#who broke things off for good because of the whole blood mage thing

[meglosthegreat]

I see a lot of posts on here talking about the Solas/Elgar'nan segment in Blood of Arlathan and how it's one of the best scenes in the game, and they'd be right, but I don't see enough people talking about how comically the whole thing is undercut by quite possibly the most poorly-conceived, terribly-implemented looney-tunes-ass sequence in gaming history that surrounds it.

Like you show up with your friends to this Venatori party, and you're like great, we're sneaking in! Time for disguises. How convenient that these Venatori guys all wear hoods, right? Should be a piece of cake if we're all, you know, wearing hoods that would helpfully hide our identities. But no. We all go waltzing in with our whole-ass faces exposed, you know, the group of guys that have been murdering Venatori left and right and who Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have definitely all seen in person before. Oh, and don't worry about walking into this notoriously racist elf-sacrificing cult if you happen to be an elf! You're only here in disguise so that you can rescue a GROUP OF ELVES THEY'RE GOING TO SACRIFICE but it's ok because you're dressed as a mercenary and not a dalish so it's all good don't worry about it :) :)

Then you get into this fucking party and oh my fucking god it's like they decided to take all of the most comically over-the-top stereotypes of villainy and put them on display. Because why not! The Venatori are all sickos anyway so of course they'd be out here doing sicko things! There's some guys pulling a halla apart with blood magic! There's other guys using slaves as benches! They're all laughing and joking about how EVIL they are, hahaha, how cool is that? The fucking guy from D'Meta's Crossing is here if you don't let him die, because he's a fucked up evil sicko too! You're supposed to be shocked at this hideous display; recoil in horror, even!

And who do you bring with you to help get through this crowd of absolute lunatics? NEVE FUCKING GALLUS. You know, the person so well-known in Minrathous that a Dalish elf living in Arlathan KNEW HER BY REPUTATION. Yup, Neve Gallus with her INTENSELY RECOGNIZABLE PROSTHETIC just waltzes up to some guy and he just lets her in. Because being EVIL also makes you incapable of coherent thought, apparently.

And then. AND THEN. You walk across the bridge where Elgar'nan makes his thought-sounds at you, and YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING PARTY is already there, just hanging out nbd. Also not wearing hoods or any kind of disguises that couldn't instantly be seen through by a five-year-old with amnesia but ok, cool. Why did we bother walking through all those sickos then when we could've just taken the secret back entrance like the rest of them, idk.

But just when you think you've reached peak stupidity, it keeps going. You're now standing there, at the front of a crowd of about twelve people, approximately five feet away from Elgar'nan himself, inexplicably blending in, when the big guy puts the mind control whammy on everyone. Oh no, you think. We've been found out! Here's the part in the plan where things begin to go wrong! NO. Your mage friends SECRETLY PERFORM MAGICAL GESTURES to block the mind control, and then you LITERALLY FUCKING SIDLE OFF STAGE LEFT without ANYONE NOTICING. I should reiterate that at this point, you are still about FIVE FEET AWAY FROM ELGAR'NAN and his fucking ARCHDEMON.

And to conclude this absolute comedy of idiocy, as soon as you enter back into combat mode, you immediately ditch all of your disguises. And of course then, ONLY THEN, Elgar'nan notices you've been there. Cut to the end of the actual good sequence, this dramatic conversation performed by excellent voice actors and written miles better than most other things in this game, and you reach your final prize: about six guys trapped in a little cube. Cool, you tell yourself. This was definitely worth it. You take your fade-to-black teleporter back to the Lighthouse and they're never heard from again.

This was the quest that broke me. This was the moment that all hope for Veilguard finally snapped. I consider myself to be a very resilient person in the face of camp and goofy writing, but this was too much disbelief for my brain to suspend. The mental gymnastics necessary to make this whole sequence make any kind of sense were simply beyond me. Even Solas's dulcet tones could not salvage it for me after that.

[loweffortopinions]

Holy Maker, the dialogue in Veilguard is even worse when you look closer at it. Just look at this:

Rook: "I'm guessing you're the reason we're here." Lucanis: "Who are you? Who sent you?" Rook: "My name is Rook. Caterina sent me." Lucanis: "Caterina… But you're not a Crow." Rook: "I'm breaking you out of here, but… what are you?" Neve: "Rook. He's possessed by a demon. "Lucanis: "It's complicated." Rook: "Caterina promised us a mage killer if we broke you out of here." Lucanis: "I can still work." Rook: "Good. Because I'm pretty sure more Venetori are on their way. We have to get moving." Lucanis: "They have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here—Calivan. Crows don't break contracts." Rook: "All right, we'll help. But in return, I want help killing some things." Lucanis: "I'll owe you." Rook: "I'm sure we'll owe each other before this is all over. Let's go."

Just a few problems off the top of my head:

Caterina already promised that Lucanis would help us if we break him out. So… he double owes us already I guess?

I honestly didn’t realize he was possessed until Neve beat me over the head with it. At most I figured he was a mage, but with how the classes are designed, there was no guarantee for that since all classes look like mages now. Nothing clueing you in slowly... just BAM: THISMANISPOSSESSEDDIDYOUKNOW?

So you find out he’s buddy-buddy with a demon and no one’s freaking out? Why is everyone acting like this is normal? “Oh, hey, it’s Abomination Tuesday. Moving on.”

And I swear he repeats the whole “Crows don’t break contracts” thing in the very next scene with Calivan. I just… can’t.

There is probably more: Feel free to add your own thoughts. There is more scenes under the cut if anyone is interested in looking at the dialoge with Calivan, and the reunion in Treviso. Feel free to use it however you want (It should be word for word but I might've missed something).

Meeting and fighting Calivan

Calivan (target): "Ugh, this was entirely unnecessary. Zara and her little jests. 'He's already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won't this be ironic?'" (Lucanis smiles bitterly at the comment.)

Calivan: "Hilarious. And now look at the mess you've made of my facility. She always leaves me to clean up."

Rook: "So this is Calivan."

Lucanis: "He is. The target I was sent for a year ago. A Crow never abandons a contract."

(Note: *snort* Did both of them just ignore Calivans entire monloge?)

(Fight ensues. Calivan is cocky at first but grows desperate, talking about not wanting to be a victim or something similar.)

Lucanis: (Exhales) "The Crows send their regards." (He seems pleased that the contract is finished.)

Rook: "So we got your target."

Lucanis: "Yes. The job's done."

Spite: (Inhales) "Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet."

Rook: "Lucanis... Are you all right? Lucanis? What are you looking at?"

Spite: "Careful. They know. We're not right."

Lucanis: "You cannot see him. I wondered."

Rook: "We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else."

Lucanis: "Agreed. I think... it's time I got some air. Shall we go?"

Rook: "I'm ready to get out of this place."

Lucanis: "Imagine how I feel."

1. The Spite reveal is so goofy, and unimmersive: The player can see Spite, but Rook can't. I just find this to be an extremly lazy way of doing things. Further, the "reveal" was ruined in the previous scene since Neve has already told us exactly what's wrong with Lucanis.

2. So... nobody really gives a shit about Calivan? I thought there might be a bit more... relief, killing the dude that's responsible for the hellhole you've been "living" in for the past year. I mean, the monologue was awful, but to just ignore him entirely...?

3. There are many unneccesary lines like "We got your target". Yes, yes we did. He's lying right there, on the floor. Dead. The pacing suffers.

Reunion in Treviso

You walk into the Diamond, there are dead Crows on the floor.)

Teia: "Maker..."

Viago: "Lucanis?"

Lucanis: "What happened here?"

Illario: (Bangs table) "A message. From Zara Renata."

Illario: "I can't believe it. You're home." (Approaches and touches Lucanis' shoulder.)

Lucanis: "Zara... her people got this close?"

Rook: "The woman who runs the prison?"

Lucanis: "The Venetori witch who captured me."

Rook: "Revenge for the breakout, maybe?"

Lucanis: "Where's Caterina?"

Teia: "She's..."

Viago: (Comforts her) "The Venetori got her in the confusion."

Illario: "I get one of you back, only to lose the other."

Rook: "Lucanis... I'm so sorry."

Lucanis: "I need to work."

Teia: "Are you sure? You should take some time."

Lucanis: "I don't need time. I need a target."

Illario: "You just got here, and already you want to leave again?"

Lucanis: "Caterina gave me a contract. I'm not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that's done... I'll come home."

Rook: "I'll return him in one piece."

Illario: "Thank you. Illlario: Cousin. When you find Zara, I want—I need—to be there."

Viago: "We're under attack. Antaam on one side, and now Venetori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you—"

Teia: "No. Viago. Zara came for us here. In my house. She took Caterina from my house."

Teia: "You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. Vi and I will hold down the fort."

Lucanis: "I'll give her your regards, Teia."

Teia: "For Caterina."

This last one is so very... disjointed. It feels like they're talking past each other half the time. And suddenly they remember; right EXPOSITION. It feels very random that they bring up the Antaam here.

Rook could've been silent this entire conversation, and it wouldn't make a difference; nothing they say contribute to the conversation. The only one that really reacts to them is Illario, barley.

So Lucanis is tasked with taking care of two Gods, AND to take care of Zara? The guy who just got out of prison, and is possessed? Fucking hell, the guy doesn't get a break. Sure, he says he wants to work... But just maybe someone else could deal with Zara, considering the contract he just undertook?

[gyrovagi]

hello and welcome to my gamer's den. i'm lok ming i'm 23 i use it/its pronouns. i draw when my wrist agrees with me but mostly i talk about my ocs instead of actual shit that happens in video games.

i tag next to nothing including 'critical' posts so you are better off not following if that is a dealbreaker. also approximately once a week i manifest larian studios ceo swen vincke's death

quick worldstate/oc rundowns below ⬇️

CANON PROTAGS/NORMAL MEN. INNOCENT MEN:

eloy "el" surana (blood mage/arcane warrior) - i'm like if a control freak could control things ❤️ with blood magic ❤️. generally well-intentioned but hypervigilant, always playing 5d chess about the worst scenario. world's first moral (not necessarily ethical) male bigender manipulator. wields a wholly inappropriate degree of political influence in denerim

seongmin hawke (primarily diplomatic, sword + shield berserker) - afraid that his abandonment issues will leave him. pathologically conflict avoidant, fawn response to the max - up until someone he loves gets threatened, at which point good luck leaving alive lol. 'i don't think i need to talk about my feelings,' says man who just broke the arm of a templar asking around too much about the darktown clinic and then continued making casual conversation with varric as if nothing happened

ga-sun "arav'assan" lavellan (archer, assassin) - king of compartmentalization. would really prefer to be one guy helping people on the ground rather than the unwilling inquisitor chained by power he never wanted, fighting for his life to be as politically uninvolved as possible. guy who is duty-bound never to return home

dak-wai schlegel (spellblade) - bellara kisser, direct port of my bg3 durge. tal-vashoth grey warden mage seeking a righteous purpose after a complicated and bloody past, but who has yet to find a better general approach to problems than killing things with hammers.

TGIRLS SAVE THE WORLD(STATE):

sang tabris (champion) - next shem bastard who pisses me off i'm just going to fucking kill you. alistair did you eat yet ^_^. struggling to reconcile an irrepressible hope for a better world with the abject horrors he's been subjected to by the world he lives in at present. morrigan's lesbian husband.

so-min hawke (blood mage) - girl could you at least pretend not to be a chantry-hating apostate in the middle of the gallows. carver just got suddenly pissed off in a darkspawn tunnel and he knows it's not because of the genlocks

r trevelyan (rift mage) - tranquil since 18, and at age 33, honestly dealing pretty well with accidentally getting a magical lobotomy reversed. yeah ok so maybe the random prolonged neutral-expression weeping is a little off-putting. it's hard when you're the white girl who needs to save yourself and you're still figuring out the girl part

yazmin de riva (duelist) - embittered half-elf bastard child of the young lord owain trevelyan. frighteningly competent and driven, but has difficulty taking orders and working with others due to the huge chip on her shoulder. thinks lucanis dellamorte is a nepo baby

INSANE WOMEN AND MALE MANIPULATORS:

ngayu brosca (reaver) - what do you MEAN the fate of the country is dependent on two twenty-year-olds one of whom gets scared looking at the sun. has never once in her life believed she would live past twenty and that's looking increasingly likely as a prediction

rina hawke (assassin) - when you are endlessly bitter and refuse to deal with it in any healthy way because that would require you to acknowledge your resentment towards the family members you perceive as a burden. chronically insincere, subservient but seething the whole time, wouldn't be able to name a solid belief if you asked her, incapable of self-reflection. crack baby you don't know what you want...

caden trevelyan (templar) - wildly repressed homosexual. has weird ideas about being a man. constantly develops obsessive fixations on authoritative older men. believes he has the divine right to mete out violence but also that he has to spend his whole life repenting for his own existence. white boy who sucks 🔥

ha-neul aldwir (slayer) - born in the minrathous ambassadoria, hasn't been back there for half his life. fascinated by magic and magical artifacts since a young age. something of an oddity by both dwarven and non-dwarven standards, a guy with an endless thirst for life and little interest in denying himself pleasure or dwelling in guilt, for better or worse. unserious.

PRONOUNS USERS GOING THROUGH IT/TRAGEDY WORLDSTATE:

enasa mahariel (ranger) - deadalive nothing girl who isn't. didn't anticipate that taking the vallaslin of dirthamen, twin brother to death, would be quite so prophetic. very clearly crumbling under mounting pressure while refusing to stop dragging the rotting corpse

bryn hawke (force mage) - half-avvar on malcolm's side, raised with what avvar beliefs and practices their father could half-remember from childhood. never quite at home in ferelden and struggling to come to terms with the idea they'll never be quite at home in their mother's city either. quietly shouldering other's burdens until it chokes them.

ga-kei lavellan (knight-enchanter) - turns out when you take an anxiety-ridden elf burdened with excess responsibility since youth out of their familiar environment and support system she'll have a bad time. solas' ex-spouse still misses him… but their aim's getting better!

orpheus ingellvar (death caller) - < he doesn't know (that he's the child of the last theirin king and the missing presumed dead hero of ferelden). surprisingly cheerful for a guy collectively raised by a bunch of necromancers, seems like a polite young man, but then he says something weird and offputting that makes you realize he's spent a lot of his life interacting with skeletons. and nevarrans.

ASSORTED GUYS:

dea surana - reserved but observant, knows it's best not to attract attention, tries to look after herself and her own in the ways she can. surprisingly worldly/cynical after her brother was taken by the templars at a young age and her life afterwards was spent largely on the road. then her situationship was like 'you know the hero of ferelden is named surana? circle mage, relative of yours?' and now she regularly talks to the king of ferelden

owain trevelyan - never really stopped hoping his older brother would come back from the circle and everything would be fine again. he's socially well-connected and charismatic, and could make for an influential heir to the house with motivation and an advantageous marriage - but he's a lot more interested in dragon hunting and boy bestiesisms with the prince of starkhaven.

valerie trevelyan - black sheep of the family, annoyed that this is more about lesbianism than being a fantasy communist. managed to pull off a 'buy my silence - for $8000 a month i will stop' ploy on her parents at 20, before she knew that this would end with her as the warden-commander's sister-in-law

kyunghee andras - former keeper of clan lavellan. her magical talent as a spirit healer was undeniable, her leadership capability was another matter. afflicted by the taint in a darkspawn raid that killed her husband, conscripted by the wardens c. 9:19. hasn't communicated with clan lavellan since informing them she survived the joining, out of the belief that as a symbolically dead woman, it would be best to cleanly sever ties. her orphaned daughter is probably fine.

daeun andras - kyunghee's daughter, taken in by her uncles at age 7 after her father was killed by darkspawn and her mother conscripted. both her parents were talented mages; she never manifested the gift, but her older cousin ga-kei did. ends up joining the veil jumpers to try and step out of her family members' shadows.

ga-hou lavellan - middle sibling b/w ga-kei and ga-sun, closer to both of them than they are with each other. one of clan lavellan's craftsmen. tends to take things a little too lightly, an optimist unconcerned with anything outside of the clan and the present. the siblings' dads (and ga-kei, and his wife) are hoping the birth of his daughter will make him more serious. ga-sun likes him as he is.

everybody's parents tend to be less developed than their kids are but they exist. In my mind . there's also a couple other extremely incidental fellas but they'll come up when they come up. i might also ramble about my non-da guys here but (closes my eyes and passes away silently)

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

hello and happy friday!! i'm intrigued by the lavellan/hawke pairing. how about 'Take off your shirt. Don’t give me that look’ from the hidden injuries prompts, if it suits you!

It delights me for anyone to be interested in this pair! I am surprised it seems to be a bit of a rarepair? Anyway Hawke and my Inquisitor are soulmates. 😌 Thank you for the prompt!!!

The wind cut across the open arch window, tugging at the gauze curtains. They did little to keep the grit out of the room–the desert, reaching inside the keep one finger at a time to claim it for herself. 

The Inquisitor stared out at that desert now. Hawke could picture the withdrawn, blank look on Josferrin’s face, not seeing the brilliant sunset, but things in the past and in the future. 

Hawke leaned against the wall beside him, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. He did it when he felt like he needed to edit himself, to not say something he knew was going to piss someone off. 

He took a breath. “Take off your shirt,” he said.

Jos looked at him, brow furrowed, one of them ticked up. “If that’s your idea of a mating ritual, you can stop there.” 

Hawke ground his teeth to keep from smiling. He took another deep breath, then nodded at Jos’s arm. “You’re bleeding.” 

