#wraith the horse

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Tommy and Lucy's Pets

Just some images I've collected over time of their fur babies. You can find more details about each of them here.

Asher (Black Shepherd)

Mystery (Dappled Gray Horse)

Phantom (White Horse)

Sin (Chestnut Horse)

Trouble (Tortoiseshell Cat)

Wraith (Black Horse)

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Honestly love it when characters are just...really out of it but in a very specific way.

I love scenarios when someone's going through Some Crazy External Shit that's really extreme and traumatizing and draining and they're absolutely exhausted and their brain is just not in the right place & they're kind of seeing things.

Like okay if they're in an intense battle that's been going on for hours and they're bleeding and staggering and are still on their feet with adrenaline alone, but then they're hit badly again and kind of bleeding out and there's gunfire or lasers or magical explosions going on all around them and they're trying to stay conscious while also disassociating completely and when somebody grabs their injured body and starts to drag them from the battlefield they look up and all they can see are the shadowy arms of death before they pass out

Or someone on the run through a forest at night with a storm raging overhead, lightning threading through the sky and thunder booming with alarming volume, they're terrified and cold and certain either the storm will kill them or their pursuers will, and suddenly a lightning bolt strikes a tree near them and lights up the whole world for an instant, now there's fire and water and wind all around them at once and their ears are ringing and they're sure they must have already died somewhere in their chase

Anyway whumpees being in that panicked, adrenaline-ridden, in-bad-shape-in-a-multitude-of-ways state and then something just absolutely bonkers happens and they can't process it (usually followed pretty quickly by them losing consciousness either from exhaustion, cold, their injuries, or sheer panic)...just gets to me

[heavysass]

as much as i generally like the new reaper-sojourn interaction, as it is nice getting any ties of chase to the og overwatch team and knowing reyes had friends even when his reputation was on its lowest, it also makes the thing they are hellbent on avoiding so much more noticeable

why is one of overwatch's most notable critics, and in that probably one of the biggest haters of blackwatch and their deals, the one offering comfort to the worst offender? and not, you know, his best friend? one of the very few who are actively worried about him as far as current canon lore tells us? at least his protégé who is due to an actual confrontation with him? tbh /to me/ this interaction feels like it could've worked better with anyone else from the strike team, but exposition on why gabriel went to talon concerns jack and cassidy above all else

it genuinely is so strange seeing how connected characters all have something to say to each other even in the non-canon limbo that is in game interactions, but the gabriel-jack bond, which is one of the actual bases of the whole story, and which often shows up when these two are concerned in the extra lore content because it is pretty unavoidable to their characters, seems to be actively glossed over in game /where it actually matters/. they have mean rivalry kill chatter against each other and that is it. all you get is the knowledge soldier 76 is actively following reaper now, no reasons beyond taking talon down. if your only contact with overwatch is what is currently in game and the famous cinematics you could never guess their importance to each other's build up, when every other iconic duo, as ow is obsessed with yin-yang types, has at least some solid nods going on (sounds silly to people who care about any of this, but go check any lore explanation video comment section on youtube and see how many casuals are only vaguely aware of the lore through in game interactions and second hand word)

(it is awkward, since we are getting these little but thoughtful interactions scrapped off pve recently to half the cast. even OW1 never quite delivered anything big about their past but they had their familiarity. and i mean, they did talk to each other at least)

........on the other hand, that interaction is also fascinating because it makes code of violence even more of a bizarre tipping point. gabriel's, and not reaper's, aknowledgement of vivian's support and worry makes his choice of abandoning his friends, his family, his goddamn small child, to play a violent assassin terrorist so funny. this dialogue puts it quite plainly, it was an active choice. they keep painting him as more of a massive asshole or a complete rancorous dumbass with every new personal lore drop, the contrast to what we believed (or knew, before the change of writing direction) of noble gabriel reyes in the golden era up to retribution is almost surreal

[evilhorse]

Marvel Masterpieces cards #14: Blood Wraith

[theconjurervfx]

[autumnmobile12]

I have questions about this horse.

