#to tame the blight or whatever

[lostiel]

they should've let us do morrigan's ritual in veilguard but with solas this time

[abyssal-ilk]

he really lost everything when he lost ghilan'nain, didn't he. everything he did was for nothing the moment she died. he was never going to succeed without her.

[smallbutters]

Sickly Bodies - Michael Myers x Reader

Content Warnings - Stalking , mentions of suicide, murder (duh), uuuh michael myers is a warning alone lol

Notes - Minors DNI PLEASE, fluff but also murder, SFW, no specific pronouns or gendered terms used :))

Eyes of the devil.

Black, soulless voids behind them, devoid of all humanity.

Ever since he was transferred to the Sanitarium, Michael has been referred to and treated as a being of pure evil - a blight upon this world. How would Dr. Loomis react now, to the situation Michael finds himself in?

A body lies in his house, in his bed, and for once it hasn’t gone cold, the heat of life still flowing through it.

You.

Sick as all hell, writhing in pain as whatever illness you have beats you into a pained, sluggish version of your normal self.

Michael stands aside the bed, making no movement.

He watches you, for a while - rolling back and forth occasionally, groaning in pain all the while.

When you finally become aware enough to notice that you aren't alone, you look up to his mask and give a meek smile. Michael isn't a comforting person, he never learned how to be or even received any himself, but something in you knows that this is his attempt at it.

"You don't have to stand here, you know."

You get no response.

A few seconds of silence pass as you close your eyes, letting out a slow, shallow breath.

"This will pass, it might take a bit longer since you don't have any medicine in the cabinets, but I'll be just fine soon enough..." You trail off.

You are once again met with silence.

It doesn't take too long for you to succumb to the exhaustion and fall asleep, your body being completely drained from fighting off this virus. You don't know how long Michael stayed there, or if he even was there after you finished talking - for such a big body, he's incredibly quiet.

Unbeknownst to you, he stayed, unmoving, for a good half an hour after you drifted off.

He was planning on going out tonight - a frat house down the street has been too rowdy lately, and losing a few members would likely get them to quiet down (you had been bothered by the noise lately, but that isn’t why he’s going for them) But leaving you here alone, sick and in pain seemed to hurt his cold heart.

Why?

If you posed an obstacle for him and his goals, he really should just kill you. You two have been together for a few months now, in a sort of problem-and-problem-enabler type situation - you provided him a place to stay at your half-used apartment, food, and company (an attempt at it, at least), and Michael provided with a sense of safety as your behind-the-scenes guard dog, and an odd sense of pride knowing you’ve, to an extent, tamed the beast terrorizing Haddonfield.

Michael isn’t stupid, not in a general sense. While he had been in a mental institution for the past fifteen-odd years, he's killed dozens of people by now and never got even remotely close to being caught. He’s just a little socially confused. He’s been treated like the devil itself for the past 15 years of his life, so your kindness, let alone your peaceful coexistence with him is somewhat lost to him. Even the night you met had been something he’d never thought he’d let happen.

You had been taking pictures of the old Myers house a few months back, just after sunset. There was enough light for you to see, but with every photo you took that was getting more and more difficult. You had walked here by yourself, which you quickly began to regret - you could hear quiet(ish) shuffling coming from the side of the house, and it definitely wasn’t getting further away. You obviously knew of Michael, everyone did - but August was much earlier than he’d ever returned, and you knew some local teens had taken up pretending to be him just to get a scare out of people. At first you thought you’d just get a little spooked and laughed at, then be able to head home safely, but apparently impersonating a killer doesn’t sit well with said killer. 

The two impostors were killed with ease and a lack of ceremony, and you were quickly thrown into the house. You thought the last thing you’d ever see would be that infamous pale white mask looking into your eyes, but it wasn’t. You saw the eyes behind it - the man, the human. In complete honesty, neither of you knew why what happened next turned out the way it did. One moment you were pinned against the wall by the real Michael, the blood from the two imposters staining both your clothes. Then all he did was let out a loud huff before stalking away. The man who never left someone alive let you, of all people, live.

In the coming months you began to spot him near your apartment and - seemingly - following you around town. You were smart enough not to tell anyone, as you knew he’d disappear before anyone else could spot him and you’d wake up to a pool of your own blood and live out your last moments from a betrayal-fueled, merciless kill. From then on you had learned to interpret his non-verbality, which lead to an eventual fucked-up kind of kinship. You never tried to get him to stop what he does - to “fix” him. He appreciated that. With time he began to enjoy, even desire your company, and even went as far as allowing you to see who he was under the mask.

Getting to the location was easy enough - it was dark as all hell outside in the early December nights, and no one wanted to leave the safety and comfort of their homes. Especially since the small town had just been visited by the infamous boogeyman. Except, seemingly, the exact house he had his sights on. Perhaps it was just a lapse in judgement by a house full of drunk, intelligence-deprived party goers, but perhaps they thought one escaped asylum serial killer wouldn’t be able to survive against all of them. Either way, they left the side door unlocked. Entering the house, Michael quietly stalked around the trash strewn about - it seemed like a party had just concluded, which meant it was very likely that everyone in the house was dead asleep from over drinking. Easy targets.

It didn’t take long for Michael to be almost completely alone in the frat house. His ability to quietly stalk through it was really put to the test however, as the house was absolutely filthy. He could smell, even through his mask, the stink of cheap alcohol, smoke, and something that he’d be alright with never fully identifying. The ground was almost completely littered in something that looked like discarded clothes, with various kinds of large stains just about everywhere - for once maybe he’d actually be the good guy by killing whoever made this mess.

Finding said filth was pretty easy, people were asleep on the floor, on couches, piled together on beds. He saw two bodies sharing a bed, one draping an arm over the other, their hand being held by the other. He thought of you - your warmth finally allowing him to get some real rest at night. How you were never scared of his large hands, never seeming to care about the blood that can’t be washed from them. How you also seemed to sleep better in his presence, sometimes waiting up for him to even get to bed.

You better not be doing that now.

That room took him a bit longer to get through.

The last room was on the eastern side of the building, the master bedroom. Only a few people were in this room, two piled on the bed and one asleep face-down on the floor, lying in a pool of… something. Michael had gotten rid of two of them before he noticed how the only window of this room was perfectly facing your old apartment. You had been splitting time between there and the old Myers house ever since that night, but the knowledge that anyone in this house could have seen you through that window made his blood boil. He can’t stop you from interacting with people; he had enough common sense to know that you had to work and get money to sustain yourself and get whatever you thought Michael needed as well, and that a good person like you needed more than just a serial killer for company (much to his dismay). However, he absolutely could stop people from going to you first. As he stood over the last soon-to-be-corpse, panting from the adrenaline, he came up with a plan.

Michael had always made his kills swift and brutal, leaving no room for anyone to think it wasn’t his work. But tonight, he changed it up a bit. He woke the last victim up, quickly grabbing him from behind.

“Wha…what?”

The poor boy was barely conscious as Michael put the knife into the other’s hand, using his own to guide him to slit his own throat. Of course, there was a slight struggle, but having a hangover and fighting against a killing machine worked against the last man’s favor, and the knife glided across the skin, breaking through with a steady trickle of blood. He fell to the floor in a position of apparent suicide, and Michael then got to work. He wanted it to seem that this poor boy had lost his mind and killed every member of the afterparty he had hosted himself, all because of an obsession with the person across the street - you. Michael staged the scene by changing the boy into his overalls (plenty of stupid people had been impersonating Michael, no one would think it was actually his.) On a piece of paper, he wrote down your typical schedule for any given week - no, he did not memorize it, and he certainly didn’t repeat it to himself like a mantra when he needed to focus. Don’t be stupid. To anyone who’d see the scene, it would look like an obsessed maniac realized you were out of his grasp, lost his mind, killed all his friends and then himself. The police would likely put together that you were his target, and they would likely question you, but Michael knew you wouldn’t say anything. If anything, you’d probably assume they meant him, and would be absolutely shocked when it would be revealed to be someone else. Maybe you’d put together that it was all an elaborate ruse from Michael. 

Maybe you’d thank him.

Michael stole a change of clothes and left, leaving the knife as proof of the crime clearly not committed by him, a small bottle of cold medicine he found on the nightstand rattling in the pocket of his pants.

As he expected, the house was quiet when he returned. Well maybe not expected, but that’s what he wanted to greet him. He hated when you stayed up for him, as if you were an old married couple (deception and avoidance was his game, it was only a matter of him before he fell victim to it himself). You were his captive, and would likely end up being his victim too (deception). There was no love in his heart, in this home, anywhere close to him. He’s a killer, and only a killer (avoidance).

So why do his hands twitch when he thinks of you? Why does his body move on its own, craving your warmth and touch?

You were still asleep when he got to the bedroom, breathing shallow. He set the medicine bottle on the nightstand closest to you, going into the bathroom to make sure he was free from any blood before he joined you bedside. The dip in the mattress woke you up enough for you to open your eyes to see a bottle of cold medicine left for you (don’t mind the dark red smear on the label).

“Thinking of me even during a bloodbath?”

You sat up and took two of the small pills, washing them down with the glass of water you had gotten earlier in the night. When you laid back down, you were pulled into the grasp of your oh-so-thoughtful killer. You felt his face nuzzle into your hair with an uncanny tenderness- wait. His face? Like, the actual one?

