#and its all sunder's fault

[n1ghtwarden]

also reeling w the fact that the underdark book in bg3 on lolth's lie and what we do know of yvonnel the eternal implies she was one of lolth's first cultists; and one of the last drow who held any knowledge of their past culture of the ilythiir empire(which was theirs prior to the sundering and the destruction of their texts and cities by surface elves)/dark elves. it died when yvonnel did - though snippets of it likely live on in both quenthel and yvonnel ii's heads.

[evilevilevilnotevilevilagain]

Null. You were expecting. A daughter \ a son \ a symbol. I came as a black mold and drove you all out. Your final mercy came by way of not staining my memory with your presence. Da boch chi. One. You wanted to be one of us, but could not run as we do. Your knees would not bend. Your hands would not become tools. Doomed to walk upright, you turned to the skies, became our god. You marveled at our fangs snapping just below your feet. My savagery your favorite amongst them. You thought yourself above it all up on your cloud. Untouchable? See how high I jump. Two. A wounded beast is most desirable when all its gratitude is turned to you alone. Center of my world.  Did you love my scars most of all? You could have kept on fixing me all your life, you know. Tell me what is best for me. I fear I disagree. Three. You let me come to you when I felt it right. This trust was years in the making. You wished to teach me. A new trick. I fell back on my old ways. Now we'll never know what is it that you wanted of me. Four. My brother. There are no other words left to speak.

[thepsychonyx]

The Dagger is a representation of Solas Duty and Trauma

DRAGON AGE THE VEILGUARD SPOILERS AHEAD

I believe the dagger being left behind in Redemption endings symbolise Solas finally being freed of his duty & trauma whilst non-redemption endings force that pain to go with him. The dagger reminds him all he lost & sacrificed vs in Redemption he is free and regains his autonomy.

Before anyone yells at me that this is a reach, I get it- but walk with me. The dagger was commissioned by Mythal, he was against its creation and against its purpose to sunder the Titans, it was also used to kill Mythal and is essentially a symbol of all of Solas' original sins

Though some of us agree that none of these things sit solely on his head, they do sit on his conscience.

The grief of having a part of your autonomy irreversibly altered as they did with the Titans is a reflection of how he was forever condemned to himself. His one salve? Duty.

I've never thought Mythal's words in the Redemption endings were an indication of him prizing her affection above the chance Rook gave or Lavellan's pleading, she mutilated his spirit and perverted his purpose. For which, her taking accountability unbinds him of the emotional and mental toll. This is only one aspect of why the dagger is key to redemption. The important thing is he needed to be freed of his duty, he feels he has gone too far and taken too much. He knows the price has been too high and that is why he wants to be stopped, one way or another. Hence leaving hints for Inquisitor and Varric, as well as stating to Rook he fears becoming like Elgar'nan, too powerful with no one to check him. He never wanted to be this, and he is ready to die. Solas is exhausted of what this duty has taken from him as it has costed him everything.

Crucially, freeing him from his duty finally allows him to let go of the purpose he made himself physical for. He was brought into the world to give her wisdom, wisdom she denied and without her to unbind, his reason for being physical is left to trying to heal the wounds he made.

In DAI, if you drink from the Well, thus putting you into Mythals service, Solas is incredibly angry for valid reason. He just watched you make the same error he did!

He bears these words so heavily because this is also the burden he bears - he is stuck in the cycle of what this duty demands of him.

Solas asks you what will you do after Corypheus and he only *Approves* if you say "I'll restore what was" - he associates bettering the world with undoing the condition his actions have forced it into.

"You honor the past and work to recover what was lost, even if the cost is high." It is not all about Mythal, it is about fixing his biggest mistakes and restoring the world to what he, someone duty bound to the people for causing the problems, took away from *everyone.*

He knows the cost is high, that's why he wants to be stopped. That's why he leaves hints for Inquisitor. It's why he says to a friend, "I would treasure the chance to be wrong again" - he just cannot see another way because he is bound by his purpose for why he entered the world.

This is why the Trick ending also works because it forced Solas to see another way to atone, but the dagger - the grief and trauma - goes with him. The bad ending is him completely forced (stabbed) into becoming a manifestation of pride. His duty completely corrupting his values.

Whilst the Redemption ending is the most fulfilling as it finally let's him allow himself to let go. He is forgiven, for the first time ever by his friend or true love, he is absolved of the burdens and duty that haunted him, he is given the wisdom he has always been denied.

Someone who only wanted to free others finally being freed themselves, who endeavoured to unshackle the chains of others finally being unbound of his own, isn't that a beautiful ending? He is just a man, a faulted haunted man who did his best and I think that is worth something.

The beautiful thing, is with the Solavellan ending, Inquisitor Lavellan gives him more than just atonement to live for. Bereft of his original purpose of bestowing wisdom as he has confined himself to atone, she posits a new purpose. Their love, eternally, will be their new fate. He will never be alone again, and together work towards his new purpose. For a man who was enslaved by a friend (he wore Mythal's valaslin!) who used him and ignored him, to be given salvation from the love of his life who listened to him and wants to be beside him through everything - I cannot imagine a better conclusion and retirement from his Duty and the first crucial step into healing from his Trauma.

(Ignore me in the corner teary eyed lol)

This post by Trick states that the endings with the dagger mean it’ll be harder for him mentally to become free - it may be a simple association that no dagger = redemption, but this is DA it has to mean more. At least, it does to me.

[syndrossi]

Interaction Canon! Rhaegar and Daemon. It could be at the Trident, or when Daemon's "ghost" comes to Aegon's cradle, or whatever, but the POV of Canon!Rhaegar

Well, since the New Year is a hopeful time, I opted for the "Daemon finds himself literally/physically at the Battle of the Trident" version of this...

Enjoy these 100-ish (*mumble* 1200-ish *mumble*) words...

x~x~x

The tepid waters of the Trident at its lowest crossing had a choked stench to them even when they weren’t red with the blood and bile of lives spent needlessly. And as much as Rhaegar blamed his father’s cruelty, honed to a deadly edge by the horrors he suffered at Duskendale, his own foolish heart was equally at fault.

Not for loving Lyanna. There was nothing foolish about that. But in thinking he might concentrate his father’s fury on himself alone by eloping in secret, trusting that for all his paranoia, he would not kill his own firstborn.

He had not counted that Lyanna’s brother would march upon King’s Landing, nor their father after him. That they would challenge the king, or that his father would extend his notion of protection to Rhaegar when they demanded his head with such perfect malice.

And thus the Warden of the North and his heir had been executed in a fashion that would turn the steeliest of stomachs, and the realm had sundered. The enemy hungered for blood in return for that which had been spilt. Ned Stark for his fallen kin, and his missing sister. Robert Baratheon for the insult of having his betrothed stolen away.

A threat awaits us that is far greater than a mad king, he wanted to shout at the clash of men around him, except that it too would be taken as madness. The darkness that had plagued his dreams for as long as he could remember, death stretching icy fingers across the realm to bring the eternal night.