After the Dănești rider Marius was killed, why did the horse still go all the way to Alucard's castle? I'm not a horse expert, but don't horses who suddenly find themselves riderless usually just eventually head back to their safe place, in this case Dănești, instead of walking calmly to the rider's intended destination?

How did it guide the other refugees to Dănești? No one is holding the reins of that horse in that scene. It is literally leading people into the village. (The only explanation we get is Greta's, "That's a good horse.")

How did it find Trevor in the finale? Was it just ambling through the forest, unattended, and just happened across this half-alive guy and was like, "He looks important."

It might be lazy writing, but just for fun, I'm going to choose to believe the horse is one of the following:

It could maybe be a nod to the Lords of Shadow games where a forest spirit in the form of a mystical horse does play a minor role in the plot.

It's actually a human that was cursed to be a horse and is relatively okay with being a horse.

Or my personal favorite: It's actually one of Hector's...less decomposed pets from Season 2. It ran off when the fighting began and was later claimed by an unsuspecting Dănești villager. Under the radar reanimated horse corpse and no one suspects a thing.

[finalexpenses]

Why. are you a horse

[holy-shit-comics]

[nitewrighter]

The Knight of Frost, Part 2

Been playing a lot of Elden Ring and RDR2 and wouldn’t ya know it, it got me really inspired for this AU. 

Thinking about the inherent eroticism of running away hysterically screaming from Elden Ring bosses...

CW: For some Horse Body Horror.

Continued from The Knight of Frost

---

Mercy grew up as most girls from her time and place grew up--much as the people in her grandmother’s story grew: she knew long, harsh winters and bright, precious summers and springs, and autumns that seemed to cascade all at once in just a few short weeks. She grew taller than most girls, and with an odd grace and delicacy about her, unbowed by the drudgery of her day to day life. But there was a kindness at her core, perhaps fueled by that constant wrestling with the end of the story, the idea that out there was a knight trapped by a curse for no reason other than the strength of his heart and loyalty. She grew up cleverer than most in her village: with an excellent head for memorization that made her an ideal apprentice for the local midwife and apothecary, and steady hands that allowed her to learn to lance buboes and quickly take over the task for her teachers when gout gave a shake to their wrists and unsureness to their fingers.

 All this was paired with a no-nonsense personality that prompted little frustration from her teachers--they recalled beating her only three times--once when her daydreaming lead to idleness, another time when she directly contradicted them in front of a client, and a third time when they found she had been advising and examining in back alleys when her training was not yet complete but their clients had no coin for the apothecary’s consultation. The impressiveness of her fury and passion in defending herself in each case was only rivaled by the impressiveness of her stoicism as the birch met her backside. She was strong, and tall, and always just a little bit angry, like a lone evergreen in a dry place: needs that were not quite being met, but doing her best regardless.

 All the while as she grew, the winters seemed to get longer and longer, and leaner, as they started biting into what would have been planting time and wiping out seedlings with harsh spring frosts without warning. Mercy was 11 when most of those that farmed only grain and vegetables left their village in hopes of farming warmer climes, and when the grain left, the alehouse quickly went quiet and mean. Still the village stumbled on. For a while Mercy and her grandmother managed--the sheep of their farm still managing to find gorse and dried grass amid the frost, but even they grew leaner, gave less milk, birthed fewer lambs. The village was valuable enough to travelers going through the mountains for them sustain themselves on trade for a bit. They traded cheese and wool for wheat and barley, and Mercy honed her craft healing travelers’ injuries and even acting as midwife for a birth or two. But soon those creeping winters discouraged more and more travelers from their pass, soon, what reserve supplies there were in the village dwindled, and what few people remained were more or less planning out their own timelines of leaving themselves.

