#morning reblog

[triaelf9]

I've added an option in the printed postcard section to order singles as well! If there's one or two only that're your favs, you can now get those from the faction designs AND the chibis! ^_^

I'm working on getting my BG3 chibis up too soon ^_^

Finished the Veilguard faction design series and have them up in a number of places!

You can get them now in my Threadless store on a number of items: https://artofelainetipping.threadless.com/

And I now have a "fandom" collection there where you can find all my fanart merch now! https://artofelainetipping.threadless.com/collections/fandom

There's also a digital set in my Ko‑fi store (with bonus wallpapers): https://ko-fi.com/s/11829275b0

 Or as a printed postcard set there as well! https://ko-fi.com/s/fef7a8d286

The previous DATV chibi set is also up as a postcard set option as well ^_^

Check them out, share them with your DA friends, and please enjoy!

[violetprosejoe]

Shadowheart: Halsin, if I were a druid, what animal do you think I'd be?

Halsin: Given your memory issues, perhaps a goldfish?

Shadowheart: I'd hoped for something a bit more exotic... but would you carry around my fishbowl, feed me flakes of food?

[francoyovich]

Hey, I am working on a new Elden Ring Illustration! And guess what... …ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ᶦˢ ᵖʳᵒᵇᵃᵇˡʸ ᵍᵒᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᵗ…

[tifaria]

They look so good side by side. I'm happy with how the role reversal turned out.

[fluffbruary]

Good morning dear Fans! Remember that Fluffbruary is a call to all fandoms! It also welcomes art, podcasts, visual stories, mixed media!

May your muses be with you and hope you all have fun creating!

Don’t forget to add the tag so your creation can be shared and dear writers, please use the readmore in your writing!

Happy Saturday! (In my neck of the woods) and HAVE FUN!

[v10l3t-jpg]

good evening dyharders who's up for some sesbian lex I mean some um uh sesbian some uh sesbian lex in you treat your mouth

[lyrifaun]

Frankenstein with long yellow hair

——————

Bonus Alecto edit of the original because I cannot help myself, apparently

[masterjedilenawrites]

Squealing and kicking my feet! This was so cute! 😍 I love the thought of Delta Squad taking an extra day to relax at the pool, those poor boys deserve it. And Scorch, what a sneaky bastard 😂 This is making me yearn for summer!

There Are Many Benefits to an (Unauthorized) Vacation

RC 1262 Scorch/Fem!Reader

Words: 1,507

Summary: The building tension between you and Scorch finally yields something more than glances and wishes while the squad is taking a bit of time to themselves.

Prompt: "There is no shame in using a pool floatie.” - “Yes there is. I’m shaming you.” || any delta squad

Note: this was written for the @cloneficgiftexchange seasons prompt-a-thon event, which is currently open for submissions! there are a bunch of amazing prompts for every seasonal situation, and i was so excited to try out writing for scorch!

Clone Troopers Masterlist

If the Republic or the GAR ever reached out to you and asked why this mission in particular was taking longer than the originally designated two rotations to complete, you would simply tell them that the team had run into complications when it came to surveillance and simply had to extend your stay in the safe house. You would reiterate the importance of the intel that you were gathering, and even go one step further to remind your superiors of the dedication of the group you were working with. 

The truth however, probably wouldn’t get you any kind of medal or award. 

You didn’t really care though, because this was an opportunity that you would probably never get again. Not only did the safe house you were staying in have a gigantic pool and accompanying lounge chairs, but this was the time of year where the weather was best for swimming. With this planet’s sun high in the sky and no neighbors within earshot of the building, Delta Squad had no trouble making the decision to extend the assignment by a rotation or two (even Boss was on board from the start).

You of course did not complain, especially now that you were laying out on an inflatable raft while the cool water lapped up your legs. Every once in a while a few droplets of water hit your face from the boys’ splashing, but it was never anything bad enough that you actually had to sit up and see what was going on. Right now, you were content enough to just listen to their conversations from the sidelines. 

Scorch, as usual, was nothing but humble about his skills, and was more than comfortable in the water. “I bet I could swim laps around you!” 

“I highly doubt that,” Sev retorted. “We’re made of the exact same genetic material, our speed is the same as all the other troopers.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

Boss’ voice floated through the air at Scorch’s proposition. “Save it for the training facilities, why don’t you?” You didn’t even have to lift the sunglasses from your face to tell that he hadn’t gotten into the pool yet, as the lounge chairs on the patio had become his favorite part of this assignment. 

“Why, Sir?” Scorch called back, voice glinting with the joyful mischief you’ve come to expect from him at this point. “Afraid you’d lose?” 

Boss sighed. “No, I just intend to squeeze every drop of relaxation I can out of our extra time here. It’s not like this will ever happen again.” 

“He’s right,” Fixer’s voice joined the conversation. You couldn’t tell where he was simply by the volume and direction of his voice, but if you had to guess, he was probably sitting on the edge of the pool with just his legs in the water. “I have half a mind to relax like Y/N over there.” 

“You should,” you said as the pool water rose just a little higher, providing the most wonderful relief for your sun-warmed skin. “This is the best experience I’ve ever had.” 

“I don’t know if it’s worth it for how ridiculous you look,” Scorch responded. 

“I do not look ridiculous! And there is no shame in using a pool floatie to relax.” 

“Yes there is, especially when said pool floatie is shaped like a bantha. I’m shaming you.”

You scoffed. “I don’t care what this thing looks like,” you said, finally opening your eyes to look at Scorch with your eyebrows raised. “I’m so relaxed right now, I don’t think a droid attack would even affect it.” 

“Oh really?” A small splash accompanied the commando as he swam over to you, and suddenly you were really close to an incredibly attractive clone (who just so happened to be shirtless). “Even if someone…flipped you?” 

Lifting your sunglasses up so that the two of you could lock eyes, you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered. There was something about Scorch in particular that made you act like a cadet, and now that you had more time to relax, the tension had slowly been building. “Not even then,” you said lowly, reaching up to pat his cheek. 

