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inquisimail · 2 days ago

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dai love interests' letters to the inquisitor in veilguard, if anyone was curious to see them. transcriptions in alt text & under cut

Amatus,

I'm writing. Again. Yes, the sending crystals still work and yes, you'll be in Minrathous in a few short weeks. But a letter, written in blind longing, is real. It can be touched, and it can be held, when ink and paper must substitute for your skin on mine and my breath in your ear.

I used to scoff at frequent declarations of affection. Trite, I thought. Save them for rare and precious moments. But time and love are no longer things I care to squander, especially not as we race again toward calamity. And so, in each of these fleeting, ephemeral seconds, I will tell you that I love you. Whether penned or spoken, or conveyed by glance or action, I love you. In this moment, and in all the moments to come, for as long as they do, I love you.

I will find you soon.

Yours, Dorian

---

My love,

You have summoned me to Minrathous, and I will answer your call, as soon as responsibilities here in the South allow. I have missed being by your side.

Will these troubles be the last we face? The world seems always to conspire, through duty or disaster, to pull you away from me. I do not resent it. You are dedicated to purposes far larger and more significant than myself. I hope you do not think me a fool for hoping that one day, your only concern will be the color you wish our walls to be painted, or the flowers we will plant beside our gate. I'm partial to carnations.

Yours always, Thom

---

My love,

We are no strangers to duty, or the separation it demands of us. You head for Tevinter, and though I want to go with you, there is work we both must do. I will not falter in the tasks that wait before me and I pray my actions, in whatever measure they can, will keep you safe.

The others see only confidence in my resolve, but you have always known more than mere appearance. I confess to you, and you alone, that I am afraid. I'm afraid of what may happen, that Thedas will face such turmoil as it did before. I know not what awaits us. Yet even in the face of uncertainty, there are two things I cannot doubt and never will. The first is that our paths are never separated long. That I will find you at my side when I need you, as you will find me at yours. I will play my part in this and follow as soon as I can.

The second thing I never doubt is you. Whatever lies before you, trust yourself. Trust your heart as I trust it. It will not lead you astray.

Yours, Cassandra

---

Hey, Kadan,

Not the first time we've marched toward different battles. I know you're keeping the crap from catching fire up in Tevinter. Wish I could be there, but I'll make sure there's a world for you to come back to when you're done dealing with crazy vints and stupid Antaam and whatever other crap Solas kicked up. (Shit, the Antaam. Remember when I was worried what would happen if I went tal-vashoth? That right there!)

I know you're gonna be careful, and you've got Morrigan there. Just take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I'm going to have to take Krem and the Chargers and stomp across all of Tevinter to come get you. It'll be a whole thing, and you know it'll upset Dorian.

Being apart from you made me realize something else. I spent so long being whatever the Ben-Hassrath wanted me to be. An investigator. An agent. A mercenary sending reports. These past years, since the Inquisition ended, I've been able to be just what I want to be.

And what I really want to be is yours. I like the person I am when I'm with you.

So come back safe.

Love, The signature appears to be a stylized rendering of the Iron Bull's head.

---

(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.)

Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.")

North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker.

Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know.

We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow.

So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls!

We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.)

Still thinking of you sideways.

Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.)

The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out.

Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me.

I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why.

Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.)

You meet; I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on.

(The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.)

New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bestest (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short. -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)

---

The top of the letter has been punctured by small, sharp teeth, leaving most of a beloved name and a few sentences too chewed to read.

I fear the puppy started on this letter shortly after I did. I'd start over, but I must send this tonight if it's to reach you. Matters are settled here and I make for Tevinter as soon as possible.

I almost believed chaos might spare us this time. I can't say I wished to see Minrathous before now, but I am eager to see you. I long to see your face and know that you're all right. You are— I've— There's— I wish that I was better at putting into writing all that's in my mind. For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life.

The days ahead will not be easy. I know there's much you carry, more than many realize. But whatever you must face, you will not meet it alone. You have my sword, my counsel, my—I could write this list forever when all I mean to say is this—

Whatever you need of me, I am yours.

Cullen

---

My Dearest Lady, / My Dearest Lord,

I have spoken to friends in Minrathous. They offer us their hospitality, not to mention shelter from the worst intrigues of the Archon's Palace. While you're well acquainted with the roving eyes of grand courts, please take care. Tevinter's regard can be the oldest and cruelest of them all.

The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together.

There is a question I've wanted to ask you for so long. I would like to pretend I have been busy, or it was not the proper time. But, if I am being honest, I only waited because I have been afraid of choosing a poor moment. Please, let me make a promise to you here.

When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes.

