#anyway happy friday

[divorcedfiddleford]

hold shifty gentle like hamburger

[bewilderedbunny]

Telling office coworker!Eddie "TGIF" at the coffee pot early Friday morning and he yawns out,

"Thank Garfield it's Friday indeed."

[staybeautifulmp3]

1989 (DAN AND CASEY’S VERSION)

[vigilantesyd]

the way the tumblr app scrolls the dash on mobile about to drive me up a wall!!! why are u jumping back up there babe i already scrolled past all that 😭

[familyvideostevie]

my problem is that i don’t get called baby girl enough

[myamelo]

good morning

I love waking up at 4:30(am) for work

[thedeathdeelers]

to avoid awkward confrontation at work i wish i could just tell my boss that “my mom said no i can’t work late and that i must head home Immediately”

[aamusedly]

Going to take this opportunity on this my 1000th post to be poignant but also entertaining.

[supportingfire]

there is not enough thomaluc content in the universe and I plan to change that with my own gay hands

[andallthatmishigas]

I need to just shut my mouth.

[good-night-dodger]

[thisisasupergoodidea]

the magic catch

part 27

———

What is he doing?

This is not at all the outcome the guy had anticipated at the start. He’d expected Rogelio to obstinately decline; he’d expected to go home having succeeded in frustrating Mr. Hero Complex, but nothing more. But then Rogelio did the last thing he ever expected: he compromised. For an unreasonable, impossible request.

How interesting.

It made him want to do something more than a little reckless himself. That must be why he’s currently launching himself at Rogelio with a half-formed plan in his head and frenzy in his eyes.

To Rogelio’s credit: despite being knee-deep in the boggy throes of sleep deprivation- a condition that the mage himself is no stranger to- he isn’t altogether hopelessly incompetent and instinctless. He steps back just in time to avoid the first attack and even manages to get his cudgel in hand before the guy’s next swing hits. But the next swing does hit.

The secret nature of the guy’s staff reveals itself: the wood creaks and crackles and curls unnaturally around Rogelio’s dominant hand on impact, forming a makeshift restraint. Rogelio gasps in shock, his own weapon more or less falling out of his grasp quite uncharacteristically. Must’ve pinched a nerve. Not wanting to give him a moment to react, the guy yanks the staff backward to pull Rogelio toward him and pivots around his flank to twist his entangled arm behind his back, forcing him into a wickedly uncomfortable hold.

“Fucking- owww!”

Rogelio attempts to untwist himself, but the guy moves with him and continues to apply constant pressure. He kicks the back of Rogelio’s knee- not quite hard enough to take him down, though. He only ends up giving Rogelio the idea of kicking back. Damn it.

Try as he might, the guy can’t restrain a man and protect his legs at the same time. But neither can he let go and risk allowing Rogelio to turn the surprise attack in his favor. So he settles on an unconventional idea: he wraps the other end of the staff around his own hand, shackling the two of them together, and uses his body weight to sling Rogelio face-first against a tree.

The angle and force combined also ends up wrenching Rogelio’s arm in a way it shouldn’t go.

Rogelio’s scream startles a pair of birds above them into taking flight.

The staff physically recoils from both of them in response; it crumples to the ground as a dead snake might. The guy tenses up similarly, eyes wide and dark, that pained shout paralyzing him for a brief moment like a cold shock to his senses. But he is quick and well-practiced in shaking off these particular lapses. He scrambles for his staff in a frantic blur to secure it around Rogelio’s ankle while he’s still busy clutching at his sprained arm.

“Just- surrender,” the guy insists, a little short of breath. “All you have to do is say the word. Or would you prefer to walk home with a limp as well?”

“Fuck off!!”

The spitting image of a snared and wounded animal, Rogelio thrashes even harder in defiance of his capture. Gradually, horrifically, the staff begins to yield and bend and loosen its hold on him in increasing acquiescence.

So, now the damn magic is taking sides today. That’s… utterly predictable, really. He’d already learned from experience and experiments to anticipate betrayal at any moment. But why the fuck did it have to be now? He might never get the chance to pull a stunt like this again. He doubts it would succeed on a more alert, well-rested Rogelio. And he almost had him! He almost-

“No!! You do what I tell you!” he roars, all the tension pent up in him exploding out unexpectedly.