 Eventually Mercy and her own Grandmother had to plan for their own departure from the village, and Mercy’s grandmother’s plan amounted to “leave me to die here, I don’t care.” which of course Mercy would not accept, and that’s how Mercy ended up furiously pushing her grandmother in a wheelbarrow down the mountainside, her shepherd’s crook strapped to her back, with the entire flock of sheep in tow, bellwether bells clanking. Still determined, still just a little bit angry, and bright as a flame, her scarlet cloak billowing and pale hair whipping in the wind, and their very own snowy cascade thundering and baaaa-ing down the mountain.

They settled in a new town in the valley, sold most of their sheep for a new house, even got their footing by reuniting with some of their old neighbors. Mercy found work bonesetting, boil lancing, pulling teeth, mixing medicines, and midwifing, her grandmother focused on spinning wool from the three sheep that remained and keeping their little garden in her old age, and for a while, they were content. Mercy found even more business as more people settled into the town, driven out of their own remote villages by the cold same as her and her grandmother. She got a few offers of marriage, but her grandmother ended up scaring most of them off demanding a higher dowry, and eventually her own age got people to muttering and the offers quickly died down. She didn’t mind. Mercy was pleased to hone her skill more, and it was all she could do to let the busyness all her new customers lent her keep out the dread of more people pouring into the valley all the time--her apothecary jars and shelves getting barer and barer as she struggled to treat the influx of people. Also, deeply, quietly, Mercy and her Grandmother missed the grand vistas of their mountain village, and this town was decidedly smellier than that wide open mountain air, but it was a good enough life. 

Until the winter found them once again. Curling around the mountain peaks that framed their little town and sinking slow and cold into their valley with every sunset. Nervous mutterings rose up around town as frosts wiped out seedlings and travelers spoke of more routes through the mountains closing up and becoming too dangerous to traverse. Whenever the door would open at the ale house a freezing wind would rip through.

“It’s not right. Not natural. Something has to be done,” someone would mutter into their ale.

“How is wind unnatural? And how does one expect to do anything against wind and winter?” another would reply.

“It’s the old empress’s curse,” another would murmur, “The one from the legends.”

“Well how does one expect to do anything against the long-dead and consigned to legend, Bartleby? Answer me that!” said the second. And that would usually be the end of it. But one night, when Mercy was drinking away the memory of a particularly nasty boil-lancing, a new voice spoke up. 

“You could investigate,” the new voice drawled, and Mercy’s eyes flicked away from the foam of her own ale, her eyes falling on a tall figure in a wide-brimmed brown hat, “You head into the cold, you might be able to see what’s causing it. I’ve a right mind to gather several men and do just that.”

Mercy rolled her eyes and sipped her ale.

“And waste food and supplies on what may very well be a death wish?” the second villager, one of Mercy’s own displaced neighbors, scoffed a chuckle, “You travelers are always mad.”

“Maybe,” the man in the wide-brimmed hat conceded, “But... here’s the way I see it-- We go off on this trip, maybe we find out what’s making the winters the way they are, and we stop it, not promising anything like that, but if such an opportunity arises, you can be damn well sure we’ll take it. But ultimately, the goal here is to break through the old main pass to get to the capital city. From there, we re-supply, and come back here with food, more warm clothes, and, if everything’s gotten too bad... a safe way through the pass to greener pastures.”

Mercy’s mouth quirked at this. She hadn’t really thought of what moving again would look like. She could push her grandmother downhill in a wheelbarrow but finding a way out of the valley? When every path would be uphill? She sipped again, tentatively. If they made it to the capital city, she could re-stock on all the items she couldn’t forage here. Could she really trust such a retrieval to some errand boy?

“All I’d need is a handful of volunteers..” the man in the wide-brimmed hat said slowly, but everyone in the tavern gave him a visible cold shoulder.

Mercy gave a short huff into her mug before turning around to look at him.

“Would you be willing to pay for such a trip yourself?” she asked.

“It is in my interest, just as it is in everyone else’s interests, that those trade routes reopen. I have a bit of coin, I’ll pay for what supplies I can, but I know I can’t do this alone.”

Mercy thoughtfully drained the last of her ale in two gulps and set her mug on the wood of the bar. “I have need of supplies that can only be found out of this cold,” she said, not looking at him, “Is your expedition to be exclusively men?”

