#unusual griffon

[harkthorn]

Wedge-tailed eagle/kangaroo hybrid (griffon? Griffon-adjacent at least)

-2730

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

my highly niche curiosity about the new expansion is what the new skin variants will look like for each of the mounts. there'll likely be several variants of the goat skins for warclaw going by past patterns, but I wonder what new griffons, raptors, and jackals we might get...

[laurelsofhighever]

A list of potential cures for the Calling, that we know about, that BioWare has apparently forgotten

Andraste's grace: it's not specified whether the flower the kennelmaster has you pick in the Korcari Wilds is Andraste's grace or if the game just needed a one-off asset and decided to reuse one they already had. However, in the dark future in DAI, Leliana is found to have unusual tolerance for the taint, and in DAO she talks about her mother pressing her laundry with dried Andraste's grace flowers, so it makes you wonder. Anyway, the flower stops Barkspawn becoming a ghoul and seems to make them immune to the taint from that point on.

Maric's longsword: he finds it in the Deep Roads and is suprised it isn't covered in the same Blight-rot as everything else - until, that is, he touches the sword to a patch of it and sees it wither away. Whether it's the dragonbone the sword is made of or the runes on the blade is difficult to say, though if it was just the dragonbone then it would make sense for that to be a more well-known property of the material (and would have been an interesting reason for why dragons were hunted to extinction). If Alistair carries it with him, doesit slow the progession of the taint through his body? Does he know its effects, and give it to the HoF to help keep them safer on their journey to find a permanent cure?

That obsidian dagger Duncan finds in The Calling: the dagger belonged to First Enchanter Remille - who also gave the expedition members brooches that accelerated the spread of the taint. iirc the both the dagger and the brooches are made by the Architect with Blight magic, which means the darkspawn magisters have more knowledge of how the Blight works than the Chantry attributes to them.

Whatever the fuck is going on with Avernus: he hasn't managed to cure himself yet, but he's managed to make it to 200 and the Warden can let him continue his experiments if they don't kill him - and he'd be a really useful resource if the Warden later wanted to send him other potential cures for testing.

Dragons: they have an ability to isolate the Blight in their bodies by forming crystaline cysts around the initial infection to stop it spreading. Useful if it can be more widely applied. Also, it's implied that Maric's reaver blood, which Calenhad gained by mixing his blood with a dragon's, is what somehow cured Fiona of the taint, kinda like a reverse STI, BUT in the Deep Roads they went through an area where the walls were coated in a pale, chalky substance suspiciously devoid of Blight-rot and she touched it, so I'm a bit suspicious of that.

Blood magic: makes sense since the taint is a problem that starts with infected blood. There are two major instances in DA canon where blood magic has been used to purge the taint from an object or being (both by elves btw). The first is Isseya using it to draw the taint out of a clutch of unhatched griffon eggs, which she says is only possible because the taint hasn't yet taken over the hatchlings' bodies to the same extent that it had with the adult griffons. The second instance is Merrill purging the Blighted eluvian in DA2. It's insane that Anders - who is a reluctant Warden and who possibly knows the HoF seeks a cure - isn't more excited about this. She literally removed the Blight from a fully tainted object. Since Isseya proved the same can be done with living tissue, it's probably the closest we've come to an actual cure, but since it also took years there's no telling if it could be a practicaly solution for all Wardens

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 20 - Lavender 3

So. I know in my vote post. I mentioned that it probably won't have any Mihawk/Shanks. HOWEVER! My ass went and had to read some MiShanks stuff and now I can't get them out of my head. But I also do not want to leave Peppermint Tea behind because I love my little islander and her snowy devil fruit.

Anyways! I hope you enjoy the direction that I've chosen to go! I promise this will have a happy ending!

Warnings! Drinking! Shanks and Mihawk are mean and their past is peeked into!

Masterlist

A week is all it takes for Mihawk to track Shanks and his crew down. He finds the redhead in the cove of a chain of merchant islands near Sabaody and flairs his haki to get the Emperor’s attention. Shanks jerked his head up from where he’d been dozing in the mid-day sun. He rubs the crust from his eyes and gives the warlord a wide smile in greeting as he approaches.

“Hey, you! Just the guy I wanted to talk to,” Shanks smirks at his old friend, and he pushes himself up, leaning heavily on the tree he’d been dozing under. The warlord looks immaculate as usual, and Shanks doesn’t hide the way he casts his eyes over his bare chest.

Mihawk comes to a stop a foot away from the other man, far closer than he would usually deem to get nowadays. Dracule narrows his eyes at the other man, mood already soured.

“If you weren’t such a drunk buffoon, I would suggest a duel, if only so I could kick your ass,” Drcaule sneers at the redhead. The Emporer looks tired and hungover, not an unusual sight, though at least Shanks seemed sober enough to pay attention. It’s more of a struggle than it should be for him to keep his stance relaxed and nonchalant. Shanks knew more than anyone on the Grand Line how to push Mihawk’s buttons.

“Ohh, now you want to fight? You know I’d win, right?” Shanks sways straight, feet planted as his hand lands on the hilt of Griffon. The tension in the air skyrockets, getting the attention of the rest of the crew that lazes around.

The two of them had not fought since Shanks lost his arm, so having the Hawk's attention on him was riveting. He grins at Dracule, his own haki flaring in response to Mihawk's that is still raging at the redhead.

Beckman takes one look at the two men and rounds everyone up, directing them back to the Red Force. Who knew what was about to happen, and the first mate would rather not have any possible casualties if Mihawk and Shanks decided to actually duke it out.

Mihawk takes a half step forward, not backing down from the challenge that Shanks presents.

“I would like to see you try,” He sneers. Lip curling as he looks down his nose at the bum. The only thing that is keeping him from making mince meat of the younger man is a tiny voice in the back of his mind that sounds oddly like you, telling him how bad of an idea it would be to cause a scene. His snow angel surely wouldn’t be happy with him.

The two powerful men eye each other for a while, ready for the other to make the first move. Shanks sighs and removes his hand from his sword, shifting to gesture at the port town down the beach.

“How about we act like adults and go have a drink? My treat?” Shanks suggests, and Dracule huffs at him but dips his head in agreement. He follows Shanks back into town and to the first bar they come across. They order, and Dracule picks a table in the back, away from the rest of the patrons. Shanks pays like he agrees, and Mihawk takes that as a win.

“This is about that treasure, huh?” Shanks starts after taking a deep pull of his ale, “I just want to go ahead and let you know that you can’t make me stay away. She said that we’re more than welcome to come by her island.”

Dracule could strangle the smug prick across from him. Shanks speaks nothing but the truth, but Mihawk can’t help but bare his teeth in a silent snarl at the redhead’s self-satisfied tone, acting like he had already won whatever argument that had yet to be had. He hadn’t expected Shanks to bestow you with such a familiar nickname, and the older man doesn’t know how he feels about it right now.

“I’m not here to warn you to stay away from the island, Shanks,” Mihawk clears his expression back to one of uninterest and shelves the earlier thought for later. The Emperor can see the displeasure lurking in Dracule’s ringed eyes despite his best efforts, “I’m here to tell you to stay away from,_.”

“I found her first, she is mine, and I am not going to let you of all people ruin the relationship I have with them,” Dracule continues, tone deadly and not booking any kind of room for argument. He sips his wine, finding it subpar, “That girl is worth more to me than any treasure in this miserable world.”

Shanks watches his old friend. He commends the usually monotone man for speaking about his feelings, but the redhead has a stubborn streak bigger than an island, “We’re pirates, Hawkeye. I don’t think I should have to remind you what we do with treasure.”

He lets the threat linger in the air, the tension borderline suffocating, before Shanks breaks it by sipping from his mug once more, “Anyone else I wouldn’t have any kind of reservations about taking what I want, but we’ve been rivals for a long time, and we’ve known each other for even longer Mihawk. What’s one more thing for us to scuffle over?”

“_ is not some kind of prize to be won,” Dracule grumbles, anger leaking over as his hand tightens around his glass. He must consciously think about loosening his grip, or else he would have sent wine and glass exploding everywhere, “And if she were, I have already won.”

Shanks purses his lips and sits back in his seat, amused at having gotten such a rise out of Hawkeye. He wasn’t about to give up, though, but also wouldn’t go behind the warlord’s back. He had too much respect for the other man. He sips his ale and then sets the tankard away.

“You can't be there all the time, Mihawk,” Shanks points out quietly, and his tone has shifted, more to one of careful understanding, “Your duties as a warlord pull you away from her, don't they? Leaving her vulnerable and alone for longer stretches of time than you like.”

