when being held in a death trap like the tweels but you can't help but smile,letting out a chuckle. “Azul you can't just beat up people to a pulp like that,it's mean” you say.A part of you is telling you to be the voice of reason,to somehow convince Azul to not strangle anyone who dares to badmouth you,but at the same time another part of you is all over the moon.Seeing them in such a pathetic state made you feel giddy almost. “Nothing is too mean when it comes to protecting you” Azul simply replies “Now be a dear and wait for me in my room,I'll be back shortly” he says in a sweet voice.The bullies turn towards you with a pleading look but you simply smile,waving “Alright dear,don't bully them too much” you tease “Oh don't worry,I won't bully them, I'll just give them a piece of my mind” he says as he watches you leave.

Eventually, you hear the door opening,revealing your darling boyfriend.He sheds his outer layer of clothes,leaving him in his white button-down as he plops right beside you on his comfy bed. “Hope you didn't miss me too much” he says,pulling you towards him “you know I always miss you” you reply,pressing a kiss on his cheek,not missing the way his cheeks are dusted pink. “And I always miss you”, he replies,kissing your lips softly. When you pull away, you stare lovingly at him,admiring his beauty. You both stay in comfortable silence before you speak once more “you know you didn't have to do all that. it could've gotten in trouble”.Azul chuckles,hand cupping your cheek “Don't worry about that,angelfish ,besides even if they were to report me to the head mage I have my own ways of getting myself out of trouble” he says,almost menacingly. You sigh,shaking your head at his antics “Do you really have everyone wrapped around your fingers?” You ask “hmm not everyone” He says ,eyes locked on yours “You're the one who has me wrapped around their finger” he says before leaning in to steal a kiss.You sigh again,giggling as you cup his cheeks “mhmm just don't kill anyone next time alright?”.Azul smiles “I'll think about it” he says,causing you to roll your eyes ,hands moving towards his waist to pinch his sides,making the octopus yelp. “I protect you, and this is the thanks I get? Siiggghhh” he says in a fake sad voice. “Thank you, Azul, for your service” you say in a sarcastic voice before pressing your lips against his once more, “It's my pleasure”

[bells-of-black-sunday]

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐬 + 𝐕𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨 — 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐀𝐮

What do you do when you're raised in a society that completely opposes your ideals?

Vittorio was a young mage born into a noble Noxian family, he never cared for the violence. The mindless assertations of dominance, the politics... Unfortunately he had to follow strength, vision, and guile to their fullest. He was one of the heirs to the family name and yet after accidentally killing a sparring partner he refused to pick up the blade again. After countless nights arguing with his parents and siblings, he was sent to live with his uncle hoping at least his mind could still be put to use. He was a skilled mage after all and his magic could still be honed even if he wasn't willing to strike. Vittorio was a star pupil under his uncle's guiding, unlike his family he saw his pacifism as something to be commended. Wars were not won with brute strength alone, what were soldiers without the medics to heal their wounds or the tacticians that guided them?

You couldn't beat your political opponent into a bloody pulp and expect everything to go your way, but the mind. The mind was a sharper weapon that could be forged and sharpened into any tool you needed it to be. Even if him and Vittorio's ideals didn't see eye to eye all the time, they were at least agreeable and nothing was ever pushed on him. Even when the mage was caught poking around books his Uncle had locked up for a reason he didn't reprimand him. They were family secrets that if they were to get out and into the wrong hands could end horribly, for once Vittorio was trusted with something important. Someone believed in him to do the right thing. Protect these secrets and not tell another soul. He did, but not without pouring over the contents of the books.

He fervently read about ancient warriors that protected the great empire before it fell to ruin, beings who were of the Gods themselves. Oxen, crocodiles, jackals, beetles, all humanity chosen for a greater purpose that was protecting the good of the world. Perhaps even guide humanity into a golden age of prosperity, a paradise where people wouldn't suffer strife or hardship. His uncle called him mad, warning him of the danger these beings actually possessed telling tales of dark magic the mage hardly believed. Vittorio scoffed, what danger was there? There was no danger in at least looking further into these myths, finding out the truth of the secrets they'd been hiding for so long. The worn text gave no specifics and several pages had been presumably torn out and lost to time, great chunks of Runeterra's history nothing, but dust somewhere. He had to get to the bottom of it. What were these beings? What wasn't the book telling him?

It didn't take long for him to start gathering his notes, writing down prime locations and rumors to hunt down. His search pushed him to corners of the city he'd never travel alone, but he had to know. That is when his Uncle died mysteriously in his sleep. Before Vittorio could process it the weight of his uncle's estate was pushed on his shoulders. He had to escape. Get lost in his search lying about how this could be great use to his studies into magic and runes. He traveled alone, huddled in a cloak, nothing like his status to try and not draw attention in the outside towns of the desert and hills. He tracked down lead after lead after lead until he felt he had exhausted everything, his time and his money gone to the wind. He'd been gone for nearly a year and had nothing to show for it, just another wild goose chase for a family name that never cared about him.

He had huddled up in a cave to outlast a storm that'd rolled through combing through his notes to what he could've missed. Anything to make this search worth it or at least give him another lead to chase. That's when he heard the voice calling. Something deep, rumbling, almost purring like a cat. Calling him further into the cave. Vittorio was skeptical, originally not wanting to follow, but he didn't want to miss another opportunity. He lit a torch carrying it deeper and deeper into the maw of the earth, until he reached a stone wall. The voice still humming in his head he could feel it getting stronger behind the stone and the closer he looked the more he seen runes so faint now they were only scratches. Crude things. Hasty. Like a prison you'd make to drop something you didn't want found, a tomb. The runes matched his notes from one of the books in his Uncle's collection. He was ecstatic! Countless tireless nights of walking and facing the harsh elements and he had actually found it! What an unbefitting resting place for a God, locked behind a stone wall unable to leave, humanity abandoning it and it's kin, but why?

The voice preened like it could hear his thoughts, it's voice echoing in his mind speaking of long forgotten history. How humanity abandoned it's protectors after the void chewed a hole into the world, with it being dead, they were gotten rid of. Forced to be prisoners in their own body by the aspects, reduced down to mere weapons to be forgotten. The God was a well of knowledge of things long forgotten... things Vittorio wasn't even sure Swain himself knew about. Tempting fate he worked more countless hours to decipher the way to open the door, conversing with the being behind it like they were old friends. Tarhos was the voice, a God of war. A protector and his new benefactor. He had already crawled his way into the void of loneliness that had grown since Vittorio was a child, they were both outcasts. Both deemed unwanted and unneeded. Vittorio was grateful to have a friend. Someone to share his thoughts with and match his wit with his own.

It took several more days of tinkering burning through the last of his food reserves and drinking from the water that dripped off the stalactites hoping it was at least cleaner than the stagnant pools. The door opened with little fanfare, more like moving the headstone off a sarcophagus. The room was old. Dusty. Things put into a space to be forgotten and never found, old books far to wet to be salvageable, artifacts from a different time that looked like they'd break if you touched them. It was small, but he had bigger things to worry about. He followed Tarhos's voice until he came across a covered blade shamefully placed into a pool of water and covered with cloth like they'd hope it'd rust away. Vittorio felt bad for the creature. It was kept in water numbing it's senses and left completely blind for Gods know how long. He carefully picked it up and that's when his mind went blank.

His body convulsing and writhing as he unknowingly struggled for control over his own mind and body, new tattoos sprouting over his skin and glowing with immeasurable power the being within the blade fighting to take purchase. He didn't know how long he was on the floor for, waking up in a panic as he forgot where he was and taking a moment to gather his senses in the dark. His nose was bleeding, his body ached and his hand was still on the sword who seemed far more annoyed than pleased to see him now. He could feel it's steady heartbeat under his fingers, hear it's own thoughts of he listened close enough. What had happened? Tarhos gave little answer that was satisfying. Great. He had made friends with a parasitic being who now wanted a host, the only good part is that he still owned his own body. The bad part was now he had to deal with the knowledge that if anyone found out he had such a weapon, there'd be a bounty on his head. Truth be told, he'd be shocked if there wasn't one already.

Out of food and conflicted if he should consider the God in his possession friend or foe, he had to gather himself and leave. Get more supplies and keep moving. As annoying as the bickering was between what the blade thought was best, he'd be hard pressed to say he despised the creature. Not yet at least. He couldn't trust it, but... it was only something acting out of necessity. It was understandable it's actions even if he didn't care for them, it was a wretched creature that would lie and deceive it's way into getting what it wanted. An animal acting out of instinct and something at the very least worth studying. The months he'd been gone on this journey ticked over into a year and he found himself regrettably in dragon territory. Far from where he wanted to be, but such is the way of hitching rides from strangers who weren't always honest about where they were going. The blade was tolerable now, he was fully in control aside from the occasional twitch of muscle when it got mad over something. Tarhos was a strange being, oddly genuine in its beliefs and feelings. Most of all, Vittorio had grown fond of it again. The long empty road trying to learn more would be a lot less pleasant without someone to talk to and relay stories between.