“I just figured only men were mad enough to go,” the man in the hat shrugged, “Is this volunteering?”

Mercy pressed her lips together. “Would I be the first?”

“The fourth,” his hat flopped a little with the conceding bob of his head, “But I can’t afford dead weight.” 

“Do you have a healer among you?”

“There’s Baptiste, but he’s a sellsword. I fear his knowledge of healing comes from just as much as what kills you.”

“You wound me, my friend!” a dark man with a bright smile called from the other end of the bar.

“Miss Mercy, surely you aren’t considering traveling with this vagrant!” one the tavern patrons touched her sleeve.

“Supplies are dwindling,” was all Mercy could reply. She looked back at the stranger in the wide-brimmed brown hat with a stern determination. “I’m trained in herbalism, midwifing, bonesetting, and several disciplines of barber-surgery. I don’t eat much and I have a strong back. Is that good enough?”

“Eh--” it took a moment for the man in the hat to regain his composure, “Y-yes, It’ll suffice.” 

“Then I’m coming with you,” she stuck a hand out, “Mercy Goatsrue, at your service.” 

“Cole Caisede, miss,” he clasped her wrist with his opposite hand and shook it, “At your service.”

--

In truth it took some convincing for her grandmother to let her go. And even then it was like “Go ahead, leave me to die!” and Mercy could only respond with, “You won’t die so long as there’s any opportunity to spite me further,” and her grandmother replied, “So you’d better not die then, you damned foolish girl!” And that was about as warm a goodbye as either of them would get. It was dark and very early in the morning when the party departed up the main path out of the valley. Mercy in her scarlet cloak, Cole Caisede looking every bit the rugged mountaineer in his hat and cloak, smiling, knowing Baptiste donning a veritable hodgepodge of clothes from different lands, and a towheaded man with wind-blistered skin who only tersely introduced himself as Bayless who provided two scrawny mules and a wagon for their supplies. It was far too early in the morning for there to be many people seeing them off, and much of the village thought the expedition was too mad to see them off with fanfare. It was quiet and gray, with slow-drifting flakes peppering the air. The path out of the village lead to an incline that started reasonably, but soon had to split into rocky, tedious switchbacks that took some convincing to move the mules along. It took them a day to reach halfway up the bowl of the valley, and they spent the first night trying to find and point out their houses and farms and the different landmarks below.

Finally, when they crested the lip of the valley, Mercy drew in a breath of the still and sparkling air. It was brighter up here, with the valley so prone to the shadows of its own walls and all the sinking cold and darkness that came with it, but that brightness did not mean warmth. Still, it was heartening for the party to feel such light as they had not known in some time. Baptiste scanned the skies, the seeming endless void of blue, the light itself rendered strange by a dazzling ring of light around the sun.

"...no birds," he said, as they pushed on through the snow.

"No seeds or bugs to eat," Mercy huffed. Her skirts had been kirtled and kilted to just below the knee, covering the tops of her boots and further insulating her wooly leggings, but the weight and wind forced her towards the back of the party. For several days the party trudged on, saying little, putting all physical and mental energy towards the seemingly endless trek forward, making camp and eating thin soups of barley and dried mushrooms by night, with their own exhaustion prompting little conversation. Eventually the gradual lightening of their packs, the long hours together, and their own adjustment to the toil of their journey prompted more words.

"Do you give any credence to those 'curse' whispers?" Cole asked as he poked at their campfire one night.

"My grandmother told me the story all the time when I was small," said Mercy, scraping up the last now-cold dregs of her soup, “It always frustrated me that it... always felt unfinished... but it feels dangerous to walk into a story that isn’t your own.”

"My logic has always been, the more thought one gives to a curse, the more power a curse has," said Baptiste, running his knife along a whetstone.

"But it ain't natural, we're in agreement there, right?" Cole propped his forearm up on his knee.

"Wasn't this whole expedition your idea?" Mercy set her bowl down and drew up her flannels around herself. 