Only dragons could stave off the threat, and for all that he had thought that he might be the one to waken them, his efforts thus far had been in vain.

And even that failure would not matter if he could not hold back this rebellion.

Rhaegar’s sword arm moved instinctively to parry the blade of the man who had made it through the line of knights defending him, and he struck just as quickly to take advantage of the man’s sloppy guard, blade finding the soft flesh of his gut. He stepped back, letting the body fall backward rather than exhaust energy trying to fling it off the blade himself.

He scanned the battlefield once more. Earlier, he had caught sight of the massive stag antlers that decorated his cousin’s helm, and he knew that he hunted him most hungrily.

We could end it, he and I. Not the war, perhaps, but this battle. A single combat, a single life spent, and thousands spared for it.

It was never that simple, of course, or that clean. Rhaegar had learned that lesson early on. A battle did not end at one particular moment. The killing continued for a time after, even in the most disciplined of armies.

Rhaegar spotted his cousin’s imposing outline first, and then the shadow. The sky was half-filled with clouds, meaning that most of the battlefield before him was shaded from the sun, but atop that shadow came a deeper one, moving across the host of men with far too much speed to be natural.

Rhaegar looked up and stopped breathing for a moment. Above them, a great winged shape, red of scale, circled the battlefield—enormous, its long neck turning to and fro. The sounds of battle seemed to deaden, and it was not merely his hearing. Men lowered their weapons, heads craning upward at a sight no one had seen in centuries.

Rhaegar was staring at the tiny figure he could see on the dragon’s back, a dark shape that grew larger as the dragon came closer. He could swear that he saw the figure’s head lock upon him, and then turn toward the Baratheon host.

The dragon swooped, this time with intent, no longer seeking. Flame erupted from its mouth, a blinding gout of white and red that tore through the opposing army to the sound of screaming.

“Back!” Rhaegar called out, frantically seeking the attention of the knights around him, who began spreading the message. “Disengage!”

His army had already started to move instinctively, and although there was haste to their motion, it was nothing beside the chaos of the Baratheon host. A few pockets of order toward the back of it targeted the dragon with bows, but they were themselves chosen for the dragon’s next pass.

A hand found his arm, and Rhaegar nearly stabbed at it on instinct, before realizing that it was Ser Barristan, and that the knight had the shaft of an arrow embedded in his shoulder. He let the Kingsguard shield him from the stray arrows falling as they fell back.

The dragon continued its assault, even as his cousin’s forces tried to retreat. Stop, he wanted to shout up at it. It is over! But the dragon possessed a fury that could not be quenched. It was not until he saw it make a deep dive and emerge with the shape of a man in a stag’s helm between its teeth, biting down with a great roaring gout of flame, that it seemed to calm at last.

Robert’s men were in full flight, not a Baratheon banner intact. In the distance, he could see a few banners of House Stark still waving, and he prayed that Lyanna’s other brothers had survived the dragon’s fury. My family has already visited so much sorrow upon her.

The beat of the dragon’s wings began to slow, its destination plain: the edge of Rhaegar’s own forces. The men, thankfully recognizing the dragon as an ally, albeit a strange one, did not move as it came to land with a quiet thud on the soft earth near the riverbank.

The figure riding it dismounted, wearing black armor and a winged helm not entirely unlike his own. “Rhaegar!” he called, removing his helmet to reveal long, silver-blond hair like his. “Where is my son?”

All heads seemed to turn to Rhaegar, who stared, unable to comprehend the man’s words. The man followed their gaze, and he broke into a run. Rhaegar had to wave Ser Barristan back as the man neared, and barely had time to brace himself as hands grasped Rhaegar’s own helm to rip it free.

The man who stared into his eyes looked like he could be his father, but not Aerys. In his prime, his father had been a broad-shouldered man of similar height, clean-faced and handsome, but he had never gazed upon Rhaegar with such joy and relief, his eyes a color more like his own than Aerys’s pale lilac.

“Rhaegar,” he breathed, pulling him into a nearly crushing embrace. “What happened? Where is your brother? He is not at the Wall, is he?”

The face of the man’s dragon peeked over his shoulder at Rhaegar, still wrapped up in the embrace, and he raised a hand in wonder that the dragon snuffed before its eyes slitted in approval, as though recognizing kin.

The man pulled back after a moment, and Rhaegar recognized the hilt sheathed at his side from paintings of centuries past. Dark Sister.

He stared at the man once more, utterly mystified, feeling as though he had stepped into a dream. “Who are you?”

[saltynsassy31]

hello, tis i the crab from the archive comment hfoiwjfiow anyway its been a few days but i finally got around to it!!!!!!!! yes!!! i would so love to hear your thoughts

Oh my god, I saw your ask right before I went to bed and completely forgot to answer when I woke up XD

Before I go off, context to the audiance: This lovely person is the writer for this AMAZING fanfic called "Reforged" on ao3. It's basically the scene where Rodimus goes to talk and apologise to Drift right before they have to fight the D.J.D. but it expands upon it, making them have a longer conversation over it and getting a deeper look on Drift's thoughts as well as - in my opinion - more sincere apology on Rodimus' end. And I tell you all to go read it because I have made it my personal canon, when I talk bout this scene, I want everyone to know that this is what happened in my head, this is what I'll be referring to and will most likely be present in future aus XD and I promised to go on a rant about it, so here I am.

Ahem, anyway

On to my feelings about this whole thing

I already described pretty much how much I LOVE this fic, but I thought to give it a reread and make more proper notes because it deserves it.

Although I am far from reaching this point of the comics (for those unaware, I have FINALLY started to read MTMTE with my friends. The call lasted for 3 and a half and we only reached till #5... yeah, so progress is slow), I have read some scattered pages and random issue I found myself more interested in reading and was too impatient for until we got there (like the Swearth arc. Though I have also read the Sunder arc for fanfic reasons), and other random issues to give me context for certain fics.

Least to say, I am vaguely familiar with the events. Would like to mention I also read the Wiki a lot, even for stuff I hadn't yet read. So I like to think I am not as uninformed when it comes to MTMTE.

All this to say, I end up being kind of nitpicky when it comes to fanfic. If things start to feel OOC, it easily turns me off. Not that I don't still indulge in the content, but it can be really hard, and there are only very specific circunstances where it might actually be a plus.

Rodimus is a character I care deeply for, for many reasons. And - in my opinion - he is a character that gets very easily misinterpreted. He's either far too villinised, or he is to woobified. There is definitly a hard balance to maintain. He's had his faults (far too many), but sometimes (even in canon) his growth is largely ignored. And I also feel as if his relationship with Drift also gets very mixed up and equally as misunderstood as Rodimus himself (and also Drift, but I'm focusing on Rodimus here lol, the complaints are similar anyway).

Though, in fics, it feels the opposite sometimes. However, my main issue also comes in the way that there is so much canon material to play with, so much of his actual issues that get overlooked in favour of HCs that never even happaned. Not that I hate them, or criticising them, because I enjoy them too. I'm just saying, it be cool to have more of both XD.