He learned it's favorite foods, most of which he'd never heard of and didn't even know if still existed. How what he remember of ancient Shurima was like, but most importantly, how human it was. How faulty it's memory was reminded him of elders recounting memories of their youth, idealistic versions of the past that give a glimpse more at the person than the era. He learned that Tarhos was a slave that had earned his freedom and later ascension, he was as old as at least before the fall of the empire and that he really longed for a home that no longer existed. It was sad really. Vittorio couldn't fathom why the aspects would lock them inside their own weapons, surely there could've been something better right? Why did they even do it in the first place? Tarhos was really brief with that part of it and truth be told Vittorio didn't want to pry when he didn't need to. He was chasing down a lead that should be able to tell him in an honest way, a traveling Shuriman story teller held up near the Noxian Demacian border and here he was stuck in the mountains, because people care about coin more than being honest.

He walked along the well worn path deep in his notes. Days camping and wandering when he felt Tarhos get tense, that was enough to startle him. Many times they had to flee bandits even wildlife, but... the blade was never wrong. Tarhos knew danger when he sensed it, his voice calm, but warning of a patrol. He had to stay close to the alcoves, get as much cover as possible so that they would not be spotted by the possible mage hunters. Vittorio's tattoos were a dead give away and Demacia certainly wouldn't be kind to him if he were caught with a talking blade too. He scrambled through the rocks listening for footsteps when his mind went blank just like in the cave and when he awoke he was standing over the corpse of a slain drake. It's frail body already injured from a battle with one of it's kin, a crime of opportunity carefully guided by the blades hand. Vittorio panicked looking at the blood covering his skin, terror wrenching over him as he stared at the actions the God had made his body do. He couldn't even pull the blade free, his body frozen in fear watching the parasite work.

The dragons pale body convulsed, screaming, writhing against the stone Vittorio had been guided to. It's wings shriveling away, it's bones snapping and realigning themselves into something else. Scales forming thick plates like a helmet, feathers turning blood red and the wind it used to harness now falling out of its back like a great inferno. A parasite taking over, taking advantage of an opportunity and using Vittorio's body to do so. Vittorio felt sick. Vomiting as he fell to his knees unable to watch the sight before him any longer. He had been foolish, his want for companionship, a friend to share his misery with making him blind to the beasts true intentions. It never cared about him, but whether he liked it or not, it was his responsibility now. It's insatiable hunger had to be stopped and he had to find the answer, something different this time. Tarhos was a God, but one that had been imprisoned before. He'd find a way again, give the God a peaceful rest in a trench where no one could find it.

Vittorio and Tarhos have a tenuous alliance, Tarhos absolutely knows Vittorio wants to find a way to imprison him for good, but Tarhos still has partial control over the mage's body. Part of his blood courses through his veins and he knows Vittorio is going to follow him wherever he goes. He views Vittorio as more of a back up in case his current body dies, more like a pet than a friend. Vittorio is more complicated, he certainly doesn't view Tarhos as a friend, but he's the only person he has left and he'd rather not spend all night and day bickering.

They're most commonly seen wandering the Noxian wilds, they're more myths and Vittorio is assumed dead by most Noxian nobility. Killed over family secrets and his uncle's line died with him. He hardly ever goes back to the city, he doesn't trust Tarhos to stay put for long and he certainly can't bring him anywhere close without someone taking notice.

Tarhos has to feed to maintain himself, wreaking havoc on the countryside is a good way to do it. It falls in line with everything else in the harsh wastes and killing the occasional Noxian patrol isn't going to hurt anything. (It does, Vittorio just makes greater efforts to try to hoard him closer to Demacia to avoid detection even if it doesn't work)

Tarhos views all humans as lesser, their lives are a mere blink in his eye and he will not entertain their struggles unless they amuse him. He absolutely views himself as a pampered God, preening himself with old tales of glory and the golds he used to adorn himself in. Dreaming of the old empire, before it abandoned him, to keep himself sane. He never tells Vittorio the whole truth, he doesn't think he deserves to know, but they share dreams and Vittorio gets at least some insight through his nightmares.

Ultimately until Vittorio figures out exactly what Tarhos's plan is, if he even has one, he often battles his will to keep him away from Shurima and staying on the mainland. He doesn't trust that there isn't more world ending parasitic beings there or even something worse and he desperately is chasing leads trying to untangle everything.

Truth be told, unlike most darkin, Tarhos is content with his freedom. He doesn't desire to end the world, so that they'll all be free of their torment, he knows chasing what they used to be is a fleeting dream. If anything he's content with starting his own religion dedicated to him, so at the very least he can be worshiped like he deserves and have others to talk to besides the spoiled brat who keeps yapping incessantly about history.

They absolutely still butt heads over whose fault it is. Tarhos blames Vittorio for being naive, he thinks his pacifism is idiotic for someone whose entire bloodline is built on blood even more so. He hails from a nation that preaches strength and honor, but... he couldn't even keep his own families secrets. He didn't have to chase him down, he didn't have to chase any darkin down, he could've stayed home and studied. Vittorio blames Tarhos for using him for his own personal gain, using his body to betray his own ideals. He could've been honest about what he was and yet here they are stuck with each other, because Tarhos's fears prevented him from even a chance at finding another solution. Needless to say, they will endlessly argue and thus try their best to avoid the subject.

Vittorio isn't always with Tarhos, but he's usually in the general area. Less than a days travel so he can easily find him again in case the God goes and commits more atrocities in the name of hunger. He has a piece of his broken blade as a compass that always points back to him in case he needs guidance. But sometimes he genuinely needs the space, he sees Tarhos as his responsibility of course, but... being able to get away from the stress of it all is something he needs. He hasn't had any real time to process anything from his uncle's death to being used by a abomination.

Really the only thing that keeps them together is they both have a profound sense of loneliness the other fills. They're both outcast from their own societies and Tarhos has been alone with his own suffocating thoughts for who knows how long. It's a toxic friendship that you could barely call one, more of an alliance where they both want opposite things, but are forced to interact and hang out, because of the pact they sealed.

[lorellaishc]

Wounds Unhealed

(( DWC February 2024 Day 4, Vengeance/Satisfaction, CW: None, @daily-writing-challenge ))

In the wake of the celebrations of the Blooming

The air that blew through the greenery of Amirdrassil smelled sweet in Ghorren's nose as he stood on a hill, feeling the soft loam and grass beneath his toes. After years serving Zandalar as a mercenary hired out by the crown, both to gain riches for the nation and to keep the other peoples of Zandalar properly intimidated by his people, fighting alongside bonafide heroes, and saving people he did not know was a new feeling. A welcome one, but new nonetheless. Thus as the celebration went on, he'd decided to take a moment to himself to enjoy the moment free of the noise. Well, most of it.

The grass behind him rustled as footsteps approached, heavy and angry. Three figures, he guessed. Sighing, he turned to take them in. Three kaldorei, young in face but far too old in their eyes. Survivors of Teldrassil, he guessed. Young, fired up, and not quite feeling sated by victory. And here he was, a troll separated from the party.

Perhaps he ought to have waited for his quiet moment.

"You don't belong here, monster. Draw your weapon and defend yourself!" the apparent leader of the elves declared, holding out a sabre. The two behind her were armed as well, a mage's staff and a bow with a nasty looking arrow.

"Easy now, I'm here by invitation. We all fought against the primalists to save this tree. We're all trying to enjoy the victory."

"You don't deserve to be here, filth! Not after what your kind did to us!" the leader shot back. The staff wielder joined in. "You horde monsters destroyed our home, killed our families, and think that you can just come in here and help and all will be forgiven?"

Ghorren's heart hurt. He fought down the urge to point out that Zandalar wasn't part of the Horde when their warchief had assaulted their former capital. He knew well the pain of loss, and how it defied logic and reason. But at the same time, he really didn't want to lay a beating on a bunch of hurting kids, or leave them to go after some other tempting target. "If you're going to kill me, I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it with such an amateur stance," he said, rolling his shoulder.

"What?" the leader asked, confused.

"Your stance, your legs are too close together, and your grip is too tight. You're going to hurt yourself. Spread your feet more, and loosen up a bit on the sword, you need to be able to move it. And you, your bowstring is loose, you're not getting enough power to kill a stag with that, much less a troll. As for you, mage, you'd be smart to have an incantation charged and ready if you're going to pick a fight, you don't want to be the slowest to act in a fight."

"Shut up troll! Pick up your sword and defend yourself!"

"No." Ghorren replied. "I've fought enough today. Elves and trolls and orcs and dragons, all who wanted to destroy this place. I'm tired, and trying to enjoy some rest. You want to do this, then do it."