Dracule says nothing even as Shanks lays his greatest fears on the table for all to see. The redhead isn't wrong, and just admitting that rankles the warlord in the worst of ways. However, Mihawk wasn't above putting your safety above everything else in his life. There would only be so much he and perhaps Perona could do if Big Mom somehow found out that you still lived.

“Do you know who she is? Her connections?” Mihawks asks the redhead and gets his answer when a dark expression crosses Shanks’ face, “And my involvement?”

“I knew the moment she introduced herself. Is that your reason for wanting her, Mihawk? Are you trying to atone for your sins?” Shanks sends the other man a mean grin, and Dracule matches the look with a glare of his own. Shanks can remember the day of your island's destruction and can remember the disappointment he felt when he found out that Dracule had left to help Big Mom. It's mean, and he feels guilty for bringing it up, but Shanks invested himself into your happiness the moment you told him that he and his crew were welcome back to your island.

“I don't have to explain my actions to you,” Mihawk sets his empty glass away, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms over his chest, “Besides, you have no right to judge any of what I do.”

Shanks is an emperor for a reason. He answered to no one, and while he wasn't a monster like Kaido or Big Mom, the redhead had skeletons in his closet like everyone else. He raises his hand in surrender, reluctantly agreeing with Dracule on the subject.

“Does she know about it?” Shanks pressed, and his brows shot up in surprise when the warlord sniffed and looked away from him. Shanks narrows his eyes, disbelief thick in his tone, “You really haven't told her?”

“No, and I have no plans of doing so, either. Why should I bring up painful memories when she doesn't even remember what happened to her?” Dracule draws and crosses his legs like he has done no wrong in the world, “It's best that she never finds out.”

“Oh, that way she can't get upset with you and tell you to leave,” Shanks summarizes and nods like it makes all the sense in the world, but Mihawk can see the tension in his smile and the sarcastic way he slaps his knee, “Smart man, Mihawk, keeping that away from someone you love.”

“I do not love her. She interests me, and we have a mutually beneficial relationship,” Mihawk snaps at the redhead. Panic had swept through him the second Shanks had dropped the L word. Dracule Mihawk loved nothing in this world. He only invested his time into interesting subjects, and you were the most mysterious by far.

Shanks snorts in amusement, eyes rolling skyward at how stubborn his old friend was. This song and dance were familiar, one that Shanks had the displeasure of knowing intimately. The Emperor can't keep the bitter tone out of his voice when he next speaks. Shanks can't help but want to be mean right now.

“Of course you don't,” He hums and sweeps his hand through his hair, leaving the red strands tussled, “Then you shouldn't have any problem with me wanting her, then, right? Since she just interests you.”

An image of Shanks and his angel curled up together in front of the fireplace in his home, you leaning into the bare chest of the redhead as he helps you sip from a shallow bowl of sake. He sees you pulling Shanks in for a kiss, a sweet one full of yearning.

The imagery has Dracule seething with a feeling he hasn't felt in longer than he would care to remember, though any normal person would call it jealousy. He sucks in a sharp breath and shuts his eyes, fighting to control his breathing and his growing annoyance. This insolence that Shanks wears like a second skin has always been able to set Mihawk off. How he once called this man more than a friend, Dracule didn't know.

Shanks smirks, self-satisfied at seeing the other man break even further at his scathing remarks. He thinks that Mihawk deserves it. He also thinks that the other man is a big idiot for not telling you about your past. That information belonged to you. You deserved to know about it.

“You will not touch her, Shanks,” Mihawk repeated, tone laced with finality. He was done with this sham of a conversation. He should have known that Shanks would push on this. The Emperor matched his own stubbornness.

“I won't do anything that _ doesn't want,” Shanks snapped right back, dark eyes narrowed on the other man. Dracule wasn't the only one tired of this back-and-forth. He softened after half a second, shoulders relaxing as he leaned forward and rested his upper body on the table between them.

“I'm not trying to take her away from you, Dracule. I want to help you keep her safe, but I'm not doing it for free,” Shanks murmurs, and Mihawk sighs heavily when he feels defeat creeping in. He does not want to admit that Shanks makes nothing but good points. Mihawk may not trust the other pirate, not any longer, but it could have been someone far more ill-mannered than the laid-back Emperor.

“I want you to tell me when you will visit her island. I want your word that this is for her, Shanks. That you are not just doing this to spite me. That you aren’t going to run away from her like you’re known to do” Mihawk demands, and leans forward, voice dropping and becoming deadly, “Swear it to me.”

The warlord is bringing up the past. A gamble, but it gets the younger man’s attention, and Dracule feels a dark satisfaction rip through him when Shanks sits up straight and looks at him in surprise, though hurt swims in his dark eyes.

Mihawk knows how much he is giving in and giving up with this, but your happiness and your safety mean more to him than little else. He would have to contend with Shanks for your attention, and he despises the hurt and anxiety that curdled in his stomach at the thought of you leaving him for the redhead. Shanks was nothing but selfish, a problem that Mihawk knew too well. Dracule didn’t want to have to share you with the other man, but this wasn’t about him. If you wanted Shanks around, then the warlord would not keep him away.

Shanks meets his golden gaze, any trace of humor or teasing attitude gone from his expression, and he offers Dracule his hand. He thinks back to a time before none of this would ever be necessary, a time when he and Mihawk trusted one another explicitly, and the Emperor dearly wishes for that closeness. Shanks wonders if the older man ever wants the same, “I swear that this is for _.”

Dracule eyes the hand that is placed in front of him. An old tension had settled in the back of his mind, one that Mihawk hadn’t felt in well over twenty years when the two of them had been far closer. He feels that tension shimmer between them, and Shanks’ hand is familiar and warm when Mihawk finally takes it.

Shanks curls his hand tight around his old friends, holding on far longer than necessary just to feel the heat of Mihawk’s palm against his own. He grins when he catches sight of the dusting of red on the Hawk’s cheeks when he extracts his hand. While there is still much to hash out between the two of them, the air has settled, and their haki smooths along one another as if greeting an old friend. Shanks leans forward, eyes mischievous, “Let’s have another drink, Hawkeye. My treat.”

Dracule hears that little voice in his head again, though this time it matches the troublesome tone that lingers in Shanks’ voice, but Mihawk finds himself listening to it once again as he leans back in the creaky bench and crosses his legs.

“Get me something better this time.”

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax

[icycoldninja]

Hello! Are You familiar with game of thrones? If not you can ignore this but if you do Can you write a dmc boys +v with a Daenerys like s/o? She has 3 dragons and is immune to fire plus she is an awesome badass queen, but in this case since the dmc world is more modern times she can just be a queen from a far kingdom that is also modern like and happened to meet the guy in her travels.

Sup? Hope you're well! No, I'm not familiar with Game of Thrones, but I can work with what you've given me. Hope you enjoy! 💜

Sparda boys + V x Daenerys-like!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-So, you're a mighty queen from a distant kingdom? Dante never thought he'd be meeting royalty, but here he is.

-When he sees your dragons, he freaks. He didn't think those even existed, let alone be standing right in front of him. Then he remembers he and his brother are half demons with magic demon swords, so maybe it's not all that unusual.

-Thinks it's so cool that you're immune to fire--so is he! Now you have something in common.

-He'd love to visit your kingdom someday, if you're willing to take him.

-Bonus points if you let him ride one of your dragons; he's always wanted to soar through the air on a scaly dragon's back, even though he can fly on his own.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil wasn't too impressed at first. So what if you're royalty? There's plenty of that around.

-Then he sees your three dragons and thinks to himself, damn, if she can tame three of those terrifying beasts, she must be full of POWER.

-After this, Vergil decides it may be in his best interest to get to know you a little more, and in the process, learns about your immunity to fire.

-Now, this is very good because it means you can help him beat up his literally fiery brother whenever the need arises.

-Also wants to visit your kingdom to see if there any ways to get POWER and MOTIVATION there.

-However, do not, under any circumstances, make him ride your dragon. He isn't too fond of riding on animals, and besides, he can fly on his own.

□ Nero □

-Nero is indifferent to your royal lineage, but he thinks it's great that you, as a queen, get time to travel. It seems he's under the impression that all kings and queens are confined to their kingdoms and never allowed to leave.

-He immediately hits it off with your dragons; for some reason, they like him, and for an even stranger reason, he likes them.

-Your fire immunity makes you the perfect person to call whenever he wants to have a barbecue. No one ever needs to worry about getting burnt by the fire because you're around to deal with it for them.