The Inquisitor looked down, clearly surprised. He pressed a hand over the speckled bloodstains and scrubbed at them, wincing sharply. 

“I told you not to practice without me,” Hawke pressed. “Don’t give me that look. You can’t experiment with blood magic.”

“I have control of it,” Jos said, eyes narrowing. 

Hawke reached for Jos’s wrist and the Inquisitor flinched away. Leaving the hand extended between them, Hawke looked Jos in the eyes.

“You are too angry to have control of it for long,” he told him. 

The Inquisitor met his eyes, not a shred of guilt etched on his elvhen features. If anything, there was defiance–a look Hawke knew well, even if it had never been turned on him before. 

“I have reason to be angry,” Jos finally said, turning back to the window. Changing the subject, Hawke thought, was not so much deflection as it was a grudging concession, for the moment.

“You do,” Hawke said with a sigh. “Which is easy to manipulate.”

Jos was absently scratching the skin of his arm through his white linen shirt. Hawke reached for him again, and this time the Inquisitor let him take his wrist with a sigh. Hawke pulled the arm toward himself and pushed the sleeve up gently. A dozen razor thin cuts made a ladder along the soft, bronze skin. Blood seeped from the torn scabs of several of them.

“Do you think I would not make deals with demons to end this?” the Inquisitor asked. 

“I think you would,” Hawke said, thumbing away a sticky trickle of blood. “And that is the problem.”

[ziracona]

That’s so true, and so worth it. He throws himself so completely into desperate struggles to be and do good, and to pay fairly and utterly even for the things he had no better choice than to do. I truly think he loves and tries and fights and believes more utterly and deeply and truly than anyone in that universe.

Anders finally asked me to stay instead of to leave for my own good 😭 or accepting only if I asked him. He asked me. He finally believes me that I love him selfishly and utterly and it’s good. We’re going to run away together as fugitives and I’m so happy.

[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 5

You knew committing to a relationship with Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Previous: Part 4

Length: not too long:)

Trigger warnings: blood, fighting

You slowly opened your eyes.

The clouds that were orange and pink not so long ago now had turned dark along with the sky.

You've just realised how long you have been sitting on the cliff.

The chilly weather suddenly felt genuinely cold and a shiver ran down your spine. You wore light clothes not suited for a night in Liuye's mountains.

'I should start heading back' you thought. But you didn't move.

A few days have passed since Scaramouche left but it still felt like the wound he caused was wide open. You avoided every interaction with others and luckily they were considerate enough to let you be. No one gave you requests or tasks, they dealt with their problems themselves so you could be alone for a while.

A little guilt stung your chest. You said you would always protect them yet you were selfish enough to only think about yourself for days.

On the other hand, you also felt a little burnout. You still loved the village as much as you used to - maybe even more, now that it was the only thing left that you cared about - but you didn't want to go back to your previous way of living. Even though Scaramouche wasn't a part of your daily routine, everything felt so empty without him. Just thinking about him made you smile any time and you could always look forward to his visits. And when he was actually there, he made everything feel shiny and wonderful.

He sure was the grumpiest man but that just made his soft moment worth even more. How delighted you felt when he laughed at your stupid jokes or gave you a smile that wasn't teasing or (too) smug. When he first held your hand you couldn't stop grinning for days.

You let out a quiet chuckle as you remembered your beautiful memories together. For a few seconds the grief was gone with your smile but when it finally faded away the sorrow became even sharper in your heart.

But it actually wasn't that painful any more. It still hurt really deeply but now you could at least think of the benefits of the new situation.

Something that you always hated about being with Scara was that the village lived in a low-key but constant fear. They were all afraid of the fatui. And for a good reason, as you realised after their last visit.

Now you could at least keep them more safe. They didn't have to be afraid of your lover and his power any more.

You stared at the dark sky one last time then shook your head. You stood up, getting ready to head back to the village but your mind was still invaded by thoughts of Scara.

The rocks under your shoes jingled as you took a step forward.

Another step, another sound of them tinkling together.

Another step and a scream.

You flinched and immediately glanced at the rocks. But they weren't the ones making the desperate sound.

You stared in front of you, your mind numb and empty without any thoughts.

Another scream. Human voices strengthening and getting louder and louder in the distance.

You looked up slowly, turning your gaze to where the village was. It was pitch black. Until red dots started lighting up.

'Oh no' you whispered to yourself.

The realisation hit you and your whole body froze for a moment.

'Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no...'

You finally moved, grabbing your polearm off your back. Then you started running.

There was no time to safely climb down on the mountainside. You threw yourself off the cliff, slashing through the cold air and landing on your weapon. Running and jumping again like your whole life depended on it.

It probably did. The village was the only thing you wanted to live for after Scaramouche left.

Terrible guilt stabbed your heart. You couldn't believe you neglected the place and people you once swore to protect. You couldn't believe you actually forgot about them and selfishly only cared about your wounds even though they needed you.

And now they were attacked.

Fear crawled up on your spine as you jumped up from a cliff. You were pretty close to the village now.

Out of breath, you heart beating at a crazy speed but you were ready to take any monsters down.

You landed on your spear, slipped and fell painfully. But you were up on your feet in a blink of an eye, sprinting again.

The village was in a worse situation than you had imagined.

You ran through the gates and stopped, looking around to see where your help was needed the most.

It was needed everywhere.

Your eyes grew wide open.

The houses were on fire, burning and lighting up the night. People were running around in chaos, monsters chasing them. Abbys mages sent whole blaze bombs after them. They set everything on fire.

An abandoned child crying on the stairs. Her father fighting a mitachurl with a single hack. Mothers desperately trying to find their family.

The blood red flames reflected in your eyes as you stood there, numbed by the terrifying destruction.

You moved on your own as you clenched your fist around the spear.

You jumped at the speed of the light. One moment you were still standing under the gates and the next you flashed your way through a group of hilichurls.

There were just corpses left behind in your way.

An old man cried for your help when he saw you. He was trying to protect his house from an abyss mage.

You landed behind the monster. It heard the noise and tried to turn around.

But before it could've even moved an inch, your whole body strained then let loose. Hydro bursting out of your veins, it broke through the mage's shield in an instant.

It fell but never reached the ground. Your spear cut through it in mid-air.

'Thank you!' The old man panted, his entire body trembling. 'I...'

'Leave the village!' You yelled through the discord of screams and roars. 'Go to the bamboo forest!'

'But my house...'

'Leave. Now.' You ordered in a way that it was impossible to disobey.

Then you moved on.

Your aura was filled with tense hydro vibrating in the dark. It strangled the monsters with one touch but suffocated you as well.

But you didn't feel the pain at all. Everything inside you focused on the fighting and precise killing. You flashed from one side of the village to another, trying to save the people you swore to protect.

But even though your strength was almost non-human in these minutes of crisis it still felt incredibly lacking.

The whole village was on fire at this point. The abyss mages did not care about their puppets, they burned hilichurls as well as people.

Because there were so many of them.

You stopped for a moment to catch your breath and looked around desperately. There were so many monsters. And so many people you still needed to save.

The heat was unbearable. Sweatdrops streamed down your face despite the constant hydro aura surrounding you.

Suddenly the ground started shaking and you nearly fell over.

A lawachurl slammed his fists down. It let out a huge roar and turned to the closest person to it.

A frightened cry left your lips as you recognised the tiny figure.

Little Yu.

She rose her arms, shielding something behind her. She seemed almost fearless as she looked straight into the gigantic monster's eyes. But it was still a ridiculous try to stop the lawachurl.

It lifted its fists into the air, getting ready to cause another earthquake.

It swang it...

But before it could have reached the ground, you appeared in front of him out of blue.

Your spear cut through its left fist. The monster shook and roared in pain. It tried to grab you but you quickly dodged and sprang back.

The lawachurl let out a deep growl and slowly straightened up.

You couldn't help but feel ludicrously tiny compared to the huge figure. It started to manifest its geo shield. You stepped back in slight panic and glanced at Yu behind you.

'Y/n!' She cried out, grabbing the edge of your coat. 'I'm so happy you're here! Please protect us!'

You finally recognised the figure behind her. It was her wounded mother kneeling on the ground, bleeding out. Yet, the look in her daughter's eyes was brave and now hopeful.

She had faith in you. They all had their faith in you.

This thought was the only thing giving you strength.

You grabbed her arm and leaned closer to her as the lawachurl started walking towards you in the background.

Your heart was beating so fast it felt like exploding, the blood streaming in your veins hot and tense. But you still managed to sound calm when you spoke to the child.

'Listen carefully to what I have to say. Do you remember the spot where you met me and the harbinger a few days ago?' She nodded. 'Collect as many people as you can from the village and the bamboo forest and go there. Hide and don't come out until you're completely sure the monsters are gone. Do you understand?'

'Yes' she answered. But she still seemed hesitant.

'What is it?' You asked hastily for the lawachurl was getting closer to you with every passing moment.

'Will you be alright?' She asked, locking eyes with you.

'Of course' you gently pushed her backwards to her mother who seemed to have regained her consciousness. 'Now go!'

She nodded and helped her mother stand up. You made sure they got out of your zone safely.

Then turned around.

Just in time to see the lawachurl slamming down its fists.

You dodged and jumped upwards. Spun in the air and stabbed your spear infused with hydro into the monster's thick skin.

You landed safely on the ground with the bloody polearm in your grip.

The lawachurl roared so loudly that his voice shook the mountains. It swang towards you blinded by the pain but you dodged again.

You straightened up directly in front of it. Clenched your teeth together before quickly telling a quiet prayer.

You were ready to face all monsters.

[hikarimiyanaga]

Request : Hi, I love and enjoy reading what you write thus I want to pose a request that the Dimitrescu Family with a powerful blood magic S/O who can control people's blood (u know, similar to Skarlet from MK)

Blood Magic, it's one of the powers that I want to experiment with, in terms of writing.

Also, the knowledge/information I have about this is because of Avatar (I haven't played Mortal Kombat in a long time, forgive my broke self.)

I also accidentally deleted the request so it's like this.

I'm really sorry. I hope you enjoy it!

Alcina Dimitrescu / Lady Dimitrescu

As a magician, you were pretty powerful, as a Mage of Blood Magik, though, you were undefeatable.

When you came into the village, the weird parasites in almost everyone's body bothered the fuck outta you. Because why the fuck??

It was just sitting there and eating there soul?? You knew the consequences on messing around with Parasites like those so you wanted to leave immediately but you stopped when you saw Alcina.

This very tall lady who towers over you just stopped the world but then you just realized that you were actually the only one who stopped moving. You quickly turned away but felt it. You turn to her again and see the parasite. It was so deep within her.

"Fuck." You cursed under your breath but then you feel it. Not connected to blood but the energy and mana itself.

"Fucking hell." You use your magic to peek into the Megamycete and grimace.

"Fucking shit." As if third time's the charm, Alcina hears your cursing and looks at you. You clenched your fist and was just glaring on the ground?? What a weirdo.

"Mother, is something wrong?" Bela asks, as she was the one who accompanied Alcina for her little stroll around the village.

"No. Just that woman." You feel eyes on you so you look up to see Alcina staring at you. You huff then turn away.

Being a magician, you aren't actually a people person, you've always hated it when people knew what you were.

Your foes were the only ones who ever actually knew that you practiced Blood Magik... not that they lived to actually tell anyone else.

You try to leave, you really did but all those people. That giant woman, all of it just-

"Leaves a bad taste in my mouth, nothing else." You turn back, trying to excuse your good nature.

You spend days trying different scrying spells, revelation spells and cure spells to see if any would work on the Megamycete and who the fuck is actually using it.

"That fucking bitch." Not only have you seen Alcina's, the villager's and the other lord's memories but Mother Miranda herself. "She wants a daughter? All this for a fucking hell-spawn?" You never did like children yourself, they were too innocent, too goddamn corruptible and too gullible.

You sigh and make your decision. She wants a daughter? You'll give her a daughter. You put on your mask and get your potions.

You'll cure this village of those fucking parasites and diseases or you'll die trying. Most probably cure them.

It took literally a whole day just to get the goddamn parasites of the villagers and Karl, who was the only one of the four lords who volunteered when he heard what you were doing.

The next was Donna, who cried when you actually gave Angie a body. Then Salvatore was next, when you promised to be his friend.

Alcina was the hardest. She thought that if she accepted then her daughters would die and disappear. But you assured her and even showed her that you wouldn't let that happen. She was amazed by the other lords. Donna isn't sporting her scar and Angie is actually alive and in a real body. Karl doesn't have his powers anymore but his intellect is still intact and Salvatore was just beaming.

"How did you-?" You chuckle.

"Blood Magik. It's something that only some practice and even fewer get the hang of. And me?" You ask as the air suddenly gets heavier and everything quiets down as you let out your mana. "I'm the Master of it." Everyone looks at you when just as fast as it came, the tension was gone. You hold out your hand to Alcina. "So would you trust me?" She accepts and cries in relief when she hugs Bela, Cassandra and Daniela in their normal bodies.

Meanwhile, you grimace in silence as your organs will take some time recovering their usual functions... what? Blood Magik needs sacrifices and you would rather do it yourself than exploit other people.

And then lastly, Mother Miranda. You were actually afraid that she would try to fight you and you, with your organs all fucked up and your only weapons are basically your potions, were nervous. But she accepted and as you hand over Eva safely to Mother Miranda, you pass out and everyone panics.

Karl was absolutely fucking scared shitless and befuddled by your physical condition?? How in hell are you even alive?

You wake up three days later and Karl just gave up on trying.

You laugh at him and wheeze.

"I"m basically kind of an immortal too." He just sighs.

The next few weeks were spent inside the Dimitrescu Castle because that was the most comfortable house. The Beneviento House would be good too but Karl just felt that you would like it more in the Dimitrescu Castle. You agree.

As you spend more time with Alcina, you both just slowly but surely fall for each other.

Bela Dimitrescu

Hunting made easier. Brought to her by you and your Blood Magik.

With just one goddamn snap of your fingers and bam, a barrel is full.

This makes spending time with each other, a lot easier and longer.

She would listen to you tell your stories and you love it when she gets excited about books and such.

One day, you finally learn how to create a human body. There was a lot of things to do and spells to practice but you were determined.

And you finally achieved it. It took long enough but then you sensed it.

Mother Miranda stole a baby from a caravan??

"What in hell is happening?" You mumble as you gaze at the village. Then there it was, and it hurt the fuck out of your mana when the people turned into monsters.

"What the fuck!? Shit!" You curse as you feel the megamycete mutate. "Oh hell no!" You shout and use your magik to locate the shit.

"Die, asswipe!" You completely destroy it without batting an eye and you can hear Mother Miranda's shouts of agony.

You pant as you can finally feel the mana in the air be lighter. You go to the castle and as expected, everyone is in a bad shape.

It took months but you got them all back to normal, even most of the villagers.

Bela kept crying as you hug her, finally together with her.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

You met Cassandra while you were surrounded by Karl's werewolves. Dead werewolves. You were slightly out of breath and then your eyes met.

Ethan was about to chase her but you stopped him because she was the same as them.

"Why'd you stop me then?" You shrug at your brother who glares at you.

"We should just get Rose back and not kill anyone anymore." Ethan raises an eyebrow at you.

"What? You literally just killed like a hundred of these werewolves." You use your magik to get the blood off yourself.

"They attacked. I only countered." Ethan sighs as you just walk away. He follows you and as you get to the castle. You can instantly feel their energy.

"What the fuck? They're made of it?" You mumble to yourself. And just as Bela was about to push you and Ethan down, you counter her and made sure to not let her flies disperse.

'Shit. This is hard.' You think to yourself as you dodge both Cassandra and Daniela attacking you.

"Y/N?"

"Rose is in that direction. Just wait for me there." Ethan nods and quickly goes the way you pointed. You use your magik and they all freeze. "You guys are so troublesome." You sigh. "But then again, I suppose all good things are." You use your magik again and locate Alcina.

You made a deal with the Dimitrescu Head. In exchange for normal bodies, she'll have to let you, Ethan and Rose's part go. Ethan's outburst when he realized what they did to his daughter didn't help but you used that.

"You know I'm powerful, right? Trust me, you don't want to test my brother."

You leave the Castle with Ethan, unharmed but with a deal made.

It was the same with the other three houses and before you knew it, your niece was restored and you had to make eight people back to normal... It was hard but when you wake up, feeling groggy and disoriented with all of those people and your family, you think to yourself that it was all worth it.

You rebuild the village with all of them and actually get closer with Cassandra. She admires your magik and you admire her art.

Before you even knew it, you had fallen for her and even though she hasn't realized it yet, she has fallen for you too.

Daniela Dimitrescu

Being a powerful magician meant most of the world are after you.

That was how you found the village. It was isolated and so it was perfect for you.

As you were strolling along the village, late into the night, when everyone is asleep, you feel a somewhat murderous intent and you smile to yourself. Either you were too careless or someone was really good at hiding their intent.

When something was about to hit you, you quickly activated your magik but flinched when it didn't affect them, so you quickly turned and jumped back.

The person who attacked you was surprised as well that you could react like that.

"What? You dodged??" You sigh.

"I dodged because you were trying to kill me! Who are you?" Daniela smiles at you.

"Daniela Dimitrescu, I live in that castle. And you?" Why did this woman?? can you even call her that suddenly- You sigh.

"I'm Y/N... and something is really wrong with this village of yours."

"What?"

Before you and Daniela even knew it, you were both knee-deep in everything, you even saw the Megamycete together.