Always yours, Josephine

Postscript: I cannot believe it nearly slipped my mind. Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age veilguard spoilers #datvmining #<- new tag for these

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prncssie · 3 days ago

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TWO ⎯⎯ ★ s. ryomen m. list

content warning minors and trump supporters do not interact. neither are welcome here. in this specific chapter, it gets suggestive towards the end but there is no on page smut. you can expect consensual groping in a public setting and "dick" is written once. also, the bouncer is described as creepy and acts as such but his appearance is short

WHEN I GROW UP

you thought when you strolled through the glass doors of an acting agency, — a grand building lined with glass walls, allowing the sunlight to filter into the lobby — you’d be greeted with warm smiles and maybe even a mint. this is not what you were expecting. it smells clean, citrusy, like fresh squeezed lemons and pine. the hardwood flooring, tan and matte, are smooth beneath your new balances. it’s nearly glittering a pathway guiding you to the front desk. your resume, shielded behind the manilla folder, is tucked tightly to your chest. you’ve even worn your best off-duty outfit, aiming for something simple to show off your spark. a black tube top and black jeans, perfect for forcing focus to your face full of sweet features, dollike and docile enough to render a certain impression on camera, you hope.

“hi,” you speak soft at first, a smile gracing your mouth when the receptionist lifts her head. “yeah, um, my name is ⭐︎ and i heard you had an open call today.” you can’t help the way your shoulders inch up towards your ear, a subconscious way of making yourself smaller, biting away at the ball of white hot nervousness rolling in the base of your tummy. “i was hoping to get in on that.”

it’s a shame her blonde bun is pulled so tight, straining what little polite receptors she has in her system because all the receptionist does is size you up with so much of a twitch of her glossed lips. she doesn’t smile when she slaps the clipboard atop the reflective material of the black desk. “sign here,” for a millisecond, if you'd even count it that, her lips pull tight upwards before she’s returning to whatever she was doing before, nails clacking against the keyboard. “head down that hall to the left. they’ll give you a number. wait for it to be called.”

as soon as you’re finished scribbling the black gen pen down on the white sheet, boxes full of signatures, pages stacked on over the other, she takes it back with a flat palm, dragging it over the open space. “break a leg.” and then it’s as if you were never there. you fade into the background. perhaps in her eyes, you’ve dissipated into light particles. “thanks so much,” is all you can say, lifting your eyebrows with an unamused grin, “brenda.” you catch her name off the nameplate as you leave.

this has to be normal, right? it’s not like hospitality comes with the service, if you can even call it that. people are snobby, thinking their proximity to the stars gives them some sort of privilege or immunity. sure, you wouldn’t normally take such disrespect or disregard for you as a person but maybe you could consider it as a good thing. a blessing in disguise, a side effect of success. this is the closest you’ve been to being in something bigger than yourself, an open call for anything other than a commercial for whole milk or sponsorship from some website.

you have to believe it. otherwise . . .

down the hall and the left, right? you couldn’t miss it if you tried. the bodies milling about give enough clue as to what was going on, numbers taped and pinned to shirts, pants, skirts. the jitters that you swallowed, or tried to, threaten to break free, itching just below the surface of your skin. your mouth is dry but far too wet at the same time. are you drooling? but when your hand lifts to your lips, disguised as checking for lipgloss rolling too far out of place, you don’t feel anything out of the ordinary. still, with each step closer to the check-in table, your brain cannot stop formulating new possibilities of embarrassment. you could trip, you could forget your lines, you could throw up. none of it’s helping, especially when they’re looking at you with such expecting gazes. getting the number is the easy part, though. all you have to do is write your name down and pick it up. alike many of the others, you opt to tape it, pressing the sticky adhesive into the denim of your pants.

you find yourself in your own desolate space in the hallway, stuck between warm bodies rehearsing their lines and casting sparing glances at the competition around them. you’re unsure where to look. there’s nothing particularly beneficial about staring down the other wannabe actors around you but the idea of focusing so hard on the tiling doesn’t seem too idealistic, either. you’ve always been told it’s best to stand tall anyway, pushing an aura of confidence, even if it’s fake.

and so you do for as long as you stand there. you push your shoulders back and force all that tension between your shoulder blades, straightening your posture for as long as the situation demands. evidently, until your casting is over and you get to return home.

it’s a slow process, slower than you think it would be. you were sure when you left work a few hours ago that you’d have enough time to rinse the smell of fryer grease and burgers off your skin — you’ve since replaced it with silky strawberry lotion and powdery vanilla perfume — and arrive with more than enough time to spare. of course, you did hope it wouldn’t take too long, maybe an hour or two to finish the whole thing. however, when you pull your phone out of your little black prada shoulder bag, you learn that more than three hours have passed.

that’s a ridiculous amount of time to stand, waiting as others go into that room and leave with smiles on their faces or tears in their eyes. sometimes, they don’t have an expression at all. they simply open that heavy door and wander down the hallway, leaving an air of mystery as to what could have happened. you like to fantasize, making up stories about each person and what they could have possibly done to fail. it’s your only entertainment, one that sends you into a trance-like state as you watch and eye each passerby.

it works for a while, dulling your boredom while you wait for your turn. you would have missed the sudden whispery uproar if it weren’t for the girl beside you. her hair brushes against your arm when she turns her head to whisper to the person next to you. instinctively, you cover the tickled area with your palm and look over, bringing your attention closer to the chatter. it’s bit unexpected how suddenly it rises. in just a few minutes, the dull crowd, tired of standing and waiting, begins to buzz with excitement. around you, people whisper, eyes gawking and following figures moving through the hall.

