#mark 1 power armor

[hijackalx]

Headcanon thingy, but how would the companions + Gortash react to their lover taking a blow meant for them? (Sweetheart survives, but they'll definitely need some time to recover)

this post would get realllyyyy long if i did all the companions so i did the male companions + gortash, but let me know if u want me to do a separate one for the female companions too 💗💗

GN!reader, small mentions of violence

GORTASH

he’d prefer for you steer clear of any conflict— he considers it beneath you to get your hands dirty— but he doesn’t like to argue. he imagines one of these times you’ll learn your lesson, meaning he’s fully expecting you to come crawling back after a good whooping while promising to never do it again

when he’s approached by an angry subordinate, shaking their fist and yelling profanities at him, he easily maintains composure— he knows his steel watch could reduce anyone to a skid mark on the earth with a simple command. his scrappy sidekick however…………… 👹

he’s only slightly embarrassed when you jump in front of the aggressor, telling them off for their disrespect. suddenly their anger is directed towards you, resulting in a nasty pop to the face that sends you onto the floor. his eyes widen at the sight of you injured for his sake, and with one sharp inhale, he orders his steel watch to destroy your attacker. (and their family. and their friends. and their acquaintances)

he stays at your side while you get bandaged up, threatening the healer’s life every time you wince. he asks what you learned from this experience, hopeful. you think “i need a thicker skull” probably wasn’t the right answer, seeing as his immediate response is “🗿” LMAO

WYLL

he loves to be the one who swoops in and saves you. it really gives him that “heroic” feeling (even if you have to pretend to be his damsel in distress). you guys are always giving your enemies the ick 😹😹

this all goes to his head though, and he can get a little too cocky— like when he jumps in to take on too many enemies at once, and is clearly having a hard time defending you both. he tries to maintain his heroic persona, but you can’t help noticing how you two are getting backed into a corner

while he’s distracted and putting on a show of chivalry, you see an enemy going straight for his blind spot. it’s too late to retaliate, but you do have enough time to jump out in front of the attack. he watches you fall to the ground in pain, HORRIFIED by the fact that he failed to protect you. he forgets his knightly act in a fit of desperation, fighting as dirty as he needs to so you two have the opportunity to scamper away

he criticizes himself SO badly over your injuries. the hit may have broke your face but his failure broke his soul... 💔 LMFAO. he vows to you that it’ll never happen again, and that he’ll be more vigilant than ever from then on out— cue his extremely rigorous and inspirational training montage

GALE

he usually stays toward the rear during battle, using long range magic attacks while you take care of things in the front. he’s not adept at wearing armor and his robes don’t offer much protection— it’s just smarter this way

now imagine how his feeble wizard bones begin to quake when an enemy sneaks past you and sprints his way with a melee attack LMFAO. he’s a planner, not an improviser, so his brain races a million miles a minute trying to think of which spell to use. he needs to cast something powerful, but your close proximity makes him hesitate

you notice his stutter and quickly reach out to off the enemy. unfortunately, this results in you turning your back to another and opening yourself up to a sneak attack. you’re hit hard, and it takes you out of the fight. luckily, the last enemy has 1 HP, so he can easily finish them off with a hasty bop on the head from his staff 💥

afterwards, he’s STRICKEN with worry, cradling your face and trying to get you to speak to him clearly. once he realizes that your injury is healable, you get whiplash from how fast he switches back and forth between admiration and concern. “that was absolutely amazing! 🤩 ” “I THOUGHT YOU DIED!!! 😵”

ASTARION

you guys are super playful in battle. seeing who can kill the most enemies, doing fun combos together, trash talking (it’s giving legolas and gimli). fights with him on your team are rarely serious

he’s quick and alert, so he’s an expert at dodging attacks— it just so happens that you’re standing behind him one of these times, and you end up taking the full force of the blow in his place. he’s used to teasing you for your misfortunes in battle, so his first instinct is to point and laugh 😭

when you don’t get up and give him a bloodstained grin, he realizes something is seriously wrong. a wave of panic washes over him, and the last thing he remembers is switching into feral vampire mode to get you two out of there safely— i’m talking ripping out throats with his teeth 👹

you’re immediately scolded once you come to; “imagine how bad that could’ve been!”, and “you scared me half to death!”— a.k.a he feels SO BAD for letting this happen LMAO, and he 100% blames himself for not knowing you were behind him. he admits it was his fault after you promise to be more careful, and he promises that he will be too (with a little leg room for fun, of course)

[wosoluver]

There's a place for you hc

Part 1

Claudia Pina Masterlist

Patri Guijarro Masterlist

Little moments

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Vicky! Come back here!" you yelled running after the younger girl, that as usual made everything in her power to have fun annoying , not only you, but the whole team. "That's not funny!"

But before you can mutter another word, Patri trips her, making Vicky fall hard, face first into the grass, dropping your phone.

"Be careful, Alexia will kill us if she gets injured!" you say hitting the back of her head playfully.

"A 'thank you' would've been nice!" she follows, looking up to you.

"Thank you, my knight in shining armor for saving the day once again!" you say mocking her a little.

"Oh just kiss already!" says Cata from her spot, sitting next to her friend on the ground, while Pina looks amusingly at the scene. And at the constant bickering between you two.

"Don't start giving Y/N ideas!" said Lucy.

"You know she'll take them!" completed Ona.

You only shook your head laughing as you walked away not entirely denying it.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Bon dia, meus amors!" you say coming into the gym to start the workout for the day.

You noticed that Claudia, usually playful and cheery looked a bit tired and not in the mood at all to be there.

"Hey, anything up with Clau?" you said coming to do some pushups next to Patri.

"Uhm not really, she's been like this all morning. Almost got attacked for asking if she wanted a bit of cinnamon on her coffee!"

"Who even puts cinnamon on coffee?" you gave her a disgusted face.

"She does! Well, sometimes."

You decided to follow the girl into the locker room after you were done.

Claudia was taken by surprise when you hugged her, sitting next to her. She looked up at you, questioning silently.

"You look like you need a hug." giving her a small kiss on her temple. "I can get you a warm towel you can use as a heat pad, if you want?"

"How'd you know?"

"We have a similar menstrual cycle, and I've heard Guijarro almost lost her head this morning. And honestly that's exactly what I feel like doing, when I'm on my PMS."

"Thank you." she said as you got up to get what she needed.

Jana shook her head wondering when would you guys ever move out of the friend zone.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"You, Cata, Salma, Paredes and Ona with me." said Patri pointing at you, picking out her team for the day's training.

"Not again!" you said with a groan. "Alexia please! I want to be in the winning team at least once in my life!" you said looking at the older woman who was captain of the other team, adding a small laugh at the end.

"Maybe if I didn't insist on picking you as a defender every time, we wouldn't be losing!" Guijarro rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"It was just a joke," you put your hands up in defense. "I love doing charity work." you said looking at the others in the group. "No offense guys."

They laughed along, knowing you just wanted to spite Patri.

"Since you're being so selfless today, can you please manage to stop Pina's attacks?" she says back with a clever smirk.

You only passed her the ball while sticking out your tongue. And she remembers wishing she could have you doing that in between her legs.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

You guys got ready to play yet another clássico. The superiority of Barça was already proven, but it was still a lot of fun work, for you to deny them goals, and for your teammates to get the ball past Misa, as many times as possible.

You greeted your rivals as the game was set to begin. The game had been heated as usual, a lot of fouls committed, and by the second half you had already received a yellow card, a few substitutions were made by the 65' minute mark, and Pina joined the game.

You tried your best to keep it in your lane, but you didn't mind dabbling into other positions, so when you had the chance to cross a ball to Claudia, you did and she managed to score beautifully, after a solo play.

You ran along to hug her and celebrate. You had been in a group hug, when she interlaced her fingers around your head pulling your forehead to hers, giving you a slight nod. Sharing a sweet moment, blending your beads of sweat together.

Pulling apart you noticed Patri holding onto the both of you with a big proud smile.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Can't wait for the day to be over." you sighed disappointed.

Today had been a tough one. It seemed like every other play you tried to complete failed, your passes weren't assertive enough and you held yourself to high standards and maybe too high for your own good.

Having a bad day felt like the end of your career, ignoring completely the fact that you were a human being and that lows happen.

"Can't take another ten minutes huh?" teased Patri.

"Stop it." you said, brow raised warningly at her. It wasn't like you to cut the jokes short.

"You look stressed." changing into a concerned tone.

"I am." you said barely above a whisper. You weren't one to talk about how you felt, not when it came to your unhealthy relationship with work.

She only nodded her head, putting her phone on her pocket.

"Hold this?" she said handing you her water bottle. "Okay, hop on."

"Why?"

"I'm piggybacking you to the locker room." you two shared a moment of silence as you gave in. Feeling thankful for that small favor, from her.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Lovely anon, thank you for this idea! I love it so much, I just don't want to give away the plot yet! 🤭 that's the only reason why I haven't attached to your request.

Already have three parts planned for this!

Good to be back! 🩷

don't forget to like and share!

[its-wabby-stuff]

Krang Will Rise

I have a couple theories, regarding the Krang.

There is such little evidence for it, that I don’t even think there’s evidence against it. But hear me out.

I think only Krang prime can abolish mystics. It’s not an ability tied to every Krang, only to him.

Thé Krang value strength above all else, putting no remorse into losing those deemed weak. As such, wouldn’t that make Krang Prime, their leader, the strongest? And what better way to deem yourself the strongest than carrying a unique ability that takes away your enemies greatest potential threat.

Another reason: it seems there are three types of krang. The biotech, the warrior, and the interrogator. I’m not sure how much they overlap, but I do think they carry specialities. Given krang brother is most often asked to- spread their krangness. He is responsible for krangification, domain expansion, and manipulating the technology they have (Nevermind how all these abilities make him the perfect match for Donnie)(also think Krang Brother is mute). Krang sister is the most skilled and best fighter. I’m sure she outclasses the boys in that regard. I’d go as far to say she’s second in command, leading the charge while brother krang stays behind (her role as commander matches as Commander O’Niels opposite in war, hence their quarrel). Leaving Krang Prime, who has the ability to dig into a persons mind, manipulate their captives, control the hive mind, and abolish mystic powers. Perhaps rare amongst Krang, this makes them the perfect leader (do I even need to explain why he’s Leo’s main antagonist, his opposite in every way?).

I mentioned how krang brother is likely responsible for krangification, which leads me to a second point. Clearly, from the start of the invasion to the end in the bad timeline, the krangs numbers increased 100 fold. From 3 lone survivors to hundreds if not more. Which has led me to wonder how krang are created. I have two theories: 1) in the bad timeline, the krang in the prison dimension didn’t die. Meaning that when Leo grabbed the key in the movie, and altered time, the resulting explosion caused the krang to be wiped out. 2) the probably more likely one- they repopulated.

Thé krang are clearly parasitic creatures. Meaning their reproduction is likely from a source, that source being humans. “Recreating this world in the image of krang.” Krang possession is simple, and any krang can do it, latch a bit of themselves to a human and start the battle of wills. Krang dogs are amother easier way to make more, a quick process that mangles the hosts body. We see this happen with the foot clan. But if you want powerful krang, with no chance to turn on you, and to truly become one with krang, you transform them.

Raph was found in a bubble. In a slimy krang cocoon stuck to the ceiling and filled with glowing yellow goop. He was going to be turned, transformed into Krang. And he was going to be powerful, his source material being stronger than most. He was- until the process was interrupted. Notice how the krangification didn’t come from the outside, it wasn’t attached, it was growing inside him. And, unlike the other krangified peoples we saw, his eye turned purple. It wasn’t just covered in hoop with the yellow hive mind eye, it was purple. Let it be a testament to Raphs inner strength cause he very well may have accomplished a feat deemed impossible to overcome. The process wasn’t supposed to be reversible, he wasn’t supposed to be able to break free, he was krang now. Krang Prime could feel his struggle, sense his resistance, and hear his thoughts as the turtle fought it off.

Once you turned, there was no going back. You were krang. Your old life didn’t matter. Your old friends didn’t matter. You had a new family. A new purpose to fulfill. New powers to explore. And given treasures for the hunt. The mark of a krang and a fucking massive piece of armor. This way of reproduction was useful when hunting new prey, as their knowledge of the species past through, truly allowing them to know their enemies and conquer planets. Krang can never die.

Then again. I could be wrong.

——————

Thanks for reading! Likes and Reblogs appreciated! Other related theories and stories:

Resistance to Krang; The Shredder armor; Emperym Life Blood

[mr-thundercloud]

Demon twins au (Pt 2/5-6?)

(Link to the Pt.1)

-------------------------Same Pov as last time--------------------------

Compartmentalizing had always been my way. I learned early on that emotions could be a liability, an impediment to my mission. But as I sped toward Wayne Manor, my heartbeat drummed an erratic rhythm in my chest, each pulse a reminder that I had just discovered I had a son, a son who was in danger.

Traffic was nonexistent, and I hit every green light, but I felt as if the very air in my lungs was suffocating me. Each second is impossibly long. Images flashed through my mind: a boy with dark hair and an impish grin that mirrored my own. The worst-case scenarios clawed at my thoughts, but I shoved them aside. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let grief overtake me. Not now.

When I entered the Cave, Damian was already working furiously at the Batcomputer, analyzing the video where Danny appeared, a fleeting shadow caught against a window. There was uncertainty in the frame, but we knew it was enough to find him.

I suited up quickly, the familiar weight of the cowl settling over my face, my heart steadying as I did so. All the world faded away, save for my son’s fragile existence hanging in the balance and my singular focus: save Danny.

Damian and I wasted no time. Through the crack in the window of that grainy footage, we could see an expanse—an unmarked yard with only a distant sign that read RK, ILLINOIS, a three-digit population number I could not decipher yet. Discussions turned into lists and plans. The mundane rattled in stark contrast to the urgency in the air.

With the locations narrowed down to six, I could sense my pulse quickening again—not from haste but from fear. What if we were too late? Mental checks and balances slipped as the thought danced across my mind, but I suppressed it. Running Danny’s image through facial recognition, I felt a flicker of hope.

“Daniel Fenton, Amity Park,” I read aloud, the name heavy with implications. I could hear my heart thumping as both excitement and dread coursed through me. I was a man on a mission, but now, more than ever, I was a father.

We took flight in the Batplane, the roar of the engines drowning out the frantic pounding in my chest. Damian was on the lookout for any sign of movement on the streets, relaying any potential clues. The silence between us weighed like steel, rich with unspoken truths.

I broke the stillness, drawn to my son’s story. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question hung in the air, sharp and biting.

Damian’s voice was steady but tinged with something more resounding. “When an assassin is killed, they are erased,” he replied, and I felt an ache for the son I didn’t know, an ache that twisted and coiled. “He was forgotten…until now.”

“What’s he like?” I dared to ask, urgency blending with curiosity.

“Danny is older than me,” he began, a tremor of pride creeping into his tone. “He prefers gardens, avoids unnecessary violence… He defied our grandfather’s wishes quietly. He’s more than what they made him to be." Laying bare my son’s defiance and individuality pierced through the armor I wore like an extra skin. I was building a picture of a boy who was both mine and not mine—a spirit living in the shadow of my world.