“Your mask- where is it?”

He opted to not respond, instead pulling you further into his chest. You quietly hummed, too tired to press it any further. You reached back and grabbed his hand and pulled it close, right on top of your heart.

He huffed in response.

[thr0wnawayy]

Writing Exercise: Invertia

Lavender rays snuck through the blinds of the Ninth's room.

The Ninth.

Izumi still had trouble processing that the events of the past semester were grounded in reality.

But the beating of her heart, the rising and falling of her chest as she slowly came into consciousness. It reminded her that she was alive, she was real.

The pink haired protege stiffly raised herself into a sitting position, her neck popped as she looked to her limited edition 'All Blight - Incinerator collab' calender that had been given to her by that overly cheery classmate, Shoto Himura.

It was the Sports Festival today. Well, fuck.

Izumi ripped of the bedsheets and trudged to to bathroom.

Her pink hair shot in every direction, one wiry eye peered behind the rats nest, glaring at itself like death.

Deku broke contact to grab a comb and try to fashion her hair into something salvageable.

Izumi hissed through her teeth as she realized her mental mistake. Nevertheless, she continued taming her hair.

Her mother was likely out of the house again. Not that Izumi minded, that was natural given her position as the head of a major lawfirm.

Izumi had been taught more than enough to survive on her own. Born in a time where Heroes were only just exploding onto the mainstream meant more risks of a break in.

Cooking, cleaning and self preservation were all skills Izumi had learned by age 9, such was the life of a middle class woman and her unexpected daughter.

Izumi snapped back to the present, finding that she had been on autopilot again and was now standing in the kitchen, fully dressed in a crimson "Woop Weep' band tee and black cargo pants.

Izumi grabbed the necessary items, looking out the window to see the familar crimson sky, perfectly clear. Izumi knew she had plenty of time, maintaining a perfect schedule and living in Musutafu helped with that.

As the pot began to boil and the soba lay in wait, Izumi found her thoughts returning to the subject of her "friends".

Izumi never really had friends, so she didn't know if Shoto, Uraraka or Ida counted.

Shoto was the latest addition. Completely the opposite of what one would expect from Incinerator's son. The number 2 was as unwavering and intense as the Black-Fire she weilded. Shoto was, well, Shoto. Talkative and energetic, a boy who could see a butterfly pass by and have a million questions.

Ida was more in-line with what Izumi had come to expect from a Legacy kid, although Ida's 'devil may care' attitude to most things was something Izumi could appreciate. The ginger haired delinquent seemed to take things in stride, though she supposes coming from a long line of Villains will do that to you.

Uraraka was the most mysterious for Izumi, the one code she couldn't crack.

Izumi was blunt, she spoke her mind and gave no quarter. Uraraka's tounge was barbed and honeyed. She had a way to get you hooked on whatever she was offering.

Thats how Izumi wound up agreeing to train her in hand to hand combat. Techniques she had spent years honing on bullies, earning her 10 suspensions by the time she was in 6th grade (all off record of course, lawyer mom)

The lid rumbles. Izumi listlessly places the soba strands in.

As she waits for breakfast, She looks at this little bobble head her mother had bought her as a gag gift a few years ago. A very familair face stares back at her.

"Toroshinori..." Izumi answers to the open air.

She still remembers that day on the roof. Izumi had clung to the 'Blight of villainy' himself, and she knew they'd tear her apart if they ever found out what she'd shouted at him.

"Why do the bad ones always become heroes!?"

Izumi had been tired, the world's worst manipulator had told her to kill herself. Her mother had been overworked and every day it seemed like another so-called "hero" forgot what side of the law they stood on.

She'd almost opened the door to the stairwell when he spoke.

He'd poofed in a cloud of smoke, the smell of ash filling the air. The man who restored order, was laid bare in front of her. A man who despite hardship after hardship, kept on going.

They hadn't realized the stairwell door had locked until that point, trapped up there until All Blight could recharge.

He gave her his story and Izumi gave hers. Two souls, hurt by the world and looking to reshape itm

He said that he "liked her moxie" and offered to keep on touch. Who was Izumi to refuse?

Izumi looked up at the oven clock, right on time. She turned off the heat, strained the soba and grabbed her seasoning.

By this point it was automatic. Izumi knew just the way she liked her Soba, what techniques and intracies. The craftsmanship of a homemade meal was simply enjoyable to her.

Izumi ate, enjoying the serine silence of the house. Absorbing it, because the Sports Festival was going to be louder than Tear Lord's charity guitar tours.

And just like that Izumi felt her mood sour again. She was going to have to deal with those idiots again. Most of her classmates were alright, but then there were those.

Kaminari was the textbook definition of a misogynist. Constantly trying to mask it through a false veneer of chivalry. Mineta, the paranoid, who was more than likely going to go on a killing spree sometime in the future.

And then of course, Bakugo. The leech of U.Gen, constantly riding on the coat-tails of everyone else. Thinking he's playing 4d chess with his "rumors" when it's little more that locker room gossip.

He is simply repungent.

Izumi shrugs it off as she grabs her supplies. 'Eh, he'll probably have a breakdown the moment he washes out'.

U.Gen was no joke, failing here meant expulsion, effectively immediately. Only the top 50 would go on to the next semester and the only reason she knew that was thanks to Toshinori's messages, which she always appreciated.

The decision came into place following the Ice Hero: Endeavor's, forced retirement. No one knows exactly what happend, Shoto seems to buffer whenever she asks. But the bottom line was Endeavor shouldn't have gotten through at all.

Since then, U.Gen has had two major exams in the first year. Each at the end of the semester. The first, the SF, was meant to weed out incapable or/and unresouceful heroes. The schematics on the next one are vaug, but Izumi knew it had something to do with one's character.

-And would you look at that, she's already in the train. She really needs to stop getting lost in her own head, it's not beneficial.

The tram was packed, no suprise there. Mostly with people either going to work or going to have fun.

What else are they gonna go to? With her to the Sports Festival? That hasn't been open to the public since Izumi was a toddler.

Izumi snorted at the mental image of her in a TerraRiser onesie, complete with the black cape.

The speaker dinged, letting her know that her station was coming up. The concrete practically shifted beneath her feet as she leapt out the tram car.

It didn't take Izumi long to find the bus, Her English Teacher: Silencer mutely greeting her with a soft smile and a head nod, miming tapping a watch to tell her that it was time to haul ass.

It wasn't much different to one's that sent them to the DWJ, it was kind of nostalgic. Even if it relatively recent. Izumi took in a deep breath of filtered air as the bus began to move.

Showtime.

_______________________________________

Kamino Ward District.

The Drousy Djin Diner.

Thunk, Thunk, Thunk

Gloved fingers met the screen of a TouchPad.

Thunk, Thunk, Thunk.

Eerie bright blue eyes pwwred from behind Reddish-Brown locks. The Sports Festival was today...

A black haired girl twirled a clearly stolen pistol in her hand, her expression bored as sin.

A white haired vigilante postured with his back against the wall, waiting for his partner in business and crime to speak.

A dead man watches eagerly from behind the counter. His body as youthful as the day he "died".

The Brunette shifts upright, all eyes suddenly on him. He grins.

"Who's ready to make their mark?"

[songofamazon]

Hello! 3, 7, or 14 for the Aldwir asks, if you want!

Thank you @hyperions-light for the asks! I finally have the spoons to work on this one. The full list of Aldwir Story Time prompts is here.

I chose 14, "Rook coordinating with the Dalish to help reconstruct more of the Elvhen language."

This happens some time after the end of Veilguard, when things have begun to settle down, but Vel is not one to stay still.

“Okay, so did we hear from Clan Sabrae?” Vel asked brightly, leaning over the wicker table in her study—floating in the air, with her own private waterfall, and tiny grove of trees, where the Elvhen once sat—surrounded by elves from all over Thedas.

Well, most of Thedas.

And that was the issue at hand.

“Not yet,” Irelin replied, checking her notes, “But they are known to range quite far south this time of year. A reply could take time.”

“Right, no worries,” Vel tried not to bounce in her seat with impatience. “So we’ve got a couple dozen clans agreeing to work with us?”

“And the city elves of at least Starkhaven and Kirkwall—what’s left of it anyway,” Merrill, her cousin Elanna’s friend from her travels and eluvian expert, put in. Her Southern accent always made Vel smile. “City elves have their own traditions, I’ve learned, and they’ve kept different parts of the old ways than the Dalish. We should contact the others.”

“Yeah,” Bellara agreed, “That’s what Antoine was saying, especially in Orlais near the Dales.”

“We should write to Marquise Briala,” Loranil suggested, another of Elanna and Harding’s friends from the Inquisition, “She’s quite a hero in the Dales, to Dalish and not alike, after saving so many lives during Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain’s Blight. Many elves there want to rebuild a free life there.”

“Or here,” Strife nodded. “We’re already seeing Orlesian migrants coming to resettle in Arlathan, now that it’s gotten out what we’re doing.”

“Resettling Arlathan,” Bellara said in an awed whisper. “For the elves. For better lives for everyone.”

Vel’s heart skipped a beat at the thought too. They were doing it. The dream that she’d never thought could actually come true.