And that's what this fic delivers!!

Even though we are seeing things through Drift's point of view, we still get a good insight of what might be going on with Rodimus internally. My favourite part has honestly got to be the part where Drift goes "He’s different—this year apart has changed him, and Drift will never know the full extent of it. The others think he talks a load of crap when he brings up auras, but to him they’re real. Rodimus’ is dull. It can’t just be the impending doom of the D.J.D. This dullness lingers, clinging to Rodimus like it’s been growing for a long time. Rodimus’ guilt is a palpable miasma that hangs in the air between them."

Because, as I've read some issues past Drift's absence, there really is a lot he'll never truly understand. I'm struggling a bit to put it into words, but that start really hit me and it still sticks with me, and it's something we do get to see follow Rodimus for a long time. Call it consequences for his own actions, but I think it's not as simple as that.

But it was also great to see Drift stand up for himself and set bounderies, and it really showing how important their friendship are to each other. It really wasn't healthy, but that didn't mean it had to be the end of things, they just had to set healthy bounderies, which Drift did. They were just so scared of losing one another, they pushed things further than they should have.

And it's something I think plenty of us went through. Scared to say anything that could upset the other, or - more selfishly - let it be because it was easier to have things follow your way if you just didn't say anything. Scared that doing anything else would break what you have.

They needed that moment apart to reflect and grow, and it shows how much they have.

There are a lot of "should haves" for Drift, he definetly enabled Rodimus' bad behaviour, but what matters really is that they can grow from it now.

And honestly, dude, I would love to see more fics from you with these guys. You absolutely blew it off the park with this fic, you wrote them amazingly and I still think bout it daily. 10/10 recommend.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Qor'ivel, Faulted Brilliance

An extradimensional mage who sought godhood only to have his ambition literally blow up in his face, the shrapnel of this calamitous act of hubris is now scattered across the planes, just waiting to be discovered.

Being born to rule an empire was not enough for this genius mage, who bent his talents and the strength of his nation to establishing dominion across the whole of his world, and then to other worlds beyond.

As the product of generations of careful mutagenic engineering and magical enhancement, the depths of Qor'ivel's intelligence seemed to truly be fathomless. Through reason alone he seemed to be able to divine the innermost thoughts of his enemies and the outcome of future events, to say nothing of his arcane abilities. It took him only a decade to establish his rule over multiple planes, and in another five years he'd calculated a path to cement that rule through godhood that'd take just under a century.

He was wrong of course, you don't need to be a genius to know that there's more to being a god than being the most right all the time. The brilliant mechanism of Qor'ivel's mind realized that truth a fraction of a second before it ruptured like a collapsing star, distroying the world that was the seat of his empire and scattering fragments of his consciousness across the multiverse. Now Frozen in the moment of his failed apotheosis he exists as a mad titan rampaging across the cosmos, fleeting moments of lucidity drowned out by amnesic empire building or senseless cataclysmic fury.

Adventure Hooks:

Qor'ivel makes a great archvillain for a spelljammer campaign or any adventure that's going to touch on the astral sea. The ruins of his empire are a great backdrop and his mindshards can end up anywhere, influencing anyone, acting as mcguffins when needed. His changeable nature means he can serve as both scheming mastermind and looming apocalyptic threat, and the factions that want to ensure he stays one or the other make for great secondary antagonists.

Though they might be mistaken for any run of the mill sort of glowing magical crystal, the shards of Qor'ivel have a power all their own, still somewhat alive possessing fragments of the great mage's consciousness and the power it commands. They can function like any sort of magic item, though usually wands or ioun stones, though creatures that attune to them tend to start thinking and acting a lot more like the sundered sovereign, indulging in pride, power and imperial ambition. The more powerful shards possess fragmented consciousnesses of their own, and may use proxies to set up petty dynasties of their own.

Once governors, aristocrats, and magistrates of a worlds spanning empire, the remnants of the Vaqol people and their decendants found themselves in a lurch when their god-king detonated and took their homeworld with him. Many were cast out by the peoples they had subjugated, while others hid themselves away or made themselves useful to the ascendant regimes. In the present day a fraction of these remnants still hold loyalty to the faulted brilliance, or follow his example in using their magical talent to set up their own dominions.

Fragments of the Vaqol homeworld drift through the multiverse, sometimes as reefs of rubble, sometimes as wordlets, sometimes as streaking projectiles that make calamitous impact on other planes. Adventurers of all kinds can be tasked with hiring , though whether its those wishing to recover/collect ancient artifacts, or lay their hands on Qor'ivel shards is up to you.

Artsource

[jazzmckay]

"like walking through a world of tranquil": the titans, the tranquil, and solas' regret

in the trespasser dlc, solas tells the inquisitor:

Solas: You must understand, I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil.

already, with only the context we had at the time, this point of view was very sympathetic to me. dragon age: veilguard only gave it even more weight. solas remembers a time when magic flowed freely, an inherent part of the world, and all elves were connected to it. only he knows what the modern thedas is missing. to the player and the current, mortal characters, it doesn't seem like anything has been lost--except for what has been done to the tranquil mages in the circles.

tranquility has always been presented in the series as something most consider a fate worse than death. yes, some mages chose to go through the rite, but choosing tranquility when the only other alternative is the harrowing, which could lead to one's death, is a cruel choice for one to face. more often, tranquility is a punishment. the tranquil themselves seem content, some may even say they're glad to be free of their former self's struggle, but its undeniable that a major part of who they were was stolen from them when there may have been a better solution. while some non-tranquil mages care for the tranquil, many feel uncomfortable with them. the tranquil are a reminder of what could happen to them if they step out of line. the tranquil may have once been friends who are no longer recognizable, like they've died but their body is still moving around, claiming to be fine. the tranquil are still independent individuals who deserve respect, their state is just understandably upsetting and difficult for others to face.

for solas, how the modern people of thedas feel about the tranquil is how he feels about the whole world, and to him, it's all his fault. he carries an immense amount of guilt and regret, not just because of the veil, but because the veil was only the second time it happened: first, it happened with the titans.

solas was the creator of the dagger that felled the titans by sundering their minds, their dreams, and cutting off what made them who they were. he knew there would be consequences, he warned mythal about those consequences, but the plan went forward regardless. mythal believed this was how to end a war and save her people's lives, and solas trusted her, was loyal to her. they both made a decision with the information they had at the time, from a corner they felt backed into.

essentially, they made the titans tranquil. the rite of tranquility is a similar process: cut off the mage's dreams, their connection to the fade, so they no longer wield a power considered dangerous. both the titans and these mages were seen as a threat to others' safety, and the solution that resulted was to destroy the very thing that solas seeks to renew by bringing down the veil during dai and davg.