at first glance, it doesn’t take you long to identify just who is attracting all this uproar. even if people weren’t damn near pointing at the hulking figure disregarding his attention, you’d recognize him regardless. it’s hard to miss the dyed pink hair, black roots peaking just below the tufts. his undercut is just as crisp as the pictures, fresh from recent maintenance. there’s a smirk tugging at his lips, arrogant and knowing, like all the attention he’s receiving simply strokes his ego, filling up his head with pride. he walks in a saunter, fingers wrapped around his phone and tilting his head in the onlookers direction. you can get glimpses of his iconic black gel polish, catching the glimmer of the overhead lighting.

sukuna ryomen, one of the greatest stars in the industry at this very moment. the it boy, the icon, the muse of most directors. you could be seeing too far into things when he passes you, but for a second, when your eyes make contact, there’s a particular . . . tension. perhaps you’re imagining it, a warped notion in your head that blended reality with fantasy, but his eyebrows furrow, just slightly. they twitch, jumping upwards before letting you become one with the rest of his admirers.

“ – role in another movie,” it’s a whisper coming from beside you, a comment made in his wake, after he had already made his appearance and left a notable impact. “that’s what i heard, at least. i think it’s a thriller. some psychological shit.”

a thriller? the sukuna ryomen in a thriller? it’s been a while since there’s been a movie you’be been genuinely excited to see but the prospect of such a big name with an equally big aura taking on a role like that? you’re already itching with anticipation at the thought. you wish you could be there, watch him rehearse his lines, see how he prepares for the role. there’s endless lessons you an take out of his book but you’ll never have the chance. not as long as you’re just someone auditioning and he’s at the top of the ranks.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ★

“no, cherry. i’m not getting the role.” you’re shoving airpods into your ears as you dejectedly make your way out the building. you pull your bag even farther on your shoulder, ignoring the harsh squeals your shoes make when you don’t entirely lift them off the ground. it’s what they deserve anyway, this whole company, after throwing you to the side like that. it contrasts with the clicks of heels and draws judging glares towards you but you ignore them. they’re nothing and they mean nothing after setting up such a massive event, one that you spent weeks preparing for, just for it to be pointless. “turns out, they already had someone in mind. it’s such —,” you pause, just long enough to step outside the glass doors, “such bullshit.”

“aw, honey,” her sweet southern drawl does little to comfort you as warm as it is. if anything, the empathy dripping from it riles you up further. she means well, truly. cherry is as disappointed as you are. in the short span of working together, she’s become something of a confidant, the only person who knows your goals of reaching the stars. it’s not a secret you hold close to your heart for any particular reason. it’s just . . . well, it’s just this. no one wants people to know about their setbacks. you wouldn’t find any joy in sharing your worst failures.

cherry is different, though. she’s kind about it. she has a big heart, keeping in negative comments she might have to herself. besides, cherry has a dream, too, to walk in fashion week. it was a drunken confession, sitting on the floor of your studio apartment after consuming enough white wine to send you both into fits of giggles. you considered it a housewarming.

“how do you know that? did they tell you?” she has to raise her voice over the beeping fryer alarm and the rustling around her. of course in normal cherry fashion, she picks up the phone during work hours when business is slow and she has time to waste.

“they don’t have to tell me for me to know.” you want to press your hands into your eyes, perhaps lay down beneath your sheets and hide away from the world until the fury building inside withers away. “i went in there and did my audition. they were all like ‘oh, ⭐︎, you did so good. you look so cute on camera, you’re so talented’,” you raise your voice a couple octaves to mock the casting directors, rolling your brown eyes in tandem with your words. “that’s not what they actually said but whatever. the point is, some girl walks in and they’re all over her.”

you click your tongue in a fluid motion, scrolling through the app library in search of whichever rideshare app you’ve downloaded since moving out here. with what little income you make, there’s no way you’ll be able to afford a car for the next couple of months, or even years in this economy. a ten minute ride back to your home is nothing compared to the cost of car payments and gas. “i’ve never seen her before, which is the crazy part. i don’t remember what they said her name was. edamame, uraume, whatever the fuck.”

“wait, no. i’ve heard of that name before. i’m pretty sure she was in that show with that guy.” for a moment, you hear her pause, presumably directing her attention to someone else. “yeah, honey. i’ll be right with you, m’kay? listen, ⭐︎, i gotta go, but i’ll see you tonight. we’re still on for tonight, right? i’ll take you out to this place i know. you’ll love it. i hear lotsa famous people go there. maybe you’ll meet someone who can get you a fancy role.”

your eyes settle on the dark colored sedan underlined with an identifying combination of letters and numbers. it’s only a couple dollars and you have the money to spare. you didn’t feel particularly inclined to walk those couple blocks, anyway. you find her words sort of . . . comforting, now. as optimistic as such a small possibility seems, the idea of simply running into someone worthwhile all while dancing the night away excites you. as unlikely as such an easy shortcut to success is, you still consider the small chance to be a chance at all.