As you lowered your sunglasses over your eyes once more, you could see a glint of something you couldn’t quite place in Scorch’s expression, and you truly wondered if he was going to try and test your statement (and your patience). But no attack ever came, and you spent the rest of the afternoon floating in the sun, a part of you wishing something further had happened with every passing moment. 

***

In your opinion, the time went by too fast. Tomorrow morning you would be getting back on the ship to receive your next assignment from the GAR, and life would once again become dangerous, tiring, and stressful. Everyone else had stayed inside for the evening, but you were determined to get as much use out of the pool as physically possible, so you had kept your bathing suit out when packing the rest of your things away. 

If floating during the day was like paradise, at night it was some kind of heaven. The humidity had cut significantly, there was a cool breeze rustling the trees, and the chirping of birds and bugs provided a symphony of conversation as you stared upwards, the last trails of the evening light slowly disappearing across the sky. 

The sound of the door opening brought you back to the present, and Scorch’s voice entered the space moments later. “Thought I might find you out here.” 

“Yeah, I really don’t want to leave,” you said softly. 

“Me too,” he admitted, sitting down at the edge of the pool and putting his legs in the water. You watched as he slowly lowered himself in, throwing his shirt on one of the lounge chairs before it got completely soaked. 

It hit you moments later: that Scorch was once again standing over you, and that oh-so recognizable tension was once again building, charging every molecule of air around you. If he leaned down and you leaned up, your lips would be touching. 

“All good things have to come to an end I suppose,” you said softly.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t make the most of things.” 

Maker, you were so close to him. “And how would you want to make the most of it right now?” 

There was a pause, it was as if he was considering all the implications of your words. “I think I’d do this,” he finally said, in a voice much softer than you’ve ever heard him use. 

The moment your lips touched, it felt as though time had stopped. None of this felt real, especially not the fact that you would be returning to the front lines of a deadly conflict tomorrow morning, or that his brothers could walk out the back door at any moment and see the two of you in the pool. Right now, you and Scorch were the only two people in the entire galaxy. 

Or at least, you were until you felt the pool floatie begin to shake, and soon your entire body was plunged into the (pleasantly warm) water. That di’kut. 

You opened your eyes underwater, and you could see a grainy figure laughing above the surface. It was the perfect time to strike back, and you certainly took the opportunity. Leaping up out of the water, you tackled Scorch, using his surprise to your advantage as you dragged him down with you. 

You couldn’t really hear that well underwater, but his joy was obvious. The two of you chased each other through the pool, dragging one another countless times into the now choppy waters and laughing with every breath you took. 

Once again, you two were alone in the galaxy.

It was only when your lips had found each other for the second time did someone else walk out the door, and the two of you broke apart to see Fixer and Sev staring in your direction, one of them looking much happier than the other. 

“Ha, I called it! It’s time to pay up, Oh-Seven,” Fixer laughed, elbowing his brother next to him, who looked genuinely annoyed at the situation.

“You guys couldn’t have waited until the next time we hit 79’s?” Sev grumbled, heading inside to pay his lost bet. 

Fixer just winked at the two of you standing speechless in the pool before following his brother inside, and you were once again alone with Scorch. There was a smile on his face that you were sure not even an explosion could wipe off, and you knew that you must have looked just as wild, soaking wet in the evening’s almost-darkness. “Want to keep making the most of things?” he whispered. 

Your response was to pull him into another kiss, one that was instantly reciprocated. 

Tomorrow you would have to return to the war and the GAR, but tonight, you wanted to make sure that was the furthest thing from your mind.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[moorishflower]

The Riddle of the Sphinx Ch. 3 (Dream/Hob fantasy AU Explicit)

The Riddle of the Sphinx || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Explicit || Chapter 3 of 5 Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Sphinxes, Riddles, Human Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Child Loss, Marriage Proposal, bonding over shared traumas, Mates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human/Monster Romance, Non-Human Genitalia, There will be no barbed cat penis sorry, There's a knot tho, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Kissing, Oral Sex, Oral Knotting Fantasy

At some point during the summer, a sphinx had moved into the cliffs at the edge of the Endless siblings' property. Dream of the Family Endless, in an ill-fated attempt to remove the sphinx that has built a lair on his property, finds himself coming to know the creature more intimately and sweetly that he ever could have imagined.

You know how it is when you go to write an epilogue and turn it into almost another fic entirely

Anyway they bone in this chapter

Read Chapter 3 on AO3 Here

[dell-amor-te]

“The Hare, the Crow, & the Unhappy Marriage”

Word Count: 5,906.

Warning(s): Spoilers for what’s been revealed in pre-released content, canon-typical combat depictions, no beta but I try my best.

Pairing: F!Rook x Lucanis Dellamorte. 

Summary: Lucanis takes on a major contract and makes an acquaintance he’ll never forget. (Also known as “the Lucanis and Nöa pre-canon cringefail meetcute that won that poll forever ago that I finally finished.”)

🐦‍⬛ Read on ao3.

9:51, Dragon.

Minrathous, the Thalsian Estate.

“It was a lovely service, Magister Thalsian. A perfect coda for the loss of a titan of our empire. Worthy of a man of your father’s standing.”

She stood still and poised like a marble statue in the moonlight gardens, waiting for any sign of life from the younger man standing before her. His black-clad back remained affixed in her direction while he stared up at an actual, imposingly tall marble statue that was carved in his father’s image.

Larger than life, much like the now deliciously departed Festus Thalsian, Sr.

His living junior always seemed small next to his father, but the statue’s towering height made the discrepancy almost comical.

Once she was certain he would not answer to her first statement, she cleared her throat, making another: “I imagine, as the newly appointed representative of one of the Imperium’s oldest and most respected families, you must be feeling quite proud somewhere underneath your grief.”

A beat, a reconsidered addendum to follow, but not a misstep.

“Somewhere amidst all that grief, of course.”