The kaldorei's courage wavered. Ghorren let out a mental sigh of relief at having read them right. He looked in the eyes of the leader, that were now wet with tears of frustration, anger, and loss.

"Elune damn you, you're a savage, why won't you fight?" she cried.

"What was done to you, to your families and home, was monstrous. Those responsible have faced judgment, either here, or elsewhere at the hands of your leaders. But the pain is still with you. I know. So is mine, from the losses I have faced. The only way to lessen that pain is to grow beyond it. The war is over. You and your people have a new home. It's time to stop surviving, and let yourself live and grieve."

The leader's face was wet with tears as the grip on her blade loosened, and the tension in her body dropped with a sob. "This isn't fair, none of this is fair, our families are still gone, and we're just supposed to move on?" she cried, falling to her knees. Her friends set down their weapons, and knelt to hold her, sobbing themselves.

Ghorren looked upon them sadly. Even though they were elves, even though their peoples had long been enemies, it was taking every ounce of his self control to not reach out to them. He was a father, and they were hurt children. But none of them were ready for that. So instead he kept his voice soft, like when he sought to soothe his own daughters when they felt anguish. "Go back to your people. Go to your priestesses, and tell them of your pain. Causing more won't make it go away," he said, gathering his things and slowly walking away, putting distance between him and them. Once he'd gotten out of sight, he pulled out his hearthstone, and triggered it. He'd explain his failure to return to the party later. For now, the relative peace of Valdrakken called.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

wip: bad choices

CW: Use of time-period ableist language.

(so originally this was a response to the Cameo I got from Robert Vernon, I was inspired to write a dust-up between Estinien and Mathye in HW. And then while I was writing, the thought occurred to me that probably up until the beginning of the Field Trip or when Heustinne vanished, Estinien was still fucking right off to try and bait Nidhogg again. And probably was not paying attention to the actions of his 2IC--with it being possible to play the game that Heustinne goes missing right around the time of the Field Trip.)

------

Mathye's reaction was swift and brutal. Estinien's legs were immediately cut out from beneath him, and he slammed back-first onto the floor. As his bruised muscles howled in pain, Mathye loomed over him, staff still in hand.

"You now have two choices, my lord." He said, violet eyes now gleaming dragonfire. "You can be a good little patient and let yourself heal, which then allows you to go back on your line Dark-Knight-esqe suicidal vengence quest, or you can be a stubborn ass and bleed to death on the floor, giving our so-called 'betters' the opportunity to perform one of their favorite spectacles, a funeral for a fallen soldier! Which robs you of your chance to be the big damn sacrificial hero, and makes the Eye pick another victim to drain dry."

"How do you know of the Eye?" Estinen challenged. stopping to catch his breath. "Let me guess, you had fantasies of being Azure when you were still wet behind the ears! During that disaster that was your first and only year as a dragoon!" Mathye snorted in derision, rolling his eyes.

"I might have had aspirations, but fortunately, I was given an opportunity to do something more meaningful." He countered. "And do you know, you learn a lot when you become a cripple! Even more when you become a healer!" Estinien's eyes narrowed.

"You? With that void between your ears?" He said nastily. "Learn something?" Mathye smiled, a flash of white fang showing. Reaching for a chair, he pulled it alongside the prone elezen. Uncaring of his skirts spilling about, the white mage straddled the seat.

"Let's have a discussion about the facts of life." His leg was screaming, but Mathye steadfastly ignored it. Pain was a small price to pay for clearing the air between him and Estinien.

"Your suicidal determination aside, you're actually not a shitty commander! You're actually careful with your-" Mathye air-quoted with his fingers- "commodities. But unfortunately, you are beginning to develop a case of your head up your own ass. As evidenced by us having to send a hatchling to track you." Mathye's eyes narrowed. "And while it's tempting to let you carry on and ultimately explode in your desperately sought-after little death with Nidhogg, the reality is that unlike yourself, many of us can't just pick up and waltz out of the city whenever the whimsy strikes. Nor can we shirk and tell our 'betters' to fuck off, and not deal with whatever hare-brained scheme they have for playing solider. And leaving us in the hands of a second-in-command who effectively sodded right off with a full squad of badly needed troops on her own revenge fantasy, getting damn near all of them killed, is not the mark of a good fucking commander."

[chloearit]

// mention of self-harm

She ran off again.

I found her by the side of a river nursing a cut on her leg. It was bleeding, staining the water red. I set my bag down next to her and tended to the wound.

"Let's stop that bleeding quick, don't wanna have you faint again."

She watched me bandage her leg.

"I'm not weak."

"No, you're not." I smiled at her.

She looked at me.

"You're stronger than most twelve-year-olds I know."

She still didn't respond.

"Listen... I'm sorry. He shouldn't have said that."

"Why are you sorry, you didn't say it."

"Aya? You're not a burden. You're so young and you're already one of the most talented mages I've ever seen!"

"Yeah, who can't cast one spell without passing out."

"It's not just any spell, it's some pretty powerful stuff."

"I guess."

"You're a really smart and talented kid. You remind me of myself, honestly, when I was your age."

"I've seen the hits you can take - the hits you can hand out."

"And have you seen the spells I can cast?"

"Yes" The hint of a smile crept on her face. "At least you're better at healing than me." She looked at her leg.

"We've all got our strengths and weaknesses."

For a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"Do... do you think I'm going to die?"

"What? Why would you say that?"

"I'm sick. You know that. Do you think it'll kill me?"

"The-" I shook my head "No, it's... not a disease. It's a disability. You were born with it, you'll live with it."

"So you don't think the fainting after casting a spell is dangerous?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. I think you'll be fine."

"But you're not sure?"

"I... don't know how I could be. I'm not a doctor. But it's gotten better, hasn't it? I think your body just needs to get used to it."

Suddenly, she grabs my glove and pulls it up from my arm.

"Hey!" I stop her and pull it back down.

"Why do you have scars?"

"Huh?"

"On your arm. There's so many cuts. You always hide them, except when you're washing your hands."

After a long pause, I roll down the glove on my left arm and show it to her.

"Is this why you're so good at healing magic? You're always using it on yourself..."

"Yes."

"Why? Where do these cuts come from?"

"I... do it to myself."

"Why?"

"Because... I don't know. I just need it sometimes."

"To hurt yourself? Because you think you deserve it?"

Huh.

"Yes."

"I do it too, sometimes. Though not like this."

"You really shouldn't. I can take it, but you..."

"I'm not weak," she repeated, and I could have sworn just for a moment she had a self-satisfied smile.

"You're not. But you're not invincible." I ruffled her hair. "You're an elf, you may outlive me tenfold. Don't die before it's your time."

"I won't."

I hugged her from behind. Despite her age she was only slightly smaller than me. "The world will need you."

She grabbed my head with one of her hands and looked me in the eyes. "I think it needs you even more right now. Don't you die, either." Tears welled up in her eyes as she said that.

"I won't. I promise you, baby, I won't."

// by Lúcia

[shivunin]

Ooooh you're doing it again? NOICE! **

"Send me an npc (or your own oc! For funsies) and I'll tell you what my oc thinks of them."

So let's see...

Wade and Herren for Arianwen.

The Arishok and Keeper Merethari for Maria

Sir Woolsey for any/whatever of your Lavellans you feel would have the strongest opinion about the real Arl of Redcliffe.

And take Aisling and tell me all any of your characters will think of her, go. (again, pick any of these you want, no obligations! ✨)

Thank you, Arja! 💗

(NPC Opinions thing)

Oh man, Wen and those two. I won't say she likes them, but she's sort of accustomed to them? She's definitely grateful when they turn up at Vigil's Keep, but they talk so much. It's sort of in one ear and out the other for her. Most importantly, they made the really nice armor that she gave Zev and it kept him alive. They'd be on good terms just for that. She's definitely not about to start baking them cookies anytime soon, but then I can only think of one or two people she would bake cookies for.

Maria starts out with a lot of respect for Keeper Marethari, but that respect vanishes during Act 2. She gives the arulin'holm to Merrill, of course, and it really, really bothers her that Marethari not only left that choice up to her (a human) but also that she has apparently poisoned the whole clan against Merrill. The idea of having a home to go back to is so, so important to Hawke. Knowing that Marethari has essentially stolen Merrill's from her forever (how could she ever go back to the clan if they all think she's a maleficar?) is deeply upsetting. She is cordial, perhaps even cold with the Keeper after that. She comforts Merrill when the Keeper dies, but she isn't really sorry about it.

As for the Arishok, Hawke also starts out with a deep respect for him that isn't at all affected by his decisions leading up to the end of Act 2. She doesn't even really mind him killing the nobility, tbh, though she wouldn't say it in so many words. Frankly, the conditions in Kirkwall are as bad as they are because it benefits the ruling class and she despises it. As far as she's concerned, let them all burn. The only caveat to all this is that she takes exception to the rampant damage to the city and, obviously, the Arishok taking and/or killing Isabela. Even after all that, she regrets having to kill him and continues to have very mixed feelings about it long after he's dead.