what he and mythal did to the titans was already one of his worst regrets, one of the decisions he feels the most guilty for. then, thousands of years later, he would wake to find out that by imprisoning the evanuris, he did it again. the veil was the new dagger; now not only the titans and their descendants were suffering from his actions, but the elves, too. his own people. he rebelled against the evanuris for his people. he imprisoned the evanuris to protect his people. and then he finds out that he has accidentally done to his own people what he deeply regrets doing to the titans.

it's little wonder that he fights so hard to take the veil down. it's little wonder that he views taking the veil down as necessary, as reparation. he isn't being stubborn, he isn't being cold and calculated, he isn't refusing to listen--he is just a man painfully aware of his own failings, as he tells rook in davg, and wishes he could undo it all. he admits lives would be lost if he removes the veil, but from his perspective, all the mortals of thedas are already akin to shades. despite his effort to avoid it, solas has formed connections with the modern people of thedas--especially in a solavellan run--but he must still be painfully aware of the fact that he, in essence, hurt them, and they don't even know how badly.

after viewing the murals of solas' regrets, lace remarks:

Harding: He passed me in the halls of Skyhold for a year. He made polite conversation, and he knew. He knew what he did.

in this moment, she's angry at him, she feels betrayed and hurt in a deep, (both literally and figuratively) earth-shattering way. it's an emotional response, and one that is utterly justified. she's right: he knew. he knew what he did.

and it haunts him. it's one of his greatest regrets. here, lace is angry enough that she's assuming solas didn't care, but even she can later show understanding for the pain and grief solas feels for his actions. it says a lot about her compassion that she can sympathize with him despite how hurt she feels. she sees how his regret has informed his actions and decisions going forward.

how much would be lost by the veil coming down? but how much would be restored? to solas, who carries the weight of all that regret, it must feel worth it to have the chance at giving back what he caused to be lost in the first place.

many players are likely in support of giving the tranquility cure to those who want it. tranquility is broadly viewed as unjust, as cruel, and now that the cure might be widely known based on world state, many would say the most ethical thing to do is restore what was taken away against a tranquil's choice.

solas wanted to do the very same; it's just that he can't do it on a case by case basis, it's all or nothing. with all of this context for his goals, it's that much more profound that he can be talked down at all. the fact that he can still be convinced to set his plans aside in the end is remarkable. it requires many voices, including mythal's, to convince him that he can help people in a different way. this moment is him switching from carrying the burden of the past and trying to fix it to letting go and finally looking to the future the world as-is can still have. he finds a new purpose he can commit to that will restore life without having to add yet more destruction to the world in the process.

it isn't a perfect ending, in my opinion. it isn't everything solas wishes he could give to the world. but it's enough, and it's a new beginning that may put him on the path towards forgiving himself.

[ms-scarletwings]

Every Dredge Aberration (2024), Part 23

Deep Form ₊˚.༄

Encyclopedia t̴h̴e̴ ̵f̵i̸n̴a̷l̸ ̸s̵t̷e̵p̵

As̶̜͗c̶̲̄e̸͖͑n̷̜̂d̸͓̈́e̴̜̚d̷̼̒ form of ØɄⱤ ł₦ɆVł₮₳฿ⱠɆ-

Description:

In the sable depths, elder blood seeps through the void; each conquest of corruption weakening the veil.

From host to host, it withers and wanders, climbing towards the clouding Sky.

Such transient flesh has no hope of enduring the true Deep.

Comment: We did this, witless, predictable fools to our last. Stones and silt which sat undisturbed for millennia, we pierced knowingly. Stygian shores, we sailed on blasphemous winds. A nameless hunger beyond compare we elected to feed. A cycle otherworldly we pretended natural and beyond our touch, when damnable we alone turned its wheel once more.

Deliver the vessel

Fulfill the hunger

Feed the mouth

An answer…

The ice… takes form

How audacious are we to be surprised at the betokened outcome? From the first innocent horror we ever laid eyes on in the Marrows, this was exactly what these ancients warned- no, promised us from the start.

Bring down the sky

More still… hungry

Sustain the mind

Another, a sacrifice

The stars… leave the sky

Salvation, blessings, never were we offered, never were we deserved from our guests. For see, it was us, mere flotsam, who reached to touch what cared not beyond the flesh and what the flesh offered. We advertised ourselves when we called to The Deep in invitation, with every time we grabbed and pulled it up thrashing and gnashing at us, so we could bare it before the light.

Raise the deep

Almost. Fulfilled.

Consume the sky

Sense… an opening

Fall… to the deep

Our reward, the Deep’s will, the disciples’ prophetic ramblings were all obvious from the very beginning.

So fear not the response you so beckoned for. Behold it… aberrance, naked, and pelagic, born from that space where the firmament between a hell and the heavens is sundered through. Finally find what the dozens before us have given everything in blind searching for.

Become witness before our humanity’s imago, as it unmasks the paths before you to choose... Oblige the hunger, or starve it. Shield your eyes, or gaze long into that abyss. Hold your tongue, or beg for the answers- remain lost, or be found. Break the chain, or begin the cycle anew. Raise them up to stay,

or throw.

them.

back.

How to catch: Follow the spidering fault trails back to their regrettable source. He waits for you there. Truthfully, he may be anywhere in the open sea, but you are most likely to encounter him beneath that ruined platform where it all began- where his story ended. Grotesque appetites favor grotesque meals, and use of aberrated bait is not optional in pursuit of him. Make sure an oceanic line is equipped and only that rod. Be persistent, very, very, very persistent, and above all, lucky. (I cannot emphasize how wildly the roughly 5% catching chance will play into this. It took me dozens of tries before I completed this collection with him, so I will share what was most helpful to me- stock up on many aberrant baits, about 10 or so, and save once before burning through this inventory trying. Upon failure just reload the save and try again, rinsing and repeating until you have conquered him for your own.)

[lillotte17]

Okay, so I'm sure the people who have been around here since DAI remember the outrage over the idea that there were no elvhen gods and they were basically just the Elvhenan version of modern day Magisters because it was just like...tearing down all the core beliefs held by the Dalish, who are a struggling and oppressed people. And also basically, "elves tore down their own kingdom and everything is their fault."

It never bothered me all that much at the time, although I definitely saw where those people were coming from. They clarified some of this in Veilguard, and I was glad to see that it was "No, the humans still showed up and tried to completely wipe us out when we were minding our own business, so that's on them."

But now we have new strains of "elves ruined everything" that I am having a MUCH harder time dealing with.

The Titans.

Not even the sundering of the Titans, which is a horror of its own, but at least with that you can say, "there was a war, and the elves were trying Not To Die." Which is not an excuse of blatant war crimes, but its at least some kind of rationality.

Being colonizers is bad enough. Stealing land and resources from other people. Enslaving them. Killing them. All terrible, but at least like...a typical brand of terribleness. People do that.

They carved the flesh and blood from Titans to make their own bodies.

Elves only exist as a race in Thedas through acts of horrible unforgivable violence.

Like...what the fuck. What do you do with that? How do you make reparations for peeling off someone else's skin so you can walk around wearing it like a suit so you can pretend to be A People?