And call Daniela, good-natured because by then, she wanted to stop Mother Miranda and help everyone. So help you did.

You just couldn't say no to her, could you?

By the time, everything was over, you were already half-dead and Daniela finally realized she was in love with you.

It was a good thing that you have potions.

A/N:

I'm sorry that I have been gone for weeks now. College started then something happened that made me not want to write at all.

But I'm back, although I may be a bit slow.

I'm so sorry. I also closed off my requests since I'll be focusing on college and completing the Loving You sequel which is 70% done by now.

Comments and thoughts are always welcome!

Thank you for reading!

If you can, please buy me a coffee.

[petri808]

For my tumblr bestie @random-rave 🔥⭐️ a Nalu birthday gift of smut 🎁

Before opening her birthday present from Levy, Lucy read the attached card. She was quite curious about its contents ever since she’d been warned to open the gift at home and not at the guild where she’d received it.

‘Follow the instructions on the potion for a kinky fun surprise. I’ll tell you later how I found it. Have fun you two!’

Kinky surprise? Lucy’s brow raised. She opened the box next and pulled out a small green bottle filled with an unknown liquid.

‘Draconian elixir for mages only. Drink contents to transform into a faux dragon slayer. Heightens sense of smell, taste, and touch along with physical features. Magic possessed by the user may be intensified. Effects are temporary and will wear off in 12 hours.’

“Why would Levy think this is kinky?” Lucy wondered aloud until a recent conversation jogged her memory. Right... she’d mentioned the biting thing... Lucy laughed and tucked the bottle into her pocket. This will make for a very kinky surprise indeed! Natsu was due to arrive home the next day from a quick mission a couple towns over from Magnolia. So, that gave Lucy some time to prepare a delectable meal they’ll never forget. ‘Happy birthday to me!’

When Natsu arrived at Lucy’s apartment, he found a note on the dining table that simply read: Meet me at your cottage and tell Happy not to follow. Well, he knew what that meant, but why his cottage? He shrugged it off for the time being and informed the Exceed who had plans of his own anyway with Carla.

It was a curious thing to meet at his cottage now that they’d officially become a couple. He’d moved into her apartment while his home remained a storehouse for his collectibles and her growing book collection. Though the second part of Lucy’s message made more sense since the cottage provided a lot more privacy for their rambunctious encounters.

The closer he got, a brighter bounce in his step took hold as his imagination ran wild. Once they’d made the leap to a romantic relationship, it opened a whole new world to them. It’s true Lucy had to explain a few misunderstandings, like the where human babies actually come from thing, but what came surprisingly naturally was the sex. It was as if his dragon instincts were awakened, and primal urges became his teacher. They were both nervous in their first encounter, but once the pheromones had hit, it was all over.

Wait a minute! Natsu paused a few steps outside of his cottage and put his nose to the air. Lucy’s scent had changed somehow, stronger, headier, with a bit of dragon essence woven in. Was there someone else inside?! Another slayer?! His eyes shifted into a serpentine pupil and a growl escaped his lips as he raced to the door and threw it open. “Lucy, what’s go—!” Natsu stopped dead in his tracks.

“Welcome home, Natsu,” the blonde grinned, flashing the longer fangs the potion had given her.

The scent was coming from Lucy?! “Why do you smell like a slayer?!”

“Well,” she sauntered closer, “Levy found a temporary potion that gives me some slayer features for 12 hours and these,” she tapped a fang, “resulted from that.”

“Anything else?”

Lucy shrugged, “my senses are also heightened, but I’m mostly excited for the fangs because now I get to do some marking of my own.”

So, of all the things they’ve tried out, biting was a kink Lucy never realized she’d like receiving or Natsu in giving. When he bit her the very first time and broke through the skin, they were both washed over with a strange sensation akin to the connection she’d felt when she had written in the END book. But when she’d asked Levy if they’d had a similar experience, the answer was no. Lucy surmised she and Natsu’s bond was much deeper than they’d ever realized.

“Awww,” he pouted, though a smirk stilled curled at edge of his lips. “That’s my thing.”

“Pfft, well too bad.” Lucy grinned and ran a finger down his chest, then trailed it back to his neck. “I’m gonna make sure to put one right,” she presses on his nape, “here, so everyone will see it like you’ve done to me. Property of Lucy.”

“Mmm,” his own fang flashed, “that’s kinda turning me on.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you show me just how much?”

Natsu swept Lucy off her feet and walked to the back of the cottage where a bed was set up, placing her down while pulling at her clothes and coveting her lips. Hands were everywhere, both sets yanking and stripping away fabric to reveal the flesh beneath like a runaway train with no intention of stopping. Her excitement that afternoon was increased, be it the potion itself or the exhilaration it brought. Though his scent was something she’d come to love, it was toxic this time due to her heightened sense of smell. Oh, how the taste of his smoky saliva made her salivate and her fangs almost tingled! She moaned against their molded mouths in bursts, chasing his tongue with her own and mewling when he sucked the hot flesh.

Her passions and mixed scent served to fuel a new wave of lust in Natsu as well. He would have shredded Lucy’s clothes if he didn’t wanna hear the ending of it. His growls and grunts melded with her purring rumbles like two wild animals in ardent throes to rival a fight for dominance. Natsu wasn’t sure if it was the potions effects, but she was sure straining his muscles tonight to stay in control! He pinned her down momentarily. “I won’t let you win!”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow with a hedonistic grin, “challenge accepted.” Oh, she has no plans to physically dominate him tonight, her goals were simpler, to leave the first and last marks of the evening romps. Of course, Natsu didn’t need to know that. She wrapped her legs around his thick thighs and pulled his pelvis flush against hers, relishing in the heated length pressed against her core. “Now get on with it, dragon.”

“Tch,” he smiled back, “impatient, are we?”

“I feel him throbbing, so don’t act like you ain’t feeling it too.”

That was true. Natsu’s inner dragon wanted nothing more than to fill its mate up and re-stake its claim. If it had its way, Lucy would be spread multiple times every night until she fell asleep with him buried all snug inside. Their mating had truly released an inner beast in Natsu that only by willpower he could control... but not tonight with how fucking amazing she smelled. “Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow.”

She giggled, “I don’t have any other plans.”

“Well too bad.” Natsu moved in faster than Lucy could react and bit down on his mark. Despite gaining extra abilities, she didn’t have the same kind of control he did.

“Damn yo—” the words cut short from a burst of heat flooding her body and an overwhelming wave of lights dancing behind her eyelids. Heaven help her, the bonding effects were so much stronger! She couldn’t even think straight, just abject lust surging through her body. Lucy ground her hips desperately to rub herself against his cock, smearing the growing slick coating the area. “Burns…” she mewled, but in a delicious way. Things weren’t going to plan!

When he let go of the skin and kissed his way down her chest, Lucy took note that Natsu’s eyes were turning serpentine. The last time she’d seen this change was their first time. “Na…tsu…?” she moaned in a slow questioned tone repeatedly.

He stopped and looked up, unsure why Lucy was trying to get his attention. “Yeah?”

Tit for tat, Lucy caught him off guard and latched her mouth onto the junction of his neck and shoulder causing Natsu to cry out, a moaning growl as her fangs sank deep into the skin. “Fu—ck—” ‘Wow!’ His hips buck uncontrolled as her bite triggered a stronger reaction by his inner dragon. Without waiting for her to pull away, Natsu let his dragon take control and maneuvered his hips, pushing his cock in through her folds to the hilt. His eyes rolled back a second, relishing in her warm embrace. It felt so much better connected like this!

Lucy broke away and head craned back in a deep moan, but Natsu didn’t let up. Seated and grinding, he bit her a second time to ensure a longer euphoria, then coveted her lips, licking at the iron-taste coating them. Was it weird to taste his own blood? Somehow, it only added to the high. No thoughts, just carnal instincts taking control as he fucked her hard two ways. His pelvis pivoting slow, but rough, and his tongue stealing every moan leaching out from Lucy. He usually paid her other body parts some attention, but not this round— not when the only thing that could satiate his dragon was a good fucking.

“This is your fault…” Natsu growled heady and low as his lips teased along her jawline towards Lucy’s neck. He licked at the marks on her skin, already turning an angry red, rocking his hips so hard in an upward angle it lifted her clear from the bed, gaining a small yelp. “This is just round one.” He leaned in nibbling her ear as he spoke. “Don’t be surprised if you end up pregnant after this.”

“Worth… it,” she moaned in response. “But you know what?”

“What?”

Lucy opened her eyes to reveal they’d turned serpentine too. Semi-surprised, Natsu grinned at the change, but was caught off guard again when she suddenly grabbed him, wrapped her legs, and flipped them over in a power roll. His eyes flashed wide in a mix of shock and awe— Hell yeah! Now on top, Lucy locked her heels around his thighs to hold her position and bit down a second time. Natsu responded by grabbing hold of her pelvis. He wasn’t about to lose his stride! If she wanted to bite, let her, because he had something else to finish.

He continued pumping his hips from below, chasing his end. But the position hit upon Lucy’s buttons too, and the more he rocked, the harder it was for her to maintain control over her senses. Something feral inside broke free and she started biting sloppily along his neck and shoulders, wherever she could reach. Being on top was supposed to be a power move for Lucy, but the combination only fueled each other to drive harder and faster towards the inevitable conclusion.

Natsu grunted when he felt the squeeze against his shaft and Lucy’s body enter a spasmodic stiffening. Her moans and hyped-up pheromones made the area surrounding them thick, stifling like breathing in drug-laced air. That was it for him. He quickly rolled them back over and pounded fast and rough, timed with each milking pass until only a dry heave remained.

“Where’d Levy find this stuff again?” Natsu panted out as his body dropped onto Lucy’s in exhaustion.

Still trying to catch her breath too, Lucy giggled. “You like it, huh?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Natsu leaned down and kissed her with a gentle pressure. “Happy birthday baby.”

Lucy returned the kiss with a brightened smile. “Best birthday ever.”

“Oh, it ain’t over yet.”

“Rounds?”

Natsu flashed a cocky grin. “Round—s…”

[tttinytrash]

Ok fine, I caved again. Originally I said I’d at least attempt to not kidnap @shamedump‘s boys again, but their boys are so sweet (and also have to convenient distinction of not actually wanting to hurt their little reader buddy). Dumpling gave me the green light so with their blessing I’m going ahead with Shy’s final prompt for spoopy hide-and-eat with the Bad Sans Gang using Dumpling’s version of the spooky boyos. I hope I channel their personalities adequately, and I hope you guys enjoy!

Movie night with they guys was always a highlight of your week.

You all met as Archer’s castle on a regular basis to just hang out, piling into one room. Thank goodness this was a whole freaking castle, because your gang was pretty big. Despite the size of the room, the couch really wasn’t big enough for your whole group. As per usual Chain, Mage, Dusty, and Mason were crammed on the couch leaving Deca and you to nest on the floor. The plethora of cushions strewn about made that a non issue, luckily. Crash had made himself a hammock out of his own strings overhead, knitting a scarf absently as the movies served as background noise. This week, the reason the seven of you were sprawled over the couch in the first place was the horror movie marathon going on the TV across the room. 

You turned away as the blood curdling screams shrieked from the speakers, the delightful sounds of the hot blonde being torn apart by the feral werewolf on screen acting as your backing track as you cried “Oh come on! That’s just gratuitous!” You laughed, entertained by the campiness buried in the gore but still refraining from watching until the wet squelches subsided.

“you ok?” Chain asked, looking you over. (You didn’t miss Mage glancing over at you either.)

“I’m good. Having a good time, but so not looking forward to the nightmares tonight.” you respond, flapping a hand as if to waft away the concern.

“scared of horrible monsters coming to get you in the night?” Mason teased, abandoning his spot on the couch to push at your shoulder and attempt to loom.

Despite the blank sockets and black tears, the goof didn’t scare you so you laughed easily. “Not like that, and you know it. Stoppit.” You started to push him off, which made him double down on the game and try to knock you over into the pillow pile. 

Mage broke up the game before it turned into proper rough housing, wrapping one tendril around your waist and another around Mason’s ankle. He yanked you both off the floor, chiding “enough, you two.” 

Mason ended up limply hanging upside down, clearly unabashed and jokingly making grabby hands at you.

To prevent further childishness, Mage dumped you into Chain’s lap and dropped Mason into the thickest portion of the pillow pile.

You giggled when Chain wrapped himself around you, setting his chin on the crown of your head and purring about the newfound proximity.

Deca spun around to look at you, “you get nightmares after scary movies?”

“I mean yeah, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay for a good time.” You shrug, as best you can while wrapped up in Chain’s arms.

“Y-y-you know you’re just about the best guarded human-n in the multiverse, right?” Crashed asked, setting hit knitting aside.

“Yeah, I’m well aware that anyone who wanted to get me would have to go through you guys. My brain is just dumb.” You pat the skeleton wrapped around you as best you could, which in your position was patting the thick ecto on his middle since that’s all you could reach.

His belly reacted to the attention by growling, which you could feel while being pressed into it. You could practically feel the mischief coming off Chain as he said “well, i’m plenty willing to make that more literal if you want.” To emphasize, he licked your head.

You pulled away from the intruding tongue, and Chain let you tumble away from him and back onto the floor, laughing as you squealed about him being gross and trying to fix your hair from the huge cowlick Chain had gifted you.

You noticed Dusty quietly saying something to Mason, which was a pleasant surprise as Dusty usually preferred not to speak much if at all. You asked Mason what was up, curious what made the reserved skeleton speak up.

“he’s asking if i think you being taken in would help with the nightmares. so, would it?”

“Uh... dunno. Never tried it before.” You said truthfully.

“why don’t we try it out, then. but make it a game?” Mage asked, grin quirking predatorily.

“Game?” You asked, curious to see where this went.

“yes. you run, we chase. winner gets to keep you for the night.”

“Hah! Am I player or the prize?”

Mage shrugged, “both.”

You glanced around the room and saw several hopeful gazes and a few curious ones. Crash rolled his eyes and went back to his knitting, but you couldn’t deny the puppy dog eyes you were getting from some of the others.

“Alright, game on.”

-----

Crash made a seat for himself and another for Deca high up in the canopy of the woods by the castle, which would serve as your arena for the game. (Thematically appropriate, plus no one could tumble down unforgiving stone stairs.) Crash and Deca tapped out before the game began, neither of them really wanting a guest your size. The others still seemed gung ho, so they were on the forest floor with you. 

You waved your flashlight around the area, already scoping out routes, as Mage explained that a victory meant catching you, no shortcuts allowed, and stipulations about magic to keep you from getting hurt during the chase. You kinda tuned it out, instead strategizing. Not like you had to worry about limiting spells you couldn’t cast in the first place. 

You got a minute head start, and your heart was pounding as you ran. 60 seconds had gone by in your mental countdown, which meant you were officially being hunted.

You were mildly nervous, but far from afraid. You did try to tamp down on the nervous feeling and instead focus on your excitement about a new game. Hopefully a more positive feeling would be harder for Mage to track. 

You weren’t left alone too terribly long, as Dusty had a habit of popping up randomly, forcing you to run away with him snickering behind you. You quickly caught on that he was just there for jumpscares, which made you laugh. You weren’t totally positive where the others were for now, though. That made you more paranoid.

The first time you actually felt the game was afoot was when Mason suddenly appeared on your right and made a grab for you. You dodged the grab, and darted in the opposite direction. Being chased by Mason, you almost missed the dark chuckle in front of you. Luckily you didn’t, as your quick turn saved you from Mage’s tendril’s snapping out towards you. The realization that the tendrils were significantly harder to dodge than Mason had been made you realize Mason wasn’t actually trying to catch you, instead herding you towards Mage.

The realization that Mason was helping Mage rather than himself wasn’t surprising, but definitely amusing. You had to dodge plenty more of Mason’s divebombs, and Mage quickly caught on that you knew what was going on and actually had to chase after you now as well, rather than waiting for Mason to bring you close enough for a grab. You heard Deca laughing from high above when Mason lunged at you but missed, ending in a face plant. Good to know the two non participants were still entertained. Given this opening, you took off yet again only to be stopped by Dusty springing from a shrub.

It was no effort to get away from him, as per usual. But how did he keep finding you so easily?!

Oh, Delta. It was the freaking flashlight! You realized the bright light was all but a beacon in the dark woods. Mason had given it to you, hadn’t he? Ooh, that cheeky little-!

Fine, you could use their trick against them. You jammed the light in the crook of a tree and took of running, leaving the bulb alight. The laughter from both Mason and Mage meant they’d found your trick, but you were far from your boobytrap and felt a sense of victory.

Your skeleton sightings became fewer now, and your night vision had finally adjusted to the dim light of the moon. But it also heightened the nerves instinctual for humans in the dark. You actually screamed the next time Dusty caught you by surprise, and while you backpedalled you didn’t miss the surprised look on Dusty’s face before you felt two solid somethings wrap around from behind you and lock you in place.

You wriggled with all your might out of a pure fear reaction but stilled when you realized two things. 1) The things holding you were big, thick arms. 2) The plushness of the body you were being held to meant it was Chain.

You looked up, breathy laughter tinging your words as you said “I only saw you once this whole game, but wow did you make it count!”

Deca shortcutted to the ground beside you, while Dusty and Chain chuckled at your outburst.

“figured ambush was the way to go. picked a spot and waited for the right moment, and dusty gave me the perfect window.” Chain explained.

“did you even know he was there, dusty?” Deca asked. 

He shook his head, smiling wide.