-Nero isn't too fond of travel, so it's highly unlikely he'll visit your kingdom, but if you ask nicely and maybe bribe him with affection, he'll give in.

-Loves riding your dragons for two reasons: 1), it's fun, and 2), it saves more time because unlike his father and uncle, he can't keep up his Devil Trigger for very long.

● V ●

-Is very surprised that a fair and beautiful queen such as yourself is wandering so far from home. Should you not be within your palace, governing your subjects?

-Your badass-ery soon answers his question. The way you command everyone's attention and generally just run the place is inspiring.

-That, added to your 3 awesome dragons, only serves to impress him further.

-V gets along very nicely with your dragons, as do his familiars, when they are around. He's an experienced pet owner himself (kinda) and is more than willing to trade tips and tricks with you.

-Would absolutely love to visit your kingdom someday; the scenery, regardless of what it may be, will surely inspire his writing spirit.

-Wants to ride your dragon too. He's used to riding Nightmare and Griffon, so it won't be much of an issue for him.

[love-and-monsters]

Halloween Poll Story

Multiple gendered eldritch god X gn human, second person, 8,024 words.

Happy Halloween! This story was the result of polls you all voted on. I hope you enjoy some spooky Halloween romance. Just as a heads up, I might not be around on this blog too much for a while after this for reasons I will explain in a later post. But I thank you all for your support.

Content warnings: Possession and mind control of innocents, implied manipulation, some possessive/obsessive behavior.

Summary: You have been working as a cursebreaker for years, clearing curses on items sent for recycling. But an unusual curse turns your mundane job in a surprising direction and catches the attention of a powerful being.

Perhaps things would have gone better if you were less exhausted. A notification had shot you out of bed at nearly five thirty, letting you know that the E train had been temporarily closed due to an infestation of direrats. The only other way to your work was the D train, which took a more roundabout route, and a connecting bus. When you’d arrived at the station, the D train was teeming with people also trying to make it to work on time, so you’d needed to shove your way past people to actually make it on in time. The bus had barely been better, and when you tried to grab your breakfast, you’d been dive-bombed by a pigeon-griffon and dropped your hash-brown.

Your work was a bit quieter than usual when you entered. It was never quiet- there was always banging and whirring and mechanical noises from the various pieces of equipment. But the usual chatter and shouting was softer than usual. Everyone seemed focused on their own work. You followed their lead and headed to your work station for the day’s load.

Being a cursebreaker at a recycling plant was an easy job. Identify the curse, stamp it out, and break down whatever the curse had been attached to for processing. Nine times out of ten, it was just removing the curse sigil, easy enough to do with a solvent or paint remover. Technically, anyone could remove a sigil, but most places employed a cursebreaker to do it regardless- a cursebreaker could identify the curse itself, something that was important in case it was booby-trapped. A cursebreaker might be more expensive to employ than your average worker, but it paid for itself when they prevented a curse that turned everyone within six miles into stone from activating.

Most of the time, the job was easy, anyway. You’d just been getting into the groove of it, scrubbing away paint like a champ, when a more complicated curse slid across your desk. Metaphorically speaking. You didn’t have a desk. It was booby trapped, stubborn, and overly complicated. Unweaving the magic took so long that you blew through your lunch break, and it sapped your reserves. Holding a curse in stasis took energy, and this one had been fighting you the whole way. You tossed it aside, relieved that it was over and ready to get back to simple, prank-level curses that could be removed with acetone.

And the next one was like that! And the next one. And the one after that. And then you ran into a problem.

Most curses you got were attached to objects, usually small ones that could be carried around and hidden somewhere before activation. Jewelry was most common, but sometimes they were things like hand mirrors or books. Furniture was not uncommon either. Sometimes even random bits of garbage. The curses were usually painted on, or carved into them if you wanted to get fancy. Easy to get rid of, if you combined removing the sigil with deactivating the curse. But the next curse was… not that.

It was metal. Maybe wrought iron, though you couldn’t tell for sure. It sort of looked like a wrought iron fence. But it was not painted or carved with a sigil. It was a sigil. And it was huge, almost bigger than a hubcap.

You lifted it up to feel the weight in your hands. It was lighter than you expected, but still quite solidly built. Even through your gloves, you could feel the faint heat it emitted. Powerful stuff. More powerful than you’d been anticipating. That… wasn’t good.

See, you weren’t necessarily a good cursebreaker. Good cursebreakers either went into government positions or private contracting firms. Both of those jobs were cushy, or as cushy as a job only two steps away from disarming bombs could be. Curses were dangerous shit, and if you could disarm the manmade curses or even the significantly nastier natural curses, you were set for life.

Unfortunately, your level of skill was only good for a recycling plant- undoing the piddly little curses that people slapped onto garbage that ended up in the dump. So much of the job was just scrubbing away poorly-constructed sigils that they didn’t bother to pay well for it, and they didn’t bother to check credentials that closely. So if you hadn’t quite passed the full cursebreaker exam and your license was technically only provisional… well, it didn’t matter much, did it?

Except now, looking down at a sigil that was more complicated than it had any right to be, it mattered.

You could call someone. Get it bumped up the chain of command, have the sigil taken elsewhere. But that could risk someone poking their nose into why you couldn’t, and you didn’t want to take the chance that someone would take a closer look at your credentials and see they didn’t pass muster. You needed this job.

Then again, trying to break a curse without knowing what you were doing… that could end in ways a lot worse than unemployment. Okay, new plan. The sigil looked impressive. But it was, possibly, not actually that dangerous. People did that sometimes, tried to make sigils look more impressive than they were to impress clients, especially rich ones. So maybe you just needed to tweak a little bit and it would fall apart.

You placed a hand on the very edge of the sigil and extended your senses into it, just enough to see the shape of it. The sigil itself would reveal information once it was fully surrounded by your senses and it would-

A white hot bolt of pain snapped through your arm, ignoring your heavy work glove. You snatched your hand away on pure instinct, and the sigil wobbled and clattered to the ground. The sound barely registered with you. There was just the blazing, boring heat in your hand. It didn’t feel like a burn. It felt like a white hot worm was twisting and boring its way through your flesh.

You staggered back, panic flaring through you. Cursebreakers were resistant to most curses- you were all schooled in those basics. But being resistant wasn’t the same as being immune, and the curse was in you. There were only precious minutes before it fully activated. Minutes that you couldn’t waste. But the pain was so much you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t-

The pain vanished. It didn’t go away instantly. It gradually cooled away, more like sticking a hot piece of metal in water and letting the heat steam off. You slumped against the back wall of your workstation, panting heavily. Sweat poured down your face behind your mask. Trembles worked through your body, making your hands unsteady. What had that been? You could still feel where the pain had been, like something on the inside of your arm had been burned raw.

Cautiously, you approached the sigil. It sat innocently on the ground. You kicked it. The metal scraped on the floor, but there was no pain. After a moment of hyping yourself up, you picked it up with your good hand.

Nothing. The sigil wasn’t biting anymore, at least. But you hadn’t just been holding it when the pain happened. You set it on the table and eyed it cautiously. The sigil had activated when you’d pushed your magic into it. Not even a large amount of magic, just enough to get the shape of it. If it had defensive elements that sensitive in it, the entire thing was far beyond your pay grade.

You debated on it for a moment, chewing your tongue in frustration. You needed to turn the sigil in. That was what you were supposed to do. It was too powerful for you to break down properly, and trying to break it down improperly risked some serious issues. But you would need to tell your boss for that, and you didn’t really want to risk losing your job.

You wrestled with it for a moment. The sigil didn’t seem to be immediately dangerous, and there weren’t great records kept about what items were given to who and when times they needed to be cleared by. So…

You propped the sigil up against one of the far walls of your workspace and turned to the next curse on your pile. It would keep. You could decide what to do later, maybe after a good night’s sleep.

The rest of the sigils went by easily. Your arm didn’t hurt anymore, though there was a vague, weird feeling in it. Not quite like a tingling, which was usually what residual magic felt like. More like… a weird coolness? Almost like there was cold air touching your arm, but from the inside.

It was a weird sensation. You tried not to dwell on it too much.

The direrat nest had been cleared by the time you left work. A bit strange. Direrats could chew up sections of track, given enough time, so even small nests often needed days of repair work. But you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You boarded the E train, which mercifully had only a few people, so there were seats, and dozed on your way home.

Perhaps that had been a bad idea, because you’d been groggy your entire walk home. And even though you probably should have eaten something and gotten some chores done, the only thing you wanted to do was crawl into bed.