With the resealing of the Veil, all magic was less potent, including that which had long slumbered in Arlathan. Now, it slumbered again. The ancient magic tech could still be reawakened with enough spell-work, usually, so the Veil Jumpers still had their job in scouting and securing the safety of Arlathan for others.

But the worst and most confounding hazards of Arlathan were at the very least tamed, if not eliminated all together.

There were still some magics, like whatever kept Vel’s office and nearby home floating amid a tangle of ancient trees and waterspouts, were too stubborn even for the strengthened veil. Perhaps the Veil would always be thinner over Arlathan.

But a homeland wasn’t the only thing Vel was going to help the elves reclaim. Their civilization needed a language to bind together the elves from all over Thedas, to tie them to their past, and to carry them towards their future.

“And reclaiming our language: Elvhen,” Vel said firmly, “Everyone has their own bits and pieces. We all know some greetings and slang, but the keepers have kept fragments of our language alive over the ages for this day.

“The old songs from your clan that you don’t know the full meaning of, maybe someone else does. Maybe the spirits do! Let’s ask all who are willing, and fill in the gaps ourselves, for us,” Vel found herself on her feet, fist raised in enthusiasm.

“The spirits of curiosity draw near, as do those with affection for Arlathan,” Taís Merevar said, a Dalish keeper and seer from Rivain who brought her clan to Arlathan after the Blights settled. “Surely among them are those who know words from our ancestors.”

“And I got as much language as I could from that stubborn archive spirit before I freed it,” Bellara waved a heavy tome of notes over the table, “Plus all the history it deigned to share.” There were two more volumes on the table beside her.

“For once, I miss having the Fen’harel in my head,” Vel laughed and sank back into her chair. “He’d love to teach me about old Elvhen, but he’d probably lord it over me for a while first. Nah. Elanna can have him. I hope they’re enjoying the fade.” Finding all eyes on her again, she cleared her throat, “Anyway! We’ve heard from most of the Dalish clans, but Merrill is right. We should send people to visit the human cities to see what the elves there can teach us.. Loranil, you can write to Briala?”

“It would be better coming from you, Rook,” he deflected, “I’m a nobody who used to fight for the Inquisition.”

“This is your chance to be a somebody,” Strife argued. From everything I’ve heard of the woman, she does her best to do good for the elves.”

“And Taís, you can connect us with settlements in Rivain?” Vel asked. The dark-skinned woman nodded.

“I’ll work with the Shadow Dragons to contact other Tevinter elves,” Strife offered, “We’ve got a long history, separate from the South.”

“That leaves Rivain, Nevarra, Ferelden, and the Anderfells,” Vel counted off on her fingers. “I bet Tea has connections to at least the elves in Treviso.”

“I will speak with her,” Irelin volunteered.

“And I’ll take the Anderfells,” Davrin looked up from his whittling.

“Assan and I need something new to chase after. And I’ll see if I can catch up with Antione and Evka. Antione might already have something, what with his hobby of story collecting.”

“Thanks.” Vel would miss him, but Davrin was a man of the hunt. There was no keeping him in one place for too long, and his stay in the Lighthouse had been pretty considerable already.

“I think,” Loranil started hesitantly, “Sydony, another elf from the Inquisition, has some connections in Nevarra. I could write her too, and see if she could help.”

Vel nodded. “That would be great!” Emmerich wasn’t going to be of much help. An expert in the fade he might be, but his network was rather limited to the Necropolis. Though maybe there were some very old dead that remembered the language of the elves! Maybe he could be of help after all! Vel made a mental note to ask him next time she popped in for a visit.

“Carver has been wanting to visit his homeland in Ferelden, now that the Blight has receded,” Merrill named her surly human partner, whom Lucanis was currently entertaining with knife throwing lessons below, “And I’d like to check in on my old clan, Sabrae, too. Are there any Eluvians positioned there for travel?”

Bellara thought for a moment. “The closest I can get you is Skyhold, I think.”

“Wonderful! I’ve always wanted to see Skyhold,” Merrill beamed, “Though I suspect Carver might dislike the cold.”

“And when you get back,” Bellara interrupted eagerly, “We can keep working on that eluvian research. I think we almost have the basics figured out. Maybe if Magister Pavus—I mean Archon Pavus lets me borrow his sending crystal, I can examine the similarities and—“

“Someday you two will outdo June,” Strife chuckled.

“Ma serannas, ma’falon,” Vel concluded with a grin, “We are Arlathan. We are our language. And someday, we’ll all know how to speak it, too.”

As the others said their goodbyes and filed towards the ladder, a tall, graying elf who had spent the meeting silently against the wall broke from the shadows and approached her.

Holding out a pair of halla leather journals, a slow smile spread across his face. “You do me proud, da’len.”

“Father,” Vel took the books reverently, but stood tall before him, “I wasn’t sure if you got my invitation until you showed up.”

“What you asked of me takes time,” he nodded to the journals, “But that is all I could recount on my way here. There may be more later.” Vel’s eyes widened. “This is—“ She flipped through the top volume: songs, tales, sketches, Elvhen words and phrases. “Wow!”

The smile reached his eyes. “As you said, this is a day we Keepers—and all that have come before us—have kept the ways for. We may make a Keeper of you yet. But,” he said, drawing her into a sudden embrace, “You didn’t have to save all of Thedas, defeat three gods—“

“Technically two,” Vel cut in, “Elanna and what’s left of Mythal helped convince Fen’harel to stand down.”

He chuckled. “Just listen to yourself! But you didn’t have to do any of that, lead the resettlement of Arlathan, or knit together the fragments of our language for your mother and I to be proud of you. We already were; just for being you and staying true to your heart.”

He released her, but Vel hugged the journals and the freeing warmth that came with his words close to her chest. “Ma serannas a hundred times over, Father,” she babbled. “There is still so much to learn, and—“

“And I think I’d like an introduction to that handsome Antivan down below,” His eyes narrowed mischievously, “I believe your friend Bellara said that he was also with you as one of your ‘Veilguard.’”

“Uh, Lucanis?” she squeaked, face growing suddenly hot. “Sure. I’m sure he’d love to meet you too.”

“I thought as much,” her father chuckled as he retrieved his staff from where it leaned against the wall. “Well, lead the way, da’len.”

[datvtranscripts]

On Deadly Wings Pt. 1

Find Lucanis

Signs and Portents Masterpost Previous: Decisions

Rook arrives in Treviso. The city is burning.

Antivan Crow: Listen! The dragon. The Antaam brought it here somehow.

Worried Crow: They're fighting Crows and saying the dragon will break our "meaningless resistance."

Antivan Crow: Bastards!

They take a zipline, and the dragon flies past.

(Dragon roars)

Crow Rook: Rook: Oh, no, no, no! What's it done to my city?

Non-Crow Rook: Rook: It's worse than I thought. How do we fight this?

Bellara: We should look for Lucanis.

Davrin: Let's find your Crow friend, then make a plan.

Harding: We have to find Lucanis. If we can.

(Dragon roars in the distance)

Rook passes another Crow.

Worried Crow: Please. Someone has to stop it.

They enter a nearby building, where they are attacked by antaam.

Antaam: You think Crows can win against a dragon? It fights for us! It flies for the Antaam! That beast in the sky will tame this city for the Antaam. All you will be is dust!

They defeat the antaam and exit the building into a courtyard. The dragon flies by again in a burst of flame.

Bellara: That dragon isn't slowing down! We need to kill it!

Davrin: We have to kill that dragon. Treviso can't take much more!

Harding: The city can't take any more!

Teia: Rook! Over here!

Crow Rook: Teia! She's all right.

Non-Crow Rook: It's Teia, from the Crows.

Rook runs up to where Teia and Lucanis are standing.

Crow Rook: Lucanis: Rook. Good. We could use another Crow. Teia: Even though killing dragons is not exactly our specialty. Rook: Time to learn.

Non-Crow Rook: Lucanis: Rook! You're just in time.

Lucanis: Where the dragon attacks, the Antaam soon follow.

Teia: It is strong, and fast. You must get its attention, then lure it onto the ground.

Rook: We'll figure out a way.

Teia: Draw up your courage. We will need it.

Rook continues on, to find Ghilan’nain standing among the rooftops.

Ghilan'nain: Despair. Ignorance. Mortal confusion. Yet this city offers nothing better than a pawn of the Dread Wolf.

Rook: Ghilan'nain!

Ghilan'nain: Your patron could not stand against us ages past. He will not help you now. Give us the Dread Wolf's dagger.

Rook: Come get it.

Ghilan'nain: Retrieve the knife. And whatever else remains of these mortals.

The dragon flies in from behind her and swoops down to fight. Eventually, the dragon is injured and flies off.

Ghilan'nain: That is enough. We have urgent need of your strength elsewhere. Come. Return to me.

Rook: It's going!

Bellara: We did it! Sort of!

Davrin: That was a close one.

Harding: Thank goodness.

They find Teia again.

Teia: You fought it off!

Lucanis: If Ghilan'nain hadn't called it away…

Dialogue options:

Affable: Matters more Treviso’s safe. [1]

Sarcastic: Makes me nervous. [2]

Stoic: This isn’t the end. [3]

1 - Affable: Matters more Treviso’s safe. Rook: It's more important that it stopped attacking the city. Teia: Everyone with a home that still stands will agree. [4]

2 - Sarcastic: Makes me nervous. Rook: She's probably going to fix it up even better than it was before. Lucanis: Let her plan. It won't escape next time. [4]

3 - Stoic: This isn’t the end. Rook: It'll be back. Lucanis: Next time, it dies. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Rook: That thing was tough. It'll be hard to put down for good.