As we zoomed into Madison, the van’s trail flickering across Damian’s tablet drew my focus. “They have government identification,” he reported, an alarming new detail. It reminded us both that this was bigger than just family—this was a battle.

When the white van vanished from the screen, leaving nothing but question marks, we powered down the Batplane miles from the town. Each sharp breath echoed the growing weight of responsibility. We used our bikes to scout the area, adrenaline thrumming.

The cottage stood in sharp contrast to the looming castle registered under the mayor’s name. It begged investigation, hushed whispers felt like echoes of the past. Two buildings, two purposes—a question to unravel.

“Let’s check the cottage first,” I declared, and as we approached that weathered façade, my heart sank with the looming reality. The world shrunk to one singular thought: I was going to save my son. No more compartmentalizing; this was personal now.

I would find Danny. I had to. Before the darkness could claim him, I would wield my fears as a shield. I had only just found him; I wasn’t about to lose him again.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter Four: Knight Titus

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: A chance encounter with the Brotherhood of Steel allows you to escape the gulper and continue your journey. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.4k

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“My lord! I’ve got you! Knight Titus!”

“I’m going in! I got you!”

Muffled shouts and piercing screams echo through the air as the gulper you've been trapped inside starts to emit a deep rumble. Suddenly, the creature violently regurgitates you, along with its stomach and its contents spilling out. Gasping and retching, you find yourself drenched in gulper bile.

"How the hell am I still alive?!" you shout, bewildered. "And why does it have so many damn fingers?!"

"Who are you?" a nervy man asks, clutching the head of the doctor.

"That's my head, give it back!" you demand, reaching for it, only to have your hand swatted away by another man. Looking up, you see a towering Knight of the Brotherhood standing over you.

"Oh, it's the flying garbage can," you remark nonchalantly, recognizing the distinctive power armor of the Brotherhood from the claw marks you had observed when the knight had soared above you a few days earlier.

"Do not show disrespect to my lord! This is Knight Titus of the Brotherhood of Steel! And I am his squire, Thaddeus!" the squire interjects, his voice filled with righteous indignation.

"Shut up, you little weasel," you retort.

"What's a weasel?" Thaddeus mutters to the knight, his confusion evident as he seeks clarification on the insult hurled his way. In response, the knight simply gives a shrug.

"Who are you, and how did you end up inside that gulper?" Knight Titus demands, his voice resonating with authority.

"I don't have time for you tin cans!" you dismissively huff, frustration evident in your voice as you lunge at Thaddeus, causing him to shriek in terror. The dog, miraculously still present, begins barking loudly at the commotion. Amidst the chaos, Knight Titus remains motionless, silently observing the scene.

“My lord! She’s feral!” Thaddeus cries out in fear, clinging to the head.

"Just give me the damn head! And stop squealing like that," you demand, your voice laced with irritation as you mindlessly slap Thaddeus in your disoriented state. As a seasoned bounty hunter, you are typically much more composed and intimidating, but the ordeal of being trapped inside a gulper's stomach has left your mind foggy and your actions uncharacteristically erratic.

You hear heavy footsteps approaching, unmistakably the sound of power armor. Knight Titus lifts you up by the collar of your shirt, leaving you suspended in the air while Thaddeus manages to stand up.

“Why are you so mean?” Thaddeus exclaims earnestly.

“She’s a bounty hunter,” Knight Titus confirms, his tone steady and authoritative as he presumably looks you over. It’s always so hard to tell what those damn Brotherhood Knights are thinking. Without warning, he offers a brief apology before delivering a powerful punch to your face, sending you spiraling into unconsciousness.

Head pounding, you gradually sit up and survey your surroundings, realizing that the two men and the head are nowhere to be seen. Even the dog has skipped out on you, leaving you alone. Luckily, your bag is still with you, and you begin to rummage through it in search of any meds. Upon finding the vials you used to bribe the ghoul, now broken and rendered useless, you let out a frustrated breath. "Yeah, he definitely wasn’t coming back for me," you mutter.

With a sense of relief, you salvage a single stimpak and a supply of rad-away from your bag and use both items. Covered in a grimy mixture of gulper bile, dirt, and dried blood, you realize that it's definitely time for wash. Seeing no signs of any creatures around, you determine you’re in the clear to safely wash.

Without bothering to shed your soiled clothes and armor, reasoning that they could use a good wash as well, you wade into the cool waters of the flooded ruins. The water envelops you, washing away the layers of grime and filth that cling to your skin and clothes. The coolness soothes your aching muscles and clears your mind.

After what feels like an eternity, you emerge from the water, feeling slightly refreshed. As you step out onto the dry soil, the sun begins to set, casting a warm glow over the wasteland. You begin to wonder where the ghoul could’ve gone. He obviously dragged the vault dweller with him and needs more of those vials. Unfortunately the few vials you had you scavenged off of feral ghouls you took down so you truly have no clue where one goes to purchase them.

Your boots squish with every step, a sensation you despise, but there's little you can do about it. Glancing down, you notice that your clothes are worse for wear, prompting you to make a mental note to buy something new, by wasteland standards, at the next settlement you come across. You sort through your bag, discarding any broken or unnecessary items. All that remains is some ammo, a canister of somewhat purified water, a small stash of caps, and the Pip-Boy you seldom use. I wonder if there's a Super Duper Mart nearby, you think to yourself.

Throwing the bag over your shoulder and ensuring your weapons are secure, you set out in search of a store to scavenge. Concerned that your weapons may be too soaked to function properly, you make sure you still have the large hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The darkness begins to descend, but you remain determined to press forward, keeping a watchful eye for anything dangerous.

As you navigate through the fading light, your eyes scan the horizon for any signs of civilization. The wasteland stretches out before you, a desolate expanse of ruins and decay. The only sound is the distant howling of the wind, carrying with it the haunting whispers of the forgotten world.

The landscape begins to change, the remnants of buildings becoming more frequent. You spot the crumbling remains of what was once a small town. You check each building cautiously but nothing of value is found. In one building, you come across a dead ghoul with a gunshot wound to the head and… whose ass cheeks have been stripped for meat. This world is unforgiving but the idea of resorting to cannibalism is something you simply cannot fathom and hope to never encounter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a decrepit stairwell and carefully head upstairs. At the top, a cozy setup greets you - a dirty mattress, an oil lamp, and a few old yum-yum deviled eggs. This must have been the makeshift home of the ghoul from below. Despite his grim fate, you're thankful for the somewhat snug spot to rest for the night. You aren’t too concerned about whatever cannibal stripped him of meat since they are most likely long gone by now. Settling down on the mattress, your eyes grow heavy and you swiftly fall asleep.

As you slowly awake to the morning light filtering through the boarded-up window, you feel a tugging sensation on your left leg. Startled, you look down to see a tiny radroach attempting to nibble on you. Reacting quickly with a loud shriek, you kick its face and draw your knife, stabbing it repeatedly until it stops moving. Taking a deep breath, you lean back against the wall and open the yum-yum deviled eggs. Chewing through them, you defiantly welcome the day with a loud “Good fucking morning to you, too, wasteland!”

After finishing the deviled eggs and taking a swig of water, you prepare for the day ahead. Double-checking the contents of your bag and inspecting your weapons that had gotten wet the day before, everything appears to be in working order. Satisfied, you descend the stairs and step out through the front door. The scorching heat of the day is already intense, with the sun's rays beating down on the sandy ground. Your attention is drawn to a trail of footprints, two distinct pairs, which prompts you to follow out of curiosity.

With each step, the trail of footprints becomes more defined, leading you closer to the ruins of a city. The skeletal remains of skyscrapers loom ahead of you, their shattered windows like hollow eyes, observing your progress. The trail winds its way through the eerie maze of desolation, navigating past rusted cars and collapsed structures. Before you know it, you hear a man and woman talking up ahead in front of a Super Duper Mart. You quickly hide behind a nearby building and peer around the corner

It’s that fucking ghoul and vault dweller.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation

[riptidesblog]

Theory about Lilly

In MotM there is a statue of Lilly present in Heart of the Mountain.Now let's take a closer look at it:

Markings.Does it remind you of anything?Here's a clue:who else was close to their elements and has/had markings on their face(and body)?

These two:

There are two explanations for the markings on her statue:

1.Artistic choice of munce and geckles that built it,maybe the face markings are meant to be hair strands and other markings are details like armor and clothing.

2.Lilly almost merged with the earth and markings on the statue are referencing that.

First of all,her statue does not resemble others in the temple:

Their markings are armor/clothing details and are identical,but unlike Lilly's.Not to mention that spinjitsu burst and merging look similar:

Doesn't that look like a spinjitsu?

So,I think Lilly almost merged with the earth. The reason she didn't lose herself?My options are:

1.Gleck,who was her friend,saw that something was wrong and interfered before the transformation was complete,likely using Lilly's medallion to remind her of her family.She snapped out of it and later left the medallion with Gleck as a thank you gift.

2.She wasn't supposed to/can't merge with the earth.This comes from my hc that only those with direct ties to the source of power(water and wind elementals&technically Lloyd but only bc he's just the first to have energy and grandson of FSM) and tame elements have changed hosts many times over the course of history(The hc is in my Wojira lore theory post).Therefore,her mortal body couldn't handle all that power and the connection was cut off.

3.Both of the previous options combined in some way.

Now,as to how it might have affected her.She died from an illness right?The one we never learned anything about.Don't you find it strange that a young,powerful and perfectly healthy elemental master(who are seemingly stronger than a regular human in many ways as we've seen ninja recover from things that would leave a normal person seriously injured if not dead( Cole even had a car drop on him in s5, recovered from concussion in Crystallized and his fall in Oni trilogy)) suddenly fell sick?(that is not to say that I think em can't get sick,they are still only human after all)And doesn't a forcefully and/or abruptly cut off connection between an elemental and their element sound like something that might have negative effects on one's health?

(There are many reasons why Cole and Nya didn't have similar experiences.Earth may not have called to Cole as strongly due to being filled with vengestone/Cole was too busy fighting to listen to it's call/he ignored it/whatever you think.Nya didn't have health problems bc she didn't have the 'can't merge with element' limitation,was already merged and Aspheera draining her powers cut off the link enough for her body to have time to adjust before restoring that elemental connection.)

[violettavonviolet]

Merlin & Gravity falls fic recs

all fics are finished and fantastic! the word count goes up progressively, I've noted the ratings but do check the tags!

all fics marked with a star haven't left my brain since I read them.

Merlin

A Future Lined in Gold

predilection

Summary:

Gwaine's soulmate has magic. He knows this because his soulmark glows.

This wasn't as much of a problem until he started spending more time in Camelot where magic is banned, and where even someone catching sight of his soulmark could have him beheaded.

(A Merlin/Gwaine soulmate AU.)

6k gwaine/merlin teen

Secret Whistle

thenerdyindividual

Summary:

Merlin can't understand those stupid complicated hand signs Arthur uses on a hunt, but they figure out another way to communicate.

or: 5 times people were confused by Arthur and Merlin's secret language, and 1 time everyone understood.

6k merthur gen

Secrets

platonic_boner

Summary:

In which everyone gradually finds out that everyone else knew all along about the magic.

7k teen merthur

Co-Dependent

vintagemocha

Summary:

And then it hits Uther, like a fork of lightning: "Fine, then, no Merlin for a week."

"Oh, no," one of the knights, Sir Leon, gasps.

Arthur, whose jaw has been hanging open this entire time, finally regains his abilities of speech. "What?" he says. "No Merlin?"

+++

As punishment for Arthur's disobedience, Uther bans all contact with his manservant for a week.

It works out about as well as you could expect.

8k humor gen

The Authoritative Guide on Being the Bloke

writeonclara

Summary:

In the four years he and Merlin had been together, Merlin never so much hinted that he had a blog.

Well, at least not to Arthur. Everyone and their dog knew about it, except Arthur.

Arthur sighed and clicked Previous 10 Entries. It was a little like reading a biography about all of the things you would never, ever want to share with anyone.

ON SHAGGING THE BLOKE

Sort of like that.

OR: Merlin has a blog. Arthur finds out about it.

9k Merthur modern

Loyalty Before Royalty

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

"Where did you get that?" Arthur asked, but he already knew the answer. 

"Gwen."

"...and the horse?"

"Gwen."

"What about the-"

"Gwen." Merlin interrupted. Arthur nodded. At this point, he wasn't sure why he even bothered to ask. He was pretty certain his wife was going to knight Merlin any day now. He looked Merlin up and down for a few moments before accepting it all with a sigh.

"As long as you get my armor to me tomorrow...I don't care." He finally said, turning away. Merlin cleared his throat. 

"Gwen gave me tomorrow off."

"For the love of God." 

Or

I hate that Gwen and Merlin's friendship kind of withered away in the later seasons so here's a oneshot about her and Merlin abusing her new royal powers because that's what happens when your best friend becomes queen.

10k gwen& merlin gen

Good Fortune

platonic_boner

Summary:

Arthur makes Merlin a lord, and Merlin does an astonishingly good job of running a village.

11k merthur gen

Guarding the Guardian

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

“Mordred, right?” Arthur asked, kneeling in front of him. The boy nodded, eyes wide as he looked at Arthur as if he might bolt at any moment. “What are you doing back in Camelot? My father won’t like seeing you again.”

“He’s hurt.” Mordred whispered and Arthur glanced over at where Merlin was unconscious. A sudden realization dawned on him.

“You healed him,” He said slowly “With magic.”

Mordred nodded. Arthur’s mind raced – thinking of all Merlin had survived in his encounters with bandits and sorcerers. Before he could ask if Mordred had been responsible for all of it, there was a groan as Merlin shifted, eyes flickering open.

“Arth – you!” He choked, sitting up quickly to grab Arthur’s arm as if he could yank the prince away. Mordred grinned.

“You’re awake!” He beamed and launched forward to hug him. Arthur watched as Merlin stiffened at the action – eyes widening before desperately trying to push him away.

“Arthur. Arthur, get him off of me-”

Or

After sneaking Mordred out of Camelot, he occasionally returns to make sure Merlin is doing okay. Arthur isn’t sure why this child is so concerned about the wellbeing of his servant… Nor Merlin's vehement attempts to ignore it.

16k gen humor

Whispering Your Name *

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

The Dorocha. They are the voices of the dead, my child. And, like the dead, they are numberless.

Or

A different take of the dorocha. Instead of them being faceless screams that attack you, they are actually figures of the dead. Merlin doesn't quite realize how much death affected him until him and the knights go to close the veil.

22k angst gen

Thick as Sorcerers

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

Arthur watched, unable to fully comprehend the events that had seemingly just crashed and burned in front of him rather than calmly unfold. He turned to look at the other knights who only shrugged as Mordred sank lower into his seat, lips pressed into a pout as he picked at his food. 

“I…” He started and paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts “Why do you want Merlin to like you so badly?” He finally sighed. Mordred stopped playing with his food, glancing up before looking at the door the servant in question had exited through 

“Because he’s Merlin.” He said as if that provided any sort of answer. 

Arthur didn’t deserve this. He did his best to be a good person. Maybe this was some kind of divine intervention saying he needed to up his charity game. He needed to give the lower town a bigger tax break or something. Perhaps ride out and save three more damsels than usual. 

"He has a point," Gwaine piped up as he inhaled another mead "He is Merlin."