Crash seems to have been the one who called Mason and Mage that the game was over, as all three approached in a group.

“well played, chain. and you did pretty well too, human.” Mage said as he approached. 

Once the trio joined, the group was left in a loose ring and you still being held by the large skeleton who’d caught you. Conversation was immediate and comfortable, reliving some of the more lively moments and near misses with glee and laughing over mistakes made. After a bit, the chatter was cut by a rolling growl from Chain’s stomach which served as a reminder as to what victory entailed.

“well, the wager was already set. we’ll go set up the sleeping arrangements and meet you back at the castle. see you later, human.” Mage said, leading the others away and leaving just you and Chain out in the cool night air.

“you ready to get in your sleeping bag?” Chain asked, adjusting his grip on you at last to a more bridal style.

“Hah, yeah. Sounds pretty comfy to me.”

Chain smiled before gently fitting your head into his mouth while you went limp to make the next few moments easier on your host. Chain started swallowing with an easy, steady rhythm and you felt yourself relax in response. This was far from your first time being taken in by one of your skeletal companions so you knew the drill. It was with a happy sigh from Chain that you finished your downward journey and slid into the more open space of his stomach. The magic around you was mildly cool but comfortable, and the softness let you sink in a bit and feel cradled and safe.

Chain’s hand pressed in from outside to steady his newly added weight and you felt the light sway as he began to walk back into the castle. You began to rub at the surrounding walls in a successful attempt to get the monster to purr, and he even started rubbing back at you with your free hand.

He did you the favor of turning his magic transparent for you once you were back in the castle. He knew you preferred being able to see people if conversations were happening, and knowing how these nights went sleep wasn’t on the itinerary just yet despite the bedding being set up and pajamas being on.

Once you host had settled where he’d be sleeping, conversations flowed and jokes were made amongst the group with little difference from before despite your seating arrangements. Eventually, Mason approached and started to lightly pester you through the barrier of magic between you two. Chain seemed more entertained by the banter than bothered, but you hadn’t missed the black puddle that formed on the floor behind Mason.

A tendril emerged, wrapped around Mason’s ribs, and dragged him in. The satisfied look on Mage’s face would have clued anyone in the group in to where the troublemaker had ended up even without seeing him be puddled. Any nonexistent doubts also would have been dashed by Mage’s hand remaining on his belly the rest of the evening.

After a while, sleep was imminent and everyone settled comfortably strewn about Mage’s room. Mage and his internal guest were of course veiled on Mage’s four poster bed while everyone else was on various cots and cushions. Even without the luxury of a king sized mattress you felt exceedingly comfortable.

“doin ok in there?” Chain asked quietly.

“Oh, peachy on my end. How ‘bout you?” You kneaded at the wall the way you knew he liked.

He purred at your attentions, rubbing back as best he could from outside. “just wondering if this nightmare cure will do you any good, but i’m feeling pretty peachy too.”

“I will say, pretty hard to feel vulnerable in here. I’ll let you know come morning.”

“good. night, y/n.”

“Goodnight, big guy.”

You both settled in, and it felt like Chain falling asleep took mere seconds. You smiled fondly at the soft sounds of his slowed breathing and his body working around you.

As you drifted off, you couldn’t help but wonder if the chasing game would be played again at some point. 

...

Maybe next week you could watch the sequel to tonight’s movie.

[laws-yellow-submarine]

Hwyo! What's your favorite bit of writing you've done? A paragraph, a whole piece, doesn't matter, but want to know what your fave thing you've written is

Ok so idk for sure if this is my FAVORITE favorite, I pretty much just grabbed the first thing I saw that made me say "you know what? I love this", but there's been a lot lately that I've actually genuinely enjoyed in a way I honestly haven't for a while (I'll probably say this every time, but I feel so bad that it's not One Piece related lol Dragon Age has taken over my life, but this fic is just coming so damn naturally to me, and I enjoy the work I've done so far and I'm excited for what's to come, and I haven't felt like this about fanfic in a hot minute lol)

So anyway, here's a long section from chapter 3 of "Invisible Strings" aka my Dragon Age WIP; some dialogue is taken from in-game, but most in this section is all mine 💕

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

Ria kicked over another frozen wolf corpse, no longer flinching when it broke into several pieces. This was the fourth pack they’d come across since venturing into the Korcari Wilds, and so far they’d seen no sign of this vast horde supposedly lurking within. “My dear, Daveth,” she called, narrowly avoiding slipping into another swamp as she tripped on her muddy robes. “I do believe you promised me cannibals, witches, and darkspawn in these Wilds.”

The former thief shared a grin with her, ignoring the way Ser Jory rolled his eyes at their banter. “I believe I also promised you beasts, lady mage, which I’m sure has been fulfilled by now?” He held out his hand, heaving her back onto the solid, mostly dry ground, away from the boggy waters that seemed to make up the majority of the forest.

“Oh, isn’t that just like a man,” Ria said, raising a brow as she fixed her staff on her back. “Promising much, yet giving little.” She waggled her brows at him, and the two burst into laughter, prompting their other companions to shush them loudly before more creatures were alerted to their presence.

“Do you wish to bring the entire horde down upon us?” Jory scoffed, and Ria rolled her eyes.

“If there’s even a horde. I’m starting to think this is just one massive prank - or maybe an incredibly vivid dream. Any moment now, giant house cats wearing pink socks will appear and start feeding me grapes while playing the lute.”

“No, they’re definitely here,” Alistair said, cutting off whatever retort was about to come out of Jory’s perfectly round head. “We have to go further in.”

“Well, alright. If you’re so sure,” Ria brushed loose white strands out of her eyes, cringing at the way the swamp air was making her hair curl. “You’ll watch my back, right Daveth?” The man let out a low laugh.

“Oh, I’ll watch your back.” She could practically feel his eyes boring into her backside. They may be in a dark, dirty swamp looking for darkspawn blood, but nobody said they couldn’t have fun while doing so, right?

“Just don’t get too distracted back there,” she glanced back with a wink. Daveth’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

“I’ll try to keep my wits about me.”

All conversation halted as Alistair held out a hand, a harsh "hush" escaping him as the group fell into line behind him. Ria glanced about silently, ears straining for the sound of more wolves, or maybe even cannibals, witches, or darkspawn.

Oh my…

Instead of monsters or beasts, a man lay in the middle of the path, covered in blood and gasping for breath. Ignoring Alistair’s instructions to wait, Ria bolted around him, hands already outstretched and glowing blue with mana. She knelt as soon as she reached the man - one of the king’s men, she realized, looking at his armor - and she heard the pounding footsteps and muttered curses of her companions as they followed her.

“You realize, lady mage, when I said I’d watch your back, I didn’t expect you to go running off,” Daveth told her quietly as he reached her, his dark eyes scanning the grey horizon, his bow at the ready should anything approach. Ria ignored him, focusing her energy on healing the soldier’s wounds.

“Who...is that? Grey...Wardens…?” the man muttered, Ria’s healing bringing him to consciousness.

“Well, he’s not half as dead as he looks, is he?” Alistair muttered as the man opened his eyes, staring wildly at the four of them.

“M-my scouting band was attacked...by darkspawn!” the man rasped, struggling to sit up. Ria paused her healing to help him; the worst of his wounds had healed already. “They came out of the ground...Please, help me!” He gripped Ria’s arm where it rested against his shoulder, propping him up. “I’ve got to...return to camp…”

“If you just let me finish healing you, you can-” the man reared back as if he’d been struck.

“Magic? You’re a-?”

“Does it matter? You’re injured, I can help!” Ria brought the magic to her palms again, but before she could place them against his injuries the man pulled back, wincing as he reopened some of the more minor wounds.

“No, I...I can get by with...just some bandages…”

“But I can-!”

“I have some bandages in my pack,” Alistair cut in, kneeling beside her as he handed the roll off to the soldier. Daveth and Jory set about helping the man wrap himself, while Ria sat on the muddy ground, watching aghast as the men worked at something that would’ve taken her mere seconds to fix. Alistair’s hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing slightly, though whether it was meant to be as a comfort or a restraint, she couldn’t be sure. Probably trying to make sure the mage doesn’t go on a rampage, she thought bitterly. But he made no move to smite her, and his grip wasn’t uncomfortable, so she chose to accept it anyway. “Sorry,” he said, removing his hand as she relaxed, apparently only just realizing what he’d been doing. Ria shook her head.

“It’s fine. Just seems like a waste of time, to me.”

“If it’s any consolation, you can heal me anytime.” Ria laughed, a shaky laugh that betrayed her feelings, so she quickly covered it up with another joke.

“Are you sure about that? What if I decide to turn you into a toad, instead?” Alistair thought about it for a moment, his face scrunching up in a way that was almost adorable - not that Ria would ever admit that about the man. He’d never let her live it down.

“You know? I think if you ever decided to turn me into a toad, it’d probably be because I did something to deserve it. So as long as I stay on your good side, I should remain wart-free,” he grinned at her, pleased with his deduction, and Ria found the expression contagious.

“So much confidence in me already; what if I don’t deserve it?”

“Don’t you?” The question was meant to be a joke, to go along with the direction their conversation had taken; Alistair had no way of knowing how hard the thought hit her. When she didn’t answer immediately, he turned his grin back to her, only for it to fall as he switched to concern. “Ria?”

She blinked, shooing away the wetness creeping in the corners of her eyes, then gave him a rather pitiful attempt at a smile. “I hope so.”

[mihidecet]

SBi d&d AU: Tubbo

Aka: Tibi’s MCYT WritingTober, day 20!

From @the-only-gamer-gost ‘s list of prompts, another entry for “Fanmade AU” ahahah And as requested by a super cool anon: “ i'd love to see more of tommy's backstory in the d&d au! especially if we can meet tubbo?” :D

Ask and you shall receive! You can also find Tubbo’s reference sheet made by the wonderful @whatimevendoinhere here! Also, @rigatonipastaroni made a super sweet comic about the reunion, waaay before the chapter was even posted!!

There is nothing quite as sad as a bard with a broken guitar. 

It happens during a fight, a sadly-not-that-unusual spar with a rogue elemental that had decided to mess with a village just because they had been bored. 

Absolutely unrelatable. Tommy's patron had commented, the absolute hypocrite.

Still, the overall business had been quite straightforward: get to the outskirts, find the bad guy, kick their ass, profit. 

Nothing they hadn't done before. 

And like everything they expected to go smoothly, things went wrong. 

Tommy would say that thankfully nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was perfectly fine, and they'd gotten a particularly big reward for something that standard. 

Wilbur would say, instead, that his guitar had been irreparably damaged, its neck snapped in half and body ripped apart, shards laying on the ground like blood, a gruesome heart-wrenching sight that would haunt him until the end of times. 

Tommy's patron had warned him that his second-degree cousin was a bit dramatic, but maybe it was just standard bard behaviour.

To be fair, the guitar was mostly gone. 

Wilbur had picked up as many pieces as he could and stuffed them in its case, but no amount of mending cantrips had been able to fix it. Phil had tried, but he didn't know how guitars worked and it was hard to discriminate where each shard needed to be placed in order to mold it all back together, like a freakishly hard jigsaw puzzle. 

And Wilbur had been extremely proud of his guitar, as apparently it had been a gift and a memento of his grandiose adventures. Sentimental values and such. 

Not that Tommy could say anything about it, not after the friendship bracelet incident.

For about a week, every time they stopped by a town, they looked for a carpenter first, a musical expert second, and an arcane expert third. 

They never managed to fix it. The thing was, it happened to be a weirdly specific and skill-needing task, so nobody they found was either confident enough or prepared enough to do it. 

So they moved on, and the bard's lament continued.

It gets to the point where one night, the innkeeper approaches their table during one of Will's performances - the tiefling had insisted in keeping the tradition of offering his musical entertainment in each tavern they resided in, now with just his voice and sometimes his flute, but being unable to have music as he sang and vice versa was truly different. 

That night, Wilbur is singing a ballad so sad and tear-jerking that the innkeeper actually approaches them and asks if everything is alright. 

"Oh- oh, yes, my apologies, everything is alright. -" Phil instantly responds, looking quite awkward "- It's just that his guitar broke, and we haven't been able to find anyone to fix it. It was of great personal importance." 

The innkeeper nods understandingly, an expression of deep empathetic sadness on their face, before their eyes light up. 

"You know, I might just have what you need. You guys are lucky, the Fixer Upper just arrived a week ago! If he doesn't know how to fix it, nobody will." 

After obtaining a brief explanation of where to find this infamous "Fixer Upper", who apparently works for free and will probably ask for food, shelter or protection as he moves to the next town over, the innkeeper leaves them be, assuring them that it'll be the solution to all their problems. 

Phil finds himself, despite the overall skepticism, feeling a bit of hope. If nothing, at least he might be able to convince Wilbur to buy a new one - make new memories. 

Even Wilbur is less enthusiastic than usual when they tell him, but after all they've been redirected to plenty of miracle workers that turned out to be unable to do anything.

The only thing that feels a bit off, is how Tommy's patron keeps giggling in his head - the way he does when he knows something Tommy doesn't. It's a bother, but Tommy's too tired to try and investigate.

The "Fixer Upper" is staying in a farm just outside the village, apparently sleeping in the barn. 

He comes to the village every couple of months, apparently used to circling back around the same couple of dozen of places, constantly travelling from one to the other and helping out whoever needs something fixed. The innkeeper that recommended him apparently had him fix their son's prosthetic leg, which has been working better than ever. 

The fact that he never asks for compensation is what keeps them all on the defensive: nobody does anything for anyone without coin on the line, so Wilbur is already somewhat expecting to find yet another old relative making deals with young children. 

Yes, he is still a bit bothered by the fact that his second degree cousin spends half of his time inside Tommy's head. 

No, he's not going to bring it up. 

 Approaching the barn, an increasing cacophony of sounds greets them, and Wilbur starts looking less and less convinced and more and more like he wants to leave - not to blame him, the noises are definitely not reassuring. 

They enter the barn, where one side is perfectly fine and the other has a bunch of mechanical and metallic parts strewn on the ground. 

At this point, Techno has a hand on Wilbur's arm, either to instill some confidence in him or to keep him from running away with the shattered guitar.

Then all of them stop, frozen in their tracks, as something completely out of the ordinary appears from behind a wooden wall - that is quite an extraordinary feat, considering the peculiar array of people they are. 

There's a huge block of metal, vaguely rectangular shaped and painted black and yellow, floating towards them. It has what looks like the spinny part of a windmill rotating at embarrassingly high speed over it, and the noise it makes vaguely resembles that of a low hum, or maybe a buzz. 

Two large semi-transparent circles - its … eyes? - emit a soft light that shines against Phil's palm as it bumps against him, the elf cooing with an adoring expression. 

"Hello dear, you're not one of nature's children but you are alive, aren't you?" 

Even Tommy, who has no idea how magic or nature works - he made a pact with a demon for a reason, alright? - can see that it's an impressive display of craftsmanship. 

Wilbur is looking quite confused on Phil's right, but he's no longer needing Techno to keep him from bailing on the whole thing. And to be honest, if somebody's able to make … this, maybe they'll be able to fix his guitar. 

"AH- Visitors! Sorry, I hadn't heard you coming in-" a short figure stumbles in sight from behind a pile of apparently garbage.

The short man, who appears to be human, had wild brown hair, somewhat darker in certain spots where black oil seems to have gotten stuck. There seems to be oil and soot all over his clothes and hands, where bandages cover his fingers.

On his head reside a pair of goggles - multiple lenses of different thicknesses and colours appended to its sides - and he's holding a wrench as if they'd interrupted his work, which would explain the worrying noises. 

The mechanic has a bright welcoming smile on his face when he appears, which immediately falters the moment he sees the infamous mercenary group, expression turning to fear. Which is understandable, given their fame of being quick, efficient and rather costly, unless they're working for the good of all.

Then it turns to shock, when Tommy takes a tentative step forward from behind Phil's back. Which is less understandable.

"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice calls, almost breathless. The boy takes off his goggles and blinks. The wrench he was holding clutters to the ground.

"Holy shit, Toms."

The warlock lets out a strangled yelp, then blinks out of existence in a puff of bright red smoke, reappearing right in front of the other boy and picking him up in a bone crushing hug as he laughs - more joyous than Wilbur's ever heard him - and the two of them fall to the ground.

When Tubbo is still a teenager, he loses his best friend to the prejudice and scorn of their hometown. 

All they need to see are the buddying horns on his forehead, the flames licking at his fingertips, the reddening skin around his eyes, and they banish him. 

They come for him, in the middle of the night, and find nobody but his parents in his home, because Tommy has always been smarter than he let on. 

Half a day earlier, Tommy had said his goodbyes to the last few people that deserved to know where he was going; never once asking for his parents' forgiveness for something he always knew he was going to do - Tubbo had never seen his best friend more sure of anything, even at the worst moments, when the ritual was about to begin, or the few first weeks when he had to use all his coins to buy salve for burns.

And so Tubbo was left alone, left behind. 

It lasted for one day.

Tubbo had never been particularly gifted in the craft his parents had tried to teach him - glass blowing was definitely not his forte, his hands too strong, his grip too tight - and he'd never shown any latent arcane power. Books on the arcane were long, boring and complex, the glyphs all looking the same and mixing with each other on the page. 

But that didn't mean anything to him: he was going to do great things, with or without magic, and he was going to find his best friend again. 

Fate wanted to keep them apart? Tubbo was going to stare Fate in the face and laugh. 