Lucanis: What happened to Treviso would've been worse if you hadn't arrived when you did. I cannot imagine how much worse.

Bellara: What about Minrathous? And Neve? Maybe there's still time to help.

Davrin: Still have to help with that dragon in Minrathous.

Harding: And now we have to go to Minrathous. There might still be time to help with their dragon.

Rook: Let's go.

Next: Blighted Minrathous

[maagisterpavus]

So I made the grave error of entering the Dragon Age subreddit. I know, rookie mistake. Anyway, I saw so much garbage in there about how the game “isn’t dark” or how it’s “tame and sanitized” and boy do I have some thoughts. Dumping them here cause trying to talk sense into gamer Redditors is like shouting at a brick wall.

It seems that people are confusing a brighter art style with a lack of mature content. There are so many things in this game that are straight up disturbing—Blood of Arlathan with the Ventatori using discarded corpses of slaves as furniture comes to mind. Also, I’m not sure if this dialogue occurs with every companion, but I brought Bellara for that quest and she is rightfully horrified when you reach where the Ventatori are sacrificing the Halla. If you stop running to look, Neve will say “let’s keep moving, we don’t need to watch this.” I took this as a cue for me, the player. Not for the characters.

I like the art style for a lot of reasons and this is one of them—any more realistic and I probably wouldn’t have been able to stomach it. (People can call me a wimp, whatever.)

There’s SO many disturbing things in the background if players would just take the time to look. The game doesn’t smack us in the face with gory cutscenes to show it, it’s built into the fabric of it all. You can run past a lot of it without even realizing, which is more messed up, imo. Like, the amount of times I stopped running and went “wait WHAT?”

Another example, and I admit I missed this for a good while into my first playthrough, are the tree people in Arlathan. Are they gross and bloody and gory? No. They don’t need to be, that’s the point. These are people who were fleeing and couldn’t get away fast enough before they got petrified into TREES. Some are holding hands as they run, frozen in time. Others are cradling each other on the ground. In certain areas, if you stand close enough, you can hear them screaming. If you’re not upset in the slightest by that, I don’t know what to tell you. That’s almost like looking at images of Pompeii and feeling nothing.

The consequences of what Thedas has been through and what it’s currently going through are woven directly into the environment. It’s not just grit for the sake of grit, or gore and body horror for the sake of shock value. It requires that the player have some level of basic empathy and the ability to see past the end of their own nose. You can walk right on by the beggars in Miranthous and never give them a dime. You can run right over the countless bodies in the streets sacrificed for blood magic without giving them a second glance. The list goes on (don’t get me started on the market-turned-field-hospital if you don’t save Treviso.) The horrors and injustices are around every corner, and the game gives players the opportunity to simply turn the other cheek. Personally, I don’t know how someone can when these things are literally everywhere, but clearly people do. Maybe those who choose to ignore it should ask themselves why they can. (Something something societal commentary? Are we that desensitized to suffering? Or are some just too privileged to notice it?)

As for the “there’s not enough evidence of slavery!” crowd… okay, um, weird fetish. But if we must: what do you think all of the person-sized cages are for???

Oh, and if we want to talk about things that do smack you in the face: a few hours in, you visit D’Metas Crossing. Which is sickening. You find out that the mayor willingly blighted his entire town for gold. For money. For greed. Whether or not “the gods are in his head” doesn’t matter. They played into his desires, and that’s what his desire was, and what he was willing to do for it. You find him tied up, suffocated by blight tendrils, and surrounded by piles of gold soaked in the blood of his townspeople. HELLO. Can the picture get any clearer?

(I left that MFer to die the first time, and it was extremely difficult letting him live the second.)

I’m convinced people are just playing with their eyes shut or staring at their Rook the whole time or something. If some prefer more overt displays of gore and horror, that’s fine and there’s no shortage of games like that out there for them. But the people saying Veilguard is “bad because it’s sanitized” or “Disneyfied and for kids” just aren’t paying attention. Honestly, saying this game is kid-friendly is completely batshit.

For as much as Veilguard is a tale of hope and perseverance, it’s also a reminder that saving the world doesn’t automatically mean that the world is fixed. There’s still plenty of monsters left to slay. They just don’t have two torsos and tentacles—they look like the person next door.

(Of course, then that starts the question of “is the world as it is even worth saving then?” and then we get into “we should have let Solas tear down the veil!” and I’m so not going there cause this post already got away from me. (And no, no we shouldn’t let Solas tear down the veil. FFS.))

Whew.

Anyway. The game is plenty dark. Just maybe not the kind of dark people were expecting… or are comfortable with.

[stenshale]

@a-gay-bloodmage GLADLY. putting it under a cut because the thoughts are Many

okay. lets say you're brosca. you're casteless which means everything is gonna suck forever unless you con your way into high society somehow. both your dad and you sister's dad walked out which means you're double fatherless. your best friend is kind of a dick. you and your sister are under the thumb of your town's fantasy drug pusher. and worst of all, your mother is an alcoholic who does not fucking like you even a little bit. she's mean, she sucks, you have to make sure she doesn't drink herself to death. she blames you for all of that. whatever. fine. that's life.

now let's say, through some real looney tunes bullshit, you manage to get out of dust town AND join the grey wardens AND ensure your sister and mother's safety and prosperity. great! this rules! the sky is fucking terrifying but honestly you can cope with that because you're out, dammit! you have friends that don't suck! no one up here cares that you're casteless!

you're living the high life for, like, two whole days. then you almost die, you almost die again, your cool recruiter dies, the fucking KING dies?, and the new acting king says you and your new best friend, the only other living grey warden in ferelden apparently, are public enemy number one. sucks. back to being a social pariah.

oh and there's a fucking blight and you have to kill an archdemon. also very cool. dust town isn't looking so bad right about now. lucky for you, because of some legal shenanigans (that, mind, you do not fucking understand because you have only been in this country for a week, and even in your hometown you weren't exactly rubbing elbows with the lawmaking elite), you get to go BACK to Orzammar. you get to visit home!

your sister is married and has a kid which is awesome. her husband seems to take good care of her. you can make him king if you want, because that's the influence you have over people now. deciding elections. weird! a couple months ago you barely had a say over what you had for dinner at night.

okay. now let's say you're specifically bosca brosca, and you want to be a berserker soooooo fucking bad. like so terribly awfully bad. you're back at home and you just want to hit things really hard with your big sword. you're also probably nonbinary but you've got too much on your plate to focus on that right now so it's not a concern. gather army first, then kill an archdemon, then gender stuff at some point. if you live. which is looking less and less likely the more you learn about surfacer bullshit.

there's a berserker dwarf in Orzammar who can teach you, though! cool! except he's mean. and he sucks. and you have to make sure he doesn't drink himself to death. and his relationship with his wife (who you come to hate for different, golem-related reasons) seems, to put it lightly, a fucking mess.

and you are not a hateful dwarf. no more than any other duster. living casteless for long enough, seeing the bigwigs in the diamond district, it turns anyone into a bit of a misanthropist, sure, but you're pretty tame, considering.

you hate oghren, though. from the MOMENT you see him. he's loud and you want to drown him, probably, and you had better get out of Orzammar quick because if you don't find running water to stick his head under, you're probably just gonna settle for lava. not a good idea. he still has to teach you berserking.

and so you do. and he does. he's good at that and drinking and not much else, and you kind of wish he was bad at the berserker part, too, so you could say the asshole never did a damn thing for you. but you can't.

and then he gets too drunk, even by his standards, and you haul him back to his tent, because that's what you do, you wait until the people you... know? are broken enough that you can sweep up the pieces and pretend you did them a service. you're not going to fix anything, but you can try and stop it from getting worse. you can make sure he rolls onto his side and sit by the fire, close enough to his tent to hear if he starts to get up in the middle of the night but far enough that you can pretend that's not exactly what you're doing.

and the healer, who drinks him under the table but does it in a quiet way that makes it hard to hate her about it, tells you that you're awfully gentle with him. it's a question and an accusation and you dignify neither. you don't even agree. it's not gentleness, it's necessity, it's maintaining a family team, it's what you do. you don't tell her that because she'll only give you that look she gets when she knows more than you thought you said.

if you knew who pavlov was, you'd draw some connections. if you knew who your father was, you'd draw some other connections. but you know neither of those men, so you hate him in a way that sinks its teeth deep in your chest and stays there.

and then you kill an archdemon and become a living paragon and raise house brosca out of castelessness and get married and act as the advisor to the king of a country you AREN'T EVEN FROM! and you think you're rid of him for good until you go on a grey warden mission and guess who fucking pops up.

[rottenbrainstuff]

BG3 playthrough: Astarion’s first sex scene, Raphael, Blighted village

(Spoilers, discussion of SA)

Astarion threw himself at me already: only Gale was faster. It’s all very sad how rehearsed it is. He specifically says he’s doing it because Tav deserves a reward. I know some people say they wished they had options to progress his romance without the sex in the first act, but the thing is, Tav doesn’t really understand yet what exactly is happening with him. I’ve heard some people also complain that his scene is fairly tame compared to some of the other companions and does a tasteful fade to black pretty quick: but guys, you wouldn’t want to see the rest, it’s not very good, Tav mentions in the morning that they noticed something was wrong.