Or

Merlin hates Mordred and Mordred is determined to put an end to that. Arthur is convinced that this child is after his man.

23k merthur merlin & mordred

um, excuse me? i was dying *

great_stone_dragon

Summary:

Gideon is a fourteen year old boy who wants to know the real tea. Camelot has a lot of secrets to offer.

1. The prince's manservant has magic and everyone knows (except the prince)

2. The prince is in love with his manservant and everyone knows (except the manservant)

OR

The Office if it was merthur in Camelot

30k humor gen

How to kill a king

Naelyn

Summary:

"That is how you deal with your problems! By politely stating your aim and waiting for your turn to come, instead of coming here with your weapons and no word of warning! D’you reckon it’s easy for me? Not only do I have to deal with the mess he,“ Merlin pointed at Arthur with his chin, “leaves behind him, but now I also have to deal with unplanned assassinations? This world has become a crazy place, isn’t that right, Gwaine?”

or:

Arthur's assassins seriously lack style, and Merlin tells them as much. The knights are stunned. So are the assassins. Also, Merlin's mad at Arthur, and so he is determined to ruin his day as much as possible. In the meanwhile, Gwaine's just living his best life (isn't he always?).

38k merthur crack

Next to You (It's the Rule)

LunaMyLove

Summary:

Arthur and Merlin have a special relationship. They always have, even when they were prince and servant. While many question it when first noticing, eventually it becomes an understanding in Camelot—and even among some other countries—that where there is Arthur, there is Merlin. And, where there is Merlin, there is Arthur.

Or

Arthur and Merlin's relationship as witnessed and explained by others.

Also, or

Five times someone realizes that Merlin is the Queen, one time Merlin realizes it himself, and one time he owns it.

62k merthur crack gen

Canary in a Cage

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

“Lady Morgana,” The lord said, his brows furrowing as he took a step back “Pardon me for the assumption, but I was told the king’s ward never left the East tower?” He asked and gestured vaguely around the gardens. Morgana smiled and Merlin smirked from his hiding place as he watched Arthur consider swooping in to save the man, but clearly thinking better of it. 

“Ah, of course.” Morgana said “You must be confused. There are two wards of the king. I’m afraid you won’t be able to meet Merlin today.” 

Or

Uther took in Balinor’s child as a baby and claimed him as his ward. Merlin thinks he’s being held hostage, but whatever.

108k merthur

Gravity falls

to you, who bears my name

masterdipster

Summary:

In a world where most people have names printed on their wrist, Dipper Pines is born with a cipher.

22k Billdip teen and up

Five Minutes Older

thesnadger

Summary:

Mabel ends up trapped in 1979, without her brother and with a broken time machine that she can't fix herself. Luckily, her Grunkle Stan is there. Of course, he's a lot younger now...he has a mullet, he's living out of his car and he doesn't know he's her Grunkle. But he's not planning to let this weird, sparkly little girl end up alone on the streets.

27k time travel

Five Years Older

Nicnac

Summary:

When twenty-seven year old Mabel Pines stumbles across a banged-up time tape in the park, she tells herself that she's much too mature and responsible now to use it to go on a crazy adventure through time. 

Hahaha, yeah right.

46k time travel

The Small Things

Nicnac

Summary:

Stan had definitely showed up empty-handed, but he somehow ended up leaving with two five year olds in tow.

Eh, he'd been to worse memorial services.

55k series

The Whole of Us (is greater than the sum of our broken pieces)

Nicnac

Summary:

Stanford Pines was going to make his legacy by becoming the man who changed the world. Children weren't really part of the plan. 

At least, they weren't supposed to be.

144k teen and up

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 4

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 4/?

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: suggestive, 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

While the Palace staff were working hard doing last-minute preparations for the High Lords and their courtiers, you were running around the castle expending your energy. Your nerves were through the roof, this was the first time you’d meet most of the High Lords as Thesan’s second and you wanted everything to go perfectly. You thought long and hard how you wanted to be perceived and you decided to go with who you were. Someone who was friendly and kind but once you were crossed or tested, they’d find out about that fire within you.

             By the time you were bathed and dressed in one of the finest gowns you owned, it was already 1 hour till the High Lords were due to arrive. You had your handmaiden Liss help you sweep your hair into an updo with small pieces of hair framing your face. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, you smiled as Liss fussed over the smallest details of your outfit. Your dress was the color of the light blue tinge of the dawn sky. Tiny straps clung onto your shoulders as the material dipped into a deep V-neck that showed off your skin in a tasteful way. Taking the necklace from your jewelry armoire, you clasped the glowing sapphire necklace around your neck, it was so opulent you almost felt unworthy of wearing them.

As if she could sense your insecurity, Liss gave your outfit an approving nod before leaving your room. She was a no-nonsense faerie who was many centuries old, she didn’t talk much so you knew that her compliment was genuine. You did a little spin and admired the subtle golden glow under your skin. Like most of your wardrobe, the dress was backless so your wings had easy access and wouldn’t get in the way. Thesan had granted you permission to reveal your powers whenever you wanted and at first, you were going to reveal your wings as the other courts arrived. Then you decided that it was best to keep the element of surprise on your side, if anyone decided to pull any stupid shit in this meeting, you would be the one to neutralize the situation.

             You meet Thesan, Callon, and the other Peregryn warriors in the grand meeting room, your cousin and Callon kissed your cheek in greeting and your winged friends gave you a nod.

             “That dress would look prettier if your wings were out,” commented Wyla.

The other warriors who were clad in their golden armor nodded enthusiastically. You had told the warriors in this room about your plans to finally reveal your true nature and they were excited for you. They knew how exhausting and irritating it was for you to hide your wings, they also hated that you were forced to keep your identity a secret, but they understood why. The warriors were also looking forward to no longer needing to keep such a big secret from the public.

“I wholly agree Wyla, but we must be patient because all will be revealed in due time. Before they get here, does anyone else want to place any bets?” you said as you plucked a grapevine from one of the many food platters. “I already bet Callon 30 gold marks that some stupid male is going to try to fight within the first hour of the meeting. He thinks a fight will break out in 30 minutes.”

The Peregryn warriors chuckled, Thesan was rolling his eyes even though he thought it was funny you were placing bets on the temperaments of the courtiers.

The wind shifted through the arches and a wave of warmth brushed past you, moments later, High Lord Helion and his entourage made their entrance. Thesan introduces you all and Helion takes in your figure and eyes the glowing sapphires sitting on your chest. The High Lord of Day gave you a dazzling smile that almost made you blush before taking your hand and brushing a kiss on top.

“My lady,” he purred. “I can see why Thesan has kept you hidden from court, you are an enigma.”

You rolled your eyes as you bowed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you High Lord Helion, I hope to work with you and your Court in the future.” He was incredibly handsome, there was no doubt about that, but nothing could beat a certain Illyrian you were anxiously waiting to see.

Winter Court arrived soon after Helion and their High Lord Kallias was a lot less pleasant than you expected. He was formal and polite yet ice-cold. His wife Vivianne, on the other hand, was as lovely and refreshing as crisp winter air. You liked her right away and could tell you could be friends in the future. You led the two courts to the refreshment tables where attendants helped them with whatever they wanted. The Palace began conjuring chairs to match the number of attendees around the reflection pool. The conversation was flowing easily between the three courts when you noticed little wisps of smoke moving slowly and low on the ground.

Azriel.

You leave a pleasant smile on your face, but your eyes tracked its every move. The muscle on your jaw began to clench from irritation that Azriel had ignored your warnings not to send his shadows to your court. It seems you are the only one to notice them so once Vivianne had captured everyone in a riveting conversation, you moved towards the shadows. Using the skirt of your dress, you discreetly swished them around to disperse them. Surprised by their detection, they scattered until one wisp stayed behind and curiously wandered up towards your face. Your eyes darted to see if anyone was looking but everyone was too occupied to see it hovering around as if it was studying you.

“I have no idea if you can understand me but if you can, tell your shadowsinger to knock it off, or else I’m going to kick his ass when he gets here,” you said in a low voice. “Dawn Court is secure, and no one is going to ambush you when they get here.”

It disappeared into thin air and just as you walked back to the group of courtiers, you could feel Rhysand’s power before you heard the distant voice of an attendant welcoming the Night Court to Dawn. Your back straightened up as you heard multiple footsteps come closer to the meeting chamber, Thesan had begun to move to greet them, and you followed right behind his heels. Rhysand brought his court with him but the first faerie you noticed was Azriel whose piercing hazel eyes were already looking into yours. You inwardly groaned when you noticed the slight smirk he had on his absurdly handsome face, it looked like the bastard did get your message.

The two High Lords exchanged pleasantries and then Rhys began to introduce you to the other members of the Night Court. The first person you met was Cassian who looked you up and down, no doubt sizing you up to determine how much of a threat you were. The General raised his brow as he took in the five big jewels adorning your neck, his interest piqued as he noticed the power moving beneath them. Rhysand moved your attention to Feyre’s sister Nesta, who looked at you with those cold silver-blue eyes, you could sense there was something powerful brewing within her, something terrifying. Her icy glare took you in as if she could sense all the glamours and shields placed on your body. As if that deadly power within her could sense that poison you and Thesan had kept hidden. You matched her stare with pure steel until she had the good sense to look away first. Nesta was in your territory and estate, even she could respect your hierarchy and authority.

The gorgeous blonde you meet next turns out to be Rhysand’s third-in-command named Morrigan. Unlike Nesta, she greeted you with a warm smile and you reciprocated it deeming it as genuine. After meeting the new courtiers, Feyre stepped up to you almost sheepishly as if she was still embarrassed by the way you had caught her and Azriel trying to break into your library. You gave her a sharp once over with your gaze landing on the crown on top of her head. Rhysand’s scent lingered around her and then a smirk appeared on your lips.

“A few months ago, Rhysand was still looking at you with heart eyes, and now what? You’re wearing a crown and I hear you’re mates? You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, my friend,” you said with a sly grin on your face. Rhysand rolled his eyes as Feyre poked him on the side. You gestured to the wings behind him, “I like the new look, Rhysand. It suits you.”

Thesan forced himself not to laugh at your bluntness. He had been careful not to mention Rhysand’s newly revealed wings but then you came in and talked about them without batting an eye. He supposed he understood your excitement because just like Rhysand, you’ve been hiding a set of wings yourself. Thesan also understood why you were sometimes careless with your words and actions; you could take down enemies without striking or wielding a weapon. You were so gifted; you could do whatever you wanted.

To Thesan’s relief, Feyre and Rhysand laughed at your candor. The High Lord of Night grinned as he thanked you for your compliment. Feyre launched into a story of what had happened, and Rhysand took this opportunity to talk to his brother who was mentally yelling at him to respond.

Are those siphons?! asked Cassian. She’s High Fae…

They look like siphons, she wasn’t wearing those jewels when we last visited, reported Rhysand.

Cassian was now looking at you in awe, Do you see the power moving underneath? Mother above, what is she?

I don’t know, just be on your guard, replied Rhysand.

The two brothers looked over at Azriel who hadn’t said a single mental word, he had his eyes glued on you the entire time. While Feyre had you captivated by her story, Azriel and his shadows were getting antsy to formally greet you. He had received the message you gave his shadow loud and clear, he walked into the meeting chamber with his chest puffed out knowing he had succeeded in agitating you. The goal was to scope out the Palace as discreetly as he could but a part of him had wanted you to notice, hoping to tease and poke fun that he had managed to get through the wards. Azriel had no idea why he thought you would find it funny, the icy glare you shot at him the moment he walked in was sobering.

Once Feyre was done filling you in with what happened to her and Rhysand in the last couple of months, your attention finally shifted to Azriel, and his entire body tensed. He was genuinely scared of what you’d do because you promised to throttle him if you caught him spying again. With calculated moves, he bends to pick up your hand and brushes an attentive kiss on top. He had half expected you to backhand or punch him now that your hands were so close to his face, but you did no such thing. Not with all the other faeries in the room.

“It’s nice to see you again, Lady Y/n,” said Azriel, his voice deep and rich.

You wanted to berate him for using his shadows, to call Azriel and his Rhysand out and brag that their attempts at spying were once again thwarted by you. There were lots of sharp words you wished to say but nothing made its way past your lips. Azriel's scent wafted over you, and you could no longer think about anything but the enticing smell of night-chilled mist and cedarwood filling your senses. Your head tilted back as you glared at the shadowsinger who watched you warily. The best you could do was give a simple “Hmph” that came out from the back of your throat. You decided that you would give Azriel a piece of your mind whether physical or verbal but not yet, not in front of the High Lords.

Thesan and the others watched the strange interaction between you and the Illyrian. Cassian and Callon tensed at the stares passed between you and Azriel, the looks were heated but they weren’t exactly sure if it was from anger or something else. The only thing that stopped your glowering was the arrival of the Summer Court. Tarquin, Cressieda, and Varian strode in and there was immediate tension once they set their eyes on Rhysand and Feyre. Thesan moved to say hello so you and Callon followed, leaving the Night Court to converse with the others.

 Your near scowl turned into a smile as you approached your friends from Summer, the princess and prince bowed to your High Lord, and you bowed to theirs. Tarquin was just about to throw a glare toward Night Court, but you swooped in and took his arm in one hand and Cressieda’s in the other. With the blood rubies in mind, you cheerfully greeted them and tugged the pair toward the food. Thesan shot you a thankful look and you winked back as you thrust a glass of fae wine into Tarquin’s hand.

While waiting for Autumn and Spring to arrive, everyone dispersed into groups as they nibbled on food and sipped wine. With you and Thesan distracted by your guests, Rhysand threw a quick sound glamour around him and his inner circle. With the go-ahead from Rhys, Cassian punched Azriel in the shoulder and threw a glance at you in that lovely cerulean gown.

“You didn’t tell me you had a thing with Thesan’s hot second-in-command!” said Cassian enthusiastically.

Azriel carefully looked at Mor to see her reaction, but she wasn’t even near him. She was on the other side of the room animatedly catching up with Vivianne. “I don’t have a thing with Y/n. She’s just mad because she caught me using my shadows on the Palace.”

He knew you were a great warrior; they had told him your story and how you got the scar. Cassian also knew you had the unique ability to detect whenever Azriel was sneaking around so he knew you were somewhat powerful. What his brothers and Feyre failed to tell him was how elegant and beautiful you were, to Cassian you were everything he looked for in a female. If Nesta Archeron hadn’t captured his attention and clawed her way into his heart, Cassian thought you were someone he could love right away. Despite that, he was still a shameless flirt who had a knack for voicing his most immediate opinions.

“Gods,” muttered Cassian. “She’s stunning. Too bad she looked like she wanted to kill you Az, you missed your chance there.”

The shadowsinger's brows furrowed as Rhys and Feyre snickered. For some reason, it bothered him that Cassian was fawning over you. What irritated him even more was the sight of you and Tarquin’s arms still hooked together. You weren’t leaning into him, but the gesture was a little too friendly and Azriel did not like what it may have indicated. Azriel sighed and continued to survey the room, watching for anything amiss, but his gaze kept finding its way back to you. Cassian was right, you were stunning, no—ravishing in that dress. His eyes flickered to the blue sapphires around your neck, they were so similar to the cobalt siphons he wore on his body. Each stone glistened and thrummed with power, the biggest stone in the middle dipped lower on your chest which directed his gaze to your soft, exposed skin. Heat spread through him as he imagined what was underneath the material.