Nothing still.

Now she was growing impatient.

Again, then.

“I—”

“What do you want, Magister Renata?”

“So formal, my lord.”

Zara smiled easily, taking the break in his silence as her invitation to come stand at his side in the looming presence of his father’s cold and impassive homage. He gave her a not-so-veiled look of derision before his face turned down once more, his tired eyes further fatigued by dark circles under them.

She took a chance to take a proper look at the statue. While the flesh and bone Festus was already ashes stuffed into a gauche urn and shoved on a mantle somewhere in the grand Thalsian estate, this monument would remain in the family’s private and labyrinthine gardens; his perpetual company would be the other members of the family tree who had been so honored.

Forever able to give his son those same withering glances he always had.

“He looks as proud as your father always did of you.” Zara lied smoothly.

“Again: what do you want, Zara?”

“Tut, tut, Festus. Is it so wrong to want to offer you my condolences in person?”

“It is when the funerary services were a private family affair.” His reply was as stiff yet spineless as his current stance.

“I almost married your uncle.”

“But you didn’t. How did you manage to secure an invitation?”

“Oh, I still see him every so often.”

Festus sighed haggardly.

“Really, I’m hurt, Festus.”

“And I’m still left wondering why you’re here. You must want something. You always do.”

Zara chuckled. “See, you do know me.” She said, though it brought Festus no pleasure to be so praised.

To wit, then.

“Your father’s death creates a power vacuum in the Magisterium that having a son and heir to take his seat will only quell for so long. Your father cast quite a large shadow.”

“And we all know I don’t have what’s needed to fill it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She chided with practiced gentleness.

Not here, anyway.

Zara clapped her hands together. “You are more than capable of rising to his heights, Festus. He and my father began their time in the Magisterium together, if you’ll recall. Neither one of them was anything more than we two are now when they began.”

Festus studied her with wariness, like she was an asp—a shining smile hiding fangs ready to strike. While she may have been missing the fangs, she certainly managed to hold the same venom and sharp tongue.

“True enough. But my father had exploits no other mage in our family could hope to replicate. So grand that they made up for his few shortcomings.”

Such as the fact that neither of the sons he produced were born Dreamers.

Zara closed the gap between them, heels clicking authoritatively against the cobblestone. “Then why not show our peers why you’re the heir to the Thalsian name?” She challenged.

“We all know why. It’s certainly not because of my own merit.” Festus snorted, looking to the memorial statue again for a moment.

“And why can’t it be?” Zara asked sharply, shoving one perfectly painted nail into his chest, right into his very heart. “Because you’re going to show them that you’re capable of righting even your unimpeachable father’s wrongs. What could be a finer tribute to his legacy?”

Festus’ brow twitched.

“I’ve had the pleasure of reading some of his notes on Dreamers and the ancient elves, you know.” Zara informed him. “He was onto something with those experiments of his. I know you know that—he mentioned you in his writings.”

“Yes, but if you’ve truly read them—and I won’t even question how—then you know he abandoned them.”

“Yes, because he lost his two prized lab rats. Or should I say lab rabbits?”

“You could say that. But it would be incredibly on the nose of you.” Festus’ own nose crinkled in distaste. “They weren’t just prized. You must have seen the records and ledgers, too. He almost bankrupted our family on purchasing hundreds of different brutes over the years. They were the only two who weren’t only viable, but exceptional.”

“Indeed. His golden goose and lucky rabbit. What’s the elven for that again?”

The younger mage’s spine stiffened with a sharp intake of breath.

“This is a moot point.” He said quickly. “The mother was killed by my father.”

“But the little rabbit escaped. Obviously.” Zara scoffed.

He scoffed right back.

“Come now, Festus, surely you don’t take me for a fool.” She crossed her arms, resolute. “Elves might not be rare in this city, much as we all like to pretend, but elves who bear those savage markings are rare indeed. And I doubt it’s a coincidence that this one goes by a moniker that happens to match the name your father gave her when he came into possession of her.”

Festus set his brow. He wouldn’t indulge her.

“Glower all you like, but I know you must be aware of her exploits.”

“Oh, and what makes you so confident?”

“Because the Magisterium won’t acknowledge what’s happened. A rogue rattus ran about, a runaway, stealing others property and setting it free? And no one can seem to catch her? And then she vanishes into thin air? You know as well as I how our colleagues love their gossip, and they won’t even dare to speak of her. They’re embarrassed.” She nodded. “Just as you keep quiet. Because you habor some sentiment for your lost pet.”

Festus’ cheeks burned red, catching as quickly as a wildfire from a firebolt gone awry.

“You’re hardly the first man in this city to get a little too attached to one of the family pets.”

“That’s quite the accusation to make without any sort of proof.”

“Is that right? Tell me, isn’t that locket you refuse to let leave your neck made of ironbark? Or am I mistaken?”

She, of course, was never mistaken.

Festus said nothing, confirming her suspicions without so much as uttering a single syllable.

“It has her portrait inside of it, no doubt.” Zara spoke in a disinterested tone, picking at one of her nails with another nail before strolling away from the statue.

She kept walking until she reached the balcony overlooking the rest of the gardens below, draping her back against the cool stone of the baluster, the cape attached to her gown lying tastefully of the smooth barrier. She smiled knowingly when she turned to find Festus close at heel, absently fiddling with the locket in question.

“You’re proposing I get her back and continue with my father’s plans.”

It wasn’t a question.

“This world needs Dreamers. More importantly, the Imperium needs Dreamers.” Zara mused, smiling as if he had missed his own joke. “And it should be the Imperium who brings them to life.” She heaved a dispassionate sigh. “It’s a pity that such pristine breeding must be tainted so by lesser, wild blood, but we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good of Tevinter.”

Festus met her at the balcony at last, his arm supporting him as he leaned in and considered her words. He never had managed to learn how to read her. She remained as lost to him as an esoteric tome from eras bygone and best left forgotten. And yet he couldn’t stop trying to understand.