“yeah, okay,” you respond with a distant sounding voice as you navigate through the nine dollar payment. it takes a few seconds for the screen to reload, proposing you begin to make your way to the pickup location. “i’ll see you later.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ★

the club cherry took you to, it’s everything and nothing you expected it to be at the same time. you scrolled through pictures of the three story building on google reviews while cherry showered, filling up the small confines of her bathroom with steam and the scent of dove cucumber body wash; she insisted on you getting ready at her place after seeing the lackluster apparel hanging in your closet. you didn’t think they were that bad and yet, she parroted on and on that the bouncer would not let you in the clothes you planned on wearing. and she was right, he wouldn’t. here he stood, scrutinizing and slightly predatory gaze across each clubgoer. he took his time with the women, eyebrow quirking when someone particularly piqued his interest. gross, but expected.

it’s just as lively as you thought it would be, people milling around the entrance with id in hand. occasionally, the cars driving by would slow down and glance at the pedestrians, some gathered in groups and drunkenly skipping down the pavement. the lights are flashy, the people are giggly. it's exactly as a club scene should be. the only thing that’s missing is . . . well, the music.

you make note of it as you stand in line, arms wrapped around your body and shifting your weight from leg to leg. there’s no music, at least none you can hear. back in your little town closer to the rural edges of the countryside, you spent quite enough time at the club. you treated it as your own personal spotlight, finding great fun in putting on different personas to enchant men for the night. it could be considered where your love for acting really started, or maybe not. maybe you just sound crazy.

“okay, when we get up there,” cherry leans into you, ducking her head to get her words more clearly heard in your ear. she’s already a couple inches taller than you and with the heels on her black boots pushing her up, those inches became more than just a couple, “don’t say anythin’. well, you can speak but i’ll handle most of it. mike is real fickle. he likes to flirt with the girls and if you don’t make him happy, you don’t get in.”

“you brought me to a place where the girls are forced to be creeped on by the bouncer for admission?”

cherry clicks her tongue at your words. she follows the flow of the line and takes a step forward, momentarily looking over her shoulder to meet your eyes. “sometimes he doesn’t make us pay.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ★

you’re drunk. you don’t have to ask someone to know. there’s no need for a breathalyzer, no need to hang of cherry’s shoulder and smile that pink-lipped, sugar-coated, loopy smile. the confirmation is in the way you walk. it’s in your tingling hands and your tingling lips. it’s in your airy laughter and your slurred words as you teeter across the dance floor. it’s in the way you sit now, perched on the edge of a chair and drunkenly kissing . . . someone. a girl, a guy, you don’t know. it wouldn’t make any difference really.

they’re probably just as drunk as you are, hands gripping and pulling at your dress, or rather the dress you borrowed. in the back of your mind, you’re scowling and making note to check for snags later, considering how ungracious they’re being. so much so that you’ve been tasked with the responsibility of tugging your dress up every so often as the constant threat of your boobs slipping out.

you’re not enjoying this, not as much as you want to be. you’re meant to loosen up, get out there, “make connections, whatever that means to you”, as cherry said in her honeyed dialect. that’s what you hoped to do, connect your mouth to another’s in a way that enthralled you in a more lustrous way, with tensions that weigh heavy in a bubble that surrounds you and makes you hungry for more.

you kind of sit there while they begin to mouth along your jawline with more tongue than you prefer. the distaste hits you strong enough you to put your hands on their shoulders after minutes of kissing starving lips. with a firm grasp, you push just slightly, politely even. you still give them that drunken smile even with the sudden detachment and rise to your feet. the base of your shoes knock against the metal leg of the chair and you stumble a few steps on your way up. “i will be right back.” you doubt your voice carries over the bass-boosted music. the beat alone vibrates the floor and rattles your brain in your skull. you both know this isn’t true, or at least you know and that’s enough for you. your toothy smile is concealed as your face falls to rest and you turn, purposefully taking a winding route through the crowd.

you lost cherry a while ago. in retrospect, she’s a bit of a terrible friend for vanishing like that so suddenly with the assumption that you’d be fine. the fault really lied in the decision that you should both drink tonight, as if two wasted girls were ever a good idea. however, it’s too late to be playing the blame game. you’re already taking wobbly strides under the strobe lights while a mixture of house and electronic plays in the background. there’s no real destination you’re heading towards. you follow the movement of the crowd, swaying and leaning. left, right, left, right.

in the moment, staying just where you are is appealing. it calls to you like a siren’s song, begging and pleading with you to stay. have another drink, kiss someone else, live under the colored lights. before you know it, you’re dancing to the music. it’s not what you’d typically listen to but when you’ve had this many shots in those cute little glasses, anything will do. your eyes are still closed as you dance, pulling moves from your mental catalog of video vixens and pop icons. it’s a mess, a flurry of arms and legs. your hair becomes an accessory, an extension of yourself, an object of seduction when you brush it out your face. your hips find the beat with ease and you find enjoyment in being alone, despite knowing you probably should be apprehensive.

it doesn’t take long before there’s a hand settled on your hip, hovering at first, waiting for permission to make contact with your skin. you spot it somehow in your drunken haze and take a hold of it without hesitation. you stamp the hand against your hip, ruffling the dress you adorn beneath their light hold. you only have a short moment to glance over your shoulder and assess the stranger you have welcomed into your one person party. he’s a pleasing sight, although slightly obscured by the blinding overhead lighting, constantly moving and flashing shades of blue, purple, and red. you catch tufts of black and pink lips upturned into a smirk.