You felt someone’s heavy gaze so your head snaps toward their direction to find Azriel looking at you. He held your gaze for a split second before his throat bobbed and he looked away, starting a conversation with Cassian. You watched as his shadows swarmed behind him, they were on high alert and made the large male look even more menacing. Instead of the black suit he wore to his first visit to Dawn, today he was wearing what you assumed was Illyrian armor. The material was made of leather, and it fit snugly to his body, it allowed you to see every band of muscle that wrapped around his limbs and torso. His siphons were strapped onto his body, you counted seven jewels making you wonder how powerful these two Illyrians were to need seven siphons each to control their power.

Your gaze drifted back to Azriel’s handsome face; it was utterly unfair that someone could be that beautiful. His hair was raven black and slightly wavy; you wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through his hair. His skin was smooth apart from the stubble on his chiseled jaw. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you lifted your hand to trace the notched skin on your eyebrow and above the cheekbone. You glanced back to Azriel to find him looking at you once again, those cold eyes studying you. Feeling a blush slowly heat your cheeks, you angled the scarred side of your face away from Azriel. Trying your best to cool off, you hardened your features and forced yourself to concentrate on whatever Varian was saying.

High Lord Beron, his wife, and sons finally arrived, and you quickly learned why Thesan arrived with a headache whenever he came back from the Autumn Court. When Thesan introduced you, Beron and his sons barely acknowledged you aside from his wife and eldest son, Eris who gave you a small curt nod. The lack of respect from Beron had your sapphires flaring with power, Thesan shot you a warning look and you could have sworn you heard a chuckle coming from the Night Court. When everyone had settled into their chairs surrounding the reflection pool, you learned about the Book of Breathings, the book Night Court stole from Summer. They tell you about Hybern and you and Thesan share a look, it is what you both feared. The King of Hybern was gathering an army and Rhysand wanted to know who would fight with him.

 Suddenly, High Lord Tamlin winnowed himself into the meeting chamber. Tension immediately filled the air and your eyes darted toward Feyre who was doing a phenomenal job schooling her features as she looked at her former lover. Thesan stood up to meet him and conjured another chair into the circle. You had never met Tamlin before and so far, you weren’t getting the best impression of the male, you understood that he was angry at Feyre and Rhysand but to act this brash? You listened to their arguments with neutrality, but the more Spring and Night fought, the more you started to choose Feyre’s side. This was one of the reasons why love was so overrated, it had driven this respectable High Lord into insanity and led him to foolishly let Hybern infiltrate his court. It made him weak.

You looked at Feyre and Rhysand and then at Kallias and Vivianne. What they had seemed sweet, but it just didn't seem worth the extra risks. Do they realize how vulnerable they are? Your cynical thoughts were cut off when you heard Eris start talking, his voice laced with ignorance and venom. He had just insulted Mor and called her a slut, before you could interject, Azriel explodes from his chair at blinding speed. The sound of shattering wood and the crack of marble was the first thing you heard, it was then followed by Cassian swearing and the shouts of surprise. Azriel had somehow gotten through Eris’s shields and was now on top of him, his scarred hands wrapped around the throat of Autumn Court’s heir. You shot up from your seat and Callon immediately grabbed your arm and shoved you behind him, he placed his hand on his sword and used his body to block you and Thesan from the commotion.

Eris was struggling to breathe, his face red as his body thrashed and twisted trying to get away from the shadowsinger. You watched with wide eyes, Azriel was the embodiment of icy hot rage as his knee pressed against Eris’s diaphragm restricting the movement of his lungs. His shadows were swarming and surrounded him as if they were threatening to stop anyone and anything from interfering. Beron started throwing his power toward Azriel, but the fire either bounced toward the reflection pool or Azriel’s shadows tore through the flames until there was nothing but wisps of smoke.

“Enough,” commanded Rhysand but Azriel didn’t budge.

Azriel couldn’t think. He wanted to kill Eris for insulting Mor, his hands tightened around Eris’s throat. Then he heard Feyre, her voice gentle yet commanding, she was telling him to stop. Azriel bent down to Eris’s ear and told him how he would use the Truth-Teller to carve into him and give Eris the slowest and most excruciating death if he ever insulted Morrigan again. Eris Vanserra stopped his thrashing as he looked at the shadowsinger in horror. Azriel finally let go of the redhead’s throat, but his knee was still digging into his torso. Beron and his sons were looking extremely agitated and since Thesan was the host and voice of neutrality, you took it upon yourself to remind everyone whose court they were in.

“This is taking too long,” you muttered. Stepping from behind Callon, you swiftly made your way to the two males on the floor. “You!” you snapped, pointing at Azriel. “Get off him, right now!”

Azriel slowly stood up and blinked at you as if he was slowly regaining consciousness. Rhysand and Cassian looked at you with peculiar expressions on their faces as Feyre extended a hand and slowly led him away. Eris was still on the floor coughing up blood and saliva as you stood over him with disgust written all over your face.

“And you,” you said growling at the red-headed male. “Say anything treacherous like that in front of my guests and I swear to the Mother I will rip your balls off your body and make you eat it. The same goes for all of you. Behave yourselves.”

Your sapphires flickered as you sat back down on the cushioned chair with a huff. Thesan bristled as he waited for everyone’s reactions, thankfully the High Lords and their delegates just nodded. It was impossible for them not to have noticed your siphons flaring as the magic inside threatened to break through but the glowering shadowsinger held most of their attention, scared that his shadows had found a way to get through Eris’s protective shields. You looked at Azriel who was sitting down next to his High Lady, his jaw was set, and he kept glancing at Morrigan who refused to meet his eye. Sadness clouded his features and that was when you understood why Azriel reacted so harshly, he loved her. You looked at Mor once more and this small pang of jealousy rang through you, she was flawless. You wonder what their deal is, you don’t know how Mor could handle the weight of Azriel’s gaze when it was heavy with love and concern.

Thesan discreetly brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead, he was helping you put a damper on your power, and it was requiring more mental effort than usual. Your emotions were running rampant, the control you had on your magic slipping. You were too riled up, too much adrenaline pumping through you. He cast a worried glance toward Callon who was also observing you, Thesan arched an eyebrow and Callon rolled his shoulders back as if to say he was ready for what was to come. They have plans on how to best subdue you without hurting you, something they’ve only had to do twice when you were a young Fae.

Tamlin took it upon himself to make the meeting about his issues with Feyre and Rhysand. The other High Lords and their delegates watched wide-eyed as the three of them verbally tore each other apart. What crossed the line and made you bristle was Tamlin’s incredibly inappropriate remark about Feyre’s facial expressions during sex. Your temper flared and you were about to yell at Tamlin when you noticed there was no noise coming out of his opening and closing mouth. Your head snapped to Rhysand who just watched Tamlin with his sharp violet eyes. You had forgotten he was a daemati, Thesan told you many years ago, and is one of the biggest reasons why you were taught how to shield your mind. Your cousin was scared someone like him would use you for your abilities. Your eyes dart to the other High Lords hoping they weren’t going to do anything brash.

The meeting continued and when the topic came to Hybern and their faebane cache, Thesan brought in Nuan. She introduced herself and explained that her compound could protect everyone’s powers against faebane. Rhysand felt grateful that there was something to defend against faebane. He was the most powerful High Lord and faebane had rendered him practically useless. Everyone was impressed except for Beron who was making his usual sexist and racist comments. Nuan held strong and reassured everyone that her compound was effective. You had to bite your tongue when Beron started insulting your people’s Xian ancestry-- you and Thesan’s ancestry. Thesan gave Beron a warning and the High Lord of Autumn scowled at your cousin. Your sapphires flared once more, and you reached within yourself to clamp down on the grasp you had on your power.

Not now, you said to yourself. No one is in danger at the moment. Control yourself.  

That roar of your power was finally starting to calm down when Beron ruined the peace after Feyre asked him to leave. Beron started spouting bullshit about Rhysand being Amarantha’s whore while everyone was suffering under her rule. Tarquin shook his head and told Beron to stop but the red-headed High Lord wasn’t listening. He kept taunting until Feyre had enough, she looked like she wanted to kill him and then she tried. White-hot fire speared across the reflection pool, and you just had enough time to jump back before the flames rebounded from Beron’s shield.

Fuck.

It was chaos, more fire was thrown, and everyone was yelling. Bright piercing light and water were suddenly thrown into the fray. Rhysand was begging Feyre to stop but her eyes were wild, the need to defend her mate overtaking her. The sapphires around your neck began to stutter and dim as you allowed your power to flow out. The sensation of cool golden metal envelops your body as white, and gold feathered-tipped wings burst from your back. Your massive wings flexed outwards after being hidden for months. The weight of a fine golden sword hangs from your hip, but you don’t reach for it. Stepping in between Feyre and Beron, you waved your hand, sending a pulse of nauseating power toward the two fae. It worked slower due to the shields around them, but your power got through and it was enough for both to falter. Both heaved forward as nausea overtook their bodies, this allowed Rhysand to talk Feyre down. The flames, light, and water receded until everyone was staring at the High Lady of Night and the gorgeous, scarred Golden Warrior.

Jaws dropped as their eyes flickered between you and Feyre. The latter was forced to sit on a cushioned chair as the nausea made her skin pale and sweat formed on her brow. Beron looked worse; he was sprawled on the ground trying his best not to vomit in front of everyone. With a small flourish of your fingers, you dispelled the sickness from her and Beron. A breath of sweet relief was heard, both glad to no longer feel your poison. Rhysand took a protective step toward his mate as the High Lords looked at you in horror when they realized what you did. You were standing between the Night and Autumn courts with your arms raised and hands glowing with power.

“Is everyone going to behave from now on?” you asked, voice laced with irritation. “The King of Hybern is planning to take over Prythian. He had already launched attacks on Velaris and Adriata, we have no time to be acting like a bunch of assholes—I’m talking to you Autumn and Spring. Prythian is our home, and it would be a shame to see her fall into the hands of a heinous king.”

Thesan and Callon slowly moved toward you. “Y/n….” said Thesan carefully but you brushed him off.

“We need to be productive because Hybern is gathering its armies as we speak. The more time we waste, the more disadvantaged we’re going to be. If anyone else decides to have a tantrum, know that I can knock you on your ass in less than a second. So-- can we please agree to act like fucking adults for the rest of the day?

Azriel was the first to nod, his eyes big as he took in your powerful figure covered in elaborate golden armor. He could feel that raw, dark power coiling around you and he was sure everyone else had sensed it too. A sense of recognition flowed through him, and he looked at Rhysand who was already staring at Azriel. That overwhelming power they felt from Dawn Court… it was you. That dark power was all you. His eyes scanned those soft white and gold feathers and went over the golden armor that covered your body. Everything clicked into place for Azriel as he looked at you in awe, his shadows swarming around him. You were the mighty and elusive Golden Warrior.

Compared to your cousin, Thesan had this calm and healing aura to him, and they could tell that you were different. Despite the glowing beneath your skin, something about your presence was darker… sharper now that your power was no longer held back. If Thesan was the lovely orange and pink hue of the Dawn sky, you were the remaining blue darkness of night. Your eyes darted to every single faerie in the room waiting for someone to act out, but no one dared. They were in uncharted territory, even the oldest fae in the room had never seen a power like yours. The Peregryn warriors grinned as they watched everyone balk at you, pride running through them as they watched their winged Lady hold control over the room.

***

Once everyone got over their initial shock, the arguing started once more to discuss Feyre and her powers, but things never escalated enough to need interference. You sat on a chair accommodating for wings and watched everyone carefully. Wary glances were constantly thrown at you, but you didn’t mind them, if you were in their shoes, you’d be scared too. The gaze of the shadowsinger made you shift uncomfortably; you were aware his eyes hadn’t left your body since your wings came out. You wondered what he was thinking, was he disgusted or threatened? You allowed your eyes to meet his and he promptly looked away as if he hadn’t been staring. You couldn’t read him, the only sign of what he was thinking was the slight clench of his jaw. Was he mad that you lied to him that day in your library when you told him you had no idea about the power that he felt? Was he upset that you had hidden your wings? He might have been angry, but he had no right to be mad when he was the one who used his shadows to spy on your court when you told him to stop.

  You slightly shook your head as you looked away to survey the room. Since when did you care what Azriel thought of you?

[that-bloody-witch]

L'amour et la Mort

Chapter 1

The years of King Arthur’s reign had been, so far, a largely peaceful time. Granted, the first half-decade or so after Uther’s death had been wrought with strife, remnants of his cruel regime which stained his son’s hands red. The battle of Camlann, and the defeat of Morgana, had marked a distinct shift in the balance of the world. Light began to pour where darkness had festered for a lifetime, seas too treacherous to sail once again gentled, poisoned fields were found to have nutrient-rich soil; nature itself had begun to heal. Some of the more faithful scholars, ones who still followed the Old ways, believe that this change had been paid for in blood, could have only ever been paid in blood. 

Followers of the Old Religion have held many beliefs throughout the ages, some less sensible than others. They preach that royal blood, truly royal, holds a certain weight against the natural order of things. One ruler’s death will plunge kingdoms into centuries of depravity, while another might pave the way for an age of enlightenment. After all, the weight of royal words, of royal actions, hold much more power in them than any other person’s. Where else should that strength come from, if not their blood? Camlann had soaked its fill of Pendragon strength, between Arthur and Morgana, and the world had flourished because of it. Even in the long, terrifying months of the king’s recovery, no attacks had been waged on Camelot’s borders, the other nations of Albion instead vying for favor with the young ruler. 

The first few days after Camlann were not easy for anyone in the realm. Merlin and Arthur had arrived weeks before the army returned, on a damned dragon. Only the sight of their wounded King being carried in thinly-muscled arms had kept the castle guards from striking against the creature. Several hands had tried to pry Arthur from his manservant’s grasp, none successfully, as Merlin carried his friend to Gaius’s chambers. 

“What happened,” the old man had gasped at the sight of his bloodied apprentice, seeing through the dirt and grime to the naked fear on his downturned face. He immediately motioned for the guard who had followed them to clear the workbench, knowing that the next hours would be long and uncomfortable for every party. 

“He was stabbed.” The words fell from Merlin’s chapped lips like a death sentence, eyes never leaving his King’s face. A single tear dropped onto Arthur’s cheek, trailing down his cheek as if produced from his own sorrow. Gaius raked his eyes over Arthur’s body, finding that the blood was covering too fully to see where the wound lay. He pointed a bony finger to the table, now cleared, a gesture which Merlin had never needed before. Usually, after so many years of working side-by-side, his apprentice moved almost before he even knew which direction to tell him. 

“Merlin, you must let go.” The words seemed to float by Merlin unnoticed, his focus on the King unwavering. “Merlin, I cannot help Arthur if you do not put him down.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice breaking over the syllables like waves on a rocky shore. “I’m not sure I can keep him alive if I let go.” Gaius felt a sharp intake of breath as wide, golden eyes met his. This was much worse than he had feared. 