Your arm still ached, even as you tucked yourself in to sleep.

Most nights, you didn’t dream. This night, you did. The dreams were disorienting, disconnected, and bewildering. Images of flying, falling, looking down over cities and up through the depths of the ocean. And the strange, consistent feeling of slithering through something like a wet tunnel, with walls on all sides and a single-minded determination to reach your destination.

You blinked your eyes open and groaned. It was like you’d barely gotten any sleep at all. Your head was fuzzy and pounding, though not with pain. It felt more like your blood was just pulsing around your brain.

It took several minutes before you could manage to force yourself out of bed. Your arm felt… strange. Not bad. Not even tingly, which was, again, the normal thing magic would have done. It felt a little warm, and it seemed to pulse in the same rhythm as your head.

For a moment, you entertained the idea of just calling in sick to work and avoiding the whole mess. You didn’t feel sick, but you did feel weird. But your therapist had been telling you to ‘avoid avoidant behavior’ and it wasn’t like you were getting paid for not working. After taking some time to mull it over, you decided to go in.

After showering and feeling somewhat more human, you headed out. The sky was cloudy, but not just a normal fall storm- there was a nearly green tinge to the clouds, like a summer thunderstorm before a tornado. You tucked your coat closer around your shoulders. Your arm and head pulsed.

The streets seemed emptier than usual. Even early in the morning, there were usually a decent amount of people around. It wasn’t entirely strange, considering that it looked like there was going to be a bad storm, but the streets were eerily quiet. It was unsettling. Your arm and head pulsed.

The ride to work was quiet. You dozed a little. It was peaceful. The tunnels were quiet and dark and traveling through them felt right. Your dreams and the real world merged in a strangely pleasant way. Your arm and head pulsed.

Work was the same as usual, with the same ambient noises. You stepped into your station and froze.

The sigil was gone.

You’d left it propped up against your workstation, just next to the table everything rested on. It was unmissable. Even if it had fallen over or rolled, it would have been visible from the entrance. It was gone.

Your blood ran cold. And at that exact moment, your boss appeared at the entrance of the hall. “C’mon back. I gotta talk to you.”

If possible, your blood ran even colder. You nodded and followed him.

It was a short walk to his office. That was nice. It didn’t give you much time to think about all the different ways you were fucked.

He stepped inside the office, gestured for you to head in as well, and closed the door behind him. The room seemed weirdly dim- it had a window, but the light was gray thanks to the clouds, and the fluorescent lights were off. There was a votive flickering at the corner of the room. Weird. Were candles allowed in this building?

Your boss sat at his desk, drawing your attention toward him. As you looked, your blood turned to an icy slush in your veins.

That was where the sigil had gone. It was sitting behind his desk, just barely visible. It didn’t look restrained- that was something of a relief. Maybe it hadn’t been as bad at you’d been thinking and you were just going to get scolded for not taking care of it the day you’d been assigned it. Maybe you could bluff your way out of it.

Your boss leaned over your desk. He was a big man, bearded, large stomach and beefy arms. He could definitely be intimidating when he wanted to. And you were expecting him to glower and glare and demand explanations.

What you weren’t expecting was him to smile. “How’s your arm?”

You’d stopped paying attention to it, in the cold terror you’d felt when you’d been called. But now that your attention was drawn back to it- it was warm. Pulsing. That strange feeling was still there. Maybe stronger than it was before. You glanced down at your arm, but it looked normal. Same as it always does. “It’s fine. Of course.” You clear your throat. “Why do you ask?”

His smile widened. The lighting of the room made it look… almost unnatural. Like it wa too wide. “It was your point of contact. Mortals can react unpredictably to it.”

A slow, prickling sensation crawled up your spine. That smile… that was wrong. Your boss didn’t smile like that. You’d been working here for a year and a half. He’d never smiled at anyone like that before. He didn’t smile, period. Especially not to someone who fucked up the rules. And you couldn’t imagine him calling anyone ‘mortal’ either.

Good cursebreakers used their brains. They thought about what they did, had models and scientific understandings of curses. Years of knowledge, practical and from books. A good cursebreaker survived by thinking about things, coming up with theories and applying their smarts.

You were a bad cursebreaker. Bad cursebreakers survived on their instincts. And your instincts were saying to get the fuck out.

It took seconds to get out of the room. Only a minute to get out of the building. You fled down the street, not trying to go anywhere in particular. Just trying to get away. After several blocks, your lungs and legs were screaming for a break and you had to stagger to a stop.

No one was following behind you. And, after taking a moment to assess, you realized that you probably hadn’t been followed at all. There had been no footsteps following you as you ran.

You took a moment to think about that. He hadn’t bothered to pursue you, which meant either he didn’t care where you went or what you did. Or he figured he was going to find you anyway. Both those options were chilling. It meant he believed, at least, that you were powerless to do anything against him.

Bereft of anything else to do, you slipped into a nearby café and contented yourself with nursing a small coffee. And thinking. Your boss- no, that hadn’t been your boss. In retrospect, you should have seen it sooner. He had a slight accent that this voice hadn’t had. In fact, the accent your boss had spoken in had been identical to yours.

Your arm pulsed with warmth again.

You fumbled for your sleeve and yanked it up. Again, there were no physical marks on your arm. Except…

On your palm. Right where the sigil had initially touched your skin. There was a tiny spot, almost like a burn. You didn’t remember seeing it when you last looked at your arm, though it was small enough that it would have been easy to miss. You ran your finger over it. The mark didn’t hurt, though touching it did make the warmth pulse strangely.

You’d already had your suspicions, but this more or less confirmed it- whatever was happening to you, to your boss, it was because of the sigil. It had affected you, somehow, as well as affecting other people.

Okay. You knew now that it was due to the sigil. Now what? Go to the government? There was a cursebreaker office only a few stops away by train. They would know what to do. Probably. If you’d been infected by touching the sigil and your boss had done the same when he moved it, then another cursebreaker should be able to fix it by breaking the curse without touching. Not easy, but possible.

You headed back out into the storm. It hadn’t started raining, but it looked like it might do any second. It felt a little like there were eyes on you as you headed for the station. Maybe your guilt conscience was prickling at you.

The train ride was mostly empty. That was a little unusual, but you were grateful for it. You just wanted to curl up in the back of the car and close your eyes.

Once the train stopped, you hurried toward the cursebreaker’s office. You’d only been there a couple times, and neither visit had been pleasant. Nausea curled in your stomach as you headed through the large doors at the front.

It was a typical office building, with a few plants and an overly-fancy looking waiting room. A bored-looking secretary sat at a desk, clicking away at a keyboard.

You approached and she, predictably, glanced up. Then she beamed. A wide, overjoyed smile. It was so out of place it stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t the smile of someone greeting another shitty customer. It was the sort of smile you give when a loved one you haven’t seen for years shows up unexpectedly at your door.

“Hi!” she said, leaning over the counter toward you. “What can I help you with?             You glanced over your shoulder, just in case she was maybe addressing someone else. There was no one else there. “Um. Hi. I was looking for a cursebreaker?” You couldn’t help the hesitation in your voice. It was just weird, the way she was looking at you.

“I see.” She didn’t look back at her computer. Her gaze on you was unrelenting. “And what do you need a cursebreaker for?”

You felt a prickle of sweat bead on the back of your neck, despite the coldness of the room. “I need to break a curse.” Surely this wasn’t protocol, to make someone explain their curse issue in the lobby. Even if no one else was around.

She smiled indulgently. “I can take you to one of our cursebreakers, then. I believe Tamson will be available right now.” She stood. “Follow me.”

“I’m sure I can figure out their office if you just give me a number,” you said. You sort of didn’t want to spend more time with her than you had to. There was something about her that was just… Unsettling.

“Now, we wouldn’t want you to get lost,” she said. “And it’s certainly no trouble. Slow day, after all.” She laughed to herself, like it was some kind of clever joke you didn’t get.

There was a part of you that was considering just leaving, but you weren’t sure what else to do. And cursebreakers were always vaguely weird, right? Everyone said so. Maybe their secretaries were weird too.

You followed her down a series of halls lined with doors until she came to one marked ‘Aaron Tamson.’ She didn’t even bother to knock before opening the door.

Tamson was sitting at his desk, staring right at the door when you walked in. Like he’d been expecting you to be there right at that moment. He must have heard your footsteps. The secretary stepped into the room behind you and closed the door.

