#meticulous mage

[lucabyte]

Ok I'm going to bed for real now but lmao wait that "which non sona oc of yours are you most similar to" q on the simple ask game reminded me that I do have the worlds funniest kin assigner built into my oc spreadsheet and it's called "canon classpects for everybody"

[valorandgold]

@meticulous-mage said:

”Morgan, I…” For once, the usually verbose mage was uncharacteristically at a loss for words, both looking and feeling just as awkward as the conversation promised to be. Regardless of said awkwardness, however, Miriel forged ahead anyway; failings aside, they did nothing by halves. “I owe you an apology.” An understatement and an oversight, which Robin had brought to their attention, and which had filled the scientist with equally uncharacteristic shame. “I have been more than remiss in my duty as your parent, and although there are reasons for my failure, they are far beyond unacceptable.” For once, the words didn’t sound rehearsed or rewritten, simply honest; they even came with brown eyes almost meeting Morgan’s own. “I am sorry, Morgan; I will devote more of my focus in the future.”

Morgan was very uncharacteristically uncertain of what she wanted to say or even the possible expected responses from her that her mother had likely imagined ahead of time, even if the words had been improvised on the spot as they sounded. She was caught very much off-guard by Miriel's immediate sincerity. Even with her less personable vocabulary, there was still no mistaking that she truly felt what she was saying, and it was almost startling to her daughter.

"M-Mother..." Morgan began, still having no idea how to respond to this sudden display of genuine emotion, and a lack of detachment behind those words. "U-Um...it's okay. I know you're really busy with your experiments and..." No...no, it really hadn't been okay and they both knew it, else the mage likely would not be expressing such regret, and to a nearly agonizing degree no less, at least for Miriel's standards. This realization caused her to stop what she had been starting to say and express what she was truly thinking, now that she had cleared through some of the fog of confusion keeping it clouded.

"Mother!" Morgan suddenly leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the scientist and burying her face in her shoulder and...was she crying a little? Whether she was or not, she was holding on tight.

[cheesus-doodles]

Letters

Yandere Rollo

Masterlist | TWST Masterlist

‎

i like my repressed christian boys a lot if yall can't tell ;-;, couldn't pass up on this....tr will be back on schedule next!

Rollo Flamme never imagined himself as simply ordinary. He had always been destined to be extraordinary, committed and focused, willing to put in the work to achieve perfection. Yes, there was no doubt that there were ways to go to meet his goals, seeing as his fire lily plan went up in flames on first contact with that wretched Malleus Draconia and his Night Raven buddies despite his months of meticulous planning and careful scheming.

Yet here he was, walking at a speed Rollo hoped didn’t divulge how fast his heart was pounding away, your letter carefully tucked away deep within his robes, pressed right up against his chest. Green eyes concentrated on nothing but his next step, his poker-face and overall reputation as the Student Council President a god-sent for keeping unwanted attention away as he cut a path through the school towards his room, hands clasped in front of him as they always were. 

Outside the gates of Noble Bell College, Fleur City was as lively as ever, the hustle and bustle of a city coming back to life under the gentle evening sun echoed throughout the conversely silent campus as people enjoyed busking in the remaining sunlight after a long day of work. It was an exceptionally cool day too, the white-haired boy noted to himself, the breeze sweeping down the hallways and bursting forth into the open air strong enough to lift the ends of his robes.

A respectful mumble of “Rollo-kaicho” rose from the scatter of students milling around as he walked past, though nothing that a returned nod of acknowledgement couldn’t settle.

The peacefulness that blanketed the stately campus as the sun sank further and further down the horizon reminded him much of the night of the Young Mage’s Social ball, and more so, you. Rollo could recall that particular evening with perfect clarity, the sights and sounds replaying again in his head as the purple-clad mage made his way indoors, the old wooden door swinging shut behind him with nay a creak, shutting out both the wind and the sounds of the city.

‎

His own footsteps were the only sound ringing across otherwise empty corridors as the boy turned the situation he had found himself unexpectedly stuck in over and over again in his mind. It had never been his intention to fall over his own set trap, yet how was it he did so anyway despite all his wariness and discipline?

This had all begun as a plot for revenge right after he had been bested, by villains no less. It would be hard for Rollo to even admit that he had come to terms with the beating he received several months ago, let alone the night after it happened, and his next plot had already begun to hatch the moment you swept into view dressed in your masquerade costume, accompanied by none other than Malleus himself. From everything he witnessed, it was clear that the Draconia housewarden cared greatly for you, and dare he guess, maybe even had some unexpressed feelings for you. 

Not that he hadn’t noticed you before that night, but it was certainly the first time that he had come to realize just how central a place you held among the Night Raven College students, and how crucial a card you would be in his next plan to wipe that smug smirk off of that wretched fae prince’s face.

The night of the Young Mages’ Social ball had been surprisingly ordinary, given what had just happened. He had been exhausted and dead on his feet, even if he showed no sign of it outwardly; the orderliness of the hall that he painstakingly cleaned after the last fire lotus had withered was a welcomed sight. Alas there was no time for sleep, not that it would matter given his already heavy eyebags. But despite his state, you had instantly caught his eye at the start of the ball, quietly huddled towards the back of the Night Raven group, trying your best to look anywhere but at him or at the rest of the crowd as you and your friends were singled out as the saviors of Fleur City. And it was obvious that you were feeling even more out-of-place as the dance began in earnest, though whether it was from the crowds or just general awkwardness, Rollo could not say.

Taking his leave from the merrymaking, the white-haired Council President could find no surprise within him when he found you sitting alone later outside of the hall, enjoying the peace and quiet that had fallen over the city with the arrival of night, looking up at the blanket of stars, a glass of what looked like juice in your hand.

“May I join you?”

You had jumped at his words, though you did settle quickly upon realizing it was just him for reasons unbeknownst to Rollo. “By all means,” you replied, waving him down to join you. After all, he did just try to essentially kill your friends and all mages in general. Perhaps you knew something he didn’t, the purple-clad student mused to himself, subtly watching you from the corner of his pale green eyes. Or perhaps you were just presumptuous, given you hadn’t been affected as badly as the rest.

The dark sky was clear of clouds, the dark of space dotted with twinkles as far as the eye could see, the moon hanging alone amidst the barren sky; an alluring sight for weary souls - and judging from how discreetly you had excused yourself from the social, you definitely were tired. 

A pause as Rollo took a seat a respectful distance from you. “Too much?”

You nodded. “Too much.”

Whatever it was, you seemingly held no ill will towards Rollo, simply accepting his quiet company. And so the two of you sat in comfortable silence as the young mages danced and laughed the night away just a stone’s throw away. The minutes melted into hours as the world continued to turn, though the calmness of the reality around him was a far cry from the turmoil of thoughts within his head. 

When the night started to grow old and the cacophony of noises began to die down, it was as if an unheard bell had gone off, and you reluctantly stood, empty glass now in hand - your friends were bound to come looking for you should they notice you were missing. And with you leaving soon and that night being the last one you were spending at Noble Bell College, it was finally time to launch the first phase of his plan.

”I would like to write to you,” Rollo started, immediately cringing internally as the words left his lips, but there was no going back now. “If it is alright with you.”

He held his breath as you considered his request, your head cocking to the side as you contemplated. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged, shooting him a light smile, your hair gleaming in the waning moonlight. “Goodnight, Rollo.”

Exhale. And that was that.

‎

But now here he was, Rollo mused, eagerly anticipating the opportunity to read your letter alone. Has his plan gone astray? He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts of you, just till he could be alone. For all his routine and self-discipline, you were the one temptation he couldn’t seem to get squash down.

Coming to a pause at the fork in the hallway, the Noble Bell Council President paused. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted tonight in the midst of his much-needed analysis of your letter, so against the burning desires of his heart and the weight of your letter heavy in his robes, he forced himself to take a detour, his feet carrying him down sparse corridors towards the councilrooms. It was easy to spot his Vice President still hard at work amidst the otherwise empty room, scouring through a stack of papers at his desk, head down and pen scribbling away.

A quiet clearing of his throat was enough to get the attention of the occupant inside. “Rollo-kaicho!” Said student rocketed up from his seat, hurriedly adjusting his slipping striped cap. “What brings you here at this time of day?”

“I wanted to check in before I retired for the day,” replied the white-haired boy, giving a courteous glance to the rest of the unoccupied desks before returning his gaze to the other. “Is there anything I should know about?”

The Noble Bell Vice President stuttered for a moment, lost for words and wrecking his tired brain in an attempt to find what to say. “I-uh-“

Pulling out his celestial-patterned handkerchief, his movement just barely managed to cover the disgusted look that fell over his expression, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing as the stench of magic overwhelmed his senses, though Rollo still managed to keep his tone neutral. Even if he was the one to initiate contact, that hardly made a difference with his nausea. “It’s fine,” the magic-adverse mage managed to grit out without a hint of distaste, his tone as neutral as it always has been. “Please have the points ready for me tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, Rollo-kaicho. I apologize again.”

‎

Finally being able to lock his room door behind him brought a relief much like cold water over hot iron, ending the depraved pulsing in his mind that the mere presence of the envelope in his robes against his chest brought on with every passing second. Tossing the heinous paper carelessly onto his well-worn table top, Rollo instead hurriedly picked it back up again, pale green eyes scanning for any further damage he had caused, though fortunately there was none to be found.

Letting out a sigh of relief, the white-haired boy settled into his chair. Now, to satisfy both his curiosity and anticipation.

Trembling fingers carefully peeled open the envelope, revealing a slightly yellowed, unevenly folded paper much to Rollo’s chagrin - he would have much preferred if you used a perfect white piece of paper, quality stationery instead of this random piece you must have had left over from your homework, and if you had folded it the same way he did all this time. But he supposed he couldn’t expect that high a standard from you, given the riff-raff of mages you found yourself in the company of. As he gently freed your letter from its paper enclosure, his sensitive nose caught a whiff of a familiar scent, the smell probably having lingered on from when you first mailed it out.

The light fragrance of your favorite shampoo, Rollo deduced, bringing the paper up to his nose. He recognized it, no matter how faint it was. You must have just finished showering when you wrote and sealed the letter if the aroma still endured. A breath of fresh air amidst the rank odor of magic and mages.

And then he began to read.

Dear Rollo, the letter began as it always did, those two words enough to have his heart skip a beat like nothing else could. But this time, the next few that followed were even better. Your letter came late, and it was sorely missed.

Line by line, you spelled out your daily ongoings, your interactions with your fellow schoolmates, your inner thoughts. Rambling about anything and everything that came to mind, thoughts spilling out without filter straight onto paper. About how Grimm (that filthy magic cat) nearly failed his test again and about how Deuce and Ace got into their latest spat of trouble with their housewarden Riddle. About how Jack and Epel were like to work with on your history project, and how you felt about one of your lunches being stolen by Leona.

Just like that, the minutes slipped through his finger, and with a pang in his heart, Rollo came to the end of your letter.

He placed the paper down on the paper, taking a breath.

How was it that he could feel so attached to another person through a simple piece of paper? How did you ensnare him so effortlessly, bypassing his hard-fought discipline as if it didn’t exist? Did all this mean that his revenge plot against Malleus had already gone awry?

‎

The night was cool and quiet, the moonlight that shone through his stained glass windows bringing the Noble Bell Council President back to that fateful night. A light gust of wind seeped in through a small crack, creaking the old wooden panels in the floor as it blew through his room. 

Your writing had improved, Rollo noted, as per his guidance in his previous letter. You were using a ruler to ensure straight lines, and your handwriting had neaten greatly; a far cry from your first reply to him, the memory of those scrawling letters that ran up and done and every-which way except straight across the paper still causing shivers to run down his spine. That was bad.

Carefully and painstakingly refolding the paper, Rollo stood, returning it to its envelope before moving to stow the letter within his secret compartment above the fireplace, with previous letters neatly arranged upright according to date received. His fingers lightly brushed past all your correspondence with him, his chest fluttering at your willingness to speak with him, his mind already churning with how and what he should reply to you. Would you be interested in perhaps coming back to Noble Bell? Maybe he should visit Night Raven College? Even if that blasted Draconia was there, it would be worth it just to have some private, personal time with you, the white-haired mage calculated, his hand tapping an unknown rhythm across his desk that he now leaned against.