Emma is the most comfortable with spirits in general and she kind of adored Sir Woolsley. She tells Adhlea stories about him all the time and even started a research project to locate and document other spirit-possessed animals, should they exist. She anonymized his location in all her documents, of course, lest someone track him down in Redcliffe and turn him from spirit to demon.

Regarding Aisling:

Arianwen would have the most complicated feelings about Aisling, I think, if she were present to watch the events of Inquisition go down. On one hand, she really doesn't like humans much and she'd be glad to see an elf in charge of such a powerful organization. On the other hand, she would not like the idea of the Chantry using an elf to spread their dominion even further. She would also have very conflicting feelings about the role of the Wardens and their level of cooperation with the Inquisition (though! I don't remember which way Aisling rolled with that, tbh). Wen's walls are pretty high, so I don't see them becoming friends exclusively because I don't see her being willing to open up like that for anyone new. Also, she would be extremely suspicious of someone referred to as the "Herald of Andraste"

Maria would get along with Aisling really well, I think! She'd be a bit taken aback by Cullen dating a mage after everything, I think, so she'd approach with caution. But they have a lot in common and Maria really likes thinking things through logically and weighing the pros and cons, so I think they'd do some good sciencey magic together c: (Also, anyone who's a friend to her friends gets a little extra leeway where she's concerned and Varric's opinion carries a lot of weight for her. Aisling would be worth befriending based on that alone, but I think she would come to like Aisling for herself pretty quickly).

Elowen would grow around Aisling like a vine on the walls of Skyhold. Aisling is exactly the kind of friend she needed so desperately in those early days and I think their strengths would bolster each other's weaknesses. So in short, I think she'd adore Aisling c:

Salshira is really uncomfortable with any personal questions. So as long as they could talk about Aisling/neutral topics, she'd be happy to spend time together. The second Aisling expressed direct worry about her/how she was doing, Salshira would run (but, you know, that's how she is; she's scared of deep connections, at least at first).

I was thinking about Aisling and Emma earlier haha! Because of that trap post. I feel like there is some universe where Aisling is the Inquisitor and Emma is some kind of researcher/magic specialist. I think these roles would suit them and Emma would appreciate Aisling's input (as long as she stops touching things, Creators, she just finished putting all those mosaics back where they were!). They would definitely start talking through theories about some magical apparatus or another, forget that time exists, and scare everyone into thinking something awful happened to them. And then keep doing it, because it's so nice to have a friend to talk about your favorite things with!

[sky-fire-forever]

happy Friday and welcome to DADWC! for Hawke/Anders, how about "it appears that you have mistaken my dislike of causing harm as an inability to do so." for a prompt?

Thank you so much for the prompt!

My Hawke in this is Mal, who uses he/him pronouns.

In the clinic, Anders is at peace. He has something to focus on, something that consumes every aspect of his attention so he can get lost in it. It's so easy for the hours to fly by while he heals the sick and the needy. 

And it feels good to help, to heal. It feels right to bury himself in his work and to get out of his head for once. When he's working, his spiraling thoughts can't catch up to him; he can't worry about all those he isn't able to save or what a monster he's become.

Hawke, however, dislikes when Anders gets lost in his work. 

“You've been in here all day,” Hawke says while Anders is cleaning up after his last patient. “When was the last time you ate?”

“That doesn't matter.” Anders waves him off easily. “I'm fine.”

Hawke grabs his arm. “No, you're not,” he says firmly, his dark eyes staring into Anders’. “At this rate, you're going to drop dead.”

Anders rolls his eyes and pulls his arm away. “I'm helping people, Mal.” 

“Help yourself for once!” Hawke snaps. “You're wasting your life healing other people and it's fucking killing you.”

Anders’ eyes narrow and he can feel Justice bubbling just under the surface. “It isn't a waste.”

How could Hawke call this a waste? After all Anders has risked to help the people of Kirkwall. The refugees and the poor and the people who have nowhere else to turn for help. What Anders does is good and Hawke dismissing it so easily makes his blood boil. 

“It is when you starve yourself and work yourself to the bone.” Hawke crosses his arms. “Come home.” His voice softens. 

Anders sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I can't. I have more patients.”

“Let them find someone else to help them tonight.”

“There is no one else!” Anders can't take this anymore. “I'm the only one who can help these people and it's my job to do so.”

Hawke stares at him. “No, it's not.”

Anders grits his teeth. “I'll meet you at home tonight, Mal. I promise.”

He can't handle arguing with him anymore. It doesn't help and it just succeeds in upsetting them both, so Anders turns his back on Hawke to continue cleaning up. 

Before Hawke has the chance to leave, there's a pounding on the door. 

“Just a moment!” Anders calls before looking at Hawke. “I'm very busy, so please.” 

Hawke looks like he might argue, but then he sighs and shakes his head. “Fine. But we're talking about this later.”

Anders doesn't see the point in that, but if it allows him to be left alone to work, so be it. “Fine.”

He ushers him towards the door and holds it open for him. Only to be met by templars in full armor on the other side.

“Are you the Darktown healer?” One of the templars asks.

Anders’ staff is on the other side of the clinic — too far for him to reach. 

Hawke’s eyes narrow and he stands close to Anders, positioning himself in front of the mage. “Who's asking?” 

“I am,” the templar says, all authority. 

Anders looks behind the lead templar, trying to figure out what he's up against. The last thing he needs is to be outmatched in his own clinic. 

There are about five templars standing outside the door, pushing all of Anders’ patients behind them. Anders’ fingers itch and his hair stands on end just looking at them. They don't belong here, not in his place of healing and safety. 

Anders clears his throat. “I'm the healer,” he says, looking around at the templars. “If you need healing, I'm afraid you'll have to wait unless it's urgent. I have patients who have been waiting.” He gestures to the people still gathered by the door. “You can speak with Lirene at her shop in Lowtown to schedule an appointment.”

“We're not here for an appointment,” the templar says with a sneer. “There have been reports of an apostate pretending to be a healer in this clinic. I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us.”

“We are not pretending,” Justice roars to life within Anders’ mind. 

The templar places his hand on Anders’ arm, but Anders pulls away. “I'm afraid I don't have the time to go anywhere with you when I have so many patients to tend to.” He steps back, farther into the clinic. 

“It wasn't optional.” The templars move around Anders, but Hawke places himself between them.

“He says he's busy,” he snarls

The templars push their way past Hawke, backing Anders into the clinic and away from the bystanders. Good. 

Anders puts his hands up. “This is a place of healing,” he says, watching Hawke out of the corner of his eye. “I would not have you ruin it.”

“They wish to ruin our sanctuary,” Justice speaks from inside Anders’ mind. “We must not allow them to poison this place with their destruction.”

“Grab the mage,” the lead templar points to Anders. “He's just a healer. He can't hurt us.”

Hawke scoffs from behind the templars. “Is that what you think?”

Anders feels Justice beneath his skin, sparking just under the surface. “It appears that you've mistaken my dislike of causing harm as an inability to do so,” he says before closing his eyes and allowing Justice to take over. 

He retreats inside of his own mind to allow Justice to do what must be done. When the haze clears, the templars are dead and Anders is exhausted. He sways on his feet as Justice leaves control and barely catches himself on a table before he falls.

“Anders!” Hawke appears by his side, reaching out two strong arms to steady him. “Are you alright?”

Anders nods even as the clinic comes in and out of focus. “I'm fine.” He can feel the blood on his skin and can see how it paints the floor. It's horribly unhygienic for a clinic. “I need to–”

“You need to come home,” Hawke says with a growl in his voice. “That fight exhausted you.”

“But the patients–”

“Can wait.” Hawke tosses Anders’ arm over his shoulders. “I'm sure Lirene or someone can handle cleaning up. I'm taking you home.”

Anders is too tired to argue, so he just nods and rests his weight on Hawke. His eyes slip shut and he allows Hawke to take him home so he can finally rest. 