it’s good enough for you so you turn and bend at the waist, dipping your head and letting your soft curls toss over your crown. you push the clothed and plush fat of your ass against the stiff fabric of this stranger’s jeans. you both move in an enthralling whirl. you just, met, or rather just become aware of each other’s presence, but somehow you mesh together in a balanced blend of bodies and flirtatious glances.

his hand is firm on your chest. he can feel the warmth of your bare skin where the dress leaves you exposed. he’s pleased to discover he can also feel the swell of your breasts and where they begin to deviate from your otherwise leveled skin. he has to bend at the waist to get to you, but once he does, you’re back to standing, chest to back and a grin on your face. his breath is hot on your ear and his voice is deep. it warms your drunken insides like a warm cider, thoroughly spiced. “are you here with someone?”

your feet tangle with themselves as you turn to face him. you’re careful, slow, calculating each step and maintaining your balance with a strong grip of his forearms. you squeeze and hum at the strong muscle relaxed beneath. “maybe, probably. if she’s still here.” you’re moving again, languidly resting your arm over his shoulder. “what’s your name?” you have to place a hand over the top of your head to cover your eyes from the glaring color changing lights. he looks familiar, extremely familiar. however, you’re drunk and it’s dark. you aren’t so concerned with placing a distinct name to a face and more concerned with what you’ll be calling this person you presume you’re going home with tonight.

sure, it wasn’t what you originally believed yourself to be doing. the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind, nor would you do this on any other occasion but it’s your first night out in a new town. you’ve had the letdown of a century and your boss is absolute shit, never showing up to do anything but complain and order you around. with a pretty boy right at your fingertips, why should you deny yourself? just for one night, at least.

it takes him a second. you assume he doesn’t quite hear you over the music bumping in the background because he blinks, dark eyebrows drawing together just slightly, and that smirk is returning right back on his pink lips. “kuyo,” his hands downwards, smoothening under the crease of your butt.

“unusual name but whatever you say.” your eyes track him low-lidded and just barely disguising the hearts beginning to form in your eyes. he moves close enough for you to smell the alcohol on his breath. it reeks of something strong, something like henessey cocktailed with a flurry of drinks downed without a second thought.

kuyo can only chuckle, one that goes unheard in your ears. he ignores your little comment, experimentally grazing his fingers along your body, both clothed and unclothed while gauging your reaction. and when he finds none, just your sweet smile, he continues pulling and squeezing and groping with little regard for those around you. you’re in a club. people should expect to see a little frisking. “i don’t like beating around the bush and i’m sure you’re a smart girl so you know what i’m gonna say. do you want to go back with me or not? we’d have to go to yours though. roommates.”

you almost laugh. there’s already a giggle building in your throat at his sheer audacity. kuyo didn’t even ask. he didn’t suggest, didn’t pose a question. he simply invited himself over, granted, that’s if you let him. usually, you’d pull back. you’d scoff in kuyo’s face, shake your head and disappear, never to be seen again. but his hands, they’re so strong. and his shoulders are so broad, and his chest is so firm, and his smile is so— “this better be the best night of my life, pretty boy.”

he gives one final squeeze to your midsection, savoring that feeling of plush skin molding around his fingers. the next time kuyo feels it, he knows it’ll be without these silly restrictions such as clothes and peering eyes. not that he’d mind, but he does doubt you want to be split on his dick in the middle of a club. “oh trust, it will be.”

©️ prncessie | do not repost on to other platforms, plagiarize, modify, translate, or use for any ai platforms. my work is my own and it comes from my brain so you’ll have to use yours too

taglist — comment to be added

@excedr

#ִ •°. *࿐. *. ⋆ ▻ 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙡𝙪 #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #black reader #sukuna x black reader #x black reader

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eerna · 1 day ago

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Hiii I have some thought contributions to the Arcane symposium if you'll have me!

I see people understandably angry at how Arcane handles who is or isn’t a villain and I suppose my two cents is that I didn’t have any hope of them handling it right in the first place, even back in s1 there were always parallels made, always some “both cities have good and bad” nuance when one city doesn’t have air to breathe and is colonized by the other. If anything the beginning of s2 was more consistent in that the second Caitlyn is personally inconvenienced she goes full chemical warfare and mass institutional violence

Personally I thought it unlikely that they suddenly change narrative tones and resolve the plot in a way that was satisfying to me, and I knew the pacifist “choose love not hate <3 zaun and piltover arms in arms” both-sides ending was inevitable, so I’m glad they at least had that whole thing with Viktor and Jayce and the timelines to distract me from it

“they shouldn’t have made Viktor, a Zaunite, the villain” but Arcane always made the villain a Zaunite! Before Viktor there was Silco, Piltover chooses peace but Jinx blows the council up and now they have to do a whole “look what you made us do” arc. This was my beef with Arcane from day 1 (it wasn't emphasized enough, IMO, that the villain is Piltover's oppression and marginalization of Zaun, and that this context renders null any "both cities" comparison)

Also Vi was written so poorly this season what's up with that

All that being said I suppose it’s more complicated to discern “writer’s intent” from that kinda show than it would be in a book or an indie project where there are fewer people involved in the plot writing and less interference. Like one deleted scene or one line of dialogue omitted radically changes the message. But well, there's the intended message and there's the manifest message and as the audience we are allowed to criticize both

Of course we shall, step to the podium~ Truly, the "writer's intent" is truly so complicated here, because anti-capitalist messaging in mainstream art powered by capitalism is always a nightmare to get through.