“Thank you, Molly,” Tamson said. You glanced over your shoulder at her. She was standing right in front of the door. Blocking the doorway. Like a guard.

Your stomach curdled. Your arm pulsed with warmth. Did they know why you were here? Was this the prelude to an arrest? No, they would have called their actual guards, if that was the case. Not a secretary. But they were definitely trying to keep you here.

“Don’t mind Molly,” Tamson said. “You just gave us such a surprise when you ran before. We don’t want that happening again.”

“Wha- what are you talking about?” A bit of anger made its way into your voice. Anger was good. Anger felt safe. Like maybe you could fight your way out of this. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just- I just need a cursebreaker.”

He laughed. Molly, behind you, joined in his laughter, making it an eerie chorus. Your skin prickled and your arm throbbed with heat. “Oh, come now. We both know that’s not true. You bit off a bit more than you could chew in the curse department, and I think that’s frowned on by most humans, yes? Poor thing. You couldn’t possibly have known what you were getting into.”             Cold sweat dripped down the back of your neck, contrasting with the uncomfortable heat in your arm. “You know about that?”             “I don’t see how we couldn’t.” Molly spoke that time, and you whirled to look at her. There was something unsettling about her expression. Not just in the way she was smiling, which was still creepy just due to the situation, but the fact that her expression was the exact same as Tamson’s. Not just that they were both smiling, but the way the corners of their mouths were positioned, the amount their eyes crinkled at the edges. It was subtle, but looking at two very different people with completely identical expressions made your uncanny senses go off like crazy.

This was not ‘two slightly weird people trying to intimidate you because they knew about your crimes.’ This was wrong.

“Please, don’t be so frightened,” Tamson said. You spun back toward him. He was standing, leaning over the desk. “Nobody here wants to hurt you.”

“Yeah?” Your voice was shrill, trembling. “Then why are you trapping me in the fucking room?”

“Not trapping,” Molly said. “Not like that, anyway. We just want you to listen to what we have to say.”

“All I want,” you said, “is to get a cursebreaker and to destroy that sigil and to have things go back to normal.”

Molly’s brows drew together. “No,” she said in a gentling voice. “You don’t want that. You just think you do right now.”

“Let us explain first,” Tamson said. “Then we’ll see how you feel afterward, all right?”

You swallowed. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“There are always choices,” Molly said. “But you won’t be leaving the room until we’ve said our piece.”

You slumped into the chair used for consultations. “Okay. Then talk.”

They smiled. The same smile again. And then they spoke. In unison. “The sigil is ours. We did not make it, but it belongs to us. We do not know the circumstances of its creation, only that it gave us a pathway into this world. We could see into this world, this realm, and see the million tiny spots of magic. But the pathway was not large enough for us- a window, to use your terms, instead of a door. We needed a door.

“The sigil was taken, moved. We were powerless to stop it, but we could nudge. Make our sigil less obvious. Let it drift, until it came upon a place where we could extend our power.”

The sweat on the back of your neck was like ice and your stomach was rolling. “Which was me.”

“Correct.” Molly and Tamson gestured toward you in the same motion. “Think of it was an incomplete circuit. With one last application of energy, you completed the circuit. And thus, we were freed.”

The picture of what the hell was going on was becoming slowly clearer in your mind. Other realms. Needing to use doorways to come through to your world. They were old creatures, creatures from a place not quite like Earth. Sometimes, they were referred to as gods- people had even worshipped them a long time ago. But eventually, with the advent of cursebreakers, they’d been sealed away. The only fragments of their power that remained on Earth were the curses that people could use. The ultimate curses were ones that would bring the old gods back, the ones the allowed them to extend their reach into Earth once more.

The curse you’d been working on hadn’t looked like that. It had looked like, if not a normal curse, than at least a human one. But if they’d been able to disguise it, then maybe you wouldn’t have known.

Your arm was radiating heat. Not like burning, but like there was just warmth pulsing out from inside it. You glanced down at it. That little burn spot you’d noticed before seemed… bigger? Or maybe you were just imagining things due to stress. “Are you going to kill me now?” It seemed a logical step. Murder the person who knows about you so they can’t stop you. Why they were telling you this, you didn’t know. Maybe it was like a weird, elder god brag.

There was silence for a moment. Then Tamson stepped forward and slipped his fingers under your chin. You had been looking down at the ground, so he had to press a bit to get you to lift your gaze to his. Molly pressed in close to your side. “You think we’re going to kill you?” It was hard to get a read on his tone. He could have been sympathetic. He could also have been winding you up you it was funnier when he stabbed you.

“You are the one who called us into the realm. You reached out to us and brought us in through your form,” Molly said. Her voice was very close to your ear. “Your magic was the spark that allowed us to enter. Through you, we became whole.”

You shivered. “Does that mean- I’m still important to you so you’re not going to kill me?” Maybe if they killed you, the sigil would no longer work.

Tamson’s brows drew together, but he smiled. “Yes. I think that’s a good way to put it.”

Okay. That was… good, right? Terrifying, but good. You were going to live, and the longer you lived, the more time you had to figure a way out of this. “Okay.”

“Good,” Molly said. She headed toward the door, tugging it open. “Then let’s get going. Lots to do.”

Tamson puts his hand on your back, pushing you relentlessly forward. You dug your heels in, stumbling a little when he kept moving. “What? Where are we going?”

“There’s much to set up, I assure you. But currently, we’re going to collect the sigil,” Tamson said. He pressed both his hands to your back, practically shoving you in earnest while Molly doubled back to grab your arm and started pulling you down the hall. Your legs were barely moving at all, but they were dragging you along with little issue. Weren’t cursebreakers supposed to be sort of noodley? Did being possessed by an elder god give you weird strength?

By the time they got to the door, they were practically carrying you, supporting your weight at either shoulder. A couple people were doing… something on the sidewalk, sketching something out on the ground, and they smiled at you as you passed. A prickle shot up your spine and your arm pulsed again. You were getting real sick of that sensation.

“Are, uh. Are those…” you trailed off, casting your eyes deliberately at the people on the sidewalk.

“Part of us, yes,” Molly said.

You swallowed. “Is- is there anyone here who isn’t?”

Tamson laughed. “Looking for someone else to talk to?” His tone was light, but your stomach sank like a rock. That had been so stupid. Never let your captors know you’re looking for an exit plan, that’s like the first rule of being kidnapped. “There are others. Some people have more fortitude. Some bodies just aren’t needed right now. But you won’t be seeing many of them out and about.” He flicked a finger up toward the sky. “The storm, I’m afraid. Most people won’t venture out into such things,”

The sky rumbled ominously with his words. You shuddered. “It’s just a storm,” you said, trying to push forward. There was no hiding the tremble in your voice, though. Molly gave you a sympathetic look, leaning in like she was trying to comfort you.

“It is a storm, yes, but it’s also a manifestation of our power. Think of it like this- when we poured into this world, we moved to take bodies. But not all bodies could contain us. So a part of us possessed the storm. We’re in many places at once. And no mortal would wander out into a storm made of our power.”

“Except me,” you said. The thunderstorm didn’t register as anything unusual with you. Did other people really see it as so strange?

“Well, you are touched with our power,” Tamson said. “You’re hardly a mortal anymore.”

Your arm burned. Not painfully, but certainly enough to get your attention. You flinched. Both Molly and Tamson took that as an opportunity to secure their grip on you.

They pulled your toward the street and a car pulled up. You weren’t a car expert, but it looked fancy. Did elder gods care about that? Or were they trying to impress you specifically? Tamson and Molly shoved you inside, settling on either side of you. The backseat was tight, but both of them still seemed closer to you than necessary.

The car ride gave you time to think. You were not the only person in the city who wasn’t possessed, but anyone who was possessed was probably cowering in their houses. Further, you didn’t know how far this whole thing spread. If you could look at your phone without them seeing, you could get a better idea of how bad things were. People commuted into the city- there had to be some sort of awareness that something had gone wrong. Unless it had spread a lot further than you’d thought. If you could just check the news, you’d at least be able to get your bearings.

Molly leaned against your shoulder. She hadn’t let go of your arm since you’d gotten into the car. “Thinking hard?             You jumped. “Don’t look so worried,” Tamson sighed, directing your attention to him. “You’re as jumpy as a frightened kitten.”

“You really don’t believe we’re not going to hurt you, hm?” Molly sighed. She gave you the saddest set of doe-eyes you’d ever seen.

“I don’t have a lot of reasons to think you won’t,” you said.

“We already said we weren’t going to,” Tamson insisted.

“Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me for not thinking an interdimensional creature that possessed a bunch of people is going to tell the truth all the time,” you muttered. Molly and Tamson frowned, their expressions perfectly in sync once more.

“We’ve never lied,” Tamson said. “We’re not lying now.”

“You keep saying that. It doesn’t mean I’m going to trust you.”

“All things in good time, then,” Molly said. “You’ll see.”

The car pulled to a stop outside your work and Molly swung the door open. You boss smiled at you as he passed the sigil inside. Molly practically shoved it at you so it was sitting on your lap. As soon as it came in contact with you, your arm blazed with heat. Sweat started to bead on your brow. Tamson sighed, leaning against you. “There, you see? The power it contains and the power you contain… They’re quite closely linked now. One and the same.”

Without a conscious thought, you started tracing the lines of the sigil with your bad arm. The warmth pulsed as deep as your core, like something in your soul was stirring.

You were so entranced that you didn’t notice the car was moving until it stopped again. Molly tugged gently on your arm. “Come along, dear.”

You blinked. The car had parked outside of a church, one of the more ornate ones in the city with stained glass windows sending colored light onto the sidewalk. Tamson and Molly pulled you inside, with you still clinging to the sigil.

Inside, the church was surprisingly dark. Candles illuminated the stained glass, but most of the seats and the pulpit were shadowed. You tripped over the uneven flooring and Molly steadied you. “Watch your step.”

“I can’t watch anything,” you snapped back. “It’s pitch fucking black!”

“We’ll watch for you,” Tamson suggested. “If it was bright, it would spoil the surprise.”

“What surprise?” Neither of them answered, just giggled in unison. You ground your teeth.

Both of them hauled you up to the pulpit, then past it and into a tucked away little corner. It seemed to be designed as somewhere for the choir to stay, given the closets holding robes and the dinky electric piano tucked into a corner. Tamson hovered next to me while Molly took the sigil. “I apologizer for not taking you home right now, but churches are just such lovely places to coalesce energy.”

“What are you coalescing energy for?” you asked.

“For you,” Tamson said, simple as you please. You blinked. You’d been expecting a plan to take over the world/galaxy/universe, not… that.

“Sorry, for me?”

“Yes,” Molly said from where she was mounting the sigil on the wall. “Humans are so woefully deficient, after all.

“Defi- I really don’t understand what’s going on.” You made a halfhearted attempt and running away, but Tamson just grabbed you in what seemed to be a really enthusiastic hug. You felt rather squished against his chest.

“You don’t need to understand. We’re going to take care of everything,” he smiled. Molly’s smile, equally beatific, radiated across the room.

“I might not need to understand, but I’d like to,” you pushed, tentative. They didn’t seem keen on actually hurting you. Maybe if you nudged them, they would be more willing to explain.

Tamson’s expression shifted, almost like he was considering it. He traced a hand along your arm, touch feather-light. The warm and pulsing almost seemed to subside for a moment. You’d gotten so used to it that without it, your arm felt cold.

“Isn’t it usually the case that the paladin receives some of their patron’s power?” he asked, so quiet it was almost like he was musing to himself.

Your brain stuttered over the word. “The paladin?”

“There are other words for it,” Molly said. You startled. She’d practically appeared right in front of you. “Priest or priestess? Disciple? Chosen one? All similar concepts. One who serves and is served by us or our kin.”

“I’m not serving you,” you sputtered. Molly and Tamson shrugged in unison.

“You did. You opened the gateway, did you not?” Their voices were in sync again, a perfect chorus. You shuddered, but the only place to retreat back into was Tamson’s embrace.

“Not- not on purpose.”

“No? And yet, your magic jumped so eagerly to us. We felt it, dear paladin. Dear walker of Earth.” They were cooing at you, pressing up into your personal space. “We know you, dearest to us. Down to your heart. When your magic opened the gateway, the first thing we knew of this beautiful place was you. We reached through you and we knew you and we knew you would be ours.”

“I didn’t ask to be yours,” you said. Your voice was strangled. Your body was fighting itself. You should be leaning away from them, and there was some terrified, rational part of yourself that wanted you to do that, but there was another part that said to lean in. They were close to you, warm and sweet. Perhaps you’d just hadn’t been held in a long time, but your entire body yearned for the contact. They couldn’t be telling the truth, that they cared about you. But you wanted them to be.

“Maybe you didn’t ask with words,” Molly said. “But we know you and we know your longing.”

“For things to be different. Safer. A world where you never need to be afraid, or stressed, or in pain. You have brought us here, and we saw your heart and your pain and we adored you, because no one can ever see that deeply into another’s soul and not adore them. So we will protect you, now. Our dear paladin,” Tamson sighed.

“Together, we will bring this world into a new age,” they said, their voices unified again. No, not just their voices. You could hear, faintly, other voices saying the exact same thing. Like the entire city was speaking in unison.

“I-” you choked out. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were going into shock. Your companions (companion?) didn’t seem bothered. Tamson rocked back and forth in a slow, soothing motion. Molly brushed her fingers along your scalp and made comforting noises. You closed your eyes for a moment, sagging with the utter exhaustion of the day.

“It’s all right,” Molly said. “Let it all go.” Your arm was warm, still, and it still pulsed, but there was something pleasant about it. Like lying against someone’s chest and hearing their heartbeat. Like the warmth of a fire on a chilly night.

After some amount of time, Tamson shifted his weight, lifting you up a little. You moved to get away instinctively, and tumbled right into Molly. She made no effort to hold onto you, but you didn’t move that far away from her.

“We weren’t sure if you were feeling up to walking,” Tamson explained. “It’s time to go downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?” you asked.

“You’ll see,” Molly said. She linked her arm with yours. “We’ll show you.”

You allowed yourself to be led, with one of them on either arm. You actually passed a few other people as you made your way to the basement. No one you recognized, though all of them broke into beaming smiles when they saw you. They also bowed at the waist, a reverence that you hadn’t been expecting.

The basement was down a set of stairs in the back of the church. Now, you’d been a church basement once before, due to being dragged there for some kind of event, and that time, it had resembled a sort of dingy little storage area. There were a couple different rooms, the paint was peeling, it smelled kind of musty. This was not the sort of church basement you were expecting.

The area was spacious, almost cavernous. It was so big, in fact, that it didn’t actually seem to fit under the church. Maybe it was an optical illusion, but the ceiling seemed too high.

The entire place was bathed in purple light, though there was no visible source. The area just seemed suffused in it. Smaller points of reddish light came from candles that were stationed all around the… room? It was hard to call it a room. The walls were undefined, fading into darkness. In the center of the room, there was a platform, with more candles clustered thickly around it. Molly and Tamson guided you toward it.

“Am I supposed to sit here?” you asked, eyeing the platform. There was a fancy, throne-like chair in the center. It looked iron-like, with an ornate designed along the back of it. The pattern looked a little familiar.

“Yes, of course.” Molly pushed you up closer to it and you paused. Yes, the back of the throne was familiar- it was made up of a lot of tiny little sigils, all intertwining with each other to create one, large pattern.

“How is this possible?” you asked, stretching your hand out to touch it, though you thought better of it before actually touching it.

“It’s remarkably easy to warp physical things within our realm of power,” Tamson said. “And when the sigils are fully formed, we can bring more power into the world and affect more.”

“It’s a wonderful system,” Molly sighed, leaning her head on your shoulder. You shivered. “And you shall be part of it now.”

“I sit here and what, you give me your power?” Suspicion was starting to prickle over your skin again. It looked dangerously close to something that would suck your soul out or mind control you.

“We offer you some of our power, as our paladin.” Tamson put his hand on your lower back and gave you a little push toward the throne. You slid a cautious step closer. Tamson pushed a little harder. This time, you dug your heels in, feeling a bit like a stubborn child trying to avoid going to a doctor’s appointment or something. Tamson paused, with a questioning little, “hm?”

“What’s wrong?” Molly asked, her breath a inch from your ear. You froze. “It’s all right. The power is frightening, but we’ll be right here with you. We’ll help, adored one.”

“I don’t know. I can’t-” Your arm was overly warm, making sweat prickle along your body. Your breathing was quick and shallow.

“It’s all right,” Tamson said. “Are you frightened of us?”

You pressed your lips together and didn’t answer.

“Yes. It’s all right. We can show you that you don’t need to be,” Molly offered. She reached down and lifted your arm, the one that was still warm. The heat was centered at your hand, radiating outward. Her fingers felt cool against your skin. “Here.”