‎

There was no point in denying his obsession with you, not at this point - it had been awhile since you started to occupy his every waking moment and thoughts, and being as organized and detailed as Rollo was, he could pinpoint the exact moment when he began to spiral. Sure, his first letter had been full of nothings, meaningless pleasantries and stories that he polished to perfection over the course of a night of restlessness. But what he got back was your heart on your sleeve, your mind like an open book for him to pick apart and examine.

As things turned out, the more he picked, the more he found. Questions he sent always came back answered, with you evidently letting slip more than you intended to originally say, sometimes directly and sometimes when he read between the lines. 

A single line in your third reply to him was all it took to begin his unending slide. 

You were from a different world.

The more he sat on it, turning it around and round in his mind, the more his chest grew warm, and you began his center of focus. Even the mere passing pondering of what you were doing now was enough to grip Rollo’s entire being, to have his heart rate increase and his thoughts to jumble. After all, in this foul, tainted world, there could be no purer person than someone who came from a place where no magic exists.

You were perfection embodied. 

In a twist of fate, you turned out to be pure, a shining beacon amidst the foul-smelling heathens. A gift from the heavens, a blessings from the divine meant for none other than him, that no one could properly appreciate except for him. Sure you weren’t the most orderly, and you did have your moments where you were occasionally wowed by magic, especially the inhuman feats from that wretched Malleus Draconia, but you remained untainted despite your constant proximity to the taint of magic that surrounded and cloaked you as if a heavy fog. Never indicated anything more than a passing interest in the magic that your companions wielded and an admiration that Rollo was sure he could rid you off. All you needed was time away from those mages, spent instead in his company.

‎

Stepping away from his desk and moving now towards his personal bathroom, Rollo came to the answer he had been looking for as the boy moved to undress himself for a nighttime shower. It had been in front of him all this time.

The answer was no. 

No, he hadn’t forsaken his plan to wield you against Malleus; sure the exact details had changed as the months went by, but everything he did was as he had schemed. Just that now, you didn’t have to be a means to an end, you didn’t need to be just another casualty wrecked up amidst his crusade against the villains. Stealing you away from the fae prince would be one of the largest blows he could deal with to that condescending prick, the beginning of his downfall - the excitement tingling at Rollo’s arms as he imagined the crestfallen expression that would twist Draconia’s face, the streak-free bathroom mirror reflecting the pale green eyes that lighted up in callous pleasure.

It would be glorious.

But for now, Rollo determined, schooling his face back into its usual neutral look as he turned to step into the shower room, what he needed to concentrate on was his next letter to you.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

something i noticed

A while back, I wrote this analysis reviewing how unfair the magic education system is in Twisted Wonderland. I would recommend reading that before this post, as it provides tons of context for what I’m about to talk about and add onto the discussion.

In 2-6 of the Tapis Rouge event, Vil has stylists from Luxe, a high end fashion brand, dress up Azul, Jamil, and Ace to be a part of his red carpet entourage. Once the boys come out in their new threads and makeup, Jamil and Azul, two individuals who are meticulous about details, provide some telling commentary.

According to those two, the team of stylists that helped them were mages. Azul further remarks that they were quite skilled mages and that having this kind of talent indicates a “first class brand store”. Their hair and makeup is also suggested to be done via magic, though this service is not normally performed for customers. Previously, we knew that skincare can be infused with magic (Vil does so with his own) and that magic can be used to style one’s hair (Jamil tells us in his Birthday Boy vignettes that he does his intricate hair with magic and used to take far longer with it when he lacked the precision). Idia states in book 6 that Jamil had no formal magic training before NRC, so that means Jamil was self-taught in his hair-handling magic.

… Okay but 😭 WHAT DOES THIS IMPLY ABOUT MAGIC AND CLASS??? Is it just a coincidence that the teams of stylists who staff a high class store are ALL mages? Surely not, given how uncommon mages are in the general population. The store (or maybe the brand itself?) must be going out of its way to hire them because I guess being dressed with magic is a more “luxurious” experience than the normal way. We can also guess from Azul and Jamil’s accounts that the degree of magic these staffers use requires significant skill and precision, which either means they need formal instruction or lots of practice on their own. Neither option is afforded to people with naturally low or no magic reserves at all 💀 meaning jobs like this are gated to mages only.

Now, this doesn’t inherently mean the rich and famous people who frequent these stores are also all mages (Kalim’s dad and Vil’s dad are two non-mages who are extremely wealthy and influential); the majority of them must still be regular people since humans seem to be the majority, and 90% of humans are non-mages. It also doesn’t guarantee that the Luxe stylists are paid more than a non-Luxe stylist (although I do think this is possible for a prestige brand, especially if we factor in commissions on sales).

What’s sticking out to me here is that there exists an association between magic and luxury. The reverse also appears to have some truth based on what little other lore we have; Ruggie states that there are not a lot of mages from his hometown, which could imply a history of non-mages being driven into poorer communities. It all fits together a little too well to seem coincidental… but obviously, Ruggie’s hometown is just one place and could be an outlier rather than the exemplar. We know that most non-mages must live an average lifestyle, not the extremes that Ruggie has experienced. Still, the claim that magic is typically associated with the upper class holds and it continues to be perpetuated in the lore.

Anyway, Fellow and Rollo were right—

[madschiavelique]

So I thought up a smutty request last night for romanced Gale! Gale makes use of an invisibility spell:

Tav and Gale are on a stealth mission and Gale casts invisibility. During the mission they duck into a narrow alcove to escape the notice of a few guards on patrol.

“Wait. Why are we hiding?” Tav asks, hyper aware of how closely they’re pressed together.

“Instinct I suppose.” Gale says, grateful for the spell that hides his amorous blushing. “Eh-hem. I did just have an idea though.” He continues in low voice.

Tav stares into the darkness, confused. Realization dawns as they feel his excitement growing against their thigh.

“Oh! But… now?!” They whisper.

“Perhaps not now, perhaps at some point back at camp… if you’re amenable to… surprises.”

Now it’s Tav’s turn to blush without being seen.

“Yes.” They breathe, trying to reign in their own excitement and anticipation.

What do you think would happen when they get back to camp😏?

omg i'm sorry i took so long for this but i cooked harder than i thought for it and it's good (i think ?) ; a special thank u to @gracethyomen for proofreading me <333

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : gale x fem!reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : smut (mdni), use of spells for sex (hold person, blindness, mage hand, enthral), soft dom gale, finger fucking, gale is a teasing fuck, female/afab reader, if i forgot any other do tell pls !

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 5,5k

It was supposed to be simple. Some kind of artefact retrieval without eyes or ears to witness about it. Scrolls and spells were ready, potions were about to be drunk, and your tools to disarm and lockpick anything were all properly arranged in your purse.

Gale was travelling lightly with no staff. Simply a belt with a few scrolls of Dimensional Door and Misty Step attached to it, ready to be used.

You had managed to get up some vines on the side of the manor containing the desired artefact, shushing Gale as he huffed and puffed upon arriving at the top of it.

“We could have just used a scroll to travel such heights,” he whispered.

“Who knows,” you murmured back, “we might need those soon.” You’d continued your way, silent as a shadow while Gale tried his very best not to trip on his robes as he knelt every now and then.

After following the instructions that had been given to you, you arrived at the room where the artefact was - fortunately enough for you - its current owner deemed it insufficiently important enough for it to be displayed at the very centre of the room. But rather it was placed on one of the shelves.. 

You lock-picked the balcony’s door linked to the room with sufficient ease, and once in it Gale made sure to point out to you that the stand on which the artefact was placed was trapped. 

You observed the mechanism and how you were supposed to take care of it, but during your meticulous contemplation, the gaze of your companion lingered on you with an intensity which you felt didn’t communicate any kind of danger.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” you whispered as you started dismembering the trap.

“Just admiring your concentration. As the days pass I understand how an artist never grows tired of his muse’s profile.” he hummed, his voice low.

You almost missed the proper sensitive screw of the trapped base, a hiccup of your heart making your hand tremble as your cheeks warmed.

After disarming it properly and placing the artefact in a bag, you left by the same way you had both entered. You were a bit less worried about being crouched and properly hidden now. You had retrieved the artefact without a problem, and now if you had to escape you could just use some scrolls or potions of Feather Fall to jump from wherever you were.

You simply walked on an outside balcony, listening to any new sounds in the night that could mean the approach of a guard.

“You surprised me before, you know.” you ended up whispering as you walked. 

“I am the one surprised you haven’t had such words spoken to you before, does it seem that unusual to you ?” he questioned.

“It’s not about that, although… whatever it’s just that it came out of nowh-”

But your words were cut as he grabbed your waist and pulled you in an alcove, murmuring the invisibility spell and allowing you both to disappear in the night. You were about to question him but he simply pressed his pointer finger to his lips, shushing you.

The resonating sounds of clicketing armour came to your ears, two guards walking next to one another in the far distance speaking about how boring the reception was at the manor tonight. Your heart was beating so hard you were certain Gale could hear it. You were so close to him, his hand firmly placed on your waist, your eyes unable to decipher where his own were.

He hummed, a shiver running down your spine as he moved his hand from your waist to the small of your back.

However, one thing struck you in the silence: the guards had not continued past you both. It seemed that they had chosen to patrol one section of the many corridors throughout the area… It seems you and Gale had grossly overestimated their dedication to the job.

“Wait,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Why are we hiding ?”

“Instinct I suppose.” His voice was low, yet filled with a sort of surprise. As if he had been pulled out of a dream, content with the idea that his furious blush was hidden. “I…” he was searching for his words and you could feel his breath crash on your cheek and ear, hanging on his lips in the waiting of what he was about to say. “I have an idea though.”

You couldn’t read his mind, from all the scrolls and potions you had to pick this one was the spell you wished you had with you. It wasn’t long before you understood. He sighed as the hand on your lower back pulled you slowly towards him, and he hummed. Your chest swelled when you inhaled, your mouth agape as you felt the hardness that was pressing against your thigh, and the realisation dawned on you.

“Oh…” you whispered, feeling the insistence of his gaze on you. “But… now ?”

“Perhaps not now,” he breathed, his forehead pressing against yours, “perhaps at some point back at camp, if you’re amenable to… surprises.”

You felt the way his lips curled in a small smile as he whispered the last word, and you felt your cheeks warming up. You tilted your head slightly, feeling your nose brushing against his as you opened your lips, feeling his own sigh fall onto them.

“Yes,” you murmured, trying to contain your excitement like it was about to overflow.

His chuckle was low, his hand finding yours, his thumb painting circular motions on the back of it.

“Then we better get back.”

You felt his forehead leave yours, and you supposed that he was checking if the guards were still there, whom you had completely forgotten about in your intimate haze. They had disappeared behind the corner, and Gale took no further minute before murmuring : 

“Non fit injura,” the featherfall spell. 

In but a second you were both imbued with a feeling of lightness, and if you thought your heart was about to fly out of your chest just mere minutes ago, you were now positively sure that if you excitement could grow wings you’d fly higher than any dragon.

You both took your impetus before dashing and jumping. You repressed the giggle that bubbled up your chest while falling. You reached the ground in perfect shape, hearing the slightest grunt somewhere on your left side from Gale. 

Sooner than you had expected, the invisibility spell vanished and you saw him. The moon’s light was shining on his earring as his eyes caught yours. There was a gleam of which even the stars could not match, a darkness filling his eyes like two onyx pearls.

“Shall we ?” he smiled, offering you his hand.

You felt like your smile would crack your face, and you took his hand in yours as you made your way to the camp.

You were received by the rest of the group, cheered on by the companions as they pointed to the artefact in question. Your first task at the start of the next day was to give this artefact to an apothecary, but the next day could wait: your thoughts were focused on Gale's words.

Surprises... What specifically did he mean by that?