If the glyphs and arcane chants of the mages weren't going to cooperate, he was going to force his hands into the fabric of the arcane plane and pull magic out by himself. 

And again, why stick to prayers and dealings with other entities when he could just make it himself?

To be fair, it does take him a lot more time than the couple of weeks of research and half-and-hour-deal that was Tommy's experience. But Tubbo's always been a quick learner.

The day he finishes his big project, he leaves his home, ready for adventure. 

He has a map of the coast, enough coin to pay for emergencies and a backpack full of the tools he needs to offer his assistance to whomever will need it. 

His marked path will bring him around the same towns. Tommy is bound to pass by at least one of them during his travels. 

Tubbo's going to be alright.

Tommy's eyes are absolutely not, under no circumstances, shining as he tries to squeeze the life out of his best friend. 

Tubbo is just laughing, which is quite rude in Tommy's personal opinion, he should be struggling to breathe due to his impressive strength.

"Look at you! You made it!" The mechanic cheers, squeezing tighter - which, ouch, when did he become strong, it must have been all the working with metal, this is the worst possible outcome. Tommy lets him go for a moment, leaning back to splutter and wave wildly at the mechanical bee still intent on bumping its head against Phil's hand. By the Nine Hells, Tubbo made a living bee with the attitude of a puppy out of metal. 

"I made it?! You made bees!" Tommy protests, feeling a swell of pride for how far his best friend has come. On a completely unrelated note, there must be light shining insistently in his eyes. 

"I know! Aren't they cute! Ah! Let me introduce you to them!" Tubbo exclaims, hurrying to stand up - nearly elbowing Tommy in the gut - and grabbing his hand so that he can drag Tommy towards the bee from earlier. 

Then he stops in his tracks - which makes Tommy slam into his back and get oil stains on his favourite shirt - as he realises there are three other people in the room, all staring at them with varying degrees of amusement. 

"So, what just happened?" Wilbur asks, looking quite shell shocked. 

[lassieposting]

Bit late and random but it's the anon you leave food out for here to give away I am also bi and I think exactly the same as you about bi val pretty much, every time Derek offers me representation my reaction is to slowly, hesitantly take it and say "thaaaaaaaaanks..." while rolling my eyes, in much the same way one accepts their least favourite flavour of sweet from an annoyingly enthusiastic uncle-type-individual. Ironically I feel I had more in common with her before the bi shit started up.

What I find really amusing is that Landy actually did reasonably well at representation when (and only when) he wasn’t trying. 

Oh god, this got long, anon, my ass rambled.

tldr; I'm glad actual bi people dislike bi val (or how Laundry handled bi val) as much as me, this will probably offend at least one person but i don't really care, Dirty Laundry wrote better rep when he didn't mean to write rep at all, and if he ever starts trying to "represent" groups I'm part of I'll take him out back like a dying horse and shoot him.

Like, yes. He had stupid and potentially offensive shit - I say potentially because what offends one member of a group won’t necessarily offend all of them. His attitude to mentally ill people is, frankly, disgusting. We’ve had “Skulduggery can’t be abused, he doesn’t have feelings”. We’ve had “eVeRyOnE iS bI eVeNtUaLlY”. We had Ping, who seemed to be pretty much universally offensive. And that's what's always going to happen when a straight, cis, white, wealthy, male author tries to write marginalised groups he doesn't know shit about, because inevitably he's going to fall back on stereotypes.

But we also had:

SEXUALITY REP: Phase One's nonstraight characters were treated like the straight ones, and like, isn't that the whole point? There was no need for a massive Coming Out Story TM to grab for those sweet sweet Woke Points, because sexuality isn't supposed to be important to mages. I never understood why Val needed that whole Coming Out Panic storyline. Like...Des and Melissa are ridiculously supportive, encouraging, loving parents. They accepted you dating a ~19 year old when you were ~16. They accepted you revealing you could do fucking magic and that you'd been lying to them for like seven years. They took your undead buddy in stride and the most pressing question your dad had was whether magic toilets exist. There is zero reason to think that "I'm bisexual" is gonna be the thing that makes them flip and throw you into the streets in disgrace, Valkyrie. Come on.

Tanith had girlfriends and it was just mentioned casually, because it's normal.

China had massive UST with Eliza. That was an opportunity right there to not only include a f/f relationship, but also to bring back one of the few precious surviving characters from Phase One, using characters and a relationship that already had several books' worth of setup and tension and interest from fans.

The Monster Hunters have a casual conversation about which one of the Dead Men they'd date.

Ghastly has a conversation with Fletcher about the pain he's been through being in love. He never uses any pronouns.

It was confirmed at one point re: the Dead Men that at this point, after 300-odd years, everyone's been with everyone else at some point.

Thrasher is gay, and while Scapegrace's...everything...is treated as a joke/comedic relief, Thrasher's love for him isn't. He's completely devoted to Scapegrace, and that in itself is not played for laughs, even though the rest of the scene usually is. Thrasher's description of their first meeting is essentially a love-at-first-sight situation for him.

"ABNORMAL" RELATIONSHIP REP: Age gap relationships are normal for mages. Off the top of my head, using only canon, canon-implied or almost-canon ships:

Ghastly/Tanith (~350 year age difference)

Tanith/Sanguine (~250+ year age difference)

Tanith/Saracen (~350 year age difference)

Caisson/Solace (~250 year age difference)

China/Gordon (~400 year age difference)

Kierre/Temper (~500+ year age difference)

If you include fan ships, there's also things like Mevolent/Serpine or my Mevolent/Vile, which are both ~600 year minimum age gaps based on the timeline, or Valdug (and its variations) which is ~400 years.

Now, whether you consider this kind of rep positive or negative is up to you, but it’s there.

MENTAL ILLNESS REP: more like "Which characters in this series don't have a mental illness or a personality disorder?" I have some of these issues, but not all of them, so this is just how I read it, but:

ADHD: Skulduggery

Dissociative Identity Disorder: Skulduggery & Vile

Dissociation: Skulduggery again, most notably in DD and DB

Schizophrenia (or similar): Valkyrie & Darquesse, Valkyrie "seeing" Darquesse's ghost thing in Phase Two

Impostor Syndrome: Reflectionie

Autism: Clarabelle

Trauma/PTSD/CPTSD: Skulduggery, Valkyrie, China, Ghastly, Erskine...pretty much everyone has a believable, understandable, morally grey trauma response in this series. People struggling with trauma are spoilt for choice of characters to see themselves in.

TRAUMA REP: This series is a trauma conga line, but everyone has a believable, understandable, morally grey trauma response in this series. I see little bits of myself in more than one Phase One character.

Childhood Abuse (of varying degrees & types): Skulduggery, Carol & Crystal, Omen, Fletcher, Ghastly, China, Bliss, Sanguine...

Estranged Family: Skulduggery abandoning his crest, Fergus & Gordon, China & Bliss

Bad Romantic Relationship: Skulduggery is also very clearly an abuse victim. He’s got a solid history of romantic attachments to women who manipulate, use and gaslight him for their own agendas.  There's a whole paragraph in SPX about how Abyssinia broke him down, isolated him from his friends and preyed on his desperate need to be loved, all classic abuse tactics.

And I’m personally a huge fan of this backstory for two reasons:

1) Society likes a plucky victim in media. The "My suffering made me stronger" type of victim. And it's not always like that in real life. Not all survivors come out of their abuse stronger or kinder or more understanding. Some of us come out cold and fucked up. Some of us end up as emotionally stunted, bloodied-nails-and-bared-teeth survivors, broken in ways that can't be fixed and sustained by enough rage to power a small sun. But society doesn't like to tell the story of that kind of survivor, because we're not usually a likeable protagonist. When we're shown in media, we're usually the sympathetic villain, or maybe the antihero. But Skug is someone who's done awful things and lost pretty much all his faith in humanity and been burned more times than he can count, and he still makes the conscious choice to try and be the good guy when he could so easily go Evil Supervillain on the world, and I don't know about any of y'all, but I've modelled myself on him in that. I've made the choice to do something good when all I really want to do is just become a horrible, shrivelled ball of nastiness and revenge. And that's because I saw him do it and realised that I could do that too.

Skug is an incredibly capable, strong, masculine Man's Man. He gets in fights all the time, and he usually wins. He's military, an industry that's Really Bad for stigmatizing weakness and mental illness, and he's right up at the top of the hierarchy. Almost everyone is afraid of him. He's a straight up cold-blooded killer. Skulduggery Pleasant is precisely the type of person who's not normally portrayed as a victim of anything. Nothing about him screams "victim" at all. But his abuse history is insidious. He's so conditioned to respond in a certain way to abuse from the women in his life, probably from a very young age, that despite all that strength and capability and stubbornness and ego, he just goes along with it. And it's an established pattern going back hundreds of years. He keeps going back to China, even though he knows she's bad for him and his friends keep telling him to stay away from her. Abyssinia latched onto him when he was traumatized and vulnerable and weaponized it against him to make him easier to control - and when she reappears, hundreds of years later, she jumps straight back into using, tmanipulating and gaslighting him and not only does he let her, he doesn't even seem to realise that behaviour is abusive. He thinks it's normal! That's how he's always been treated by his long-term girlfriends, with the notable exception of Wifey. Even when Val is being fucking nasty to him in the first couple books of Phase Two, sniping and lying and blaming him for everything under the sun, he just takes it. There's no attempt to tell her she's being unreasonable, no telling her to fuck right off and give her head a wobble, no defending himself even when she's bitching over something that isn't even his doing. And this is a man who has an absolutely gleaming steel spine the rest of the time; Skug has no problem saying no to anybody else, but he can't get past the way he's been taught to treat the important ladies in his life. Skug is a walking reminder that anyone can be a victim of abuse, even the ones who seem least likely to be susceptible.

GENDER REP: This one is the most iffy out of the bunch and definitely was not done very well in the eyes of the people who matter most, but I'll include it anyway because it mattered to some.

So there's Nye, who's...agender? Genderless? And uses "it" pronouns? Nye was generally considered horrible rep because it's also a war criminal and experiments on people and I've seen people say "Well I don't want to be seen like that" but? It's still possible to be a war criminal and also genderless. I never saw the two things as being related or relevant to each other.

There's also Mantis, who's in exactly the same gender/pronouns boat as Nye and always seems to be forgotten about, which sucks because Mantis is a war hero. It fought for the Sanctuary during the War and they never lost a battle when it was in command. It's called out of retirement to fight for the Supreme Council in LSODM, ends up fighting alongside Skulduggery during the Battle of Roarhaven, and ultimately dies attempting a very brave, very risky strategy. Mantis is, unreservedly, one of the good guys. It was also my introduction to sentient beings using "it" pronouns, and did it in a way that felt natural, so when I met my first person online who used "it" pronouns and hated to be referred to as he/she, it was...weird, but not as weird as it would otherwise have been, because I was like, "Oh yeah, like the Crenga. Okay."

And then there's the Scapegrace sex change plotline, which...I might have an unpopular opinion on this one. From what I’ve seen, trans people don’t seem to think was handled well or with any sensitivity at all. I’m not trans, so if the trans community says he was being offensive to them, I’m not going to claim otherwise. But...I first read the Scapegrace plotline as a young teenager in a tiny rural school with zero diversity, going through a period of being deeply confused about my own gender identity. He was more or less my first introduction to the idea that genitals =/= gender. I was relieved, at that point in my life, to read someone having a lot of the same thoughts I was having about being in the wrong body. So while it may have been badly done and yeah, the series would probably have been better without it, it did make at least one kid suspecting she might not be cis go “Huh! So there are other people who feel like this.”

Thrasher is also implied to be legitimately trans/gender-questioning, and that's not played for laughs either.

So? Phase One, while it absolutely had faults and issues and things that were just "Oh god why", was actually full of rep, at least compared to the other series that I read as a child/teen. But? As soon as Dirty Laundry started trying to be woke? He fucking sucks ass at it. Aside from confirming Phase One's hints that Skug has a background of abusive relationships, every single attempt at shoehorning rep into Phase Two is Bad.

The painfully OOC, forced, badly-written awkwardness of Val suddenly being rabidly horny for women out of fucking nowhere. The stilted, forced cringiness between her and any of the women she's flirted with - contrast that with Sorrowscorn's interactions, full of natural chemistry that had us all like 👀 I mean, I never shipped Val/Melancholia, but I could always see why people did - they had miles more chemistry than Val/anyone in Phase Two.

The fucking mess that is v*litsa, because if someone says "I'm really not interested in friendships/relationships right now", clearly the route to true love is to bulldoze their boundaries and forcibly insert yourself into their life and proceed to treat them like a delicate soft uwu flower, completely ignoring the horrible things they've done, while gleefully damning their best friend as an irredeemable monster for the exact same things, which is. You know. Gonna affect your so-called love's self-confidence and self-esteem because she knows she's no different to him. Y'all know I love an angsty ship, an unhealthy ship, a ship with fucked power dynamics, but I literally cannot roll my eyes any further back in my head at this shit. I never read Demon Road, but from what I've heard from friends who did, it does seem like every time Laundry tries to write an f/f ship, he comes up with a cringey abusive/manipulative caricature and tries to call it rep, and he needs to Stop.

Val's Mental IllnessTM arc. It's funny how he wrote Skulduggery as a wonderfully complex character with deep-rooted psychological damage and long-lasting trauma, but believes he wrote a character with "no feelings" - but when he tries to delve into the damage the world of magic has done to Val, he turned her into a weak, whiny drug addict who treats everyone around her like garbage and is so selfish and dislikeable that I? Honestly can't even reconcile Phase Two val with Phase One val. They're two completely different people. He's shown on Twitter that he doesn't have any respect for mentally ill people, and it shows. Other mentally ill people might see it differently, but the whole thing just makes me go "yikes".

Never, who has no personality outside of being genderfluid, and whose pronouns make no sense. I'm sorry, I have never met an nb person who insists that you change from male to female pronouns multiple times in a sentence, every time you refer to them. It's confusing as fuck. Now I have been told that Never has apparently received some character development in the last couple books, and if so, fair play, but I quit reading after Midnight, and Never and the rest of the personality-less new characters introduced in Phase Two who just seemed to be 2D Stereotypes to snag Woke Points were a big part of why, so. Development too late, I'm afraid.

(Now, if anyone is looking for a well-written genderfluid character, I recommend the Tawny Man trilogy by Robin Hobb. I have a lot of issues with her as a writer, and unfortunately I hate her POV character which puts me off the series as a whole, but she wrote the Fool/Amber/Lord Golden and their gender identity/approach to sexuality with so much more respect and realism. That is the kind of rep nb people should be getting: 3D, complex, realistic characters whose gender is only a tiny fragment of their personality, not the be-all-and-end-all of their existence. You know. Like cis people get. Nobody wants to be represented by a 2D cardboard cutout stereotype.)

Anyway idk how much sense this makes it just really amuses me that Laundry would include all this rep completely unintentionally and then go on Twitter and remind us all that actually he's a massive asshole via insensitive/offensive tweets about the groups he'd actually done a fair job of including (i.e. Skulduggery has no feelings, mentally ill people should find another series to read, the bullshit about Val being "heteromantic bisexual" on Twitter and then spouting all the "the woman she loved uwu" shit in the books (proving he has no idea what he's talking about), eVeRyOnE iS bI eVeNtUaLlY. He can only write half-decent rep when he's not trying and he inevitably outs himself as having a really shitty attitude towards those people anyway, proving that ultimately it's all either unintentional rep or performative wokeness.

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

There were too many places this could have gone, but I wanted Raven and Damian and a broken bed, and this how it turned out. I hope it’s alright!

Prompt List

----------

"So... can you fix it or not?"

He shuffled his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and stared down at the broken bed frame. But even through the lenses, it wasn't quite clear. Again, there were questions, too many questions - and not one of them good. "So, can you?" Raven asked, re-centering his focus upon the task at hand. Damian knelt low, assessing the extent of the damage. It wasn't just a loose screw or two, the whole frame, it had collapsed in on itself.

The way it looked. If the bed alone looked this way, he could only imagine.

No.

There had to be a reason, some sort of explanation.

Damian stroked the broken bit of bed post and gripped, springing up what little life it was clinging to. The wood let out an awful squeak and a groan, before surrendering in anguish, falling to the floor. His electric-emerald eyes flickered over to the sorceress whose expressionless stare gave nothing away. Though, her tone hadn't exactly been forthcoming. And so the questions hadn't ceased, they had become sentient and started to multiply. Taking up roots, they grew until even his questions had questions.

One edged itself to the forefront of his mind and Damian wondered if he could even pose it to Raven: was this real - was she for real? To come to him like this in the middle of the night, in need of his help with her bed - her broken bed. He rose slowly, and approached her with his jaw tight and steps measured.

What had she been doing in this bed to cause it to break?

Whatever...

Or

Whomever...

Damian pulled off the black framed glasses, and hastily folded them over his waistband, shoving them away along with his darker thoughts. How was he expected to proceed in such a case? What exactly was the due process here? Did the Titans handbook have a chapter about this, or even so much as a footnote? Damian began to formulate what he believed was a rudimentary follow-up. "How did this...even happen?"

It sounded safe, rational.

Surely, it was a reasonable thing to consider given the current situation.