If not an understanding, then at least to twist to his advantage.

“She may be persona non grata throughout the Imperium, but people will catch on if I or my men go hunting her bounty, no matter how we try to spin it. And then there will be no Dreamers. Do you intend to offer my men aid?”

“For the right price, of course, darling. And believe me, once payment is confirmed, I’ll happily use every tool in my arsenal to help you. In fact, I’ll have a new shiny toy soon enough, if all goes to plan. And once the blade’s been honed, I’m certain there won’t be anything standing between you and your little rabbit’s sweet reunion.”

“I’m sure that price tag must be hefty. I did mention my father’s spending habits nearly bankrupted our family, didn’t I?”

“Oh, but who can appraise the priceless gift of acclaim that will accompany being the man to reestablish the Dreamers in the bloodline of the First Dreamer himself?”

“You, I’m assuming. Or you think you can, anyway.”

“It’s a trifle, truly, in comparison to having your precious little—”

“Zara.”

She heaved a sigh. “My father has designs to marry me to some cadet branch from a particular family—one who has recently joined with those traitors, the Lucerni.” At Festus’ pointed look, she waved a dismissive hand. “He’s desperate, and he’ll see the contract through even to them for the sake of creating alliances. Unless someone can make a better offer, of course…”

“And you’re short of suitors.” Festus assumed.

“Not if a certain newly-minted magister puts in his bid. I hear he’ll be plagued with marriage offers come daybreak. And won’t all those pesky marriage interviews keep him from his true passion—his studies?”

It was a grim prospect, one the more introverted Festus didn’t relish.

Zara moved in closer, her breath warm against his cheeks as she whispered in his ear. “Besides, this potential Dreamer will need a more…tamed mother, won’t they? One who won’t ask questions or betray the existence of her sweet husband’s…” Her head bobbled as she considered the best phrasing. “Well…less-than-appropriate mistress?”

Festus hid his repulsion for the woman hanging on his arm under a thinly-veiled feint of consideration. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought of her everyday since her unfair escape from his family’s estate. Dark-bright eyes oft haunted his dreams. They haunted his waking hours, too. It was a lie he kept close to his chest.

What he wouldn’t give just for the chance of seeing her again…

“It’s traditional for my family to marry at the end of the year, during the holiday festivals.” He informed her. “Now, would you like to share this plan of yours with your fiancé?”

Zara smiled knowingly.

…

The memory played again and again in his mind.

I’ll never forgive you.

I understand.

Lucanis Dellamorte sighed.

The toes of his boots hung off the edge of the rooftop by mere centimeters.

Below him, the city of Minrathous danced at its full tilt. Lights of magical-illumination. Bursting pubs. Beggars in the gutter. Unaware of his presence, and yet Lucanis knew better than to let his guard drop. He certainly couldn't while he was here, not while he was in unfamiliar territory.

Vyrantium was one thing. Minrathous was another beast entirely.

But his target was here, and so he had come.

His target.

Zara Renata. Newlywed of Magister Festus Thalsian, the junior of a recently deceased father. A brave match that could see the Empire forward for generations with the heights they could reach together.

Unless Lucanis got to work, that is.

Little was known about the Thalsian family almost in spite of how well-known they were. What was known beyond their names and prestige was limited to what its members allowed outsiders to know. They were prideful, ever seeking more power and power beyond. This fact was likely not helped by their connection to the first recorded priest of Dumat. The lack of any other concrete information about the family as a whole—not to mention individual members—was frustrating for Lucanis.

He hadn’t been able to fill even a full page with what paltry intel he had been able to gather before journeying to Minrathous. In a perfect world, he would have had another week to do some more footwork, perhaps even a day or two to observe the Thalsian estate before he ever crossed the threshold.

But the world was not perfect, and Lucanis had not been consulted on setting a date for this particular wedding.

While the Thalsian family remained obfuscated, the Renata family was much more prone to chase the spotlight. They were a moderately affluent house, but this union would no doubt do wonders to elevate their standing in the Imperium.

The last time he had crashed a wedding, it had ended with the father-of-the-bride dead before Lucanis was mysteriously spirited away from the festivities.

Even as unfamiliar as Minrathous was to him, Lucanis was able to follow the interconnecting alleyways easily enough. A fancy manor in this city was much like a tree in a forest or sand on the beach, even with the special occasion being held at this household. Lucanis was able to find the Thalsian estate with little trouble, and without detection.

The serpentine crest wrought into the black-iron gate of the estate confirmed the proud owners of the home. Sneaking inside undetected amidst the sea of well-wishers and wedding guests was one of the easier maneuvers Lucanis had executed in his time as a Crow.

And so he found himself in much a similar position as the one he was in out on the streets, tucked up and out of the way on a makeshift perch. Rather than a seedy and rain-slicked rooftop, he found security behind a granite-carved serpent, an eave mounted high about the festivities below, stuck in an indefatigable vigil over the decorated and gilded ballroom.

He was charming in a disarming sort of way, Lucanis could see that much from his current vantage point.

The magister’s smile was ostentatious. It wanted your attention—no, demanded it. It was bright, flashy, like vibrant scales that warned potential prey of poison lurking in the body of a predator, just waiting for the one foolish enough to fall to its charms.

It certainly didn’t help that his looks would appeal to anyone.

“You’re sure it’s secured?” He asked with minimal movement of his lips—Lucanis just barely made out what he was saying to his new bride.

Zara Renata offered a much more practiced, poisonous smile as she made to meet her groom. “Of course, darling. She’s downstairs with the rest of the wedding presents.” She said, lip movements less covert than Festus’.

Festus stiffened then, but nodded with a certain eagerness that Lucanis found raising his hackles. The shine that overtook the magister’s eyes did nothing to set Lucanis at ease. There was a hunger—an affection, if it could truly be called that—that had been missing from every moment spent with his bride, even while he bound himself to her.

The bride herself, however, did not share Lucanis’ offense.