[ghstdoll]

she shouldn't have laughed as hard as she did, giggling at his joke with a wide smile on her face. if only he could see how much he amused her, he was so lovely. "he could use a leg day, but actually it's because he came home wasted..." he hit her again that day, giving her a bruised cheek that night. but she doesn't wanna ruin the moment but talking about her trauma, she doesn't need to tell him everything right this moment and theo is dead tomorrow anyway.

she rolls her eyes with a soft smirk. "well if you killed her first there would be no need to kill the guys she tries to get me to marry?" she teases. but she feels happy that he wants to protect her, keep other guys away because he loves her so much. but salem would never be with someone else by choice, she didn't even like most people because they didn't understand her. most thought she was this beautiful manic pixie type person, someone who liked sex and flirting, who didn't care about anything or she was stu's daughter, a future killer and a monster just like her father, once she drew her first blood then they would all know what she really is but she wasn't just that and it felt like regulus was the only person who could ever really see her for what she is. she was passionate and she loved so hard, she loved the sunshine in form of a man named regulus black.

she smiles at his words, eyes flickering towards her ring for a moment. it was the most beauitful piece of jewelry she ever had and it wasn't just because it was gorgeous, a green emerald that reminds her of his eyes but because it was given to her by him, something they never really had to do but they made their engagement their own.

she tears up at his words, dropping her gaze for a moment with conflicting feelings of being turned on and emotional because of her love for the boy. "nobody is ever going to know me the way you do, you know that?" she saus warmly. "my mind...my body, my desires and thoughts....no one else gets me the way you get me." she smiles softly. "you mean everything to me." he tells her how he touches his ring when he misses her most and it makes her soft, lips curling into a smile because shes glad that just the thought of her could bring him so much happiness and safety.

"I'll be sure to let him know how much his daddy loves him." regulus had the softest heart she's ever seen that truly shows in the way he takes care of their family, even a sweet black cat couldn't resist his charm. she smirks a bit when regulus threatens her soon to be ex fiancé for touching mage and she purrs. "I'll be sure to pass along the message before you bleed him out." she says in almost a seductive purr.

his following words catch her off guard a bit even though they shouldn't because really what is the option? she can't live without him and her mother would never allow him to come back with the fear that once regulus does marry salem he'll be able to expose her for everything, he'd be higher ranking than stacy and she would no longer be able to get away with her abuse. her mother dearest regulus and what their relationship could do and so...she would never allow her daughter to have what she wants. but salem doesn't know a life outside of the family, they raised her and moving on from that seemed like it was impossible. what would she do? who would she be? it all scares her so badly but not as much as it scares her to know she could end up losing regulus again and that's something she can't do. she shakes her head a little even if he can't see it. "no, reg...I wanna go with you." she says. "I wanna be with you because you're the only real happiness I've ever even known." she says shaking her head. "I can't lose you again regulus...I can't do it."

she wants to drown out reality, replaying the video he made just for her as she moans a bit at the thought of his cock, he talks while she watches again and again, smirking at the sight. "yeah..." she breathes because how could she forget. the way he stretches her out that way making her lose her mind. she can't help but whimper, biting down on her lower lip. "I could cum now just thinking about the way you stretch me apart, fucking my tight little holes...it's so unfair the way you make me feel." she hums, fingers sliding against her clit. "yes sir..." she purrs with a smirk. "I'm so wet and pretty I wish you were here to taste it." she says, pulling her panties to the side, feeling the cool air touching her needy clit as she slips her fingers against herself again. "maybe just a little..." she chuckles at his question about her mouth watering, knowing her all too well.

he laughs and then wonders if he’s a little insane for thinking it’s funny that his girl tried to poison her ‘fiance’. “why didn’t it work? did he turn down what you made because of leg day?” his tone is mocking, annoyed even just thinking about how much of a jock theo was, as if it would make up for how much of a tiny-dicked loser he was.

he smiles when she seems genuinely happy that he would kill for her. “i meant the people your mom tries to set you up with. but i would kill her too, if she ever hurt you again… if she tried to keep us apart anymore.” he’s tired of people thinking they can keep him from salem, especially after raising him to be a killer. he has so many different knives for the job, thanks to how he was raised (and his beautiful girl, with her interest in collecting them).

she explains she still wears his ring and he smiles, running his thumb over his own. the band is dark silver with a small rose engraved upon it, something he’d had custom made to represent his girl, since her middle name is rose. “i wear yours, too,” he says softly, hoping she can hear the love in his voice for her. he’s spent so many hours tracing his own ring for comfort, hanging onto the memory of her and how much he loves her because he doesn’t feel whole without her.

“he is an idiot, though. he doesn’t realize how much he’ll never have you.. he doesn’t even know how much he’s missing out, because of that.” he sounds almost sad, because he really does love her so much. “he’s worried about you not putting out and meanwhile he doesn’t realize that it’s just as bad he won’t ever get you emotionally either.” he can’t imagine not wanting to talk to her or hold her if the opportunity was in front of him. it would be torture to be married to her and not have her love, just like it’s torture to not have her with him in person anymore. “every time i’m sad or anxious– which is most of the time, since i had to leave– i touch this ring and think about you until i can breathe again.” salem is his center and his everything, and he doesn’t know how he could live without her at this point.

she mentions how much mage misses him and his heart aches, grieving a little because he wants nothing more than to see his bundle of fluff again. “i miss him, too,” he says, frowning. “will you kiss his nose for me? to hold him over until i get there tomorrow night.” he misses cuddling his sweet boy, but more than that he misses their family cuddles too, when they would all pile up together and sleep. between his girl and his cat, it’s the most loved and safe he’s ever felt. he would give anything for a night like that again, and it looks like he might just do that tomorrow. “and tell theo that if he touches my cat again, i’ll cut his balls off and use them to play hopscotch or something. that’s the most action he’ll be seeing for the rest of his life.” maybe it’s sick of him to be planning his death so carelessly, but he doesn’t have any remorse for someone who could hurt salem or mage.

he frowns again at how broken she sounds, not wanting to be stuck there without him. “you won’t be… i don’t want to leave you again. sal, i know you don’t want to do it, but i think we have to run away from them. and i understand if you don’t want to go with me, and it’s your choice… but i don’t want us to be apart anymore, and i don’t think it’s safe for you to stay. i mean, who is she going to try to put you with next? and even if she doesn’t, whose to say she won’t hurt you again herself?” just the thought of leaving her with her mother makes him sick to his stomach. he plays with his ring absently, trying to calm his nerves. 

he listens to her words, that warmth stirring in his chest because it feels good that she loves him back. “i miss you,” he says softly, but falls quiet as he realizes she’s about to watch the video he sent.

it’s kind of hot knowing she’s watching him right now, so he goes back to stroking his dick, a soft purr leaving him as she starts telling him how big he is. “i’ll make you remember, tomorrow night,” he teases. “i’ll make you scream so loud that the neighbors think there were two murders instead of just one.” he swipes his finger against his slit, realizing he’s already leaking again. “do you remember how tight you were, with me inside of you?” he thinks about it all the time; how perfect and small her cunt was, always clenching around him like he was too big for her, but they made it fit anyway.

he hears her moan and it makes him bite his lip, touching himself a little faster. “are you rubbing your clit for me, angel?” he murmurs, trying to listen to any sounds she might be making while getting off. “is your mouth watering again?” he asks, referencing the long text she’d written him earlier. “thinking about how good my cock tastes, because you’re my little whore..” it gets him off knowing she’s that desperate for him too, wanting his body like he wants hers.

[rotshop]

So, I’m sure you know where I’m going. Reader, captured and MAGed. Encounters Wank and must either fight her or doesn’t recognize her. Maybe gotta be tranquiled or severely damaged to be reasoned with. Listening or watching an argument between Wank and co about bringing and keeping reader back to the base.

Did Wank know reader before hand? Did they not? What do you think?

smmiles but in a way that shows off my molars cutely slash threat (/j)

[ tw some violence maybe? ,,,,, ]

-FOR this im saying u two knew each other before you got mag'd .

-9/10, newer mags are the most dangerous. they're the most pissed off considering the fresh pains and new trauma, meaning they're harder to control and tend to take out any sort of pent up emotions out on the nearest grunt around. like. recklessly. older mags tend 2 be a little more careful in their motions w/ experience from past revivals, newer mags will charge at you like a wild animal and tear you to shreds like one

- n e way. Wank was not at all expecting the facility she shows up at to already be in distress. seeing scattered bodies around wouldn't be as shocking if it weren't for the sheer amount of them joined by the damage to the building. long claw marks against the walls, hard indents with the cracking drywall stretching off of them, wires hanging out from the ceiling and strung across the floor, the works.

- safe 2 say !! it puts her on guard as she progresses further, confused by just how quiet it is. the only other sound being the building creaking and the occasional drip of probably one of those big fancy vats that's probably broken open because they always are. yet, she's still caught off it when there's suddenly a huge weight on her and she's rolling on the floor.

-she has to speedrun gaining her bearings as she looks at her assailant- who looks an *awful* lot like someone she remembers pretty vividly. you'd seemed pretty weak, some sort of scavenger who'd been going about your own way when you'd come upon her in one of the buildings in the area. she'd been pretty fucked up after a run in w/ tricky and not in any condition to try and snap your neck, she just hoped the probably hard to see piercing stare would be enough to go 'fuck off.' but , you didnt. instead, you'd rifled through your bag for a moment before pulling a roll of bandages out, hesitating a moment before walking closer. she'd initially been ready to try and muster all her strength to deck you, yet she forgot all about it when you were actually working on her gashes and cuts. she showed her appreciation by grabbing you by the hair and holding you still while she gave you another hard stare, waiting for you to make some sort of move (you didn't, you just sat there and stared back in confusion and some fear). your thanks was a (mostly) gentle headbutt.