"Well if the curse is real, that doesn't mean I'm just going to sit down and take it," said Cole, "But the quality of the light up here...the stillness, I must say it lends itself to queer thoughts and fancies."

"You are already naturally given to queer thoughts and fancies, my friend," said Baptiste, not looking at him but giving a lazy wave of his knife in Cole's direction.

Cole gave a wry, smiling huff at that, his breath fogging in the firelight. 

There was a braying and nickering and the three of them all glanced at Bayless, who was tending to the mules. Bayless was muttering things to them, not audible over the wind and the crackle of the fire.

“Everything all right over there?” Cole called.

“They mislike it here,” was all Bayless said, coming over to the fire.  

“Hm...” Cole poked at the fire, then glanced up at Mercy, “Goatsrue. You said you know the story?” he glanced up at Mercy.

“I can’t tell it like my grandmother,” Mercy shrugged.

“Tell it anyway,” said Cole.

“Cole...” Baptiste began warily.

“What? Maybe we oughta know what we’re walking into.”

“And sometimes to know a thing is to call its attention to you,” said Baptiste.

“You know, when you travel, you’re supposed to just nod politely at the local superstitions and move along--not carry them with you,” said Cole.

“It’s just a children’s story,” Mercy waved her hand, “It’s really not so terrible. I mean the giant spiders scared me but--”

“Giant spiders? Well now you can’t not tell it!” 

Mercy snorted and glanced at Baptiste, who simply gave a resigned shrug, and then she told the story. The mules fell silent as she spoke, and she told herself it was just that their own tiredness had finally overwhelmed their unease. Mercy scanned the faces of her not-quite companions, then. Bayless had finished his soup and tucked into his own blankets, Baptiste kept sharpening his knife as the fire died down, not heavily indicating that he was listening, but giving her a careful glance here and there. Cole rubbed at his stubble and listened intently, sometimes popping in with the odd question as she had done with her grandmother in her childhood. The fire had settled down to embers and Baptiste and Bayless had tucked into their own sleep rolls  by the time she finished.

“There weren’t as many giant spiders as I thought there would be,” said Cole.

“I said it had spiders, I didn’t say the whole thing was giant spiders.”

“...not exactly a happy ending, is it?” Cole was wriggling into his own sleep roll. 

“My grandmother said it wasn’t really about having a happy ending,” replied Mercy, watching the embers, “It was about doing your best even when all hope seems lost.”

“Sounds like a cheery lady,” Cole shrugged.

“I like to think the princess grew up and came back to rescue the knight,” Mercy murmured.

“Hmm... But if she had... do you think we’d be having these winters?” Cole waved a finger at her.

Mercy pursed her lips at him a few seconds before muttering, “It’s just a story,” and getting into her own sleep roll. She watched the embers as sleep closed up around her like flower petals she had not seen in well over a year.

Cole was right about the land lending itself to strange thoughts though, as her dreams were troubling and just a little too clear to simply be dreams. She dreamt of a blue-skinned hand with blackened, claw-like fingertips crushing a little corn husk doll in its grip. She dreamt of frost bristling along spider’s webs, of spikes and twisted spires of ice, growing, growing, closing in around her. And the sounds--she could hear those uncanny sounds, the low thundering, the cracks and zips and high-pitched creaks of water freezing over. Of icicle stalactites quivering above, threatening to fall as a distant chant grew louder and louder.

The cold keeps the flesh.

The cold keeps the flesh.

The cold keeps the flesh.

In her dream she was walking through that cave, the spikes and spires moving, as if leading her on through the tunnels. Her eyes fixed on the quivering stalactites above, the chant moving through the ice, echoing off the walls too strangely for her to gauge where it was coming from. They quivered with the chant. 

The cold keeps the flesh.