“You must,” he pleaded, “set him down, hold onto him if contact is needed, but I cannot work if I cannot see the damage.” The words, at last, seemed to convince Merlin into action. He took short, unsteady steps to the table, and laid his King down without letting go entirely. Arthur’s gloves had been removed, at some point, and Merlin’s first clenched around limp fingers like a prayer. At once, Gaius began ordering the guard to help remove his King’s armor, cutting his shirt off entirely so as to not disturb whatever fragile stasis Merlin had upheld this long. “What happened, my dear boy?”

“Camlann was worse than I imagined.” His voice was still shaky, but seemed to steady itself as he regaled the battle. Gaius took his tale in stride, nodding along in encouragement as he cleaned Arthur’s skin enough to see the wound’s extent. He listened as graciously as he was able, barely pausing as Merlin recounted laying waste to Morgana’s army, and the lady herself, with lightning. His apprentice spoke of a sea of bodies, of barely arriving in time to be of any use at all, of being too late to help Arthur when he was most needed. “They’re dead,” the words shattered over thin air as Merlin spoke them, seeming to finally run out of whatever strength he had pulled out of himself. 

“This wound should have killed Arthur,” Gaius whispered, feeling every year of his life in contrast to his young King. He had birthed this boy, now a man, had held his squalling, naked body as Uther mourned his wife. The only thought which seemed to rise above the cacophony in his head was a prayer, to anyone who should listen, that his old hands would not carry Arthur into death as they had life. “Merlin, what exactly have you done to keep him breathing?”

Merlin let out a heavy, unsteady sigh, scrubbing his free hand down his face roughly. “I’m not sure, really. I called for Kilgharrah after Morgana found us in the forest. He brought us to Avalon, and Freya told me to place Arthur in the lake’s waters. It took all three of us,” he swallowed against the words, trying to push past the lump which had lodged itself in his throat at the sight of Mordred’s sword embedding itself into Arthur’s stomach. “He was just barely alive when I got there. If anything had held us for even a moment longer.” Merlin’s words trailed off, a haunted look marring his face. The gold still had not bled from his eyes, and it seemed, to the old physician, that the impossible magic his boy was performing had become second nature, much like anything else regarding Arthur’s safety. “We did what we could, but he was still unstable. Freya told me that I already had the power to keep him from passing, and then I just started keeping him.” Gaius’ eyes flicked up from where he had been examining the wound, now as clean as possible with the slow trickle of blood leaking onto the table. Merlin’s eyes were locked onto the gash across Arthurs gut, glowing impossibly brighter against the fading light filtering into the room. Gaius motioned for the guard to light the room’s plethora of candles, so that he may continue to work as dusk fell. Instead, every single sconce in the room burst into flame simultaneously, Merlin’s concentration on the King remaining unbroken. The guard flinched towards the door, nodding curtly at Gaius’s instruction to wait outside in case anything was needed of him.  His eyes once again fell to the injury, widening as the candlelight threw the wound into more clarity. The skin was slowly stitching itself together, vessels and musculature repairing itself in a shocking feat of magic. 

“Merlin, my boy, how are you doing this without an enchantment?”

“I don’t know. I can’t stop.” Another gulp, another shaky exhale. “Every time I think it’s better he starts fading away.” The picture in front of Gaius suddenly sharpened into a horrific reality. The wound, as Merlin had described it, was given days ago. Even the greatest sorcerer of all time, and Gaius had seriously begun to doubt that even those words were enough to encompass all of Merlin’s abilities, could not uphold this magic for long. His mind raced, coming up with contingencies and platitudes that might convince his boy to release his hold on Arthur’s life. 

“Son,” he began, “you-”

“I can’t do this for much longer, can I?” His words, more sobs than syllables, cut off Gaius’s explanation. “I can feel it, magic was never supposed to best fate.”

“No, my boy, I would imagine not.” The words lingered in the still air, riding the chill to sink into their very bones with the grim truth. 

“He’s not gonna make it, not just with medicine.” It wasn’t a question, yet Gaius felt the need to answer anyway.

“There is a chance, Merlin. Arthur is strong, and much has already been done.”

“Not enough.”

“It could work.”

“No,” he shivered, a brutish exhale ruffling rust-stained blonde strands. “I’ve seen better odds rob men just as strong as Arthur of their lives, I cannot risk that with him.”

“You cannot go on as you are, it is too slow, you could kill yourself in the process.” Gaius’s statement seemed to shake something loose in his apprentice, a prayer angering the gods. 

“It doesn’t matter, Gaius. I am nothing without him.” He did not shout, though Gaius had expected it. His words instead came like a wave, slowly building onto themselves until they grew strong enough to sink fleets. “Camelot cannot survive if he is gone. The Once and Future King, that’s what Kilgharrah had said. Gods dammit, Gaius, that future will come to pass in my lifetime if I have to kill Death himself. He doesn’t get to die like this, not here and not now. Arthur will die at the age of eighty, warm in this castle, surrounded by heirs, and he will not leave me.” Merlin finally seemed to break at the end, raking in a harsh gasp to keep himself from devolving into senseless wails of anguish. 

A moment passed, maybe an hour, in which the only sound was Merlin’s sharp inhales and shaky exhales. Gaius knew, as much as he knew his own name, that this was something he could not sway the boy on. Merlin had always been reckless in his care for the King - Gaius had often wondered if either of them would ever pull their heads out of their arses long enough to see why - and in this, Merlin was surely unmovable. His mind raced, finally landing on a solution which seemed most likely to grant both of his boys to keep their lives. 

“Okay,” he began, golden eyes once again snapping to attention. “You’re right, this wound is still too risky to try and heal with science. Magic is the only solution.” He raised a hand as Merlin opened his mouth, to protest or add his own opinion. “Listen to me. Whatever it is you’ve been doing these last few days is too slow, and it’s not sustainable. You need to fix as much as you can, as fast as you can, and let me do the rest. It will be a slow process, depending on how much magic heals, but I cannot see another way.” 

Merlin looked back down to his King, his friend, his Arthur, and visibly tensed when he realized the plan’s validity. He nodded, not breaking his gaze, and readjusted his grip on Arthur’s hand. His voice tore out of his chest, ancient words that he had never consciously learned filling the air like a dragon’s roar. A wind stirred in the room, sending pages of notes and vials flying into the tornado that had formed around the workbench. The light from Merlin’s eyes grew too intense for Gaius to look at, and he shielded his vision as his apprentice pleaded with Magic itself to save the man in front of them. 

As instantaneously as it had been stirred into chaos, the room fell silent once again. The candles, shockingly untouched by the vicious wind, lit the mess left in magic’s wake with vivid detail. Merlin had slumped forward, unconscious, his head falling just beside Arthurs, hand still clutching the King’s. Gaius immediately moved forward to assess the damage to Arthur’s abdomen, calling for the guard to move Merlin to his cot. It was nowhere near the first time either boy had been under his care, but having them both unconscious, splayed in front of him and injured, made his chest ache in a breath-stealing way. 

He could not afford to lose his focus, working with experienced hands to fix as much of the crevice in Arthur’s flesh as humanly possible. Merlin’s magic had done a lot of good, most of the dire internal problems repaired in an instant, but the blood started to trickle in steadier streams as arteries began flowing once again. Gaius flashed a look to Merlin, not liking the deathly pallor to his ward’s skin, or the apparent stillness of his chest. 

“Guard! Wash your hands! I need your help.” The young knight squared his shoulders, peeling off his gloves and following orders deftly. Gaius instructed him to press and cauterize where it was needed most, all the while thinking how Merlin wouldn’t have needed instruction to aid the physician. Gaius stitched muscle and skin back together, pouring tonic after tonic down Arthur’s throat in an effort to replenish as much blood as possible. He whispered a quick prayer to the Old gods as he worked, begging with the skies for the survival of both his sons. After several dozen minutes, seeing that the King’s wounds would hold for the moment, he moved to check on Merlin’s ashen form.

“Merlin! My boy,” Gaius wept, finding that against every science he knew, his body had grown cold in mere minutes. No breath filled his lungs, no pulse beat in his chest. Gaius allowed one solitary, earth-shattering moment to mourn the boy in front of him, pressing his wrinkled lips to a glacial brow, before moving back to the King.  

As Gaius worked, and weeped, the kingdom held bated breath for news on their sovereign. Kilgharrah had flown back into the forest, knowing that his master would call when he was needed, and every soul which lived under the castle’s shadow had flooded the city. Time had seemed to trickle through the citadel as molasses, peasant and noble alike holding constant vigil outside the palace walls. Hours passed, dawn enrapturing the skies in a beautiful background to one of Camelot’s darkest days, before an announcement was made.

Gaius stood on the dais where Uther had condemned thousands, looking over the tear-stained faces that matched his own, and made his proclamation.

“The King was mortally wounded in the Battle of Camlann. It is thanks, only, to his manservant, and my apprentice, Merlin, that he shall survive. He remains unconscious, but the blow dealt to his stomach would have killed any lesser man before the battle’s end. Merlin protected his King until his last breath, using the magic which the gods had given him to heal as much as he could.” Gaius paused, raking his eyes over the crowd to find familiar faces, who would all hold fond memories of his boy in their hearts. “Merlin has faithfully served the throne of Camelot since his arrival in the citadel nearly ten years ago, and has given his life to ensure the survival of the Pendragon line. King Arthur will have a long recovery in front of him, but he shall live.” Cries rang out, both in joy at the news of their King’s health and misery at the loss of Merlin, and Gaius felt his own eyes moisten at the thought of his body growing colder in the physician’s cot. He could see many faces of shock at the admittance of Merlin’s magic, though Gaius supposed that riding in on the dragon had already clued most in on the worst-kept secret in Camelot. 

The long walk back to his chambers gave Gaius time to adjust to the gaping void in his chest. He knew exactly how many years he had lived, how much loss he had endured, yet never before had the old man felt old. Now, in a world without Merlin, he could feel every second of his life weighing against his back, turning his movements sharp and painful. The council would need to meet, soon, to discuss how to proceed with the nation’s rule while their King remained unconscious, but Gaius did not dwell on these thoughts for long. He exhaled as he entered his chambers, still wrecked from the aftereffects of impossible magic, and abruptly halted where he stood.

“Will he live?” The corpse had pulled a chair over to Arthur’s side, once again grasping his hand in a white-knuckled grip. Gaius felt his heart stop and start in the space of a breath, and nearly fainted at the sight. Merlin, his Merlin, was sitting up, with enough life flowing through his veins to look worried over his King’s prone form. The physician held no reservations as he raced to envelop his boy in a bone-crushing embrace. 

“Merling, oh Merlin, you’ve come back,” he cried as Merlin’s arm came to wrap around him, hesitating for a brief moment of curiosity. 

“What do you mean, Gaius? I was on the cot the entire time.” Slowly, the old man released his apprentice, searching his face with a haunted look. “What? Is Arthur going to be okay?”

“My boy, the King will make a full recovery, in time, but you.” Gaius paused, not sure how Merlin would take the news that he had been dead for ten hours. “Merlin, you died. That spell, whatever you did, you were dead for an entire night and morning.”

Blue eyes widened, so large they might have popped out, and Merlin let out a noise of shock. “That’s impossible,” he whispered. “You must be mistaken.”

“Your body was cold almost immediately, Merlin. It was as if you had given your life to Arthur. You haven’t had a pulse, nor a breath, in ten hours. You were dead.” Gaius could see the cogs turning behind Merlin’s brow, processing what this meant for him. The old man’s mind suddenly threw a memory to the forefront, of treating Merlin for the deadly serket sting which should have killed him. Their eyes widened simultaneously as the truth of the gods’ will revealed itself to them. “Surely, you don’t think-”

“Oh, I do think.” A thunderous expression crossed Merlin’s face, his fist clenching even tighter around Arthur’s as he glanced at the unconscious King. “When has anything about my life ever been normal? Why should my death be any different?” Gaius winced in sympathy, reaching to offer comfort with a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. They both fell into a contemplative silence, pondering the extent to which the gods would see their prophecies fulfilled, and watched as their King slept.

Suddenly, a chuckle burst forth from the physician’s lips, causing Merlin to shoot a wounded expression his way.

 “Are you laughing? I cannot die and you’re laughing in my face?”

“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” Gaius began, stifling the unbidden humor as much as possible and forcing a calm expression onto his face. “It does appear,” a smile cracked across his face, and he cleared his throat in a bid for sobriety. “I mean to say, that is, I might have just announced to the entire citadel that you nobly gave your life to save Arthur.”

A dumbfounded expression fell over Merlin’s face, before a sudden bout of laughter erupted, surprising both master and student. 

“I did!” They fell into hysterics, both men clutching each other until their sides ached. Merlin supposed, at some point, the court would need to be informed of his apparent immortality, but at the moment he could not care less. Arthur was safe, Gaius was strong despite his growing years, and Camelot faced no immediate danger. Surely, the coming weeks would reveal heartaches and wounds not yet scarred, but for now, as the laughter slowly died and the only father he’d ever known moved to brew tea, he was choosing to be optimistic. 

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Something I Am Doing For Some Research: What Would The Gerudo Do for Courtship Rituals/Acts?

Gerudo courtship rituals, based on their culture in The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, would likely emphasize strength, independence, and the warrior lifestyle of the Gerudo people. Here are some possible courtship rituals, reflecting the Gerudo's unique way of life:

1. Trial of Strength or Combat Skills

Since the Gerudo value physical prowess, a courtship ritual might involve a display of strength or combat skills. A Gerudo woman may challenge a potential partner to a sparring match, where skill and tenacity are more important than victory. Winning is less important than proving one's resolve and competence.

Variation: Instead of a fight, a partner could undergo a series of challenges or trials in the desert, such as surviving a sandstorm or retrieving a rare desert flower or artifact, demonstrating their worthiness.

2. Gift of the Desert

Gerudo may court by exchanging meaningful gifts related to their desert homeland. A Gerudo woman might gift her suitor a beautifully crafted weapon, armor, or accessory made from materials native to the desert. Similarly, a suitor could present rare items that show an understanding of Gerudo culture, such as jewelry adorned with desert gemstones or rare flowers from the area.

Symbolism: The exchange of these gifts represents the importance of resilience, resourcefulness, and an appreciation for Gerudo heritage.

3. The Watchful Guardian

In Gerudo culture, protection of loved ones and allies is crucial. A potential partner may prove themselves by silently watching over the person they wish to court during a period of time, such as when the Gerudo woman is engaged in a task or undertaking a journey. This "guardianship" is a non-intrusive way of showing dedication, respect, and reliability, without overt intervention unless absolutely necessary.

4. Ritual Dance of the Gerudo

Dance is part of Gerudo culture, as seen in their traditional practices. A courtship ritual might include a dance performed by the Gerudo woman and the potential partner. The dance would likely be one of power and grace, symbolizing unity and the synchronization of two individuals. It could take place under the stars or around a ceremonial fire, deepening the bond between the pair.

5. Sharing Water and Food

In the harsh desert, water is sacred, and the sharing of water could be a significant courtship gesture. A suitor might offer water or a carefully prepared meal as a sign of care and respect. This act would symbolize a willingness to provide and ensure the well-being of the other, showing dedication in a fundamental, life-sustaining way.

6. Mutual Tattoos or Marks

The Gerudo may have a tradition of marking a bond with symbolic tattoos or temporary body art. During courtship, both individuals could receive tattoos or apply traditional Gerudo body paint, symbolizing their connection. The designs might include desert imagery, such as cacti, the sun, or sandstorms, representing endurance, life, and unity.