“I must admit, she’s prettier than I expected. I can almost see the appeal. Almost.” Zara told her newly-wedded husband, hooking her arm in his. “She shouted something at me in that blasted tongue of theirs. So uncouth.”

Surely they didn’t mean…

Lucanis cursed the magisters under his breath. Both of them—for good measure.

Though his mind immediately set to lecturing him, reminding him that he had a job to do and his window to do it and get out was closing with each step the couple took toward their marriage bed, his heart and legs rallied all the stronger. He left his serpentine perch with a soundless leap, heading into the first corridor he saw with a descending set of stairs, mindful of each step.

His gut lurched with each repetition in his ears of those words as they played over and over again in his mind.

Wedding presents. Wedding presents. Weddings presents.

He heard Illario’s words in his ears, too, ringing like a warning bell, tolling and warning him away from a course he was already on.

We’re not heroes, cousin.

Lucanis kept close to the ancient stone walls. For all the variations in façades, Tevinter homes above a certain degree of nobility and prestige all had similar layouts. Wine cellars often masked more nefarious rooms—holding cells. Often barely distinguishable from the house servants’ sleeping quarters, though they sported chains and shackles the quarters did not.

The sounds of the wedding party slipped away from him as he neared the false wall of casks, and a hushed conversation filled his ear instead. He knelt down behind the end of a row of casks that acted as the mouth to a slip of hallway leading to the unlit cells beyond.

His brow twitched as he listened in.

“Oh, hush, Strife! I’ll have us out of here in no time.”

“Didn’t you say those things were untested? What if you tip off the whole damn household?” A man’s deep cadence questioned.

Whoever he was, Lucanis could hear the years in his voice. The certainty was unusual, raising Lucanis’ eyebrow. Most caught up in the slave system of Tevinter didn’t sound so confident, especially if they had years under their belt.

“Please. I can hear the band playing from here, which means they might as well be deaf up there. Besides, the mister and missus should be making their way to the marriage bed by now. Now stand back, will you? Just in case.”

The second voice was distinctly feminine, sporting an accent that sounded slightly Nevarran to color her words. It was clear she was well-acquainted with the man she spoke with, given the familiarity in her tone.

In the low light of the pocket hall, Lucanis couldn’t quite make out what was happening, and he certainly didn’t come to terms with it until after it had happened. A bright flash of light—completely soundless—exploded into the air. Unprepared, Lucanis flinched away, pressing his forefinger and thumb into his eyes to alleviate the discomfort.

It took everything in him not to curse aloud.

Beyond the wall, the conversation continued.

“Ye of little faith.” The woman declared smugly. “I tell ya, people in this town are too obsessed with figuring out how to use magic to stop time, or turn it back, or how to manipulate people using their own blood. A little bit of creativity, and they’d actually be a threat.”

“It’s not little faith in you, brains. It’s little interest in having your old man turn me into a walking dead man if he finds out I let a Thalsian get hands on you. Again.”

“Good thing I’m going to kill Thalsian, then. Two Thalsian’s, now.” A pause. “You know that’s not what my father does, right?”

“Don’t try to explain it to me again, please. It’s weird.”

“Only in places that aren’t Nevarra.”

“Yeah, which is everywhere else in Thedas. Come on, let’s liberate our fellow man and get outta here.”

“After y—”

The pair went quiet.

While Lucanis blinked away the after effects of the shocking surprise, his vision still a colorful daze as though he had looked directly into the sun, a pair of thighs wrapped around his neck. The Crow cursed that time, shifting his focus on getting this unseen person off of him.

His hand instinctively went for one of the knees, hoping to disbalance and then sling his assailant off of him. Instead of loosening grip, their knees closed in, ankles locking for extra security.

He couldn’t catch his breath. If they had half a mind, no doubt they could twist their lower half and take his neck right along with them. At such an angle it would be unlikely to kill him, but he still didn’t relish the thought of a neck ache or the accompanying headache.

He just had to catch them by surprise.

And so Lucanis struggled to his feet, balancing precariously with the added weight on his shoulders.

And then he let himself fall backwards.

His piggybacker made a tactical decision to protect themself from injury—rather than keeping a hold on him and risk hurting their own back, their legs released his neck, allowing the attacker time needed to roll out into a safer position just before they both hit the marble floor.

“Bloody shem!” The woman’s voice was warm against his neck.

The woman from the cell, he saw now.

Before either of them could make another move, laughter echoed off the stony walls.

“Take it easy on the poor guy, Nöa.” A tall, muscled elven man, the owner of the male voice Lucanis had heard, chuckled amicably, standing over them in their entangled heap. “I don’t think he’s interested in hurting either of us.”

Lucanis said nothing, only offering an easy smirk in reply once his coughing subsided and allowed him to. He rubbed at his neck absently.

“Oh, forgive the mistake—I saw a figure in black and my brain assumed Thalsian guard.” The woman, Nöa, chuckled easily, offering him a hand up as soon as she was back on her feet.

Lucanis considered the outstretched gloved hand for a moment, before accepting.

“Sorry for trying to choke you, by the way.” She added quickly. “I usually buy people dinner before I start wrapping my thighs around their neck.”

“No, no. I don’t mind…”

Strife snorted, and despite the smug look on her face, the woman blushed. When he realized what he had said, Lucanis cleared his throat.

“Are you alright?” He asked instead.

“Hm? Oh. Fancy meeting a friendly here. You’re not to Festus’ tastes, so you must be a gift for the new madame of the house.”

“What? No. I came to help you.” He shook his head. “No.”

Actually, he had come to kill the new madame of the house and her new husband. But here he was. He could almost hear Illario berating him. It was a harmless enough lie, since he knew she was also keen on seeing the sun set on the world with two less magisters in it.

The woman put her hands on her hips, head cocking to the side as she studied him, rounding him like a surveyor. “Hm. You’re obviously not with the Shadow Dragons.”