The cold keeps the flesh.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to react when that first icicle fell, much like anyone’s reaction time in a dream. A part of her was thankful that shatter and spray of ice in all directions was a shock enough to spring her back to consciousness, jerking awake in her sleep roll, her breath fogging as her chest rapidly rose and fell. Her eyes flicked around the camp--there was still the faint glow of embers on their fire, and the faint snoring of her compatriots, and just beyond the camp, the white landscape tinged blue by moon and starlight. She scanned the hills surrounding them, the way their crags had been buffed away beneath a blanket of snow, and that snow had been swept into smooth, curving, sometimes spiked looming shapes. She breathed as she looked around, trying to place herself in the moment.

You are on a quest. You have to cross the mountain pass and bring word of this winter to the capital city and plead for help. You need supplies to bring back to the valley. Yarrow and betony and hyssop and--

Her thoughts fell dead silent as her eyes fell on a distant figure on a hill, and she knew, in that moment that the figure was looking at her. She knew her own face as lit up in the dying embers of the fire, her head covered by that hood of scarlet for warmth, and she looked at this figure, distant and cold in all ways. They were in armor, dark and glittering and complex, taking on a bluish tinge in the moonlight much like the snow. Far too tight on them to glance off blows like normal plate. She wondered how they had even managed to get such armor on. In fact, there were ridges on the side that looked almost... skeletal. She could not see their eyes, but she could feel them, and her breath shuddered in her throat. 

 They seemed to be on a horse. An unusually large and oddly muscled horse, to be sure. Nothing like the tired but reliable old farm horses she knew in the valley. The eyes of the horse seemed off. She knew of the way animal’s eyes could be lit at night but there was a dullness to their paleness that made her stomach turn. The coloring of the horse seemed off as well--it seemed a piebald at first or perhaps that was the manner of tack in these parts?  No, they weren’t so far from the valley for it to look so--

The horse shifted slightly in the moonlight and a sound of horror fell out of her as she clamped her hand over her mouth on instinct. But what was the point? This figure already saw her. And she herself could not break her eyes away from them in turn. But the horse--the horse was not made of all a horse should be made of. She had read enough medical texts and done enough surgeries on suppurated flesh to know it when the horse’s flank caught the moonlight. This was a horse whose flank and back left leg had been reconstructed from the corpses of men. The chant echoed in her head:

The cold keeps the flesh.

Bile burned the back of her throat and tears welled in her eyes but she knew she could not spare either so she kept her hand clamped on her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut and silently begged what gods were watching to wake her up once more.

“Goatsrue?!” Cole had jerked awake at the sound she had made, “What is it? What do you see?!”

Her hand flinched away from her mouth shaking and she moved to point at the hill, but the figure and their horse were already gone.

[meggyreap]

If I were to do a mini occult-themed bachelorette challenge with Camila here would anyone be interested in participating?

[s4wyersart]

when i was a kid my grandpa was a great depression survivor and he wouldn't waste ANY amount of food so he taught me i had to eat the apple core and i started eating the whole apple in grade school and the kids called me horse boy

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Wraith

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Breed: Friesian horse

Gender: Male

Personality: Temperamental, distrusting, standoffish, protective, secretly very affectionate

A black stallion with a temper, Wraith was acquired by Tommy shortly after his return from war. Originally, Wraith was going to be put down due to his temperament making him too difficult for his owners to handle, but Tommy purchased and worked with him daily until Wraith grew to trust him. It was always Tommy's suspicion that Wraith was abused at his previous home, which resulted in the behavioral issues. Outside of Tommy and Lucy, Wraith forever remained standoffish to most people, and was known to rear when carrying unfamiliar riders, or even trying to bite or kick strangers, but he had a notable soft spot for Tommy, Lucy, and the other horses in the stable. He was Tommy's favorite horse to ride, and the one he had the closest bond with. Wraith was the strongest and biggest of all the horses in the stables.