Having sex with act 1 Astarion I imagine would be so oddly frustrating. I feel like his MO is to rile his partner up until they’re so ready to go that they take charge, and then he can just tune out for the rest of the evening while they do whatever they want with him. There would be odd moments of shrugging away from certain touches that are too intimate for him to stomach while he’s putting on his act; flinching away from gentle kisses on his neck, twisting away from soft touches to his ears, stuff like that. He would give his partner a bizarre feeling of simultaneously being pulled closer but also pushed away, leaving them wondering what the heck they were doing wrong.

After that I had a bunch of cutscenes all trigger one after the other: the bear bite, wanting to talk about Cazador, etc. Poor guy can’t shut up now. I wish the cutscene flow was managed a little better. I rest all the time, I had no cut scenes pending before that, then all of a sudden here’s a big dump. Inventory management is also a huge pain… I don’t even want to say how long I’ve spent just rearranging my shit.

I’m not sure exactly what triggers it, but it seems after a certain point, Raphael will appear when you go on certain areas of the map, even areas you’ve been before. I love Raphael, very dramatic, ten out of ten. I wasn’t sure exactly what was the best option to deal with Raphael but I think I made good choices. Love him. Don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, and my tav is weak and can’t throw shit. But I love him.

Then I went through the Blighted Village. It’s really neat playing as a drow, the goblins are all treating me like royalty and I can just walk right in to these camps and talk to them. The village was fun, I like the way the game tells a narrative through the papers and books that you find around town: the missing children poster, the journals noting bad things are happening, the way you learn more about what the innocent apothecary and his Dragonborn assistant are actually up to as you go deeper into the cellar. I wonder what exactly it was that blighted the village. The goblins came through for sure, but after a phase spider infestation, and a secret necromancer looking around for fresh materials, were the goblins the ones that ruined the village, or did they just provide the final shove that toppled down the house of cards?

I’m sure my drow character feels right at home running around through the tunnels, but UGH the giant spiders scared me so bad. They’re animated so realistically, they’re so huge, ugh ugh ugh.

Now that I have some cash, I don’t have to be pocketing every little thing I find that isn’t nailed down, so I can actually leave some of the incidental objects as the nice set dressing that it is. …. I mayyyyy also be arranging little items here and there like it’s an Animal Crossing island, hehe. I’ve got offerings laid out at Kanon’s grave, and a little memorial set up at Alfira’s blanket, and I’m setting up some cooking supplies at camp. Please tell me I’m not the only player that does this?

[del-kitten]

The State of Zaevion

 GIGACORP

GigaCorp (GC) had been headquartered in Liden for decades before the outbreak. Of course, they deny any involvement, but everyone knows that they're responsible.

In order to protect themselves from the cities that surround the GigaCorp campus, they built a 525-foot (160-meter) tall, steel-reinforced concrete wall topped with an electrified razor. They don’t want to keep things out; they want to keep residents in. Even though the citizens have freedoms, they consider themselves prisoners; they can’t leave unless it’s been approved, official business, or banishment for breaking the laws they’ve enacted. 

GC calls their ministate Edenfeld. At last count, the population was little more than 952,500 living in the nine cities created. The state's nickname, the Nines, reflects this.

GigaCorp's attempts to cure the infection through vivisection have failed miserably, resulting in the creation of monsters and more deadly diseases. Instead of destroying their mistakes, they release them into the Wilds.

They may keep everyone safe, but how can life be normal and free when you never know what law, rule, or whatever they call it? No one is safe here. No one.

THE BEYOND

After the wall was built, a small community in Nerak was planning an uprising against the Elites. When GC learned of the uprising, they swiftly and violently dispatched the military, leaving the community in ruins, characterized by crumbling buildings and collapsing infrastructure. They piled the dead in the center of a large park and set them ablaze, sending a message that only fueled more hate, anger, and determination to end GigaCorp’s rule. All state officials are glad that the once beautiful and desirable neighborhood is now a blight on the state, hidden behind a dense forest. They would rather remain unaware of any attempted rebellion.

GigaCorp's propaganda has caused discomfort among the citizens of Zaevion, leading to the renaming a place once known as South Haven to The Beyond, a place beyond the trees. The only things that exist are the runaways, the lost, and the outcasts who continue to live here despite the devastation. Everyone is welcome in The Beyond.

There are two ways to get there; the most popular and easiest to use are the pale blue painted wooden steps that wind their way down into the valley. These steps end at a large, well-manicured park, with paths jutting everywhere and leading to a memorial in the park's center. The park is part of The Beyond’s rebuilding projects.

The second way in is a dusty, pothole-riddled road with hairpin curves, but this isn't what makes it so dangerous—it's the sheer dropoff without shoulder protection. Only people with death wishes use the road, and Rusty loves to drive it; he gets his passengers there and back safely. However, some of his new passengers will need to change into dry pants afterwards.

THE STREET MARKET

Twice a month, The Beyond has a three-day-long street market where various vendors have almost anything you want or need; buying, selling, trading, and bartering all take place in a carnival-esque atmosphere. There are games, food, and a place for friends to meet up. The event coincides with Keons' Hill street market and demonstrates how The Beyond conceals their operations from GigaCorp.

The market gets its wares from all over the state, but most of them come from the Wilds. This is one way The Final Hope helps the citizens of Zaevion by collecting what GC considers contraband—medicine, food, clothing, and entertainment. Becca and her team are responsible for the small, fragile, and easy-to-carry items; Rusty and his team do the heavy lifting.

The teams fulfill orders and requests from vendors ranging from the tame to the wild and crazy. All the citizens deserve comfort and fun—the type they had before the infection happened.

On the other side of the fence are more states and cities, from tiny settlements to large metropolises. If you can't find it in The Wilds, it's probably not worth having.

[fictional-other-tarot]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request! Youre writing is so lovely.

S/I Name : Mia (Miakoda) Enyeto (She/They)

F/O Name (+pronouns) : Alador Blight (He/Him)

Relationship Status: Romantic

Preferred terms for S/I: Honey, Bear (other variants of Bear as it comes from Koda-Bear), Love

Nsft: No thanks

F/O writing style: Shy, Lost in Thought (he gets distracted/engrossed easily), Tender, Romantic

Other quirks / habits: Yearning to express but unsure, Overthinks, Freedom in expression but that's terrifying yet exhilarating (was in an abusive relationship so he's learning to let that go now)

Topic: Falling in love all over again (weren't allowed to be together in their youth but now have the chance to start anew)

Letter theme: loving with tarot

Ending note: Your Alleycat

Extra info: Mia and Alador fell in love as kids (met at 13 became steady from 14-16) but his parents arranged a marriage. They dated in secret but ultimately knew they couldn't continue. He got married, Mia went off on expeditions to document endangered creatures. She came back into town to be a teacher and when he divorced his wife (abusive) they started to rekindle their relationship. Both Alador and Mia are witches but specialize in different magic. Alador is an inventor and works with Abomination Magic (creating creatures out of goo and modifying them with science) and Mia works with Beast Keeping Magic (speaking with and taming beasts of all sizes). Both are incredibly curious witches. Alador is the type to think over everything and rationalize each possibility while Mia is a jump-into-the-action and adapt kinda witch. They're both incredibly supportive of one another and will go to bat for eachother at the drop of a hat. Very much the THAT'S MY PARTNER!!!!!! vibe from the two of them. Alador has 3 children (16yr old twins boy+girl and a daughter who is 15yrs old) and Mia has the son as one of their students.

Thank you so much I hope you're having a wonderful day!

The fool

The Chariot

Four of Swords

Extra : Queen of Wands

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

We've been apart for too long, my love.

But our story starts anew again. We have found each other again.

You know it takes time to heal what has been broken and for your patience I'm ever grateful. Especially since it seems with me is the only time you're ever patient. You trailblaze ahead, each day set on a new adventure.

That curious nature of yours leading you to new horizons. With the trust that you'll end up okay on the other side. That willpower and courage are strengths you hold, my bear.

You have a fiery passion anyone can see.

But don't venture too far that you burn yourself out. If you find yourself depleted, come to me for your recharge, I'll do whatever it takes to let your flame burn brighter.

Though in truth you don't really need me, you're already whole and capable on your own. But still tell me I did a good job of supporting you, your approval is all that matters to me.

Your Alleycat,

Alador.

[teine-mallaichte]

Well Varric would still be there... As Storm is Hawke and Anders kid, he has known Varric basically his entire life, he even called him 'uncle varric'. So... Yeah. I even have 'letters home' drafted at different points of the game where he tells his parents what's going on and mentions Varric 😅

In comparison to a lot of the other Rooks I've just read people's answers for, Storms backstory is relatively tame. He's not lost many people, not been forced to kill people or do much that's morally grey. However, that doesn't mean he's not deeply affected by the stuff that has happened.