7. Proving One’s Knowledge of the Gerudo Way

As a proud and independent people, the Gerudo value understanding of their customs. A potential partner could be tested on their knowledge of Gerudo traditions, such as their laws, dances, language, and history. Passing this "test" would show not only dedication but also deep respect for Gerudo culture.

8. The Desert Flower Ritual

The Gerudo may have a sacred ritual surrounding the desert lotus or another rare flower that only blooms under specific conditions. Finding such a flower and presenting it to a Gerudo warrior would be a powerful sign of devotion. The partner would have to navigate the harsh desert, proving their endurance and ability to understand the Gerudo’s desert life.

9. Rite of Shared Silence

A Gerudo courtship might involve a period of silent companionship where two individuals work, travel, or rest together in silence. The ability to be comfortable without constant conversation would reflect mutual understanding and trust, which is valued highly in their society.

These rituals would align with the Gerudo’s values of strength, independence, loyalty, and respect, while also incorporating the significance of their desert environment and warrior spirit.

************************************************************************

I like some of these, but I want more details or more specifics... What do you all think?

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

This story started with Guthláf, Théoden’s banner bearer. To carry a flag in war was (in LOTR and real life) very dangerous, and it got me thinking about the kind of person who would willingly take on that danger and why (see here for Guthláf’s answer). And then I got thinking about what it would be like to love that kind of person and have to watch them do something so brave and glorious and selfless but also so perilous. And that brought me to Wídfara.

Like Guthláf, Wídfara exists in canon for just a few sentences. He’s from the Wold. He’s intuitive about the weather. That’s it from Tolkien. But I do so love an obscure horse boy of Rohan, and two together is even better. Here they are in part 1 of 7, where our boys have their first meeting.

August, T.A. 3017

When he’d taken a third wrong turn in as many tries, Wídfara finally decided to ask someone on the street for help. Unfortunately, getting anyone in Edoras to stop to answer his questions proved even harder than finding his own way around the city. It wasn’t that people were unfriendly or unwilling to assist, but rather that they didn’t seem to even notice him as he tentatively raised a hand or stammered out the beginnings of a greeting. Everyone walked so quickly and with such a busy sense of purpose that they were invariably four steps past him already by the time he got his first few words out.

A quick glance up at the sun told him that he was going to be late if he didn’t get himself together soon, and the last thing he wanted was to make a poor impression on his very first day. He already had enough working against him – his simple country clothing, his thick rural accent, his obvious cluelessness in navigating his way around, all of which marked him clearly as an outsider – and he didn’t need his new éored thinking that he was careless or unreliable on top of everything else. He shifted his pack on his back, hastened his steps around another corner and felt a wash of relief at the sight of a garrison complex with the king’s banner flying in front.

An older man, clad to the waist in armor and standing with a rigid military bearing, waited on the front steps of the central building, just under the banner. His eyes scanned all the passersby, and when they landed on Wídfara they lit up with a spark of intuited recognition. The rigidity melted away in an instant, and he beckoned Wídfara over with a smile and a welcoming wave.

“I’m on the lookout for a new rider just in from the East-mark, and I would bet my horse that you’re him. And right on time, too. My name is Elfhelm.”

Wídfara dropped his pack and stood to attention. For all that he didn’t know about Edoras, he certainly knew the name of Elfhelm, the commander of the garrison and the functional First Marshal of the Mark any time the king himself wasn’t present. “Yes, Marshal. I just arrived in the city last night. My name is Wídfara, sir.”

Elfhelm’s bushy eyebrows shot upward at the distinctive heavy twang of Wídfara’s words. “The Third Marshal told me he was sending us a real country boy, and I see that he wasn’t exaggerating. Where exactly are you from, son?”

Elfhelm’s open, casual manner took Wídfara by surprise. Back home, his captain had been a rather grim man, one who never spoke an unnecessary word or showed his riders even a hint of his own personality, and Wídfara had expected the leaders of Edoras, some of the most powerful in the kingdom, to be even more stern. But yet again, it seemed, he simply had no understanding of how life in the capital actually worked. “I’m born and raised in the Wold, Marshal,” he answered. “My family has run herds out there for generations. It’s quite…” He glanced around at the bustling rush of people moving in and out of the collection of buildings around them. “It’s different from the city.”

Elfhelm nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Well, that’s certainly true. I imagine that Edoras can seem a little overwhelming at first to someone who’s spent his whole life in a place like the Wold. And an éored reordering is never easy on anyone. Saying goodbye to the people and places you’ve always known is a rough task.”

Wídfara swallowed hard on the lump that immediately formed in his throat. It had been less than a week since he’d been forced to say those goodbyes, gathered together with family and friends and brothers-in-arms out near his old post in the plains where the Limlight joined the Anduin. The Wold had never been a thickly populated area – the land was too unforgiving, the semi-nomadic lifestyle of the herdsmen too harsh – but as more and more families moved out of the grasslands and into the East-mark’s larger settlements and towns, an independent éored for the Wold had become increasingly unsustainable. No one had been particularly surprised when the reordering was announced, but it had been painful nonetheless and especially so for Wídfara. Because while his friends were reassigned to one of the three surrounding éoreds in the Eastemnet, all within a few hours ride of home, he had been singled out for transfer to Edoras, a place so foreign to him that it might as well have been Dunland or Rhûn.

His face seemed to betray some of his thoughts to Elfhelm, who put a large, comforting hand on Wídfara’s shoulder. “Change can be tough, son, but it also presents opportunity. And you’ve been given a golden one here. It’s not often that someone gets called up to the king’s éored – I can only remember one other time that it happened, and my memory stretches back longer than you’ve been alive. But your old captain was adamant that there isn’t a finer mounted bowman in all of Rohan and it would be a waste to just reassign you to yet another remote outpost. If you’re even half as good as the men of the East-mark claim, you can make a real name for yourself here.”

Wídfara felt his face grow hot, and he looked down at his feet. No one had told him how this transfer had come to be, and the thought of that dour, taciturn captain singing his praises to anyone was almost more than he could believe. And while he was proud of his own talent, he felt an instinctual urge to defend against the implication that the other riders of the Wold were any less skillful. “Everyone who grew up where I did learned early to shoot from a moving horse, sir,” he offered. “A herd will always attract wolves.”

Elfhelm chuckled. “That may be so, but your captain didn’t convince the Third Marshal of the Mark to send just any old herdsman to us. He picked you. Try to remember that.” A bell behind him tolled, and he glanced toward the door over his shoulder. “I need to get back to some other business, so we’d best get you on your way. You’ll be living in Barracks A with the other unmarried men of the company. You can drop your belongings there and then head over to the armorer to get everything you need. Training starts tomorrow at sunrise.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”

Elfhelm was already halfway out of sight before Wídfara realized that he had no idea how to find either Barracks A or the armorer. He considered calling after Elfhelm for help, but the marshal had indicated that he was busy and surely his other tasks were more important than giving basic directions to an ill-informed newcomer. Instead, he reshouldered his pack with a sigh, resigned to wandering the complex until chance took pity on him again, and he took a few hesitant steps toward his left.

“Other way, Wídfara!”

He looked up to see Elfhelm watching him from the doorway, one foot already inside and the door itself held open with his elbow. The older man laughed and nodded in the opposite direction. “Second building on the right. Can’t miss it.”

A furious blush rushed back to Wídfara’s cheeks, and he winced as he felt it spread across his ears and neck. “Sorry, Marshal. I’m still…I’ll learn my way quickly, I promise.”

Elfhelm stepped back outside, allowing the door to close behind him as he walked a few paces toward Wídfara again. “It’s alright to be new, son. You just need someone to help show you the way of things here.” He cast an appraising eye over Wídfara and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment. “Keep an eye out for Guthláf. He’s from Edoras, but his mother grew up in the Eastemnet and he spent much of his childhood out there. He even talks a lot like you do. You’ll like him, and he’ll help you get to feeling like home again.” He turned once more to head inside.

“Marshal Elfhelm?” Wídfara called after him. “How do I find him? Guthláf, I mean.”

Elfhelm looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Anywhere there are people gathered, he’ll be right in the middle of it. You can count on that. He’s one of our best, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t let him talk you into playing dice with him unless you’ve got money to burn.” He pulled open the door and his last few words drifted out from the hallway. “See you at training first thing tomorrow!”

Wídfara rolled over again, grimacing as his left shoulder made contact with the floor. One of his first tasks that day had been to see the garrison’s armorer, where he had been fitted for new equipment and received the distinctive tattoo that would identify him as a member of the king’s éored: a small crown above a hill. Each éored had its own mark, used as a crude means of identification in the event that a rider was injured or killed far from home, and the armorers typically etched the designs onto the shoulders of new members, punching a small ink-tipped needle repeatedly into the skin to create the necessary lines and curves. The new tattoo left a lingering pain in Wídfara’s arm, though it was minimal compared to the ache he felt in his heart when he watched the armorer draw a line through his old éored’s mark, casually crossing out an entire decade of his life with a few minute’s quick work. But that had just been the start to an increasingly difficult day.

The éored’s clerk seemed unaware that Wídfara had joined the company, and no arrangements had been made yet for his pay. Wídfara was counting on those funds to support his parents back in the Wold, especially now that he was no longer close enough to help his father with the herd work during his free hours, and the possibility that his first wages would be significantly delayed left a sour feeling in his stomach. Then he had gotten lost on his way to the mess hall and again between the mess hall and the stables, where he discovered that the stablehand sent to fetch his horse from last night’s boarding house had brought back the wrong animal. At every turn, he seemed to be in the wrong place, with the wrong information, running into obstacle after obstacle while being constantly asked to repeat himself as the city dwellers struggled to understand his accent.

He had greeted the eventual coming of night with urgent relief, happy to retreat to the privacy of his little room in the barracks where, at least for a few hours, he knew where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. But even then, he struggled. The small, soft bed in the room felt unnatural to him after so much time spent sleeping rough in field camps or out on the plains with his family’s horses, and he quickly gave up on it, crafting himself a makeshift bedroll on the floor instead. After an hour of further tossing and turning, though, he realized that the bed wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. A windowless box barely big enough for both the empty bed and his nest of blankets on the floor was a poor substitute for having shimmering stars overhead and endless golden plains around him, and he wondered how he would ever find rest in such a confined little space. He sat up, frustrated, and decided to take a walk in an attempt to clear his mind.

The streets, at least, were much more enjoyable to him at night, when few others were out and about. It was quieter, and he could walk at his own pace without worrying that he was holding up someone behind him. Keeping close attention to where he turned and how to retrace his steps, he headed up a hill, thinking to get a good view of the city from the top of the rise and perhaps be able to better orient himself amidst the maze of the city’s layout.

It took only a few minutes from the barracks to reach the peak of the hill, but he was disappointed to find that the view down onto Edoras and the surrounding plains was largely obscured by a thin haze in the air and heavy overhead cloud cover that dimmed the light of the moon. The quiet of his walk was also broken by the presence on the hill of a small tavern, a little wood and stone building from which drifted not only the smell of ale and baked bread but the clamor of voices and laughter and singing. The windows were aglow with warm yellow light, and he could see a large and boisterous crowd inside, many members of which seemed to be about his age. He considered going in – his rational mind understood that the only way to make friends in new surroundings was to put himself where other people were – but the thought of dozens of bodies pressed into such a small building made him a bit panicky, and he had already used all the energy his mind could spare that day for navigating the stares, questions and sometimes the judgments of so many others. That would need to be a challenge for tomorrow instead.

He leaned against a corner of the tavern and gazed northeast, back toward the beloved home that was now obscured by the intervention of both distance and weather. A gentle breeze blew from that direction, and he closed his eyes to savor the soft feel of it against his cheek and in his hair. There was a clean, earthy scent to the air, and he willed himself to believe that this sign of a clearer morning on its way could also mean that good things were on their way for him.

At that very moment, the door of the tavern flew open, bouncing noisily off the wall, and a tiny gray dog scampered out, followed by the striding figure of a man in the uniform of his éored.

“I just need to let Slaga out for a minute,” the man called back to unseen companions inside. “Hold the game for me, and I’ll be right back to finish taking the rest of your money.” A laughing chorus of boos rang out as the door swung closed again, and the man chuckled to himself.

Wídfara registered the stranger’s words as they were spoken, but what flooded his heart with joyful recognition was the lilting drawl of their delivery, the comfortingly specific cadence and tone that represented Rohirric as Wídfara’s ear had always heard it voiced. It was the sound of his cousins calling to him from across the grasslands, his friends teasing and joking as they sat around a fire at night. It was the sound of his old life, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

The other man was crouched down now, cooing affectionate endearments at the tiny dog that bounded in adoring circles around his feet, and Wídfara lightly cleared his throat. The man froze at the sound, the last doting little trill dying on his tongue, and he smiled sheepishly when he looked up and saw Wídfara standing just feet away. “I’m sorry. I thought Slaga and I were alone out here or I surely would have kept that to myself.” He stood and extended his hand in Wídfara’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Guthláf.”

Guthláf. The name chimed immediately in Wídfara’s memory, and he smiled to himself at how effortlessly correct Elfhelm had been on all fronts – where Guthláf would be found, how soothingly familiar he would sound to Wídfara, and how quickly just a few words of that familiar sound would kindle a feeling of comfort and kinship in him. He closed the distance between them with a few steps, and in the dim light that shone from the windows he found himself face to face with an unusually tall, well built man with long blonde waves, a trim blonde beard, and striking eyes of the palest blue. He gripped Guthláf’s hand with grateful enthusiasm and smiled. “Wídfara. You wouldn’t have seen me before, as I only just got here.”

“I certainly don’t have to ask where you came from,” Guthláf said, and Wídfara thought he detected a slight strengthening of Guthláf’s matching accent in the reply. “Welcome to Edoras, Wídfara. What brings you here?”

Wídfara nodded at Guthláf’s uniform. “I’ll be joining your company starting first thing tomorrow.”

“Is that right? We’ll be glad to have you. The boys could use an eastern rider to show them how it’s really done.” He glanced down briefly at the dainty little dog that was now cautiously sniffing Wídfara’s boots. “Don’t hold it against me. The absurd fussing with the dog, I mean. Every man has an embarrassing weakness, and I guess Slaga is mine.”

“Think nothing of it.” Truthfully, in any other circumstance Wídfara would have found both the toy-sized dog and the indulgent spoiling of it a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to say that to the first person in the city to take any interest in him. Outside of Elfhelm, who as Wídfara’s commanding officer was certainly no peer of his, it had been a struggle that day just to be noticed by anyone else, let alone engaged with or welcomed. Wídfara was eager not to squander this opportunity, especially with someone who seemed so friendly and good natured. “I love dogs and have nearly always had one myself, though admittedly never one that size.”

“He is small, isn’t he? I got him when he was a puppy and expected him to get bigger as he got older, but he just never did. And by the time I realized I had myself a lapdog, the rascal had already worked his way into my heart.” He bent down and scooped Slaga up into his arms, where he quickly settled with the look of one who spent a lot of time in just that position. Wídfara reached out and gave the dog a gentle rub behind the ears, which was received with a small, contented sigh.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” said Guthláf, looking up with a smile. “But then again, you’re not a stranger anymore, are you, Wídfara of the East-mark?”