Oh yes it's a good take, I remember the discussions from s1 era well! However, I still don't think the "both sides have good and bad" thing is a red flag in stories, simply because it's true IRL. A ton of people have trouble committing to a side in a conflict because neither is totally morally pure, which completely blinds them to the truth that NOTHING is morally pure and choosing the lesser evil is the way to go. Silco was a brilliant villain to me because he was an oppressor himself, as people in power are rarely anything else, but that didn't mean that Zaunite ideals were worth any less! After all, Ekko held the same anti-Piltover ideals, but he is morally pure and thus unable to become an influential politician. He can support a small society, but not a large one, because no one really can do that without resorting to some bad shit. Just because Silco dreamed of being the same as Piltover's elite and became a class traitor by forcing his citizens into another toxic work culture, except this time they made HIM rich instead of Piltover, doesn't mean we should just give up on trying to make things better. Zaun during Silco's reign is just as worthy of freedom and equality as Zaun during Vander's reign. It doesn't matter that there are terrorists living there now - that doesn't excuse Piltover's violent actions. And s1 seemed to be aware of that, considering how the Enforcers were depicted, and in the end it's the Piltover council who are forced to give up instead of the Undercity. And the choice of peace wasn't as morally pure as it sounds: the council opposed it and was forced into it by Jayce and Mel's combined power, even Jayce was resistant to the terms at first, AND it still left the Undercity in Silco's hands, fixing absolutely none of the sins they committed there. It wasn't an evil terrorist blowing up a bunch of hippies, it was a hurt Undercity girl setting in motion an event that has been brewing for a long, long time, against a system which gave too little, too late.

So yeah, in short, I don't interpret s1 as ever trying to question whether Zaun was right to demand more from Piltover by saying "well both sides are bad so nothing should change". It simply showed the ugly truth to any revolution: leaders are practically never good people, and those who get too close to it are doomed to very cursed lives. And yet, giving up isn't an option, because the system IS bad and the system HAS to be changed, and if that isn't gonna happen by the way of peace, then you can't help but sympathize with those who were wronged when they do something horrible.

That's why it only worked when it focused on individual characters - that way you can understand why everyone is acting the way they are acting, and you avoid falling into broad strokes. S2 instead focuses on the aesthetic of revolution and war and the characters get lost in the big picture, which absolutely sucks and completely negates everything I've been typing about here. In fact, who knows, maybe my opinion changes too after I sit with s2 for a while and contextualize s1 within it. Maybe I was just wishfully thinking and misinterpreting this whole time. I already feel like a clown for defending this show, so I can totally accept that I could probably be wrong here. But I just wanted to write it all out in the name of discussion and interpretation!

#eernask #eernanon #eernask talk arcane #arcane spoilers #my pov is largely influenced by my family's experience with system changes and economic rollercoasters #it is so easy to say ''well both systems sucked and oppressed us which means there's nothing to learn from either and there is nothing els'#but that isn't true! just because both systems chose to abuse the people they were meant to protect doesn't make your fight for your rights #any less important!! disillusion with your leaders sucks but damn it's not about them it's about the people around you

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bigfan-fanfic · 2 days ago

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I'll Show You the Ropes (Male!Reader x Iron Bull)

@jayfeather965 Could you please write a story on a session where Iron Bull helps his boyfriend the inquisitor relax after a particularly hard day. First sexually but then Bull and bf have genuinely sweet pillow talk. (I would imagine that maybe it’s after the winter palace and the duchess’s death. )

"It's hard, isn't it?" Bull sighs, rubbing your shoulders. "I'm sorry you've had a tough time."

"I... I just feel like it's hard for me to do anything, really. Everything is just-"

Bull pulls you against him into a tight hug.

"I get it, Kadan. You feel powerless. That everything's been out of your control. That nothing feels easy."

He gently caresses the back of your head, and you melt against him.

"So what's your remedy? Tie me up again?" You chuckle.

"Sort of. But not exactly."

You lean back as the Iron Bull stands and retrieves his ropes. "I want you to feel in control. I want you to feel powerful."

You tilt your head at him. "I don't need you to be weak to feel strong."

He chuckles. "It's not like that. I won't be weak. I want to make you feel strong by giving you my power."

"I don't know how to do what you do."

"Don't worry. I'll teach you, Kadan."

You have no desire to sleep, so the Iron Bull spends the night teaching you how to bind him, to render him helpless.

He finds it tough, at first - harder than he expected. It's one thing to want to give in and help, and quite another to actually give up control.

But he teaches you the simplest of the Ben-Hassrath's ties. It keeps the captive's arms in place or threatens them with the possibility of choking themselves.

You secure his wrists behind him in bright red rope, running parallel to each other.

You tug the cord up and taut before wrapping it around one of his huge biceps, making a secure loop there before going over the opposite shoulder, and loosely around the neck, over that shoulder.