Dinner came, and your companions asked you about the progress of your mission. Gale was the obvious narrator. He, who had so much love for recounting his anecdotes, began to describe at length the beauty of the building you had been in, slipping in here and there that Astarion would have appreciated the debauched party the hosts were having. Pointing out to Wyll that an acquaintance of the Blade’s father was apparently involved in all these celebrations, all the while occasionally making the group laugh.

"Are you perfectly certain that nobody saw you?" asked Shadowheart.

Gale's eyes rested on you for what seemed like an eternity. He had intentionally omitted to mention your slight pause on the way out. "Definitely safe," he assured.

Bedtime came and everyone went back to their tents. You passed Gale, his eyes roaming up and down your body before returning to your face, and his gaze moved from yours to your lips before he entered his tent.

Your own tent was a little way from the group's, and as leader of said group, they'd let you have a corner to yourself to let you breathe. Most of them were aware that you were trying as hard as you could to maintain a band of adventurers who were all comically different, and that this was no easy task. So they agreed you were entitled to a slightly more secluded corner for your peace and quiet.

But your peace and quiet did not give you rest from your whirling thoughts. As you finished taking off your day gear, a constant stream of questions took over your thoughts. 

Should you wait for Gale to come and see you? Should you go to him? At some point back at camp... What if he hadn't designated today? What if, after all, the adrenalin had worn off and his desires were no longer present? You didn't know what to do.

All your doubts were put aside, however, when one of the sides of your tent was raised and Gale stepped into it. His eyes were just as dark as when you landed outside the manor. You faced him, motionless, your heart fluttering between your ribs as he moved slowly towards you.

It wasn't long before he was as close to you as he had been in the alcove of the manor - a deep sigh echoing in his chest as his breath hit your ear and his beard scratched your cheek.

You tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes, your eyes going from his eyes to his lips and trying not to look too desperate. He came to cup your face with his hand, and you leaned into his touch. His thumb softly grazed your skin, his second hand placing itself on your hip.

"I never thought waiting would be such a torment, yet this evening has proved to me otherwise." He murmured, his hand on your hip moving again to the small of your back to press you against him.

You brushed your nose against his, feeling his warmth and the weight of his words.

"Then why not end it now ?" you whispered back.

"Because I want to appreciate you," he murmured, his lips barely brushing yours, "delight in the sight of you, ink you in my mind..."

He didn't go on with his sentence, just let his lips touch yours, both your bodies relaxing instantly. Both of your hands came to his shoulder, one of them venturing to cup his face. He was gentle at first, almost hesitant, before revealing his hunger.

The hand that was cupping your cheek travelled to the back of your neck to kiss you harder, bring you closer to him, a surprised moan vibrating from your lips as his fingers combed their way in your hair.

As you leaned your head back from the slight pull he made, his lips lowered on your jaw, kissing your pulse point, your neck was to be his, now. He’d been sorely displeased when finding out you’d allowed Astarion to drink from it. From you. He came back to take your lips, his hands coming to unlace your shirt.

You lowered yours to mirror his intentions, but he gently took both of your wrists in his and brought them up to your head. 

“Hm hm,” he hummed like a softened tutting of a scolding parent, and through the haze you saw a glint of mischief in his eyes.

His fingers continued to take care in removing your shirt, but you couldn’t help the feeling, the need to touch him and be touched by him. 

You had waited enough, and so hadhe. He had no right to tease you so, to caress you with sweet words all evening and not let you have your fingers brush on his own skin.

Your arms lowered again, a hand placed on his shoulder as the other one rested on the back of his neck to bring him into another kiss, hungry, devouring his lips as he hummed and sighed in relief.

But in his chest rumbled a dark sound, vibrating on your lips before he whispered into them : 

“Non movere.” In an instant, lilac glyphs and squares grew on the ground, and soon enough your body wasn’t yours to command anymore. 

Unable to move byyour own will, you stood there, certain that whatever breeze coming over you would not be able to make even a single hair on your head move. Your wrists and ankles were stiffened, it was as if you had been blocked in a mould that you had yet to come out of… the new masterpiece of your creator.

You knew this feeling, knew the shape of it, the metallic smell of magic it left in the air once it was spoken.

You couldn’t do anything other than blink and let your lips part in complete surprise as your eyes fell on the glint of mischief his gaze held: he had just cast the Hold Person spell. On you.

He took a step back, observing you up and down his work, tilting his head to the side in his contemplation.

“Why did you do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as the thrill of all kinds of possibilities electrified every limb of your body in anticipation.

His eyes set back to yours, and for once looking into Gale’s eyes gave you no response as to what was about to come.

“I mentioned earlier tonight,” he took a step forward you again, his pointer finger hooking under your chin to make sure your eyes wouldn’t leave his, “That I had a few surprises for you. Didn’t I, my little muse?”

His eyes did not leave yours as the back of his hooked finger traced the skin down your neck, brushing your pulse point. His stare darkened atthe feel of your rapid heartbeat.

His touch woke goosebumps in its path, blossoming on your skin as a warm shiver ran down your spine, arching your back as much as you could with the spell holding your body. Your breath hitched with a sharp inhale.

“You plant such ideas in my mind…” his finger traced your collarbone in a measured and agonising unhurriedness, “the driest of lands would flourish back to life by the thought of you.”

His voice had gone low, his words slow. His eyes searched for every reaction your body could provide by the single brush of his fingers on your skin. You tried pushing forward, tried moving to feel more than his fingertips on you, but the spell was holding you tight in place.

He hovered over the curve of your chest, your clothes suddenly feeling like they were becoming unnecessary. He finally reached the laces he had left to tie you in the air, continuing to untie them with the same ease.

“So impatient, what am I to do with you?” he said, his fingers untying the last remaining string.

His hands left it, your eyebrows furrowing as you let out an annoyed sigh. Your body was hot, your clothes now unwanted on your skin. The only thing covering you that could bring you satisfaction was Gale's touch covering your entire body.

He took a step to the side, then another, until he was no longer in your line of vision. But you felt his presence, felt his breath on the back of your neck as both his hands settled on your waist.

“Do you have a single idea…” he murmured, his mouth lowered to your ear as his hands moved up your waist to reach your arms and manipulate them to raise them above your head with incredible ease, “How hard you make it for me to keep my hands off you?”

His hands brushed against yours for a moment, making you shiver as your breath hitched in your chest, pushing it taught like a sail in the wind. His lips brushing against your ear made you want to turn your head to kiss him, to reach him, but the spell was binding you.

His hands went down following the curves of your body until they reached the sides of your shirt. He pinched them with both hands before whispering: “Caecus te.”

Your next blink left you in absolute darkness, your vision having been momentarily robbed by the incantation of the Blinding spell.

All the sensations were completely different, as if amplified. The warmth of Gale's breath on the back of your neck made you shudder and let out a soft moan, his scent of parchment and warm velvet perfumed your air, and his voice echoed in your soul like a white light as you felt his hands brush against your bare skin while removing your shirt. 

“Feeling you in the alcove bewitched me.”

Sparks burst beneath your skin as his fingertips barely grazed your waist, passing like a feather over your ribs before gently pulling your shirt over your head until the night air enveloped your upper body.

The distinct sound of your shirt falling to the floor in a heap of fabric almost made you jump. Gale's breath was no longer at the back of your neck, and the rustle of his clothes somewhere around you was your only indicator that he was still there.

Your breathing quickened, the uncertainty of what he was going to do to you making your heart and body race.

You gasped as the warmth of his hand touched the bare skin on your waist, suddenly inhaling. Its twin came to rest on your hip, the warmth of his palm spreading to your bones.

‘Your body is one I shall worship till my last breath is stolen from me,’ he whispered, his breath landing on your face, and you drank in his words through parted lips.

His fingers ran up your body like ivy over a statue in an abandoned garden, so that it would never be left alone. His fingertips brushed against the flesh of your breasts, covered by your underclothes, his touch tinting your skin with a warm light as it passed over the landscape of your body.

You wanted to press your body against his, to nestle your face in the nape of his neck as you embraced him, wishing you were no longer covered by anything and letting him roam every inch of your body.

His hands went down to the leather lace of your trousers, pulling on a single string to undo the buckle you made every morning. Your trousers had always been too big for you, with the last few weeks of emaciated food in camp and the constant fighting and walking making the loop to be tightened a little more every time. 

So it came as no surprise when the garment fell to the ground with a thump, revealing the remnant of skin that he had yet to see.

A low rumble vibrated in his chest and echoed on your skin, breathing in his air and all you could catch of him in the darkness you inhabited.

“Gods…” his voice had come closer, and the air seemed less cool as your cheeks heated.

His fingers hovered over your hip, running down your thigh as the other hand traced from below your navel to the edge of your underwear.

You heard him swallow, his breath landing on your chest and the beginning of your stomach. His head was down, his concentration complete. Your body was boiling, waiting for his every move.

“But before I can enjoy touching you, I want to look at you.”

And then his fingers left you cold, the sensation of freshness returning as you felt him no longer beside you. The contrast of the absence of contact was sudden, completely disorientating.

“Gale?” you called,

You chased him with your ears, looking for him in everything you could hear, everything you could smell, everything your body could feel. And just when you thought he had vanished into thin air or left, you heard: 

"Veni et iuva me."

You felt nothing on the spot. There was no physical change, nothing was blocked, nothing was new. But you shuddered at the thought of what he had just said: the Mage Hand spell.

"I won't touch you," you heard him say as you could make out the stool in your tent being moved "just yet, at least."

The legs of the stool were put down, and the rustle of clothes suggested that Gale had just taken his seat, ready to enjoy the spectacle of which he was the creator.

The cool, strange touch of his mage hand delicately grasped your chin. The touch felt icy in the moment, and you wondered whether the nature of the spell made it cool, or whether anything else in the moment would have offered a chilling contrast to the warmth of your desire spread across your body.

The finger followed the same path as Gale had just moments before as it passed from your throat to your collarbone, gently making its way to the valley of your breasts. The tip of his index finger grasped the small strip of fabric running around your torso, pulling it slightly upwards.

The fabric slid over, pressing on the roundness of your tits and making them fuller until they were free. The hand stopped pulling on the strap when it was above your bust.

His finger curved into a hook, tracing the roundness of your breast with the back of it, slipping under the little crease of warm skin where your breasts and torso met. Then he spread out his hand, putting his whole palm on it to embrace it.

His thumb went around the halo of your nipple, gradually approaching your hardened peak. The skin of his thumb came to rest on it, a moan passing your lips.

He made circular movements, sometimes returning to follow the contour of your areola before returning to the central point that had become so sensitive. His index finger joined it to squeeze it, causing you to inhale sharply.

"Do you like the way that feels?"

The hand kept pressing, brushing and caressing with a delicacy and skill that were second to none.

"Mhm," you hummed in response, all your thoughts turned to the delicious sensations you were being given.

"Use your words, my love. Your voice is way too pretty for me not to hear it."

His fingers pressed a little harder on your nipple, an additional moan rising in your throat.

"Yes, I like it." you managed to pronounce in the haze.

"Good," he replied, his voice low, "it would pain me to know you're not enjoying this as much as I am."

You imagined him sitting there, facing you, his hand caressing the air and guiding the blue silhouette against your curves. He was the real master of your desire at that moment, and although you loved the sensation he was giving you, you would have preferred it if it had been his own hand touching you.

You felt the warmth of the knot in your belly building, and your slightly half-open thighs couldn't move to stick together and give you any friction to ease the desire burning inside you. Two words echoed through you: 

"Touch me," expelled your voice.

"Isn't it what I am doing dearest?" he replied as his hand left your breast and moved down your rib.

"I want you to be the one touching me."

His digits ran down your bust, following the curve of your belly until they reached your navel.

"All in due time, my little muse."

His fingers went down to the fabric of your underwear, skimming over the elastic before continuing down your thigh. He took hold of it, gripping it firmly before loosening his grasp, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

His hand ventured to the warm inside of your thigh, and no matter how hard you tried to move your hips forward or press your thighs together, you were getting nowhere, a frustrated sigh rising in your chest.