Wídfara couldn’t identify anything unusual or remarkable about the way this question was asked, nothing that would explain the sudden rush of warmth that settled over him when that open, earnest smile was turned in his direction. But it was there all the same. “Not a stranger, at least not in the technical sense. And I would hope one day to be a friend, though I wouldn’t presume to call you that yet.”

“No? Why not?”

“You barely know anything about me.”

“But that’s not a problem. Discovering things about each other is half the fun of friendship.” He inclined his head and fixed Wídfara with a long, thoughtful look. “And I have a feeling there is much to discover about you.”

The steady gaze of those cool, blue eyes sent an anxious flutter shimmering through Wídfara’s chest, and he looked away. Before he could muster the nerve to speak again, the tavern door opened, and a red-haired head popped out.

“Guthláf, if the game doesn’t restart soon, Hildred insists he’ll take his losses back and charge you interest for making him wait.”

Guthláf laughingly rolled his eyes and waved a hand in concession. “Buy him another ale from my pot and tell him I’ll be right there.” The red haired man nodded and went back inside, and Guthláf turned once again to Wídfara.

“Do you ever play dice? If you’ve got the time now, you can join us, and by the end of the game you’ll have ten more great friends, I promise. Though I can’t promise I won’t take your money.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m something of a professional.”

Wídfara laughed. “Believe it or not, I’ve already been warned against playing dice with you, and I don’t know the rules anyway. But I appreciate the offer.” The temptation to stay in the kindly glow of Guthláf’s company was strong, but the tumult of the busy tavern still intimidated him. And the length of the day, with its many ups and downs, was beginning to catch up with him at last. “Will I…or, rather, I hope I’ll see you at training in the morning?”

He cringed inside at how needful the question sounded to his ears, but if Guthláf heard it that way he gave no sign. Instead, he smiled broadly and tapped a fist against Wídfara’s arm.

“Of course. I’ll look for you there, friend. Now wish me luck, not that I need it!” He and his dog slipped back inside with a wave, and Wídfara watched through the window just long enough to see them disappear into a rowdy group of men, all wielding mugs and talking excitedly to one another.

Alone again, he turned then to retrace his steps, mercifully finding his way back to the barracks without incident, and he stretched out once more on his floor with a heavy yawn. The weight of sleep closed in on him quickly, and he soon drifted into the comfort of peaceful rest, where a pair of the palest blue eyes lingered in his dreams.

Link to part 2!

Notes: Guthláf’s dog is named Slaga, which means “Killer.” Presumably he chose that name before he realized his “puppy” was already full grown and would always be a lil’ tea cup.

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @dreambigdreamz (I don’t usually have a tag list but I tried to @ people who had specifically requested it at some point — if you want off (or on, I guess) don’t hesitate to say so!)

Dividers by the lovely @quillofspirit ♥️

[kinghomebody]

Dragon Age： The Veilguard ｜ Release Date Trailer

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Release Trailer did a lot for me in different ways and I have a lot of questions and theories.

1.) Lets talk about how there are stark similarities between Inquisition and The Veilgaurd.

The protagonist is found again in the Fade, this time it looks more grey than green and they do not inherit a mark. it also looks like Rook and The Inquisitor share the same physical position that they found within the fade at the start of their stories: Lower than someone thought to be much more important than them :Inquisitor the Divine, Rook, Solas.

With Rook you see more of what's happening within the fade and the statues of the Elven Patheon which what looks like a split amongst them. Three on the left near Rook and four on the right near Solas. Does this symbolize something? We know that the Evanuris did not always get along but does the positioning of the statues foreshadow that more of the elven gods side with him in wiping out everything and bringing back the days where everything is ruled by magic?

2.) The trailer did a wonderful job sprinkling nostalgia here and there and I have a few observed opinions.

The model they used for this Rook makes me think of two things of Dragon Age. Duncan and people from Rivain who have similar skin tones. Rook, in this trailer wears armor that on the shirt collar has wings. Apart from the Antivan Crows the only other faction you could think of that could be represented with wings are the Grey Wardens because of the griffins.

It’s also good to hear Morrigan’s voice again and see her also reminding me of Origins and Inquisition. For me I let her drink from the Well of Sorrows so she might either be completely under the control of Flemeth or have mastered it’s power. Of course Varric and Scout Harding who are still with the Inquisition will be with us. If we align with the Antivan Crows will we see Zevran?

There is an elf that looks like they have been captured by tentacles and you cannot see their left arm. Is that the Inquisitor? Or the Hero of Ferelden? I only speculate this because the Grey Wardens are center stage again and besides Hawke, if you allowed him to go with them for a time, The Hero of Ferelden who is on a quest to defeat the calling could have gotten themselves trapped somehow.

Titan lore will be most likely explored through Lace Harding seeing as she can freeze enemies similar to Solas and Sandal. Her body and eyes glow however it starts to change. In my opinion it might be because she is channeling magic directly through her body and dwarves are supposedly not suppose to have the ability to do magic. Sandal always uses a rune and Solas is an elf.

> In Sandal’s case we know that Bodan found him far in the Deep Roads and being exposed to lyrium for too long could have done something to him to wear he won’t get the negative symptoms of overusing it.

> In Lace’s case, she has no idea what’s going on, her body is changing, we know that when Dagna is face deep in a rune she feels “mountain- tall” and around all her people and they think as one and since we know the Ancient Elven Patheon fought the Titans at one point and separated them from their hearts that the dwarves might have lost their magic in a way – this is something I’m still working out from the Trespasser DLC. Harding might need to find the heart of a Titan if she want’s to survive with her new magic abilities or she might even become one – this is another theory. Also, her being able to create a stone wall. Does that mean the dwarven people could build cities with their bare hands. The “connection” with the “Stone” doesn’t sound too far off when you think about it.

Solas fighting the old gods in his Dreadwolf form was amazing to see. It’s interesting to visually see the difference in size between him and those he his up against even being as powerful as he is. With this and the darkspawn looking blighted along with the dragons that you see at the end of the trailer, there might as well be two blights at once, the veil being destroyed, the elven gods reeking havoc and (personally I didn’t see this but there's no way it won’t be brought up) maybe the Qunari invasion – unless it was settled before the events of The Veilgaurd. From combat finishers looking to be back, Griffins, Morrigan and Varric and everything literally being validated and lore accurate I’m very happy with this trailer.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Pharasma: Steward of the Skein

CR "15"

Neutral Medium Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 302

It had to happen. Originally, the Arcanotheign had the Finale spot on the Misfits and Monitors Month roster because of how busted her kit looked on first glance... But then I took a closer look at the Steward here, and knew that there was no contest. Even in her original iteration in Carrion Crown: Trial of the Beast the Steward pushed the boundaries of what was allowable by a CR 15 creature, and her final version in Inner Sea Gods is no different. In fact, she's actually slightly stronger than her first draft despite losing several chunks of her kit because they consolidated a lot of her kit into her spell-likes... and then added even more.

Her CR is in quotation marks because she's actually got 19 hit dice and a matching caster level for all her spell-likes, the highest of any other Herald in both respects (with one exception), who have anywhere from 15 to 18 Hit Dice and/or caster level, both of which almost never match, leading to a power disparity between their raw stats and how strong their spell-likes are. The sheer number of options she has available, combined with being statistically anywhere from +1 to +3 stronger in noteworthy stats than every other Herald, should probably put her at CR 16 or 17. A party of 10th level adventurers can't even scratch her, and a party of 12 to 13th level adventurers would struggle to harm her with anything requiring saving throws.

Fitting for what amounts to the mouthpiece of the President Of The Universe, Pharasma, the Lady of Graves. The first of the gods and the most powerful of all of them by an enormous margin, she would of course settle for nothing less than the greatest of the Heralds... though the Steward's normal jobs are more or less exactly what her name suggests, taking care of day-to-day tasks in the Courts of Purgatory and the Boneyard besides, like a combination of heavily-armored butler and mailman. This being a fantasy world, though, her jobs are suitably fantastic; she's not delivering mundane letters to the judges in the Courts, but proclamations directly from her goddess, and she's not sweeping dust from hallways, but daemons from doorsteps. When she's not doing busywork in the Boneyard, she finds herself drifting through the Material Plane at the behest of her goddess, returning the undead to dust, escorting spirits to the Boneyard, and delivering prophecies to people in whom Pharasma sees greatness.

The majority of her appearances in the universe are fleeting, momentary things where she appears in her ghostly, incorporeal form, looking down upon a newborn child and delivering a cryptic prophecy to all in attendance, sometimes going as far as to bless the child with one of her spells or whatever Pharasman Prophecy Package(TM) was sent down with her before fading away. When she's "off-duty," (read: waiting for a prophecy to become relevant and twiddling her thumbs in the meantime) the Steward often goes into deep introspection for years or decades at a time, finding a place in the universe to sit down and meditate for a while, often inadvertently causing people to flock to her unmoving form and treat it as an object of reverence or a holy site to Pharasma. There is at least one story of a Pharasmin priest who found her meditating and built a temple around her, which I feel like would be a surprise when she finally woke back up.

The Steward rarely raises a hand against anything but the undead and ones who'd create them, preferring to disable or flee rather than fight, but there are rare occasions when the Steward arrives to proclaim that someone must die, and very rare occasions when that 'someone' happens to be in the player's party. Now, shall we see how hard it is to fight (the Herald of) fate...?

We'll be starting, as we frequently do, with the defenses. The Steward's apparently metallic body can only be reliably damaged with adamantine weapons, as anything else is intercepted by her DR 10, and while we're talking about tens, she's got a meager 10 Fire and Cold Resistance but immunity to Electricity. She's got 26 SR like most Heralds, but her saving throws are actually above almost all of them thanks to her Aura of Fate (which we'll get into in detail in a bit), her saving throws towering at +15/+20/+22, all of which are above average for a creature of her CR, and while many Heralds are vulnerable to specific cheese tactics, the Steward is at least immune to disease, poison, ANY form of mental control, and all death effects. She's even got Death Ward at will to either use on herself or gift to others!

Death Ward and her immunities to poison, disease, mental control and, uniquely, being possessed all render her impervious to most tricks from Undead creatures, but she's got more than just those tricks when dispatching anything from zombies to archliches. She's got Major Image at will to weave distractions for mindless hordes to uselessly attack, the power to hold Undead of any strength in place with her unyielding gaze attack (DC 25 Will save negates + gives 24 hour immunity) for 2d6 entire rounds, and the ability to cast Undeath to Death 3/day to wipe out 19d4 Hit Dice worth of Undead in a single dismissive gesture. Her aforementioned Aura of Fate also works as a permanent Consecrate spell, making Undead inside more vulnerable to channeled energy and also making them very slightly weaker.

I'm not exactly sure how, precisely, the Consecrate works in this case; it gives a base +3 to the DC of channeled energy and a -1 penalty to the attack rolls, damage rolls, and saves of Undead, but if its area contains an altar, shrine, or "other permanent fixture dedicated to your deity." I'm not exactly sure if the Divine Herald of a deity counts as a 'permanent fixture,' but I think it should! It makes killing undead so much easier for her, and makes it harder for them to hurt her back!

Her gaze doesn't just hold undead, it also dazes the living for 2d4 rounds if they fail their save. Since the daze breaks if she hits them, she'll often fly right past anyone who's reduced to staring in reverence to focus on whoever is still standing, coup de gracing select targets if she must. Her primary offense is a pair of armored slam attacks, each one doing 2d10+7 damage and exposing the victim to her gaze even if they've averted their eyes, forcing the issue if they saw their allies fall to it and tried to avoid it themselves. While her slams are usually able to deal with most threats, she's also got Chain Lightning 3/day and... well, a few other spells.

Unlike the last guy we saw in full plate that enjoyed slam attacks, the Steward relies more on her spells than her physical power to dispatch her enemies as swiftly as possible. In addition to Undeath to Death, she's got Heal 3/day to obliterate either 150 or 75 HP from a single Undead target, or restore that much HP to a living being (including herself, natch) while peeling a bunch of unpleasant status ailments off. If she encounters someone who's time is not yet over, she also has Breath of Life 3/day to either restore a chunk of health to them, or restore them to life outright. Between three Heals and three Breaths of Life she's already got somewhere in the neighborhood of four healthbars, which I imagine will swiftly demoralize any party trying to wear her out, but this isn't anywhere close to all the tricks she's got up her sleeve to demoralize a party; this gals 3/day list is loaded.

Wall of Force 3/day, for one, to trap her foes behind invincible barriers, hedge enemies into easy Chain Lightning positions, and defend innocent civilians. Globe of Invulnerability to protect herself from any lower-level spells her enemies might be throwing out, and Greater Dispel Magic for anything beefier or anything they try to buff themselves up with. Hold Monster to shut down anything that might fail the DC 21 Will save for what may as well be the entire battle, and Greater Invisibility to avoid whatever avoided paralysis.

Whoof, Greater Invisibility alone on a monster with such an array of spells is painful enough; using it to let her get sneaky slams in almost feels like a waste when she could instead go full invisible and then use her tremendous 150ft fly speed to get into a more advantageous position and heal up, then an eye in the sky to let her properly check where to place her Walls of Force... or whatever else she feels like doing, because she's got 3/day access to pretty much any spell she thinks might be useful.

Yeah, remember how I was rubbing my hands together as I envisioned everything the Arcanotheign could do with ONE free casting of Limited Wish a day? The Steward has three, on top of EVERYTHING ELSE she can do, allowing her to adapt her entire strategy on the fly depending on what she's facing. Too many dangerous melee guys around? Dominate one. Enemy caster giving her grief? Slap them with Flesh to Stone. Really want to give someone an annoying quest? Zap a Geas onto them as a standard action. It wasn't this one's time, but they're already beyond Breath of Life saving them? Bring them right back with a snap.

And with every Save-or-Suck she replicates to harass a necromancer or an annoying band of adventurers, she's got one last trick available: She wouldn't be a good servant of the Goddess of Fate if she didn't have some control over it. So, 3/day as an immediate action, she can force any creature she can see--including herself--to reroll any roll and take the new result. Good for negating enemy critical hits, great for negating high saves or giving her another chance against a Save-or-Suck she's vulnerable to. It's only 3/day, but so is 75% of her kit! She's got a grand total of thirty level 5+ spells to throw out round after round, and that's only if she's decided a problem can't be handled with her fists or her gaze attack which, need I remind you, can lock any living or undead creature out of a fight anywhere from 2 to 8 rounds?

Her robust spell list and sturdy nature sits her firmly at the top of the Neutral Heralds, if not most of the existing Heralds. Normally when the Steward of the Skein appears among mortals, it's to bless the birth of an important, blessed person, or to destroy someone tampering with the sanctity of the Cycle of Souls. If you meet her out and about and there isn't a newborn or necromancer in sight, you'd better hope you don't need to roll initiative.

You can read more about her here.