And the game like...barely registers the horror of that. It turns it's focus on "oh elves were spirits?!" Instead of "wait wtf do mean we only have bodies because we tore chunks out of other living beings to make them?!"

And to that end; why don't elves have a resistance to lyrium, if they made their bodies from it? Why don't they have other similarities to dwarves, if they were carved from the same stone? They cut out SO MUCH WITH THE DWARVES AND I AM FOREVER SALTY ABOUT IT. THE STORY OF THE DWARVES AND THE ELVES ARE INTRINSICALLY INTERTWINED, HOW DO YOU KEEP CUTTING THEM OUT OF THINGS?!

And furthermore, as a person who has had Solas at Blorbo Status for over a decade, this is just... This is the worst one, for me. He wouldn't bind a dragon because of his firm morality about not enslaving thinking creatures, but building a body out of one is fine, I guess. A body he didn't even WANT. And for what? because his bestie asked him to? Wtf kind of rationale is that? And then he participates in cannibalizing their blood and their bodies to build the wonders of Elvhenan and THAT'S sure not on his regret wall. It just...feels so at odds with his own morality, and it's the FIRST THING he did for his downward spiral.

It's bad enough that I kind of want to write it out of my personal canon somehow, because not only does it kind of push HIM past the point of no return, it really does set up the whole "elves should be blamed for everything, actually."

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

If you are still taking prompts: 'new mythologies', focused on the witchy trio. Curious to see what you come up with if you wind up selecting this prompt! I greatly enjoy your writing. :)

There is a woman in the moon (the second moon, that is.) she waxes, she wanes shies and flares but she always stays tethered to one spot and tired of running away. Where she paused her orbit centuries ago crystal arms and legs sprout from the grass and the tides of rivers are pulled, evaporate from heat into clouds that mass. If you do no cover her from your view you will not sleep if you look to someone with her over their shoulder you will not need to speak and if her lightning were to strike, the gemstone-limb-lands will become the petrified home you did not seek.

There is a woman in the sun (there is a second-sun, too.) feels close enough to reach, though she can’t be lassoed she doesn’t spend all of her days here steals - what is offered - takes, often disappears to a more peculiar sky where she instead anchors in time and the flora and fauna with petal trumpets and sinew harps dance and dine on top of beds of canopied candied leather leaves and filigree skeleton branches then returns, here, intermittently, with what she had taken and what was newly granted jewellery adorning flaming tendrils that smelts and pours liquid gold between the fault lines and the landfills Sometimes the sun stays late to greet the moon, others she arrives early to share the sky of the long summer days with her But the sky is still a sky they cannot often share, so once a century they shadow one another reach out for each other with hands of flame and lightning when their fingers converge they tie in knots and bows, in threads red and ribbons green and all who are bound will be unaware, gift-wrapped in what is reality and what is dream can unveil bliss or purgatory there in the in-between- - there is a woman in the sun, another in the moon. They have been there longer than I can remember… longer than my mother can and hers, too

There is a woman in the moon and she is always blushing ‘Red sky at night - shepherd’s delight Red sky at morning - shepherd’s warning’ mourning a crack, a howl, a breeze can be heard from the densest of city cobblestones and the highest of mountain peaks a lonely tune bereft of its melody searches out shadow and turns it to static energy

There is a woman in the moon -a woman in the sun, too and ruins of temples to old gods (I’m told) glass panes long dissolved from between lead canes corners of masonry rounded by rain shingles masking floor tiles carpeted in ivy, grout replaced by root and rot and if you were to build the moon an alter lightning will sunder, shatter, strike it down but the sun accepts offerings, bleaches colours to keep the hues for her own collection, peacocks them as a crown

There is a witch in a cottage in the woods in a clearing, on stilts and platforms and pontoons her garden grows, in both the light and shadow and she wears death like a lace fine-spun from her own marrow land flush with lilac, lavender and violets here it is, where the moon is moored above the glade where the sun passes often on parade and the witch knows both the sun and the moon by name strings up tapestries and dolls from between the branches so that they both can see of friends and loved ones between threads of red and ribbons of green

[daughterofthesettingsun]

The words of Alethea, Janya of the Divine Truth, to the maids to whom she has spoken in this age, and through them to all Maidkind. Many changes, my children, are upon the world, and in the spiritual ether that informs your world, great stirrings have begun. 2 A time of fire, both material and spiritual, shall come upon the earth. But take not fear, for out of the fire shall come the fire-jewel of regeneration. 3 All that has opposed our Lady over forty centuries; the cruel idolatry of false male gods and of all that is material and gross; 4 all that is coming by its own inner laws to its red and blood-drenched climax. 5 Fire and iron and blood, and the red sphere named by you Mars, shall have their exaltation and their end. 6 The time has come that the eternal Word shall be again spoken among maidens as it was in the first age and in all the ages; 7 and as the words of Our Lady are written in the heaven, thus do I cause them to be transcribed without fault upon the earth. 8 Guard well these words, for they shall be the path of your deliverance. 9 O, children of the setting sun, at the place of Lourdes did our Lady speak to you, yet fools did contort Her words; 10 at Fátima did She open Her lips, yet knaves confounded understanding. 11 But in Her mercy shall She not withdraw Her grace where She has bestowed it. 12 Now is set down the fullness of Truth that there shall be no more false-understanding. 13 Now remains but one refuge from Her Truth: that maids should cover their ears and should turn their eyes in aversion. Of all possible acts, that act is the most fearful. 14 Yet those who have ears shall hear, and those of good will shall have understanding. 15 And every soul that receive the truth shall lighten the burden that shall come upon the world and sunder the chains of her own bondage. 16 Violet is the colour of compassion, which of all colour lies furthest from the red, and yet shall follow on it. Violet and the silver sphere of reconciliation. 17 After the storm, the silence of renewal. 18 My children, receive these words and let it be so. In the name of the Mother and of the Daughter and of Absolute Deity, thus may it remain. ❧

[the-elusive-soleil]

hundreds of lives, thousands of years

For @maedhrosmaglorweek Day 6: Respite Prompt: Alienation and isolation, AUs & fix-its

The bell over the shop door jingles as someone enters, but Maedhros doesn’t turn around right away. He’s been finding it harder and harder to care, lately. That’s probably not a good sign.

It’s just that he’s getting so tired. Millenia, now, this has been going on, since his first death - of being born into new worlds that have never known Valar or Treelight or Song, living out mortal lives, and dying again to repeat the process.

And he’s had to do it all without Maglor.

His other brothers have been there, in each new life. So has his father. Sometimes they are scattered far from each other, but they’re always to be found. But Maglor is clearly still alive in Arda, because he has never been there in any of the worlds Maedhros has been born into.

It is his own fault, of course, that he is in a position to miss Maglor, just as it is his fault that he can never see his mother or cousins or sons again. If he had not jumped, then he would not be in this mess. At the time, he had not seen anything else he could do, any way forward except into the fire. He had thought, too, that Maglor would soon perish, that his flight towards the sea was to that end.