Main Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Thank you for viewing! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[keycomicbooks]

ROM Spaceknight #1 (1979) Frank Miller and Joe Rubinstein Cover, Bill Mantlo Story, Sal Buscema & John Romita Jr. Pencils, 1st Appearance of ROM, Spaceknights, Brandy Clark & Dire Wraiths

#ROM #Spaceknight #1 (1979) #FrankMiller and #JoeRubinstein Cover, #BillMantlo Story, #SalBuscema & #JohnRomitaJr. Pencils, 1st Appearance of ROM, Spaceknights, Brandy Clark & Dire Wraiths "Arrival!" Rom arrives on Earth and encounters Brandy Clark for the first time, saving her from a car crash on the highway. https://www.rarecomicbooks.fashionablewebs.com/ROM.html#1 @rarecomicbooks Website Link In Bio Page If Applicable. SAVE ON SHIPPING COST - NOW AVAILABLE FOR LOCAL PICK UP IN DELTONA, FLORIDA #RareComicBooks #KeyComicBooks #MCU #MarvelComics #MarvelUniverse #KeyComic #ComicBooks

[spookyfoxdreamer]

[felassan]

it looks like quite a few of the Dragon Age 'extended' (books, comics) etc materials are discounted on Amazon at the moment. I don't know if it's a DA-specific thing or a general sale, but anyways, in case this helps anyone:

Dragon Age: The First Five Graphic Novels - $29.99 $23.34 (22% off)

Dragon Age: The World of Thedas Boxed Set - $59.99 $35.99 (40% off)

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights - $19.99 $13.39 (33% off)

Dragon Age: The Missing - $19.99 $16.00 (20% off)

Dragon Age: The Official Cookbook: Taste of Thedas - $34.99 $23.08 (34% off)

Dragon Age: Wraiths of Tevinter - $39.99 $23.49 (41% off)

Dark Horse Deluxe Dragon Age: World of Thedas Map Puzzle, Multicolor - $19.99 $16.91 (15% off)

Dragon Age: Dark Fortress - $19.99 $17.05 (15% off)

Dragon Age: Blue Wraith - $17.99 $15.59 (13% off)

The Art of Dragon Age: Inquisition - $49.99 $25.49 (49% off)

 Dragon Age: The World of Thedas Volume 1 - $49.99 $29.50 (41% off)

Dragon Age: Dawn of the Seeker [Blu-ray] - $14.98 $8.00 (47% off)

Dragon Age: Dawn of the Seeker DVD - $9.98 $6.29 (37% off)

Dragon Age: The World of Thedas Volume 2 - $49.99 $28.62 (43% off)

Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne - $19.99 $15.27 (24% off)

Dragon Age: Asunder: Asunder - $20.99 $12.66 (40% off)

Dragon Age: The Calling - $21.99 $11.69 (47% off)

(still worth checking other outlets though in case you can get them for better prices there, this post isn't meant as a 'this is the cheapest place to get them right now, post, it's just a 'I noticed these were all discounted for whatever reason on Amazon' post).

[radiance1]

Master List

King of the Blob Ghosts - Mostly flavor text where Danny is the only king of the Blob ghosts. Au not tied in with Ghost King or Ghost Prince hc unless specified.

Goo Dragon - An au where Danny is a goo dragon made entirely of ectoplasm!

Blind King - Danny is blinded by the portal incident, gets adopted by blob ghosts, and then falls into DC and ices over an entire section of a city.

Infinity Prince and the Dark Escapee - Where Danny gets prince training and then has to hunt down Dark Danny because he escaped.(Small thanks to @starlightcat04 and @lauwftzee3542 for ze name)

Cat Familia - Where Danny gets turned into a cat by pissing off a wizard, and accidentally adopts various cats in Gotham!

Tempest - Danny owns a ship called Tempest that he created that he uses to sail through time. Then he accidentally jumps timestreams.

Moth - Where Danny is de-aged and is a moth boy.

Moth - But with Killer Moth.

Eastern Dragon - Danny is the ghost prince and can turn into an eastern dragon.

Cuddly Apocalypse - Teddy Bear Danny au meets one Dark Danny.

Interdimensional Mini Occult Detective - De-aged Tucker gets thrown to another dimension after getting caught lacking by the magical government branch he was looking into.

Herald of Seasons - Danny obtains the ability to guide the seasons when he was split off from .Phantom while still having Vortex's powers

Vortex's lil guy - Soulless Danny gets taken by Vortex and is his little guy.