-she goes :/ > :[ but like back and forth a few times. it would be a LOT easier to just fight back and probably end up killing you in the process about it but .. she didn't rlly want to. she made an excuse that she would if she HAD to .. anyway hope you like chasing someone much smaller and faster than you through a facility. eventually you end up getting caught on a bunch of wires you thought you just just run through (which !! you could, if they hadn't gotten around your neck and choked you in the process, making you stagger and fall. aka get even more tangled up.) . its. a little comical just seeing her sitting a few feet across from you and waiting till you tire yourself out. WHICH APPARENTLY ... takes a while, given how you keep seething and thrashing whenever she tries to take any real move towards you. eventuall y you do like calm down a little because all the thrashing only made you sore lmao. she just kinda . comes a little closer and stares at you again.

-its . hard ( she doesn't talk. neither do you. you don't know sign language. she can't understand what any of your grunts or huffs mean.) but you're able to like loosely understand each other and umm long story short you're hanging out i guess. you come along with her on missions n wreck shop (therapeutic reasons 4 u) and she also helps. if you go to far she does the like. so. so you remember when hank goes 'KNOCK IT OFF' at tricky. she like does that at you. but like more lh. you just huff and like. begrudgingly stop. she pats ur arm n then continues on like nothing.

-gets rlly attached to her own surprise?? she really doesn't notice it at first but. yeah. she's a lot more ok with touch than others but its like. different with you. you both are just kinda wanderers most of the time (its not super easy to constantly be going back to base) and she's always curling up against you at night. yes its partly for warmth but ????????? she????? stil does it??? when its hot out?????? she just throws her coat off to the side????? n then lays back down????/ so you know damn well its not just that.

-n e way.

-she pets you to hear you purr and you hate how effective it is. she scratches under ur chin and you narrow your eyes at her (and also like fall asleep sometimes. she thinks its cute but also you sometimes pass out with ur head on her thighs so she loses blood flow to her legs and is stuck there till you wake up) and she grins back. she purrs as well but it's harder for u to mess with her involving it. you can TRY and pet her but. its more you just kinda . squishing her down a little. she made a squeaking type noise once cause she wasn't expecting it and you went into hysterics over it. she did Not Find It Funny. (she didn't care that much though she likes seeing you have fun :] )

[definesanity]

The Beginning of a Strategy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the time of the Eclipse Dynasty, the name 'Xenophillius Tungsten' was well-known throughout the whole of Khaenri'ah.

A master alchemist, who is known for his research into the seven elements of Teyvat, the creation of H.A.N.K., and his ability to wield the power of Geo without a Vision. In addition, his sword, 'The Earth-Shaker', is known for being able to absorb the elements around him thanks to the combined efforts of him, Royal Alchemist Rhinedottir, and His Majesty, King Ophanim.

What is most notable, however, is his lack of worship to The Divine Creator; he may attend worship every Saturday or so, but beyond that? He doesn't exactly care for them.

And, it seems, for a good reason as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The earth was shaking more, Phillip noted.

As someone who's lived multiple lives, he would think that he'd seen it all by now: he's been a mage, a god, the father of a god, bard, a freedom-fighter, a Giant, a wizard, a god again, and now an alchemist.

And yet, as he watched the white-haired women cursing to herself, he found himself humbly amused by it once again.

"Having fun, Dotty?"

Rhinedottir jumped and whipped around, hissing through her teeth, "By the Creator, Xeno! Learn to make a noise before talking!"

Xenophillius looked at her, raising a brow at her.

"Oh for-- fine, then; Philip." she corrected herself in annoyance. "What do you need, anyways? I take it that you'd never go outside the Palace just to see me."

Philip rolled his eyes. "Ophanim wanted to see you and that 'Rifthound' project You're working on."

"The King?!" she yelled at him, blueish-grey eyes now glaring at him. "Why didn't you say that first?!"

"Dotty."

"Don't you 'Dotty' me you--" she muttered angrily underneath her breath. Then, oddly, she looked up. "What was that?"

"That," Philip replied, "Might be a group of certain someones who are here to kill us all."

"How are you calm?!"

"I'm not!" he flung his arms out, walking backwards towards the door. "Anyways-- when, you're ready, meet me outside; we've got to meet with King Ophanim in an hour's time."

Rhinedottir glared at him, before groaning into her hands, unaware of the approaching footsteps going towards her.

"Master? Is something--?"

"Albedo, don't."

(Just something I wrote when I was bored. Any thoughts?)

[anotherclassicpretence]

The head of every guild/faction seems to start losing braincells when they meet the Dragonborn. Their history implies they are these highly intelligent, capable, (in some cases) devoted people but.

Yes I know it's bad writing but it's still irritating

Astrid: rose to become the leader and kept the Falkreath branch alive when every other one was destroyed, kept the DB running without a Listener for years, but when there's a slight challenge to her authority, she goes off and takes the incredibly stupid decision of selling out the Sanctuary's location??? We're supposed to believe she trusted Maro??? After all that talk about family, you'd think she would not just... endanger everything? Desperation is one thing, this is just crazy. She should've just offed you herself if she was so insecure. No way the woman who managed to handle this Family doesn't know how to deal with the odd bit of insanity. Someone who acts like this would have lost control of that branch in seconds. (This is not even getting into the stupidity of locking yourself in a room with a possibly manic murderer and three people who would help them kill you if they freed them. She kept the DB alive by taking chances like this lightly?)

Mercer: so this guy managed to kill the former guildmaster, blame Karliah, steal the Key, and stay guildmaster for 25 years. Then when he learns that the guild is tanking (more than usual) because Karliah's taking it apart from behind the scenes to goad him to come to Snow Veil Sanctum where she is 100% prepared to kill him, he takes the new recruit he doesn't trust and fucking goes there? Like okay, the dragonborn is kinda his shield and he's tying up loose ends but why not like. Cut and run? He has all the plans and he's emptied the vault. What in his character, solely consisting of blind devotion to money, suggests he would stay there and fight? Arrogance? Maybe, but to this level? He goes AWOL after that anyway, why give Karliah an opportunity at all? (The real question that always bugged me was why he stayed at all. How long could the high of being in charge have lasted when the guild was going downhill? He could've struck out and used the Key to keep rolling in cash without the pressure of having to show basic human decency to the guild members).

Delphine: Considering everything she's been through, treating the Dragonborn the way she does is just plain inefficient. She's supposed to have evaded the Thalmor all this time, you're telling me she doesn't understand the concept of compromise? She'd be dead already, if so. And she's not exactly a fanatic, either, she's nursing her grudges when she makes membership to the Blades conditional. Which would make sense if it involved something else, but... turning away the dude you're supposed to follow is not what someone like her would do if she wanted the Blades revitalised. The fact that she does turn them away tells us she values turning the Blades into her version of them more than... you know, actually giving them a chance to stick around. And personally, she doesn't give me the power-hungry vibe. Blunt and stubborn? Yes. But fanatical and power obsessed? Not really.

Savos Aren: yeah no this guy was already negligent enough not to realise that the college was in crisis. He just lost more braincells when the dragonborn showed up by not realising what Ancano was planning to do. Honestly after his trauma in Labyrinthian and his reaction to it why is he the Arch-mage at all? Not good for him either.

Idk about Harkon cause I didn't join the Volkihar, but Isran is the one exception to this? He's great at pissing people off but he does keep his head and agrees to work with Serana. He even thanks her in the end.

~

[chcngenation]

Her own childhood had been spent hiding from Templars. A family of three mages, and she knows Carver had grown sullen, unable to shine in all the things he was good at. No attention brought home. Yet Demelza always had, with her charm and her flirts. The way he says Mater rolls off his tongue and down her back. It makes her think of Fenris, when he speaks Tevene. And Demelza realises then. Anders, or at least his mother, was from Tevinter. His step father from the Anderfells had sold him out. Half of her wants to be angry for him - the other half understands what people do out of fear.

"It's just another place." Demelza whispers. "Just as far away from here as the Anderfels." But she understands. She might not think it anything to blink an eye at, but a templar? They would see TEVINTER MAGE in flashing signs above him, even if Demelza knows no two mages are the same. Her, Anders, and Merrill all have such different practises when it comes to their magic, afterall.

"Corin, who struck down Zazikel in Starkhaven. He was from Tevinter wasn't he? Or was it Garahel, who killed Andoral in Ayesleigh?" She's just as quiet as he had been when he whispered his last words, eyes soft as she leans in enough to lean her chin on their joined hands. She'd read about them all at Ostagar.