He caressed the tender skin there, moving up slightly but never reaching the core of your desires.

"Gale," you pleaded with a ragged breath, "I'll let you do anything if you just touch me right now."

You heard him laugh lightly, taking pleasure in the fact that you wanted him so badly.

"Let's not get hasty in promising anything when you're in such a state," he replied. “Besides,” He crooned teasingly. “Whatever I want is already within my reach.”

What other spells could he possibly use? Your thoughts wandered for a few moments over various possibilities as the fingers of the mage's hand made your veins feel like they were made of electricity.

Command to order you to get to your knees or approach him without you having a grasp on your body ? Enlarge to make himself bigger and dominate you better ? Conjure a Myrmidon to join him in seeking your pleasure ?

But all concentration on the subject flew away in a shower of sparks as the fingers of the mage's hand landed on your covered cunt.

A deep whimper of pleasure echoed through the tent as his fingers moved slowly back and forth, caressing you as they moved from your lips to your clit with a cruel slowness. His thumb pressed gently against it, and the heat in your lower belly grew as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip to keep another moan from escaping.

"Don't loweryour voice my dear, no one but me will hear you tonight."

How could he be so sure? How could he say with such certainty that-

A silence spell over the sleeping camp.

Intelligent fucker.

Your teeth loosened the grip they had on your bottom lip, letting your voice rise in the air with every calculated movement the magician made on your pussy.

"I had no idea you were so sensitive," he remarked as he pressed his thumb a little harder, the fabric of your underwear moistening by the second and ruining under his touch.

Eventually, his fingers came to grip the side of the fabric covering you, pulling it aside. The chill of the night air slammed into the damp warmth of your cunt, your cheeks heating at the thought of Gale's gaze on the mess he'd made of you.

He said nothing, but you could feel his stare on you. You imagined the intensity of it, his lust-darkened eyes beneath his furrowed brows, his hand raised to guide Mage's hand. Did he have as much trouble containing himself as you had staying grounded?

The middle and index fingers of the hand came together before resting on your folds, your breath coming in short gasps. He let them press lightly between your lips, letting your wetness coat his fingers.

His thumb went back to your clit, the difference in sensation without any fabric to cover you making you tremble. It wasn't long before one of his fingers was inside you, caressing the heat that was making you ache.

You wanted to move your hips, look for more friction, more movement, but Gale had calculated his move so that you would end up like this: at his mercy, your pleasure controlled by his every move.

His movements were slow, measured, but of unrivalled delight. Your tongue flicked over your lips before moaning as he pushed a second finger in, making hooking movements, as if he were trying to guide your body and your desire towards him and him alone.

Your belly was hot, your lower back burning. Your breath hitched as his fingers found the spot that made you see stars. You felt the knot tighten, like a warm summer cloud spreading across your hips.

You felt close, and you dreamt that your deliverance would end on his fingers. Then you realised that, maybe, all he was waiting for was the magic word.

"Gale," you managed to say between groans, "please."

You heard him rise suddenly, walking towards you as the mage's hand slipped away from you. A whimper of complaint escaped your lips as you felt so close to climax with nothing to reach it anymore.

"Te absolvo" he said, sounding short of breath and eager.

As your eyes took in the dark light of the room again, you saw him from an angle that set your body ablaze.

Gale's face was close to yours, the violet light of the Hold Person spell illuminating his utterly mesmerised features, his pupils dilated almost to pitch black as he breathed heavily through parted lips.

You realised that, although you had been restrained and tormented by his spells, he was the one who was bewitched.

Breathless, regaining your senses, your eyes moved from his eyes to his lips for a moment before returning to his gaze, in which the amethyst sparkle glowed of magic. 

"Please," you repeated in a whisper, "touch me."

Gale tilted his head to one side, his eyes falling on your lips for a moment as he chewed the inside of his cheek, as if he himself were holding back capturing your lips in a kiss, or more...

His hand came to rest on your thigh as his hot breath spread over your skin, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the cold of the mage's hand. He moved slowly up your skin, gripping the elastic of your panties, his eyes never leaving yours. He ran his thumb underneath it, his second hand grasping the other side and gently pulling your underwear down to mid-thigh.

His fingers brushed the inside of your thigh, and your breath hitched as you tilted your gaze down to watch, the use of your body seeming to return to you as the spell gradually lessened its hold. But the Mage hand came to grip your chin, raising your face so that your gaze didn't leave Gale's.

"Don't look away."

He wanted to see every detail of your face, every reaction, the beauty of what his fingers could awaken in you. Yes, he wanted to see this spectacle.

His fingers came to cup your cunt, a sigh of relief escaping from between your lips

"Oculi tui solum volunt," he murmured.

You hadn't heard him say that spell before, but a sudden feeling came over you: you couldn't take your eyes off him.

No matter how hard you tried to look away, you couldn't. Turning your head, looking at another part of his face, nothing seemed to work. Enthralled, that's what you were.

One of his fingers sank into you, its thickness wider than a mage's hand and warmer. He tilted his head back slightly, his eyes thin and dark as he watched your every reaction.

The feeling of your warm walls closing on his fingers was something he was addicted to, knowing he was the orchestrator of your pleasure made him want to let this vision of paradise last forever. His thumb caressed your clit, your body reacting immediately by tightening around his finger as you moaned.

Gale's free hand moved up to your breast, gripping it gently as his thumb pressed lightly against your skin. 

"You wanted me that much, little love?" he asked, the realisation of how wet you were satisfying him beyond measure.

"Yes," you replied, your breath catching as he thrust a second finger in.

His two thumbs made circular movements over your nipple and you clit, his fingers inside you moving perfectly and touching the perfect spot again without effort.

You felt you were near, and so did Gale. The knot was getting tighter and tighter, your lower belly as if lit up by a marble-sized sun. His eyes shone for a moment, a glint of mischief that you now knew all too well.

The mage's hand gently let go of your chin, moving down a little until it was around your neck, and squeezing on each side.

"Come for me," he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours.

The world shattered into a thousand pieces as everything turned to the white warm light. Vibrating waves beat through your body like a second heart, pulsing until your thighs shook and your walls squeezed Gale's fingers spasmodically and the pressure on your neck made you see stars.

Gale whispered something you couldn't hear, and the purple glyphs disappeared as you fell into his arms, still shaking from your orgasm. He lifted his head and kissed your temple, stroking your hair.

"That's it, good," he murmured. Then your breath stilled, nestling your face in the hollow of his neck for a moment before returning to his eyes.

"You have a way with surprises," you said in your haze as he laughed softly.

"I think the most pleasant surprises come with the inspiration you bring me," he admitted as his hand cupped your cheek. "But I do think your thoughts have suggested a few ideas that I simply can't wait to try out."

You frowned for a second, "My thoughts?"

He raised an eyebrow, a sneer stretching his lips as the realisation dawned on you: a mind-reading potion. What you couldn't say in words, your body and mind had been shouting at him all this time.

"How are you feeling?" he asked anyway, for the politeness of the gesture.

"Good," you confirmed as your head fell on his shoulder. "So good."

"Excellent, because you won't get an ounce of sleep tonight."

[sorrelpaws]

Now that we know you're a filthy homestuck, do you have classpects in mind for Rick, the smiths, evil morty?

youre a sick for sending this ask and im even sicker for thinking about it.

i have veerryyy vague and surface level ideas, these are just things i thought about now so theyre subject to change, but i'll share my initial thoughts because why not

for rick im thinking some kind of mage, maybe mage of mind or light since he's very driven by knowledge umm.... but then again i really like mage of heart as well, since he's so intrinsically tied to and focused on different versions of himself

for morty i like to think heir of breath or life, but im very much leaning towards breath due to how sort of. i guess flexible he is. both in terms of usefulness and personality

evil morty is one that im most conflicted on. im kind of satisfied with her class being knight, but aspect ........ i wanna say either space or rage. space since she is very patient and her whole plan takes years of meticulous planning to execute, very big picture stuff, not to mention her generally apathetic demeanor. howeeevveerrr................ i kind of also love rage ..... since its an aspect focused on drastic changes and strong contempt for whatever seems to be wrong to them. but again im conflicted because emorty seems to be kind of a really good mix of both of these aspects

in any case. there you go. thing i started thinking about an hour ago and havent gotten over since

[baldurs-gape]

There's a tower in Waterdeep, it's old now, so very old. Stories say it belonged to a wizard once, powerful and a little less mad than most of his kind. His name was lost to the past, though when the wind blew harshly it was said it still wailed for him as it whistled past the tower. Nobody knows who owns the tower now, yet all its bills and taxes are paid on time. Not only that, it is also maintained, repaired and tended to in a style that befits its age. Alas there was no sign of who did all the upkeep, the tower wasn't occupied according to city records.

Children were warned away from the place. As splendid as the garden looked, meticulously cultivated, the lure of forbidden mystery was strong. Despite their attempts, the closest they got was into the garden. None of them ever came to harm but if flowers were maliciously picked or destroyed, the parents got a very sternly worded warning about vandalism delivered onto their pillow without a trace of origin. Aside from children not many people bothered to try and force entry into the tower. The few adventurers who tried to get creative with their entrance were all thwarted. Every ward and protective spell was carefully maintained, just like the rest of the tower.

Only once did the city make an attempts at brute force entry. Mages disarmed the traps, a rogue picked the lock while a couple of barbarians and rangers wore down the door enough for the rogue to reach through and lift the bar keeping the door closed from the inside. It then swung open on silent hinges and darkness greeted those gathered to take a peek. Shining a light in had been a mistake as too many pairs of eyes reflected back in greens, yellows and reds.

Braced for a fight, protective shields and wards were rapidly fired up as the city's law enforcement hurried to contain what was to come. Spells, bows and axes were readied, waiting for the first strike from within. A lone, small figure sauntered out of the tower in a leisurely stroll, a tressym. She was old, grey around the muzzle yet her fur was shiny and rich while her wings were regally held tucked in at her sides. Gaze slowly sweeping the gathered assault team, her tail flicked in displeasure and disdain before she turned to inspect the damage to the doors and the garden.

"The council will receive bills for the repairs," she announced, voice warped with age. With that, her tail flicked in the air as she turned and marched back into the darkness of the tower, dismissing her stunned audience. The remains of the doors pulled shut and nothing more was heard from within. It didn't matter who addressed the occupants of the tower, whether it was polite requests for communication or shouted threats. No reply came forth and the one time the rogue moved to open the doors again, a firebolt singed questing fingers in warning.

As the tressym had promised, the bills for repairing the damage to the door and the trampled garden was on the Lord of Waterdeep's desk the following morning. Everything was being to its original state by traditional methods, no expenses spared. Even the cost of reestablishing the wards was meticulously noted. Needless to say, it was an expensive mistake for the city and payment was only accepted in gold left by the front door.

Not all was lost though. Finally there was a clue to who lived in the tower. The tressym was a rarity enough for there to be records on who they associated with in the city. While archivists dove into that aspect of the mystery, the common folk of Waterdeep invented their own game: Tressym Watch. As the tower became known for housing a tressym, people began to keep an eye out for sightings. Conspiracy theories blossomed in taverns as notes were compared. Though sightings were rare, there were other signs of tressym activity. The streets around the tower were clear of vermin, stunningly so. Not only that but very few birds passed over the tower too and never courier pigeons. When someone finally had the bright idea to ask the pigeons, all they knew was that for generations they had been warned from passing any roof in reaching distance. Each squab was taught the simple rhyme as soon as they hatched.

Be quick on the wing, lest you feel the dekariosancunin sting. It's best to avoid the tower and be safe from clawed, toothed power.

Theories went wild after that. Arguments broke out in all circles of society over what 'dekariosancunin' meant. Some were a staunch believer of it being 'The Kariosancunin' and were quick to laugh at those who searched the 'Dekariosan cunin' like it was some variant of the common cumin. A third faction looked for 'The Kariosan Cunin' in old tomes and history books. In the end, they were all wrong as the city's records shed a glimmer of hope.