??? - Phantom causes a ruckus in DC after getting into it and him and Danny fight or something.

Sold to the devil? Nah, sold to the bear - Constantine sells his soul to the Ghost Prince, and is then turned into a baby sitter by the Ghost King.

Demon and Wraith - Demon twins au where both of them are dancers.

Sun and Moon - Based on an older au where Danny and Vlad were deities.

Successor in training - Ghost King Danny except he isn't and Pariah is his mentor.

Just Monika - DDLC is installed on Tucker's PDA somehow and he dates Monika.

Subject M-0001 - Monika hacks into Mount Justice.

Subject Omega - Danny's most perfect clone protects the ruins of Amity Park.

Medic - Danny be a doctor in Gotham.

??? - Pariah Dark just disappears and it's left to Danny and Vlad to find him.

Eastern Dragon and Phoenix au - Mostly a cosmetic au, where Danny is an Eastern Dragon and Vlad is a Pheonix.

Ghost King/Ghost Prince and Duke of the Ghost Zone - Mostly just flavor text really, Danny is usually more Ghost Prince than King and Vlad is the Duke.

Phoenix King Vlad - Exactly as it says, Vlad is either one of or the king of phoenixes

Kawmi? - Where Vlad and Danny get transformed into magical jewelry that allows others to use their powers.

Fountain Dragon - Danny drops in the Wayne Manor Fountain.

Will of the Wisp - Where Danny gets turned into a tiny whisp because of one of his parents inventions.

??? - Jack gets thrown to the DC dimension alongside Danny and made a coffin for Danny to sleep in during ze day.

??? - The Ghost King gets summoned to DC and wages war, but the Ghost Prince stops said war and gets a date out of it.

Teddy Bear Danny - Another cosmetic au where Danny get turned into a stuffed teddy bear in his accident, he was holding onto one before it happened. He's also in ranges of 5-10 here.

Ghost King at birth, Farmer at heart - Mostly cosmetic au where Pariah Dark, if he weren't the ghost king, would be a farmer and he has an intense love for horses.

Farmer with quite the ghostly (and kingly) secret - Pariah Dark disguises himself as a human and moves into Smallville, has a hard time interacting with humans and humaning as a whole.

Life hanging by tape and sheer will - Where Tucker gets yeeted to the DC dimension.

Dream pals? Dream pals! - Younger Danny and pre-Batman Bruce meet each other through a dream, unfortunately when Danny experienced his accident that connection was shut down.

Bakery and a masquerading demon? - Vlad owns a bakery, Constantine is a regular who holds suspicions that Vlad may or may not be a demon.

Gift in the arms of tragedy - Danny becomes Vlad's ward after the Nasty Burger explosion, only to then become adopted when he was turned into an eight-year-old not even a week later.

??? - Danny and Vlad get turned into kids by Clockwork and placed in the DC dimension because Clockwork thought it was funny. Danny decides to use Vlad to not get adopted.

The key(s) to Doomsday - Danny gets de-aged by Clockwork when going to visit Pariah in the human world, gets summoned, and meets Raven.

Alicorn parole - Pariah gets released from his eternal rest with the sole condition that he's to be watched over by Clockwork. The Ancient of War then decides to combine two mythical beasts and shaped himself into an alicorn, Clockwork followed and then they met Billy Batson.

Ferret Danny - Danny is a ferret. That's it.

Witch - Sam is a witch.

Dead eyed Doctor - Danny, the son of Talia Al Ghul and Jack Fenton, trained under Vlad Masters and became a doctor.

Shadow Twin? Shadow Twin. - Danny dies and reincarnates as the son of Talia Al Ghul, the younger brother and twin of Damian Wayne and son of Batman. Only to then be killed immediately after because he was born with a birth defect, thus becoming a shadow creature that follows Damian around.

Match and Danny - Danny reincarnates into the body of a clone of Superman and Wonder Woman, steals Match and then becomes Metropolis cryptids. Also check out this fic it's great!!!!!