Her left eye glinted with a mischievous light, its prosthetic partner seeming to reflect the same sentiment despite its inorganic nature.

“Neither are you. Obviously.” He said pointedly, standing straight up as she circled him.

“Oh, and that accent.” She all but crooned, leaning in closer when she rounded back to face him. “Antivan, right?” Conspiratorially, she posited: “I’d wager you’re a Crow, then, given your ensemble? I’ve always wanted to meet a Crow.”

Lucanis’ brow betrayed him by bunching up, belying his bemusement.

What in the Maker’s name is wrong with her?

Before he could do more than open his mouth, she raised a hand to keep him quiet.

His lips pursed.

A pair of Thalsian’s estate guards passed by, but now before the shorter woman had pulled into an alcove, her taller companion already back behind the wall. Lucanis would have protested, but his focus was squarely on the two guards.

The woman’s hand held him in place, pressed into his chest, before her eyes darted to him, then to the guards.

They were drunk, by the way they laughed and hung on one another—unaware. No doubt they had imbibed on their lord’s wedding wine. They didn’t even notice that the elves tucked within the cages held onto doors that were half-open and slowly, carefully closing.

“And then what did he say?”

“Well, he goes—”

Before the guard could finish their tale, Lucanis and the woman moved as one. They both closed the gap carefully. Just before they reached the pair, the woman muttered something—a spell—under her breath.

The pair quieted, then stilled. Lucanis prepared to end the guard on the left with a clean twist of his neck, but the woman stopped him. It was curiosity, not mercy, that stayed him. He watched as she put a rag to the man’s nose.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and then he crumpled to the floor.

She gestured for Lucanis to let go of his quarry, and she repeated the action with the rag.

“Yeah, just like that. Big, old breaths. Really take in those heady notes of felandaris.”

“It’s a paralytic, but I added in a little extra surprise.” Nöa told him. “They won’t remember a thing.” She folded the rag back into her breast pocket. “Totally harmless to the touch, but works a wonder once it’s inhaled.” She explained. “I don’t mind killing where it needs done. These guys are barely more than slaves to the powers that be, though. Might even be indentured.”

Lucanis hummed curtly. She was much more…exuberant…but the way she spoke of the chemical reminded him of Viago. While he could picture her with a similar deadpan, he couldn’t conjure up a Viago so lively, even in his imagination.

“Well, now that that’s settled, you can shake a leg” Nöa nodded her head toward her companion, the man she called Strife.

She stared at him expectantly.

“Me?” Lucanis had to keep his composure. “I don’t know Minrathous well enough to get them out of the city. You clearly do.” Lucanis said. He gestured toward the man with a sweeping arm.

“No can do. I have business here with Thalsian.”

“And I have business with Renata.”

“Alright, you two, that’s enough. This is getting a little too hot for my tastes.” Strife stepped in between them, separating them with his body.

“I assure you, you’re in no danger from me.” He looked from the elf to the shorter, somewhat elven woman. “The only one I’m here to kill a magister.”

“Well, so am I.” She insisted.

“Crows don’t abandon contracts.”

“He’s mine.”

There was so much conviction in her words that Lucanis found himself frozen.

“I’ll get them out of here.” Strife decided at last. “Nöa, do what you have to do—but if it comes to it, let ‘em take the Crow.” He smirked at Lucanis before turning back to his companion, staring her down seriously as his hand found her shoulder. “You get yourself out of here, that way I don’t have an angry necromancer using me for anatomy lessons because I let his daughter get herself nabbed.”

“Your skeletal structure would be very good for articulation lectures.” Nöa mused.

“See, that’s the kind of strange stuff you’ve gotta stop saying.” Despite his words, the man chuckled fondly. “I better be seeing you back at base.

“Jumper’s honor.” She signaled him off with a small wave before turning to Lucanis. “Shall we go ruin a marriage?”

Lucanis followed her, even if he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he was following her into. He studied her as they slunk back up the stairs. There wasn’t a hint of tension in her shoulders. If it wasn’t for the surreptitious nature of their movements, he would have thought she belonged here.

“How do you know where to go?”

“Who says I do?” She teased.

“Your body.” He said.

“Ser, that implies you’re paying attention.” She hummed, pleased. “Like what you see?”

Lucanis didn’t answer, which made her laugh—quietly, mindful of their situation.

“Let’s just say I’ve spent more time in this house than I want to think about. Thalsian and his bride will be in his chamber. Which will be in the west halls. It’s a whole private suite—belonged to his father before he croaked.”

Lucanis said nothing, pausing when she reached back a hand, holding him in place. She barely reached her head around the end of the corridor leading back to the main ballroom. Then she swore under her breath.

“Venatori.” Nöa told him, turning around to face him with a thoughtful hum.

Her hand didn’t leave his chest.

“Wouldn’t that just ruin the good Magister Thalsian’s name if it got out.” Lucanis noted, raising an eyebrow at her.

She met his gaze. A wolfish, understanding smile struck her features.

“After you, my lady.”

Nöa hummed, pleased, before reaching down and pulling a simple dagger from her belt. It looked like little more than a letter-opener, but she held it with certainty.

“So, were you all invited, or are you the hired help for the night?”

“That mark on her face! It’s the Hare!” One of the agents cried.

“Well, fools! Do your duty. Just don’t kill her—Festus wants her alive.” He sneered, lips twitching. “No doubt he’d prefer her face untouched, too. Her pretty little friend is fair game, however.”

Lucanis glowered, readying his own choice weaponry. “I’ll go left.” He told Nöa, practically growling.

Nöa said nothing, setting to work on the right side of the small troop.

They worked quickly, methodically.

Whoever these Venatori agents were, the spellcasting couldn’t match either of their opponents for speed. Nöa had uttered spells and conjured fire before they could get out more than a syllable. Who she didn’t burn, she stabbed.

Lucanis, meanwhile, showed his foes what a Crow could do. They may as well have been a training exercise compared to contracts he had taken. Forfex came to mind at once, along with a slew of names he couldn’t remember.