Back to the other bicep, around and around, and back down to the wrists, forming a simple but beautiful diamond.

Had you the inclination and the extra rope, you could see the possibility of tying rope in such a way that you could weave the Qunari symbol into that diamond.

It's such a simple tie, but truly effective. You watch him roll his massive shoulders, his back stretching and rippling, and the rope subtly tightens until his hands return to their original position.

It's uncompromising. He is truly under control.

"I have to admit, Kadan..." Bull says, a little breathless from the intensity of the feelings coursing through him. "This is very hot."

You kiss him, his body flexing under your hands, and you take charge, able to do whatever you wish to him - to taste and touch and caress and pinch and tickle and kiss and-

He asks you to leave his wrists tied after you undo the harness. and he sleeps on his stomach, you curled next to him.

"You're my Kadan, you know? Part of how we see the Qun is taking care of others. Because we're all part of each other. But... if I'm being honest... I really do feel like you're a part of me.

"So that's why... why I want to give up control to you sometimes. Because I trust you. Because I want you to feel powerful and strong. I want you to know that I can give that to you. That I'm not just taking advantage of you."

"Awwww, Bull, I knew that already. I... I really like being with you. I really care about you too."

You kiss him, and watch his eye flutter closed.

"Now why don't you let me out and I can really show you my appreciation?" He chuckles, only to grin behind your hand when you cover his mouth.

"I think I have some more interesting ideas in mind, Kadan..."

#iron bull x male reader #iron bull x reader #dragon age x male reader #dragon age headcanons #headcanons

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thedaselcor · 2 days ago

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Tiwasday, the 4th of October, 522

Will’s eyes traced slowly along the curves of Merlin’s body as he got dressed, pausing to watch Merlin lace the two sides of his undershirt tighter, and tighter.

“Why bother with all that? If you can change it with magic, I mean.”

“It’s just a backup,” Merlin explained, casting a soft glance and warm smile over his shoulder at Will before bringing his attention back to the mirror. “In case anything happens, I like to make sure I look as close to the same as possible without the magic.”

“In case what kind of anything happens? Do you go around falling unconscious a lot when I’m not looking?”

“Aren't you always looking?” Merlin teased, before adding, “it’s not really in case of anything, I just want to look as much like myself as possible. So,I keep my hair the same, I build the muscles, I wear the undershirt, and I only make subtle changes to my face no one but you and my mother would ever even notice… in case. ”

It had seemed foolproof, back in Ealdor. Merlin had known who he was young enough that he’d been able to grow into his system without anyone really knowing. He changed little enough about his appearance with magic that someone would need to be exceptionally close, and pay exceptional attention to his face and general appearance to ever notice a change,even if the magic did fail him someday, somehow.

Later that month, when Merlin’s mother sent him to Camelot, it seemed his secret was even safer. In Camelot he was going to be even more of a nobody, a physician's apprentice. Who would pay that close attention to a nobody ? Who in Camelot could possibly know his face well enough to notice the subtle changes if he was somehow rendered unconscious?

To Merlin’s credit, Arthur didn't notice the first few times. They’d actually known each other well over a year when the inevitable day finally came.

Frigsday, the 29th of Martius, 524

Arthur burst into Gaius’s workshop, carrying Merlin, unconscious, in his arms. The storm raging inside him entirely overshadowed the practically apocalyptic storm of rain and lightning outside.

“He’s been stabbed. Poisoned, I think,” Arthur declared, panic beginning to creep into his voice as he neared the end of the clear series of actions he’d known he had to take to save Merlin. Action had always been easy for Arthur. The rest… not so much.

Gaius indicated Merlin’s room with a slight nod and a serious eyebrow, as he sprung into action and gathered the necessary medical supplies. Arthur followed the direction. Once he’d laid Merlin down he removed his shirt and cut the bottom of his undershirt to expose the quickly festering stab wound on his side. Then, he sat back, perched in worry but letting Gaius work.

“I don’t think anyone else saw…” Arthur said, once Merlin seemed relatively stable, partly to Gaius, and partly to the empty space in front of him just to process the shock. “Anything interesting I mean, anything…” He sighed heavily before adding, “my father can never know about this.”

Gaius nodded, solemnly. “Not if you want Merlin to live, no,” he answered after a long pause.

It was a testament to Gaius’s character that he didn’t bother to mention his own life also hung in the balance. Gaius had chosen to be so entirely devoted to Merlin’s care and protection since Hunith had sent the young sorcerer to him that his own part in the equation had long since lost all relevance.

Arthur was acutely aware that he’d just made a very similar choice by bringing Merlin to Gaius for treatment, by choosing this of all possible paths. And yet, he couldn’t regret it, regardless of the legal and filial weight of his choice.

Arthur sat with Merlin until dawn broke over Camelot, never sleeping, but he could stay no longer. For one thing, his duty as a prince had to come first, despite his world altering decision. For another, if he was absent much longer it would cause a panic, and a panic would bring nothing but pain down on Merlin and Gaius.