You glanced down at what she was indicating. The red part of your palm had spread. It no longer looked like a small burn mark or spot. It looked like a pattern, the red mark splitting into multiple red lines that created an ornate picture. Something you recognized.

The sigil had appeared on your skin.

You trembled. It wasn’t complete yet, but you could see the red spreading, bit by bit. It would be complete soon.

Molly smiled. “You see our connection,” she murmured. “The mark of our favor on your skin.”

“It’s not done yet,” you said. You couldn’t keep the shake out of your voice. “What happens when it’s…”

“We can show you,” Molly said. She pressed a finger to the center of the sigil and something at the back of your mind unfurled.

It was like you had been curled in a tiny ball for your entire life and just now you were getting the chance to stand up and stretch your limbs. There was pain, almost like your brain was splitting open, but it was relieving as well. You could feel your body shuddering, but your body wasn’t important. Why would something as constrained as a body be important? You could see and feel the entire building, like you were surrounding it with your mind.

Something else touched your mind, gentle as a nudge. It was difficult to describe what your senses were doing, but the best description was that you ‘turned’ to ‘look’ at what had nudged you.

It was them. You could ‘see’ them. They were ‘curled’ around the bodies of Tamson and Molly, and you could ‘see’ other parts of them extending into the other bodies in the city and stretching up into the sky. They were bigger than you, much, much bigger, even in your expanded form. They ‘nudged’ you again, affectionate and warm. Each touch gave you a str age sense of what they were feeling, like their feelings were akin to body warmth. Their love pressed against you with every ‘touch.’ You reached out to them, following their ‘motions’ and trying to reclaim the adoration they were giving off. It was so much and so overwhelming and so good. You had never felt as genuinely cared for- their mind gave off pure gratitude and love for your entire being, for your humanity, for your soul.

With a near-painful abruptness, you were back in your own body. Your face was wet. Tears, yes, but also sweat and drool. Molly and Tamson were cooing at you, holding you in both their arms. Your body was sore, and not pleasantly so. You felt like you’d been sprinting for miles and been hit by a truck.

“What was that?” you groaned.

“Us,” Tamson said. “You, as well, though mortals are poorly suited for such a strenuous experience. You could only endure it due to our influence.”

You groaned again and made an attempt to get up. Molly and Tamson lifted their arms in time to catch you as you fell. Tamson allowed you to lean against him until your breathing stabilized again.

“Do you see now?” Molly asked. “The depth of our affection for you? How we adore you?”

You shuddered. Yes. You could feel it in your chest. The certainty of it. Tamson stroked your head and you leaned against him with a shuddering sigh.

“Come now,” Molly said. You whined as she tried to pull you upward. “I know you are tired, but you need our power.”

Tamson joined in on the tugging at you. “Just a modicum of our power and you’ll feel better. We promise.” With both their coaxing, you were dragged to your feet and hauled over to the throne. You were pretty boneless at first, but you were soon moving with them, reaching for the throne.

They carefully placed you on the seat and you sagged into it. The chair was not comfortable, but it made your arm steadily heat up. Your skin tingled.

There was a sensation like being watched. Like hundreds of eyes falling on you. No being watched in an oppressive fashion, either, but like reverence. Molly and Tamson knelt at either side of the throne, their hands on yours, drinking in the sight of you.

And then- it wasn’t like before, like your body had split open and sent the inner essence of you billowing up. It was more like there was a crack in your back and some of your essence had instead, slipped out, curling and billowing outward. You were still within your body, but you could extend more of yourself outward.

You fumbled, trying to acclimate yourself to new senses. Power surged through you and, fumbling, you scrabbled against the edges of reality, trying to orient yourself, and nearly tore it.

Their presence curled around you, lifting you up and away from the edge and balancing you next to them. There, now, my dearest. None of that. I am here with you now. Their ‘voice’ was warm, kindly, and almost… awestruck.

Dimly, back in your body, you were aware of the city folk bowing their heads in your direction, whispers of prayers and praises on their lips. All echoes of what this being felt for you. But you could only stretch your mind out toward them, and shudder in joy and relief when they stretched back and suffused you with adoration.

Come, adored one. We have much to do now. A city is only a fraction of what we can do, and you deserve continents upon continents of love.

You were a bad cursebreaker. Maybe you could be a good god.

[exhausted-archivist]

I can't decide if Assan is renamed Crookytail look-alike or if Assan resembles Smoke more. Putting my musing under the cut for spoilers.

Assuming he is one of the original 13 griffon eggs that hatched in 9:42 and not the second generation. Personally I want him to be of the first generation just based on the size griffons grow to and basing it off of irl animals.

Smoke is described as being a smallish female with a distinctive blue tinged ash-grey fur and plumage. She has irregular black banding across her wings.

Where Crooky tail is described as rangy with large patches of white on the fur of his belly and forequarters, with the rest of him a brindled brownish-grey. His ears flopped forward rather than standing up in a swept-back point, and that there was a large furry puff on his tail more like a fox rather than a lion's tail.

It should be noted that both parents are unusual for the dominant expression of griffons in Thedas. Most griffons were solid grey of some variation of shade. Solid black and white were uncommon, parti-colour even more so. Griffons of the past were not bred with colour in mind, the focus was on speed, intelligence, and athleticism, so grey was coincedentally the dominant trait.

It does make me wonder if solid colours will once again become more common or if that will change.

In regards to Assan, he is not a carbon copy of his parents on either end, so I don't think he is the same as the griffon that first hatches at the end of Last Flight. But I do think he resembles Smoke more than Crookytail in terms of colour pattern. But colouration it seems more like Crookytail? I'm not fully sure yet until I can get some neutral lighting for him.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙎𝙪𝙗𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨!⁠ Hit the link in my story today for this new bard subclass! Exclusively for $5+ supporters as part of their pledge, included with the art, cards, compendiums, and other bonuses that they receive!⁠ ⁠ Bards of this college see alchemy as a dance between the elements of the world. It’s not bound by the rules of chemistry, and while it can be learned through dedication and study, it can also be felt and intuited by those with a knack for it. Some of these bards go so far as to sing to their alchemical projects, convincing the elements within to simply become something else of their own volition. While most of the College of Alchemy are alchemists by trade, many others are brewers, cooks, or pharmacists. Regardless of their trades, these unusual alchemical savants bend music, magic, and the elements to their will to convert one to another in seamless harmony.⁠ ⁠ • Become a savant with alchemical tools, or even brewer's supplies or cook's utensils!⁠ • Create special alchemist's fires that explode upon impact! You can even convert these explosives to use other elements to unique effect, like air, earth, or water!⁠ • Mix spellcraft with potion-making to share your magic on demand with your allies.⁠ ⁠ Since not all subclasses are tied to a specific setting in Saddlebag Year 5, consider the following pre-existing settings to align this with.⁠ ⁠ • Antronec⁠ • Cards and Caravans⁠ • Feasts, Festivals, and Taverns⁠ • Orostead Have fun with this explosive subclass, heroes! ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[rainbowfeatherreplies]

Hello! What's being a medic like, Rainbow? Gotta say your hair is unusual. First time seeing rainbow hair on a griffon! Name's Sweetie Belle!

"Noticed the mane, eh? I think I'm the only rainbow-colored griff who's not using dye! "As for the medic, it's a lot of work, and I go into dangerous places pretty often, but I get to help ponies that really need it! It requires both study and physical training and dealing with danger, so not many ponies or griffs want to do it, but it's worth it."

(Art by @marstectomy )

[harkthorn]

Griffon, very unusual

-2416

[detectiveneve]

unusual muse associations.

tagged by... stole it from an old sideblog! tagging… @sidestepping @helenekuragina @halsin @silvery-bluish @arlathen @the-rebel-archivist @gingerbreton @silvery-bluish @euelios @rodentbrains +anyone else who wants!

emrys tarian (baldur's gate).

SEASONING: ginger, cinnamon. WEATHER: sunlight during a rainstorm, thunder. COLOUR: deep blues, pale gold-white, foresty greens SKY: deep sunsets MAGICAL POWER: lay on hands :) PLANT: gladiolus (honor, faith, integrity). WEAPON: two handed sword / sword & shield. SUBJECT: philosophy, logic. SOCIAL MEDIA: those newspapers you can read in baldur's gate. MAKEUP PRODUCT: sunscreen. CANDY: dark chocolate. FEAR: losing control, loved ones dying, meaninglessness. ICE CUBE SHAPE: crushed ice. METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: war horse. ART STYLE: oil paintings. MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: chimera. or griffon. PIECE OF STATIONERY: leatherbound journals. THREE EMOJIS: ⚔️☀️🛡️ CELESTIAL BODY: the sun.