“And then there was one.” Nöa said, panting slightly as she leveled her gaze at the magister before them.

“Magister Iranicanus.” The portly man bowed dramatically, unfazed by the efficiency with which his men had been dispatched.

Lucanis wondered if it was pride or sheer arrogance. With magisters, sometimes there was hardly a difference.

“Never heard of you.” Nöa said dryly, stalking toward him.

“How dare—”

With a muttered but committed spell, Nöa had the man frozen, though Lucanis couldn’t see any signs of frost or fractals on the man. She swaggered toward the magister, unfazed, surveying him with a critical glint in her eyes.

Then, she used that particular dagger from her belt to create a simple but deadly cut along the path of his carotid artery. It was precise. Almost surgical. There was no pleasure in it, only a sense of necessity.

Justice.

Within seconds, whatever magic she had used on the man disappeared, and he fell to his knees, then to the floor. Dead at her feet, bleeding freely even after life had left him. That blood trickled down the steps of the altar that had been used to bind two magisters earlier that evening. Now it acted as the resting place of another.

“Well, this was fun.” Nöa decided at last, smiling once again.

Lucanis blinked in surprise, stunned by the sudden feeling of her lips against his cheek for the briefest of moments. He stared at her, eyes wide and lips pursed.

She laughed, no doubt inspired by the look of shock on his face. “What? This poor altar deserved to see at least one proper kiss today. And I’d say you’ve more than earned it.”

“You call that fun?” He asked, still stupefied.

“Well…” She drawled out harmlessly. “At least a magister died today. Right?”

Lucanis sighed. “Now, what do we do about Renata and Thalsian? The whole household will be on alert now.”

“I—”

“Well, don’t just stand there! After her!”

“Like I said.” Lucanis said with absolutely no satisfaction in his voice.

He heard the woman speak in a language unfamiliar but not unknown to his ears: elven. If her tone was any proper indicator, she had cursed.

“Thalsian.”

She reached for a dagger tucked against her waist.

Lucanis grabbed her wrist, shaking his head firmly.

She waved her hand at the door, eyes wide and incredulous.

This was the whole point.

“It’s too public.” Lucanis hissed.

She huffed, frustrated.

“Come on, we need to go.”

“I thought Crows didn’t abandon contracts.”

“We don’t. But we retreat when we know it’s necessary. You can try again if you get out. Not so much if you get killed.”

They were both running out of time.

“Fine.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on, there’s a window with a trellis just up the grand staircase. He never locks it. We can get out through there.”

Lucanis didn’t argue—not with her plan and not with her authority over his hand.

They bounded up the stairs quickly. Nöa climbed into the deep sill of one of the overarching windows, unlatching it and pushing its heft frame open before giving Lucanis a hand up. He joined her, but not before the doors below opened with a resounding crash, tailed by the march of Thalsian guards.

“Hey, Crow. What are you doing?”

He looked over his shoulder, then back at her.

They would follow too easily if he didn’t buy her time.

“Hey, hey!”

He shut the window, ramming one of his daggers into the lock so she couldn’t pry it open. And slammed a fist against the outside of the window, horrified.

He offered her a small smile, and then he dropped out of the sill.

It didn’t take long for those rushing footsteps to reach him.

At least Illario hadn’t come with him, after all.

“Well, well, well…”

It wasn’t Thalsian who had come, after all.

“If it isn’t the Demon himself. This isn’t Vyranitum, you know.”

Lucanis froze, keeping his back to the witch he knew stood behind him.

First the attack on the ship, now this.

The magister ran her fingertip along his chin. “Hello, Master Dellamorte. I’ve been oh so eager to meet you. Seems like someone else gave you a warm greeting, too.”

Her fingertip traced upward to his cheek, removing lipstick red as blood. He knew the cut on his cheek was bleeding, but it took a moment for him to realize the witch now had access to his blood.

Access to him.

“Or was it a bitter farewell, hm?” Zara chuckled, the sound malicious and melodic. “You let the little beast escape. My husband will be disappointed, but, well…that’s not my problem.” She clicked her tongue. “But what to do with you, darling?”

He couldn’t move. Not his hands. Not his legs. He couldn’t lash out. The only thing left untouched by the tendrils of her blood magic was his eyes. She wanted to see his fear. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“I do hope that little act of chivalry tasted sweet while it lasted, Master Dellamorte. And I do hope she was worth it. Though, I suppose one good turn deserves another. I won’t tell my husband she was here. Fair enough?”

Lucanis closed his eyes.

He thought of Illario, and of a summer spent chasing after pretended-wyverns in the mud.

And then he thought of nothing at all.

[damselsdontwearglasses]

🌻COMIC UPDATE🌻

[lynnbeck-smithingtable]

Lynn Beck's February 2025 Skin Challenge days 13-14: "Aquatic"

Fish person with a floppy head-fin!

Number of colours used from palette: 9/9

Colours added: 11 (4 shades of dark purple; 4 shades of dark orange; two shades of dark brown; off-white)

Date created: Friday 9th february

Bonus finless version.

[aduckwithears]

Sharing this in its own post. See here for context - basically a scene in Job's basement "planning" what to do with the kids... like most of their plans it is lacking in details, but makes up for that with longing glances. (i guess i write fic now??)

---

I'm torn, because this conversation could have happened in the cellar, or it could have been a speed-run on the way back from seeing God talk to Job. Anyway, I ended up writing the first scenario. Feel free to fill in the blanks afterward with any, um, more physical activities you like, you degenerates (affectionate).

Aziraphale's First Magic Trick (or, how Crowley unwittingly starts the career of The Amazing Mister Fell, an act which will have Repercussions)

Aziraphale is very full. He's never been fuller. Although he has no reference point for his own stomach, he is starting to suspect that a human would never consume an entire ox. By oneself. In one sitting. 