Violet eyes glanced over the wreckage. There was a sprinkling of sawdust on the mattress laying jilted off to the side, the box spring was reduced to a heap of wooden boards, and the thick carved posts were snapped, propped uselessly against the corner of the room. Her cavernous eyes bored into the center of his bare chest, before at last, settling on his face. "Damian, I don't want to talk about it. I just... I need your help, okay?" Her voice wavered for a note. "So, if you can't give me that -"

"No - no. Of course, I want to help," Damian said immediately, standing taller. "I just...want to know what I'm dealing with here, so I can help you best." He motioned with his hand, hoping she would elaborate, or give any clue as to what had happened. And when she didn't speak, he spun up plausible theories.

But, nothing.

Raven didn't bite.

"Was it...your powers? Was it a lack of structural support? Maybe it was foul play - some prank of Garfield's gone wrong? Maybe the wood is old?"

Damian threw out suggestion after suggestion - and nothing. Any indication, even a simple nod, would have sufficed, anything would have been better than him filling in the blanks on his own.

"Or was it...?"

Anything to stop him from wondering about was just below the surface, the subtext: could it have been sexual?

Was it sexual?

He wanted to know. He needed to know. He had to know. She was his best friend. For all that was good in the world - he deserved an answer.

"Was it what?"

"Overuse?" Damian tried. "Or I don't know...misuse?"

"What exactly are you asking?" The mage returned a little less flatly, a little more angrily. "I'm the one with the broken bed and nowhere to sleep tonight. I knew you would be up... and so I came to you. I just needed some help - your help." Raven was resolute as she had been earlier, when she was standing at his door. But now, she seemed determined to answer as little as possible, to even redirect his inquiries back towards him.

What was she hiding from him?

Why was she hiding from him?

Damian glowered down at her. "I am trying to help -"

"So, help." Raven stood on her toes to glare back at him unblinkingly for what felt like hours. And anyone other than Damian would have backed down by now. "But, if you're going to make assumptions or continue to interrogate me, I'll just sleep on the couch."

This was going nowhere.

He sighed, a long drawn out exhale, he needed to breathe, to stay calm. But he could feel himself getting more and frustrated for each second this tennis match persisted. "Why don't you tell me what happened - from your perspective," Damian added quickly.

Raven was right to refer to it as an interrogation, a part of Damian had to give that to her.

This did feel rather like a deposition.

"It was late, I finished meditating, I thought I would try to get some sleep. I was laying in bed, and it broke." She rubbed her arm, trying to look impassive or unaffected and Damian didn't know what, only he couldn't believe this. It was the exact same story - if anything this was less than she had told him before.

His heartbeat pounded deafeningly in his eardrums, and his blood started to sear dangerously under his skin and Damian wanted to demand a sufficient answer from her.

But that wasn't the solution.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing in more slowly. What bothered him the most wasn't the denial, it was Raven acting as though she couldn't trust him.

And if she couldn't trust him, he had far bigger problems.

"Just so I can understand you - so I'm not confused, tell me, how did it break?"

"You saw for yourself - it collapsed."

He shook his head, he just needed her to give him something. Maybe he was just desperate for an opening for the questions he was barely biting back on his tongue.

How was she laying? Was she on her back? Was she alone?

Was she clothed?

"Why?" He burst out. "Why did it break? There's always an explanation. Things don't just collapse."

"Well, my bed did."

Damian had crossed over the bridge of irritation into incredulousness. He was dumbfounded. "I didn't think you even needed one - a bed." He scoffed. "I was under the impression that you...floated above it."

"Where on Earth did you hear that?" Raven's purple eyes narrowed. "I don't float - I'm not a pixie." Damian's lips twitched. So said the petite girl from another land, named after a bird, who spent her days flying around in a leotard.

"Fine, you hover." Damian eyed her, practically insisting. "You definitely hover."

She could project manifestations of wings whenever she appeared. That and the obvious, she glowed.

So if it looked like a duck...

"Yes. I've been known to hover - on occasion - it's not a regular thing." A faint flush began to color her face cerise, much to Damian's satisfaction. "Is my interrogation over, then?" He noticed her expression was slightly less annoyed than before, but more anxious.

Maybe he had been going about this all wrong. What if it was about something else entirely?

He glanced at the little worry crease that indented itself above her left eyebrow. In the idle daydream, he fantasized about touching it, even kissing the muscle until it relaxed. Of course he cared, she didn't even know how much. Damian’s features softened slightly. "Raven, I'm...concerned about you. It's not everyday your best friend shows you her mysteriously broken bed. So, is everything okay? Are you stressed?"

"No, Damian." But Raven had deflated, looking somewhat defeated. "This, it's not at all what you think..."

"Alright, I won't press this anymore." He reached down and touched her shoulder. "Get your pillow and some blankets," Damian ordered. "You're not staying on the couch." The hero stood by Raven's door while she dissected the contents of the rubble. They waited wordlessly for the tell-tale mechanical whirl of the door sealing itself. He shuffled ahead of her to his room, expecting her to follow. "You'll take my bed."

"Oh..." Raven stopped short, staring oddly at the floor. "I didn't ask you for help to put you out."

"You're not putting me out. You couldn't possibly put me out." The corner of his mouth tugged upward for a second as he searched her pale face. "We're best friends, aren't we?" She nearly flinched. "Did I say something wrong?" Damian frowned, trying to level with her.

"Damian, it was my powers, though I'm sure you already knew." Raven bent her head, holding it against the pillow. Slowly, she dragged it down her face. "Do you really want to know what I was doing?" She sounded muffled, but her words were clearer than they had been all night.

"What?" Damian's heart lurched in his chest. Even though he still wasn't sure what to think. But if Raven wanted to tell him -

"Yes."

"In my bed - tonight, I was..." Her voice sounded frailer, even a little afraid. "My bed is broken because... I was alone and thinking of you..."

What?

"You were alone," Damian paused, rather nonplussed. "And thinking of me?"

That was it?

"It was late." Raven spoke slower, this time.

"Yes."

"I was up..."

"Naturally."

"Reading - one of my novels..." Her purple eyebrows arched. "Alone."

"So, you've said."

"...and thinking of you."

"Right..."

"I was thinking of you," Raven repeated. "Alone."

"Oh..." Damian started. He licked his lips thoughtfully. "Oh."

"Oh? That's it, that's all you have to say?" When Raven marched down the hall, her short legs were faster than usual. The other Titan couldn't catch up to her, despite his longer legs, she seemed determined enough to have lapped him.

Or slapped him by the murderous look in her eye.

"Raven, slow down..." Damian stretched out a hand, trying to keep up with her. Every time he thought he was getting closer, she slid further out of reach. He was still processing, he hadn't expected this, if she could give him just one minute -

"You didn't consider for one minute that maybe..." She stopped, strands of plum whipping her cheek, when she turned to him. "No, of course not. How could you? You don't see me that way," Raven swallowed hard. "Or anything."

"Raven. Don't, I -"

"I shouldn't have bothered you with this, you were busy then and clearly you're still elsewhere." Raven didn't meet his eye. "Please, forget I mentioned this - any of this. I'll wake Starfire and you can get back to deliberating, planning or coordinating... You can chalk this up to some insufferable late night psycho babble from a half-demon whose powers must have gone haywire for the second time tonight." She turned away. "Good night."

"But." His fingers brushed her shoulder. "You broke your bed because of me."

"Yes, we've established that. It doesn't mean anything." Raven shrugged him away. "My powers are out of control right now - that's all it really means."

"No." He caught her fingertips and clasped her hand, spinning her to face him. "I'm not going to - I can't let this go." He pulled her in his arms, her stiff, small form. "I can't let you go." Because even still, she was warm and soft and she was Raven. She smelled of honey and sage and soy candles left burning overnight - home. 

This was scent he inhaled whenever his mind registered that he was home. It was like he was home at last, and he wanted to hold her close to him for hours. He stared down at her, marveling at the words as they revealed themselves in a new light that was vibrant, bright and multi-hued. "You broke your bed because of me."

"Let go of me." Raven's cheeks were aflame. Her eyes were wide, her lips were wavering.

"No."

No more rash assumptions tonight, or not acting rashly enough.

All he needed to be certain of was this. And he was not going to let Raven go again.

"I...need to masturbate - meditate." Raven let out a frustrated sob, struggling in his arms. "I need to meditate and -" Damian's fingers swept up the nape of her neck and he pressed the seam of his lips onto her own. The pillows and blankets slid out of her hand, her body had gone pliant. A sweet mewl rose up from her throat and neither of them gave any more thought to the finicky state of her powers, this was more important.

This needed to be communicated, he needed her to understand that he did understand.

"You broke your bed because of me..." He mumbled against her lips, tasting hints of jasmine tea. "You were thinking of me when your bed broke." Damian repeated her words back to her with an understanding that was always there. Just below the surface, it was waiting for him, calling out for Raven. He brushed her hair back from her cheeks. Tucking it behind her ears. "This beautiful mind - here." His thumbs rising to massage that worry muscle above her eyebrow. "I want it on me." And he smoothed his lips over it, kissing it repeatedly. "I want to fill it with thoughts of me. Only me."

"Wait - wait." Raven trembled, her eyes were wild. "What does this mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

He could feel her forehead moving, veins ticking, the brain below it working itself up into a frenzy. She couldn't quite process what was happening. The possibility that he might feel just as strongly, just as intensely. Perhaps even to a greater degree than she.

"Damian... Aren't we - friends?"

"Aren't we past that?" Damian cupped her chin and captured her mouth again. Pressing back against her lips tighter and harder, clutching her - tighter, harder. Running his hands up and down her back, feeling barely any layers to separate what was happening between them. But really, how could something as insignificant as layers keep them apart? Even without his chest bare and Raven's strappy pajama top so tiny there was no way she was wearing a bra.

How could anything now?

Damian growled low in his throat. "Would you come to someone in the middle of the night about your broken bed if they were merely a confidant?" Raven whimpered, as he too had pitched her own words and actions against her, all the while rounding her ear with his tongue.

"But, I thought -" She murmured incoherently into his neck "- and my powers."

"Yes, what about them? How could they resist reaching out, if you hadn't considered more? If you thought of me as only a friend?" Raven gasped, and he stole it straight from her - along with every breath from all the gasps from her lungs. "It's just us, we can both admit the truth."

"And what is the truth?" Raven leaned into him, turning doe-eyed blue-violet upon him. He feathered his thumb over those impossibly soft lips, like he couldn't help himself, because if talking to her meant he couldn't kiss that mouth, he had to touch it in some form or fashion.

"You were reading that romance novel you dogeared to death, I saw it there, covered in wood chips and sawdust." The man, half-naked, broad shouldered, and dark-skinned was unlacing the red corset of a willowy brunette with an arched back. The image was right there on the cover, it was unmistakable. And everything clicked right into place, as if he'd always known. Raven had pictured them in their place and used those thoughts as fodder or fuel. "You were imagining us."

"So tell me." He felt shivers race up his spine and it wasn't from those machinations alone, it was Raven's lips, stroking along his neck. When she spoke her voice was barely a whisper and raspier than he had ever heard it. "What did I imagine?"

"We were in your room, caught up in our connection -" The pale fingers threaded through his hair, in time with his musings. "Caught up in each other in ways that would make the Goddesses blush, if not undoubtedly cause a box-spring shatter beneath us, and then..."

Her hands stilled and tugged the dark strands. "Then?"

"Then it did, your bed broke."

A small smile curved onto her face, but it didn't match the mischievous stare contained in her eyes. Not exactly. "And now we're here?"

Damian glanced at the door plate marking the entrance to his room. "And now...we're here."

[phoxphyre]

In honor of the gorgeous Snowbaz Pride & Prejudice art from @laeve-leve--and because it’s looking like it’s still going to be a while before I finish and start actually posting this thing--I’m going to do something a bit different for WIP Wednesday and post an entire scene. 

I’ve posted bits and pieces of this before, but here’s my version of the 2005 P&P rain proposal scene.  