He had to leave home at age 17 after a run in with a Hurlock caused him to be infected by blight. Obviously his parents couldn't let him die, so Anders took him to his Aunt Bethany and he underwent the joining. Afterwards when Anders told him he needed to stay with the Wardens for a while he called Anders a hypocrite and they've not spoken much since - despite anders attempts. Storm will still add a line or so for his father in letters, but the letters are mainly addressed to his mother and siblings now, and the few times he's seen Anders since Storm's not exactly been all that nice to him. He regrets that. He knowns that his father was only trying to keep him alive, and he knows he has likely been unreasonable - not that this makes it easier to stop or let go of the anger/frustration. (For context Storm is 20 now.)

The actual 'blight incident' when he was 17 also still haunts him. Not only has it resulted in him still being scared of hurlocks, but he feels that he put his two siblings (who were only 12 at the time) in danger. He'll hear them yelling and screaming, especially the way they yelled when he got overpowered by the hurlock. He'll probably relive the fight, relive entering the cave, relive the moment which hits brother Rowan was grabbed (he was fine but that fear of what could have happened still lingers).

I'm still working on his backstory for this next bit, but the other person who will feature heavily in his regret prison is a fellow Grey Warden and his first ever LI. I've not given her a name or really developed her much yet, but he met her after he'd been a Grey Warden about a year. His Aunt Bethany hated the relationship, and hated the woman. She was reckless, morally iffy, and talked Storm into several things. Anyway the relationship only lasted about 7 or 8 months as she died - being a Warden is dangerous. Storm isn't sure if he regrets the relationship, regrets what happened to her, or regrets the way he treated Bethany during the relationship, but whatever it is she is there.

Other than that : basically every decision he's made since joining Varric on this mission. Storm is a deeply insecure person, even if he acts otherwise. He can't really remember his early life, but he was born only 5 months after the chantry explosion. His parents were fugitives, they moved a lot, and that lack of stability and constant anxiety has affected his development. On top of that he's already felt that he's not good enough compared to his parents, his parents friends and then his siblings. He second guesses EVERYTHING, and so every decision he's made since he accidentally nepotismed his way into being way over his head haunts him. Because what if it was the wrong choice? Maybe if he'd done X differently then less people would have died. Maybe if he'd paid attention as a kid and actually learnt to heal like his father and sister he could help people more. Maybe... Maybe... Maybe...

Yeah, he's not having a good time... I can see him being stuck in there longer than 2 weeks and being a mess when he finally gets out.

Oh no it’s Monday, the worst day =(

Oh YAY! It’s the Rook Intro Hour! 🎉💕🍾🎁

How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)

Today’s Questions: If the regret prison that Solas traps Rook in at the end of the game hadn’t contained Varric + some of Rook’s companions, what would your Rook have seen there? Would they have been able to overcome their regrets? What would the process have looked like for them— how would they have worked through their emotions without anything to guide them?

Have fun, and thanks for sharing !

[hiraethhh-h]

pyramid head with a gn!s/o who always pets him and scratches/rubs him underneath his helmet (Scenario)

Anonymous asked: Can you do a drabble for Pyramid Head with a S/O that always pets him and scratches/rubs under his helmet?

nonnie, u don’t understand how fast i ran to my google docs to write this HSKJDGH

wisps of fog curled around your body as you emerged from the trial. a soft sigh left your lips. you were lucky enough to find the hatch and escape from a very upset blight. an unpleasant shiver shot down your spine at the memory of the said killer mori-ing your teammates. yeah, the blight was not among your favorites.

a loud siren pierced through the sound of your thoughts, causing you to flinch. this wasn’t the campfire. rusted and beaten lockers lined the decrepit hallway, a flickering light visible at the end. you crept down the hallway, rubbing your forearms in an attempt to tame the goosebumps that began to rise on your skin. “pyramid head?” you called meekly, glancing around with a small frown. you heard no familiar sounds of the large killer, only the creepy ambiance of midwich. you came to a stop at an intersection. one way led down another hallway, the other towards where an exit-gate would be, and the final leading outside where large chains stuck to the ground. 

you headed down the steps that led outside, rain pelting down on you. water began to seep into your clothes, causing them to stick to your skin. you relished in the feeling, knowing you’d dry off regardless. caged bodies were suspended by smaller chains above you, some of them writhing around miserably. you simply paid them no mind, stepping in the middle of the three enormous chains that dug into the center of the open area. 

you slowly looked up to the dark sky, shutting your eyes with a soft sigh. despite being trapped in the Entity’s Realm, the sound and feeling of rain on your skin couldn’t help but remind you of the real world. a hand grasped your shoulder, drawing a yelp of surprise out of you. you pulled away from the being, eyes snapping open as you turned to face who or whatever had grabbed you. you were met with a dirty butchers smock and a large metal pyramid helmet tilted downwards to ‘stare’ at you. his trusty greatsword was held in his gloved left hand, the weapon tilted as it partially rested on the ground. ���jesus… you scared the shit out of me.” you breathed out, placing a hand over your racing heart. pyramid head tilted his head every so slightly, faint, raspy breathing coming from the killer. you approached the male with a soft huff, gently bracing yourself against his torso. you paid no mind to the dirt, grime, and blood that began to stain your clothes and skin, simply savoring the warmth pyramid head provided.

one of your hands rested on his hip while the other began to drift to the bottom of his helmet. the male lifted his head slightly, giving you easy access. you came into contact with a slimy mass, which did admittedly feel weird, but it was something you got used to over time. you gently scratched at the pink flesh, humming contently. you brought your other hand to caress the side of his head. a deep rumbling sound came from pyramid head, the vibrations traveling down your body. you gave a soft chuckle, looking up at your lover. “feelin’ cuddly big guy?” you smiled, playfully prodding at the slimy mound. a pink muscle gently tapped your cheek, licking a stripe up your face. “eugh,  pyra!” you shrieked, pulling away with a laugh. 

his tongue waggled playfully, sticking out of the corner of his helmet where a small part of the metal was peeled up. it poked at your cheek much like you had done to him, eliciting another laugh as you gently swatted at his tongue. “okay, okay! i get it, you’re feeling cuddly.” you giggled.

 “we should head inside then, the rain is ass-bitingly cold.”

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

SIV. what do YOU want? cause it sounds like you don't really want any of them to die

Y-Yes. Think about this, Asivus...Siv. You don't want to help these people. You don't want to hurt anyone.

Hmph. WRONG! Oh so very wrong, my stupid little brother! Have you forgotten? Lost your memory?

I'm a dangerous person! A blight upon my family name and the good land of Hyrule! A killer! A clipper! Asunder-er, or whatever I'm supposed to go by these days. It's my whole thing, hurting everyone around me! I just loooove doing it, too!

But it's not who you actually are.

Are you sure about that? I think I'm exactly who I'm supposed to be! Don't you know what I did? I bet you've got the news by now, I know the old man sent a letter about your cute little family.

Dad, what the fuck is he talking about?

Your innocent, happy, hard-working husband? Your silly, talented, little daughter? What do you think they think, hm? I wonder what they would think about ol' Assivus Asunder at this moment.

You're not—

Do you think if they saw me slaughter you right in front of them, they'd cast me out? Ruin my life forever? Nonono, that's too tame, right?

Siv.

They probably woulda killed me where I stood. Yeah. Maybe they should of. Coward's way out, I think, to just let me roam and live. Twenty years is a long time to let a guy like that go hungry. A good brother would have just driven a sword through the lungs of a monster like that, right?

D-Dad, did. Did he—?!

Or maybe that's too easy, putting me out of my misery. Noooo, I mean, that's what jail is for, right? Speaking of, you look good in there! Cozy!

Siv. You aren't a monster. You don't deserve any of this. I—

Couldn't agree more!! Only... It's by slaying the monster that one gets the title of a good and gracious hero. The knight in shining armor... That was the graduating test in the academy, remember? Well. I don't. I never took it! Haha!

Hey... Does anyone see a monster around? I think I should check that off the bucket list. Right. Now...

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 18

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I wanted to post this tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Here it is! Warning, this chapter is coming at you with razor blades and lemon juice. You were warned.

Revali drew back the string of the Great Eagle Bow, preparing to deliver the killing strike to Windblight Ganon as it had grown more and more languid in its movement, and while it was still distracted by Sooga.

“This is it!” Revali called victoriously, letting the bomb arrows fly.

Sooga dodged the incoming explosives and they collided with Windblight in a grand explosion. The creature’s resounding bestial shriek was like a reward for a battle well fought.

Lowering his bow, Revali watched, savoring the moment as the blight hemorrhaged malice. He had faced the most grueling battle he’d ever experienced, and he would live to regale his fellow Rito of his triumph. 

He turned his attention to the Yiga, still at a loss for their motivations. What had possessed them to turn against Calamity Ganon?

Well, whatever…  Revali thought. At least it wasn’t the vexingly silent knight wielding the sacred blade who came to save the day. He’d never live it down if it had been him…

Revali alighted before the two, holding back any outward sign of exhaustion or weakness. He regarded the Yiga with a hard look of suspicion.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I must thank you for coming to my aid. But just as a warning, if you do anything to make me question this...alliance, I won’t hesitate to -”

“Your threats won’t be necessary,” Sooga said simply, resheathing his dual blades.

Sooga’s words were clear despite the mask he wore, yet Revali paused, contemplating his words, not fully believing the situation. Revali braced himself for a surprise attack that never came as the moments passed.