Some four hundred years ago a wizard by the name of Gale Dekarios died. He'd lived to a respectable age for a wizard, retired from a career at Blackstaff and enjoyed a long retirment. According to records he had never married, had no children and no living descendents. More importantly, he had a tressym as a companion. Records at Blackstaff Academy noted he was known to teach with a tressym in tow despite repeated warnings to not bring a familiar with him. Other than that, Dekarios seemed to have had no major achievements on record, he was remembered as no more than a tressym loving eccentric.

At least some of the mystery was solved. However, nobody knew what 'ancunin' meant. Alas, records were limited and Dekarios had retired roughly 200 years before his death. History had a knack for recording the deeds of the noisiest, not the most worthy.

By the time all this was unveiled, the tower had been dubbed Tressym Tower and the name stuck. It was home to a whole colony of tressym as sightings were tracked, cross-referenced and various members of the colony identified.

Trouble brewed when word spread about the tressym and people flocked to see them, a rarity as they were. So called scientists tried to capture them, study them, tag them for tracking. Others wanted to snag one as a pet or familiar. Illegal traders lurked in wait for an unwary tressym to land in their traps. Yet no matter how elaborate they were, every trap was meticulously disarmed and stripped for parts. Even the ones that required opposable thumbs to disassemble.

Whispers of the tressym vigilante went up. It had to be a group of people banding together to work against the traps yet nobody was ever seen anywhere near them. The odd mumbling from a drunkard here and there was laughed off but a story was forming all the same. The Tressym Vigilante was a handsome man, hair white as it glimmered in the moonlight and his eyes were as red as a tressym's reflecting in torchlight and teeth as sharp as the canines of a prime hunter.

Soon, new stories were added to the tales to warn children away from Tressym Tower. If they didn't behave or got too close then Ancunin the Tressym Vigilante would steal them away and lock them in the dungeons below the tower.

[thought--bubble]

Right Place, Wrong Time Pt 3/3

Dark Aemond X Out of world Reader

Warnings under the cut

Word Count: 2370

Right Place, Wrong Time Masterlist

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners and dividers by @arcielee

A/N: This is the winner of the 400 followers sequel vote and is a sequel to the 2 part series Right Place, Wrong time.

Warnings:: Manipulation, Technically kidnapping/kept prisoner, controlling behavior, Stockholm syndrome type behavior.

You were trying to acclimate to this new life. You were really trying. But coming to grips with the fact that you were trapped here felt like more than you could bare.

After that first night, Aemond did not come for you again. He had been rather preoccupied, or so you thought. There were lots of closed door meetings with his brother King Aegon.

This gave you time to think. Too much time to think. To think about how you will never see your mom again. How you will never go to the pub for a drink with Becca, never go on an airplane, watch TV, play on your cell phone, you find yourself just constantly thinking of all the things you had lost. All the things that had been taken from you, and as each day passes, your feelings of sadness start to morph into feelings of anger and helplessness.

Yet the anger and the sadness you were feeling were nothing compared to the loneliness. The feeling of isolation. With every interaction, you had to put on a mask. Pretend that you were something you were not. You couldn't tell anyone the truth. They would think you were mad. With Aemond seemingly keeping his distance, you felt more alone than you ever had in your entire life.

In this spiral of anger, sadness, and desperation to not lose yourself, the real you. You find yourself knocking upon his door in the dead of night. He is the one who trapped you here. Bound your hands like a prisoner, yet he is the only one who knows the real you. Who knows who you truly are.

He opens the door, dressed in his night clothes, his shirt slightly open. He cracks a small smile and opens the door wider, motioning for you to enter.

You stomp into the room and wait for him to close the door before you start to berate him.

"I WANT TO GO BACK!" You push against his chest in anger. "Find me a witch, a warlock, a mage, whatever the hell you freaks have here in crazy land and send me back!"

Aemond smirks and slowly shakes his head. "My apologies, princess, it is simply not possible."

"I can't stay here!" You moan. "You don't understand! I'm dying here!" You look at him with pleading eyes. You know it's pointless, but you can't help yourself. You need to get home. To your life. Your family.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet girl." He takes your face in his hands, rubbing gentle circles on your cheeks with his thumbs. "There is no way to send you back." He pulls you into his arms, pushing your face down against his shoulder. "No. You shall stay here with me. I will provide for and protect you. Always. " He gently rocks with you in his arms, pulling you tighter and closer to his chest until you are nearly suffocating.

"I.. I....I.. I can't!" You start to sob into his shoulder, gripping tightly on his night shirt. "I don't belong here!"

"Shhhh." He gently coos in your ear while stroking your hair. "Of course you belong here. You belong right here. By my side"

This only makes you cry harder. Yet you cling to him. He smirks to himself, his lips pressed against the top of your head.

"Have you been lonely without me, my love?"

You hate to admit it, but you have. He is the only person you don't exhaust yourself when speaking to, meticulously choosing each and every word to make sure you don't give away your truth.

"Yes," you whisper into his chest. The tears continue to roll down your cheeks, but the sobs have quieted.

"I apologize profusely, my love." his voice is gentle and soothing, but there is something else in his tone you can't quite place. A giggle or a chuckle he is dying to release.

"I have been strategizing with my brother. To secure our future. With the disappearance of my half-sister, her faction has been left floundering for the moment." He continues to stroke your hair, his voice gentle and soft.

"Tis humorous really, my nephew Jace flitting about the realm looking for mummy." He chuckles heartily the vibrations of his chest calming you somewhat.

"But alas eventually they will come for us again. We need to put the uprising to rest before it can fester..... namely..... I must put my uncle and nephews to the sword.... mount their heads, and then finally, this mess should be over. My father's mess" he twirls some of your hair between his fingers.

"Then you and I will take dragonstone. As our seat." He lifts your chin, bringing your face towards him. "You will be the lady of Dragonstone. Does that not sound wonderful?"

You nod your head in agreement. Before catching yourself and trying to push away from him.

He furrows his brows but smiles slightly. "Oh, my sweet, sweet girl." he pats your hair down and holds your face tightly between his palms.

"You will love it. Remember... you can trust me. " Those words sear through your memory like a hot dagger, and you slightly stumble backward.

Every time he has said those words, he has proven them to be untrue. You could not trust him, and you would do well to remember that.

You make a hasty exit from his chambers, chastising yourself all the way back to your rooms. "He can't be trusted," a mantra of sorts you mumble to yourself on a never-ending loop.

Being so lost in your loneliness and anger, the upcoming wedding between you and your captor had completely alluded your memory. Until the preparations ramped up.

In this world, you were an Arryn and had been betrothed to Prince Aemond in order to pull their support from Rhanyera and her faction.

Your "family" would be coming for the nuptials. A thought that made you sick with worry. These people would be expecting a sister, daughter, and friend. They would instead be met with a stranger who wouldn't even recognize them on sight.

So you found yourself once again skittering down the hallways in the dead of night, making your way to the chambers of your capture. Your anxiety so high that you knock quickly on his door, not stopping until he finally opens it.

"Oh my love! To what do I owe this most wondrous of visits?" A small smirk creeps onto his face, and he again beckons you into his chambers quietly, closing the door behind you.

"What do I do!?!?!" You explode almost immediately upon entering his room.

"Hmm?" He lifts an eyebrow at you and chuckles as you pace around his chambers.

"This family? The Arryns? I don't know these people! They think I'm their family! What if I am supposed to be allergic to strawberries and I don't know? Or I fell down a well as a kid and have no clue, and they bring up the story?!?!?!" Your breathing gets quicker, and you start to grind your teeth. This would give you away, and who knows what would happen then.

"What happens when I know nothing?" Aemond quickly grips your hands, bringing them to his mouth and places small kisses along your knuckles.

"You won't speak to them." He pushes some of your hair gently behind your ear. "I have advised the guards that you speak to no one without my permission or presence"

Your face crinkles in confusion. "What?"

Aemond clicks his tongue as he brushes his hand against your cheek. "All in the interest of protecting you. Of course"

"Right....." You look down towards your feet clearly conflicted. This could give you an excuse not to give yourself away, yet it also feels like he is tightening the binds around your wrists.

"You can trust me." He lifts your head and looks directly into your eyes. "I mean what I say"

He brings his lips down to yours and kisses you tenderly.

You feel a swirling of butterflies in your stomach as you lean into the kiss. He is gentle in the way that he holds you, his fingers tracing across the top of your hair delicately.

He runs his hands up the sides of your frame. Slowly tracing every dip and curve. He whispers into your ear, the small hairs on the back of your neck sticking up a feeling of fear and anticipation melding together to create a new feeling. A feeling of intense eroticism. "I shall always protect you. For you are mine, and mine alone."

Aemonds thin, cold fingers pick at the small sash that holds your robe closed while his neck leaves a trail of small wet kisses down the side of your neck.

"This isn't right," you protest quietly, yet it seems to fall on deaf ears.

"Shhh, sweet girl. You are safe." He whispers gently as he gets the robe off pushing it from your shoulders.

You feel a need building in your core at each light trace of his fingertips upon you.

His touch is soft. Almost longing in nature. When he brings his lips back up to your mouth, he deepens the kiss.

Your head is spinning with the heightened senses. His taste is so good yet poisonous.

You wrap your arms around his neck, quickly sinking into a feeling of security. Of safety.

He uses his thumbs to push down the thin straps of your night dress, allowing it to slide down your body, joining your robe on the floor.

"I will give you all you need" He whispers softly into your ear as he kisses down the side of your neck, letting his hands wander along your sides, first across the soft skin of your waist then down to your hips.

"I... " You stutter briefly but finally succumb while you look into that one piercing eye, that hides just a small bit of gentleness.

Against your better judgment, against what you know to be true, you can't help but finally trust him. His words ring true somehow. You couldn't explain it if asked, and you certainly can't understand it yourself yet, you know it, to be true.

"I trust you"

Aemond falters for just a moment, allowing a slight look of shock to cross his features before he quickly falls back into his look of commanding gentleness.

"Of course you do, my sweet, sweet girl," he takes you by the hand leading you to his bed.

Each step makes you feel like you are floating outside of your body. Surprised at your own submission yet comforted by it.

He takes you in his arms again, sliding his hand up your back before laying you down on his bed, like you were made of glass or fine China.

"You are safe, and you are mine," he whispers in between the gentle kisses that he sprinkles across your chest and collarbone.

You gasp as you feel his lips glide across your skin.

"There is a fire in you, little one" he traces his hands across the gentle skin of your stomach. "I feel it on your skin" He grips you by the hips pulling your body up against his.

"And it's mine." he uses his dagger to cut off your small clothes, refusing to wait another moment to enter your body.

Shuffling down his trousers to his thighs, just enough to release his throbbing cock before quickly shoving himself inside you to the hilt.

You squeak at the pressure and lack of foreplay. The stretch stinging and reminding you of Aemond's ownership of you.

His large hands grasp your hips as he thrusts against your quivering form, your breath heavy but your mind light.

"You will want for nothing, worry for nothing," he says between pants, as his body moves rhythmically against yours.

"I will want for nothing, worry for nothing," you chant back at him in a whisper, the pressure quickly building in your lower stomach.

"Mmmm" He growls, his movements against you growing faster and harsher. "Ask me for my seed, beg for it"

His brings his thumb to your pearl, rubbing in quick, precise strokes."I said beg princess"

You look up at his looming form. The way he towers above you, pushing himself inside of you with reckless abandon.

There is no argument to be made. You are his. Completely and utterly.

"Please!" You manage to huff out as your back arches off the bed. "Oh please, Aemond."

"Please, what?" He snarls, increasing the pressure against your pearl as his thrusts become more manic, more needy.

"Please give me your seed. Please!" You hear the words coming out of your mouth. You know you are saying them. Yet they feel foreign on your tongue as if someone else is saying them for you.

"Such a sweet girl" He coos his thrusts against you harsher with each movement.

He bites his bottom lip briefly before grunting loudly. "Now let go with me."

You arch your back and close your eyes, giving into the intense sensations that wrack your body.

You pant harshly as he continues to thrust harshly into your frame. He commands you cum one more time, and your body succumbs to his command.