Tagging @super-duper-twelve (for encouraging me to keep writing in the middle of a crazy month), @captain-aralias, @flammable-grimm-pitch, @otherworldsivelivedin, @nightimedreamersworld, @palimpsessed, @wetheformidables, @ninemagicks​, @aristocratic-otter​, @sharkmartini​ and anyone else who wants to share! 

~~~~~~

Once in the park Simon summoned the Sword of Mages and swung it viciously, slicing the heads off of flowers and cutting new pathways into the spring grass. His mother would reproach him for using it for something so trivial—but after all, she was not here.

When the skies at last poured open Simon bent his head back and stood staring up into the clouds.  

“Perfect,” he said.

He was soaked to the skin within moments. He strode onwards; something about the weather matched his mood.

“Her family,” Simon said viciously.

It was impossible that Mr. Pitch could have meant anyone other than Shepard and Penny. He was hardly surprised that Mr. Pitch had opposed the match, but he had believed Miss Wellbelove the chief architect of their separation. To learn that Mr. Pitch was the cause, that his vanity and pride were the cause of all that Penny had suffered—that she continued to suffer—

Simon decapitated a hapless daisy. Mr. Pitch had ruined the hope of happiness for the best person Simon knew—the person who had saved him when he had lost everything.

“‘There were very strong objections against the lady,’” Simon bit out. What were the objections? That she had one uncle who was a country attorney, and another who was in trade?

Mr. Pitch could not possibly have objected to Penny herself. She was perhaps somewhat irregular in her way—but also sharp as a blade, a talented magician, on her way to becoming a brilliant magickal scholar. She was exactly the type of person Mr. Pitch should respect. Nor was there anything to object to in their mother.

His father and siblings, on the other hand…but no, that could not possibly be the reason. It was all vanity; Mr. Pitch must object to their lack of connections, their want of wealth. And perhaps Simon’s own bastardy.

Simon swung at a stump; the sword stuck in the wood, and he had to use two hands to pull it out. Even the cold felt good: the act of driving his body to escape the tyranny of his mind.

Simon broke free of the trees and found himself on a long lawn. To his left it sloped down to a picturesque pond, all surrounded by willows weeping into the gray water; to his right it climbed to a ridiculous Grecian folly, the kind of thing that rich people planted on their lands when they grew tired of hedge mazes. The rain pounded down, stronger here without the trees to shield him. He broke into a run, less to escape the rain than to feel the blood pumping through his body.

The folly was little more than four columns reaching to the sky with a marble floor and a rounded wall on one side; it was roofless, and once within the columns Simon tipped his head up again, drinking in the rain. He felt hot with rage, as if his anger might overflow his body and run down the hill like the rain.  

Then, without warning, there was the tap of riding boots against marble—and suddenly Mr. Pitch was there.

For a moment they stared at each other. He was as wet as Simon, his hair plastered to his skull. Water ran from the ends of his hair and tracked down his cheekbones like tears.

“Simon,” Mr. Pitch said. Through his anger Simon saw that his eyes were the color of the pond. The storm washed everything about him grey-green; he might have been the statue of an angel carved from the same rock as the columns.

“I—” he said. And then he took two steps forward, pressing Simon back into the stone of the wall, and crushed Simon’s lips against his.

For a moment Simon was frozen, too surprised to resist. He felt the cold stone against his hips, the cold rain running between their two faces. Against his will his hand came up and wound itself into the hair at the back of Mr. Pitch’s neck. Somehow he had already known how it would feel, soft as down under the pads of his fingers. His mouth opened; Mr. Pitch’s lips were gentle on his, even as his body pushed Simon’s into the stone. Simon could feel him down the whole length of his body, warm where he blocked Simon from the rain.

Then Simon’s hands came up; he placed both palms against Mr. Pitch’s shoulders and pushed him away, hard. Mr Pitch stumbled back a few paces; he raised his hand to touch his lips.

“What. The hell,” Simon spat.  

“Simon,” Mr. Pitch said. “I have struggled in vain. It will not do.” He took a step forward. “I came to Hampshire to see you—” He shook his head, the wet ends of his hair whipping past his face. “I had to see you.”

Simon could only stare at him.  

“I’ve fought against my family’s expectations, my better judgement, the lowness of your birth—my rank and circumstance…” His voice hitched. “All of it. I know any connection between us must be reprehensible. But I must put those considerations aside and ask you: please, end my agony.”

Simon had never seen that expression on his face, had never imagined that face capable of making such an expression: open and yearning, as if all of his walls had fallen and the gates thrown open.

“I love you,” said Mr. Pitch. “Most ardently.”

Simon made a noise, halfway between horror and mad laughter. “You love me?”

Mr. Pitch extended his hand, pale in the darkness of the storm. Rain ran down the curves of his fingers and pooled in his palm. “Believe me, I wish I did not. It is ridiculous—unthinkable. But I do.”

Simon stared at the hand and did not take it. “It is ridiculous to love me?” he said slowly.

“Yes,” said Mr. Pitch. He sounded relieved that Simon had understood so quickly. “But here we are. So I must beg you to accept my hand.”

“You have a strange way of begging,” said Simon.

“What?”

“I am sorry if your—passion has been difficult for you,” Simon said. “But no. No.”  

He watched Mr. Pitch’s face close as he spoke, the gates swinging shut and the walls fortified.  

“So you are refusing me?” Mr. Pitch said coldly. He withdrew his hand, wiped it on his coat, and placed it in his pocket.  

“Yes.” Simon could not help the bite in his voice. “But as you have so little esteem for me, I hope you will recover quickly.”

“Might I inquire why I am thus rejected?”  

“I am surprised you need to inquire, after telling me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character.”

“I did not mean—”

“You should thank you me for saving you from such a terrible fate,” said Simon. “In any case, did you think I would marry the man who has ruined the happiness of my dearest friend? My sister?”

Mr. Pitch paled further. The rain fell between them like a veil.

“Can you deny it?” Simon demanded. He stepped forward, thrusting his chest forward, forcing Mr. Pitch back a step.

“I have no wish to deny it,” said Mr. Pitch. Simon searched his face for regret and found none: only pride and bitterness. “I did everything in my power to separate Shepard from your sister, and I rejoice in my success. I have been kinder to him than myself.”

“Why?” Simon demanded. He put his hands against Mr. Pitch’s shoulders again and shoved, pushing him back. “How could you do it?”

“I believed she was indifferent to him.”

“She danced with him! She laughed with him!”

“She argued with him! Continually!”  

“For Penny, that is love!” Simon snarled. “She was supposed to show her true feelings? You will not even show your true feelings when you find your mother’s journals!”

Mr. Pitch stumbled back another step, away from Simon’s hands. “And I suppose you despise me for what I am as well?”

“No! I would never—”

“After all, why would you tie yourself to a dark creature?” Mr. Pitch said bitterly. “Even when it would save yourself and your family.”

“Yes, it is always about money, with people like you. I suppose you think Penny was hungry for Shepard’s fortune?”

“I would never do her the dishonour. Although it was made clear that an advantageous marriage—”

“Did Penny give that impression?”

“No! But there was your family—”

“My family. What was it—our want of connection? My bastardy?”

“It was the lack of propriety shown by your father, your younger siblings—even your mother on occasion.” He looked away. “Forgive me.”  

“Oh? Is that all? And what about Mr. Lamb?”

“Lamb?” Mr. Pitch said blankly.  

“What excuse can you give for what you did to him?”

“You certainly take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns.” The earlier openness had been entirely wiped away; Mr. Pitch’s face showed only anger now.

“How could I help it, once I knew of his misfortunes?”

“Oh, yes, his misfortunes,” Mr. Pitch said savagely.

“You were the one who reduced him to poverty, and yet you mock and ridicule him.”

“So this is your opinion of me!” cried Mr. Pitch. He paced from one side of the folly to the other, his steps quick and angry. “This is the estimation in which you hold me! Thank you for explaining it so fully.”

Suddenly he was before Simon again, having moved too quickly for Simon’s eyes to follow. It was so inhuman a motion that Simon could not help himself; he shrank away, as one shies from a snake. Mr. Pitch’s eyes narrowed.

He thrust his face into Simon’s, almost spitting now. “But you might have overlooked all of this, if I had not injured your pride—if I had lied and flattered you.” He raised a hand, and Simon thought for a moment that he would strike him. Simon put his hand over his hip, wondering if he could summon his blade quickly enough to prevent Mr. Pitch from killing him.

But Mr. Pitch was already dropping his hand, turning away. “I refuse,” he said. “I will not lie to you. I abhor disguise of every sort.”

Simon grabbed his arm, preventing him from moving away. The skin was cold beneath his fingers and slippery from the rain. “You have been lying from the moment you met me,” he said. He yanked at Mr. Pitch’s arm, wrenching it in its socket. “All you are is disguise! And there is nothing you could have said to make me consider your offer.”

“Simon—”

“My name is Mr. Snow,” Simon spat.

Mr. Pitch tried to wrench his arm from Simon’s grasp, but Simon held on doggedly. “I’ve known it from the first moment met,” he said. “You are the last person in the world I could ever marry.”

Mr. Pitch’s arm was still in Simon’s grip, so instead he leaned in, his face a breath away from Simon’s. “Are you quite finished?” he said coldly.  

This close, Simon could see the rings of colour in Mr. Pitch’s eyes, all the hues of the sea. He could feel Mr. Pitch’s breath on his face. He loosened his grip, and Mr. Pitch’s arm slid from his fingers.

“You have said quite enough, sir,” Mr. Pitch said. “I perfectly comprehend your feelings.” He turned to go; his boots made a dull plashing in the puddles gathering on the stone floor.

“I have now only to be ashamed—” his breath hitched, and Simon watched his shoulders rise and fall. “Of what my own have been.”

He looked back over his shoulder, his voice full of venom.

“Forgive me, sir, for taking up so much of your time.”

He strode from the folly. A moment later Simon heard the sound of hooves, pounding away.  

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au - 14

“So. You’re a shapeshifter huh?” Eskel asked taking a drink from his water skin. Leaning performativity casual against the stone. The mangled side of his face hidden from view.

“Yep.” He tugged the wool cap over his ears to cover against the biting cold of the courtyard. Ciri’s power sung out in frustration as she repeated the training drills over and over again. As she had been for days.

Hopefully they’d call a break soon or he would have to before she bubbled over.

His skin prickled with discomfort. Eskel hummed so quietly he’d only noticed it when Lambert had taken Ciri out hunting and they’d run into each other in the library. The tiny thrum of his magic.

“Bloody well glad for it too. I’ve no idea how you all stand winters up here as people.” He tucked his glove under the sleeve of his jacket before returning them to their spot under his armpits. “Half tempted to spend the winter as a polar bear so I don’t freeze to death.”

“You could. Lambert would be very jealous.”

“Ah but I’ve seen your very impressive bear skin rug and I’d hate to give you any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“I know.” He bumped their shoulders together. “I’m messing with you.”

A few beats pasted before Eskel burst out with a forced ease, “Lambert caught a buck last year and Geralt wouldn’t let us eat it because it looked too much like you apparently.” Eskel’s nerves made him want to fidget. But it was really far too cold to move his hands from their warm spot.

“You did eat it though right? Because otherwise that’s a huge waste.” He smiled crookedly, watching him from the corner of his eye.

“Course. He didn’t talk to us for a week.”

“And you noticed?” Eskel smirked back at him. Easily in spite of his discomfort. He smiled so easily. Eskel's amusement tickling his skin.

“It took a few days.”

Ciri’s frustration grew several decibels and he pushed off the wall. “You are far too attractive for any of our good.” He told him before he leapt from the staircase they’d rested against, soaring the space between them.

He cawed out his approach as she swung at the training dummy and-

Suddenly he was flying in the other direction.

He shifted before he smashed into the ground and rolled with the force of her shock wave.

“Ow.” He protested when he finally came to a stop in a snowbank.

After one too many moments of silence he looked up. To all the wolves gapping at Ciri and her frozen in place. Training sword held in place where the dummy had once been, now it's straw was scattered across the yard.

“I’m fine thank you for asking.” He called out. Unsticking them all as they looked to him. “Just got thrown across the courtyard. Totally fine. No need to worry about the poor bard.”

“Jaskier?” She turned, far too much concern in her eyes.

“No I am actually fine.” He assured standing and brushing snow off. Tugging the cap down to insure it stayed in place. He frowned. “Better than fine actually.” His skin was warm and his ache that had settled into his bones disappeared without a trace. The bruises he felt should have been forming didn’t. “No harm done. But I do think it’s time for a break yes?”

They nodded. “Early lunch.” Eskel agreed. As they stalked down into the hall.

They set the table as the witchers finished the meal prep and he curled up on the arm of Ciri’s chair and began finger brushing her hair so he could braid it.

“You’re not scared?” She asked as he worked free a knot.

“Of what? Cause I’m scared of a lot of things- spiders. Frogs. Wasps. Cages. A string breaking while I preform at competition-“

“Me.”

His heart broke for her and he continued his work without pause. “No. Don’t see the point in that.”

“You’re afraid of frogs but you don’t see the point in being scared of someone who threw you across the courtyard?”

“Someone has never tried to eat a frog before and nearly died from the hallucinogenic affects I see. It was not a pleasant afternoon and I feel completely justified.” He ran his fingers threw her hair once more to check before starting his braid. “You accidentally threw me across the courtyard, which Geralt has also done and most of them weren’t accidents, and I feel better than I have in years so no. I’m definitely not.”

She was quiet as he worked so he hummed a song to fill the space.

“You’re really not hurt?”

“Really not hurt.” He promised. “Haven’t felt this alive since- oh.”

“Oh?”

“Since your mother tossed the entire banquet hall away to protect your father.”

She spun her head to him and he barely managed to hold onto the braid. “You were there?”

“Front row to the whole debacle. Would you like to hear about it?”

She nodded as they heard the other’s voices down the hall. They both glanced to the door. Unable to not listen.

“Wasn’t just some sign shit Geralt- that was fucking magic. Real chaos. We don’t know shit about real magic! You can’t expect us to-“

“I know you think human hearing is terrible but it’s not that terrible boys!” He called out to them finishing the braid. “How about I tell you that story after dinner? Hm?”

She nodded. He kissed her crown and he watched her sit up. Regally. Preparing for the conversation ahead.

“Ah to suffer another meal with the witcher’s terrible table manners.” He sighed as they dropped the food on the table. “The things we must bare.”

She shot him a small smile.

“How come you didn’t tell us she had magic!” Lambert snapped at- at him?

He blinked at him. “What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell shit like that- why didn’t you tell us!”

“Huh?” He glanced at the others at the table. Irritation or concern or confusion on their faces as they studied him. Including Geralt’s. Which was the real shocker. He looked between Geralt and Ciri; who appeared just as flummoxed by the situation as he was, as he gapped.

When it became clear that no one else was going to answer his very obvious question he forced the words out in a voice that was, perhaps, slightly higher than intended. “I thought you knew.” He told Geralt with a wave of his arms.

“How would I know?”

The incredulity in Geralt’s voice was just insulting frankly. He waved between them. Noises floundering out of him. “I- what- its- what.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. “What other blatantly obvious things am I supposed to tell you now? The sky is blue. The keep is made of stone. Ciri has magic. I thought you knew!”

Geralt sighed into his hands. Lambert speared a hunk of lunch.

“Can you tell how strong she is?” Vesemir asked pragmatically as he grabbed his own food. “If we can train her-“

“Oh you definitely can’t.” They glared at him. “What? The only one here with anything even approaching magic is Eskel and no offense but you’re nowhere near her level.”

Eskel sat up a little straighter in his seat as he devoured his lunch.

“Who is?” Geralt asked. “Near her level.”

He leaned back in his chair and thought about it. He didn’t grab any food. He wasn’t hungry and probably wouldn’t be until the magic wore off.

He’d eaten as a griffin though. His mouth tasted like blood- but he hadn’t needed to had he? He’d just wanted to. Wanted to eat and sleep and kill.

Show me what you are.

“Jaskier?” He jolted and looked over at Ciri.

“Ah. Well. You know Yennefer?” Geralt shot him a dirty look. “Just checking, you’ve had issues with amnesia before! Anyway.” He continued with a wave of his hand. “If Yennefer is lightning then Ciri is the sun.”

They all stopped. Actually that bread didn’t look half bad. He ripped a chunk off and chewed on it.

“So.” He mouthed around the bread. “She’s going to need an actual teacher.”

“Could you do it?” She asked.

“No.” He laughed around the bread crumbs. “I am magic. That doesn’t mean I can do magic.”

“Marigold?” Lambert suggested. Triss- he supplied after a moment.

“Sure.” He agreed. “After Yennefer turns us down.”

The room dropped several degrees as he chewed.

“Why would we ask Yennefer first?” Eskel growled.

Geralt sighed. “Because if we don’t she’ll never let the slight go.”

“Is” Ciri hesitated, taking in the faces around the room. “She that bad?”

He wobbled his head. “Well.” He drew out the word. Thinking of all the times she’d treated him like nothing- like less than nothing. Like something that had once had great value but was now irrevocably broken.

And then he thought of the other mage. So much weaker and yet able to dominate him completely.

How Yennefer had never done that. Had never wanted that. Even though it would have been so easy.

And then he thought of Ciri and how much she needed Yennefer. How her chaos swelled and terrified her. How Yennefer was lighting in a bottle and might be the only one who could teach her to control the sun.

And then. Then he followed the djinn’s magic in Geralt’s chest to the lightning in her veins. To the longing in her chest.

She wanted something real.

“No.” He said at last. “We all just took Geralt in the breakup.” He grinned easily.

There were several snorts and Geralt glared fiercely at him.

“You.” Ciri glanced between him and Geralt. Trying to judge the situation. “Dated her?”

“That’s a word for it.” Lambert grinned nastily into his ale. “I’d call it-“

Geralt smacked him.

“Why’d they break up- I hear you asking.”

“She didn’t!” Geralt growled.

“But she would given the opportunity.” He smirked as Lambert shoved him in retaliation. Distracting him. “And the answer is Geralt makes terrible life choices.”

She softly laughed and he counted it amongst his greatest victories.

“What can you shift into?” Vesemir asked, pointedly not looking up from his book, where they all gathered around the fire before bed. A storm howled outside. He suspected if not for the warmth of Ciri’s magic he’d be frozen from the draft alone. The impressive amount of furs Lambert was wrapped in strengthened his conclusion. He adjusted the cap over his ears anyway. “Geralt’s only mentioned beasts before but when you meet back up he said you were a griffin.”

Geralt tensed against his back and Ciri glanced back at him from where she was propped against his legs. He turned the page, even though he hadn’t finished reading it, to show how nonplussed he was by the question.

Over the years he’d only ever explained what he could do, what it meant, his limitations perhaps a handful of times. There were so few people in the world he’d trust with this.

His life he trusted to a great many friends. But this. This was his freedom.

“Suppose I’ve never felt like a griffin before.” He didn’t intend to feel like one ever again. “Or had the magic needed to follow through on such an impulse.”

“So if you had the magic,” Vesemir glanced at Ciri, “And felt like it you could be anything?”

“Well I think you’re underestimating the importance of feeling like it but I suppose that’s the general stroke of it.”

“Have you been a bed? A chair? That’d be real helpful I bet. Hide in a broom closet and just. Be a broom til the mob passes.”

“Have you ever really felt like an inanimate object Lambert?” He shrugged. “Shifting into a mouse usually accomplishes the same goal anyway.”

“If you shifted into the monsters in the bestiary Ciri could safely apply the skills she learns on how to identify and best the different creatures.” Vesemir stated.

Ah. Now he knew why Vesemir had brought this up when Geralt had clearly told them not to, based on the way they’d all danced around their questions since he’d arrived. Well. Except Lambert, but he'd only arrived a few days passed.

“The day I turn into a necrophage is the day I die. Seen more than enough of their innards over the years to know that’s never going to be in the cards thank you very much.”

“Alright no necrophages. But anything you could shift into we could add a far more detailed description of to the bestiary. Updated drawings. Behavioral notes-“ Eskel seemed remarkably enthused about the idea.

He thought about how empty the library was. Figured there was probably a reason for that.

“He’s not a party trick.” Geralt snapped, very valiantly.

“No, no it’s fine.” They all looked so excited by the prospect. Ciri’s eyes were gleaming. He itched under the cap. Hats were really not his look. But it was better than his hair. “Requests? I make no promises about being able to do it but I can certainly try.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned.

“I’ve got energy to burn after this morning.” He reassured waving his hand in Geralt’s face behind him. “Which you should know given the bonfire you made when you used igni to light the fireplace.”