[avillanappears]

as a followup to my strange dragons post please enjoy some fun n unusual griffons griffins gryphons those bird cat things

[creativebrainrot]

unusual muse associations

Tagged by @astralarias @commanderthalys & @commander-winterberry ! uwu MAELGWYNNIE TIME

seasoning: Paprika

weather: Sunny

colour: Bright Orange

sky: Night

magical power: Shapeshifting

plant: Babydoll Lotus

weapon: Sword

subject: Animal Care

social media: Instagram

makeup product: Mini Eyeshadow Palette

candy: (those lil peanutbutter filled mfers that are like m&ms??)

fear: Ending up utterly alone, again

ice cube shape: Rectangles

method of long distance travel: Griffon

piece of stationery: Tea-stained Parchment Paper

three emojis: 🥺😈🐅

celestial body: Solar Eclipse

Tagging: anyone who reads this and wants to play! CONSIDER YOURSELF TAGGED! <3

[mightaswell-whump]

Backstory

Finally, that story about my silly little ocs.

Pet whump and dehumanization (?) ahead, if you think I need another warning, give me a shout

“WAKE UP!”

Samson sat up instinctively at the barked command. He put his hands in his lap as he looked up through the bars of the cage. Sebastian took a breath and calmed down.

“Sorry, Sammy, it’s just -” he fumbled for the right words, “I want you on your best behavior. Someone’s reserved an hour to himself and I don’t want you messing it up.”

By the tone in his voice Samson knew who he was talking about. Caecilius Voyd, a notorious collector of strange and unusual pets, was all Sebastian ever talked about. Voyd was known to pay a pretty penny for an extravagant pet like a phoenix or a minotaur, and was practically a legend throughout the vendors of Winterwood. Sebastian had seen him walk through town every so often and was absolutely transfixed. 

And of course Voyd would want the whole shop to himself, no other customers, for the whole time he was in here. Of course a man who pays for pets more expensive than, perhaps, the king’s castle - he’d never want his day out to be ruined by commoners.

Sebastian wrung his hands together, his tail swishing wildly. He paced the back room for a minute or so longer before sauntering to the front again.

In the front, surrounding the register, tinier creatures were displayed. A small dragon lay curled around its perch, the fairy sat in her fishbowl, and the phoenix’s tail feathers spiraled to the floor from its place on high. Sebastian gave the display room one last sweep/dust before the door opened.

In stepped the tall man, with dark clothing and dark eyes. The way he carried himself was so elegant, Sebastian nearly swooned then and there. Sebastian gripped the stranger’s hand in his own.

“You must be Mister Caecilius Voyd,” he said, pointed ears going pink as he gave his hand one pump, then two. The other man gave a wry smile. “So, you’ve heard of me.”

Heavens, his voice is deep. Sebastian wanted to shoot back a witty remark about How couldn’t he have? Caecilius Voyd was the most famous person in his industry, the most notorious customer many pet-vendors had seen. He wanted to explain how he’d heard all about him, and even thought he saw him walking past on a few occasions. He wanted to do that, but the only thing that would come from his throat were high-pitched, excited giggles. His ears now red, he tried to collect himself. “Wh-hah-what are you looking for today?”

“Well,” Caecilius started, “I’ve had many a pet in my time. I’ve turned the most violent creatures into docile servants who obey my will alone. I’ve seen what it takes to make the mighty fall, I’ve broken each of them one by one. Frankly, I’m utterly bored now.”

“Aww,” Sebastian offered a small noise of sympathy. 

“What I crave is novelty. Give me something I’ve never seen before, something new, something…exciting. And you better make it count.”

“Ooh, you’re gonna want something from the back room,” Sebastian suggested, before grabbing Voyd’s hand again, “Come with me.”

The back room was more like a warehouse, with cages and tanks and other means of securing the prizes lined up in rows. Sebastian dragged him to the first pet, telling him “I think you’ll like this one.”

A faun sat cross-legged (cross-hooved?) on the dusty floor below. In its hands, it held a pan flute. Around its neck was a chain that continued on and fastened the creature to the ground.

“I actually had one of these as my last pet,” Caecilius reminisced, “She was meek and gentle, it didn’t actually take long to break her.” Sebastian started stuttering, slightly embarrassed at offering Caecilius Voyd a pet he’d already had. He looked around for anything else, and his eyes fell on a griffon.

“What about this one?” he offered, “Betcha never seen something like this before!”

“Fascinating.” Sebastian was sure he saw a glimmer in Caecilius’s eyes briefly. “But it’s far too large for my taste. E - ooh! What do we have here?”

Caecilius sauntered over to the mid-size cage containing an ordinary human. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of these before!”

Sebastian bit his lip as he rushed towards them. “Oh, uh, that’s Samson. He’s…he’s a human.”

“Those are normally hard to get in this country,” Voyd mused.

“He, uh,” Sebastian stammered out the explanation, “He came here willingly. Sold his freedom for a better life, for food and shelter. I’ve…I’ve tried to give it to him, as best as I could.”

Voyd gave a delighted gasp. “A willing participant,” he exclaimed, “those are even rarer.” He smiled, turning to his vendor. “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

Sebastian stood in silence for a second or so, processing what just happened, before stammering out an “O-okay!” His suddenly shaky hands fumbled to open the cage. 

Samson confusedly took Sebastian’s hand as he led him out of the cage. 

Samson kept his head down the entire transaction, for one to not let the unmerciful eyes of his buyer bore holes straight into his soul, and for two not to meet the eyes of his betrayer. Their voices faded into the background noise to the symphony that was Sammy’s heart pounding in his ears. His vision blurred from the tears welling into his eyes. He shut them tight to not let any pass through.

“Hey, Samson,” Sebastian pointed the man’s face towards his own. His eyes were just as wet with tears. “I’m sorry. I guess this is goodbye. Stay strong for me, okay?”

“Who said this was goodbye?” Caecilius laughed. With a snap of his fingers, a heavy iron collar curled tightly around Sebastian’s neck, with a chain appearing magically, stretching its way to the other man’s hand. “I’m taking you along with me.”

[the-rebel-archivist]

unusual muse associations.

not tagged by anyone, Aurie is just noisy and demanding tagging nobody explicitly but if you want to take a stab at it please do

Aurelian Sidewinder, the Gilded Gorgon (the exile)

SEASONING: honey, tamarind

WEATHER: blistering, rock warming heat waves

COLOUR: iridescent green, burnished gold, warm brown

SKY: starless night

MAGICAL POWER: enhanced senses, glamour and manipulation, a lifetime of training in war

PLANT: edelweiss (courage, perseverance, devotion), snapdragon (deception, graciousness)

WEAPON: envennomed fangs and twin daggers, Fang and Talon

SUBJECT: psychology and military strategy

SOCIAL MEDIA: [cancelled immediately]

MAKEUP PRODUCT: bit of oil for half-translucent scales, patented Fantasy Fuckboy cologne, you know he smells good when he's not knee-deep in mud and blood and hate him a little for it

CANDY: too cloyingly sweet on his tongue, milk chocolate pretzels at most

FEAR: (you are a murderer, you have always been a murderer, you will always be a murderer, you are fit for nothing else)

ICE CUBE SHAPE: anything that won't get sucked up a twirly straw

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL: horse, griffon taxi (once)

ART STYLE: baroque

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: is gorgon too on the nose?

PIECE OF STATIONERY: long-travelled diplomatic pouches full of other people's doodles

THREE EMOJIS: 🐍🗡💔

CELESTIAL BODY: the sun

[aetherblooms]

unusual muse associations

tagged by @commanderthalys and @dotmander :)

seasoning: ginger, honey, cinnamon

weather: early summer morning

color: recently i've associated them blue/purple,,, but i have a soft spot for them wearing a lot of burgundy.

sky: sunrise! specifically that pretty gold/blue/purple gradient

magical power: illusions and elemental magic (i cant pick just one,,,,)

plant: gladiolus, forget-me-nots, honeysuckle

weapon: rapier

subject: anything in the realm of medicine and healing arts. alchemy, botany, anatomy, etc.

social media: uhh. facebook? they are not a social media girlie

makeup product: mascara

candy: dark chocolate sea-salt caramels

fear: being alone

ice cube shape: ? crescent?

method of long distance travel: waypoint if available; otherwise griffon

piece of stationery: fountain pen!

three emojis: ☕️✨📖

celestial body: sun