Aemond chuckles as your body convulses around him, and you gasp for air.

"You drown for me?" He wraps his hand around your throat. "You shall live and die for me"

"Yes, yes, I will," you whimper, your voice barely loud enough to be heard over the loud sounds of skin smacking skin.

"You are not stuck here. You are blessed with the ability to stay here, " he growls before biting his lower lip and moaning his climax mere moments away.

"Yes .... yes.." You answer "I'm such a lucky girl"

Aemond moans loudly one last time before releasing his seed inside you, continuing his harsh thrusts as he rides out his pleasure.

"Mmmmm" He turns your chin toward him and smiles down at you smugly.

"I do so prefer it when you are agreeable" He pulls out of you leaving you laying motionless on the bed quietly repeating the same two words to yourself over and over.

"Lucky girl"

To be added to taglists please see HERE

[exilethegame]

As someone who has done an impressive amount of world building, how much of the lore was done before you started writing? I'm unsure when I should stop adding characters and little worldly details and start actually writing it

I'm usually the type of person to just steam roll ahead and make it up as I go! Before writing The Exile, this is what I knew: A.) mythosi are a thing that exist and can be any mythical creature, B.) mythosi can be artificially made, C.) The "potency" of mythosi blood wanes in artificially made mythosi if not used D.) Magic-users exist, and there's some sort of difference between mages and sorcerers but who knows what E.) Vygrand is where magic-users come from F.) Wherever MC comes from does not like magic-users D.) That country is ruled by monarchs

Everything else came after! I don't even think I had Plaithus fleshed out as a country really, nonetheless the political corruption and military-based culture it has. My magic system at the time wasn't even developed. The only characters I had fleshed out were the main cast, but I had no idea MC was even going to be royalty until I actually got to Chapter 2 and was like "you know what would be craaazy?" And then I thought to myself: man what if one of MC's parents was lowkey terrible, and slowly I began to make Marcelle as a character (who is highkey terrible... sorry Marcelle)

I'm a big fan (when it comes to my own work) of just letting things happen as they may. I do everything because "of plot" regardless of if it makes sense, or because it seems cool, and then I force myself to make it make sense. That's how I make lore. Write random, cool things, and then attempt to backtrack and justify it as I go.

That's part of why I really liked sharing some of my writing early-on b/c people would always be like "Well, why does x, y, z happen instead of a, b, c?" and it would force me to hop through mind puzzles to explain why. And, more often than not, there is usually a logical explanation waiting to be found!

After a certain point, however, I end up building such a solid base I then have something big + solid enough to use as a foundation for my world-building. For example, now I actually plot things out very meticulously, but that's only because I went through my "spontaneous, throw things at a wall and see what sticks" phase first!

[truevedicastrology]

Lilith Configuration and Its Revelations on Your Erotic Identity xxx

The lasting cosmic journey of Lilith in Aries unveils a narrative of audacity, impulsiveness, and a fearless embrace of dominance within the confines of the bedroom.

In the realm of Lilith gracing Taurus, one becomes a sensual connoisseur, delighting in the orchestration of carnal pleasures. Every moment is a lingering indulgence, a deliberate savoring of the exquisite nuances of passion.

Venturing into the enigmatic domain of Lilith in Gemini, one is greeted by the spirit of curiosity. This individual thrives on experimentation, displaying an openness to novel experiences and a penchant for exploring the vast landscape of fantasies.

For those marked by Lilith in Cancer, the sexual landscape transforms into a nurturing sanctuary. Here, the emphasis lies in crafting emotional intimacy, weaving a tapestry of connection that extends beyond the physical realm.

Lilith's fiery presence in Leo manifests as a passionate force, seeking the spotlight within the intimate confines of the bedroom. Adoration and worship become the currency of desire for those bearing this celestial imprint.

As Lilith aligns with Virgo, the sexual narrative adopts a meticulous and detail-oriented script. The pursuit of perfection becomes paramount, and pride is derived from the meticulous artistry of pleasuring one's partner.

In the libidinous ballet of Lilith in Libra, the pursuit of harmony and equilibrium takes center stage. The fulfillment of both personal desires and those of the partner becomes the guiding principle.

Lilith's descent into Scorpio's abyss signals a journey into the shadowy realms of sensuality. Boundaries are pushed, and the exploration delves into the profound, both emotionally and physically.

Sagittarius, adorned with Lilith's influence, embarks on a journey of sexual exploration. Breaking free from traditional shackles, the adventurer seeks novelty, craving the thrill of uncharted territories.

In the disciplined terrain of Lilith in Capricorn, the sexual landscape is marked by focus and unwavering discipline. Novelty holds no allure; the pursuit lies in the mastery of the tried and tested.

Aquarius, with Lilith's eccentric touch, ventures into uncharted waters of sexual expression. Liberation from societal norms becomes the cornerstone, pushing boundaries and embarking on a voyage of self-discovery.

Pisces, blessed with Lilith's whimsy, delves into a realm of imagination and dreams. The pursuit transcends reality, embracing the magical and fantastical in the kaleidoscopic tapestry of erotic exploration.

Follow our Facebook page Mage Magic Touch for personal consultations https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565561190268

[felassan]

Journal entry on the official website. [source]

"Introducing The Veilguard Welcome back to Thedas"

--

"Hey everyone, It’s been too long since we last spoke! We’re happy to bring back our community blog series, where we can chat with you about our next adventure - Dragon Age: The Veilguard. If you’re joining us just now, earlier this week we released a blog detailing how we renamed the game to better represent what makes it special - it’s about you and your companions – not your enemies – that are at the heart of this new experience. Check that out alongside our Official Reveal Trailer which premiered at the Xbox Showcase on June 9th, where you first meet your seven companions. We’re also excited to open the official BioWare Discord server. You can expect news drops, giveaways, activities, and more planned between now and launch. This is our new dedicated home where we look forward to bringing this one-of-a-kind community together with a space to engage more frequently and celebrate your favorite stories and characters from Dragon Age: The Veilguard and others in the franchise. But that’s not all. We know what you value the most is seeing the game as it is, exactly how you’ll play it. So, we’re happy to provide you with a look from the opening moments of the game. Grab some snacks as we have 15+ minutes to explore Dragon Age: The Veilguard together."

--

"Are you the hero Thedas needs? This video from the first moments of the game is just the tip of the iceberg, and there’s so much more to discover on this epic journey. You’ll explore Thedas, uniting a cast of (yes, romanceable!) companions as you fight against ancient elven gods. In this crafted character-driven RPG, you’ll visit meticulously crafted biomes and beautiful regions, some that you’ve only heard whispers about in Dragon Age lore, including Rivain, Weisshaupt, Arlathan, Minrathous, and the Deep Roads - to name a few. We’ll have a lot more coming this summer as we fully detail what’s in store. You’ll begin by diving into the Character Creator. You’ll choose your class, lineage, gender, overall appearance and more. Choosing which faction Rook is part of will unlock different narrative, dialogue, and gameplay interactions. Combat is another area that has a lot of depth to it - both in how you choose to defeat your enemies and its progression throughout the game. The game will support various skill levels, but at its core, Dragon Age: The Veilguard has fluid moment-to-moment combat where you can choose between three classes - Warrior, Mage, or Rogue – each having their own advanced specializations. There's also a layer of tactical depth for those who want to dig in, which we really didn't get to cover in the video. Our new customizable ability wheel will help you turn the tide of battle at any time. It will allow you to pause the action, issue commands to your followers, use abilities, and unleash devastating combos. As you become more powerful, you can start to see the potential in how much fun (and hectic) things can get. We're also giving the option to use some of your abilities via a shortcut. Giving you these different kinds of options is something we thought a lot about and wanted to provide so you can find the playstyle that best fits you. Alright, that’s it for now as we’ll dive deeper into this and all things Dragon Age: The Veilguard through the Fall." Before we go, if you haven’t seen this yet, we wanted to provide an overview of what we have upcoming. As we’ve said earlier, we plan to continue revealing more about Dragon Age: The Veilguard and answer your burning questions. However, there’ll be some things we have to keep close to the chest as we get closer to launch. Remember to join the custom console giveaway before entries close on June 16th*, and set a reminder for our Developer Discord Q&A on June 14th at 10am PT. Submit your questions in the #ask-bioware channel on the server! Dragon Age: The Veilguard will be coming to PC, Xbox Series X|S, and PlayStation 5 in Fall 2024.  That’s all for now, talk soon! -- The Dragon Age Community Team *Sponsor: Trufan Inc. NO PURCHASE NEC. 18+ Ends June 17, 2024. For full details see  https://go.ea.com/DATVGiveaway"

[weatheredfailnot]

Please take these sections from EE3 on the Shadowkeeper (Cylva) because I love her so dearly

Transcript below:

A NAME SPOKEN IN WHISPERS

Around the time Ardbert and his comrades left Tomra, they stumbled upon evidence of the larger design. Threads linking together the disparate troubles of the realm. A name spoken only in whispers— the Shadowkeeper.

A singular force sowing chaos and discord throughout Norvrandt to an unknown end.

During Nyelbert's search for an energy source to replace the crystal he shattered, he began to suspect that the now-lost stone was not, in fact, a naturally occurring mineral, but rather had been deliberately placed under the mountain. Pursuing the truth of that theory led them to discover a connection to Lamunth, the gem counterfeiter whom Ardbert and Lamitt apprehended so long ago in Nabaath Areng. When they visited Lamunth's gaol cell to interrogate him, however, they found the man convulsing on the floor and frothing at the mouth. Ere the poison took his life, he managed to sputter the name of the Shadowkeeper. Further investigation revealed that this sinister figure had ordered Lamunth to secret the crystal in the mine shafts, and in return rewarded him with the illusory magicks he would employ in his forgeries.

They also came to learn that Tadric, the mastermind behind Voeburt's monstrous plague, had not worked alone. Research documents recovered from the court mage's laboratory mentioned the Shadowkeeper by name, the meticulous entries describing how the arcane lore shared by his co-conspirator had contributed to the completion of his transformation magicks.

The mining industry of Nabaath Areng threatened with demolition.

A scheme culminating in the death of Voeburt's royal heirs. The Shadowkeeper had plotted the downfall of two mighty nations, and Ardbert's band feared that Lakeland, the third of Norvrandt's major powers, would be next.

Lo and behold, a rebellion erupted in the home of the elves. The reigning king was deposed, and the Shadowkeeper, their heretofore faceless nemesis, took the throne.

The elven king, Lelfrey, was a passionate proponent of the arts- music and dance in particular- with his focus on such refined pursuits earning him equal praise and scorn. His was a peaceful rule, free of war and strife, but this passivity cost his kingdom dearly in matters of foreign diplomacy. A poor negotiator, he ceded border territories to Voeburt to avoid conflict, and signed an economic agreement with Nabaath Areng that put Lakeland at a clear disadvantage.

As these political blunders chipped away at the nation's authority, a sentiment of discontent among Lakeland's high-ranking nobility began to fester and grow. Traditionalists dreamed of a return to the golden age when all of Norvrandt lay under their control, and it was the Shadowkeeper who granted them the power to act. Rumors that this new player was the king's bastard child ran wild, and, true or not, served to unify the disgruntled nobles under a single banner. They indulged in treachery to undermine rival nations, while at home, their assassins targeted influential royalists. The scene was set for revolution.

The Shadowkeeper was attended by two dark-robed mages, by whose malevolent arts the traditionalists were empowered. One of their gifts was lupine transformation, a change which granted the recipient preternatural strength and agility. Thus bolstered by a company of these wolfman soldiers, the Shadowkeeper's faction stormed Laxan Loft and captured the royal seat for their leader. No sooner had the winning side declared a new age of glory for the elves than did they muster their forces and launch an invasion into Voeburtite lands.

Caption reads: The Shadowkeeper emerged amid blood and chaos, a formidable and enigmatic figure perpetually encased in stygian plate armor. Similarly clad in midnight raiment, the Shadowkeeper's forces inspired terror in all who witnessed their advance.