[its-in-the-woods]

Life's to short Chapter 1 (completed)

Cooper howard/The Ghoul x Lucy Maclean

Post end of season 1

Not beta.. I tried to edit 🫠

Ninety five percent written just tweaking

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

There will be canonically typical violence and eventually smut

+18 only

Slow burn sorta kinda

Please be nice this my first fic in almost a decade 🫣

Will eventually post on AO3 once I can get access... or where suggested 🤷🏻‍♂️

The sand blew past them as they marched forward along the rolling dunes. It had been, what, seven days since they left the observatory. Seven days of traveling east, well, eastish. The hound with them had the scent of old Daddy Maclean, a stuck bleeding pig in a half-dead power armor. A slick smile spread across his face, unless that piggy had a spare fusion core he wouldn’t be too far ahead. The sooner they got to him the better, not that the company was bad. Miss Chatterbox had actually been quiet. It was almost unnervingly so. He didn’t think the little slip of things could keep her mouth quiet for so long. The dog had made more damn noise than she did. Then again the Ghoul thought she had had the rug pulled right from under her. Went from a blushing bride to a finger-biting, venom-filled, killing machine. If the Super Duper Mart was any indication the little lady was a fighter. Another smile crossed his face as he glanced back at his companion. The Smooth skin had grabbed a poncho and pair of goggles off a dead traveler. He had pointed it out to her when they walked by, she hadn't even wrinkled her nose at it. Her skin was deeply tanned, pocket marked full of sun blister, and vault shoes traded in for something a bit more heavily soiled. Yet she was still so different from anything else out there. The Ghoul had tried to persuade her into giving up the vault suit but she hadn't budged yet.  The blue and yellow suit, even heavily soiled, stood out like a sore thumb up here.

The first few days he had watched her fall, stumble and tumble all over the damn sand. It had caused a few coughing-fitted laughs, she was nothing but stubborn. Learning quickly how to walk on the slippery slopes and getting good boots helped. She barely ate and drank sips here and there. Her once sparkling eyes seemed hollow, the brightness sucked out of them. It was better that way, the Ghoul mulled. She needed to be hollowed out a bit, the spark stamped out some. If Lucy was going to make it top side she needed to be a little harder. Have a little more grit and grime smeared on her. His mind wandered a bit, as minds tend to do on long walks. The look of determination as she mercy killed her Mom, the look now on her face as she marched behind him. It stirred things, things that should have been long dead. But Ghouls were after all base creatures and somewhat humans. He had been stuck in a damn coffin for thirty years. It had been a long damn time since he felt anything soft. The thought of the feel of her face under his hand, then the pain as she bit him. If he lingered on that thought too long it was viable to make for an awkward evening. Not that Vaultie would have any interest in his ugly mug.

A half-ass lean too came into view, a perfect spot to let the Vaultie rest. He could have continued through the night, but she wasn't used to this, so some creature comforts were needed. He sent Dogmeat out to get her own dinner as they walked closer to the place. They both split in different directions circling the place to make sure nothing was hiding out behind the shanty. A custom they had both gotten used to, making sure the place was secure before going in. They met at the back, damn she did look tired. She had pushed the goggles up into her black hair, eyes with dark circles looking back at him. 

He gestured with one leather-clad hand, “Ladies first,”

She rolled her eyes but went inside the little hut, dropping her bag and then herself onto the floor. At least what passed as a floor, was more sand than wood. The Ghoul had made sure Lucy had grabbed a bag, he certainly wasn't carrying all the goods considering she was the one who needed most of it. He also dropped his saddlebag onto the ground stretching his back a bit. He plunked down on the floor digging into the bag he pulled out his cantine of water and took a quick draw of it. Lucy’s arms were draped over her knees, ridiculously large eyes staring out into nothing. 

“You need to eat, and get some water in ya,” The Ghoul tapped her foot with his own.

She barely moved, just staring straight ahead. The Ghoul sighed and rummaged through his bag finding a can of Cram. He shook it against his ear, “Should be okay,” 

Tossing it, so it landed between her legs. She blinked and reached forward grabbing at the can. She cracked it open and stared at the half-dehydrated meat, before reaching in with her fingers and scooping some out. Less than two weeks ago she would have made a face and asked for a fork before touching the stuff. Good girl he mused. 

The Ghoul had stared far too long as he watched her fingers go into her mouth. Her pink tongue poked out to lick away the residue. The slightly purple-gray finger roved around in the tin before she looked up at him. He turned his eyes away, grabbing his can and opening it. The heat burning in his guts pushed down. Yep, it had been way too long. He wasn't stupid enough to stay around to let that heat fester itself into a fire. The girl had been through enough without his dick getting in the way.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Ghoul grumbled and pushed himself up and out of the opening in the wall without another glance. 

****

Lucy watches the Ghoul swish out the door like some leather-clad shadow. She had seen the way his eyes had watched her eat the food. Those gold-colored eyes blown open almost black. It wasn’t the first time she had caught him looking at her. It wasn’t the same way he had looked at her when they first met. The way he sneered down at her like she was less than a roach-slime on his boot. No, this was different. Something was different. Lucy’s mind swept back to her Dad, the piece of crud he was, trying to walk off in a stolen suit of armor. The look on the Ghoul’s face as he realized who it was. The way his eyes had widened with rage, the venom in his voice as he demanded to know where his family was. Two hundred years. He had been around since before the bombs dropped. All he had wanted was his family. 

Lucy could understand, well sorta, she didn’t have answers about her own life. A life that was one big fat mutated lie. She threw the empty can at the wall watching it bounce onto the sand. The last seven days she’d been stuck in her head. Remembering her bother Norm as she left. Wondering how the vault was fairing. Would she ever see them again? Lucy knew the journey ahead could possibly kill her. Actually, the possibility of her dying was high on the list. Surprisingly she didn’t fear death anymore. Death was an easy solution. There was far worse thing than death, she had learned that the hard way. Now sitting here thinking of how the sun had scorched her as she stumbled across ground that felt more like heavy water, not that it was any better at night. Even wrapped in the poncho and sleeping bag she would still feel cold in her bones for hours after she got up. Hot tears were pouring out of her eyes, this stupid wasteland, with its stupid sand, and stupid cruel people. It was all a lie. Their vault was never coming to repopulate America. What even was America? What was any of this? What was she even doing? 

She wiped her eyes and stood up. Lucy wanted answers and she wanted them now, and who better to answer them than the two hundred-plus-year-old butthole sitting outside looking up at the stars. Stopping, she watched him for a moment. Dogmeat was lying beside him, parts of some kind of dead animal beside her. The Ghoul was just staring up at the night sky. Lucy turned and looked up. In all the time, traveling this wretched wasteland, she had never stopped to look up at the sky. Millions of bright twinkling specks lit the sky as the moon crested over the range of ravaged mountains. It was beautiful.

“Guess you’ve never seen the stars before?” Ghoul questioned. Of course, he’d have heard her move, the man, creature, whatever he was, had scarily good perception.

“I never stopped to look at them before. I’ve seen pictures. Movies. But it’s so bright.” 

“Nothin’ better than in person,” He drawled sucking back on a cigarette he had nabbed off another dead traveler. Lucy wondered what it tasted like, and for some reason what the Ghoul would taste like.

She walked over and sat down beside him. Lucy wouldn’t have had very many nice things to say about the Ghoul. But he was all she had. Legitimately. Maybe, Maximus would live, he would come looking for her. But at this very moment, the only thing keeping her from walking into a Radroach den was him. Whatever he thought of her, she didn’t really care. So they sat there looking up at the stars watching the moon move across the night sky. 

She looked over at the Ghoul. He raised his brow, as he sucked back on the cigarette. 

“Could I try that?” Lucy asked bluntly, really there was no need for pleasantries between them. 

He crooked a smile at her handing her the cigarette. “You sure Vaultie? Things can be addictive.”

Lucy placed it between her lips taking a deep drag like she had seen him do. A cough immediately followed as she tried to blow smoke out. The stuff was awful.

Coughing and sputtering she handed the blunt back to the Ghoul. Who of course was laughing at her, as he took it back.

“Little too deep there Ms. MacLean.” He chuckled, taking another suck, his eyes constantly watching her.

Lucy caught her breath and felt a slight buzz start at her temples. She accepted the smoke when he handed it back. Taking a smaller breath was much more pleasant, even if it tasted like ash. The buzz wasn't horrible though.

“Well, I'd never guess Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes would like a smoke.” The man smiled wide, those eyes glistening in the start light.

Lucy shrugged looking up at the stars, before staring right back at him. “Life seems too short not to try new things.”

He may have been a two-century-old Ghoul but he didn't scare her anymore. There were much worse things out in the wastes.

*Hope you enjoyed the read*

Chapter two here

[what0smart]

All Jon appearances in Absolute Power #2

I feel so bad for him, he’s just falling in and out of consciousness and seeing the destruction his body is causing. It reminds me of the metahumans from SOKE whenever Bendix would kill them and how they’d wake up right beforehand. I can’t wait to see Jay’s reaction since it’s probably gonna remind him of back then as well not to mention the angst of seeing his boyfriend like that, I can’t wait!

I really love the Cyborg design for Jon, a lot of the metal is just attached to him and as well as the wires it gives off the sort of infection vibe that I really enjoy. I wonder how much of this will be permanent, most of it is like armor but there’s also a lot of wiring that has been drilled into him like we saw at the end of Absolute Power #1.

Also I know for a fact Jon was gonna tell his dad to kill him before Brainiac Queen interrupted, he’s got a strong history of always being willing to sacrifice himself like in Dark Crisis. Clark being unable to force himself to fight Jon and just trying so hard to get through to him was so upsetting, he was definitely gonna lose if Wally hadn’t shown up.

Amanda Waller talking about Jon like he’s not a person has me fuming I swear I want her GONE!

Nice to see Nia turn on Amanda, I always had the thought that even if her parents survive there’s no way they would be happy with what it cost so I’m glad she got on the same page. I don’t think she’s dead though, she makes an appearance in superson and I don’t think it’ll be as a flashback. My current theory is she’s currently hiding out in Jon’s dreams since he’s unconscious, we’ll have to wait and see for next month though.

The only thing I would change is it would have been nice to see Damian have a reaction to Cyborg Jon since it is his best friend but I understand the focus was more on Clark and Jon. Overall I really enjoyed this issue, Mark Wait and the other writers are all doing great jobs so far for Absolute Power, can’t wait for more!

[mk-oc-imagines]

Warm

Pairing: EvilTitan!Bi-Han x Johnny Cage | ColdStar

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 1

Rating: Mature

Tags: Major Character D*ath, Angst, Hurt & Comfort, Non-Consensual touching and marking, Implied character d*ath

Parts: One-Shot

Disclaimer: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY, MIND THE TAGS AND WARNINGS

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

His frozen minions bring the struggling actor into his own personal quarters, the actor spitting obscenities and cursing them to Netherrealm and back, being unceremoniously thrown down on the floor, his minions leaving and shutting the door behind them.

This, Johnny Cage, stares at him defiantly, brown eyes full of life and emotions and a warm dagger of pain twists in Bi-Han's ice cold heart, slowly walking towards his captive, taking off his gloves and mask. Sub-Zero circles his captive taking in every visible detail, cold finger tips touching a warm cheek and Johnny flinches away, but Sub-Zero is undetered, trailing over exposed skin, running his fingers trough hair that are not deathly white.

Sub-Zero's white yes meet brown ones - there's still the steely defiance but now there's fear - and Johnny Cage tenses, awaiting whatever is coming in next.

Sub-Zero picks him up by the collar of his uniform, presses him against the wall and kisses him. Johnny Cage fights, bucking his body to try and shove him off, turning his head away to escape the unwanted kisses, but it only gives Sub-Zero more warm skin to map and when Bi-Han finally captures Johnny's lips in a kiss, Johnny fights harder, biting at Bi-Han's lips until he draws blood, trying to knee Bi-Han anywhere he can.

But eventually....Johnny finds out that fighting is futile and Bi-Han's heart sings.

---

Although the previous alternation between them didn't go without a fight and Johnny found out that it did not matter how much he fought, it did not amount to anything.

But his fighting spirit was not broken.

A bruise was forming on Bi-Han's jaw from the punch he had recieved from Johnny when he untied his hands to tie them at the front and to take off his upper armor, but was quickly subdued with an ice dagger to the throat and a believable threat whispered into his ear.

They were laying down on the sheets of Bi-Han's king sized bed, the two of them spooning, Bi-Han having a nice view of Johnny's near perfect back, running his fingers over them, his arms and neck, rewarding Johnny with gentle love bites and kisses, for being good to him but all the good thinks must come to an end.

Bi-Han felt his powers stirring, the slight tingling sensation alerted him to an upcoming danger. Tilting Johnny's head towards him, Bi-Han seals their lips in a slow, languid kiss - Bi-Han didn't mind that Johnny was unresponsive to it. He would make him his soon enough.

On his way out of the room, Bi-Han collected his gloves and mask, picking up the discarded Johnny's discarded armor, freezing it and shattering it against the wall.

Johnny won't need it in the future after everything is done.

Sub-Zero walks past his lined up minions, his Johnny Cage at the front, blue eyes staring into nothing, skin frost bitten. Sub-Zero takes off his mask and presses his lips to Johnny's - they no longer yield.

---

Johnny can hear the commotion outside, rolling over onto his other side to face the door, Johnny waits for his captor to come in, to snatch him up once again and take him somewhere where his friends won't find him.

The door pursts open and Johnny flinches, looking up at -

"Syzoth?"

"Johnny?"

Johnny bursts into tears, covering his face with his hands, too overwhelmed to do anything. He can't look at himself, how he looks to Syzoth, hiccuping out a sob.

Syzoth is by his side in a second, breaking his chains and wrapping him in a thin sheet. "Johnny, we have to go, quick, quick!"

Syzoth is pulling out of the bed and Ashrah is there too - when did she come into the room? - helping him up and they guide him trough the corridors, thankfully not encountering any of Titan Sub-Zero's minions.

Ashrah is silent, Syzoth is telling him that everything will be alright and Johnny wants to just shut his brain off.

--

Sub-Zero is defeated.

Johnny feels as if a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders and he ugly cries in the safety of Wu Shi Academy, trying to muffle his wailing into a pillow.

A concerned monk enters his room, checking over his injuries, thinking that it got worse and trough gentle words, soft 'May I's, guides him to the hot spring and trough hazy mind, Johnny sinks into the water, mind going a mile a minute but at the same time not, after a while, Johnny finds himself relaxing into the water and against better judgment, Johnny closes his eyes.

A shocked gasp is what wakes him up, Raiden standing there with a tray of food intended for him, Raiden's eyes looking over his marked body and Johnny covers himself, sinking into the water, feeling violated in more ways than one.

"Johnny, I apologise, I-"

"Get out!"

Raiden murmurs an apology, leaving the tray near the hot spring and scurrying out without a second glance, looking down on the ground.

And Johnny weeps, sobs muffling into his hand, mind not comprehending why it was him.

--

"When we defeated Titan Sub-Zero, it was your name he called, Johnny Cage." Ashrah says softly as she checks over his healed marks.

"Mine? Or my frozen counterpart."

Ashrah pauses and Johnny looks at her. "I saw my other self, Ashrah. I looked...dead."

"Johnny Cage..."

Ashrah pulls him into a hug, Johnny resting his head on her shoulder. "Did you see yourself too?"

"No, I did not. And for that, I am glad. But for you-"

"I don't want pity, Ashrah. I'm doing mostly fine now, thanks to therapy and great support system." Pulling back, Johnny collected his shirt, sighing softly.

"I just want to leave that event of my life behind."