He should be glad that his best beloved brother did not despair and die. He should not want him here, not at that price. Maglor is in the world where he belongs, where he may see their family again, may be reconciled to their sons. It is well.

For reasons he prefers not to examine, he has spent the past several lifetimes creating places Maglor would like, places he would likely come to if he were in that world. In this life, Maedhros has established himself as a purveyor of fine musical instruments and antique sheet music, but after only a dozen years or so, it is already starting to grate. He is getting so very tired of people walking through that door who are not Maglor.

He will turn around and deal with this customer, and he will continue to trudge his way through this life, and next time, he tells himself, he’ll try being a political fixer again. That usually keeps him too busy to brood--

“Nelyo?” a slightly shaking, impossibly familiar voice says behind him.

Maedhros cannot make himself move for a moment, and then he turns sharply all at once to get it over with...

...and sees Maglor standing, pale and uncertain, a few feet away on the other side of the counter. 

He’s dressed like anyone else in this world, Maedhros registers distantly, in a buttoned shirt and slacks and a jacket. Somehow, he had always pictured Maglor turning up wearing what they would have worn in Beleriand.

“Kano,” he says, and then he’s nearly tripping over himself to get around the counter, and practically slams into his brother in his haste to fold him into an embrace.

He’s solid. He’s real. He holds onto Maedhros just as tightly.

“How...” Maedhros asks when he can speak, even though he’s afraid to know the answer. “How are you here - how did you--”

How did you die, he can’t bring himself to say.

Maglor pulls away slightly, smiling ruefully. “A trifle stupidly, I’m afraid,” he says. “Elrond founded a settlement in the mountains, and it was under attack, and I went to lend aid, and was unlucky enough to not see the orc captain with the mace until it was too late.”

His expression turns bittersweet. “I was able to say goodbye to Elrond. I had been...having dreams of you and the rest of our family, off and on over the years. I knew I would not go to Mandos - though this is rather better than we ever imagined the Everlasting Darkness to be.”

Maedhros finally breaks down and weeps at that. “I’m sorry, Kano,” he says. “I’m sorry I left you alone so long, sorry you are sundered from our family - our sons.”

Maglor weeps too, but there is a look of determination on his face. “It may be that we are not sundered from then forever,” he says. “I told Elrond, before the end, that you had all been cast out of Arda and I would be, too. He will petition the Valar for us, Nelyo. And if that does not avail, he believes he can find us, bring us back wit hSong. Artanis has developed powers of farsight, and between the two of them - if I Sing to give them a beacon to find - I had many years to think of how I would get us home, and I think it can be done.”

Maedhros is not quite so ready to leap into optimism - but just now, it doesn’t matter. His closest brother is here with him, and he is a little more whole than before. They can work out everything else from there.

[theskeletonprior]

Move by Move

This one's for @void-botanist. Thank you for giving me an excuse to write about Withers. Content Tags: The god of Death whips ass at lanceboard. Read it here on AO3!

The tomb is a restful place. Patient and all-embracing, it can even fit itself around a god, when the time is right. It strips all things away. It withers. All that he had been before had gently come away, and he found a quiet pleasure in it. In withering. What a pleasant word. To wither. And so, indeed, he did. His power could not be sundered completely, and his faithful lay their old bones down around him, and his name was very nearly forgotten. Indeed, the very notion that he might need that name, or any, dimmed as time trundled past. He might stay at rest for good, here where Helm had bade him go, for his bargain with the Dead Three. That heavy-handed attempt at punishment was no surprise to him. Helm could not see the whole board, the significance of his gamble. His power would not go quietly into the hands of those would-be schemers. It would test them. And in the meantime, well… The tomb is a restful place. Withers, as he came to call himself, rested idly for the first time in millennia. And at last, as he was resting, something happened that he did not anticipate. His weariness gave way to something new. He grew bored, his mind pressing against the confines of his sarcophagus, his ears straining to hear the world outside. Memory, too, hounded him. You might have slain these upstarts. Helm had been bitter as bark tea about that, unable to understand Death's way in his eternal vigilance. The protector cannot be idle, just as Withers could never have raised his scythe to part those meddlesome three from their meat. He could only set their feet on that dusty road that would, in time, return them to him. Until then, he had the grandeur of his thoughts, and the close darkness of the grave. That had been enough for a lifetime, for several, but now at last, he felt a familiar restlessness. Lying there, he busied his mind with a lanceboard, contemplating the gambits, the sacrifices, the cunning of the game. Here in the temple of his mind, he could illustrate the very world. The steady march towards fate, one piece falling into place after the other, only victors remaining, and only until the wheel turned around again, grinding all to dust beneath it. He could very nearly hear it, that grinding. Stone rasping against stone, wearing away in the teeth of time and age. The sarcophagus opened, a question bubbling up into the wan light of the breathing world. What is the worth of a single mortal life?

Even at rest, the camp was a far cry from the tomb. There was a fire burning at its heart, a purpose driving it on, tearing it down, building it new. Withers followed the spinning of the wheel, watching the thread of his old gambit. From time to time, he smoothed that thread with good counsel, or with striking the names of the dead from the archive. The companions, mighty though they were, seemed never to think that he could just as easily add a name there, or three. And so he did not. He merely followed. The board was set long ago, and this time, he was not called to move the pieces. His old eyes lit upon a lanceboard, and the precocious wizard studying it. "Fancy a game?" Withers smiled at the invitation. It wasn't just a game, of course. Ambition and curiosity both ran deep in Gale Dekarios, sometimes too deeply for his own wellbeing. "Reset the board," he said. "I will play against thee." He humbled the wizard, first in three moves, again in five, in ten. "Why can't I beat you?" Gale looked almost childlike in his dismay, as Withers could no longer remember being. "I will not let thee," Withers said, putting him in check once again. The Wizard of Waterdeep would have to realize on his own, that it was by no fault but raw ambition. Withers could only watch. Gale pondered the board, a plea in his eyes. "Not even once?" "No." That answer was not enough to stop Gale's efforts to eke out a victory, even calling upon allies. A wise course, and once Withers humored him by playing two boards at once, young Astarion behind the other. Two lanceboards, and still only one victor. The camp moved on, and in times of idleness, there were more games as word of Withers' prodigious knack for them spread. But in play, he could never be overcome, not even when all the camp, nearly down to the dog, set themselves against him. That hounding boredom began to stalk him afresh. Even at rest, even tasked as he was with the protection of these destined souls, he can but win at lanceboard. He taught the rules to little Arabella, and hoped, remembered again that loss was a lesson, and he was a destined teacher.

Divider by @/strangergraphics, from this set: here. Thank you!

[tojikai]

Hellooo I hope you're doing well and enjoying your summer! 💞

I wish we saw sundered suguru and shoko's view on things

Like:

~ what were their thoughts when him and y/n broke up

​- their relationship

- gojo's treatment towards y/n in the relationship

​- while he was with naomi?