THE BATTLE OF LAXAN LOFT

The heroes were poised to continue their search for Nyelbert's replacement stone in Nabaath Areng when the silver-haired Cylva abruptly left the party. The swordswoman excused herself on the premise that she wished to reconnoiter the troubling situation in Lakeland, but in truth, she was hurrying back to don her black armor, unsheathe her blade, and lead the elven traditionalists in their rebellion. Cylva, the great deceiver, had been the Shadowkeeper all along.

She was, in truth, no bastard child of King Lelfrey-that was merely a fiction concocted by Mitron and Loghrif, her Ascian accomplices. Her true origin lay in the Thirteenth, where she had died young and powerless, an unrealized champion of the reflection-turned-void. The Ascians had found her in the moment of her demise, and it was they who brought her soul to the First to serve as a pawn in dark machinations.

Cylva was to insinuate herself into Ardbert's band, and guide them along the path to becoming Warriors of Light. That which they cast aside in their journey towards heroism, she would take into herself, growing ever stronger as a disciple of Darkness. And when all was in readiness, she would reveal herself as the villainous Shadowkeeper. By her hand would the Warriors of Light be slain, and despair sown in the hearts of the populace.

What the Ascians did not plan for was the Shadowkeeper's defeat at the hands of Ardbert's party. Cylva had steadily amassed her power, feeding on her erstwhile comrades' respective sacrifices of personal ambition, innocence, independence, and tradition. Yet despite her best efforts, Ardbert would not forsake what she sought to purloin- his caring heart.

Even in the midst of their deadly confrontation, he regarded her as a comrade in need of saving.

Thus denied her full ascension, the Shadowkeeper wavered and fell.

Swallowing their grief at the loss of a friend, the heroes turned their wrath towards the villains who had orchestrated this tragedy. The Warriors of Light now shone so brightly that even high-ranking Ascians could not stand against their incandescent fury. Even as Ardbert struck his final blow, fulgent power swelled in a cataclysmic wave, and the Flood of Light was unleashed upon the lands of the First.

Caption reads: In her bid to slay the Warriors of Light, Cylva turned her transformation magicks upon herself. Though Ardbert and his comrades did indeed struggle against this formidable lupine abomination, it was the necessity of striking down their former friend that presented the greatest challenge.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Sometimes when Harry looks at Tom, he's reminded of a lesson one of his muggle teachers gave on reptiles. Chameleons that can change their skin colour to blend into their surroundings or anoles that shed their tails to distract a predator and escape – adapting in order to survive, no matter what it takes.

Harry is himself, to a fault. He spent so long beaten down and trying to disappear so he wouldn’t draw his relatives’ ire that he now refuses to hide or apologise for who he is and what he wants. It probably helps that his wants are pretty basic – good food, good friends, a warm, comfortable place to live, someone to love him – and that he inherited the money and name to easily achieve them.

Tom, on the other hand, is so used to being smoke and mirrors and disguising what he wants and what he is in order to pretend to be what others want or need. 

He’d been unapologetically (and tyrannically) himself in his childhood, his magic giving him the power to exert his will over others. But Tom is brilliant and a quick learner, and his first interaction with Dumbledore, which he’d described late one night to Harry when the shadows hid both their faces, had proven a subtler touch might be needed.

Now, Tom reflects other peoples’ desires back at them in order to draw them in, and deflects the conversation away from himself so he never has to clearly define his own position. He doesn’t change himself, but everyone seems to believe Tom is on their side – that they’re on the same page. And because of his power and charm and good looks, everyone wants Tom on their side.

Harry has seen this happen many, many times, and he’s still in awe of how Tom affably manipulates those around him into doing what he wants. How Tom determines what someone wants, says just enough to convince them he does too without committing to anything, and twists that connection into a shape that best suits him.

In fact, the only reason Harry believes Tom actually likes him is because Tom never pretends to be what he thinks Harry wants him to be. Tom is petty and says cruel things and lets Harry see him when he’s less than perfectly put together. And Harry treasures each of Tom’s sharp edges, because he’s the only one who gets to see him as he is. He hoards each truth and preference that Tom chooses to share with him like a squirrel preparing for a long, hard winter.

The trouble comes when people talk to Harry about Tom. By virtue of association, Harry’s had to learn to deflect and prevaricate and lie, though he’s still not very good at it. He does a lot of nodding and smiling and making thoughtful “hmm” sounds as people ask him what Tom thinks of this or that. It’s easier than keeping Tom’s machinations straight in his head.

There are moments when Harry isn’t sure Tom even knows who he is at his core. He is so meticulous about his public persona that Harry doubts anyone else knows which foods Tom actually likes (given the chance, Tom would eat ice cream every day), or what he actually thinks about quidditch (he finds it unbearably dull), or what he thinks of muggles (he’ll never be fond of them due to his treatment as a child, but he doesn’t particularly care beyond that) or muggleborns (new blood is necessary for the magical world to continue, but the mages with the deepest pockets are the most bigoted and ‘traditional’) or purebloods (gullible).

And after the tenth meal of eating foods he doesn’t like, or the fifth quidditch match or ministry event or pureblood soirée in a week, or the nth political tapdance before the Wizengamot, pretending to represent everyone’s interests at once without alienating anyone – and quietly getting his own agenda voted through – Harry has to wonder how Tom stays sane. How it all seems worth it. It certainly doesn’t to Harry.

But that’s Tom. Ambitious to a fault, and willing to sacrifice almost anything in order to achieve his goals.

And whatever other people might think, Harry’s not naive. He knows there’s a chance Tom is lying to him, too. He knows it’s possible – even likely – that Tom figured out that the best way to get Harry on his side would be to give him the best illusion of the truth. Show him some darkness and Harry will believe he’s getting honesty. He’s made his peace with this and decided he’d rather give Tom the benefit of the doubt and be a fool than abandon the other man when he’d chosen to be vulnerable with Harry.

So, when Harry brings home Indian takeaway and offers Tom a bite of his rogan josh, only for Tom to casually say, “I don’t really like lamb,” Harry is fascinated and utterly thrilled.

Especially since he’d seen Tom eat lamb chops at a dinner party two weeks ago with nary a moment of hesitation or complaint.

Harry makes sure to leave plenty of the chicken tikka masala for Tom and mentally notes this new preference down. He’s collected a new fact about Tom.

He spends the rest of the meal with a silly little grin on his face.

[green-eyedfirework]

It was a slow day, and Dick was finally getting around to reorganizing his herbs after Tim and Cass had gone through them.  He loved his little siblings, he really did, but Tim’s organizational system could only be comprehended by him, and Cass had a bad habit of not cleaning up after herself.  His last client had hobbled home to finish resting her once-broken ankle, the house call to the new mother and baby was over in early morning, and he had all the time to rearrange his cupboard.

The door creaked, and a shift of fresh air tugged at his hair, accompanied by heavy, bold footsteps.

Well.  Dick stared at the array of herbs spread around him and sighed.  Maybe he should invite Jason over, his little brother wouldn’t be able to help himself from organizing Dick’s stuff.  “I’m coming,” Dick called out, levering himself off the floor and clearing a path to the front with a snap of his fingers.

Three sets of footsteps and no greeting, so Dick wasn’t expecting anyone from the village.  He lived a little further into the woods—closer to the plants he needed and the wild call of nature he used to replenish his magic—but most of his clients came from the village.  They were familiar and friendly.

He sensed the spark of wild magic a second before he saw the scowls on their faces.  Werewolves.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly.  “What can I do for you today?”

The one in the lead, silver hair bound tightly in a braid, bared her teeth at him.  It would’ve been a lot more intimidating if she wasn’t a teenager.  “You can come with us, mage,” she sneered, “We require your services.”

There was a chill down his spine, easily brushed off.  Everyone and their pet wanted a collared mage—the trouble was putting the collar on them in the first place.  Someone like Dick, who’d honed their magic for years?  It would be easier to put a leash on a werewolf.

Healing and killing were two sides of the same coin, after all.

“Are you injured?  Is someone in your pack injured?” Dick asked, still pleasant as he sent out a testing probe.  Three werewolves here, three more skulking at his back window, two outside the front door.  No more in the immediate vicinity, but their pack had be close by for a show of force this large.

The posturing werewolf snapped her teeth.  “We have enough wolves to take you down,” she threatened, “Either you come with us quietly, or we’ll drag you behind us.”

Dick let his smile drop.  “Well,” he said in the tone of voice he used whenever he found Tim and Damian fighting, “That’s rude.”

On his little brothers, it could barely quiet a vehement argument.  On the wolves, it sent them skittering a step back, hackles raised.

“You’re coming with us,” the wolf said, but her voice wavered, her gaze locked on his hands as he rested them on the table.

The door behind them swung open.  In the distance, they could hear growls and curses.  “You should probably not threaten a mage in their own home,” Dick chided lightly, and flicked his fingers.

The wolf’s eyes widened to pale blue saucers, but she couldn’t get out more than a half-strangled, “Wait—” before they were spun out and the door slammed shut behind them.

Dick exhaled slowly, and let the sparks of magic recede back under his skin.  Then he stepped back, over the piles of unsorted jars, and picked up his satchel.

~#~

The curse is a nasty, sunken, barbed thing.  Half of it is hidden, which means that Dick spends more of his magic than is wise before he realizes the scope of the thing, realizes he can’t just yank the thing out.

Under his hands, the wolf is screaming.  He does his best to tune it out.

The surge of magic battling magic is enough to keep any interference away, so Dick settles into the slower, longer, more meticulous path of prying the curse out, tendril by tendril.  It fights his attempts to destroy it as he goes, so he has to expend even more magic on containing it until he can get the whole thing out.

It’s tedious, draining work.  It’s gone firmly dark by the time he finishes sliding the last piece out, and the twist it takes to compress the curse into a tiny speck and shred it to whispers nearly makes him stagger.  His magic reserves have gone distressingly low.

Dick abruptly remembers where he is.  The camp around him is full of wolf growling, loud and agitated.  His patient is passed out, skin gray and clammy and looking ten times worse than when Dick started.  The cuts—the cuts are bleeding freely, red and thick.

He needs to leave.  He has just enough magic to put on a show of force if needed, and he needs every last sliver to bluff his way out.  He cannot be caught here.  Not by a pack that’s already expressed interest in putting a collar around his neck.

The boy is bleeding.  He will die, werewolf healing or not.  Dick can sense the corruption the curse wrecked, magic gone but its effects lingering.  If he heals this, it’ll take every scrap of magic he has left.

It’s a choice that’s not a choice.  Dick’s a healer.  He can’t go against his nature.

Dick breathes in and breathes out, and lets his magic pour out.

Heart and lungs and kidney and liver, a thousand tears in muscle where the wolf tried to fight the curse, blood loss and weakened bone and a hundred small damages.  The cuts, large and bloody, slowly knitted together under his trembling fingers.  Too slowly.

His vision is going black.  Dick fights it, fights it with every breath.  As long as he can remain upright when it’s done, as long as he can walk out—he’s proved his fighting capabilities, as long as he gives them no reason to doubt him—

Dick’s head swims.  When he forces himself back to consciousness, he’s half-collapsed against the bed.  He uses the movement to examine the wounds, as though that was his intention all along, his heart pounding loud and sluggish.  They’re almost closed.

Something pops in his ears and the growling disappears to a low buzzing.

He does one last check for any lingering damage as pink, waxy skin unfurls across the wounds.  There are some minor injuries left, but the werewolf can heal those on his own as soon as he’s gotten some food.

It’s time for him to go.

Dick curls shaking hands on the edge of the bed and allows himself one breath before he lets go.  Everything is curiously muffled, muffled and ringing, and when he drags his head up, he can see the alpha on the other side of the bed.

Mouth moving.  He’s saying something.  Dick can’t hear him.

He takes a step back, away from the bed, away from the alpha—he needs to get out, needs to watch for a path, needs to avoid being cornered because all he has is dregs and it’s not enough to scare off a bear.

His head aches, like someone took a hammer to it.