He stared into the inverted crimson eye painted on Sooga’s horned mask and the long crack that ran across it, slightly unnerved that he could not see the man’s eyes or facial expressions. He’d have to rely on the man’s body language and tone of voice for assurance that he was not a threat. 

Kohga approached, having remained a safe distance away during the fight. “Well done, Sooga! That was quite the display of Yiga bravado.”

Revali opened his beak to say something more, but before he could form the words, their attentions were drawn to the thunderous and deliberate footsteps of a Divine Beast.

He lifted off the surface of Vah Medoh to see which of the other Champions had come to his aid. Kohga and Sooga likewise rushed across the mossy stone that stretched the wingspan of Vah Medoh to look out into the distance.

“This should be interesting…” Revali remarked as he watched Vah Naboris approach.

“Urbosa’s coming….?! ...That’s our cue to leave!” Kohga blurted before retreating into a cloud of smoke and falling talismans.

Sooga turned to Revali and shook his head. “Master Kohga can be a bit of a coward when it comes to the Gerudo Chief. “Uh… Don’t tell him I told you that!” And with that Sooga followed after Kohga, leaving Revali alone.

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

The was a sterile, stillness that belied the Champion’s victory over the blights as Hyrule Field was cast in a dreary grey. There would be no breathtaking sunset to behold, nor the comfort the moon’s brilliant glow could bring, only the world darkening as night crept in.

The four that had seized the bokoblin camp for a moment of rest could sense the encroaching storm from the dark clouds above, but none spoke of it aloud.

Robbie cleared his throat. There was no longer a levity in his voice. “Where are you headed next?”

Astor didn’t meet Robbie’s eyes as he smoothed Zelda’s long golden hair with his gloved hand. It took a moment for him to respond, too focused on her downcast gaze. 

“Fort Hateno... That’s where she is fated to awaken her inner power.”

“Then I wish you both luck.” Robbie offered, humbly.

Zelda hung her head and Astor squeezed her hand in comfort. The bleak refrain of Zelda’s court came to mind. 

Heir to a throne of nothing…

She said nothing in response, and he wondered if she was thinking the same. She seemed to have retreated inward, having cried herself out.

Purah leaned forward to address Zelda. “Princess, I have faith in you, I do. You are not alone and we’re not going to give up trying to turn back the Calamity. I think we could all benefit if we set up camp here and call it a day. And if any monsters come by, we’ll beat them with our flails.”

“No… I must go to Fort Hateno right away.” Zelda replied shakily.

“I hate to be blunt, Princess, but you aren’t in any condition to operate the Master Cycle.” 

“I’ll be fine, Purah.”

She didn’t sound fine. 

Zelda quivered in his arms, and Astor’s chest tightened with unfamiliar apprehension. 

Purah’s earlier antics would have made Kohga proud. Just like Kohga, she was perceptive, yet Astor was relieved to see a more serious side to her - as the situation demanded. He just hoped Zelda would heed Purah’s warning.

“A rest wouldn’t disturb fate, Zelda. And you do need the rest,” said Astor.

Purah and Robbie observed the couple pensively, and Astor felt like an oddity under their analytical gaze - as if they were trying to ascertain what Zelda had done to tame the Prophet of Doom himself - something Astor was in awe of as well.

“I won’t rest until I awaken my inner power,” Zelda said with as much determination as she could muster looking up at him with reddened, weary eyes.  “We don’t have a moment to waste. Let us be on our way.”

Astor followed Zelda. Despite his fatigue, despite his trepidation about getting back on the Master Cycle, he couldn’t fathom not going with her.

“Astor!” Robbie called after him.

“Hm?”

“Take care of her.”

-----------

Their journey to Fort Hateno proved to be miserable and treacherous as it had begun to rain not long after they departed. As they neared the West Necluda region, the moisture laden clouds above spilled their cold tears on the Goddess’s descendant and her elect. The rain slicked the grass and turned the packed earth roads to mud. The Master Cycle was at times buffeted by strong winds that made it difficult to maneuver. Visibility was low. Bridges became slippery.

Astor’s grip on Zelda’s waist tightened. Dread and guilt crept in as she began to second-guess her decision.

Why are we doing this? All my previous attempts to awaken my power have failed. What is it about Fort Hateno that will suddenly change everything? Ugh, I can’t allow myself to think like this.

The Master Cycle traversed through Dueling Peaks, and Zelda felt as though those towering cliffs were pressing in on them. The cliffs gave way to a vast plain, and the mountains in the distance were barely an outline in the night sky.

Zelda took care as they crossed the Big Twin Bridge, breathing out in relief when she had made it to the other side.

Almost there…

Even as Blatchery Plain stretched out before them, Zelda felt no closer to awakening the power within herself, and she didn’t know what recourse she had if this too did not work. These thoughts lingered as she pressed onward.

Blatchery Plain lay in ruin, desolate, and devoid of life - or so it seemed. A figure appeared in the immediate dim horizon, and Zelda’s heart froze as she swerved to avoid colliding with it. The Master cycle dipped a little too far for comfort to one side. Her heart thumped rapidly as she struggled to keep it upright. The tires squelched through the mud as they veered off the path and then returned.

“It keeps finding us…” Zelda said worriedly.

“Ganon always knows where we are…” Astor replied, trying not to let fear enter his voice.

Zelda looked back over her shoulder, a pit opening in her stomach when she realized the Harbinger wasn’t as far back as she expected. No, it was following them at a speed unlike other Guardians.

“Astor, whatever you do, hold on tight…” her voice was nearly muffled by the rumble of the engine.

A chill ran down Astor’s spine as he perceived the words of Calamity Ganon. It was a voice he knew all too well from prophetic dreams, the one that had urged him so fervently to kill the princess.

You are nothing, my wayward prophet without a prayer.

“Leave me alone!” Astor screamed, tearing his circlet that bore the eye of malice from his forehead. He turned and pitched it at the charging Harbinger. The red and yellow stone was crushed under its rampaging claw the next moment.

Do you think you can rid yourself of me that easily? That was merely an outward symbol of your devotion to me. Nothing more. You’ll never be able to wash the taint of malice away. Everyone is going to know who you are and what you did. You belong to me!

With the Harbinger closing in on them, Zelda pushed the Master Cycle to its limit. The engine chugged. Her stomach soured as the cycle struggled to gain speed.

There was a dreamlike sensation of slow-motion despite her rapid heartbeat, beating in time with Astor’s against her back. She felt as though -

The Harbinger’s laser is trained on them and after what feels like a silent eternity it fires. The high-powered beam of ancient energy tears through his back and exits her chest. They are enveloped in a blinding blue light as that final scream of failure is ripped from her.

She snapped herself out of that grim vision, still awash in panic. It had been easy to outrun the Harbinger in the Lost Woods, but there was nothing to slow its chase out in the open plain.

Her panic-fueled delirium reached a fever pitch. She didn’t dare look again, but she could hear the gurgle of malice and the mechanical whirring of the automaton itself.

Goddess Hylia... It’s right on us...How is it so fast? It’s somehow running at full tilt on three mechanical legs just to get at us. The effort alone should cause it to break down. It wasn’t designed to go at that speed.

Zelda despaired, thinking of how something her mother made so long ago with loving care had been corrupted by Calamity Ganon.

This was her final thought as the Harbinger swung its distended bladed arm, colliding with the vehicle’s back tire. The Master Cycle wavered pathetically from the force of the automaton’s slap, and then went down, skidding through the mud.

The sky and ground spun as she felt herself hit the ground, narrowly missing becoming pinned under the fallen Master Cycle. 

The falling rain on her skin brought Zelda back to a vague awareness. Groaning, she opened her eyes. She barely registered that they were lying in a crumpled heap, but when she did, she reached for Astor as he stirred slightly. Her hands moved over him as she fought to regain her bearings.

“Astor… Please say something...” She could only mumble as her fingers stroked the braids that draped the side of his face.

Astor sucked in a breath, wincing. “I... think I’m still in one piece…”

There was mud all over her dress and numerous scrapes on her exposed shoulders and arms. The rain stung her open wounds, but that was only the beginning of her pain.

Lifting her head weakly, she saw that the Master Cycle was a complete loss - and the Harbinger loomed over them, its corrupted red display ebbing outward hypnotically as it regarded them.

“Zelda, run....” Astor urged her, helplessly.

She took in the glowing blue of the Harbinger’s many blades. It was toying with them, taking its time as a predator with prey.

“I can’t outrun it any more than you can. I won’t leave you.” Zelda gripped his hand, her voice resigned and weak.

The Harbinger began to emit a discordant tune. 

To Zelda, it sounded so familiar in her mental haze but deeply wrong. However, Astor knew it all too well.

There were times when the Harbinger used to play a strange song. Even Kohga and Sooga had heard it ‘sing’ at odd intervals. They didn’t know what to think at first. Then, Astor learned the origins of the Harbinger and he realized its significance. The tune was little more than a malfunction - simply the machinery morbidly regurgitating a lullaby meant for the princess out of key. Kohga and Sooga’s howls of laughter carried through the Yiga Hideout on the day they came to the same realization, much to Astor’s annoyance. The toy Zelda had once cherished was now possessed by the most malignant spirit in the realm and Astor was hanging on its every instruction.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Terrako…” Zelda said numbly.