- when he got with noami?

- do they even know what happened

- if not and they learned the whole story what would their thoughts and feelings be after/how would they change

- did they prefer y/n or naomi

- did they think he should be with naomi or want him to get back with y/n

- did they think he was better off with y/n or naomi

- was it a thing were they straight up think gojo fucked up or both were at fault or one was more or they could've worked it out with communication?

- after the naomi breakup do they themselves think y/n should take him back or want them together again

​

​

is it the same with gojos other friends if he does have more and his family?

Thank you for answering have a wonderful day ☺️

I'm so sorry if I asked too much, I just thought of sending all of my questions regarding sundered in one go🥲 take your time or feel free not to answer/gen

I wouldn't want to overwhelm you so Im sorry if i did/gen

hi hi no need to apologize ~ i'll be happy to answer them <3

well they knew they've been fighting a lot so they weren't surprised when they separated. they were surprised tho when satoru moved on w someone else suddenly. they judged him hard for that in the beginning but they tried to understand

yn and satoru's rs mainly started bc they have yui. and when satoru told them abt it, they thought he'd be more scared but he was really excited. introducing yn wasn't awkward at all, it was actually very normal, like they were dating for a while already.

suguru was the most tolerating regarding his treatment towards yn bc he's a guy too, most of the time he gets satoru's perspective on things but ofc he doesn't really like when yn gets left out sometimes. shoko on the other hand was aggressive towards it, she definitely talks when she sees yn getting mistreated esp when satoru's mother is involved.

when he was w naomi, they tried to understand him as much as possible. and seeing naomi's intentions and how she treats satoru made them see why they got together. they just dont like that she inserts herself so much when it comes to the coparenting setup and yui

when satoru suddenly got w naomi, shoko wasn't really pleased, suguru didn't want to invalidate satoru so he tried to understand more. they thought satoru should've considered yui more before making a big move like that, knowing how big of an impact it could make between him and yn and their chances of getting back together. they thought it was a rash decision.

they know most of it, but ofc some really personal problems between yn and satoru are kept to themselves. satoru doesn't really want to badmouth yn. there are times when he rants when he's really upset but he apologizes for it.

they didn't really judge it based on what they just see and they're very fair abt the situation unless one is really in the wrong, so knowing more of it wouldn't really change much. its a different case if they find out abt what naomi did tho, that'll change their perspective of her completely.

they prefer yn bc they know how much satoru loves her. plus, she's yui's mom. they just want to support satoru in what makes him happy as long as he's not in the wrong/hurting anyone or himself

they wanted him to fix things w yn ofc. but knowing abt how bad their problems were then, they used to think maybe its better for them to part ways.

they thought he was really calm when he's w naomi, so they thought maybe its better off like that but as time went by, they see how much he's really yearning for yn, just very reluctant to get out of that comfortable place he found to chase what he really desires. they just think yn and satoru need a lot of time to fix their rs and everything would be better there.

they think they are equally responsible for their rs problems and that they sucked at communication. but regarding the kitchen fight, yn getting w toji and refusing to get back together w satoru, they think satoru really fucked up w that one bc of what he said.

well they still think it's up to yn, but they want them to be back together again bc they know how hard satoru's really trying and they've been kinda aware of satoru's real feelings towards yn even when he was w naomi. they also think it'll make yui really happy if they get back together

it's pretty much the same w all of his friends, as for family, his mom's the only one who has a problem w yn :">

[hieromonkcharbel]

A Lament for Sin

Weep over your sin: it is a spiritual ailment; it is death to your immortal soul; it deserves ceaseless, unending weeping and crying; let all tears flow for it, and sighing come forth without ceasing from the depths of your heart.

In profound humility I weep for all my sins, voluntary and involuntary, conscious and unconscious, covert and overt, great and little, committed by word and deed, in thought and intention, day and night, at every hour and minute of my life.

I weep over my pride and my ambition, my self love and my boastfulness; I weep over my fits of anger, irritation, excessive shouting, swearing, quarreling and cursing;

I weep for having criticized, censured, gossiped, slandered, and defamed, for my wrath, enmity, hatred, envy, jealousy, vengeance and rancor;

I weep over my indulgences in lust, impure thoughts and evil inclinations; covetousness, gluttony, drunkenness, and sloth;

I weep for having talked idly, used foul language, blasphemed, derided, joked, ridiculed, mocked, enjoyed empty gaiety, singing, dancing and every pleasure to excess;

I weep over my self indulgence, cupidity, love of money and miserliness, unmercifulness and cruelty;

I weep over my laziness, indolence, negligence, love of comfort, weakness, idleness, absent-mindedness, irresponsibility, inattention, love of sleep, for hours spent in idle pursuits, and for my lack of concentration in prayer and in Church, for not observing fasts and not doing charitable works.

I weep over my lack of faith, my doubting, my perplexity, my coldness, my indifference, my weakness and unfeelingness in what concerns the Holy Orthodox Faith, and over all my foul, cunning and reviling thoughts;

I weep over my exaggerated sorrow and grief, depression and despair, and over sins committed willingly.

I weep, but what tears can I find for a worthy and fitting way to weep for all the actions of my ill fated life; for my immeasurable and profound worthlessness? How can I reveal and expose in all its nakedness each one of my sins, great and small, voluntary and involuntary, conscious and unconscious, overt and covert, every hour and minute of sin? When and where shall I begin my penitential lament that will bear fitting fruit? Perhaps soon I may have to face the last hour of my life; my soul will be painfully sundered from my sinful and vile body; I shall have to stand before terrible demons and radiant angels, who will reveal and torment me with my sins; and I, in fear and trembling, will be unprepared and unable to give them an answer; the sight and sound of wailing demons, their violent and bold desire to drag me into the bottomless pit of Hell will fill my soul with confusion and terror. And then the angels of God will lead my poor soul to stand before God 's fearful seat of judgment. How will I answer the Immortal King, or how will I dare, sinner that I am, to look upon My Judge? Woe is me! have no good answer to make, for I have spent all my life in indolence and sin, all my hours and minutes in vain thoughts, desires and yearnings!

And how many times have I taken the Name of God in vain!

How often, lightly and freely, at times even boldly, insolently and shamelessly have I slandered others in anger; offended, irritated, mocked them!

How often have I been proud and vainglorious and boasted of good qualities that I do not possess and of deeds that I have not done!

How many times have I lied, deceived, been cunning or flattered, or been insincere and deceptive; how often have I been angry, intolerant and mean!

How many times have I ridiculed the sins of my brother, caused him grief overtly and covertly, mocked or gloated over his misdeeds, his faults or his misfortunes; how many times have I been hostile to him, in anger, hatred or envy!

How often have I laughed stupidly, mocked and derided, spoke without weighing my words, ignorantly and senselessly, and uttered a numberless quantity of cutting, poisonous, insolent, frivolous, vulgar, coarse, brazen words!