"You introduced yourself to me as Anders. I know you as Anders. But I'll call you by the name your Mater gave you if you want me to." She shifts her head, pressing a kiss to his hand. "You are not going to your end. I forbid it." Tests have sprung to her eyes, but she refuses to wipe them. "Promise me you're not going off on some suicide march anywhere. That you're not telling me this because you're going to die somewhere." She shakes her head.

"You can't. I'm allergic to peanuts, and my mother gave me the name Demelza because its from Kirkwall and she's from Kirkwall. I discovered I was a mage when the twins were babies. Carver had a fever, and he was so hot I turned him into an ice cube. I fought at Ostagar. Told everyone I was a rogue. I've never been so scared in my life. And while you were escaping the circle, my Da was teaching me safely how to do magic. With gentle hands, and you can't leave me. I'll stop you. I'll stop you if you're going off to pull a Corin. Or Garahel. You're not going to die. You don't need to worry about what name is on your tombstone yet." Soft words, soft actions, and Demelza means it.

It seems so natural for her other hand to cup his cheek. “Am I no one then?” Demelza Hawke asks so softly. “You’re Anders. You’re my friend, the greatest healer I’ve ever met. You love cats, and you used to have a cat called Ser Pounce A Lot, a kitten gifted to you by the Hero of Fereldan. The Wardens made you give that cat away because they said it made you too soft. You lived in the circle for years, and you escaped no less than five times because you are so fucking clever. Compassionate, so compassionate that you started a clinic in the poorest, dirtiest part of Kirkwall, where no one can afford to see a healer. I will never forget you. The darkspawn can try and drag you away, I won’t let them. The templars can try and drag you away, I won’t let them.”

Her voice is so earnest, too earnest to keep it from cracking, and her thumb brushes his cheek, catching so many times against his facial hair. “Stay here with me. I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re remembered. The way you should be. The Ander, the fallen Warden, the apostate, they’re parts of you, but they’re not just you. I see you.” Her hand on his cheek shifts, and she uses her index finger to boop his nose. Her breath fans his cheeks just as much as his fans their hands. Her eyes won’t pull away.

[bells-of-black-sunday]

The beasts claws dug into Vittorio's skin hot breath poured from it's nostrils chuckling as he tried to lessen the punctures in his skin.

"You forget whose blood runs through your veins little lordling." Tarhos titled his head, eyes like inset rubies reflecting back Vittorio's pained expression, "I could snuff you out of existence if I so desired." The claws released and the young lord stumbled back falling back onto his ass and staring up more irritated than ever, "You should consider yourself lucky a God considers themselves indebted to you and yet you choose to throw away the gifts I have bestowed upon you preaching nonsense as if your hands are not stained with blood such as mine."

The tidal of irritation in their shared mind crashed against Tarhos's amusement cascading into a toxic sludge of no name pooling through their ribcage. It was more than obvious day by day Vittorio was growing frustrated with the darkin, his march through the countryside leaving bones in his wake and settling in villages to talk with the locals as if he had done nothing at all. The violence and bloodshed having no purpose other than to feed a hunger that never ceased. Merchants plucked and squeezed for every drop of red ichor in their veins, carded through his beak like someone seperating fibers for spinning and discarded of once he's gotten all he can. The mage couldn't stand by and watch it happen without doing something and yet he felt powerless faced with the great beast who only exists in this world, because he allowed it.

He grew complacent and let him trick him. Vittorio clinched his fists grabbing the grass doing his best to contain his composure, "I suppose I should feel glad you used my body to slaughter an innocent creature when we could've moved on? All you know is violence, violence and a dream that doesn't exist anymore. I will never be greatful for someone as selfish and cowardly as a devil that preaches godliness." His body was shaking, wiping the blood from his face. The mage considered himself lucky the darkin didn't do more, but he knew Tarhos would never. For a giant lizard with an ego larger than the grand executioner, he was exceedingly lonely. That was the only reason he hadn't been killed yet. Maybe even the reason he desired to be worshipped. Tarhos's eyes narrowed down at him pulling Vittorio back to attention, he couldn't even get privacy in his own thoughts during times like these.

"You weren't going to give me a proper vessel, so I had to take matters into my own hands." The dragon forced air from his throat into a low hiss sinking down onto his side and cleaning his talons with disinterest, "I kept asking, pleading even, telling you how torturous it is being trapped in that blade and yet you choose to ignore me and seek out the story teller. It was a wounded animal, it was going to die anyway and yet you act like I made you slaughter a village. I still could." Tarhos chuckled glancing over to him, "You're a child stumbling through the world, Vittorio. You would've been easy pickings in the immortal bastion if you never picked up a blade, we both know that. Someone would've killed you and easily took what you had.... now you're free. You don't have to follow me and yet you choose—"

"I don't have a choice." Vittorio sharply cut the darkin off much to his displeasure. The mage took a sharp breath steeling himself, "You are my responsibility, every ounce of blood you spill is my fault. I pulled you from your vault where you should've rot away, so no. I don't have a choice. I have to follow you and make sure you don't do something worse or attract the attention of someone worse." He watched the dragon roll it's eyes laying down fully and burying it's beak in its arms as it stretched itself out like a cat. Blooms of pleasure danced in-between the amusement making Vittorio rub his face. This was going no where, but it never did.

Tarhos's voice rumbled out like a purr, "Let them come, I will not bend so easily..." He hummed curling his tail around his lower half's feet getting ready for a nice nap in the sunlight, "I have sent a few followers to the cave already, if anything you should be glad I'll have more permanent residence soon. Humans are so funny.... You spend all your lives worrying and stressing, but you never live it. I for one am enjoying my retirement."

Vittorio bit his tongue choosing to move and lean against the others side in his shadow choosing to say nothing. More permanent residence just meant he was getting his ego stroked by a few misguided people who thought the overgrown lizard was a god of blood, a pillar of the empire not held back by the trifecta that could protect them if those were to fail. Tarhos to them was not a being held back by mortal law and was abandoned in favor of the rigidity of modern life. It was insane to the mage, but at the very least it meant he could go farther knowing Tarhos would at least be centralized and not immediately head for the bastion or worse. For now, he could rest. Follow up on leads into how to permanently get rid of the dragon tommorrow.

[writer-and-artist27]

[Image Description: Four screenshots from Fate/Grand Order showing in order, (1) the Bond Level Up screen for Berserker Miyamoto Musashi, where her Bond Level has gone up from 9 to 10; (2) the “Craft Essence Extracted” screen that shows Musashi’s Max Bond Craft Essence of "The Summer I Will Never Forget"; (3) a screenshot of Musashi’s Servant card, with emphasis on all 10 of her bond diamonds in the level screen being filled and about to be enhanced to Bond 11; and (4) a “Bond Level Limit Released” screen that shows Musashi's Bond Level limit being broken to reach Level 11. End Description.]

We're nearing summer again with this post (5/16/2022), and with that comes another Bond 10 - this time for the one Summer Servant I've been relying on since she came home to my Chaldea in the Summer 4 event last year.

Thank you for fighting for so long, Shii-chan. In farming embers, killing bosses, and just being you. I hope the time we've had has been worth it, because it's definitely been that way for me. Not just "data lost" in the Spirit Origin List.

Out of the original Big Seven, that's five down, two left to go for Bond 10s. Four, if we're counting the extra duo too.

And with all Bond 10 celebrations, I have to follow up with a story, right? Song included.

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

Ever since leaving home, Musashi never took anything for granted. Lodging, food, water, even kindness. That's what happened after missing out on the Pruning Theoretical Phenomenon. Which is why she was not expecting to be summoned after that summer in Las Vegas, allowed to stay in Novum Chaldea like any other Servant.

Being in Novum Chaldea was like she could take things for granted again. Like she could live again.

Her journey was supposed to meet its end after Las Vegas. Vy's journey was the one destined to be boundless, not hers. But if there was one thing Musashi learned since getting stuck in a swimsuit for a Berserker Spirit Origin, Vy was stubborn.

So, so stubborn, even when holding up a Bond Chalice with its rainbow flames in Musashi's direction.

"...You're sure about this, Master?" left Musashi's lips before she could stop it, holding back a dry chuckle at the confused look the younger woman gave her with a tilt of her head. "I'm a selfish person, y'know. Not so much a hero but someone who might drain your wallet dry from how much I eat. Yet," Musashi jerked her head towards the gold cup in Vy's hands, putting a hand on her hip. "You're still willing to give me something as valuable as that?"

To Musashi's surprise, a pout formed on Vy's face as she stomped her foot against the floor, the black mantle of her Mage's Association fluttering with the motion. "Don't say the same thing as your Saber self, Shii-chan. I already cried my eyes out enough with that."

"Wait, wait, wait." Musashi wasn't expecting that response either, and she found herself cracking her knuckles before she realized it. "What did my Saber self say? Do I need to challenge her to another udon-eating contest?"