And then Astor heard her make a seizing sound. The alarm and pain in her voice turned his stomach to rot. 

Zelda stared at her feet in horror. They were as black as a decomposing corpse. She held them out as if paralyzed with pain. The same concerning blackness had appeared on her cheek, and others were appearing elsewhere, spreading.

“No, not her!” Astor screamed, taking hold of her in his arms.

Malice licked and traveled her body like a flame. It had started at her feet, blackening her skin and sandals, and traveled up. The malice infected her body, consuming her dress, her hair, and finally blooming in the whites of her eyes.

He cradled her in his arms, her darkened eyes staring back at him in wide open agony, and he wished the malice would consume him as well. She opened her mouth to say something, but the only sound that came forth was a terrible gasping sound.

“No… No…”

He pressed his face into the exposed skin of her shoulder, feeling the blighted flesh against his own. Her body gave no warmth, just a husk of her former beauty.

The anguish crashing down on him was unbearable as his raging thoughts took over - Hylia’s words turning over and over again in his mind, and all the things he wished he’d told Zelda. 

I was supposed to die that way. Not her… I can’t let her die believing she’s a failure.

Hyrule’s future lay in ruin along with his own. What was fate if even the prophecy of the Goddess could be undone?

The Harbinger watched the prophet grieve, viewing the scene in the red tones of its censor. Certain the princess who bore the goddess’s blood would soon pass away, it turned to retreat.

Astor raised his head, hearing himself utter words he never thought possible.

“I love her… Know this, Calamity Ganon...I love her!” His voice shuddered in horrible defeat and desolation. “And I always will...”

Zelda grit her teeth as she shakily held her wasted right hand high.

The Harbinger had stopped in its tracks. It had ignored its former prophet’s confession, but now sensed a holy power brewing within the nearly lifeless girl.

A golden light had manifested in the palm of her hand, and in the next instant intensified into a brilliant and blinding dome that eclipsed the field.

Astor lifted his arm to shield his eyes, still embracing her with the other.

The dome of light faded out. Astor opened and closed his eyes, his vision coming back into focus.

“That light… It's…”

She held her arm out still, rigidly. Astor could only stare in awe at the unmistakable triangular mark on the back of her hand, and when her extended arm began to falter, he clasped her hand before it could fall limply to her side.

Zelda serenely closed her eyes. Astor thought he heard her exhale softly as she sank back into his arms, going limp. The black malice receded slowly, beginning at the sacred mark on her hand. The skin beneath had an otherworldly immaculate quality to it. And though the malice departed from her body and hair, it was plain to see that her clothing and jewelry would remain corroded and black.

The Harbinger was gone. Astor could only imagine it had retreated. There was nothing but the calming sound of rain falling as it began to taper off, and the dark clouds began to break, leaving nothing but the starry night sky and the moon. Astor’s gaze rested on the soft rise and fall of her chest.

There was the clanging of armor and Astor turned his head to see two Hyrulian soldiers approach.

“What was that light?” The soldier let his gaze fall on the girl in Astor’s arms and then the wrecked vehicle, going silent.

“Who are you? What did you do to the princess!?” the other barked.

“I... I’m her seer. I helped her awaken her sacred power.” Astor gave them a tired, elated smile, too thankful to Hylia that Zelda was alive to demand respect from these two lowly Hyrulean Soldiers.

The soldiers glanced at one another skeptically, not sure whether to take the strange, suspicious man at his word, but there was no denying the light shining dully from Zelda’s hand.

“Should we believe him? I know of no royal seer in attendance to the princess. Where is her appointed knight?”

“He certainly doesn’t look the least bit royal to me… Anyways, we need to get Her Highness to safety. Alright, Sir, you’re going to carry Her Highness to Fort Hateno, and you’re going to mind your hands while you do.”

Astor bit back a scathing insult and gathered the princess in his arms, following the soldiers in the direction of their destination. It wasn’t long before his arms ached terribly, and he didn’t think he would be able to carry her any longer, especially in his condition.

“Just a little further,” the first soldier said, not unkindly.

Astor adjusted his aching arms, Zelda still not stirring, and he pressed on.

They passed by countless broken-down Guardians.

“That light… It seems to have disabled the Guardians in the vicinity.” The soft-spoken soldier remarked.

They passed through the raised iron gate and the stone-faced soldier directed Astor to a tent.

“She can rest here. You rest over there,” the soldier ordered testily, pointing to another tent some distance away.

“You must be joking... We haven’t been apart during the entirety of the Calamity.”  Astor felt the words leave his mouth helplessly. 

“I care not! And I’m going to be keeping an eye on these tents to make sure nothing untoward happens until she can be reunited with her rightful appointed knight or advisor.”

Astor’s chest tightened, furious and in disbelief at the soldier’s callousness. “Just what are you accusing me of? We were attacked! Listen to me, you presumptive scab, there’s a very dangerous Guardian still out there and it's not done with us. I can’t leave her side. She’s incapacitated and defenseless.”

The soldier drew his sword. “Which is exactly why I won’t let you stay by her side,” he spat. “I’m not going to let you take advantage of the Calamity and sully her reputation, whoever you are. You expect me to believe your tall tales? I’ve yet to see a Guardian I couldn’t handle. Now, do as I say. I’m already granting you far more accommodation than you deserve!”

Astor shut his eyes in surrender and hugged the girl in his arms, knowing he could not afford to escalate the situation any further. He laid her in the tent and then turned to tiredly lurch toward the other, grumbling under his breath about how he was going to be sleeping with one eye open.

In his dreams, they stand under the Blood Moon hand in hand. The sky and land are awash in a scarlet glow. As her right hand clasps his left, he can sense her power resonating. Zelda stares up at the beast circling her home, undaunted, and smiles.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

GRRM isn't really hiding that many details? I mean, ADWD and TWOIAF says what it was.

Valyria. It was written that on the day of Doom every hill for five hundred miles had split asunder to fill the air with ash and smoke and fire, blazes so hot and hungry that even the dragons in the sky were engulfed and consumed. Great rents had opened in the earth, swallowing palaces, temples, entire towns. Lakes boiled or turned to acid, mountains burst, fiery fountains spewed molten rock a thousand feet into the air, red clouds rained down dragonglass [obsidian] and the black blood of demons [sulfuric acid mixed with ash], and to the north the ground splintered and collapsed and fell in on itself and an angry sea came rushing in. The proudest city in all the world was gone in an instant, its fabled empire vanished in a day, the Lands of the Long Summer scorched and drowned and blighted. —ADWD, Tyrion VIII

Most say that it was a natural cataclysm—a catastrophic explosion caused by the eruption of all Fourteen Flames together. [...] A handful of maesters, influenced by fragments of the work of Septon Barth, hold that Valyria had used spells to tame the Fourteen Flames for thousands of years, that their ceaseless hunger for slaves and wealth was as much to sustain these spells as to expand their power, and that when at last those spells faltered, the cataclysm became inevitable. [...] Some, wedding the fanciful notion of Valyrian magic to the reality of the ambitious great houses of Valyria, have argued that it was the constant whirl of conflict and deception amongst the great houses that might have led to the assassinations of too many of the reputed mages who renewed and maintained the rituals that banked the fires of the Fourteen Flames. –The World of Ice and Fire

“He killed the slave?” That did not sound right. “He should have killed the masters!” “He would bring the gift to them as well…but that is a tale for another day, one best shared with no one.” –AFFC, Arya II

There was a massive geothermal event when the entire Valyrian volcano chain went off at once. The reason they all went off at once is because their spells controlling the volcanoes failed. The spells failed because the Faceless Men assassinated the mages who controlled the spells.

When the geothermal event went off, the lava and earthquakes killed just about everyone*, including the dragons. The Valyrian peninsula cracked in half, splitting it up into parts where the ocean formed an inlet, creating the Smoking Sea. Note the massive earthquake didn't harm only Valyria -- the rest of Essos was affected by the massive tidal wave afterwards, which entirely destroyed the settlements on the Isle of Cedars. It hasn't been mentioned, but I'd bet it caused damage to nearby coastal cities as well.

Those are all known facts. Theories: in addition to the physical cataclysm, there was also probably a magical cataclysm caused by the death of the mages, and the death of so many people and dragons at once, and the destruction of whatever physical or magical bindings that held back certain powers-- demons, hybrid creatures that the blood mages were working on, general standing spells, all now let loose. Those bare few survivors, perhaps only dozens (among the Valyrians, slaves, dragons, dragon eggs, wyrms, animals, etc) were warped and mutated by this freed sorcery and blood magic. (We know that the city of Mantarys, a Valyrian colony on the edge of the peninsula downwind of the cataclysm, reportedly is filled with "monsters".) What became of them -- well, by the status of Aerea and Balerion when they returned, evidently they are strong, and they can breed, when given a suitable host for their eggs...

(also fyi to @northstqr in the replies: The Stone Men living in Valyria is a GOT thing only, in the books they live on the Rhoyne way far north of Valyria, and their curse is mostly unrelated to the Doom.)

it’s interesting To Me that GRRM is so verbose on everything except for any details on what exactly was the Doom of Valyria except that it was something that ONLY impacted Valyria and not the rest of the continent of Essos but was so cataclysmic that no one survived the aftermath and no one has dared go back since except perhaps that one time which ended very badly