“That was cause of you?”

“Pretty sure.” He nodded to Eskel. “Requests? Or shall I go back to my book?”

“A unicorn?” Ciri asked.

Simple enough in theory but, “They’re extinct.” A sad truth Geralt had confirmed years ago. “I’d rather not be the last of my kind.”

Are you the last unclaimed familiar? There are so few of you in this world. The mage had said. Had he ever met any? Where their thousands of people like him who hid in small mage-less towns or wild unkempt forests. Who didn’t shift and stayed safe in a single form their whole lives?

Maybe there were countless people like him and he’d just never recognized them- how would he recognize them? Maybe there were loads of them and he just didn’t know where to look.

Or maybe he was one of the last. One of the last whose mind wasn’t held under chaotic waters to drown until he forgot everything he was.

Maybe he was one of the last.

Then where had they gone? There were days long past where every sorcerer, mage and druid had a familiar. Someone like him.

He’d never met any who did. Not that he'd met many.

“You could do the griffin again. Since we know you can shift into that.” Eskel suggested.

Geralt’s arm squeezed at his bicep. Like he suspected what a bad idea that was.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to see the form that hadn’t recognized him even a little.

“You could always try a dragon.” Geralt teased before leaning in and whispering right into his ear. “You don’t have to. We can just leave.”

The sparkle in Ciri’s eye grew.

“The only issue there- since I now know they’re real- is that I’ve never seen a living one. That egg does not count!”

“Borch wasn’t dead?”

“What?” He snapped around blazing fury. “Borch was a dragon?”

“You. Missed that part?”

“I am now Extra mad you didn’t wake me up. I could have seen a living dragon? You ass!”

“Not my fault you slept in!”

“Do you want to play the blame game about that day- because I definitely think missing seeing a living dragon is one of the lesser issues I could choose to be angry about.” He collapsed into Geralt’s lap and glared up at him. “Hm? Hmmmm?”

Geralt looked away but nodded.

“Glad we agree. Alrighty let’s see what I can do.” He climbed off the back of the couch. He was irritated and wanted to impress his cub. His mate’s family. That would help. Probably.

He shifted up into a bear. Because it was easier to feel big when one was big.

Lambert whistled.

What had he grabbed onto to become a griffin anyway?

He’d been caged. He was cold. He was alone and unwanted but not powerless.

He wasn’t powerless now. He could protect-

His mouth was full of blood.

The form snapped under him. Dropping him down until his heart raced and his incisors grated against each other and his ears were tight against his back and-

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s hand reached down to hold him and he shifted up to meet it. Tail wagging slowly even as his ears stayed folded back. “That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

They liked his songs well enough but that was all he had. He wasn’t pretty or handsome with his terrible hair shoved into an ugly winter toque and Geralt's ill fitting clothing and he wasn’t strong or helpful or a good cook. He couldn’t teach Ciri magic. Couldn’t hunt them more food even as he ate theirs.

No wonder your mate’s dead.

No wonder your mate didn’t want you.

Maybe she’ll make a better travel companion then.

They’d asked one thing of him and he couldn’t even do it.

It was easy to be a form he loved.

He didn’t love the griffin.

He didn’t love what it had done. Even if it had saved him.

He was scooped into strong arms and there was a dismissal of “Bedtime,” and he tried to swallow the sounds escaping his throat. Tried to stop the way his paws shifted to claws shifted to wings.

He couldn’t even do this. Couldn’t even be something useful.

Sure he could be a horse and carry them when Roach got tired. Could scout as a raven or pull buckthorn from a river without risk of drowning. But all the wolves and all the cats and Witchers knew he wasn’t useful. He didn’t want to be.

And when he wanted to be he couldn’t.

“Jaskier.” Geralt repeated under the blankets in their bed. “Talk to me.”

There was a request there- what shape do you want me to be- I’ll stay that way forever if it means you’ll keep me. Please.

“Thank you. Can you tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t done,” He grit his teeth as he pulled him in closer to his chest. “That in a long time.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not.” Geralt squeezed the back of his neck. Tension leached from him. Geralt nuzzled at the toque pushing it up with his nose.

He grabbed it. Pulling it down firmly. “Don’t.”

“Jaskier.” He plead.

He curled tighter in on himself and pulled the hat over his eyes. “Just couldn’t find a form that fit. Hope you got me out of there before it got too repulsive- although maybe Ciri will appreciate knowing she’s not the only one who can’t control her magic right? Gotta find the little victories.”

“Jaskier what’s this really about?”

“Nothing.”

Geralt grumbled his frustration.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t about anything.

It was about how maybe he was the last of his people- his family- and it was about how his form wasn’t what he needed it to be and it was about the things he’d done that he couldn’t remember and didn’t want to and the blood in his mouth and it wasn’t about any of that.

He was scared and frustrated and alone and not good enough and-

“Is Jaskier okay?” Ciri called from the crack in the door.

He shifted out of the bed to her despite Geralt’s protests.

“I’m alright.” He leaned against the door frame. “I’m sorry for scaring you- I know its very upsetting looking when I shift like that.” He didn't know but the way Geralt paled after an attack like that was proof enough.

“Was that because I asked you to shift? Or because of this morning?”

“No.” He crooned. “No. I-“ He paused. Took her hands in his. “It was like this morning. You got frustrated and your magic responded. My shifting responds to my emotions too so when I got overwhelmed that happened. But it doesn’t hurt.” The emotions that caused it hurt. But the shifting didn’t at least. “Promise I’m okay.”

She watched him sternly.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and rolled back on his heels. Sweeping a hand in front of his face dramatically. “I’m very worried Yennefer responds quickly to our message because she always looks immaculate and I am really not a hat person.”

“Really?” Her lips curved upward just a twitch.

“Ciri dear I am wearing Geralt’s clothing! I haven’t worn a color in months. Months!” He slid down the door frame and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I’m dying. Melitele forbid Yennefer see me like this. My reputation will be ruined. Ruined!”

Ciri huffed out a laugh. “Oh no. How terrible.”

“It is! I could hear the sarcasm in your tone but I am ignoring it for the sake of our friendship!” Geralt picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. “The audacity! The horror!” He continued to lament as they bid good night.

Geralt dumped him in the bed. “Gonna tell me what it was actually about now?”

“I am genuinely concerned about meeting Yennefer looking like this.” Geralt scowled down at him. “Would you feel confident and prepared if you had to face a monster without your armor?”

“Yennefer isn’t a monster.”

“You’re missing the point. I like how I look. I know it’s just hair and I know it’s just clothing but I don’t look like me. I don’t feel like me. I’m wandering the woods without armor and even when I’m not being attacked it’s still scary because I know how easy it would be to bleed me out.”

Geralt considered that and slowly sat down next to him. “Okay. I don’t know how to fix that.”

“Time will fix it. I’ll visit a proper barber and my tailor in the spring and all will be well again.” He knew that. He did. It just didn't make it easier.

He nodded. Tilted his head and looked at his face. Then dragged his gaze lower to the way his body did and didn’t fill out Geralt’s clothing. “I like how you look.”

“Sure you do.”

Geralt pushed him back in the bed. Leaning over him. “I do.” A hand came up to his head and pushed under the hat. He tensed but Geralt made no move to pull it off. “You’re not a hat person. I don’t mind that your hair’s not perfect cause it’s still soft and smells like you.”

His other hand and down the fabric of his shirt. “I like you in my clothing because it makes you smell like me. Like you’re mine. Even if it’s not what you’d normally wear.”

He hummed. “You want to show me just how much you like it?”

“I do.” He laced his fingers behind Geralt’s neck and tried to pull him down for a kiss. He didn’t move. “Was that really all that was?”

He closed his eyes. “No. But I don’t really want to get into all of it tonight.”

“Okay.” He said. But didn’t move closer.

He sighed. “What do you think it was? What’s worrying you?”

“You’re still angry about the mountain.”

“Hm. I did apparently miss a chance to see a living dragon so.”

“Mhm.”

He grabbed Geralt and rolled him to his side. “Geralt you’re a terrible liar. And if you hadn’t meant what you’d said, at least a little I’d never have believed you.”

“I was trying to break the bond. I thought I forced you into this life Jaskier.”

“Just like you forced Yennefer?”

He flinched.

“If you’d asked I’d have told you. That I was the one that bound you. That I hadn’t meant to do it and didn’t know what I was doing when I did but that I didn’t regret the time I spent with you. But you did. You regretted our time together.”

His gold eyes squeezed closed. He took several steadying breaths. His thumb stroking a strand of hair that had escaped the hat. “Not everything’s about you Jaskier.”

He frowned but resisted the urge to squawk about how it definitely seemed like it was about him.

“I was hurting from Yennefer and scared I had trapped you and terrified for the child of surprise I’d cursed just like you two. And I’m still terrified Jaskier. I don’t know how to be a father.”

“I’m not sure anyone does. I mean how many kids has Vesemir raised? And I’d be real surprised if he thought he knew how to do it proper.”

“Lambert’s good at keeping him humble.”

“That he is. It’s going to be okay. You’re not doing this alone.” He took Geralt’s face in his hands and traced the grain of his stubble. “Besides. I bet Yennefer’s going to roll up and out-parent both of us so hard that I can safely retire to my true calling of fun uncle.”

“Lambert’s teaching her how to make bombs. I think he’s got that position claimed.”

“Ah well I’ll figure out something.”

“Sure you will.” He smirked.

He propped himself up over Geralt, shoving him onto his back. “Alright I really need to kiss that damn look off your face. We good?”

Geralt smiled and pulled him down into a kiss. “We’re good.”

He walked the wall while the others trained in the courtyard. They couldn’t really expect him to work by himself.

They’d asked him if he wanted to join. Or less asked and more told him to when they'd arrived.

He thought he’d sent a fairly clear message when he flipped them the bird become becoming an actual bird and flying away. Spent the afternoon gathering dirt on all of them. Their horses were just so eager to share.

He’d spent a lot of time and energy not learning how to fight and he wasn’t going to change now just because he was living with witchers.

In a big crumbling keep.

It kind of looked like a fortress. A castle. Like something out of a storybook.

They did already have a princess.

How hard would it be to have a dragon?

He fluttered over a broken section of wall.

His keep shouldn’t have broken sections of wall. How was he supposed to keep his hoard safe?

Cause dragons had hoards. And were fiercely protective of them. He assumed.

What would he hoard? Instruments maybe. Admirers. Books.

Laughter roared in the courtyard. He looked down at them. At his family.

His.

Care for. Love. Protect.

He leapt between the stone’s crenellations.

What else made dragons dragons?

Old. Wise. Powerful.

Well there had to young stupid dragons. He could fill that niche. At least he was powerful. He had the sun warming his bones.

Prideful.

They were beautiful.

He wasn’t right now.

But he could be. He could be whatever he wanted.

The edge of the crenellation crumbled under his feet and he began tumbling down the steep walls to the cliffs below.

“What else can he turn into? Can he turn into a shrieker? A unicorn? A dragon?”

He spread his wings and twisted into the sky.

Freedom. It felt like freedom.

He loved to shift.

He loved this form.

He circled his home. His nest. His hoard, gathered in the courtyard as he landed.

“Fucking hell.”

He settled on the steps into the courtyard and tucked his chin over the edge to watch them back.

“That one’s new.” Geralt told them unhelpfully.

Rude. He huffed at Geralt. All hot air. The snow that had collected on his armor and hair melted.

“You’re a dragon!” Ciri marveled as she slowly reached out to touch him. Her small hand roving over the scales of his face. He rumbled his approval.

“Show off.” He smacked Geralt with the tip of his tail without looking away from Ciri.

“You’re so fucking warm!” Lambert was plastered over his flank. “I’m stealing your bard for the rest of the winter.”

“No you’re not.”

“It’s too damn cold in the keep. He’s mine now. Jaskier you’re mine now. I claim dibs.”

He’s got dibs Geralt. Guess I’m his now.

“That is not how this works.”

“It definitely is.” He’s right. It definitely is.

Geralt turned and started to walk away. He hauled him back by the scruff of his shirt.

Eskel leaned against him. “Not that I’ve seen a lot of dragons but-“

Creative liberties.

“Not going to be terribly educational then.” Vesemir sighed pretending not to be leaning into his warmth as much as he was.

I’m very educational. I’ve taught her what a red dragon might look like.

“Ciri this isn’t what red dragons look like.”

“It’s what a red dragon looks like.” He nuzzled her in approval.

It’s what your red dragon looks like. He pointed out.

“I suppose it is.” Lambert and Eskel made retching noises at Geralt. "What our red dragon looks like."

Ours. His chest broke out in a mighty purr. His hoard.

His family.

[sleepy-sunlight]

uhh idk if you do these anymore- but if u do... maybe an inquisitor who is quite physically weak but packs a whole load of magic to make up for it... but having such a vast amount of magical potential in a small and fragile body, it sometimes hurts her? 👀 she never says anything, but mayhaps that pain one day gets much too unbearable

Absolutely! I’d like to get back into writing prompts again, especially since I still have a ridiculous love for Dragon Age and have now played the whole series! Hopefully, you enjoy this prompt and have a marvelous day, thank you <3

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Since you were a child your magic was known to be... finicky. ‘Finicky’ was the word the Grand Enchanter would use to describe your surges when a simple spell resulted in a ball of fire destroying a good chunk of the parlor. ‘Terrifying’ was the term the templars preferred, but few could stay mad at the sniveling child sheepishly trying to clean up their mess that was you. 

You’d spent many nights with your fellow mages learning all the best methods to keep your magic under control -- falling asleep into the late hours over books and a cloak that the Grand Enchanter would drape over you. Yet no matter what you did, no matter the training and the desperate efforts, somewhere, somehow it always spiraled out of control. Eventually, it cast a toll on your entire body -- so feeble and tiny your childhood became littered with fevers and aching limbs. 

You didn’t grow much as you aged. Of course, your legs earned a few inches, but your magic only multiplied. The mage circle, however, found a way to contain you. Instead of spurts that left the tower’s library in shambles or the quarters with a sizable hole in its wall, your magic was contained within you -- a thousand stitches to cover up loose ends where your magic poured out. 

The only problem remaining was the pain and the great deal of it that came with the containment. It was a fire brimming upon a thin layer, you could always feel the pressure against your body like a dull, forceful knocking upon a door -- brash knuckles banging again and again without end. Thankfully, you’d gotten used to it... most of the time. Everyone had their breaking point after all, and your sutures too, came undone. 

Of course, being the Inquisitor did little to help the situation. Every moment you stepped out of Skyhold’s gates you were opening yourself up to every facet for danger and peril. But it could’ve been worse -- you could’ve not had the Commander waiting for you each time you returned. The wrinkles upon Cullen’s face when he smiled at the sight of you and the way his eyes glimmered would’ve been awful to miss out on. 

“Emerald Graves,” Cullen said quietly to himself as the two of you walked the barracks. “How was it?” The day you were expected to return Cullen couldn’t help pacing about Skyhold’s courtyard -- letters only did so much, after all. Your first evenings back were always spent catching up with your Commander -- ‘strategy and reports’ were the official reasoning, but everyone knew better. 

You chuckled. “Well, considering on the first day we stumbled into a dragon... I’d say just peachy. But otherwise, peaking so quickly the rest felt a bit boring.” 

“Oh, I know that can’t be true,” Cullen remarked, nudging you amusedly. “Between your daily hobbies of reading and puzzles I find it hard to believe taking down red templars is ‘boring’.” 

Admittedly, he wasn’t wrong, but you didn’t exactly have a splendid time either. 

Taking down a High Dragon on the first day was an exciting, thrilling task, but a taxing one as well. Your magic had been unyielding and vigorous but each spell cast brought a shiver down your spine and fire sparking in your lungs. It took all your remaining strength not to collapse alongside the dragon when the beast fell in defeat. 

Since then you’d made poor attempts to keep your shambling body under control -- sparks of magic erupting from your fingertips and a continuous delirium heavy upon your mind. The reason most of your trip was ‘boring’ was because you could barely remember it. Even now your magic had yet to settle itself. You clenched your firsts together tightly just to keep a crackle of lightning or an inferno from surging out. 

“I mean it,” You managed a faint if strained laugh. “I doubt Varric would even use any of it for his writing.” 

Mentioning Varric reminded you that you’d have to actually ask him for a recap. 

“Nothing... bad happened did it? Nothing you’d want to leave out of reports?” 

Cullen was always dreadfully good at reading people -- something awful considering he himself could be impossible to read in comparison. 

A red hot searing pain pressed against your skin and you cringed, knowing it all too well. You clenched your jaw. “No! Nothing. Just uneventful.” 

“I didn’t think such a thing existed in Thedas,” Cullen muttered. “Especially wherever the Herald of Andraste went.” 

Your strained laugh didn’t help to assuage his suspicions. It was slow and heavy like your slowing footsteps on the cobblestone. “Miracles still happen I suppose!” 

Cullen reached for your hands and even beneath the thickness of his gloves he felt the warmth radiating off you. His eyes widened like saucers and his brows furrowed into a deep knot. “Maker’s breath, are you alright?” 

You wrenched your arm back as a sharp sting burst at his touch. Your feet staggered backward against the barrack wall and that split second in which your hands broke apart was all it took for your secret to be revealed. 

In an instant, an explosion of lightning crackled forth from your fingertips and a ripple of pain shot through your core. Your legs buckled beneath you and you folded your stomach over your hands as you hunched over, heaving and gasping from the small shocks still igniting. 

Anyone else would’ve run -- perhaps to find help or to shelter themselves. Yet Cullen, as you’d found, wasn’t like most others. 

He rushed after you and knelt down with an expression painted with panic and concern. Cullen perhaps best represented the definition of a worrier. 

“What’s happening? What can I do?” He looked over you frantically. His hands were stretched out but still utterly bewildered on just what to do. This wasn’t a blood mage revealing themself or a demon overtaking a vessel in a possession. This was you, his love, in pain and afraid. 

Whatever words you managed to sputter out were lost in a harrowing scream. Tears brimmed at the edge of your eyes and your heart had leaped to your throat. The only thing you could manage to do was look up at Cullen. It reminded Cullen how he couldn’t stand to be helpless. 

He wanted to do something. He had to do something, and so he did the only thing that came to mind. He held you.

He pulled you into his arms and gripped you tight. One could’ve thought you stood on the edge of disaster by his hold, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. 

When he held you, you felt the soft fur of his shroud and took in the smell of Skyhold’s garden and the thick smell of ink and parchment from all his reports and writings. He truly never stopped working, did he? 

The thought brought up a weary laugh. Your throat had gone hoarse from your yelling, leaving your shoulders heaving and dry breaths spilling out -- but for just a moment you laughed. In the next few seconds the pain would overwhelm you to such an extent that you’d pass out but even if only briefly, you knew relief. 

You later woke in your quarters, moonlight streaming through the windows and the faintest night breeze sweeping under your blankets. From the hall, you heard Cullen’s voice amid a few others, hushed and nervous until the door was shut. 

You hardly managed to sit up before realizing the weight hanging over your chest. Your lungs scrambled for a breath and each inch of yourself was wracked with discomfort. The pain you’d known was gone, at least. 

Cullen entered the room slowly but at the sight of you, he bolted to your bedside. “You’re up! How’re you feeling?” 

“About as expected,” You groaned. “Have you been here the whole time?” 

Cullen scoffed as if the answer were clear as glass. “Of course. Where else would I be?” 

“Well, didn’t you have others thing to do I-I didn’t mean to-” 

“Hush. I want to be here,” A grin cracked across his face. “It’s not like I’d rather be writing those damned reports anyway.” 

He paused, reaching his hand up to touch you but hesitated. You’d been in so much agony earlier. 

“Can I...?” 

You nodded and took Cullen’s hand to press against your cheek, sinking against his palm and all the grooves and healed over scars drawing his skin. 

You offered him a gentle smile, but a tinge still weighed upon Cullen’s shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” 

It was a question that warmed your heart. You pressed a small kiss to his palm, and all the pain of earlier felt so far away.

“I will be.” You murmured. “Would you stay until then?” 

It was a question that you both already knew the answer to. Still, Cullen nodded, saying a quiet ‘yes’. 

And if only a little bit, you already began to feel better.