Dick needs to leave.  Now.  Only he’s not sure he can turn without everything spinning.  The ground feels like it’s roiling under his feet.

He blinks, and the alpha is suddenly much closer.  Dick stumbles back another step in surprise.  His stomach turns over, but there’s nothing in it.  He worked too long and without food.

Dick has to get out.  He has to—everything inside him is screaming danger—he can’t stay, they want to keep him, he needs to leave—

Something wet touches his lips.  Dick raises a hand, feeling like he’s moving underwater, and wipes it across his mouth.

It comes away red.

It’s the last thing he remembers seeing.

~#~

No one can get to Grant, no one can even touch him with all the magic swirling around the mage, and Slade is forced to stand there, a few steps away, and watch his firstborn scream under the onslaught.

Nothing works to stop it.  Not words, not weapons, not every magic-dampening sigil they’ve ever collected.  Slade can do nothing but wait.

Grant stops screaming.  His wounds run red and red and red.  Slade’s claws are fully extended—he will tear the mage from limb to limb if it’s the last thing he does.  He just needs an opening.

Slade doesn’t know how long before the magic falters.  It’s just a second, but the second is enough to register how much worse Grant looks, like the mage is draining his life away.  By the gods and the moon, they should’ve left it alone.  At least Slade would’ve been able to hold his son while he died.  At least he wouldn’t be in so much pain.

The magic swirls back before anyone can attack, and the pack paces restlessly along the perimeter.  Everyone’s expressions are twisted in grief and fury.

The mage will not leave here alive.  That much Slade swears.

The magic is…quieting almost.  Like it’s slowly winding down.  Still impenetrable—Rose tries and fails to get past it, but the shimmer is receding.  Slade stares at Grant, half-dreading that his son is already dead.

But Grant’s chest still rises and falls.  The amount of blood loss is…shrinking.  The wounds seem to be closing over.  In fact, when Slade darts a glance at his son’s face, Grant appears to be getting better.

His skin is no longer ashen, his breaths are fuller, and as the magic recedes, Slade steps forward, stuck in an incredulous daze.  Grant looks better.  Grant looks like he’s healing.

Slade pays no attention to the mage’s movements, his gaze fixed on the miracle in front of him.

The magic dies down to nothing but flickers, and Slade can finally touch his son again.  Grant is warm and alive and healthy under his fingers, and Slade lets out a shuddering gasp.

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely, lifting his gaze to the mage.  He doesn’t know what the man did, but Grant is alive, Grant is healed, Grant is safe.  “I don’t know how I can ever repay you—”

The mage looks terrible.  His skin is waxy and gray, his eyes sunken, his frame curled in on himself.  He’s trembling, and his breaths keep breaking.  As Slade watches, the mage takes a step back and nearly trips on flat ground.

“Hello?” Slade calls out slowly, tension creeping back in.  “Hello, can you hear me?”

The mage looks at him blankly.

Slade rounds the bed, casting one last glance at Grant—alive, healthy, alive—before inching closer to the mage, who looks as worse as Grant had at the start.  Slade doesn’t know a whole lot about mages and magic, but he doesn’t think this is a good thing.

“Can you hear me?” Slade repeats, before he notices the red creeping down from the mage’s ears.  The mage’s expression has gone unfocused.  There’s red creeping out of his nose too, blood smearing across his lips, and the mage raises a hand to wipe it off.

He blinks down at the blood on his hand.  And then he crumples.

Slade is close enough to lunge and catch him before he cracks his head open on the ground, and the mage is alarmingly light.  “What’s the matter with him?” Slade growls as the pack presses in, all concerned murmurs.

Villain manages to fight his way to the front.  “Magic overuse,” he diagnoses after taking in the mage’s—too weak—pulse and examining his face.  “He’s drained himself nearly dry.”

Slade looks back at Grant, sleeping peacefully on the cot, and down at the mage, who appears to be two and a half steps from death’s door.

“Will he recover?” he can hear himself ask.  Slade was willing to do near anything for his son’s health, but to use a life to restore life?  That kind of sacrifice, from someone not pack—

“He should.  Time, and rest, and enough food.  Come, he’s too cold, he needs to be kept warm.”

[justheretobreakthings]

All right, Genshin Impact people, I get it. I understand why there's a fandom. I've gotten more into the story, I've gotten to know the characters, and I've gotten rather addicted. The world's very fun to explore, and from what I can tell so far, every single character in this universe is mega neurodivergent.

But now I make a plea for help. A few weeks back, I started the Trails of Tianqiu quest, naive the horror I was about to enter and unaware that this quest locked you out of co-op until its completion. Thus, my game has been soft-locked ever since, especially since I can no longer ascend characters since I can't beat bosses solo.

The last time I was stuck on a quest I drove a few hours round-trip so my brother could beat it for me. Unfortunately that's not an option anymore as he is in rehab now, so I've gone to the internet. And so far the GI players of Discord, Reddit, and the official player forums have made it very clear that they do not like giving advice to anyone who has not very carefully studied the characters' stats to meticulously optimize their build from the very beginning.

So, I'm hoping Tumblr people will be nicer. I still have absolutely no clue how I'm ever going to finish the climbing challenge (hell, I still haven't even managed to beat that time trial near the Stormbearer Mountains where you just have to climb the spiral staircase outside of that little building - that's how bad I am at orientating myself in video games - so I may just have to wait until my brother's out of rehab for that one), but I can at least see if I can get some advice for the third floor battle with the cryo mage and slimes.

These are the characters that I currently have:

Traveler, level 60

Kaeya, level 58

Yanfei, level 57

Amber, level 56

Noelle, level 50

Ningguang, level 50

Chongyun, level 50

Lisa, level 50

Barbara, level 50

Xiao, level 40

Lynette, level 40

Diona, level 40

Yaoyao, level 40

Gaming, level 40

Xiangling, level 34

Sayu, level 20

Dori, level 20

Kuki Shinobu, level 20

Kujou Sara, level 20

I'm world level 3, currently AR 35 (don't want to ascend until I get this quest out of the way since increasing the world level will only make it that much harder), and play on mobile (my laptop is a piece of junk when it comes to gaming).

Anyone have any advice on some sort of strategy I can use?

[blooberrytea]

I've dug two graves for us, my dear

~

Summary: Set in the time of the Red Plague. A crestfallen Mage, who's thrown themselves into their work to escape their sorrows, realizes that their days are numbered.

Pairing: There isn't one exactly! Has a mix of mentions of Julian X Mc and Asra x Mc

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: okay okay, walk with me. I've been plagued (ha) by ideas of what the apprentice went through when they realized they were sick. That is really all this is-- BUT I do have ideas for actual character pairings that aren't angsty. I really want to write a one-shot where Asra is reteaching the apprentice things after they're resurrected teehee

Also! I know Asra uses they/them pronouns and that the game uses he/him-- so for the sake of having no confusion, i've used he/him in this fic :)

--

By the time anyone had noticed, it was too late.

You were on your way to the dungeons; Mindlessly making your way through the lavish halls. Walls were lined with paintings, mostly of The Count. Dozens of plants were meticulously placed throughout the space, no doubt a touch of The Countess’.

The dungeon was the current home of Vesuvia’s finest doctors. They worked tirelessly, like ants. Like bees. Like the disturbingly red beetles that invaded your home town.

It was a rather horrid scene; stuffy, grimey. It reeked of death and decay. Not an ounce of sunlight reached these depths, your path guided only by dim candle light.

The steps sounded wet as you descended, the distant dripping of water accompanying their tune.

Few months had passed since you joined the doctors in their quest for a cure, since the plague began terrorizing your city. Asra had insisted the two of you leave Vesuvia, flee to a safer place until the illness died off. You couldn’t bring yourself to abandon your people. Your neighbors, your friends, the patrons of your shop.

Asra told you someone else would help them, that you couldn’t play hero, not to endanger your life for strangers.

If you wouldn’t do it for yourself, then to do it for him. Because he couldn’t risk losing you.

Evidently, the mage was going to leave with or without you. While Asra settled some place far far away from the disease, you settled in the dungeon– Closer to illness than you had begun.

You lightly knocked on the door to Julian’s office, noting that it was unlocked before stepping inside. You placed a stack of books on his desk, leaning over his shoulder to glimpse at his current work.

“Leeches?”

Julian nodded, not once looking up from his scattered papers. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen the doctor in daylight, or even just above the dungeon. He typically made visits to the Count, but if you had to guess, he hadn’t done that recently either.

His eyes were red from lack of sleep, the skin around them discolored. He almost looked sickly.

“I believe the plague may be blood related. Leeches will aid me in testing that theory.” He murmured as he continued to write, his hair falling into his face.

“And if it is blood related?” You questioned, tilting your head at him.

“Then I’ll have to develop yet another idea on how to handle that. It will likely… Also involve leeches.”

You sighed, “Can I pull you away for a moment? You’ve been in here for days.”

“My dear, I would love to join you. But I fear Questaor Valdemar may take a scalpel to my abdomen if I move from this chair.”

“Julian, I must insist—” You started, laying a hand on his shoulder. He only shrugged it off, using his hand to wave you away. You frowned.

Deciding that you were going to make no progress in removing the doctor from his office, you left. Considering you weren’t a doctor, you were only able to assist with so much. You spent your days mulling over medical journals, scouring every book in the library. You were more of a research assistant than anything. Your job was to find information you deemed important, and drop it off on Julian’s desk– So that he could spend just as many hours pouring over them and trying to decipher a cure.

You were certain Valdemar would keep him chained to that desk if locking the door wasn't an option.

Outside of the palace, you spent your freetime making charms. Small sachets packed with herbs, sealed with a spell and a prayer– Meant to ward off the Red Plague. It was your attempt to use your magic for the good of others, and it was simple enough.

Unbeknown to most, there was another pandemic brewing: Fear. The people of Vesuvia were beginning to lose hope. Most were beginning to believe that your city would come to be wiped off the map.

So you produced charms with the intent to reduce anxiety, to keep away nightmares, to promote peace in one’s soul.

It was almost ironic.

Content with your work for the day, you opted to head back to your shop. It was getting late now. You’d spent your entire day holed up in the palace library. You listened to maids skitter about, listened to various members of the court as they passed by, at one point Countess Nadia slipped past. With Lucio bedridden, Nadia had taken to dealing with kingdom affairs. Not that she hadn’t been handling most of them already.

The library was your sanctuary. It was where you’d found comfort after Asra left. The shop held too many memories, and you weren’t keen on wandering Vesuvia at its current state. You mostly kept to yourself, lost in the thousands of books the palace held. Julian was the one to draw you out of your little corner. He pointed you in the direction of magnificent reads, he dragged you to a rowdy bar on the south end, he filled that void Asra had left. In the short time you’d known him, you’d grown rather fond of one another.

It pained you to watch him waste away in that dungeon. He’d pulled away in the last few weeks, overworked with orders from Lucio and Valdemar. It wasn't his fault that he didn’t notice.

No one noticed. You barely noticed.

It wasn’t until your limbs grew so heavy you could barely walk.

Maybe it was the nightmares, or the ridiculous amount of stairs you had to descend that left you feeling exhausted. You told yourself it had to be either of those.

When the tips of your fingers began to turn red, you pleaded with the divine.

Please let it be anything else.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror one morning, just before dawn broke.

At first you thought maybe it was a trick of the light, but then you doubled back– Shaky hands pressed to your cheeks.

It was unmistakable. The pearly whiteness of your eyes was gone.

In its place was deep, dark crimson.

You let out a broken laugh, almost maniacal.

The tears flooded your eyes in an instant.

It was absurd. The irony was almost too much to bear– The healing mage contracting an illness that marked them for certain death.

Your laughter only grew as you sank to your knees, clutching your chest as you struggled to breathe. When you inevitably didn't show for work today, they’d send someone to your door. You would be shipped off to the Lazerat with every other tragic soul.

You lay crumpled on the floor for what felt like hours, maybe even the entire day. You watched the sun rise and shine through your windows– watched the light dance between your trembling fingers, basked in the warmth of its rays. Then watched it fade as the sun dipped beyond your view.