"Don't you even dare try to make an excuse to get out of this." Vy rolled her eyes while shaking her head, a wry smile of her own forming on her face with the movement. "Your Saber self one time said in Shimosa that she was a selfish person. That I might have a hard time, even if she got a different Spirit Origin."

"Ah."

"But still." Vy raised the Bond Chalice up in Musashi's direction again, nearly pushing it into the Berserker's cheek out of sheer stubbornness if not for the fond glint in her brown eyes past her glasses. "I wouldn't be giving this to you if I didn't love you, Shii-chan."

Musashi froze, her hand on her hip falling to her side limply.

"Sure, there's lots of things about you. Selfish, sword-loving, dense, but still recklessly cool," Vy added after a moment, a flustered shade of pink starting to climb up what Musashi could see of her neck past the brown ponytail and lotus hair clip. "And you didn't have to stay with me throughout Shimosa and Las Vegas, Shii-chan. But you did, and I couldn't help but love you after that. So the least I could do to show that is just give you one of the most valuable things Chaldea has to offer after a Holy Grail, right? And," Vy paused almost for extra effect, exposing some teeth with another smile. "You can't eat udon out of this cup!"

"Vy..." A few blinks revealed mist starting to form in the corners of Musashi's eyes. "I..."

"Oh. Silly, silly Shii-chan," Vy giggled, shaking her head while reaching over with one hand to grab one of Musashi's own, gently depositing the Chalice in her limp palm. "When will you get it through your head that even if Humanity turned its back on you, I'm not gonna? There's no other reason I would've Grailed you otherwise. I love you."

Musashi felt her nose seize up before she was tossing the Chalice aside to tug at Vy's mantle sleeves. The young woman was yelping, a bit of snot may or may not have started forming somewhere, but it was something once Vy was safely nestled in Musashi's front. "You... You really are stubborn, aren't you?" Musashi wasn't sure if she was laughing or sobbing. She still kept a hand on the back of Vy's head, holding her close while wrapping her other arm around Vy's waist. "What is a swords practitioner supposed to do with a little riceball like you, Vy?"

Thin arms carefully wrapped around Musashi's back in return, being careful of the many straps keeping her swimsuit together as another giggle echoed between them. "Just take the affection, Shii-chan," was the warm whisper in her ear, Vy's figure shuddering underneath Musashi's arm, most definitely from standing on her tiptoes to meet Musashi's height. "If we're all riceballs, it's hard to see the pickled plums on each others' backs. I can see yours and remind you it's there, at least. It's what friends do."

"That so..." Musashi ducked her head to press her cheek against the top of Vy's hair, barely able to keep the hitch in her voice away. "Then that's the same for me, Master. My little riceball."

Even if her Saber self was the one who came up with the nickname first, it was fitting.

Riceballs were the most simple and tasty offerings from Japanese cuisine. And with her thin arms and short stature, Vy was an example of one of the best. Tiny, but plentifully packed with the nutrients of stubbornness and love.

[snowbazzledestielshipper]

"You can't keep running off into every adventure you lay eyes on, Snow." He snarls.

It's the first time he's called me Snow in ages, and it stings, but not as much as his next words should.

"You're going to get yourself killed, you don't have magic to protect you anymore."

"You called me Snow…" I say, feeling something shatter in me.

Baz freezes for a moment, realizing what he had done.

"Wait, simon-"

"'S ok." I turn away, and start walking.

He catches my hand.

"I'm sorry. I was worried, and frustrated, and I hurt you."

"You haven't called me Snow for a long time."

"Please forgive me."

I nod, and turn towards him only sort of taking his words in. My ears are ringing.

Baz gasps.

"Simon…" There's fear in his eyes. Why? "Your magic-"

He coughs, cutting his words short, but it brings me back to the present.

I smell of smoke.

My smoke.

My magic.

"I-" I magic away my tail and wings, and take off my coat, rolling my shoulders.

"Simon." Baz breathes.

The world starts spinning, but all I can think about is kissing him.

So I do.

He pushes me away.

"Simon, how did this happen? What did you do?"

"I didn't-"

"Magic doesn't just come back, Simon! What did you do? Where were you?"

There had been an attack on a care home.

He'd been just down the street, in a shop buying milk, and I had tagged along, but I went off on my own to buy coffee for Baz and tea for myself, when it happened.

I felt the magic leaking from the building, and then the explosion happened, and knocked me off my feet.

I blacked out and everything was fixed, except for a little boy, lying on the ground.

I left before I could see what happened. I have been close to disaster like that before.

Usually I was the one who caused it, but still, I didn’t want to stick around and get into a bad situation.

I must have looked dazed, because when I found Baz, he took one look, and started in on me.

I tell him as much.

“Simon, you beautiful idiot, the humdrum. That was him. He’s here.”

The boy.

“Darling, he’s dead.”

“You saw him?”

I’m certain it was. I nod.

“Christ.” He whispers.

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I dunno Baz. The world is saved, the Mage is dead, the Humdrum is dead. I don’t want anything to change. I think I’m going to get a job, take you out to dinner, and then go visit Shepard and Penny later this week.”

“So nothing changes?”

“Nothing.”

Then he kisses me.

[other-cullen-ficrecs]

I can't choose so... angst 8 or comfort 8 XD Adoribull ofc, but you already knew that <3

8. “it hurts.” & 8. “i promise i won’t be mad.”

A true hurt/comfort ask ;) Also, I see you're all giving me prompts that can be easily about Dorian leaving but I already wrote one of those so nah. (PS this one will also be edited later, I just wanted to finish those prompts before falling asleep.)

_______________________________________

"Vishante kaffas! What is wrong with your leg?"

"It hurts," Bull groaned, stumbling despite being help up by Krem and Grim.

"That much seems rather obvious!"

One leg of his hideous pants was stained dark with drying blood and the leg underneath it had to be severely damaged, considering how wobbly it was. Bull was clearly trying to put as little pressure on it as possible and he was moving it oddly as if not fully in control of it.

Dorian looked past him, glancing briefly at Krem who deftly avoided his gaze and settled straight on Stitches.

"We did what we could. Got a mage to help through the worst of it. He will live."

"<i>He will live?!"

"And keep his leg," Stitches assured as if that was so much reassuring when Dorian was just waiting for Bull to meet him as agreed for a few weeks of a romantic get-away.

Dorian planned nice dinners, good wine and passionate nights, not being glad that Bull was only slightly ripped apart.

"... Bring him into the main room, I'll take care of it."

"Hey! I'm fine, don't worry too much about it."

"So help me Maker, make this any more difficult and I'll cut off this leg myself."

"Love the fire, big guy, but you have no idea how tempting it sounds right now."

Dorian only rolled his eyes and led the Chargers and their leader into the cottage. Bull's shuffled slowly, mixing the rose petals spread carefully on the floor with the blood and mud from his shoes.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Kadan," he said as he finally gathered the breath after being put in the armchair in front of the fire.

The Chargers barely nodding at Dorian before slinking away hurriedly. Clearly worried Dorian's wrath will focus mainly on them. He could've sworn Krem had to turn into a rogue for long enough to disappear back out of the door.

"We will camp nearby, next to the river. I will check on him tomorrow, but if anything happens-"

"You will be the first to know."

"Well, I'd like to think I'd be the first to know, after all-"

"No one finds you amusing," Dorian informed him coldly and Bull surprisingly fell silent.

Stitches only nodded and left the house, following the rest of his company.

Dorian pinched the base of his nose, praying for some patience.

"If I promise I won't be mad, will you tell me what happened?"

Bull squinted at him suspiciously.

"Are you promising or saying you could promise?"

"Bull."

The man only sighed, finally dropping the jovial act of an unruly patient and unbeatable mercenary.

"So, there was this dragon-"

"For the love of the Maker, I'm gonna kill you myself!"

"Definitely only saying you can promise then."

Bull sighed in defeat as Dorian only glared at him for a long moment.

"You can't go off fighting dragons, Bull! I know you hate the idea, but you're not getting any younger! You can't be mercenary until you're old and wrinkled! Definitely not the kind that fights dragons! I'm not saying you need to give it all up, I- I know how much it means to you. But we've talked about it, haven't we? About giving more leadership to Krem? Settling down a bit perhaps? What a wild idea!"

The Iron Bull chuckled, carefully stretching his legs, leaning tiredly into the cushions. He looked beat and exhausted but happy for some reason, smiling at Dorian softly. At the moment looking more like a love-sick kid than a weathered veteran.

"Stitches gave you something good for the pain, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Bull agreed with a smile. "I'll be good though, don't worry. I talked with Krem. I will settle down. Just had to kill that one last dragon, Kadan. I'll tell you all about it later."

Dorian rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen to fetch their food. He figured they could at least still enjoy that.