“If he wakes…when he wakes,”Arthur started, as he bid Gaius goodbye--but he couldn’t bring himself to actually form the feelings into words. Instead, he let out a sigh and settled on “I’ll have a list of duties ready for him, when he’s well.” Like the story so far? Check it out on Ao3!

#fanfic #fic excerpt #bbc merlin #merlin x arthur #merthur #arthur pendragon #merlin #elements of albion #a love that burns like holy fire #will of ealdor #will x merlin #and so our story begins #ao3 fanfic #transmasc merlin

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clubsmarties · 1 day ago

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Eli smirked and chewed his bottom lip. "Tell you what, once we get home and after we say goodnight, we'll sneak peek one thing off our list," the list in question was the things they hadn't done in months. Sure, this time they'd have to get creative with her protruding belly but a challenge he knew they'd excel at. "I am too not gonna lie. At least it'll give us some time and her some time to see what it's like to have a sibling like best friend. I honestly can't believe we're all having girls first. I thought since Aaron had brothers that that track record would continue." His laughter rang out as he knew that would catch her attention. "First off, when you're out of the shower and you let your hair air dry but it starts getting curly," that sight always had him staring. There was something so sexy about her hair like that. "Then, it's when you introduce yourself at work. The sexiest one of all is truly when you steal, er...borrow my sweatshirts that you never give back."

He smiled as his lips were still close to her fingertips. "So you're saying you want me to walk slower like a snail? Would that be better?" Eli couldn't help but joke since if she asked he'd do anything she asked. "I'm not sure but wouldn't that be a federal crime if they touched?"

He cringed knowing how right she was. "Poor ten babies being nameless. They'd just be baby numbers at that point. Like what's that show juju was obsessed with, oh right, Umbrella Academy. Wasn't there a kid named Seven?" Just because he wasn't really watching didn't mean he hadn't paid attention when the girls took over the TV. "I don't know. We shall see after we get our first out. But I do think there's less pressure after the first since you're a little more confident. And that was on my sleep deprived self when I came up with Rosebud. Soon as we knew it was a girl that nickname just clicked."

"She's already on our side." The proud smile spread over his features as the thought of their girl became more of a reality. "I can't believe she'll come meet us in a little under 4 weeks. That's insane to me." The Phillips under one roof was insanity but in the same place that was a dream. "It will get chaotic but it'll be so much fun. We'd put them to work the night shift with Rosebud." Laurel brought up a good point. "You know what, that's a good point. We need to take her to the cabin in Chicago. I feel like you can't go anymore but maybe we can go to that indoor Christmas festival. Something to get us out of the house." He watched her get up and was ready to render aid as he got up after her. Taking her hand was the normal and interlocked it. "Hmm I don't know. I may say debatable if he's still thinking I hate him."

They moved through the crowds easily until they found his siblings. "You guys ready to go?"

Laurel's smirk couldn't be contained, his raised eyebrows inviting her to make a move. She understood what he was communicating, and she wanted nothing more than to oblige. Humming in thought, she answered. "Oh, but it is up to you my love. I'll misbehave as often as you'd like me to." Tiny best friends. Laurel was giddy, just thinking of their girls spending time together from day one. "Tiny best friends growing up together, I'm very excited." She had always felt so grateful for her friendship with Juju - the love and care they shared for each other. Their daughter would be immensely lucky to find that in a friend so early in life. "Really?" Now, he was intriguing her. "If not the badge, what else would make me a sexy rebel?"

She loved telling him just how attractive he was, it was something she had never shied away from. From the start, she loved giving him details. The many different reasons he caught her attention. A small laugh fell from her lips when he kissed her fingertips. Softly tracing his face was Laurel's happy place. An amused sigh followed, shaking her head. "Hm, I do try, but I can only waddle so fast. I just can't get to that door fast enough. I just hope they enjoy the sight of you. They can look, but they can't touch." And, even that was already pushing it for her. "I'll happily be biased my whole life."

Her laughter vibrated against her lips, nodding in agreement with him. Being unconventional was definitely very reminiscent of them, but it was also one more thing that she loved about them. "Eight or ten, oh my goodness - can you imagine that? They'd be nameless forever. Or, do you think it gets easier after our first? It is a special one, and I love that she can keep the nickname you gave her." Laurel's smile was wide upon hearing their girl's name once again, it felt more real each time. Her hand reached over and rested it right over his. "I think that's a yes babe, I'm glad baby Rosaline has confidence in us taking them on."

"All the Phillips in one place, I don't know if I'm ready," she teased, her hand now moving to caress the back of his neck. Just to give herself something to do. "Long distance with her aunts would be tough, going all the way out to Chicago. Though, who knows, maybe she'd love the snow. Early night works for me, I'm dreaming of our bed already." The fluffed up pillow and their blanket. She took the last bite of her churro before crumbling the napkin in her hand, "yup I'm all ready." It took her an extra minute to stand up, using the arm rest for support. "Let's go see them," taking his hand and locking their fingers together. "Maybe Isa finally cracked a smile."

#carmichael thorn | ▪︎ orphan au ▪︎ |#🥺🥺🥺 thank you though for being patient #lally cloud is fluffy 😍 but also look at him teasing #juju being obsessed with umbrella academy GEE we wonder why 🤭🤭🤭🤭

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