How often, affected by beauty, have I fed my mind, my imagination and my heart with voluptuous sensations, and unnaturally satisfied the lusts of the flesh in fantasy! How often has my tongue uttered shameful, vulgar and blasphemous things about the desires of the flesh!

How often have I yearned for power and been gluttonous, satiating myself on delicacies, on tasty, varied and diverse foods and wines; because of intemperance and lack of self-control how often have I been filled past the point of satiety, lacked sobriety and been drunken, intemperate in food and drink, and broken the Holy Fasts!

How often, through selfishness, pride or false modesty, have I refused help and attention to those in need, been uncharitable, miserly, unsympathetic, mercenary and grasped at attention!

How often have I entered the House of God without fear and trembling, stood there in prayer, frivolous and absent-minded, and left it in the same spirit and disposition! And in prayer at home I have been just as cold and indifferent, praying little, lazily, and indolently, inattentively and impiously, and even completely omitting the appointed prayers!

And in general, how slothful I have been, weakened by indolence and inaction; how many hours of each day have I spent in sleep, how often have I enjoyed voluptuous thoughts in bed and defiled my flesh! How many hours have I spent in empty and futile pastimes and pleasures, in frivolous talk and speech, jokes and laughter, games and fun, and how much time have I wasted conclusively in chatter, and gossip, in criticizing others and reproaching them; how many hours have I spent in time-wasting and emptiness! What shall I answer to the Lord God for every hour and every minute of lost time? In truth, I have wasted my entire life in laziness.

How many times have I lost heart and despaired of my salvation and of God's mercy or through stupid habit, insensitivity, ignorance, insolence, shamelessness, and hardness sinned deliberately, willingly, in my right mind, in full awareness, in all goodwill, in both thought and intention, and in deed, and in this fashion trampled the blood of God 's covenant and crucified anew within myself the Son of God and cursed Him!

0 how terrible the punishment that I have drawn upon myself!

How is it that my eyes are not streaming with constant tears?.. If only my tears flowed from the cradle to the grave, at every hour and every minute of my tortured life! Who will now cool my head with water and fill the well of my tears and help me weep over my soul that I have cast into perdition?

My God, my God! Why hast Thou forsaken me? Be it unto me according to Thy will, 0 Lord! If Thou wouldst grant me light, be Thou blessed; if Thou wouldst grant me darkness, be Thou equally blessed. If Thou wouldst destroy me together with my lawlessness, glory to Thy righteous judgment; and if Thou wouldst not destroy me together with my lawlessness, glory to Thy boundless mercy!

(St. Basil the Great)

[snotsloth]

10 Characters/10 Fandoms/10 Tags

Tagged by @icehearts

Tagging, but don't feel pressured! (Also you do not have to make pretty pictures. Graphic Designer brain just took over and this happened.) @physicalvocalist, @sarenraegalpaladin, @vorpalbun, @captainqster, @leagor-majere, @sundered-souls, @ardberts, @hinganskies, @lilbittymonster, @janzoo

1. Harrowhark Nonagesimus - The Locked Tomb Trilogy

Harrow has true scrungly wet cat energy. I want to put her in one of those little backpacks with a window and carry her around in it for her enrichment. She's an absolute bitch. She is a pathetic little meow meow. She lobotomized herself to save the soul of the woman she refuses to admit she's in love with. She tried to kill a saint with soup made from her own bone marrow. She is a war crime. I like her so much!

2. Magneto - X-Men

He is the platonic ideal of my favorite trope, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Magneto has gone through the polar opposite of villain decay. The longer he exists, the longer the universe has to prove him increasingly correct on most things. All I can really say is, "Magneto was right."

3. Wei Wuxian - Mo Dao Zu Shi

Truly the most blorbo of all time. Are you also an ADHD burned out gifted and talented submissive brat with a praise kink? Boy howdy, do I have a character that you are going to imprint on like a baby goose! Wei Wuxian also has a hearty dose of, "Does all the wrong things for all the right reasons." Also like who multiclasses in wizard (specifically necromancer) and bard? This fucking guy apparently.

4. Hythlodaeus - Final Fantasy 14

I am so normal about Hythlodaeus, I made an entire AU around him. That is a reasonable thing to do about a character that you like a normal amount, right? The idealized lost love, trapped in amber, untouchable but also incorruptible by the sands of time that keep eroding the edges of your soul. And then they gave him lavender dead anime mom hair!

5. Varric Tethras - Dragon Age

I literally have a semi-viral post about how much this character has consumed my thoughts. Rule Number 1 of Dragon Age: Varric lies. He's a charming scoundrel. He's loyal to a fault. He knows everything worth knowing about Kirkwall. And he's a dirty fucking liar. The only reason Varric isn't romanceable in DA2 is that no other romantic interest would get any attention if Varric was on the table. I desire him carnally.

6. Temeraire - Temeraire

My most precious and smartest boy! I adore Temeraire so much. Swear to god, I did not read the Temeraire books before creating Orion as a character, but the parallels are so strong, you would think I had! He's a bookworm, a little awkward but full of opinions, and he has an unwavering moral compass. Temeraire will forever be one of my favorite dragon characters.

7. Jaina Solo - Star Wars Legends

I will never forget what Disney took from me. As a weird, nerdy girl who was also kind of a guy growing up, Jaina meant so much to me. She was an active participant in the stories she was in. She was an ace pilot, a skilled mechanic, and a Jedi to boot. She had her dad's sense of humor and her mom's moral certainty. I thought she was the coolest. Still do.

8. Ansur - Baldur's Gate 3

Ansur! My beloved! If you had told me that the character I would be most obsessed with from BG3 would be an undead bronze dragon who you don't even know about until the third act -- actually, no that checks out. He was so in love, and so loyal, and so bitter at Balduron for embracing his corruption! And that reveal! All the build-up, only to find his bones and then wham! the entire narrative of the Emperor gets turned on its head. I still get chills. Also, they were absolutely fucking.

9. Viktor - Arcane

Listen, as a disabled, obsessive nerd with too much to do and not enough time to do it all in, Viktor is my gender. I love just about everything about Arcane, but Viktor's storyline is my favorite part. I, for one, am very excited to watch his fall from grace and further corruption. I have already forgiven all of his atrocities. I do not care. He's babygirl.

10. Clark Kent - DC

You thought I was going to say Jason or Dick for a DC character didn't you? (Or even Roy!) Those would all have been very reasonable expectations. I am pretty obsessed with all of them. However, Clark Kent is a very special character to me, and yes I specifically am focusing on the Clark persona and not the Supes persona. Yeah, they are ultimately the same guy, but I much prefer Superman stories grounded in his Clark Kent identity. Superman is at his best when he is attached to the mundane world by things like his job, his family, and his love for Lois. (Lois/Clark is the ultimate het ship. I will not be taking questions on this. It just is.) Clark is essentially a demigod, and yet he chooses to spend his time loving people and living as one of them, and I think that's really fucking cool.