He glances over at Crawley who seems to be completely enjoying himself, lounging with head lolling back, his wine cup half raised, and eyes half closed. There is a temptation to linger on this sight, but Aziraphale remembers (after several longish moments) that he, as an angel, cannot be tempted, and rapidly readjusts his gaze. It falls upon a clay bowl and 3 multicolored shape-shifted children.

"Crawley, the children!"

"Hmmm?"

"The children! They can't stay newts!"

Crawley hoists himself up on one elbow and looks over at the bowl. "Nahh, not newts. They're a type of lizard - meant for the desert, them. They're fine."

Aziraphale levels a stern, if slightly greasy stare in the direction of the demon. "That's not what I meant. How are you planning to return them to their parents?"

Crawley looks surprised. He had been trying to think of the exact type of lizard the form of the transformation had taken. He thought it might be a grecian but that didn't seem quite right. Greco? Still not it... He tries to focus through the wine. "Back to their parents? Doesn't seem very demonic." He shakes his head. "I got rid of them - no more kids, poof, gone - seems like it would take a miracle to get them back." He waves a hand dismissively. 

Aziraphale huffs out a breath. "Well, they can't stay that way forever. If we could get them back to Sitis and Job after the bet is over, maybe they could be taken as new children..." He trails off, realizing what he is saying.

Crawley is now sitting all the way up, wine goblet forgotten and dangling from his fingers as he slowly raises both eyebrows and aims a golden gaze at the angel. "Ohhhh, do go on," he drawls. 

Finding it suddenly very important to look anywhere but Crawley, Aziraphale feels his shoulders hunch. The taste in his mouth is too oily and his tongue seems raw. "Ahhhh," he says eloquently, casting his eyes about the cellar and encountering bare oxen ribs in his attempt to not look at the attentive demon. He turns his gaze miserably to the floor. 

Several minutes pass and the uncomfortable silence grows, until a wiggle turns into a rustle turns into a black dressed form elegantly scooting (possible if you were once a snake and your human spine is open to suggestion) a little closer to his despondent companion. 

"What about a magic trick?" 

Aziraphale flicks his eyes over to where Crawley sits nearby, long legs folded, gazing up at him. "A... trick,” he manages over his oily tongue.

"Look," says Crawley, "between you and me, Gabriel couldn't tell these kids from Cain and Abel. I doubt he can even count to three." Aziraphale chokes a little, halfway between a laugh and gasp, but he must hand it to the demon, Gabriel has never seemed to be the brightest angel in the choir. He thinks about his recent conversations in Heaven and Gabriel’s insistence that God will provide seven new children to Job. Via Sitis (oh that poor woman).

The red hair and beard shimmer in the low light as Crawley leans forward and catches Aziraphale's eyes with his own. "So we'll do a magic trick. Sitis's births have to start sometime, why not right away?"

"Because... uh... well, you see..." Aziraphale himself is completely at sea. He reflects that perhaps humans do not eat entire oxen because it seems to diminish the power of thought. Does he have a general working knowledge of human reproduction? Yes. (He'd been on the human planning committee after all). Could he explain it to the wide-eyed being sitting in front of him? No. This is probably due to the taste of oxen stifling his brain. No other reason. Certainly not. 

Crawley sighs, points to decimated ox. "Do ya get it? Ribs!" He grins. 

Aziraphale feels his mouth drift open. He looks at the ox, ribs glinting white in the flickering light. He remembers another day, a flickering morning, and a woman taking her first breaths… and more importantly, a birth process Gabriel would believe… “Eve!”

The demon’s grin, impossibly, widens. “Exactly. Even if there are a few angels hanging around it should be easy to plant a few ribs, sneak in a few lizards” (what WERE they called? Gemini? Arghh…) “…and poof! Kids!” His hands flutter in the air. A distant, anachronistic part of Aziraphale’s brain categorizes these as Jazz Hands.

“Magicians!” Aziraphale allows himself a small smile. His shoulders relax. He crinkles his eyes towards Crawley, misses the small intake of breath from his demonic cellar-mate. “That could work!” He hesitates. “As long as no one asks directly which children these are, we should be fine!”

Crawley scoots back and resumes his comfortable position from earlier, refills the forgotten goblet, raises another toast. “Angel, the archangel Gabriel wouldn't notice if his wings were on backward. You bring the ribs and gecko-kids (that was it!! Geckos! Course it was!), I’ll do the talking. We’ll be fine." He takes a deep drink of wine.

Aziraphale's smile grows and he thinks that maybe a few of those ox bones need a little more work to be truly clean. He wiggles a little at the anticipation of the rich taste. He casts a quick glance at his companion, who seems, true to his word, not particularly lonely. His magician’s assistant. They will be fine. 

[sunjinjo]

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The second part in this series by Lumier, and this one had me by the throat from the very first sketch! (use the little arrows to see Lumier's art process by the way!)

We’re getting to the 'processing his trauma’ part of his sword-and-fan dance.

Kintsugi suddenly, finally flipped his white fan to the as of yet unseen side. Red. A vivid blotch of contrast against his white clothing as he held it to his chest with cramped fingers, staring into the audience, eyes unseeing, body gone still – an eerie pause after his frenzy of movement. At the center of the stage, the puppet trembled in a way that did not seem scripted. He bowed his head, his hair falling into his eyes, looking as if his legs might give way and he might crumple to the floor at any moment. There couldn’t be a greater difference with the measured dignity he’d displayed up to that point.

(in Japanese kenshibu dance, the fan can symbolize any number of things. the sword, a more limited number of things. the fan is most suited to a certain heart, here…)

[my-soliloquy-chamber]

O my mountain hyacinth What shepherds trod upon you With clumsy, rustic foot? Now you are a broken seal:   A scarlet stain upon the earth

The story follows Kassandra and Brasidas through the events of the game and beyond.

[twistmusings]

Since it's pride month, I put together a poll to see what sort of ships and genderqueer headcanons the Twst fandom enjoys seeing content for the most. The poll will be ongoing throughout the rest of the day! Feel free to drop your votes!