The tremulous emotion is reciprocated by rough wood digging into his skin. Biting the hand of its maker. Meanwhile, Rogelio looks aghast at him, seeming surprised and unnerved by the outburst. Was the little hero expecting him, too, to crumple and fall before him like a dead snake? Is that why he deigned to accept the compromise at all? Arrogant faith- hanging his hat on the foregone conclusion that he would always win?

The worst part is that it isn’t even an erroneous assumption to make. Because he does always win.

Sweltering rage burns away the more reasonable parts of the mage’s mind. His palms sting, wanting to take much more than just victory; he holds on even tighter and pulls.

The staff goes taut. Rogelio’s leg goes with it, then the rest of him. He trips and lands square on his back with a consternated groan.

Every breath ragged and heavy with pain, the equally enraged Rogelio sits upright, using his uninjured arm for leverage, and scowls up at the guy- unwittingly presenting the perfect opening for him to hook Rogelio by the throat instead.

The urge to prove something pounds at the guy’s temples incessantly.

“Only you have the power to end this. You know what I’m waiting for. Say it.”

Rogelio spits on the guy’s shoe and tries to pry his throat free with brute force. But the staff doesn’t budge for him this time, not with magic guy’s possessive touch grappling it into submission. Relief and anticipation splash across the surface of the guy’s impregnable temper.

“Is this really the time and place to have an attitude with me, Rogelio? Are you so stubborn that you’d risk your own neck, even now?”

The staff cinches tighter around Rogelio’s neck reflexively. Not enough to hurt, but certainly to be felt. It’s amusing to watch his eyes go wide and the color drain from his face.

“O-Okay, okay! Don’t- ah, shit,” Rogelio stammers, his tone shifting from indignant to frightful and resigned in an instant. His gaze sinks to the ground; he swallows dryly. “I… I surrender.”

There couldn’t be a sweeter taste than Rogelio’s defeat at his hands- or, at least, there shouldn’t be. Right? It’s what the guy has lived for these many long years, isn’t it? As he often tells himself.

But… this tastes of nothing. Sates nothing within him. The explosive exhilaration he felt initially at having gotten one over on him has already fizzled out. Only stinging, acrid char remains.

“Didn’t you hear me?? I’m not saying it again!”

The next urge swallows him wholly as he blinks down at Rogelio, who is finally in his clutches instead of the other way around: he wants fervently to be anywhere but here with him.

“No need. That will suffice,” he mutters, and releases Rogelio unceremoniously.

Despite how his mind begs for him to hurry back to the relative safety of home, he cannot help himself: he cannot resist stepping closer to Rogelio- towering over him- and kneeling at his side to look him dead in the eyes. Quite without any sensible, conscious reason for doing so.

He ought to gloat, he thinks. Or do really anything besides stare in bewildering silence. But he has no notion of what he’s going to say until his mouth is already partially open.

“Tomorrow, at sunrise.”

At last, his body allows him to flee as quickly as he can without outright running. Not once does he spare a glance backwards to see Rogelio’s reaction. He doesn’t want to see, even after all that he did to be the cause of it. He has the staff coil around his shoulders so he can shove his hands broodingly into his pockets- and his fingers graze a small object within.

The fishing lure. How did he forget…? Nevermind.

He flicks it onto the forest floor without breaking his stride.

———

first - previous - next

[bumblerhizal-art]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Male Tabris (Dragon Age), Ser Jory (Dragon Age), Daveth (Dragon Age), Tabris (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Gambling, Ostagar (Dragon Age), The Joining, Fantasy Racism Series: Part 2 of Aftermath of a Tabris Summary:

The soldiers gathered at Ostagar place their bets on which of the Warden recruits will survive the Joining.

[anna-scribbles]

and if i could give you the moon,

[napneeders]

the art and the artist 🥰

[veatomis]

Fenris tarot cards: Act 1, Romance, Act 3.